#which i was sure was metal being drilled into your teeth

[frogwithastrawberry]

Fun fact when I was a kid I used to think that to get bangs the hairdresser would cut off the bottom of your hair and then sew it back on with a needle and thread

[gooseloverfiction]

I can't get enough

Part 2 to "Chains"

Colt Seavers x afab!reader +18

With too little time left, everyone gets bit desperate...

Part 1

Title from the 'new theme song' by amazing KISS

NSFW, piv, unprotected (wrap It folks!), lot of desperation and just Colt being Colt

Word count: 1,092

Colt almost sprinted, if not the slight throb in the knee and pull at his back. But he was back to his trailer in a record time. With a big hand on the silver handle, he pushed the door, which remained closed. 

His brow rose as he tried again, with more force. Nothing… He stumbled down two metal steps and watched the small, wheeled house with a suspicious look. Nah, it was his place for sure. Finally he got a glimpse of the sticky note with scribbled hotel name and room number. He didn't even bother getting in, turning on the heel and stomping through the paths, on the edge of trailers’ park. 

His phone pinged not even two minutes later and he had to shield it from the sun to make up what he was seeing. 

It was a shot made in a mirror. Colt moved his head to the side and huffed seeing legs bend in knees and a hand between them, one of the fingers definitely dipping in. 

The caption said: Plane takes off at 9 pm. 

The stuntman looked at the beaten up watch. It was already 5 pm. 

Desperately, he moved his long legs faster, purposely taking his aching body towards the parking lot. 

——————————————

The drill was easy… 

If you were staying in the hotel, Colt would come, ask for a second room key that you would ask to leave for him at the reception and then make himself home, whether you were there or not. Most often he would make himself home between your legs as you hardly ever was not waiting for him.

That’s why he was baffled, again, when the door to your room didn’t open. His keycard didn’t work and you weren’t answering despite his rather obnoxious knocks that were carried down the corridor.

“Babe?!” Colt tried to keep his voice at reasonable volume, looking at his watch and trying a card on the lock again. It beeped a few times and … nothing.

He growled and marveled how simple electronics hated him. 

You’ve heard the commotion outside your door, when you stepped out from the shower, sure it couldn't be Colt. It was too early… 

With another knock, you put the towel tight around yourself, grabbing the fluffy robe you left on the couch. There was silence for a moment and you turned the knob and opened the door, right when the stuntman tried to push it, after another swipe of the key didn't work. 

He stumbled inside, momentum making him leap. His instinct made him roll and jump to his feet quickly. Everything looked like some crazy stunt and you stood there with wide eyes and a knob still in your hand. 

“I hate those cards, what happened to goddamn keys?!”

You closed the door and locked them from the inside. With just a few steps you were both smashing your lips and hips together, as if tomorrow wouldn't come. Colt managed to pry himself from your mouth and teeth pulling at his lower lip and frantically started to push you toward the couch, pulling your robe and towel up. 

“Bend over, please bend over,” the man was practically begging and you couldn't even say anything before you were flipped and pushed gently down, over the armrest. 

He carefully kicked your legs wider apart, his fingers spreading you, the tip of his cock already at your entrance. You didn't even register when he opened his jeans or pulled out. 

“Baby, waaaaa-” your voice died on you, consumed by the loud moan that drowned in Colt's long ‘fuuuuuuuu–”, as he pushed into your pussy right till his balls. For a long time nothing happened and you anxiously looked behind your shoulder, your man's face twisted in some sort of ‘superfocus’, as he liked to call it. He was so horrible with names… 

“Don't wiggle, or I'll…,” he didn't have to finish for you to know. You chuckled, using your inner muscles to grip harder on his throbbing length. 

His fingers dug deeper in your hips. A short slap broke the silence and stopped you. 

You could feel a slight sting in your butt and chuckled even more. Colt was one big teddy bear but on the edge he would show some claws. 

After what felt an eternity, he finally started moving, his rugged breath hot on your back. He leaned and tried to slip his big hand between you and the couch to reach your clit. He was more than aware that he can bust a nut any moment now, your tight pussy clutching him. He dipped his finger in you when his hips moved back and with slick pad started to tease on definitely too up-tempo. You tried to move yourself from him, only resulting in his cock hitting you right in your delicious spot. 

His moans and groans were cut by desperate words ‘Please, cum, cum, cum…’

You almost rolled your eyes at his chivalry, he would die before he would cum first. 

Colt sunk teeth in your shoulder and it was enough for encouragement, your body shaking underneath him, your pussy squeezing, gripping, milking him from every single drop as he cummed half a second after you, still fucking you hard and quick.

With the aftershocks falter and Colt stopping, you took a shaky breath and moved a bit to make him slip from your dripping entrance, letting you finally have a longer look at his red face. He was caging you with his arms, his cock sticking out from his open jeans that he kept on. He actually kept everything on, including his black and red leather jacket. 

“Wow…you needed it quick, huh?” you joked, reaching to the zipper under the base of his neck but he stopped you, biting your hand. 

“Ouch!”

“If you don't want to drop dead right here, don't open it,” he wheezed, putting his forehead on yours.

Your brows moved up and you shook your head in disbelief.

“You didn't shower…”

“I didn't shower…"

You tucked him back into his pants and jeans and just forcefully moved his large frame, slapping his ass to move toward the bathroom. 

You loved that goof but loved your sense of smell a bit more… 

Colt turned his head, looking at you with a pout,”You're not coming?”

Your eyes had to give him the answer, ‘cause he sighed dramatically and moved toward the humid room. 

“I'll call you after the first one?,” the hope in his voice made you crack a smile. 

“Call me after second…"

[brella-boi]

Building Dango: Part 4

We're so far in and still have so fucking much to do. I am fearing I may not have this guy made in time. Which I'll have to stomach through clenched teeth.

We're moving on to priming. And I'll be using Flexbond for this. I previously used a spray version, which fucking stinks. (If any of you guys remember the making of my kenku fursuit then you remember the horrors of gassing my family.)

This is odourless and I can slap quite thick bits of it on there.

It's water based and kinda smells like PVA glue (suspicious...) but honestly it worked wonders. I was hoping it would cover up the majority of roughness and imperfections, and with three coats, it did mostly that! Kudos to my friend for pointing me in the direction of this substance.

It took about 3-4 hours to dry on each coat, and I could safely do it inside. Unfortunately there are paintbrush streaks. But I can stomach that.

In between waiting for the coats to dry, I got to work on the eyes. I'm using this mesh as the base. It's nice and thick, does have a bend to it, and has fantastic view through the many holes in it. And since it's already black, I only need to paint the pupil. Though I have also painted a set of eyes for a friend that were fully painted and they looked fine too. Poking any clogged up holes IS a chore though, so to make sure there's as little of that as possible, you gotta water down your acrylic paint and slowly work your way up with coats. I haven't tried dried brushing it, mainly because that method is quite messy, and watered down colour worked better for me.

However, this didn't go without a tragedy. While trying to get the paint to dry faster, I often use a hairbrush. But. Well I was holding the mesh up in the air and drying it. And I guess I held the hairbrush too close and it bent the metal just enough to make dents from where my fingers held it. And. Unfortunately. Begudgingly. I could not restore the mesh back. So I had to paint the second eye all over again. So if you're drying with a hairbrush- do so on a flat surface.

For the JAW.

And here's where I start to realise I'm doing this backwards.

For the Jaw I will be using chicago screws. Originally I was going to use this hinge I got off etsy from a polish maker:

But Dango's head is already quite. Tight. And these would add another centimeter on each side of the head and there's just not enough space for that- nor do I think they would fit actually....

SO HERE WE ARE: CHICAGO SCREWS.

Chicago screws are originally used for leather work, and come in various sizes. The main body of the screw is sleek, so the jaw can freely move around on the middle part, while the actual tube is hollow with end being the 'screw' part. This screw part will be inside the jaw so I can freely unscrew it if I ever need to. While two pieces of my high density foam are about 2cm in thickness when smooshed together, I opted for 17mm thick screws instead. Which meant I head to drill holes, then indents into those holes, to make sure the screws fit in.

I did this because A: the flat part of the screw is going to poke through to the outer layer of the skull that will not have fabric covering it. It needs to be flush with the skull so that its not as easily seen. I made it sink into the foam by another 1-2mm so I could then cover it in sculpting foam and then.... prime it again. Like an egit. Anyway. And B: I didn't want the screws to poke me into my cheeks. Even though they're flat, Id rather drill into the foam and have it flush against it then poke out and be texture hell yanno?

Always test the drill bits on scraps though before you commit to the real deal! It took me a while to get the hang of the actual drill bit of my rotary carver, but in the end I was confident in actually drilling the mask.

ISN'T THIS CLEAN. God I'm so proud of it.

So I was drilling again after priming shit. I should've done this before the priming stage. But tbf they only arrived in the mail after I primed so. Whatever. (spoiler: this isnt the last time I pull out the fucking carver)

THE JAW IS HINGED.

And we continue working....

[mxchellesworld]

punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

[nastybuckybarnes]

Hoist the Colours  -  2/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader

Summary: An encounter with the man you used to love lands you and your new crew in peril, stuck on a ship with the people responsible for binding you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than what you’d first imagined.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Kinda slow burn

Word Count: 4.3K

A/n: Second part of this mini series! inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End 

~*~

“Alright lads, you know the drill. I expect you back on the ship by dusk tomorrow.” The men of the king are more than eager to head to the longboats, wanting nothing more than to satiate their hunger for ale and whores.

The door to the quarters that you and Wanda share gets slowly pushed open, and Tony smiles brightly at you.

“Are you going to be coming ashore with us?” He asks, eyes hopeful. You don’t have it in you to say no, and you also can’t fight the nagging feeling that there’s something waiting for you here.

“Yes, we will. We’re ready now,” You say, smiling at him. He leads you out to the longboat and helps you in. There are a few other cremates already in the boat, waiting to be lowered to the shallow waters below.

You and Wanda sit beside each other, across from the men as they row you to shore.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes asking a question. You incline your head the slightest and she leans forward.

“You’re looking for something,” she whispers. You sigh and shrug weakly. “Something is coming to find me. And I must meet it.” She nods thoughtfully, eyes flashing from you to the docks up ahead.

As soon as the longboat is tied off, men on the shore are hurrying over to you and Wanda to help you both.

You accept the outstretched hand and climb up onto the dock, turning and waiting for Wanda to join you. As she comes up, a man’s hand strays too far south, and she hisses.

You grab him by the wrist, thunder clapping above you as you glare at him.

“You lay another finger on a woman without permission, and you’ll lose your entire hand. That is a promise.” He opens his mouth to make some sort of snarky remark but snaps it closed when he sees the tip of his fingers starting to turn black with the mark of death. He nods quickly and you drop his hand, watching with a stone-cold look on your face as his fingers return to normal.

The group of men who were so willing to help you quickly disperse as they realize that they aren’t going to get what they want from you or from Wanda.

“You ladies feel free to roam. I have no doubt that you can take care of yourselves. If you want to rejoin us, we’ll be leaving at dusk tomorrow.” You’re surprised at the offer, having thought that you and Wanda would have been forced to rejoin them.

“Thank you, Tony. For all you’ve done and for your kindness.” He smiles warmly at you and nods. “It’s nowhere near what you deserve, but it’s the best I could manage.” He offers you a small bow then heads off to drink himself into a coma for the night.

“Well. Shall we explore all that Tortuga has to offer?” You ask, extending your arm to Wanda. She grins and takes your outstretched arm. “We shall.”

~*~

Bucky sits in the pub, eyes roaming around the place for the millionth time as he tries to pinpoint your face amongst those of the strangers in the crowd.

A man plops down beside him, a cup of ale held loosely in his fist and a poisonous grin on his face.

“Barnes, good to see you again.” Bucky hardly glances at him. “Rumlow,” he says with a nod.

“What are the odds of me seeing you here, huh?” Bucky shrugs, sighing heavily. “What is it you want, Rumlow?” “Where’s your captain? I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Over by the bar chattin’ up a dame. Go interrupt him, I dare ya.” Rumlow purses his lips and chuckles lightly. “A man of business, as usual.” Rumlow gets up from the table and heads over to the bar, giving the woman talking to Steve a smile before stepping between them, far too close for Steve’s comfort.

Bucky watches them, watches as Rumlow speaks and as Steve’s eyes widen. The eyes in question are suddenly on him, a chin raised up towards the ceiling, beckoning the dark-haired man to join the conversation.

Bucky gets up with a groan and heads over to the bar. Crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the two other men expectantly.

“There’s a ship of the King’s men here tonight, they leave tomorrow at dusk,” Steve starts, waiting for his friend to catch on. When he simply stares back at the blond, Steve sighs.

“We split the bounty down the middle if we help take the ship. Think about it, Buck. They’ve always got gold on those ships.” He shakes his head. Right as he’s about to open his mouth he hears a familiar note being played on the piano. It’s being played softly, so softly he has to strain to hear it, but he hears it no less.

Whipping around, his eyes search for the piano, and, more importantly, the person playing it.

“Buck?” Steve asks, concern lacing his voice. Bucky ignores him, pushing his way through the pub until he gets to the back corner.

His breath catches in his throat, heart racing in his chest as he sees the woman seated at the piano, playing the song that lulls him to sleep every night. His fingers instinctively find the locket around his neck, the one that plays that very same song, and he finds himself blinking back tears.

You can feel him behind you before he says anything, but when he whispers your name you can’t help the shiver that rolls down your spine. Your fingers continue playing but your posture stiffens slightly, the only indication that you heard him.

“Where have you been? We’ve been searching for you for so long.” This has your fingers freezing, and you slowly stand up.

You turn to him and he’s beyond confused and concerned at the betrayal and sadness in your eyes. Without speaking a word, you brush past him, ready to walk straight out of the pub and meet up with Wanda.

He grabs your wrist, urging you to stop, and you do, only to yank your arm out of his grip as if he scalded you. “Don’t you dare touch me,” you hiss, your eyes filled with rage.

His brows pull together in confusion, having absolutely no idea why you’re treating him this way. You turn away from him again and he runs after you, fighting the urge to grab you again.

“(Y/n) wait! Stop!” As soon as you’re out of the pub you feel better, the cool air doing wonders to clear your head.

“Where are you going?” You continue walking, grinding your teeth together as he follows you. His fingers just barely graze your shoulder and you whip around to face him, thunder crackling above you.

Clouds roll in, your emotions getting the better of you as a storm forms quickly overhead.

“You have no right to touch me. I should kill you for even looking at me after what you did!” He looks genuinely confused. “What I did? (Y/n) what are you talking about?” You chuckle once without humour, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Don’t play dumb, James. It doesn’t suit you.” With that you turn and walk away just as the rain starts to fall around you, droplets splattering on your face as tears claw their way down your cheeks.

He stands there in the pouring rain, staring dumbfounded at your retreating figure while wondering what the Hell happened that you’re blaming him for.

“Buck? You okay?” He doesn’t look away from where you last were, his eyes having lost you in the downpour.

“She... I...” He looks over at his friend, eyes rimmed red. “What happened?” Rumlow asks, squinting against the harsh rainfall.

“I don’t know. She just... she hates me. I don’t even know what I did.” Steve pats the man on the shoulder. “After we lost you she went ballistic. Maybe she heard a rumour of something untrue and believes it? I’m sure she’ll come around.” Bucky shakes his head. The way you stared at him, utter betrayal in your eyes... he knows you far too well to believe that you’ll simply change your mind.

“Enough of that. Do we have a deal, Rogers?” Bucky looks over at the two men, confused about whatever deal is going down.

“The King’s ship is here. And they never travel without gold. The colours on this one lead me to believe that there’s an important man travelling for his Majesty. And you know what that means,” Rumlow explains, grinning at the metal-armed sailor. “Leverage,” he murmurs, mind still on you while he ponders the deal.

