#you could not have known I have a broad knowledge on these subjects but if it's a subject you enjoy as well please read:

[croziers-compass]

georgey boy eating his cannibalism meal with a fork and knife and then acting like going to mass is the same as eating another person —> delusional survival

He may not be as delusional as we think. Perhaps. If you'll care to entertain my thoughts on this... Here is where I think George Hodgson and I have a strange and distinct similarity. Ritual Cannibalism is most prominently observed in the dialects of Christian Religion.

Now. One may be a bit more literal (eating Gibson or Dr. Goodsir), yes. But in a Sacrament, the point is that you're recreating the imbibement of the Body of Christ. Taking someone else's body and making it Holy and putting it into your mouth, chewing it, swallowing it, digesting it. Intimately. You can be saved if you eat of the body. I do possess the largest collection of books on Anthropophagy and Theophagy in my area, I think. However, the distance between Symbolic Theophagic Anthropophagy to straight Anthropophagy is as far as you can open your mouth.

How wide can your mouth open? Or will your jaws stay shut?

I suppose it depends on how hungry you are, doesn't it?

[arminreindl]

Croc colours and patterns

Somewhat inspired by a recent post by Joschua Knüppe, I feel like it's a good thing to remind people just how diverse colours and patterns in modern crocodilians are. When I see people make art, it often seems to stick to grey or yellowish-brown tones, which is of course not incorrect. But theres a lot of, imo, underappreciated variety still. It's also worth noting beforehand that patterns are most striking in younger individuals and naturally become more muddy the older and larger an animal becomes. But as you will see, even some decently large and old animals may maintain a striking appearance.

Take this alligator for example. Gators tend to be on the darker side, dark greys to black, sometimes countershaded and sometimes pretty consistent. Some individuals, like this one photographed by Gar Luc, still retain clearly visible stripe patterns from when they are younger.

Or take one of my favourite species, the Cuban Crocodile, which can appear almost bright yellow with a dense pattern of leopard spots. Of course like with the gator you can find individuals that are much more drab, with washed out colours, but individuals with clearly defined patterns still exist.

Then there's gharials of course. They can range quite a bit in colouration. They can be brown, especially younger ones and females and I've seen males range in colour from a drab grey to almost a light blue or even something that could be described as metalic black.

Black Caimans are also pretty interesting in my opinion and pretty easy to tell apart from other species once you pay attention to their colour. They are primarily a deep dark black of course, but what sets them apart from spectacled and other caimans is that very fine pattern of thin white stripes across the flanks that creates this beautiful contrast. They can also have patches of brown like the one on the right.

Orinocos also vary a great deal. Tho I know less about them than I wish I did, I know that individuals can range from drab brownish greys to yellow to somewhat earthy browns that almost range into reds.

The next ones a bit of an outlier. There are specific cave dwelling dwarf crocodile populations in western Africa with striking orange colouration. Tho this one is not exactly natural pigmentation to my knowledge and instead the result of the chemicals present in the water they inhabit, brought there by bat guano. Still very pretty animals.

And then there's Paleosuchus, the dwarf caiman which contains two species. Again highly varied. The first image, which I believe is a Schneider's dwarf caiman, shows a very earthy brown. The others, which unless I'm mistaken are Cuvier's dwarf caimans, show colours ranging from dark with a rusty head, black to this still beautifully patterned individual. Of course these variations are also subject to change with age.

While salties aren't exactly known to be the most vibrant, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention this specific one. It's kept in a zoo in Germany and has this almost bizarre colour combination of creamy white underbelly and chocolate brown top which I've never seen in another saltwater crocodile. Photos by my friends Markus Bühler from the Bestiarium blog and René Dederich

Spectacled, Broad-snouted and Yacare caimans I'll give a quick shout out. I think most people are familiar enough with how they look like and while their colours aren't anything special, I still think one should appreciate their patterns of spots and stripes and facial markings.

The last one I wanna highlight is the false gharial, Tomistoma, another one of my favourites. Part of the reason why being its at times beautiful reddish-brown colours.

[gremlin-bot]

One (1) New Reply

I finally wrote my prompt I sent to @stealingyourbones back in November! well part of it. This is just chapter 1, so this gets a summary @dpxdcshipweek

Edit: forgot to say that I got help with the usernames from the wonderful @tourettesdog and @half-dead-ham! (If I'm wrong it's bc I'm not at home rn to look at my notes)

Ao3 link: Here Master List: Here

Summary: Danny has always had more internet access than a child really should have had. He tended to spend that time on game forums and different websites dedicated to space. Everyone once in a while he'd venture onto one about heroes and villains. That's how he met Tim Drake-Wayne or BatShadow as was his username back then.

Chapter 1: Blorbo Supplier

Danny just wanted to see uncommon pictures of Superman. It really shouldn't have been this hard. He's an alien, there should be a lot of pictures of him. Frustrated with his lack of results he resorts to looking for the pictures through unpopular social media websites that should have new pictures. His first look didn't meet his goal, and before he could even think of trying again he was distracted by a post. It was a picture of a figure swinging between skyscrapers, backlit by neon light all against a smog filled sky. It was stunning and made all the more captivating by the identity of the subject in the photo. A picture of Batman, The Batman, taken in a way that you couldn't deny it was him. That was impressive on its own, but the quality is what made it shine. Danny had to see if the account had more pictures of Batman, or even other heroes. Looking at the blog, hoping it wasn't a deactivated user, he finds the posts of BatShadow. 

The blog is a gold mine of pictures of Batman and Robin with some villains the duo we're fighting. All with stunning quality, with each subject undeniable as who they were but still giving a sense of privacy. Sadly, Danny couldn't find any other heroes pictured, but Danny could live with that. Batman was his third favorite hero, he blames Sam and all her knowledge on the edgy and obscure. She would be ecstatic about these photos, too bad he wasn't going to tell her. He was being petty. Sam should have known better than to say he couldn't keep a secret, so this is his secret now! Pettiness aside, Danny was going to message BatShadow to see if they had pictures of other heroes they hadn't posted.

Messages begins with BatShadow

(04-17-20xx)

ConstellationCruiser:

Hey, sorry to bother ya

I just saw your posts and was wondering if you have any pics of superman

BatShadow:

I don't know. I would have to look. I don't usually go to an area with him in it much, so no promises.