“The amount of Gold on a king’s ship, even if we split it halfway, would set us over for months,” Steve whispers. Bucky sighs then nods.

“Alright fine. Now which ship are you wanting?”

~*~

“Ladies! It’s good to see you. I’ll be honest, I was unsure if you’d be joining us again. But I’m glad you did.” You smile warmly at Tony then look back out across the open water, eyes flittering towards Tortuga in the distance.

“What did you expect to happen if not that?” Wanda asks softly, stepping beside you and keeping her eyes focused on the horizon.

“I thought he would be surprised to see me. And he was. But he acted as if he didn’t know it was he who caused this in the first place,” you whisper. She frowns but says nothing more, giving you the silence to think over your interaction with the man you used to love.

“Captain! We.. we’ve got some trouble it looks like,” Peter says hurriedly. Tony steps away from where he was listening to your conversation and glances to where the young man is pointing. Sure enough, coming up on the stern are two ships, each with dark flags waving.

Clouds roll in overhead quickly and Wanda’s eyes glow red.

“Pirates,” she whispers. The wind comes in strong, sending a few crew-mates stumbling as they run across the deck.

“They aim to plunder, they want nothing to do with us, unless they deem us of value,” you inform, gathering your skirts in your hands and marching over to Tony.

“We have no chance of outrunning them. And outgunning them... not even a hope.” He looks at you then up to the skies. “Can you not conjure something?” You shake your head. “Nothing more than a storm. But what aids us will aid them. We’ve lost.” He sighs heavily then nods, looking over at his men.

“What will they do?” Your eyes travel to the two pirate ships that are quickly gaining, trying to focus on the flags and determine which ships they are.

You incline your head slightly to the right and a gust of wind comes in, pushing their flags to the side. With wide eyes, you stumble back, the sight of the flags making your heart roar in your ears.

“What is it?”

You shake your head, the wind picking up as the rain starts to fall harder.

“We’ve got no chance,” you whisper, chest rising and falling rapidly as the ships grow nearer.

Wanda is by your side in an instant. “It’s them, isn’t it?” She asks, staring at the ships. You nod, grinding your teeth together.

“There is nothing we can do now,” she says firmly, taking hold of your arm to grab your attention. “Do not let them think they’ve won. They have not.” You take a few deep breaths, reigning in your emotions and clearing the rain. The skies stay grey, but the winds die down and the rain ceases.

“We’re going to be boarded, men. And when that happens we are to remain calm. They are pirates. They will take our gold, they may take our lives, but they will not ever take our pride! They will not strip us of the very thing that makes us men! We are strong and we stand for the King!” The men on the ship all shout their agreements, readying themselves for whatever fate awaits with the coming of the pirates.

Quickly, far quicker than you would’ve expected, you’re being flanked on either side by massive ships. One of them far too familiar. A home long forgotten.

You can see the pirates on either side, shouting profanities and grinning wickedly.

“Prepare to be boarded!” A man shouts at you. You look around at the men surrounding you and take a step closer to the back, burying yourself in the crowd as much as you can.

Pirates swing onto the ship, swords and pistols drawn and prepared for a fight. When they receive none they seem far too happy.

“Imagine my surprise when I see a ship of the King floating idly in the waters of Tortuga. Seemed too good an opportunity to be missed, right boys?” That voice... it sends a shudder ripping down your spine and darkness taints the sky.

You look up, eyes burning with anger, and you stare directly at the man who’s speaking. His murky eyes meet yours and he smiles a sickly grin, stepping down onto the main deck and pushing his way through the crowd.

“Ah, but you are not all men of the King, are you? No, some of you are much more valuable.” He stops when he’s in front of you, eyes raking over your figure.

“Yes. Some of you are far more valuable than mere men of the King.” He raises his fingers up to stroke your cheek and a clap of thunder shatters the silence. You glare at him in warning but he only chuckles, grubby fingers tracing dirty paths down your cheek.

“What are you going to do, witch?” He asks softly, stepping even closer to you. You say nothing, glaring up into his eyes with pure hate. He chuckles and right as he leans down to say something more you spit in his face. He flinches back then glares at you. He raises his hand to strike you but before it can come down, long fingers are wrapped around his wrist.

“No harm is to come to her.” You look over at the man, clenching your jaw shut so tightly you fear you may break it.

“Fine,” Rumlow spits, yanking his hand free from the blond man’s grip. “But we’re going to be changing course,” he shouts, pushing through the crowd to the poop deck.

“Tow the ship! And bring the prisoners aboard and shove ‘em in the brig. We set sail for Nassau.” Rumlow’s men are more than happy to start grabbing at people and chaining their wrists, stopping them from fighting and forcing them towards the edge of the ship where a plank is being laid down.

As men start crossing the gangplank to Rumlow’s ship, the man himself walks over to you and Wanda. Two men come behind him, each with thin metal cuffs in their hands.

“Hope you don’t mind, darling. Just a little precaution. Can’t have you using what little you have left to disturb my ocean.” The way he says it, with such smugness and certainty makes you want to pull his tongue right out of his mouth.

The cuffs are snapped into place and you nearly collapse. The remainder of your powers are stripped from you entirely, leaving you a mere mortal. Wanda inhales sharply at the sensation and you know she’s feeling just as terrible as you.

As the two of you are being pushed towards the plank, a hand lands on your shoulder.

“The witch will have my quarters. She has no place with the men of the king.” You wrench your shoulder out of his grasp and stumble away from him.

Rumlow watches in amusement as Bucky pleads with you with his eyes.

“As generous as an offer that is, I’d rather remain with the only crew who hasn’t betrayed or abandoned me,” you whisper harshly, glaring daggers at them. You cross the plank and are promptly shoved below decks, Wanda close behind.

You’re then locked in the brig with the rest of the crew, chest heaving at both the emotional strain and the physical one of having your powers drained.

Tony looks at you in complete and utter confusion, trying to piece together what he can, but he has little success.

You stay absolutely silent, back pressed against the damp wood of the ship.

Trapped and bound yet again by the hands of the same men.

~*~

“Once they reach Nassau they will look for the other ship of the King, try and find any leverage that they can. They are gathering far too many hostages, and we will be killed soon,” you whisper to Tony, a frown on your face as you peer through a crack in the wood. The ocean is rough, not by your doing, but you cannot help but feel as though the gods are on your side.

“Those men know you. Who are they?” Your bottom lip trembles and you take a few deep breaths. “One of the ships... used to be my home. The other is the reason why I am bound. Why I cannot access my powers fully. And there is only one man alive who knows how to strip me of my powers.”

He’s quiet for a very long moment.

“Why not just kill you? Why bind you?” He asks. You shrug, having asked yourself the same question. Because this, this fate that is now yours, is one worse than death.

“They mean to use you as a weapon,” Wanda says softly, her eyes closed as she tries to get used to not having her powers.

You and Tony both look over at her, waiting for her to continue.

She opens her eyes and looks between the two of you for a moment.

“By keeping you alive, your power remains on this earth. If they were to kill you, then your power would be lost, and that power is of great use to them. I anticipate that it will only be a matter of hours before you’re brought to the captain’s cabin and your purpose is discussed.”

Wanda is correct.

It’s only after the sun has set and night has taken hold that anyone descends the stairs.

“Cap’n wants you in his cabin, Witch,” a man sneers, yanking the door open and grabbing you by the wrists.

He’s awfully rough with you, but you pay it little to no mind, trying instead to focus on figuring out Rumlow’s game plan.

You’re forced into his cabin, nearly tripping over yourself in the process, but you regain your footing just in time and your eyes find those of your captor.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight if I’m honest,” he says, arms crossed over his chest as he looks you up and down.

You say nothing, mouth shut tightly and eyes focused on a scratch in the wall.

“Nothing to say? Really? I thought you would have some choice words considering your current predicament. Or are those words reserved for someone else?” A muscle in your jaw ticks and he grins, realizing he struck a nerve.

“It was he who told me how to bind you, how to strip you of your powers. He was there when we did it too. And yet he acts so innocent.” He stands up and walks over to you, circling you slowly, like a vulture.

“How does that make you feel? Does that... anger you? Does it make you hungry for revenge?” He stops when he’s in front of you, two fingers brushing gently across your jaw.

“Your wrath is something I’ve only ever dreamed of harnessing. And I can bring it back. You only need swear alliance to me, and you’ll be free from your bonds. You need only tie yourself to me, and your power will return.”

You look at him, face stoic and cold.

“I will not trade one set of bonds for another. Find someone else to do your bidding.” With that you turn on your heel, only to be yanked back to his chest.

“You will watch your tongue, woman, or I will cut it out. Do you understand?” You say nothing, but for the first time in a long time, you feel truly helpless.

“I am your captain now, and you will listen to me. Unless you would like to join all those that you have sent to the depths. And this time, you won’t have your powers to save you.”

You clench your jaw and tug out of his grip, glaring at him for a moment longer before turning and leaving his cabin.

“You will do my bidding one way or another, Wench! It is only a matter of time before you realize it!”

You’re ushered back below decks and shoved into a separate cell than before, successfully isolating you from the rest of the crew.

“That was brief,” Tony says cautiously, eyes on the retreating crew-mate before returning to your figure.

You say nothing, only close your eyes and pray for something as sweet as death to take you.

~*~

It’s hours later that you’re woken from your sleep, metal clanking together and hushed voices speaking quickly.

“Hurry now, before they wake up.” You push yourself into a seated position, watching in curious confusion as Steve and Bucky hold the cell door open, helping the prisoners out and up the stairs.

Only after they have the permission of Tony do they leave, and even then, the Captain and Wanda stay behind, each of them looking at you.

Upon realizing where you are, Bucky yanks your cell door open, holding his hand out to you.

“We must hasten, it won’t be long before they realize what we’ve done.” You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. Tony and Wanda leave their cell, lingering on the stairs and watching as you refuse help.

“Why would I exchange one traitorous pirate for another?” You ask rhetorically, your words like a slap across Bucky’s face.

“Buck, we need to leave. We don’t have time for this,” Steve whispers, gently pushing Wanda and Tony up the stairs.

You stare at the brunet in front of you, daring him to make a move.

When he doesn’t, you take matters into your own hands.

“What are you waiting for? Leave. It’s what you’re good at.” He doesn’t have time to argue, but your words cut him deep.

Against his better judgement, he turns and runs up the stairs, hating himself for abandoning you, but knowing that there are far more lives at stake.

The ship branches away from Rumlow's, heading West to escape him.

“We’ll drop you off at the nearest trade stop, but that is all we can do,” Steve says, looking across the table to where Wanda and Tony sit, each eyeing the goblets of rum in front of them.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Tony asks, looking at Bucky. The pirate furrows his brows in confusion.

“You’re the one who got her trapped.” He’s beyond confused now.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He demands, metal hand clenching into a fist.

“Don’t act so innocent. You’re the only person alive with the knowledge of how to bind her to her human form, how to cut her off from the sea. And you act as though you’ve done nothing.” Wanda’s eyes glow red with her anger but Bucky is still confused.

“I-I never told anyone... She trusted me and I kept it to myself. Why...” He trails off, horror colouring his features.

“Steve, when Rumlow found me after I fell overboard, what did he say happened?” Steve ponders this for a moment then shakes his head.

“Just that they found you in the water. Nothing else.” The red slowly fades from Wanda’s eyes as she realizes what must’ve happened.

“Rumlow’s the one who wanted power all along. And he’s stopped at nothing to get it. He means to use her as a weapon to control and conquer the seas. He’s the one who bound her. He must’ve used your knowledge to bind her without you knowing.” The three men in the room are confused by her suggestion.

“Consider it. He has no recollection of the time spent away from the ship, and he is also the only one with the knowledge.” She rises slowly to her feet, red glowing from her fingertips.

“If you let me, I could bring forth the memories, show you what your mind is trying to forget.” He looks at her hesitantly for a moment.

“(Y/n) is a dear friend of mine. If what you are saying is the truth then I promise I will not harm you.” His gaze travels from her to Steve then back to her, a new determination in them. He nods once and then her fingers are hovering right by his temple, a red hue flowing from them.

His eyes slowly take on the same colour before rolling back into his head, his hidden memories finally being brought to the surface, the truth being revealed.

It takes a few minutes, but he finally reopens his eyes, anguish written on his face.

“She... Steve, we must free her.” Steve sighs, not knowing what to say.

“Buck, how are we supposed to do that? We need to free the crew before we do anything. We cannot risk all of their lives.”

“Rumlow’s knowledge may be enough to bind her powers to his ship, his command. The only way to keep the seas safe is to release her, and soon,” Wanda pipes in.

“My crew can wait. And any man who wishes to leave may take a longboat and find their own way.” The Pirates look at the King’s man for a moment before nodding.

“Very well,” Steve says, turning back to his friend. “How do we free her from her bonds?”

“The same way they trapped her in the first place. And to do that we must go to the island where she was born.”

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[goobiegoobert]

I know you're primarily a fnaf:sb blog,, but I was wondering if I could get some foxy nsfw hcs with a male reader? Although I love monty and roxy, He's always been my fav lol, thank you! <3

A siren's song.

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A/n: Fun fact I'm not SB focused it's just what I get mainly requested, so I am kissing you Rn for the fact this is a much-needed tiny break from SB

NSFW post you know the drill! Warnings: Oral fixation, usage of sir, wax play, mentions of edging I think that's it,, [ m!reader, AMAB & AFAB language used ]

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➤ Oh how you call out to him, it's such a simple concept but feels as if it's the devil's work from how easily you sway the captain into soundless temptation.

➤ You two are very up for switching out who has control in a specific situation!

➤ Oddly enough he rarely takes over as the dom simply obsessed with how you keep him drowning beneath you

➤ Dude is absolutely fucking whipped for you like??

➤ Out of every animatronic, it seems he just has the sweetest soft spot for you here, it's as if once you enter the room all troubles he must've had are now second to none

➤ ..Service top...

➤ Whenever Foxy does plan to top, it's all about peeling away the layers of a day's work right off your shoulders

➤ Loves for your hands to be in his mouth,, in general loves your fingers nicking the sharp teeth and if you get a cut he's sure to kiss it better!

➤ No matter what you call him sir or captain, like in both sides of being a switch it just makes the pirate simply swoon harder

➤ God he'd give anything just to hear you sing for a sinner of the seas

➤ is absolutely sure to map out what makes you feel good, like a shanty sung about a hidden treasure he makes sure to burn it within himself like second nature

➤ Downside is over the fact he's got a pretty low libido, so these times of heavenly bliss are far and few between if you don't speak up about it

➤ Absolutely adores seeing you shiver at the cool metal of his hook pressing against your clit/cock, it truly edges Foxy on to continue with you

➤ Ahem, I would like to say he defo has a cock ring for himself made out of gold and bejewelled. Might have your name engraved, might not.

➤ Despite your cries ringing above the waves, it truly will be a night to have the captain splayed before you unable to keep himself still for you

➤ Doesn't like bondage much, your hands pressing soft alluring touches is the one thing he truly cannot live without here

➤ Foxy will always be left whimpering and messy whenever you two rendezvous to the cove

➤ Always managed to overstimulate himself from the fact the pirate fox cannot help but please you until the waxing dawn

➤ You two have got complaints o' many from Freddy before, which have been light-heartedly shrugged off, much to the bear's dismay

➤ It might've been an accident, but at some point the candle-light illuminating the cove for you two one night had begun to tip over

➤ despite excruciatingly close to shooting off blanks for you, Foxy had grabbed the candle holding it above you simply because he rather not burn the place down because he was too concentrated on getting his dick wet

➤ So the wax spilled onto your stomach quickly cooling which lead to some rather enchanting noises pressing past your lips

➤ This literally awoke something deep within Foxy and has become regular even in everyday life just for your skint o at some point have wax dripping across it

➤ Man-whore behaviour and yknow we stan that

[roger-that-cap]

all the flowers will bloom

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: upset mothers, insecure gods, romantic revelations, idk what to call this-

word count: 4.2k

part four!

You skipped Natasha’s escorting and went to the level yourself, crouching in the same area you had been working over and immediately putting your hands into the dry and brittle soil, sighing when you remembered that you forgot the water. 

  You didn’t even realize how long you had been there until the sound of metal crashing on the ground next to you came, and there was a watering pail right by you. 

 “You need this.” 

You didn’t bother to look at her, but you smiled. “Thanks.” You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye. You remembered that you couldn’t bring life when you felt so submerged in death, so you closed your eyes and took a breath. 

  Something moved under your hand. 

You yanked your hand off of the spot out of pure shock. “Good-”

Natasha was closer to you than you realized, hovering over and looking for something that went wrong. “What?” 

“Something- something did something!” You breathed out, eyes wide as you blinked at the ground. You stammered out something unintelligible before slamming your hand back down, feeling for the familiar feeling of a root wiggling its way through the earth. You were sure you felt it. “Water,” you called for softly, and you felt Natasha water the spot, some of it splashing onto your hand. “That’s enough, don’t drown it.” 

If you were any less excited about getting the feel of something, you would have laughed about how you just demanded Hades, Goddess of the Dead, to water a single plant that hadn’t even sprouted yet. And how she actually listened to you. 

  You lifted your hand off and bent your face down into the dirt, whispering to the poor thing that was fighting so hard, giving words of encouragement as your heart began to race. You could feel the older goddess hovering over, and though her expression didn’t show it, she was just as eager to see if something was coming. 

  “Come to me,” you said, trying your hardest to stay calm despite tour heart racing and threatening to beta out of your chest. You knew that if you got any more excited that it wasn’t going to grow correctly. Your hands were shaking as you touched the dirt again, prodding it lightly. “You’ve got it, seedling. Grow.” 

  Slowly, as slowly as a bated breath finally being released, a small bud clawed its way out of barren ground. The bud was a pure white, and as it grew taller, neither you or Natasha were able to speak. When it reached its full height and stopped, you immediately jumped back into conversation with it. 

 “That’s it, flower. You’ve got it.” Your voice shook as you watched the flower react to you, bending ever so slowly to your will and your energy. In a show of silent whispers and shaking hands, you and Natasha both witnessed a single flower open up from the inside and show off a gorgeous yellow, a circle that stood out from the pronounced, purely white petals. 

 It was as silent as the dead. 

After a few heavy moments, full of joy and confusion and everything in between, you heard Natasha clear her throat, the sound hesitant as she grappled for words. “You… you did it.” It was silent for a moment. “You actually did it, Persephone.” 

You didn’t even bother to correct her. “I grew it.” You said softly to yourself, eyes fixed right on the singular flower, all by itself and looking quite dismal in comparison to its surroundings, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “It’s alive.” 

  “I can’t believe you did it.” 

You whipped around at her words, a brilliant smile on your face, showing teeth and happiness that could have been seen from miles away. “I did it!” You looked back at the flower, strong and beautiful, astonished by your own strength even though it only showed in one demonstration. 

Maybe you could go home. Just maybe. 

 Part of you didn’t even truly understand the gravity of what you had done, or what you had managed to do. You grew something in a land that was known historically to be infertile. You had grown a flower in a place where everyone knew that it was impossible. You had just opened a major door for everything that was capable of living, and you hardly even knew it. 

Natasha did. 

You didn’t even feel drained. In fact, you felt alive, more alive than you had throughout your days in the Underworld. You felt like you could make a thousand more flowers spring and defy the laws of nature, the laws of life and death. But even you knew that the high you were on would fade, and that you would need rest soon. 

“You’re shaking,” the goddess pointed out, and you couldn’t even manage to bring yourself out of your own head to confirm her observation. “You need to sit.”

  “No, no, I don’t need to sit.” Your head was spinning. “I need to do more while I can.” While you were ecstatic by the growth, you knew what it was possible that it was a fluke. And if it was, you planned on riding it out for as long as possible. 

Natasha wasn’t buying what you were poorly attempting to sell. “You’re about to pass out like some silly human because of your ignorance and impatience.” Your haze broke through momentarily while you glared at her. “If you think these gardens are a one day job, you’re wrong.” 

“Just give me a minute to celebrate, Natasha.”

“Well, you’re nearly falling over, Persephone.” 

“How in the world do you expect me to stop here?” You asked, eyes full of wonder and joy, and starting to gleam a little with pride. You had done something that seemed impossible, all by yourself. You, who were worlds weaker than your mother. You, the goddess who only really had a name because of her mother and her wrath and generosity. You had done something extraordinary and met someone even more so, and you couldn't find it in yourself to stop at one. 

You would make the entire Underworld glow with green, if you could help it. 

   §§

                                    That one flower had started to slowly push open a door, a door that you hoped would never close again. The morning after the first blooming of the first flower, you woke up to whispers of grass being at the river. You could feel excitement, confusion, and sprinkles of fear heavy in the air, and that overpowered you for a moment before you actually thought about the words. 

There was grass at the river. The river never really had much grass to begin with. 

Day by day, more plants started to come. Some were halfway dead by the time they sprouted, but you always caught them and saved them before they could truly die. You had to check on them and do maintenance every day, but you were sure that once they were all strong enough that you would be able to leave them alone for at least weeks at a  time. 

  You were feeling more energized, and while the growing presence of the feeling you felt while above ground intensified, so did your senses again. You had noticed your sixth sense, more than anything. And it came out whenever Natasha was around. 

  At first, you thought it was off. And then you put two and two together after days and days of feeling the hair on the back of your neck stand with her nearby, you finally realized. She was constantly watching you. 

  You had no idea if it was about her thinking that you were untrustworthy. You had no idea if it meant that she thought you were meddlesome, or troublesome enough to get yourself stuck in a place where you didn’t need to be. For a while, you thought it was because she was always on call to cure your hunger, which was dwindling by the day as you got more and more used to being in the dismal place. 

It felt like you and Natasha were walking on eggshells, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out the reason why. You looked at her when she wasn’t looking, and sometimes you couldn’t even stop your staring once she met your eyes. She did the same to you, and every time you saw her just looking on at you wordlessly, your heart fluttered. You wondered if she could feel you dying and coming back to life over and over again, and if she knew that with every passing second that it was becoming more and more for her. 

You were realizing quickly that you were starting to feel something. You had seen it happen many times in your lifetime, mostly amongst humans. They would meet someone who made an awfully monotonous life worth living, and then they would obsess with them and eventually do some strange ritual in which they tied their hands together with string that was a dark red or a dark purple, or some other passionate color. You watched from the clouds and from in tree tops, watched them kiss and hug and sometimes even laugh and cry, and you didn’t understand it then. 

You were afraid that you were starting to understand it. 

It was already bad that you were stuck. You felt terrible about it. When you weren’t thinking about the redhead that wasn’t the terrible goddess you thought she was, you were thinking about how your mother must have been scouring the earth and seas and even heavens for you. You thought about how the harvest was without a doubt dying without her full focus, and that made you think of the humans below that depended on her. 

People were dying because you decided to stick your nose where it didn’t belong. Your mother was raging because she thought she lost her only child, her precious daughter. And there you were, making heart eyes towards the goddess who your mother hated more than hate itself. You felt like a traitor. And you felt like even more of a traitor when you realized that you loved it when she looked at you, and that you loved to look back at her. You adored it. 

You would have to leave before your feelings for Natasha grew even more confusing. 

  And that was why you found yourself bending over in the garden that hadn't grown yet, fingers in the dirt as you willed the dirt to yield and make way for new life. You could feel her watching while you fixed flowers, and occasionally put enough power to use to make things grow. She was watching the way you moved your hands, the tension in your back, the way you cracked your knuckles in between doing “interesting” things. She watched it all. And for some reason, instead of unnerving you, it made you feel…delicate. Maybe even pretty, if you dared to go that far. It made you feel special, to be watched by someone that you found so naturally gorgeous, demanding. 

As much as you were realizing your feelings for Natasha, you were also realizing the way that she acted around you. If you hadn’t known that she is basically all powerful, you would have thought that she was somewhat scared of you. But it didn't take you long to understand that she wasn’t even close to afraid of you, but she was afraid of hurting you. 

It started to dawn on you when you told her one day that you felt like your stomach was going to eat itself alive, and she proceeded to have her hands hover over your body instead of the featherlight touches that were usually accompanied with the process. It worked just the same, but even you and your optimism couldn't ignore the way she immediately took steps away from you, like she thought it was against the laws of gods and man to be any closer than three feet to you. 

“You’re not the bad person that you think you are,” you muttered under your breath, half towards yourself and half directed towards Natasha. 

“What?”

You blinked, watching a flower grow underneath your pointer finger. You cleared your throat. “I said, you’re not a bad person, at all.” 

“I never said that I was.”

“You think you’re a burden to everything living, which isn’t true.” You said, and you heard her scoff from behind you. “I think that… we as gods, we think that we are what drives the world individually. We forget that we aren’t the only gods living and creating and destroying. We forget that we’re actually all a part of this one big cycle, and that we get in where we fit in.”

“So?” 

“You think that death is the bane of existence. And in a way, it is, but no one blames you. You’re doing your job, and it’s part of the cycle. Death needs to happen, just like life does.” You took your focus off of your budding plant to look at the red headed goddess who was already staring at the back of your head, listening to your every word. “I see the way you look at me and my plants sometimes. You’re so worried that you’re gonna kill me, or them, but I’m no different from you. I am a goddess, and I have a job to do, and we just happen to be on the exact opposite sides of the spectrum. But that doesn’t mean that I’m at risk of dying by just looking at you.”

 She crossed her lean arms and put her weight on her back leg, cocking a brow up at you before nodding in silence and taking in your tiny rant. “You speak a lot of death and destruction without seeing much of it.” 

“I’ve seen enough,” you responded, standing to your feet and walking over to a section of the dirt that you hadn't started messing around with, and without a second thought, you called her over to you.. “Come here.” 

“I should warn you to watch your tone.” And if you hadn’t seen the way that her mouth twitched upwards, maybe you would have thought she was being serious. 

“Yeah, you should,” you said, and your unspoken “you won’t” went left unsaid, but hung in the air as if it had been spoken. You fell silent after that, focused on the blooming of your brand new anemone, a flower that made your heart warm. It was one of your mother’s many favorites. 

There was no noise between you for the longest time, silence stretching on for miles and miles until you forgot that she was even there. Until you didn’t.

“What… what kind of flower is that?” 

Your heart jumped at her voice, and at her showing interest in your work, not just watching you do it. The Goddess of Death was really interested in what flower you were planting? “This is an anemone,” you answered softly, touching the brilliantly red petals of the budding flower. “Would you like to feel?” 

You would have thought that you asked her to condemn a mortal to death fifteen years early by the sound she made. “No. Of course not.” 

You would have tore your eyes off of the flower if you could have but you were never able to stop looking at growing life, even above ground. “Why not?” 

She stared at you for a moment, her eyes blank as she blatantly judged your intelligence. “Because I'll kill it, Persephone.” 

“Y/N,” you corrected, but there was hardly any true annoyance to it. “And no you won’t.”

“If I touch your flower, it’ll die.” Before you could say anything again, she spoke again. “I don’t touch living things without the intention of killing them.” 

 “If you do manage to kill my anemone,” you said, pulling back from it when it blossomed to its full capacity, and finally looking at Natasha, who looked more upset than you had seen her during your entire stay. “I’ll be right here to bring it back to life. It’s no problem.” 

She stared at you for a moment with such a blank expression that you should have been frightened, and you probably would have been if you felt like you hadn’t been around her for years. Natasha, even though she didn’t want to believe it herself, was virtually harmless. She wasn’t the cruel and unforgiving goddess that everyone thought she was, not in the slightest. Despite not wanting you there at all in the beginning, she was extremely accommodating, and she made sure that nothing bad happened to you. She was kind, and she cared about life. She ruled over the dead but cared about your living things enough to close herself off from even touching one of them. She wasn’t who everyone thought she was, and she was nothing like the goddess that your mother told you she was. 

You could see the hesitation in her eyes, but just as you could see that, you could see the way that she truly wanted to touch it.it dawned on you that she had probably never felt a soft petal on her hand before, or mindlessly rolled in a field, or picked a dandelion and blew the seeds off of it. You frowned, and then you stood to your feet and held out your hand. “Take my hand.” 

“Why?” But slowly, she did it anyway, without your answer. You kneeled to the ground, and for a moment, she stood still until you gave her a look, and then she was crouching down with you. 

“We’re going to touch it with the same hand,” you said, and she shook her head. “Whatever life you think you’ll take from it, I’ll restore it. It won’t even have the time to wilt.” 

“I can’t,” she said, and you turned your head to give her a smile. 

“Yes, you can.” When she shook her head curtly for the second time, you sighed. “Aren’t you curious?” 

“I don’t get curious. Curiosity is for humans and young gods.” 

“Liar,” you muttered, and you felt her fingers twitch in your hold when you reached towards the anemone, and then you gave her an encouraging look. “You won’t hurt it,” you whispered, afraid to break the delicacy and vulnerability of the moment. You reached out to touch the unknowing plant, and you could feel her hand trembling as you got closer to it. 

 The second her finger hit the plant, you could feel the energy of it start to drain. Before Natasha even noticed herself, you touched one of the petals with your pointer finger and revived it slowly, hoping that she wouldn’t feel the push to her pull, either. When you felt it was stable, you spared a look her way. 

  She looked straight out of a dream. Her lips were parted in surprise, hands still shaking. Her eyes were wide, like she couldn’t believe that she wasn’t hallucinating. The dark aura around her that you had gotten too used to was fading in just the slightest, becoming blanketed with the light that surrounded you in a single thin layer. Her skin seemed to glow. 

You took a few more minutes to look at her, just to watch her be in awe and have that look of pure relief on her face. It took everything in you to work up a word, knowing that it would break the spell that she was under. “See?” Natasha blinked, but nothing else. “It’s not dead.” 

  Slowly, she pulled her hand away from the plant and turned to look your way, the same look of adoration on her face. You nearly froze up when you realized that you were receiving the look, not your plant. “You’re amazing.” 

  Your heart sped up and then skipped a beat. “Oh, no,” you dismissed, waving and hand, more interested in how it must have felt for her to touch life for the first time in centuries.. “How did you like it? It was probably strange for you, wasn’t it?” You looked back towards her from where your eyes were fixed on the flowers, and your heart skipped a beat, seeming to remind you that you were still alive.  She was much closer than you realized, and her hand was much warmer than you could have imagined. You could have sworn that it was tingling. “Feeling something so- alive?” 

 “You have no idea.” Her free hand landed on your cheek and ruined you towards her in just the slightest so that the two of you were looking at each other head on, like two deer both enchanted by flames in the distance. “Can I kiss you?” 

Your head was going a thousand miles a minute. Did she really just ask you that? Did she actually mean it? Did it even really mean anything to her? What if your mother found out? It would be the ultimate betrayal, and you would neve be able to look her in the eyes again. Worst of all, what if whatever was about to happen was about to awaken something inside of you that you would never be able to ignore again. “Please.” 

The second her lips touched yours, you couldn’t hear a thing. The feeling of death that you were growing used to suddenly faded away, and the tingling feeling of life sprouting from the tips of your fingers turned numb. Your hands worked on their own as they went up to Natasha’s face, one hovering over her cheek and the other resting in her red hair. It was soft and sweet, but there was something deeper, something lying underneath the strangely innocent feeling of her smooth lips moving gently against yours. 

In all your years, you had never kissed a person before, god or man. Many had tried, and they had all failed. But Natasha wasn’t just anybody. You knew from the second you first met her that she was different, but not different enough for you to do one of the one things that you hadn't ever done before. But you were doing just that, one of her hands pulling you closer like she was afraid of you slipping through her fingers and into the earth, where you belonged. But the more and more you two kept coming apart to breathe in little, shared breaths and then coming back in just to stay close, the more and more you felt like you truly belonged somewhere else. 