ConstellationCruiser: 

Thanks!! And that's fine really, it's just that your pics are amazing

BatShadow:

Thanks! Sorry, I have nothing for Supes.

ConstellationCruiser:

Damn

It's fine 

I wasn't really expecting much

I'm just surprised at the quality and quantity ya got there

BatShadow: 

It's super hard to get them without being caught but so worth it!

Danny continued talking to BatShadow about pictures and superheroes. Eventually switching to personal interest. Danny learns that BatShadow skateboards and in turn he tells them all about the stars. By the end of their conversation it was well into the night, Jazz wasn't going to be pleased. It was worth it though.

—-----

Danny ended up messaging again the next day, and the day after that. The other user was interesting and he was just so broad. Especially during these long summer days where Sam was off at some gala trip and Tucker was on vacation with his family. His parents being busy in the Lab at all hours and Jazz working a summer job didn't help. Even with Jazz trying to get him out of the house but it never really was worth it. Not with Dash and his gaggle out. Not without his friends there.

It's not like anyone besides Jazz would care about what he was doing online. Their parents were too caught up in drawing out plans and blueprints for a ghost portal or something. He doesn't care, it's more of the same for him. Don't get him wrong, he loved his parents and they loved him. They just pay more attention to their inventions, and this one happens to be one Danny can't help out with.

He's getting distracted. Danny was supposed to be cleaning the lab, not thinking of long gone days. It was taking way longer than he thought it would. His parents really aren't as careful with their samples as they really should be. After cleaning spilled ectoplasm from the vent grates he will finally be done, then he can get on the computer and add BatShadow on Steam. They were going to play Portal 2 together later.

—----

Tim didn't think he would still be talking to ConstellationCruiser. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, (if there was anyone to talk to in the first place), but he was lonely. So, sue him if he got attached to the other kid with too much free time on their hands. They may not have told each other their ages but it wasn't hard to figure out, they talked too similar.

It was nice to really connect with someone his age. ConstellationCruiser was smart like him, just in different areas. He had learned more about the stars and space travel in the last handful of months than he ever had in his 12 years of life. He knows he wasn't any better, going on about hacking and maybe the new murder mystery that came out. It was fun, learning about the other's interests and different things than what's normal for them. 

ConstellationCruiser's parents seem to have some type of lab in the basement of their house, which was cool in concept but concerning in practice. There have been times where they had to stop in the middle of a game they were playing together to check on an explosion they heard. It happened more than Tim was comfortable with but there's nothing he can really do about it. It's not like he was anyone better about certain aspects of his life either. He avoided the topic of food as much as possible, though it seems ConstellationCruiser is doing the same thing with the topic.

Tim just hopes the other won't worry over him not responding the next couple of days. He probably should warn them but this is time sensitive. Batman needs a Robin. The man is running himself into the ground. His new found grief choking him and by extension Gotham. He has to convince Nightwing to come back, no matter what it takes.

[emeraldspiral]

One thing I really appreciate about the writing for Dib is that the writers never rely on cheap tricks to characterize someone who's supposed to be smarter than they are.

Usually when a character is supposed to be a genius writers tend to convey this by having them reference famous smart people, or use technobabble or overly obscure or technical vocabulary where a common word would've sufficed. Or by giving them a broad range of stereotypical interests in things like classical music, classic lit, and chess, in addition to mathematics and every hard science known to man from particle physics, to engineering, to computer science, to biomedicine. But because the writers don't have any in-depth knowledge on any of these subjects they only ever make surface-level references. You see this kind of writing used for characters like Jimmy Neutron or Alex Dunphy from Modern Family while Glass Onion actually uses it to characterize its villain as a moron using cheap tricks to fool everyone into thinking he's smarter than he really is.

With Dib though, they never do that. You know Dib's smart because they show him making complicated devices, or hacking alien computer systems, or modifying alien tech, or breaking into secure locations after studying their systems, rather than trying to tell you he's smart by having him use stereotypical nerd speak or giving him stereotypical nerd interests. It's actually a big part of Dib's character that he finds conventional "smart person" interests dull, but you can still tell that he's supposed to be intelligent because of the way he talks about the things that actually do interest him. He's genuinely curious about the paranormal and wants to actually understand the biology of cryptids or the mechanics of alien tech or the mysterious workings of magic on a deep comprehensive level. He doesn't like these things just because he thinks they're "neat" the way most people "like" music or movies without actually understanding or having any desire to understand how "good" music or film is made or what makes them "good". He doesn't want to prove these things exist purely to get vindication, but because he believes there's something of value to be learned from studying them that could benefit humanity if only they would recognize their legitimacy.

[victoriansecret]

Vails

I haven't actually talked about it here a lot, partly because I try not to do heavy history stuff here - this blog is meant to be a hobby, after all - and it's something I'm frankly too passionate (obsessed) about, but my main area of historic interest and focus, especially when it comes to my own personal research, is the history of domestic service. It is not an exaggeration to say it is my life's work. Another reason I don't write about it often is I don't really know where to start. My breadth of knowledge on the subject is quite broad, so there's a lot I could say, but I think I'll try to write some small things about specific aspects of it. Vails were, in the 18th (and I believe also 19th) century, basically what we could today call tips, often paid to servants. And when you read things written by the 'master class' of people being served, while they're obviously biased and exaggerating, it does become clear that servants rather enforced them. There wasn't a guild system for servants like there were for trades, but there were informal clubs and groups, and this is one of the ways they seem to have acted together, almost as a form of unionization. There's a letter to a British newspaper where the write says that he estimates many servants are doubling, tripling, or even quadrupling their annual salaries through vails. I could write more but I'll just transcribe some of my favourite passages on this subject from the book Life in the Country House in Georgian Ireland by Patricia McCarthy: I will add too, while this is specifically talking about paid servants in Britain, you do see vails paid to enslaved people in America as well. Probably not as often, but Philip Vickers Fithian, who wrote a diary about his experiences in Virginia in the 1770s, writes about similar things of the enslaved people at the plantation he's staying at expecting their "Christmas boxes" of vails, although they weren't quite as beholden to the actual date of Boxing Day.