   §§

Demeter was growing more and more restless with every second that ticked by without Hecate coming forth with the truth. She was on top of Olympus, waiting for an answer and glaring at Steven, who stared back at her nonchalantly. “She’ll be here, give her time.”

“All I have done is spared time,” she hissed out, the flowers that covered her body threatening to wilt. 

“What if my daughter has no time to spare? I swear, Zeus, if I find her dead, every human being will perish from famine.” There was a rumbling sound, the same sound that was made every time a god arrived on the mountain. She whipped her head around and saw a timid Hecate approaching, hands swirling with her red magic as she looked the older gods in the eye. 

“You called for me, Steven?” 

“Under request of the Harvest Goddess,” he said, nodding towards the still-fuming Demeter. “I’m sure you’ve heard of what happened.” 

Wanda looked towards Demeter with a sympathetic look, though she kept herself at a distance. “I’ve heard.” Who hadn’t heard? “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter.” 

“I know that you are able to use your magic to track her,” Demeter said through grittred teeth, ignoring Wanda’s offering of pity. “What do you need to find her?”

“I need one of her possessions.” 

Demeter swallowed as she looked at Wanda, a hesitant expression on her face as her hand automatically moved to the necklace she had found on the ground, her daughter’s necklace. She sneered before taking it off and handing it to Wanda roughly, her eyes lingering on it as Wanda clenched it in her hand. 

“Hurry up.” Wanda nodded and her magic swirled again, suspending the necklace in mid air for a few seconds as silence fueled the tension, and then, the necklace clattered to the ground after Wanda gasped. 

“Oh, dear,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. Her eyes flickered from Steve’s and then down to the ground, wild and thinking at a hundred miles a minute. “Oh, no.” 

“What happened?” Steven said, and he barely got his mouth opened before Demeter was close to raging. 

“Speak up, or I’ll toss you off the mountain.” She grabbed the younger goddess’s arm in a tight grip and watched her face for any signs of mourning. When Wanda gave her a pitied look, she gasped and gripped her harder, despite Steve’s warnings. “No, is she dead?” When all Wanda could do was stutter out a few babbling words, Demeter shook her shoulders. “Is she dead?” 

 A light bulb went off in Wanda’s head, and as quick as a flash, her eyes grew panicked as she looked towards Steve, who caught exactly what she meant. He let out a soft curse and shook his head, realizing that things were a lot worse than he imagined. “She… she’s not on the earth,” Wanda breathed out, and then, like she remembered something that had been told to her centuries ago, her eyes widened as she looked to Steve for help, who suddenly knew all too well. “She’s in the Underworld.” 

Demeter’s anguished cry reached to the ground far below, and it shook everything that lived. 

****

hi guys!! hope y’all are doing well- if y’all have been unfortunate enough to see my blog within the last few days you probably know that i am not 💀 it’s a miracle i got this out “on time”. thank you guys for being patient with me as i work to get myself back on track and all of that jazz, it means a lot. the SECOND school is out of the picture- it’s game time lmao

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[unwanted-animal]

Matt/Frank : T E E T H

Explicit. M/M.

Tags/CW: Teeth, Mouth Likely, Consensual Torture, Blood, Tooth Trauma, Dark, Romance, Don/sub, Rutting, Coming In Pants, Bloody Kisses, Please Do Not Let Matt Murdock Perform Oral Surgery On You

My gifts for @lovetincture for this year’s @daredevilexchange :D The prompt I chose to roll with was “Romantic Teeth Trauma”, and it lit a spark inside me! Which is why my gift is two moodboards, a playlist, AND a fic lol

AO3 for the playlist and Alt Text (will be live when the collection opens!)

“Are you sure about this, Frank?”

Matt crouched in front of the chair, head tilted to the side as he listened for any changes in Frank. His breathing. His heart rate. His tone. If there was any sign he wasn’t confident about his request, Matt planned to stop. Frank liked pain, sure, but this? This was beyond normal pain.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, Red. Only you. Anyone else I wouldn’t think about it, but you? You get me. I, I trust you. Y’know?”

“And you want no anesthesia?”

“None.”

No change. Even breathing. Steady heart rate. Frank was out of his goddamn mind, letting a blind man cut out one of his teeth. The thought brought a smile to Matt’s lips. Frank was mad, but that madness, that dedication to seeing things through, that only endeared him to him. He patted Frank’s leg gently and stood up.

“Okay. Can you reach the tools, push them toward me? Please?”

The rattle of metal filled his senses, making the room feel full and featureless. Matt groaned and shook his head to clear the cloud stifling his ‘sight’. Once the tray stopped, his access to the space returned. Deep shades of red, sparked by changes in the environment, that let him see - in a sense.

His world on fire.

Frank burned brightly in his special sense. Rugged, body made of valleys and hills and broken roads, sound made him shine. And Frank? Frank shone the loudest when he screamed.

Matt placed one hand on the handle of the cart. The other hovered over the tools.

“Scalpel,” he said softly.

“Four inches to your left. Blade facing away from you.”

He followed Frank’s instructions and lifted the surgical knife from the cloth. It was cool in his grasp, the handle weighted and the blade light and sharp enough to cut through muscle and tendon. Matt let out a slow breath. His hands were steady — no tremor. No fear.

Just a blind man performing intimate oral surgery.

“Once I’m in your mouth you won’t be able to instruct me, so if there’s anything you need to say to me, Frank? Now’s the time.”

Something about Frank’s gaze, Matt could always feel . He stared at him now , and from the way his pulse quickened he knew it was affectionate. Tender. He’d seen that look once, when the sirens lit the graveyard after the Irish. That hangdog, loving look in Frank’s sad eyes turned to him now, and he was certain there was a hint of madness to it. Of thrill. Frank wanted this. Hell, it’d been his idea.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got somethin’. Yeah. Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t fuck it up,” Frank teased. “I love you.”

Matt smirked.

“I know. Open up for me.”

Frank opened his mouth, as wide as he could. His wrists tugged against the handcuffs holding them to the legs of the chair, the rattle reassuring. Frank wouldn’t get out if the pain was too great, which meant Matt wouldn’t wind up with a fist in his face when he dug into the root. It was a precaution, sure, but he had to admit he liked Frank tied up.

At his mercy .

Matt slipped two fingers inside his waiting mouth and slid them along his tongue. Frank shuddered, gagging slightly as he pressed down. Drool pooled around his hand and ran down, down the curve of his chin, spattering on his bare chest. Matt felt the wetness and smiled down at Frank.

“I bet you can do better than that.”

He lifted the scalpel and guided his fingers up. Picking a molar was the hard part. Humming, Matt tapped between three of them, whispering that familiar mantra.

“One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime — Ah. This one.”

The back molar. One Frank wouldn’t even know was missing.

“Here we go, Frank.”

All he got was a huff of a growl in response.

Matt pressed the blade into the soft meat of Frank’s gum. Blood welled from the wound, mixing with the drool, and Matt wished he could see it. The ecstatic look of agony carved into Frank’s Roman features, the mess he made, the wild rush burning in his eyes… He cut again. Again. Tracing the tooth. Beneath him, Frank snarled and roared.

“That’s right. Like that. Make noise, nobody will hear you here. Nobody but me.”

His noise made it easier for Matt to see what he was doing. Vibrations traveled through his mouth, and the loose skin he sliced through swayed from side to side. Soon he had most of the tooth exposed, the gums cut and peeled back with careful - if amateur - care. Frank pulled against the cuffs and rocked the chair as his fingers touched the wound, but Matt didn’t stop.

Frank had had plenty of time to revoke consent before. He didn’t. His fingers weren’t tapping out his safeword on the wood. Frank loved being out of control, submitting to Matt in such a deep, intimate way. Pain, even the extreme kind, wasn’t foreign to their relationship nor their sex.

This, this was dedication. A declaration. One far more beautiful than any other words or gestures could be.

Matt used Frank’s moans to find the forceps. He traded out his scalpel for the pointed steel, clicking them together a few times as Frank simply sat there shaking. His lips trembled, but he kept his mouth open to the cool air.

A good dog. Loyal. Obedient.

He guided the new tool inside, easily finding his way back. The blood dripping on his knuckles couldn’t be missed. Matt’s forceps closed around the tooth and he began to pry. Grunting, he pumped his arm, moving the bone in its tight little socket. Frank roared in pain, hips coming up and rubbing against Matt’s thigh.

He was hard, hard enough that the brief touch sent a shiver down Frank’s spine. Matt grinned, his dimples deep as he pressed his thigh back in response.

“Rut. Like a dog. I wouldn’t want to leave you all worked up, not when you’re behaving for me. Go on. Consider it a reward. A treat, Frank.”

Frank didn’t hesitate. He started thrusting against Matt, breathing hard through his nose as his cock strained against his jeans. A low moan vibrated in his throat as Matt yanked again, pulling, fighting to get the tooth free of his jaw. Frank screamed around his hands, tears flowing down his cheeks, and Matt’s world burst with vivid red color. He could see Frank. See the blood. See the wide-eyed and hungry stare Frank fixed on him. He was a beacon at the center of Matt’s world, pulsing with every shuddering sob.

“Beautiful,” he said, voice low and soft. “You make the world so beautiful .”

A loud crack split the air. Another. Another, as Matt leveraged his strength to force it out. With one last tug it snapped free of Frank’s jaw, clutched firmly in the forceps. Frank slammed his hips forward as he came, eyes rolling back in his head as that final surge of pain pushed him over the edge. Matt stumbled backward and held the tooth up triumphantly. His prize. His token.

While Frank’s sounds grew quiet, Matt’s vision faded back to darkness. He couldn’t see the sloppy smile on Frank’s face as he drooled blood onto his bare chest.

“… That,” Frank slurred, barely able to move his jaw. His words were mumbled, accompanied by dribbling blood. “Is yours. Yeah. Gonna take it to, to, to your guy. Drill a hole, get a chain. Wear it. Always.”

Matt released the tooth into his hand and ran his bloody thumb over the bone.

Frank’s bone.

A piece of him, to keep forever.

“… I love you, Frank. You know that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I, I love you too.”

He slipped the tooth into his pocket and lowered himself down on Frank’s filthy lap. His hands were just as messy, bloodied up almost to the elbow from Frank’s coughing and screaming. He slid one through Frank’s curls and tugged him into a rough, heated kiss. Blood filled his mouth, and Matt let it. He savored the taste of Frank. It was no different from kissing him with a split lip.

Except this time he could swallow the mess.

[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌 

[captainrexisboo]

Shameless Flirt

Hey hoes! I’m (partially) back!!!

I had a sudden burst of writing inspo. I am very excited to finally give y’all my long awaited Hevy X Reader fic!! I loved writing this, Hevy was so fun to get into the head of. I was going to post this yesterday but then (of course, right as I wanted to start posting again lmao) Life Happened aHA-

Anyways! The Reader Is A Lady (although, it’s not really specified aside from she/her pronouns. still tagging it as female reader though)! No warnings apply, just a lot of flirty banter and a bit of smoochin! Reblogs, replies, and comments are highly encouraged. I love hearing from y’all! Enjoy!!!

~

Technically, it was your day off. However, being the workaholic you were, and bored just sitting in your quarters, you decided the best course of action was to pick up some things you had left at one of your workstations in the ARC training sector...like the stopping point of your last project. You waved and smiled past the guards and troopers patrolling the halls, the vode knew you so it’s not like they were surprised when you strolled through the stark fluorescent halls in your lounging civvies you brought from Corrie. It’s not like you didn’t do this every other off day. It’s not like they haven’t tried to stop you- but not even ARC Commander Blitz could give you orders to go relax as you hunch over another blaster, detonator, or even some type of launcher, without you grinning like a cheeky loth-cat, “I am relaxing, Commander.”

After the first few months of working alongside Blitz, he came to understand that nothing was going to come between you and your work. At least nothing short of the consequence of you kicking and screaming all the way back to your quarters. So he let you be. “Don’t mind her, boys, that’s just our weapons tech. She’s always at the armory, or here in the target range. Think of her as a part of the training- don’t you dare get distracted.” Every new batch of ARC-trainees got told the same thing, and everytime you’d smirk into your work with a casual but polite wave over your shoulder, not even bothering to look back-

“And what about after training, Commander, will she still be ‘distracting’ up here?”

-until today. His shameless intention laced his words, and you could feel his eyes run up and down the curve of your spine, following the shape of your legs. You stood straight from your bent position over the standing turret, turning around with an unimpressed brow as you cocked out a hip, “I sure will, but you’ve got curfew to make, trooper.”

It was easy to single out the flirt, even if they were all wearing helmets. There were five trainees this time, four of them had their shoulders shaking as they choked back giggles with varying snorts and fake coughs at their brother’s expense. The one second from the end to your right seemed taken aback by your retort, spine stiff, and visor still looking at you dead on. You slid your eyes over to where Blitz was sighing and shaking his head, taking as step forward as he ordered, “Fives, thump your brother’s helmet for me.”

“Aye, sir,” Fives managed to breathe out the two syllables without breaking, but needing to clear his throat before swatting the upside of the flirt’s head, effectively taking his gaze off of you and immediately to the floor. Blitz made his way across the room to stand in front of the trooper, and even though they were the same height, Blitz carried himself in a way that made him seem to loom over the younger soldier.

“CT-782, you said your name was Hevy, right?” 

“Yes sir,” Hevy confirmed, voice coming out low, in a natural huskiness some clones seemed to have, as he stood even straighter, trying to mimic the Commander’s practiced stance. Blitz nodded a couple times, humming sagely- you recognized this though. He wasn’t thinking at all, he was just adding tension, the dramatic bastard. You couldn’t help but scoff silently at his demeanor as he took an inhale before continuing.

“I’ve read up about you and your brothers, soldier. The outpost at Rishi, getting recruited into the 501st, your entire batch surviving every fray, hells I just saw all five of you in action during the Separatist invasion just a couple days ago,” Blitz took a moment to exhale, something that could have been mistaken for a sound of intrigue, “You no doubt deserve to be here. An entire batch making it to ARC training? This hasn’t been done since the last batch made specifically to be ARCs themselves. But son-” in the pause, now you could never be sure, but you were positive in that moment you heard the grating clicking of Hevy grinding his teeth at the term, “-I don’t recommend playing with fire. Lucky as you all have been, even in ARC armor, you’ll get burned.”

Hevy stole a glance back at you, to which you gave him a mock salute with your screwdriver and a delightfully crooked smirk before turning back to your work.

Instead of taking his Commander’s words to heart as a warning, he took them as a challenge. From that day on, whenever he found himself in the same room as you (provided Blitz wasn’t there to reprimand him) he would try his hand to win you over. Admittedly, it was very fun to trade bouts of wit with him. He was a cocky brute, but held a sharp tongue. His hot-headedness made it especially entertaining to get him all riled up, teasing him back, only to give him a flick on the nose or a poke on his chest plate. Hell, there was one time you went as far as squeezing his bicep. Specializing in weaponry, especially the heavy duty kind, his arms were definitely impressive. How could you not take that chance? 

On the slower days, when he was too tired to even run his eyes over you, he’d still find you hunched over your workspace in the armory to watch you perform your task of the day. An arms specialist finding interest in a weapons technician’s work? Shocker. Still, being surrounded by the blasters and countless ammo and bombs in the armory, listening to the gentle clicks of your tinkering and watching your fingers go through repeating nimble motions over metal plates and little rivets did seem to put him at ease after a rough day. It was something you could much too easily relate to. Over the course of Domino squad’s ARC training, those days where he gave you quiet, warm company were your favorite.

Today was not one of those days.

You had been given a new assignment, transferring from the training base...to travel with the Domino squad once they graduated in the next few days. And it seems like they just got the message too. You rolled your eyes as you heard his low whistle from across the room, but from the safety of being turned around you couldn’t help a sly grin take over your face. 

“And what, praytell,” Hevy’s gruff voice fills the armory as his boots echoed off the walls with their weighted falls, like you could hear the sway in his step to the beat of his walk, getting closer to you as you continued to lean over your work table, “Did the Domino ARCs do to get a pretty little thing like you to be our weapons technician?”

“Oi, leave her alone, Hevy,” ever the gentleman, Echo tried to ‘defend your honor’ from the shameless flirt as he walked in not a moment later, “Unless you want her to issue herself for a transfer to a different band of ARCs? Keep talking to her like she’s some meat pie, see where it gets you.”

“Awh, thank you, Echo,” you cooed over your shoulder before pushing up your goggles to give Hevy a sugar-coated pout, “Eat shit, Hevy.”

Hevy knew this game, taking his helmet off he shot you a charming wink, before turning to his brother, “What other ‘band of ARCs’? We’re the only notable ones, all the other ARCs are in CO positions, or are riding it solo and getting contracted to separate battalions for separate missions every day! We’re the only full squad of-“

“Half a squad,” Echo interrupted, taking off his helmet to shoot his brother a criticizing arch of his brow, “You realize a full squad is nine soldiers, right? This stuff has been drilled into us since decanting-”

“Then why do they call us the Domino squad?”

“Rolls off the tongue better than Domino batch,” you grumbled into your work, slipping your goggles back on and trying to focus amidst their conversation, “Look, are y’all actually here for something, or-?”

You trailed off, continuing your practiced movements as you waited for an answer. Hevy leaned next to you on the table, careful not to jostle it, or you, with his weight. He had learned that lesson the hard way...some nights his shin still throbbed with the memory.

“We’re gonna celebrate, not just the graduation, but now with you getting to tag along!” Hevy’s unusual cheeriness made you pause in your work. You turned to him, about to say something when he continued, “And we want you to join in the celebration too, mesh’la.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his offer. Sure, you were friendly to the troopers, and Hevy seems to have gotten especially comfortable around you, but you didn’t think they’d want to invite you to something as special as that. You pulled the goggles completely off your head, setting down your tools as you turned around to lean against your table, “I’ll bite. What’s the catch?”

Echo and Hevy looked between themselves, before glancing at you with mirroring expressions of confusion. 

“Why do you want me to join?” you elaborated, bringing up a hand to count on your fingers, “You wouldn’t want me there unless you had a reason for me to join, what is it? Contraband liquor? Snacks? Do you want me to secure the armory for the get together so you don’t have to have it in the barracks, or my quarters, or what?”

“The catch,” Hevy took a careful step into your space, mimicking your new pose, giving you an amused if not surprised smile, “is for you to have fun, not surrounded by guns and ammo.”

“And that’s coming from Hevy,” Echo scoffed, but agreeing with a wide shrug of his shoulders as he crossed his arms. You looked between the two of them as the moment stretched out for what felt like a lifetime… for Hevy at least. All the times he spent with you, all the terrible flirting and unashamed eyeing- he really wanted you to join. He could feel sweat begin to creep down his neck, the longer he waited for a response, swallowing down a gulp of dry air as his gaze flicked nervously over to Echo. Echo simply rolled his eyes- all of Domino Squad knew about Hevy’s true feelings for you. It was hard not to take notice when Hevy was just, well, like that. But they never seemed to learn about Hevy’s quiet times in here with you, how you two would partake in silent togetherness, finding peace in each other’s company. Not that Hevy was embarrassed, far from it, but he liked having that little piece to himself. Of course, he wanted more of you to himself, but for now those comforting silences while you built and rebuilt blasters were enough for him, because they were enough for you.

You kept your gaze neutral as you weighed the option of joining in your mind. It was far from a bad option, you liked this batch. They had been through a lot together, loved and protected each other like brothers should, and along with Hevy they accepted you as one of their own. What was one night?

“Yeah, alright,” you looked between the two ARCs, a grin forming as you stole a glance at Hevy, “I’ll join in. When is it?”

Hevy could jump for joy at your agreement, but he was still leaning on your workspace. Instead he smiled wide, tattooed cheeks crinkling parallel to the corners of his eyes, letting out a relieving breath, “Tomorrow night, the eve of our first deployment as ARCs. Be at our bunks at 1930…and if you do have any liquor-”

“Hevy-”

“Of course I have liquor,” you interrupt Echo’s chiding with a wink to the heavy gunner, bringing your forefinger up to trace Hevy’s jawline, gliding along the sharp edge, the pad of your fingertip calloused from years of work, and swelling with pride at how his dark eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your teasing touch. Coming off with a playful tap to the tip of his chin, his eyes snapped open at your sultry chuckle, “See you tomorrow, soldier.”

You turned back to your work, slipping your goggles on a final time, but not before a quick and casual wave over your shoulder, “Later, Echo.”

Echo couldn’t figure out your mood toward Hevy worth a damn. He looked between your aloof manners and Hevy’s moony grin, deciding it just wasn’t worth trying to pick your brain at, partially because he was smart enough not to get involved, but also he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stomach the answer. Catching his brother's eyes, he made a discreet gagging motion to him before fitting his helmet back on and walking out the door, “See you, techie.”

Hevy stayed back a bit longer, continuing to watch you work. He was completely quiet, but his silence was deafening. You breathed out a huff of laughter, the tops of your ears beginning to heat up at his attention, wetting your lips, “Well?”

“Hm? Well what?” he shook himself out of his stupor, blinking back into time at your voice.

“Are you gonna leave now n’ let me work?” You cursed inwardly at your harsh words. You liked Hevy, deep down he was a real sweetheart, but you always found yourself being so coarse to him. Thankfully, he was as much of a hardhead as he was a hothead, and he met your indifferent glare with a devilish grin that made your heart jump doubletime.

“No, I think I’m gonna sit right here and watch your lovely hands make something amazing.”

“Amazing?” you scoff, shaking your head at his compliment, “I’m just fixing up another DC-15A that some cadet broke. You need to head to the med station if you think that’s amazing. We both know the Z-6 rotary is far superior-”

“When you’re done with it, it’ll be the best DC-15A in the GAR,” Hevy interrupted, eyes shifting between your face and your hands, “Everything you do is amazing.”

You stopped what you were doing at the genuinity that filled his praise. He always spoke to you with a hint of truth, a bit of heartfelt sincerity to make his easy way of speaking more personal to you, more interesting. But there was something in his expression, maybe the dreamlike haze filling the depths of his eyes, or the way that his accent rolled off his tongue that had you placing your palms flat on the table before speaking low to him, “Hevy, what are you doing?”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” he shrugged with a sideways grin, still careful of the lean on your table, “I’m watching you. You’ve let me before-”

“I mean with the…” you gestured to his full self, keeping your eyes on your now resting project, “The whole...flirting thing.”

You caught him off-guard. The two of you have been at it for months now, but neither of you had ever said or acknowledged anything about it. It was like a silent pact between the two of you, continue the performance, but don’t mention the game. To suddenly come out of the unsaid arrangement, Hevy felt himself draw back, slowly lifting his weight off the table, “Do you...not like it? I mean I figured that you...you know, you’ve always responded…”

You couldn’t believe it. After always having something to say, being able to trade quips, building a friendship over the shared banter and ripostes, the fearless ARC trooper you’ve seen grow so much these past few months was babbling out broken sentences at a single question.

“I can stop, if you’d like.”

It was that whispered phrase that brought you back into the moment, turning to him with burning cheeks, “I didn’t say that.”

“Well then what do you want?” He took a step into your space, brow set and a jaw flexing as he frustratingly tried to understand your sudden shift, “We’ve been...flirting-” the word left him like he was saying it for the first time, each syllable carefully leaving his lips- “since the day I met you. Mesh’la, if you don’t like it, say something! We’re about to go to work together, travelling the galaxy for a long time-”

“Exactly,” you countered, poking at his chest as you stood defiantly to him, tearing off your goggles and mussing your hair off to the side, “Whatever this is, are we gonna continue it? Continue dancing around each other like some kind of goddamned soap opera where everyone but us gets off on our own self-denial?”

“Self-denial?” Hevy repeats, an incredulous sound leaving his chest as you saw a fire spark behind his stare, “Sweetheart, I’m not denying anything, especially things I haven’t been asked!”

“Alright then, fine!” Somewhere down the conversation, your voices had raised to shouting in the small space, even as you two stood almost nose to nose, and your breath hot on his lips you asked, “Do you like me, trooper?”

“Like you? It was love at first sight when you first told me off,” Hevy couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at his confession, just focusing on fueling the flames between you, “And what about you, techie? How do you feel about me?”

“I think you’re a smartmouthed asshole with a heart of gold and a pretty face- yeah, I like you a whole fucking lot!” 

This was ridiculous. You knew it was ridiculous. You could see it in his face too, the two of you breathing heavy, barely a hair’s width away from each other. You’re unsure who started it, later on you two would always claim the other giggled first, but eventually you found yourselves holding onto each other for support as you laughed out the rest of your pointless venom. His arms fit around you perfectly as your hands held strong to his wide shoulders, your laughter filling the room together, the sounds swirling in their melody as everything started to click perfectly into place. Once everything quieted down, your head resting against his chest as his hands ran up and down your back, you exhaled low and steady against him, slowly rocking in his hold, “Plastoid isn’t that comfortable to rest on, huh?”

“You should try wearing it,” Hevy snorted at your comment, leaning over to rest his cheek on the top of your head, “So...what now?”

You hummed, feigning thought before angling your face to brush your lips over the column of his throat, murmuring into his skin, “I wouldn’t be against a kiss.”

Something rich left his throat, the sound deep and thrumming through his chest before one of his hands found its way into your tresses on the back of your head, tugging gently at your hair to guide you to his lips. You couldn’t stop the brief hitch in your breath at the daring move, but you wouldn’t have expected anything less from the brash soldier. At your word he took the lead, slanting over your mouth in a soft motion, breathing you in as easy as air. You followed in confidence, welcoming the boldness with which he kissed you as the same boldness that had him playing the game you both set up. A small noise of satisfaction left you, not just from the perfect pressure from his lips moving so softly against yours, but also from the way his hand gripped so firmly at your waist through your canvas jumpsuit, his other hand still carding so thoughtfully through your hair; it was a sweet little gasp that Hevy swore he’d be replaying in his head for a week. Or at least until he was able to make another sound tumble out of you.

Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing the edges of his tattoos, pulling him impossibly closer. The payoff of this single kiss was absolutely worth all those months of gentle torture, the teasing touches and glances, discreetly watching his lips when he’d talk and thinking about how he’d feel against your own. Or even how he’d taste. In a stroke of your own audacity, you ran a slow, languid lick of your tongue against his lips, and the growl that came from him made the most delightful of shivers shoot right down your spine.

He had a robust, spicy taste, earthy and rich with a bit of heat that came tickling at your tongue. It wasn’t too surprising- he smelled the same way, smoky and hearty with the biting musk all clones seemed to carry with them. What did surprise you was the honeyed velvet of his own tongue eagerly coming to meet yours as you repeated your action. You could feel his infuriating grin at the helpless whimper that dripped from you at the feeling, and you nipped brazenly at his bottom lip in retaliation.

Before he could respond to your playful attack, the two of you froze as a throat loudy cleared from the entryway of the armory. Hevy almost didn’t pull away from you, a near silent broken whine coming from him (for your ears only) as he came off of your lips with a wet smacking sound. After a quick flex of his fingers, he removed his hands from you just as slowly, your own hands sliding down from his face to clasping behind your back. You both turned to face the bucket of Commander Blitz, arms crossed and stance wide in the doorway. He nodded toward the hall, “You left the door open.”

You cleared your throat, pursing your lips to keep from saying something ridiculous. Hevy clenched his jaw, trying to accomplish the same thing. Blitz’s visor smoothly slid to gaze over you, and you straightened in the mimic of his cadets. “You finally relaxing, techie?”

A short chuckle escaped you, lips twitching up in a coy grin, “I am, Commander.”

He nodded, that same dramatic humming leaving him as he turned then to Hevy, who tensed at full attention to the ARC Commander. “What about you, son. How’s that burn feel?”

“To be perfectly candid, sir,” Hevy, always pushing the limits, turned to shoot you a look with a quick lick of his lips before responding, “Absolutely thrilling.”

Blitz nodded again, taking slow steps into the room, like how Hevy had earlier that day, letting each step echo off the walls until he was about two feet away, “I’m happy for you both, but please. Don’t be stupid. You’re lucky it was me walking by and not one of the longnecks, or the nat-born chief trainers. Close the doors. And do me a favor, wait till you’re both off Kamino for any of the heavier stuff, okay?”

You and Hevy both confirmed the Commander’s request with quick nods and mumbled “Yes sirs,” making him let go a long breath. Uncrossing his arms, he pointed to Hevy, “Trooper, hit the showers. Move it.”

Hevy shot you one last look, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was bashful, before saluting Blitz, grabbing his helmet and marching out of the armory. You stood straight, still under Blitz’s cold stare from his visor, until he sighed, slapping a companionable hand on your shoulder, “If he steps out of line, I better be the first vod you call. I will kick his ass so hard, he’ll be knocked back to failing the Citadel the first time-”

“At ease, Commander,” you rolled your eyes, you hand coming up to hold onto his, brushing your thumb over his knuckles with a soft breath of laughter, “He didn’t lay a hand on me until I asked him to.”

Blitz squeezed your hand, taking off his own helmet to look at you. He looked a little older than Domino did, cheeks slightly hollowed and eyes a bit deeper set, a bittersweet shine coming over his amber stare, mouth twitching up into a lopsided smile, “I’m gonna miss you, after you go off with those fools.”

“You’ll make great friends with the next techie who comes along. Who knows, maybe they’ll actually listen to you,” you smile back at him, the two of you masking the tears threatening to fall from your lashes. He pulls you in, touching your foreheads together, before giving two more pats to your shoulder.

“And remember,” he pulls off of you, placing his helmet back on and causing his voice to come out in a soft static, “Please, for the love of Jango, don’t-”

“Don’t be stupid,” you salute to him, winking for extra effect, “Aye-aye, ori’vod.”

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Four] Out of the Pan and Into the Fire [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag List: @unlikelyllamanerd​

It all happened so fast.

The monster lunged, but the sharp point of the auger missed her as Irina slammed her back against the door in a poor attempt to evade it. The force in which it took to strike her temporarily knocked the blundering creature unsteady, giving her a chance to unlock the door and make an escape. However, the monster swung its arm, catching her in the side with its potent backswing.

The sharp rotating drill tore through her overcoat like tissue paper, slicing into her skin with a maddening screech. Irina cried out in pain – the worst she had ever felt – and lurched away from it, losing her balance and falling onto her stomach with a stifled oomph. Quickly and driven by curiosity, she rolled onto her back despite the burning pain in her side, just at it emerged from the room, staggering with every lethargic step.

Had it been human once? Perhaps, Irina thought. It looked more like a machine to her; headgear over its cranium and a red glowing reactor on its brawny chest. Perhaps … but not anymore. The only semblance to a human it had remaining was its figure and most of this was covered in thermoplastic hoses and wound tubing.

What was this thing?

As it trudged closer, Irina scooted back on her elbows, incapable of taking her frightened eyes off it. The blood covered auger fused to its arm span slower as pieces of her torn coat jammed the drill, looking no less intimidating to her. It shifted its head around, teeth chattering as it searched for her. Irina wondered if the monster wasn’t able to see with the headgear on – she was near it and yet it hadn’t attacked her. Easing back, she held her breath and gripped the chain of her shackles in her shaking hands, so not to alert it.