... The customary scene in the hall, as their guests waited for their carriages or horses to be brought to the door, embarrassed many. [Marshall, Domestic Servants] Hosts feigned ignorance of their guests' fumbling in their pockets to find shillings and half-crowns to distribute to the servants, who had lined themselves up expectantly. Whether the motive for allowing the practice was to salve the collective conscience of the employers at paying such low wages is not clear. [Bridget Hill, Servants: English Domestics in the 18thc.] It was not confined to great houses, but was also expected in more modest establishments, although the amounts given were less. It was also not only expected on departure from the house of a friend: vails were disbursed by 'house tourists' to whichever servant showed them around - in most cases an upper servant.

...

An army officer described how much his visit to the house of a friend would cost him: 'The moment your departure is known, all the domestics are on the qui vive; the house-maid hopes you have forgotten nothing in packing up, if so, she will take care of it till you come again; this piece of civility costs you three ten-pennies; the footman carries your portmanteau .. to the hall, three more; the butler wishes you a pleasant journey - his greate kindness in so doing of course extracts a crown-piece; the groom brings your horse, assuring you 'tis an ilegant baste, and has fed well' - three more ten-pennies go; the helper runs after you with the curb-chain, which he has 'till this moment carefull secreted - two more; making a total of seventeen, or, in English money, upwards of fourteen shillings. A heavy tax for visiting a friend!' [Benson Earle Hill, Recollections of an Artillery Officervol. 1]

...

Richard Griffith from Bennetsbridge, Co. Kilkenny, complained in c.1760 in a letter to hise wife that 'an heavy and unprofitable Tax still subsists upon the Hospitality of this Neighbourhood .. in short while this Perquisite continues, a Country Gentleman may be considered but as a generous Kind of Inn-holder, who keeps open House, at his own Expence, for the sole Emolument of his Servants .. this Extravagance is not confined, at present, solely to the Country .. ; for a Dinner in Dublin, and all the Towns in Ireland, is even in a Morning, with a Person who keeps his Port, you may levee him fifty Times, without being admitted by his Swiss Porter. So... I shall consider a great Man as a Monster, who may not be seen, 'till you have fee'd his Keppers.' [R. and E. Griffith, A Series of Genuine Letters Between Henry and Frances, vol. 4]

...

Swift gives similar suggestions in Directions to Servants: 'By these, and like Expedients, you may probably be a better Man by Half a Crown before he leaves the House.' He further urges those servants who expect vails 'always to stand Rank and File when a Stranger is taking his Leave; so that he must of Necessity pass between you; and he must have more Confidence or less Money than usual, if any of you let him escape, and according as he behaves himself, remember to treat him the next Time he comes.'

...

Card money was particularly lucrative for butlers and footmen - so much so that, in London at least, such menservants refused service in houses where gaming parties were not held. [Marshall, Domestic Servants - Two footmen at the court of Queen Anne, Fortnum and Mason, used this perquisite as capital to begin their grocery business in London. Country House Lighting 1660-1890, Temple Newsam Country House Series No. 4] But it was vails that finally undermined the authority of the employers, who virtually allowed servants to dictate whom should be received, and then pretended not to notice when the servants extracted money from the departing guests.

...

In the London Chronicle a correspondent wrote in 1762 that 'Masters in England seldom pay their servants but in lieu of wages suffer them prey upon their guests'. George Mathew of Thomastown, Co. Tipperary, a man famous for his hospitality, was one of the first employers to ban the 'inhospitable custom' of giving vails to servants, and to compensate them by increasing their wages. This was apparently as early as the 1730s. His servants were warned that, if they disobeyed, they would be discharged. He also informed his guests that he would 'consider it as the highest affront if any offer of that sort were made'. [Anthologia Hibernica, I - No date given for this account, by 'Grand George' Mathew, who died in 1737, was the man described, who was host to Jonathan Swift at Thomastown in the 1720s, a visit described by Thomas Sheridan in A Life of the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift] A crusade against the giving of vails began in 1760 in Scotland, where seventeen counties issued appeals to abolish them. Four years later the movement had spread to London, resulting in riots there by footmen, the servants who stood to lose the most. [Marshall, Domestic Servants] It was probably at about the same time that employers from a number of counties in Ireland agreed among themselves to abolish vails. [Griffith, Series of Letters..., IV, 'An Agreement entered into among the Gentlemen of several Counties in Ireland, not to give Vails to Servants'] Like George Mathew before them, they decided to increase staff wages in an effort to compensate them for loss of earnings. One of them was Lord Kildare: in March 1765 he issued a directive from Carton to members of his household, stating that 'In Consideration of Vails &c, which I will not permit for the future to be received in any of my Houses upon any Account whatsoever from Company lying there or otherwise I shall give in lieu thereof... five pounds per annum each to the housekeeper, Maitre D'Hotel, cook and confectioner; three pounds per annum each to the steward at Carton, the butler, valet de chambre and groom of the chambers, and two pounds to the Gentleman of Horse. ...

And I will conclude with this funny account, about the penalty for being known amongst the staff to be a spendthrift, from the same book: ...

An unfortunate guest in England in 1754 found his punishment [for not giving vails] truly humiliating. 'I am a marked man,' he wrote, 'if I ask for beer I am presented with a piece of bread. If I am bold enough to call for wine, after a delay which would take its relish away were it good, I receive a mixture of the whole sideboard in a greasy glass. If I hold up my plate nobody sees me; so that I am forced to eat mutton with fish sauce, and pickles with my apple pie.' [Quoted in Marshall, Domestic Servants]

feel free to tip here (and yes the irony of this is not lost on me, although it did not occur to me until about halfway through writing this)

[ms-scarletwings]

Out of all small mammals that have been domesticated as pets, hamsters are one of the most interesting varieties.

And when I say interesting, I mean because they’re so unique, and there is a lot of complexity to them that often goes overlooked even by the owners taking care of them. Naturally, they aren’t well understood by most people, and it��s a strange kind of scary how that misunderstanding can lead to a lot of pain and tragedy for both keeper and pet.

Out of everything there is to know, the most distinct thing about hamsters is probably how downright antisocial they are to other small animals.

When you take a look at other household rodents, you usually see incredibly social creatures which can actually suffer when kept alone. So much so that there are countries outlawing the keeping of single guinea pigs, under the scope of broad animal cruelty regulations.