There was a staircase on the opposite side of the furnace; maybe she could make it over to them. Irina scooted her tired body across the grimy concrete floor, keen eyes glued to the monster. Closer and closer she moved, not realizing until it was too late that she backed into the leg of a workbench. It scared her so much, Irina let out a gasp.

The monster heard.

It turned in her direction; its mouth peeling back into a lipless snarl and lunged. Irina got back onto her feet, attempting to flee, well aware that she couldn’t evade its attack a second time, being too slow to react. Her breath caught in her throat.

But a sudden thunderous bang pierced her ears.

She reached the stairs and turned, seeing the monster twitching in a gruesome heap on the floor with Heisenberg looming over it. The helical face of his sledgehammer was covered in blood and slivers of bone.

Why did he kill it?

“Damn idiot,” the man sneered, knocking brain matter from his boot.

Heisenberg glanced at her, panting and holding her injured side in pain. She was backing up the stairs, eyes wide in fear. “It made a liar out of me. Shame I had to destroy it; moron was hard to make.”

She wanted to remind him of the fact that he lied to her about the time limit, but opted not to.

“I don’t know how it got off its leash.”

Where these the pets he spoke of?

Irina gave him a heated look. He was a lunatic.

“Come on now. Don’t be a prude.” Heisenberg hummed and brought up his hand. “Tell you what … I’ll give you a present; something to help you.”

He reached into his pants pocket and took out a key, tossing it near her at the base of the stairs.

Irina gave him a suspicious look.

“Go on and take it,” he ordered.

She eased onto her knees and picked it up.

“Why are––

“Shut your hole and listen to what I have to say.”

She winced in fear at his outburst.

Heisenberg pointed his finger. “Look at the key.”

Irina did.

It was small, made of metal, and had a horse and horseshoe etched into the bow.

“See that crest; it represents my house and goes to a specific door on B1,” he explained.

Irina was confused. Was this another one of his games?

“Understand?”

She really didn’t.

“Can this open the entrance doors?”

He grinned. “Afraid not.”

There’s no guarantee, she though as she stared at the key.

“Then I can’t take it,” Irina declared, tossing his key onto the ground.

She was aware that her decision was foolish, but she couldn’t trust him. The hope he gave her hurt. She wanted to believe that he was giving her a chance, but somehow, she knew better. Tears stung her heated eyes.

“How can you be so heartless?”

Heisenberg snorted. Opening his hand, the key lifted; the atmosphere seemed to thin and crack as scraps of metal hovered in the air.

How was he doing this? Irina stared in fear; the shackles bit into her skin, pulling so hard she feared her wrists would break.

“Are you sure?”

She was.

“I am,” she said with a nod.

Heisenberg grinned. “As you wish.”

Pointing his finger, the scrap lunged and slammed into the wall around her with a deafening crack. Irina screamed in horror and covered her face. Her clothes were cut to ribbons; metal splinters bit her skin. It stung so bad; an indescribable pain. She imagined it was like being tore apart in a hurricane.

Once the barrage ceased, she was surprised to be alive. Irina sunk to her knees, tears pouring down her face.

She heard Heisenberg laugh, sounding much closer than before.

“You’re not done yet, are you? Where did all that spunk go?”

She dug her nails into her skin. Done? What kind of fucked up game was this? Uncovering her face, Irina glared at him. He was standing at the furnace, grinning at her.

“Stop messing with me. Fucking kill me if you’re going to,” she barked.

Again, Heisenberg laughed. “Patience, darling. You may prove to be of some use to me.”

Lifting his finger, the air thinned and the shackles tugged at her blood-stained arms. Irina groaned in pain and stood, being forced to go to Heisenberg. Every step was excruciating. Her head was heavy; eyes sore and blurred.

Was she bleeding out?

Falling onto her knees, her arms remained suspended by means of the cuffs. Her head hung in exhaustion.

“I can’t … let me die.”

Heisenberg tsked and yanked Irina to her feet.

“Am I gonna have to carry you?”

She didn’t answer.

He tossed her over his arm with ease; her cut up slender body was slack, bleeding through both his shirts.

“Have you gone and died on me?”

Again, Irina didn’t answer.

Before darkness consumed her, she had a though.

Why did the Duke put her on this path?

If she ever saw him again, she would ask.

[thebadboyfanclub]

I Got You (Napoleon x Reader)

This is the third time i’m trying to post this fucking thing, tumblr won’t let the posts I do from my laptop under search results but they will show posts I do from my phone. Anyways, enjoy!

“This better be worth it Waverly”

“Ohhh (y/n) dear trust me it will. Let me introduce you to your new colleagues”

As she walked in the room with one big desk and a few chairs, three of them were occupied by two men and one woman, probably in her 20s. Her eyes however focused on one particular man.... The man that was one of the reasons you thrived in the illegal field.

“This is Miss Gaby Teller, the most important person in this case, next to her is mister Illya  Kuryakin, her supposed fiance and-”

“Napoleon Solo. The thief”

She bitterly interrupted Waverly, he was of course aware of (y/n)’s past with Napoleon, it was one of the reasons he requested her to join this case, keeping from her that piece of information of course. 

“(y/f/n), you’ve grown up”

“you got old”

“Right, now that everyone knows each other, (y/n) please take a seat and i’ll explain the plan”

As she took a seat from the other side of the table, directly in front of Napoleon, she tried to focus on Waverly and ignore Napoleons intense stare that almost drilled a hole on the side of her head.

“Ok, so since Illya is here to be the love interest for Gaby and Napoleon is here to just get some Italian legs in the air, what am I here for?”

“You dear (y/l/n), you will be portraying miss Brigitte Richard, an heir to the Richard well know Cigar, he is a close friend of mine and graciously agreed to take his daughters name”

“Won’t they know what his daughter looks like?”

“His daughter has been kept away from the public eye and she had transferred in Britain during high school, that’s also where she went to College and recently decided to stay there. I will give you a file of hers to study. Your goal is to get close to Victoria vinciguerra during the event, maybe even seem interested in mister Solo, of course for show, nothing more”

“Of course, everything is only just for show when it has to do with Napoleon”

-

(Y/n) was dressed in her best attire, her long red dress that hugged her waist so beautifully, of course some silver diamond earrings on her ears and her hair up in a perfect updo, her heels were comfortable at least, but if she had to run the dress would not hold for long until it gives a show to anyone around her, she prays that it didn’t have to happen, or she would be royally screwed,

“Miss Richard , your father was right you do have your mothers eyes”

What a fool, she thought, this is who she was hiding from? a woman that complimented her for the resemblance in her eyes.... she wasn’t even close to being related to this people. However, on the outside, she smiled brightly at the tall blonde lady

“Thank you so much, god rest her soul she at least she was generous enough to pass them down to me, my dads brown eyes are great but a tad bit boring don’t you think?”

The blonde gave a tight lip smile to her comment. Of course, if she knew that her real parent had never seen this type of luxury, the lady wouldn’t even spare a glance.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Victoria Vinciguerra”

“Brigitte Richard, my father made sure to keep me away from all of... this, he wanted his kids to be humble”

“I’m really sorry for your brother”

“It’s alright, I miss him but... c’est la vie”

(Y/n) had almost swallowed the file Waverly had given her, she even looked into the cigar company, just in case anyone asked questions. As the two ladies kept talking, she started hearing commotion,she turned her head  towards the direction it was coming from and saw one familiar man falling to the ground.

“What is going on over there?”

“Excuse me dear”

Victoria started walking towards him and of course (y/n) followed. When they finally reached the crowd that was already forming a circle around him, there he was fanning himself the invitation dramatically, in true Napoleon fashion. (Y/n) kissed her teeth in annoyance, he was supposed to discreetly blend in, not cause a god damn ruckus the minute he walks in.

“Thank you, Thank you”

“I wonder what they do to people without invitations”

That is when she decided to take actions. She weaseled her way out of the crowd and kneeled in front of him to his level, offering her glass of champagne to him.

“Are you alright sir?”

“Yes, thank you very much Darling”

“I’m Victoria Vinciguerra, she is (y/f/n). I do believe an apology is in order. I’ll take it from here”

You helped him get up on his feet and took two steps to lean in and talked to her.

“of course miss Vinciguerra... next one is mine”

She giggled as she walked away in triumphant. To be frank the rest of your job was to keep an eye on these two, yet she could still say she completed the most important part.What she didn’t expect was the growing fire in the pit of her stomach that was directed to Victoria, looking at her talking to Napoleon so nonchalantly made her teeth hurt and her breasts ached with rage.

“It’s such a lovely day to be so pouty miss”

“Well sir... there is nothing really here for me to smile about”

“Not even me?”

“I think I am better off being the reason for someone to smile”

“Roberto  Russo, charmed”

“Brigitte Richard”

Roberto was a handsome man, tall, light brown hair, hazel eyes, sharp jawline, full lips and extremely well dressed, no doubt he knew his way around women and money. What a better distraction and cover up than him?

What (y/n) had not calculated was Napoleon picking up at her “strategic” flirt and filling like punching the hell out of this pretentious little Italian boy that grew up spending daddy’s money. He restrained himself from walking over to her and taking her hand, guiding her away from everyone, keeping her all to herself.

“I saw you were talking to my aunt”

“Oh you are related to Victoria?”

“Yes, my dad is her brother. I actually haven’t spoken to her today, come with me?”

“How could I ever refuse?”

As he offered his arm she smiled and linked hers with his, walking over with her head held high as they got close to Napoleon and Victoria

“My dearest Roberto, how are you?”

she kissed her nephew at both of his cheeks and yet no smile was shown. She really was cold, Roberto however smiled brightly, feeling excited to show his knew “catch” to his aunt.

“I’m doing well... who might he be?”

“Jack Devinsky, Nice to meet you”

Roberto looked at Napoleon up and down, almost well not almost... judging him harshly. Napoleons sure looked rich but there were levels to how rich you were, especially when men judged one another.

“Roberto Russo. Well... aunt Victoria may I occupy you for a minute”

“Of course, anything for my nephew”

“It will only take a minute dear”

“I am counting”

She replied at him, he took her hand and placed a gentle kiss as he stared directly in her eyes, winking at her as she left her with Napoleon. They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, they haven’t really spoken since the case started, (y/n) made sure to avoid him.

“You look stunning if that isn’t obvious”

“Thanks”

She said dryly. She barely even looked him in the eye, all she could see was that damn night, the night she lost everything, the night her heart shuttered, the night he showed her all the cruelty of the world he always talked about.

“You are mad at me”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, it still upsets me though”

“That sounds like a personal issue to me”

-

The event was a success. which meant (y/n) could finally relax and wear her pajamas, pour a drink for herself and lounge in the couch her room had. She still wore his necklace, the gold star necklace he had bought her way back when... she took the charm in her hands and felt the cold metal.

How much more could she take with him around? it took her so much time to heal and now here he was again, scratching the wounds she had closed up all by herself. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a knock at her door. She got up to answer it and was met with the man of the hour.

“Napoleon”

“May I come in?”

She sighed before stepping aside to let him in. Even when all she wanted was to punch him in the face, her heart took over her and let him walk into her room and her life once again, even when she had swore to take revenge when she saw him again.

“What do you want?”

“To talk”

“About what?”

She was well aware she was snapping at him, could you blame her? He had swore to protect her, help her when she had nothing and no one, taught her everything and then one night she came home to find all his belongings missing... and that damn letter tore her apart, she didn’t sleep for days, she waited for him to return for months and yet he never did.

“(Y/n) I know-”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING

”her voice booming through the entire room, it was like a glass of emotions was overflowing, threating to spill and make a mess. He saw the pain in her face, her lower lips trembling, her hands forming fists... still what caught his eye was one thing, the necklace. She was wearing his necklace, after all these years she didn’t throw it away. He took a breath through his nose before continuing.

“(y/n) you have every right to be upset-”

“Damn right I do”

“Will you just listen?”

“listen to what Napoleon?! What?!What?!What?!”

Next thing that was heard was her glass smashing at the wall, Vodka dripping down and small pieces of glass going everywhere. Napoleon was shocked, he should have known this wouldn’t be easy, he had wanted to reach out to her over the years, he had even went through with finding her, yet every time he chickened out last minute and walked away from it. Now, here she was in pain, yelling and smashing things... she had become his enemy

“I’m sorry”

“You are sorry? Sorry? for what Napoleon? for leaving me? for doing it in such cruel way? for lying to me?”

“I never lied”

“You swore to me that you loved me, that you... cared”

There it was, tears. She couldn’t even control it, as her voice cracked and the waterfalls started, she didn’t also want to cover them, she wanted him to see what he had done... to hell with being the bigger person. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, make her feel loved but now all he could do was to try and reason with her.

“I had to leave”

“Why? What could possibly be the reason... money? paintings? women?”

“You know I would never cheat on you”

“Oh yeah, cause leaving our house in the middle of the night is so much better”

She tried wipe away her tears, silence falling between them once again. As a way to calm and hide her emotions, she kneeled and started picking up pieces of glass, her back turned to him. Napoleon went to her side and even when he wanted to pick her up and kiss her, he controlled his desire

“(Y/n) stop, you’ll cut yourself”

“I’m fine Napoleon”

“(Y/n) the maid can do it”

“I said I’m- FUCK”

a piece of sharp glass had cut her as she accidentally gripped it a bit too hard. Napoleon saw the blood and got up immediately to find some tissues, while (y/n) got on her feet and brought her hand close to her chest, closing it to a fist as a way to stop the pain. When Napoleon approached she turned her back once again

 “I said I’m fine”

“(Y/n) you are bleeding, let me care for you”

She had started crying again. As she turned around and opened her hand to him Napoleon gently placed the tissues on the wound, dabbing away the blood carefully.

“Why did you leave?”

“I thought I was protecting you, a way to keep you away from all of the things I was doing”

“Yet... here we are”

He looked up at her. Her lower lip was in between her teeth, tears freshly running down, her beautiful eyes were now red and puffy, her nose was running and he still found her heavenly.

“You kept the necklace”

“I tried throwing it away, or ponding it... I couldn’t find the courage... it’s too pretty”

“I tried coming back to you... multiple times”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t”

She finally kept eye contact with him, getting lost once again in those ocean blue eyes, the eyes she looked at when they were laying naked on their bed, the eyes that looked at her when she woke up. With his one hand Napoleon slowly reached over and wiped a few tears with his thumb

“You are too pretty to cry over me”

“I missed you Napoleon”

She whispered looking down on the ground in embarrassment. She was everything he ever wanted, a woman that loved him and had his back and he tossed that all away, his intentions were pure yet the damage was gigantic. He hesitated for a minute, before taking her in his arms for a hug, her head nuzzling on his neck as she held on to him for the first time in what felt like centuries. Napoleon kissed her head, smelling her shampoo that was always the same, lavender.

“I missed you too munchkin”

She giggled at the nickname. Napoleon had met her when she was struggling to survive, she was this delicate little thing that looked everyone with kind eyes, yet once he got to know her he saw the passion, the fire, the potential she had to become something great, he didn’t want all that potential to go on illegal things that could possibly get her in jail or worse kill her. So from the beginning of the relationship he called her munchkin.

“Will we be alright?”

“I got you munchkin, I got you”

[kaeyazuha]

With all the albedo dentist prompts, I thought I’d write a fanfic for you!

Albedo worked relentlessly, his hand darting against the frail paper with a quill, whilst the other hand remained propped below the lower half quadrant of his jaw.

It would be an understatement to say that he was experiencing dental pain. One of his molars throbbed and ached with a lingering sensation of a stabbing pain. For someone with quite a high threshold for pain, his tooth aching was surely affecting him.

Albedo was certainly meticulous about his dental hygiene. He despised feeling dirtied, especially his teeth. But for some unknown reason, he occasionally experienced severe toothaches.

“Mr. Albedo.. Are you alright..? It’s quite late, you should really obtain at least a bit of rest..”