Take rats, or mice, for another example. Very common subjects of study and experimentation, and renowned for their ability to form bonds and bustling communities.

It’s common knowledge to any rat or mouse owner worth their salt that these animals thrive best when kept in the company of their own, and they naturally prefer to live in groupings.

Your average hamster? Not so at all. In fact, the majority of hamster breeds harbor so much potential for aggression with their own that the previous husbandry advice goes completely out the window when caring for them. And all of this goes extra for anyone with a Syrian hamster on their hands.

The absolute largest of domestic breeds, Syrian hamsters (also referred to as golden hamsters) are an exemplary variety for demonstrating this point. Make any remote suggestion of cohabbing two of these and forums and experts alike will be quick to tell you stop, do not pass “Go”, do not collect $200, because failing to consider the risks might end well… gruesomely.

Some people get the wrong impression that two Syrian hamsters can share a space because, well, they see that pet shops are getting away with housing juveniles together for a time.

It is true that when they are still young and developing, they will tolerate cage-mates much easier, and it’s been shown that you have the best chances when pairing some hamsters with a same-sex sibling they have been raised together with.

Despite however swimmingly this situation seems to be going for now, it is ultimately not so sustainable in the long run. For see… Syrian hamsters eventually mature into highly territorial, solitary creatures by their nature.

Inevitably, that nature will bleed through, creating tensions of dominance struggle between the two that could escalate into more violent fighting.

And as some former pet owners can anecdotally attest to, these fights can and occasionally do end in serious injury for one or both of the animals. Often enough, the victor will turn to cannibalistic actions as well, killing (and eating) its cage-mate in the worst case scenario.

And what of those who are still surviving, and maybe even adapting to the presence of another hamster? Interestingly, when one of the Syrians doesn’t end up devouring the other, these lower stakes conflicts have a stark impact on the psychology and behavior of both combatants involved. After a fight is concluded for Syrian hamsters, something of a pecking order between the two begins to form when the loser cannot get away, where the winner actually adjusts to become more aggressive and dominant over the shared territory. Studies have shown that the hamster at the short end of the stick can start to lose its own willingness to behave dominantly following a hard social defeat. After repeated abuse of this fashion from a cage-mate, the submissive will become more docile and appeasing to the dominant partner over time- a phenomenon known as “conditioned defeat” which appears similar to a kind of learned helplessness.

All in all, the social inclinations of golden hamsters with same-species companions are, at best, quite unpredictable, but in a morbidly fascinating way, me thinks. End of the day, there’s still just something both extremely entertaining and endearing about them, and their quirks.

[gingerlee-holds]

March 13, 1745.

The next chapter! Featuring some new characters heehee (Don't worry, there will be more of them in the future!) I'm afraid that this chapter suffers from severe TWNFSTS (They Would Not Fucking Say That Syndrome), which I blame purely on the fact that I wanted my little Mr. Fernsby flustered and tworded a little. Is that a crime? But yeah, strangers irl don't act like this unfortunately, I just want everyone to adore my little scientist Anyways, I hope you all are enjoying these so far! They're very very fun to write. I just hope it's not too anachronistic.

Word Count: 2282 (holy crap i really let that get away from me huh) Reading Time: ~17.5 minutes Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, un-proofread ofc

I am most certainly now on the right track. I arrived in the little Welsh town two days ago, and immediately, the quaint charm of this place struck me. Really, calling it a town is a bit of a mischaracterization of the location. It is more of a village. Llandeilo, the village in question, is quite, quite picturesque. The streets are cobbled and flanked by brick buildings which show their age. There is not a library here, to my chagrin - this village’s proximity to Talley Abbey, I had hoped, would grant me access to more documents, some of which might have helped in my search. However, it does have a market square, a tavern, and a coffeehouse, each of which may have some inhabitant willing to share their knowledge on the subject. 

Cousin Barnaby's guest house is very fitting for my needs! The brute of a man does not truly understand what I am studying, and in his defense, I don't truly know either. Still, the house he has lent me is small, but with a spacious interior. Cousin Barnaby is the high constable for the village, and the poor man does not find intellectual pursuits in the least fascinating. Nevertheless, he has provided me with ample food and firewood for my little cabin, and if there is anything else I require, he has made it known that he is more than happy to provide for my needs. 

By that time, I still did not know what was causing the featherflakes, and I was determined, yesterday, to find out what they were, and if it were possible to become exposed to them again - purely for research purposes of course.

That morning, I had decided to first try my luck at the market square. There were merchants from all over, coming to and fro, shouting their wares. The air was filled with many smells - spices, fish, cheese, and various medicinal herbs (which I had perhaps tarried too long in perusing). 

The sounds of the market square were far more foreign than the smells. There were words shouted in Welsh, English, French, Irish - all of which I knew, of course, yet the combination of them all had a powerful effect on me. I believe I even heard singing from far off. There were numerous stalls filled with bartering and haggling townsfolk and merchants eager to swindle. I had walked up to one such tradesman at an empty stall, whose curly blonde hair, broad shoulders, and gap-toothed smile made him… quite appealing to the eyes. He seemed young and spoke in a smooth tone.

I straightened my tie and walked up closer. “Good morning, my good sir!” I had said to him, smiling confidently as I rested my hands on his stall, trying to emulate with every fiber of my being that I knew what I was doing. I did not in the slightest know what I was doing.

The tradesman chuckled softly, and spoke with a silky voice that, I admit, had a significant effect on my heartstrings. “Why, what do I have here! A university boy, come to pay a visit to my stall~!” He rested his chin on his elbow and looked me in the eye, almost smugly. “What can I do for you, stranger~?”

The confident, almost flirtatious, tone with which the man spoke put me at once off guard. Despite my best efforts, a blush found its way onto my face, and I found I could not meet his eye without a giggle. My hands fidgeted with the edges of my coat. “W-well!” I had said, “I’ve come to study a p-particular phemonenon- phenomemom- phenomenon!” 

The man chuckled and motioned for me to continue with his eyebrows.

“Ah-! You see, I had encountered what seemed to be- a storm of feathers last year at around this time, and I had read accounts that it may have been an event more common around here- I was wondering if-”

“Heh heh… a storm of feathers, huh~?” 

His voice stopped me and I looked back up at him. He was smiling smugly, as if he had known something about me that I did not. 

“No, sir! I mean- yes, sir!” I stood up at attention, trying to organize my frazzled mind. How was I failing to speak to this man so wholly?

Another alluring giggle escaped his lips. “Well, I don’t think I know much about feathers, and far less about storms of feathers. I’m a traveler, you see - I don’t stay in one place for long. Perhaps you,” he emphasized that word with a single finger-tap on the tip of my nose, “might find better information at a place where the locals reside, hm~? The tavern, perhaps?”

The blush on my cheeks grew hotter, I knew it for a fact without needing a looking-glass. I nodded, eagerly wanting to escape his eyesight to retain my dignity. “Yes, sir! Thank you very much, sir!” I turned my back and began walking quickly away, pushing past a few others who had stopped to watch the conversation.

I heard a few giggles from the tradesman. “Ohohoh, so formal~! Well, I shall see you again soon! I am in town all this week, dearest~!” At those words, a squeak escaped my lips and I broke into a run, wanting nothing more than to escape from the giggles of that quite handsome and flustering man. 

I went to some other shopkeepers, but none of them could provide any more information. The market square was clearly a poor start to this investigation. I just hope that word doesn’t spread around town too much about my… disposition.

I had planned on traveling to the tavern next, with or without that merchant’s advice. As I arrived, the sun had arisen over its peak and began sinking into the afternoon. 

The tavern was a small one, but it was crowded when I entered. The room was filled with people larger than myself, a scenario with which I was, by that time in my life, thoroughly familiar. There was an out-of-tune fiddle being played raucously in an adjacent room, and other such sounds of frivolity were abundant. 

Walking up to the bar, I noticed that the only two inhabitants were a woman and the bartender himself. The woman had a rough look about her, clearly someone used to hard work, if her muscles showed anything. She had her dark brown hair in a bun over her head, and wore a dark leather overcoat. The bartender was cleaning a wine glass with a rag, smiling at a joke the woman must have just told. He had an easy smile and his suave tuxedo suggested he was brought up in more high-class society than this.

I walked up and sat down at the bar next to the woman, motioning for the bartender to come over. “A glass of sherry, if you’d please, my friend!” I smiled at him, nodding when he looked at me with an arched eyebrow. 

The woman next to me chuckled and turned to me in her seat. “You new here? I think I would have remembered you if I’d seen you here before.”

The bartender brought me my glass and I set down a shilling for his troubles. He took it happily and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat, smoothing his pomaded black hair. “He certainly seems new. That sherry had been collecting dust.”

“Yes, well, you see, I have a particular quandary, and I was hoping one of you fine people could help!”

The two of them looked at each other, smiled with their eyes, then turned back to me. The woman said, “Why, we’d be happy to help!” 

I happily took a sip of my drink, finding it very delicious to taste. “Oh, splendid! All right, it goes like this. Last year, I had an encounter with a flurry of feathers. They had blown in and covered the house I was living in. They were a nuisance, but they caught my interest and held it.”

The gentleman behind the counter hummed, tapping his fingers on the counter as he listened and nodded. The woman, however, seemed uninterested. 

“So, you came here trying to find out more? You came all this way to find a bunch of feathers?” She grinned at me and did the same as the bartender, tapping her fingers on the counter.

Trying my best to ignore the finger-tapping and simply focus on the question, I said in reply, “Well, these were no ordinary feathers! They clumped up and invaded my home, and there was an uncountable supply of them!” My speech was stopped by a quick poke to my side. I squeaked and looked down, but saw nobody’s hand.

“Of feathers~?” That was the gentleman behind the bar, now sharing the smile the woman had. They looked at me like two hungry dogs would look at a lambchop. Their finger tapping had increased in speed.

At this point, my face was beginning to heat up again, and I nervously drank the rest of my glass to avoid thinking about it. “Yes, do you…  know where I might find these?” I felt a quick poke to my side again and jumped, gripping onto the counter to keep from falling, but when I looked back, there wasn’t a hand there.

The woman smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I think I know where we may find some!”

I smiled eagerly at her, ignoring the hand on my shoulder giving a gentle squeeze. “Where? I’d be delighted to know!”

“Why, outside! There’s a tree right next to here. There’s a rook’s nest up there, it should have some feathers.” With that, she gave me a quick poke to my side, which, with a rather embarrassing yelp, sent me off my stool and onto the floor. I flew to my feet in a huff, looking at her indignantly to hide the blush that had reached my ears.

“Madam! Never before in my life-”

The bartender interrupted my sentence with a chuckle, ruffling my hair. “Why don’t you run along, university boy? …Or else we’ll have to keep you here a while longer~.” His eyes narrowed as his smile grew wider. His finger-tapping on the counter had reached an almost scribbling-speed, making my blush grow wider as I looked at the woman a final time, then fled out of the tavern.

The woman and bartender laughed, the woman bringing her mug to her lips. “What an adorable little morsel. Hope he’s not leaving town soon.”

The market square was unhelpful, as was the tavern, but I was determined not to give up. In a last-ditch effort, I walked over to the coffeehouse. It was evening by then, and I hoped, perhaps naively, that I could still find some information on the featherflakes.

The coffeehouse had a warm glow, and a piano was being softly played in a corner. The landlord was stoking the fire from his seat next to it. I walked in, but upon seeing that there weren’t many people there, I sighed, and was about to leave. Then, however, I spotted a figure slumped over in a booth. Their head face-down on the table seemed… familiar. 

I approached and sat down next to them, tilting my head in curiosity. Finally, with a gentle tap on the shoulder, I mumbled, “Hullo?”

The figure shot up with a start, mumbling about Suffolk in delirium before looking at me, and her eyes adjusted in recognition. I gasped softly.

“Clara?” I whispered. Her face erupted into a happy smile and she threw her arms around my shoulders.

“EREN! How have you been, my dear, dear friend!”

With a squeak, I pushed on her shoulders as much as I could. “Uh-! Mr. Fernsby, if you please-!”

“Nonsense! You are and forever shall be my little Eren!” 

I growled a little and heaved her off, straightening my coat. “Mr. Fernsby, Clara.”

My old university roommate smiled her easy smile and pinched my cheek. “Whatever you say, Eren~!”