Sucrose meekly peaked her head throat the exposed crack in the doorframe. Albedo, given the fact that he was in indescribable dental pain, shot her a cold glare that nearly melted her in a matter of seconds.

“I am fine. Please allow me to tend to my own matters.”

He spoke harshly, shutting down her suggestion immediately. He wasn’t in the mood for her lecturing, though in reality, she was only worried for him and his well-being. In all honesty, she was cognizant of the reason Albedo was acting this way. The red tint slathered across his left cheek, and his hand beneath his jaw was a tell-tale sign that he had a toothache.

“Mr. Albedo.. Have you made an appointment..?”

She asked, obviously privy to the reason for his irritable behavior. The blonde sighed, nodding his head.

“I have a dental appointment in thirty minutes.”

He admitted. Sucrose nodded her head with the intent to show she understood before retracting her head. Albedo was not anticipating his appointment.

He needed to gather his things and begin driving, which he in fact did. He begrudgingly began to drive towards his destination, the dental clinic, without error. He was an excellent driver, after all.

Upon his arrival, he was immediately brought in to one of the exam rooms and instructed to take a seat on the dental chair. He complied, anxiously gripping the leather armrests of the chair as the dentist snapped a pit of medical gloves onto their hands.

“I heard that somebody has a toothache. Mind opening nice and wide for me?”

The dentist attempted to humor Albedo, but he was not having it in the least. He only cooperated, opening his mouth to a certain degree before his chair was angled back and the beam of light was fixed to direct towards his mouth.

Once the dentist began to scrape around a bit at his teeth with a metal probe and a dental mirror, he couldn’t help but squirm at the odd feeling of having your teeth prodded at. He was fine.. Until that one particular molar was tapped at with a gentle force. He immediately winced, letting out a small groan in response.

“Ah- I see, your first molar. That’s a pretty severe cavity you’ve got there, I can tell that you will require a crown on that tooth.”

Albedo sighed, nodding in compliance. It was t long before a few x-rays were taken and the anesthesia and numbing was administered to him.

He couldn’t quite feel the drilling. All there was happened to be some pressure.

Once the procedure was over with, he felt at the newly repaired molar with his tongue. It felt.. Odd.

Once home, he was in a truly bitter mood, avoiding others to take the time for himself. Since the anesthesia had worn off, his tooth was a bit sore, but much better compared to earlier.

ANON???!! I LOVED THIS OMG ILY ILY THANK YOU FOR THIS i could picture albedo death glaring the dentist akjgsjhg

okay so i can't guarantee the tags will work because they hate me, but i'll try anyway bc people should see this <3

[wwilloww]

cliff diving pt. 3 | kth (m)

genre: fluff. smut. nonidol!au. camping!au.

pairings: Taehyung | Reader

rating: 18+. NSFW. Explicit.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: cursing. talk of sex. skinny dipping. spooning. grinding. dirty talk. hair pulling. public nudity. public sex. oral sex (f giving and recieving). slight exhibitionism. unprotected sex (okay guys, you know the drill, wrap it before you tap it). creampie.

summary: Every year as soon as the weather warms up, your friends haul ass out of the city to the mountains where you camp and hike in the shadow of giant rocks and ancient evergreens—and now apparently jump off of cliffs for fun. This time, an innocent round of truth or dare inspires you and Tae to play a mischievous game without getting caught by your friends.

a/n:  THE FINAL CHAPTER. Who woulda thunk this piece would end up so long. Thank you so much to everyone who helped with this series, especially the always lovely @ot7always, who beta read the final chapter. This has been my baby for the past month, so if you’ve enjoyed it, it would absolutely make my day to hear from you!  

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©️WWILLOWW DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR COPY MY WORK

Chapter Three

“The fire is dying down faster than I thought,” Jungkook frowns as he pokes the dwindling flames with a stick.

You had long since dried off from your swim and now the five of you were huddled around the fire, laughing and exchanging stories. It almost seemed normal. Almost as if nothing had changed. Taehyung kept a respectable distance from you, knowing Jin was periodically glancing over at the two of you.

“I’ll grab some more firewood from the car,” you say, standing up from your chair and placing your steaming mug of tea on the ground.

As you walk away from the fire and the distraction of your friends, you finally have a moment to breathe and reflect. Within your chest, you feel as if you are being split in two. Your heartbeat echoes through your body, unrelenting in its pace. Now that you know he wants you, a floodgate has opened, pumping elation and excitement through your veins with each beat of your heart. Yet, something akin to shame sings beneath your skin, turning your cheeks red and pressing your nails into the skin of your palm. What if you had taken things too far?

In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t felt wrong. He had melted into your body like he belonged there. You’d never been kissed like that before, kissed like he knew you, like he understood every curve and desire of your body. You run your finger over your lips, the lower one still pink and swollen from Taehyung’s ministrations.

It was the most natural thing to allow him to wrap himself around you, and yet, you feel frozen at the thought of what could possibly lay beyond this.  

“Tae, why don’t you help her?” Jin suggests, his gaze flickering between the two of you as you near the edge of camp. “Bring enough back for hot water in the morning.”

Taehyung’s mouth opens and closes, before he mutters a hurried, “Sure,” and rises from his chair to follow after you, jogging to catch up. You smile up at him when he comes to your side.

The car is parked a short distance away from the campsite, short enough you’re not worried about lugging piles of wood back and far enough that you’re not concerned anyone will overhear you.

“Do you think Jin saw anything?” Taehyung snickers in your ear.

You giggle.

“No, I think he would have said something if he did.”

“And what would he say?”

“Ah...um,” you flounder, smiling up at Taehyung’s grinning face as you reach the car. “Don’t be stupid?”

Suddenly large hands are firm on your waist and Tae spins you around, your back hitting the metal of the car.

He’s close. Awfully close. He presses you up against the car, his chest pushed to yours.

“Is it stupid?”

“I, uh—” Your eyes widen as he stares down at you, unmoving, a look of curiosity flashing across your face.

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes tracing the slight pout to his lips, a delicious pink. “Yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

He reaches up to tug on a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from your messy bun. It’s a familiar gesture—one that he’s done for years—but now it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why’s that?”

“You, mister, are pushing your luck,” you say, avoiding the question. “The others are right over there.” As much as you want to reach up and pull him against you, there is a lingering tension that what you’re doing is dangerous, risky. So instead of wrapping your arms around his neck, you push gently against his chest and grin up at him as he leans closer to you. The all-too-familiar habit of teasing one another, mixed with the novelty of the warmth of his hands against your skin—the combination sucks the air right out of your lungs.

“Would this be pushing my luck?” He leans down towards you, stopping only when his lips are an inch away and his gaze is locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Because I kind of want to push it.”

Your heart all but stops. Your body is screaming for this. All you can think of is the way he felt against you earlier, the way you didn’t need to think of anything else with him wrapped around you, the way nothing mattered except for keeping him close.

Fuck it, you think.

“Then push it,” you breathe, closing the distance between you two.

There is a moment when all you can feel is the pillowy plush of his lips. However, the spell is quickly broken as he nips your bottom lip gently between his teeth and you gasp. His lips are feverish as he presses against you, pulling you as tightly to him as he can. Palms spread wide against your back, dark curls tickling your forehead, his breath heavy against your mouth.

“Taehyung,” you breathe against his lips, tightening the grip you have around his waist. But instead of leaning into you like you had wanted him to, he’s pulling back, his irises blown wide, lips slightly swollen.

“Do you really think this is stupid?”

You pause for a moment, searching his gaze.

“I don’t want to—”

Your sentence is cut short as you hear footsteps quickly approaching. Taehyung steps back from you just as Jimin jogs into view.

“Do you guys need any help?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Taehyung beams as he opens up the trunk to hand Jimin a pile of firewood. Taehyung hands you an almost too-large stack and smiles softly at you before turning and heading back to camp.

I don’t want to get hurt, you finish internally as you watch his tall frame silhouetted against the campfire. I don’t want to lose you.

That night, you lie awake without Tahyunge’s hands on you. Jin and Jimin had stayed up, whispering who knows what to each other around the campfire. Taehyung, seemingly wary of their lingering gaze, had become unusually shy, averting his gaze from you and instead focusing on your other friends.

After you climb into the tent, Taehyung quickly falls fast asleep, clear by the even pace of his breath and the slackness in his jaw. But even after Jin and Jimin crawl into their sleeping bags and settle down for the night, you lie wide awake.

You wonder if you should reach over, if you should roll just a little closer to him. You’ve never craved someone’s touch like this. You’ve never let the thought of someone wrap so devastatingly around your mind. If only he would fucking wrap himself around me.

You hold back a groan, split in half between sexual and emotional frustration.

Through the mesh in the tent, you can see the stars blinking down at you. This far out in the mountains, the stars sing with a strength and clarity you don’t get to see anywhere else. Looking up at them, you feel so very small.

Could there be beauty in this kind of smallness? The quickness of your life, like dew on a rose—magnifying and drawing attention to the color it exists upon, only resting for a moment before the day begins—doesn’t that smallness, in the same moment it may make your life feel insignificant, make it all the more precious?

You close your eyes and feel your breath wash through you.

This smallness—this insignificance—this all-consuming feeling—is precious to you.

This thing with Taehyung—you aren’t quite sure how else to describe it—scares you. As you look in on the feelings that rise in you, as you look forward to that which is still to come, all you know is that you don’t know. And then it strikes you.

In looking over the sharp edge at a dark unknown, there is an indescribable—but undeniable—beauty. To take that step? To take that risk? In that moment you realize that it is not what waits on the other side, but the act of stepping into empty air, the act of jumping, that is what holds the mystifying beauty of life. This is the thing that takes the smallness of a single moment and stretches it as large as a lifetime.

Knowing this makes the decision for you. You roll over on your side and nuzzle into Taehyung’s chest. The mix of his familiar musk—the perfect combination of juniper and his signature cologne, a little faded from the mix of campfire and coffee grounds, eases the tight feeling in your chest. Just enough.

Sleep comes quickly. As that dark shore approaches, you feel a large and gentle hand wrap tightly around your waist.

You wake with a start to Tae shaking you gently.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to say something but he covers it with a large hand and places a finger over his lips.

“I want to show you something,” he whispers. “Will you come with me?” You nod, a sleepy smile spreading across your features as you rub the night out of your eyes. With one hand he holds out your bathing suit, which you quickly, but confusedly, slip on. Despite all the times that you two had changed in front of one another, he averts his gaze like he had yesterday.

It’s still dark outside as you crawl as quietly as possible over the piles of clothes and sleeping bags in your shared tent, doing your very best to not wake the others.

As Tae unzips the tent, you hear a groan and the ruffling of nylon behind you.

“Tae—?” Jimin’s sleep-fogged voice cuts through the darkness. He’s barely lifted his head but he’s staring directly at the two of you, eyes narrowed and heavy with sleep.

“Shh, Jiminie,” Tae sings, his voice like a lullaby. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Jimin lets his head fall back. You breathe a sigh of relief. As you climb out of the tent and slip your shoes on, you find something warm and tingly spreading through your chest: excitement.

As you take in the dark shadow of the mountains against the lightening backdrop of the sky, Tae wraps himself around your back, arms coming around to settle securely by your collarbone.

“I love how you’re keeping quiet for me,” he whispers, and the words shoot straight through your body. “I wonder what else you’ll do if I ask.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you fight the habit to shy away from his attention. He bends down, his hair brushing your cheek so that his mouth ghosts over the junction between your throat and your shoulders. It’s just enough sensation to raise goosebumps all over your body.

But it’s not enough.

You shiver, and he takes that opportunity to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. You let out the quietest of moans and can feel his lips turn to a grin against your skin. Just as you’re about to turn into him, to press your lips against his, he’s pulling away and the serious, gentle Taehyung is replaced by the smirking, devilish version.

He gives you a boxy grin and takes off towards the water, ripping off his shirt as he goes.

You don’t hesitate before following him.

The two of you paddle out to the middle of the lake at an easy pace. Taehyung undoubtedly has a competitive streak, and while that shines through in many of his interactions, his desire for companionship is what takes over in the quiet moments. The people he cherishes most in his life are those who he can sit with in comfortable silence.  

You swim in silence as rose-colored streaks and white fluffy clouds slowly paint the dark sky. The only sound is that of the water parting for you and the first measures of bird song.

You’re used to early morning swims with Taehyung and your friends, it being one of your favorite forms of exercise. But this feels different. As the mountains loom above you and gold ripples of dawn shimmer on the surface of the water, there is a sacred weight—anticipation—that hangs within this moment.

You fall into this beauty, focusing on the way your breath creates a pattern in the sounds of the world. It’s so easy to fall into this charm that you slow your pace down to a crawl, lifting your head out of the water to take in the view.

Suddenly, you’re tugged back as strong arms grab you from behind and you squeal in surprise.

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he sings as your surprise turns into laughter. “It’s this way.”

And just like that, his touch is lost and he’s paddling away again. You follow behind him, watching the way the muscles of his back ripple as he glides through the water. You realize he’s leading you towards a spot in the lake where the shores press together, creating a narrow inlet. The water is still deep as you swim into it, tall evergreens rising above, casting deep shadows onto the small swells of the lake.

You see a shore quickly approaching and quicken your stroke to catch up to him. When you do, you smirk to yourself and launch yourself onto his back, shoving his head underwater in the process. He sputters but quickly straightens up, a deep laugh echoing through his chest. You are still clinging like a koala to him, and he sucks in a large breath before throwing the both of you back into the water.

Everything goes quiet.

A low thrum echoes through your skull, the sound of water—lots of water, humming low and deep. You let go of Taehyung just as he spins towards you, your eyes opening in the clear lakewater. Your hands grip the strength of his shoulders as he faces you and time seems to slow down—the dark locks of his hair flow freely in the current, forming a halo that dances around his sharp features. And despite the shadows cast by the looming evergreens above the surface, his skin seems to glow in the tide of snowmelt and sunrise.

All too soon, your lungs begin to ache for air and you kick up towards the surface, letting Taehyung pull you along with him towards the shore.

Here, the lake is shallow enough to stand. His hands are firm on your hips as he turns you towards him, pressing you to his torso.

There’s a hungry look in his eyes and he licks his lips as his gaze locks on yours.

“Why do you do that?” you blurt, your words sounding harsh, like they could break the stillness of the morning. That same fear is rushing over you, the dread of looming disaster.

“I—” his eyes catch yours as his eyelashes flutter. “I want to.” He blushes, suddenly shy. “I want to kiss you. Can I—?”

“Please,” is all you can force out.

His lips come to meet yours. Unlike your last kisses, this one is gentle. You press against his lips, letting your hands glide up his torso to rest on his chest. The kiss is soft, slow, and you can feel him breathing steadily beneath your hands, even as his grip around your waist grows tighter.

His hands trace their way up your sides to cradle your head between his large hands. The gentleness with which he holds you—the tenderness with which he kisses you—

“I don’t understand,” you manage to whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, a puzzled look on his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

“You. This.” Your instinct is to look away, but instead you hold his gaze, making the decision to turn away from your shyness, from the fear that bubbles up in your throat. He’s holding you close to his body and his chest rises and falls evenly, his eyes focused intently on you as you speak. “Like, is this a one-time thing? Is this just us messing around? Is this a friends thing?”

He laughs. “I don’t usually treat my friends like this.”

“Jimin will be disappointed to hear that,” you giggle.

“No, I’m serious.” His brow furrows and he bites his lip. “I like you. Maybe that’s stupid, like you said. Maybe this is stupid.” He gestures between the two of you. “But I’m willing to take that risk if you are. And I don’t know… it probably requires a longer conversation but I’d like this to be a more than friends thing.” He smiles softly at you. “If… if that’s what you want too.”

“I don’t want to be friends with you,” you state.

“Good. I have absolutely no interest in being friends with you either,” he grins.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you smile back softly. He nods his consent and you lean in.

It starts slow, tender.