“Why does nobody in this accursed town take me seriously! I am on an investigation!”

“I believe it may be because you’re one of the cutest people ever born?”

“No, do not be ridiculous, Clara.”

She giggled and leaned back in the booth. “You just caught me on my mid-evening nap!” 

I hummed an affirmative. “Tell me, which one is that? The fifth nap of the day of the sixth?”

She giggled and winked. “The sixth! You have a good memory, Eren!”

“Mr. Fernsby. Now, you wouldn’t perhaps know of any feathers around here?”

Clara put a finger to her chin and thought. “Well, there are those feather things that look like snowflakes. You mean those?”

I jumped and turned, wide-eyed, and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, those! What do you know of them?”

She sighed, smiling, and pressed me back down into the seat. “I’ve been researching them for a bit. I could tell you what I know, if you’d like?” She yawned and wrapped her arm around me, pulling me close to her. “On second thought, maybe tomorrow.”

“No, no you-” I tried to protest, but the soft lighting and music, along with that glass of sherry were having a profound effect on my mind. I yawned after she did, and I nestled close to her - for warmth, though, and nothing else. She told me afterward that I was “a good cuddler,” despite the fact that it absolutely was not cuddling. 

I fell asleep next to her rather swiftly, unfortunately, leaving the conversation about the featherflakes for the following day. I must admit… it wasn’t the most unpleasant end to the day.

Read the previous entry in The Fernsby Journals! Read the following entry in The Fernsby Journals!

[ichabbiemillls]

Ten Reasons Why The Political Arena Is Crucial

The process of making political decisions and distribution of power within the society is known as the art of politics. Politics is a component of every aspect of life. Politics are crucial for societal development, as well as economic and growth. Here are 10 reasons why it is crucial to be involved in politics and how they influence human life in all shapes and styles.

Knowing your rights is essential to everyone

It is the base for human rights and establishes the basis to establish morality and ethics. Without the political system, human beings do not have a clear basis and knowledge of what they are entitled to as members of their society or country and could lead to the violation of human rights. People can be made aware of their rights by having political traditions and legal documents that define their rights. When you aim for special info about political science, look at more info.

Every aspect of our daily lives are influenced by

The political sphere is everywhere in daily life, from making GST when you shop at the store or taking a car to work. It is vital that everyone understand the importance of politics within the societal as well as the political system. This is because politicians and governments are able to create law and establish rules and customs. This can be used to decide the most effective way to proceed in the event of a problem.

Helps people to become informed voters

The citizens have the power to influence the structure of the government as well as society's direction through their vote. To comprehend the advantages and disadvantages each political party has to offer in their campaigns, citizens have to do personal research and be aware about the basic processes of politics prior to voting.

Provides a voice and platform to people

Individuals can share their views about society and priority issues through politics. Many citizens are happy with the current political system of their society. Some may be feeling marginalized or disenfranchised and want for radical change. The ability to voice your views freely is a key element of the political process and demonstrates the power the political system can have in influencing people to make meaningful changes.

Determines laws and decisions

The primary decision makers when it comes to determining laws and ordinances for society are government and political institutions. The decisions they make can vary across the broad range of international concerns which we confront in the present, like climate change and social inequality as well as smaller, domestic regulations, such as the kinds of textbooks students are expected to read at public schools or the quantity of bike lanes in the area.

Constitution is a legal document that regulates society.

The top level of legitimate power in governing the community is provided by the institutions of government. The government is responsible for creating the framework for economic, social, and other activities. They are able to govern the society according to the context of political science and society. Constitutions of a country tend to be considered the foundational document for the political framework of a nation, as such legal documents control the work of governmental institutions and keep their power within control.

Make a difference in the world

While politics is rooted in conventional and classical thinking however, it is an evolving subject that can be adapted to various political, cultural and economic circumstances. Since politics is an element of society that can unlock fresh ideas and create change in an entire society, it's crucial for policy makers and governments alike to adapt to the political landscape and enact meaningful and effective transformation that is in the best interests of the people.

How power is controlled

The word "politics" is used to describe a system which influences the outcomes of an event and controls the behavior of individuals. Political institutions and governments often control the distribution of power and its extent. It allows certain individuals or groups to have a say in the policies, customs and culture in any given community. A lot of governments employ a complex system of laws to limit the scope of power to ensure the power isn't misused or utilized only for one individual.

It creates a sense of belonging

Politics is a part of all aspects of our lives and therefore, certain issues tend to be more popular with the public than other issues. Through fostering a sense identity with a particular political subject, people develop an increased feeling of civic duty and engagement and helps people to express their opinions on the underrepresented segments of society. A sense of identity contributes to the creation of communities where citizens can share their views and voice their opinions on how governments can more effectively serve their citizens.

The way that people act and think.

Political decisions have a significant impact on human attitudes and behavior because we are always in touch daily. The way a government distributes money, or deals with new laws impact the day-to daily lives of individuals and ultimately affects the behavior and attitude of people. The power of politics can affect public opinion and attitudes to certain questions. The impact of this must be taken into consideration in making decisions about political issues.

[rufusthewretch]

Rufus the Wretch! Fleshwarp Thaumaturge! (Pathfinder 2e Character Backstory)

(For Context: Ain't got a picture for this one, but I finally decided to bite the bullet and go full cringe and literally play Rufus in a TTRPG. My D&D/V20 group decided to try some new systems while I work on the rest of the V20 campaign (did a mini version to introduce them to it, and they liked it so now I'm fleshing it out into a full length campaign). We decided to try Pathfinder 2e. We LOVE it.

Decided to play Rufus as a Thaumaturge, which if you don't know, is basically a fighter with a bag full of magical crap and a bizzarely broad knowledge of magic crap. They're very good at fighting monsters one on one, and they can roll knowledge checks with Charisma rather than Intelligence, which means I get to both talk CONSTANTLY in character, AND know a bunch of shit. My party say it's the perfect class for me, given that I'm a massive bag of random facts who loves the sound of his own voice.

He's also a Fleshwarp, a race/ancestry that's basically a weird abberation created by magic. None of them look the same, they're all often mistaken for monsters of some kind. It seemed like a good fit for his weird blue fire-headed, corpse looking, beak faced, ass. Since there aren't any races that fit him more.