His hands come up to draw against your sides and you shudder at the delicacy of his touch.

However, any sense of delicacy quickly disappears as you tangle your hands in his hair, loving the way the silky strands tangle around your fingers as if even the smallest details about him are begging you to come closer. Noticing the way his grip on you tightens as you run your fingers against his scalp, you take a guess and tug just enough to elicit a rough, graveled moan from him.

“You like that?” you ask.

“God, yes.”

Your grip tightens around his dark strands and you ever so gently build up the pressure in your wrist until his face is flushing and he’s tilting into your touch, leaving his neck exposed.

You pepper kisses softly down from his lips to his neck, where you nip and bite at the delicate skin. Between your ministrations on his neck and the firm hand you have in his hair, he’s putty in your hands.

However, his compliance doesn’t last long. He seemingly regains his senses and he slips his knee between yours, your center meeting his thigh. He presses up, applying a warm and heavy pressure just where the tension is building. Just as you’re starting to move your hips against his leg, he stops. You whine, chasing his touch. Although he smirks down at your pout, his next words are soft.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for his lips.

“No, you’re shaking.” He takes a step back. “Let’s get you out of the water. I know exactly how to warm you up.” He sends you a wink.

Despite how heated Taehyung has made you feel, he’s right. Your fingers are white and a chill has sunk deep into your bones, leaving you shivering.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you to the shore, guiding you over the slick rocks of the shallows.  

“This way,” he says, taking your hand and leading you alongside one of the rivers that feeds the lake. It’s shallow but wide, and he helps you balance as you step over the river rocks. It’s only a minute or so of walking before you hear the sound of rushing water. As you turn the corner, you find the source of it.

Water tumbles down from a height of twenty or thirty feet, falling into a crystal blue pool. Steam rises off the pool and as you move closer, you realize it’s… warm?

You jog towards the hot spring, slipping a little as you do so.

“Hey! Be careful!” Taehyung calls from behind you, but you don’t slow down. You only slow once you reach the edge of the water, dipping your toe in to test the temperature. Reassured, you wade into the water, sighing at the comforting warmth.

Once you’re in deep enough, you submerge your entire body, allowing the heat of the water to ease some of the coldness out of your limbs. You hold your breath for as long as you can before emerging, pushing your hair back. You sigh, deep and long, as your body warms and replaces the chilled tint of your skin with a gentle flush. After a minute, you open your eyes to see Taehyung standing, waist deep, just watching you. The corner of his lip is twitched up in the smallest ghost of a smile.

“You’re beautiful when you’re relaxed,” he says.

“Thanks.” You flush at the compliment.

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m pretty too?”

You break into laughter and he dives beneath the water, swimming away from you and towards the shore. You follow after him.

“Was this the only thing you had in mind to warm me up?” you tease, coming to press up against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“What? Is my secret hidden hot spring not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s perfect. I just… thought there might be a quicker way to warm up.”

He grins at you as you plop down onto the shore, wringing the water out of your hair. He comes to sit in front of you, kneeling between your legs.

“Did you now?” Tae grabs one of your legs, pulling it into his lap. He begins to massage your calf, hoping to bring some blood flow back to your limbs. “Something like this?”

“Something like this,” you repeat back to him, a slow smile spreading across your features. His fingers are lithe and nimble and somehow move in beautiful circles while still digging deep into the muscle. He had always done this for you after a long day of climbing, but with your legs spread and lips still swollen from his teeth, his touch takes on a different, blossoming meaning.

“God, that feels good,” you groan, your body relaxing under his touch.

“How good?” He bites his lip.

“Good enough that I want you to keep going.”

He begins to move up your leg, reaching your thigh before stopping to massage the fleshy bits of your body. His touch unravels the coldness from your blood and releases the tension from your early morning swim. It’s now your turn to melt into his hands and he takes note of this, leaning forward to meet your lips.

The kiss is light, but his hands dig deeper, moving upwards and closer to the edge of your swim bottoms.

He releases you with one hand to push the still-dripping hair out of his eyes. He catches you watching him and reaches out to cup your chin.

“You know, when you want something your eyes widen, adorably.” He runs his thumb over your lower lip. “And your lips part…” your blush deepens as his gaze becomes more intense. “...when you look at me. I’ve always noticed that. Noticed it the first time I met you.”

“You—you knew this whole time?”

“No, I thought that was just you—you being you. But now, knowing it’s just me,” he grins.

“It isn’t just you,” you say defensively.

“Isn’t it?”

You meet his gaze.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.”

He leans forward to kiss you, his hand meeting your inner thigh again. His large fingers skate around the edge of your swimsuit. You’re so on edge after days of teasing that the simple gesture has you gasping against his mouth.

“Fuck, Tae, if you don’t touch me now I… well I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shoots you one of his classic boxy grins. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he says as he sits back on his heels and walks his fingers towards the edge of your swimsuit, brushing the pad of his thumb over the fabric. You arch into his touch. After so much build up you’re overly sensitive. With one finger, he toys with the edge of the fabric and the swell of your lower lips, tracing around them. “You know I’ll always give you whatever you want. Especially when you look like this.”

He shoves your swimsuit to the side.

“So pretty and pink for me,” he murmurs. He draws his index finger up and down your folds. The touch is simple but it draws a whine from you.

His eyes shoot upwards to meet yours.

“Do that again.”

“Make me.”

He grins and slides your swimsuit down your legs and tosses it off to the side. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head to your glistening lips, using his hands to spread you wider for him.

“Take your top off,” he commands. “I want to see all of you.”

As you make quick work of slipping your swim top off, he kisses gently down your thigh, watching your tits come free and harden against the crisp morning air. And then his lips are pressed against you, warm and plush. He sends a stiff flick to your clit, sending sparks straight up your spine. Your head falls back, mouth hanging open.

“Tae, you feel so good.”

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against you.

His tongue laves over your cunt rhythmically, drawing some kind of beautiful pattern. You can’t help but grind against his mouth, pushing your hips up towards him. When his tongue dips into your entrance you cry out. He groans against your lips, sending vibrations through you. As he builds a steady pace you find your orgasm hurtling towards you, crashing into your body before you can warn him. You gasp, hands shooting out to grab onto whatever you can.

“Good girl,” he whispers against you, unrelenting in his pace.

As you reach down to push the hair away from his eyes, you notice his hips moving. He’s thrusting into his own hand with the same rhythm as his tongue.

Something about the unrestrained desire in his movements, the sight of him chasing  his own pleasure, has you clenching again and he smirks against you. You can feel his lips curl.

“C’mere, baby,” you murmur, trying to pull him up. “Let me take care of you.”

The two of you switch positions, him leaning back against his elbows and you on your belly in the grass between his thighs. The position is almost casual, as you kick your feet up behind you. But any portrait of innocence is broken when you pull his swim shorts down. His length springs free, already hard and slapping against the taut skin of his belly.

“God, you have a beautiful cock,” you gape, reaching out to wrap your hand around it gently.

He chokes at that.

“Well I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s true. So pretty and flushed.” You trace your finger over the prominent vein and grin when his cock twitches in your hand. “Ooh, sensitive.”

“I appreciate your curiosity, babe, but god, please, touch me.”

“I am.”

“More,” he begs.

You smirk up at him as you take your time leaning down and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. He tastes salty and a little bitter. You run your tongue along the underside, using a hand to cover whatever isn’t in your mouth before pulling him fully inside. You begin a slow but punishing pace, bobbing up and down on his length.

It’s not long before his hips are twitching up into your mouth.

You look up at him to find him slack jawed, reeling in pleasure and delight that it’s your lips wrapped around him.

“God, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me.” It slips out before he knows what he’s saying. But the look of desire and admiration in your eyes is enough to placate his nerves. “Better than I imagined.”

You pull your mouth off of his cock with a slight pop. “You thought about this?”

“Mhmm.” He swallows hard as your mouth descends on him again. “The other day—that fucking popsicle.”

Your eyes widen with a hint of a smile but your pace doesn’t slow.

“And before that too—god I couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I’m sorry—, I tried, I didn’t mean—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I thought about it too.” Your reassurance sparks a light in his eye. “Tell me what you thought about.”

Your lips wrap around him again as you tongue at the head of his cock.

“Back in college, you would do this thing— fuck— where you would suck on your pencil in the library. Or your water bottle. Really, anything. Anything with your lips.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you remember those long nights spent studying in the stacks, and all the times Taehyung had urgently excused himself to the bathroom, returning a while later with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and a dopy, almost guilty smile painting his features.  

“Mhmm, what else?” you mumble as you lathe your tongue up and down the underside of his cock.

“The other day, on the cliff. All I could think about was you fucking someone else.” His eyes narrow. “That night in the tent, with you rubbing yourself all over my dick—” Your eyes widen at his directness, a spark of desire shooting through your core. “All I wanted to do pull those tiny shorts down and fuck you until that thought stopped spiraling through my head, until everyone knows who you belong to.”

His words egg you on and you attempt to take as much of him into your mouth as possible. The head of his cock brushes up against the back of your throat and you suppress the urge to gag. Instead, you take a deep breath, relax, and ease him slowly into the tight walls of your throat.  

“Ah!” he gasps as you attempt to swallow around his length “Okay, okay, come here baby,” he chants, more to himself than to you. “I’m gonna come if you keep it up like that.” He loosens his hands from where they’ve been tangled in your hair to pull you up so that you’re straddling him.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him. He can taste the bitter tang of his own precome on your tongue and he loves it. He loves tasting himself on you.

As you settle your weight into his embrace all of your attention is drawn to the hard length pressing along your folds. You’re soaking and he slides easily against you as his hips move in rhythm with his mouth. You moan directly into his open mouth when the head of his cock pushes directly against your sensitive clit.

“You want to do this?” you ask against his lips.

“Yes. God, yes. More than anything.”

You smile and lean back,  reaching down to grip his cock as you align it with your entrance.

“Wait—”

You freeze.

“I should have said this earlier. I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to or because you think this is the only thing I want you for.”

Your eyes widen, taking his flustered look in. Despite the sensation of his hard cock throbbing in your hands, all you can feel is the way your heart swells at hearing his words.

“I like you—I know I said that already—I like you a lot.” You press a shaky kiss to his lips, taking a deep breath. “I want you, not just this,” you say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Good. Are you gonna make me wait even more?”

With a smirk, you grip him tightly and slowly push just the head in, allowing time for you to adjust to his girth.

And then you pull up, releasing him from your warmth.

You do it again, only taking the tip of his cock. And again.

His hands are on you, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes.

“Please.”

You smile.

His adam’s apple bobs as you slide slowly down on his length, his fingers digging into your hips so hard it almost hurts. Almost.

“C’mere,” he pushes against your back so that you’re leaning forward, foreheads pressed together. You both stay in that position for a moment, unmoving. It’s enough to just savor the way your body relaxes around him, savoring the warmth, the feeling of melting into one another.

All you can hear are the sounds of your breath and the water lapping at your feet, mimicking the sounds of a heartbeat.

Finally, you shift your hips against him, lifting up just enough to feel him drag delightfully against your tight walls. You love the way his next intake of breath is sharp, as if he is doing his best to hold himself back.

With a grin, you push him back so he’s now resting his full back on the ground and you’re riding him. You begin your pace torturously slow, gently picking up speed.

Taehyung has always been a man aware of the way he looks. When you were younger, you all swore he could become an actor. He had a knack for twisting his face into exactly what people wanted to see from him, but here, now, he’s completely unraveled beneath you.

You watch in fascination as shifting emotion and sensation flickers freely across his face. Pleasure. Delight. Desire. Need.

His eyes flash open. “Moan for me. I want to hear you.”

You bite down on your lip, still doing your very best to keep your whimpers and groans stilled within your chest.

“I said I want to hear you moan for me,” Tae growls, shifting beneath you. The new angle is just enough to allow him to thrust up into you at his own pace. It’s just enough to split you open in pleasure and an involuntary moan slips out of you. You clap your hand over your mouth but he pries it away from you. “I love your voice,” he reminds you gently. “There’s nothing wrong with using it.”

“I don’t want them to hear,” you laugh, struggling to get the words out as he continues to hit a sensitive spot inside you.

“Let them hear. I want them to hear.” You look down just in time to see something mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands are tightening around your waist, and in a flash he flips you onto your back so he’s now in control of the angle and his thrusts. “Let them know it’s me drawing those pretty little sounds out of you.”

The combination of his words and the new angle stirs a deep fire in your belly and a sharp cry leaves your lips.

“That’s my angel,” Taehyung praises as his pace picks up. “So willing to do exactly what I tell her to do.”

He hooks his hand underneath your knee to get a better angle. You moan again, half for the sake of witnessing the bliss that spreads across his face at the sound of it.

“That’s it, baby. Let them know whose cock has you making those sounds. Let them know you’re all mine.”

You reach out for something to grab onto, twisting your fingers into the coarse ground as you arch your back.

“Baby, baby, grab onto me instead,” Tae coos from above you, unrelenting in his pace as your orgasm builds. “Hold onto me.”

You bring your hands underneath Tae’s arms to wrap around his back. When he hits a particularly soft spot inside you you groan, your fingers coming up to dig into his shoulders. It’s not just you. Your body wants him closer. Needs him closer. On his next thrust, you rake your nails down his back, trying to press him closer.

“Fuck,” Tae hisses.

“Closer…” you gasp. “I need you closer.”

“I’m already inside you and somehow you need me closer?” Tae grunts. “Greedy girl.”

“Yes, yes,” you beg. “Greedy for you.”

He comes down to rest on his forearms, boxing you in beneath his body. Still, his pace never falters.

“Do you think you can give me one more?” he asks. You grit your teeth and nod obediently. “That’s my girl. Let me feel you. Cum on my cock. Cum for me.”

You want to pull him into a kiss, but instead find your back arching and neck stretching out deliciously for him. He latches onto the already blooming flesh there, moaning your name against your skin. Your arms wrap as tightly as they can around him pulling him as deep as you can, calling his name and coming undone for him.

His pace only falters when he feels you gush around him. His movements become sloppy and desperate with need. A new sensitivity overtakes you as you come down from your orgasm and a whine slips from you. His continued thrusts only add to the sensitivity.

Your pleading voice in his ear is enough to send him over the edge. He presses into you hard one last time before collapsing and spilling into you, the most beautiful groan spilling from his lips.

Warmth and a gentle fullness replaces sensitivity as you both pant against each other, his weight resting heavy and reassuringly against you. He kisses slowly up your neck, lingering an extra moment on the marks he’s left, until he reaches your lips. He kisses you slowly and deeply.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Just like this?” you tease.

“Especially like this.”

“You too,” you remind him, not much energy left in you for a lengthy confession. Instead, you take the moment to brush his hair out of his eyes. He closes his eyes and sighs against your touch.

It’s only now that you become aware of your state. Your knees are cut and bruised from the rocks of the shore and your tangled hair is dripping in a mixture of lake water and sweat. Tae looks just as beat up as you do. And you love it.

As you run your thumb slowly over his damp cheek you hear footsteps—running footsteps quickly approaching. You have just enough time for Tae to sprawl out in an attempt to crudely cover you before a sweaty and very wide-eyed Jungkook trots into view. He seems as surprised to see you as you are.

“Oh hey, wha—Oh my god.” His eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled forms and tangled limbs. “HOLY SHIT.”

He immediately turns on his heel and starts sprinting back to the camp.

“TAE AND YN ARE FUCKING.”

The sound echoes all around the lake.

Jin smirks to himself as he climbs out of the tent and into the crisp mountain morning.

“Took long enough.”

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masterlist || ao3 ||

taglist: @dontaskshhhhh @myimaginationsrunningwild @taehyoungmoney @taffyteffy @london-dreamer71 @satoujk @spicykoreantatertots

[monsterlovinghours]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

18+ Mode On

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ohhh...oh fuck…!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t you have a show to do?”

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

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

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