Just figured I'd write up an explanation of what Rufus's backstory is in the game! Also, this isn't going to be a story, more just a summary.)



Rufus is a Fleshwarp, a creature born of evil magic. He was created by a Necromancer by the name of Malphas, who had grown tired with his simple undead constructs and wished to experiment with creating new and unwholesome forms of life. The Necromancer Malphas is, as it happens, a Tengu, an anthropomorphic crow. Fitting for a necromancer to be of a species that resembled carrion eaters.

The Necromancer Malphas created for himself a small army of undead and fleshwarps, which he used as both guards, test subjects, and assistants in his isolated tower on the shores of Lake Encarthan. He was not a well known threat, having largely withdrawn, only presenting a danger to the local area as travelers were known to go missing, taken by his creatures to be used in his experiments.

Rufus was neither one of the first of Malphas's fleshwarps, nor was he the last, though he was the most...coherent. While others were mere experiments, flesh and bone and sinew slapped together and remolded haphazardly to see if it could live, or purely pragmatically constructed amalgams designed for efficiency with no eye for aesthetics, Rufus was envisioned first as a test of Malphas's artistry.

While he resembled a man for the most part, his face bore a large, black, avian beak, the image of Malphas's own, a point of vanity on the Necromancer's part. His skin pigmentation had been altered with great precision, causing his face to bear what seemed to be a permenant design of a skull upon it. Rufus's eye sockets were empty, though they still saw, pin pricks of blue fire in the dark recesses acting as his eyes. His head glowed as a blue flame danced atop it, lighting the area around him in blue, though giving off no heat and refusing to burn anything placed near or even in it. The rest of his body was nothing impressive, a normal humanoid structure, though tall and lanky, as if it had been stretched, though like all of Malphas's creations Rufus posessed great strength, and did not need to eat.

He did not have a name, for the first years of his life. While Malphas clearly considered Rufus a success and treated him better than his other creations, the Necromancer was unkind and abusive by nature. He simply called him what he called all of the Fleshwarps he forged. Wretch.

Rufus acted as Malphas's library keeper and assistant, spending the two years he was under the Necromancer's control almost entirely locked inside the great library of the tower. It was from the books in the tower that he learned to write, and found he had a great adoration of knowledge. Whether some programming built into him by his creator, or some leftover of the man that was used for the parts to build him, Rufus has an insatiable hunger for knowledge and information. In his spare time between serving his creator, he would spend all of his time nestled among the books, reading.

Days and weeks would pass, with Rufus knowing nothing other than his Master's books, and his Master's tower, until one day that all came to an end. Adventurers had come to defeat the Necromancer at the behest of a nearby town. The band broke past the defenses, slew Malphas's undead, and the other Fleshwarps, before cornering the old Wizard in the Library.

Rufus was in there when the warriors entered and struck him down, the terrified Fleshwarp being spotted only after the wizard was killed. One of the adventurers, armed with a sword, strode forward to strike him down, before being stopped by his companion. A man dressed in robes and a deep hood.

"Stop. There is no need to hurt this one." Said the robed figure.

"Why, Rufus? We've killed all of the other abominations here, why should we let this one live?" Said the swordsman in response.

"They attacked us. They were guards. Look at this pitiful creature. It's not a threat. It's cringing in fear. It is likely as much a victim of the Necromancer as the peasants. Hells, it might have BEEN one of the peasants once. Just leave it be."

This satisfied the swordsman, and the group searched the library, taking some things but leaving most, before leaving Rufus alone.

Rufus remained alone in the tower for another year or so, unsure of what to do with the freedom thrust upon him. The fact he couldn't starve meant he could have remained within almost indefinitely, if he had wished. However he began to develop an urge to see the world outside, rather than just read about it.

He gathered up things he thought he would need. A handful of magical and...magical LOOKING items left in the tower that had yet to be looted, two of his favorite tomes of lore, and took up his creator's old walking cane. He quickly discovered it to be a sword cane, rather than a simple walking stick. He also took with him a journal he had secreted away from his Master's eyes some time before his death. What was written in it was mostly nonsense, simply Rufus writing aimlessly for the joy of it, but it had been one of his only expressions of agency, one of the few things he simply did for himself, and he did not wish to leave it behind.

Before setting out, Rufus recalled that, outside of the tower, people had names. He had never been given one, and didn't wish to introduce himself to people simply as 'wretch'. The only names that came to mind were that of his master, a name he would never take willingly, and that of the robed adventurer who had shown him mercy. The swordsman had called the other adventurer Rufus, and he decided that name would suit. So, with his name chosen, he cloaked himself in ragged robes, and set out into the world.

He would travel for another seven or so years. He quickly discovered two things. First, that in order to function outside of the Tower, he needed to hide his appearance. Townsfolk often took him to be a monster if they saw his true face. Rufus believed this was an accurate assessment on their part. That he was a monster that meant well did not change the fact that he was an abomination that should not exist. As such, he donned the attire of the peculiar physicians he had read about some time ago, called Plague Doctors. They were generally considered to be...eccentric to say the least, and their odd beaked masks made for a perfect disguise to hide his own, very real beak.

He also discovered that, despite or indeed possibly because of his very isolated life prior, Rufus ADORED speaking, with anyone he could. As the years passed, it would transpire that Rufus hated his own face, but adored his own voice.

At first his sense of morality was effectively a drive to NOT be what his master was, but as the years wore on, this developed into a regard for a idealized idea of the adventurers who had slain the Wizard Malphas. Content not simply with learning about the world, he sought to follow in the footsteps of his namesake, to help people as best he could as he pursued knowledge. While he does at times fall afoul of cultural norms, especially where the gods are concerned, Rufus remains largely well meaning and well intentioned, though his peculiarities do leave him often seeming suspicious. Despite this, he is well-mannered to a fault, modelling his behavior and manner of speaking on the heroes of some of the rare works of fiction he's managed to get his hands on.

As a final note, Rufus does not hate Clerics, he simply finds worshipping the gods to be...peculiar. This is in no small part due to his own self hatred. While Rufus believes himself to be a good person, he thinks this is in spite of an inherently vile and disgusting nature. He views himself, and fleshwarps in general, as abominations that shouldn't exist. While he doesn't think his kind should be wiped out, he certainly thinks they shouldn't be allowed to be deliberately created. This, and the other evils in the world he has learned of, has led him to believe that even the so-called 'Good' gods are unworthy of worship. As they are either impotent in the face of the horrors and evils of the world, too weak to stop them. Or that they are unwilling to stop them, in which case they are not good. They are either too weak to be worthy of worship, or too cruel and uncaring. As he has said, "Why would I worship a god in whose world a creature like me is allowed to exist?"

He has an odd relationship in terms of discussing WHAT he is. He is aware that he shouldn't let people see his face, or know exactly what he is, because he has been hunted like a beast for this in the past. He is aware that most people don't know what Fleshwarps even are, and that those rare ones that do often view them as things worth destroying on sight. This, combined with his intense anxiety over his face being seen, means that he has only let a scant few people see his true appearance. Indeed, if he becomes unmasked without sufficient mental perpetrations, he is prone to panic attacks. On at least one occasion he has attacked some one for removing his mask, almost killing them in his desperation to get it back and recover his face. However, his habit of talking as much as possible means that he often accidentally reveals peculiar details of his physiology without realizing. Such as remarking offhand about being ten years old...or not needing to eat.

One of the few people who has seen his unmasked face is Wrin Sivinxi, and his trusty companion, Ook. Ook being a wild man raised by Gorillas in the Mwangi Expanse.

[tanujrtyuio]

6 Easy Ways to Learn Digital Marketing on Your Own: Rule the Digital World

Digital World

Like academics, digital marketing is undoubtedly a broad topic. Digital marketing is a subject like any other in school, with several components that must be learned sequentially, one after the other. When I mention that there is a lot to learn about digital marketing, just like there is in academics, you might naturally assume that you need to go to a school or institute to become a Master at Digital Marketing. You don't have to, though.

Despite the fact that there are many different aspects of digital marketing to understand, the internet has made it possible for anyone to become proficient in this form of e-business marketing while seated at home. The essential ingredients for learning digital marketing on your own are dedication, attention, and a smidgen of confidence that you can do it. The six finest ways to learn digital marketing independently without having to enrol in marketing courses or institutions are listed below to make things easy for you. contact now for digital marketing course in gurgaon.

Digital marketing e-books

You may require a source that provides quick learning if you believe that online course programmes take up a lot of your time and you want to grasp the art of digital marketing immediately. That is exactly what marketing e-books can accomplish for you. Books developed exclusively for readers like you are available for purchase on the internet from very well-known marketing authors and specialists. Additionally, a recent study report by Amazon found that young people are increasingly buying electronic books to improve their skills and learn new things. You can get to touch with our team for digital marketing course in guragon.

The benefit is that you can learn marketing more quickly and affordably by using these books. Another benefit is that you don't always need to be online to learn marketing course material from these e-books. While certain books can be bought for a fair price, there are other e-books that can be downloaded for free from the internet! You only need to download them, put them on your PC, and then begin your own self-paced digital marketing education. You can get to touch with our team for digital marketing course in guragon.

If you feel that you need a teacher who can verbally explain everything to you but don't want to go to a classroom, consider subscribing to a YouTube channel that shares marketing insights. With the intention of providing candidates interested in self-paced digital marketing training with free classes, many marketers from around the world launch their YouTube channels. For instance, Derek Halpern's Social Triggers includes a tonne of videos covering every aspect of marketing. He imparts all the knowledge necessary for a novice to progressively advance to marketing mastery. Another well-known channel is Gary Vaynerchuck's GaryVee, which not only discusses marketing but also does so in a way that inspires viewers and keeps them interested the entire time.

Webinar Events

What if you could learn in a classroom setting while at home? Yes, a webinar does just that. Many marketing specialists from different countries commit some of their valuable time to host webinars and turn distance learning into a classroom setting. Simply sign up for the webinar, reserve a spot, and show up to participate in sessions and learn with many other people just like you. You will be able to submit your questions through the online platform while you are listening to the lecture. Anik Singal is one of the most well-liked marketing professionals in existence today and he regularly presents informative webinars.

[loverhymeswith]

A Night to Remember | Rick Flag x F!Reader x Takeshi Kovacs

Summary: When Rick asks you out for a drink after work, the evening takes an unexpected turn.

Word Count: 8,033 words.

Warnings: 18+ only. Drinking. Dirty talk. PinV. Threesome. Rough sex. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: This one is dedicated to H.P. Thank you for all of your support. I couldn't have done it without you <3 Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the title, and for beta reading along with @skvatnavle and @yespolkadotkitty. There are a couple of prompts thrown in here too, which I will link to later.

Joel Taglist: @weallhaveadestiny @a-reader-and-a-writer @skvatnavle @yespolkadotkitty @11thstreetvigilante @fairchildflag @heresathreebee @babblydrabbly @bewitchedignition @christinasyellowflowers @lavenderluna10

Sandwiched between the two large men in the too-small booth, the bassline pounding from the speakers matches the tempo of your racing heart. The bar is packed with bodies tonight, but with Rick to your right, Takeshi on your left, and their attention centred wholly on you, it feels like you are the last woman on earth. Even if you’re not exactly sure what it is the three of you are doing here.

When you ran into Rick as he was coming out of the staff gym earlier this evening, the last thing you’d been expecting was an invitation to join him and an old friend of his for a drink. While you’re close within the office, the two of you have never really socialised outside of work, so it seemed like an opportunity you’d be foolish to turn down. Besides, with his thick, muscular thighs so tantalisingly on display beneath his work-out shorts, you were far too flustered to consider what he was really asking.

Arriving at the bar, you had instantly spotted the pair. Even tucked away in a booth at the back of the room, they were impossible to miss – both of them tall, broad, and unfairly attractive. Rick’s eyes had landed on you immediately and you didn’t fail to notice the small nudge he gave his friend as you started to walk over.

You’ve been here for an hour or so now, listening to the two old friends catch up when Rick distracts you from your thoughts, pointing to your empty glass. “You want another?”

You nod, watching as he slides his large body out of the booth and makes his way to the bar. Finding yourself alone with Takeshi for the first time this evening, you tear your gaze from Rick’s broad shoulders, while the other man moves closer, leaning in to make himself heard over the music. “How long have you been pining for Flag?”

“I’m not pining,” you protest quickly, despite the rush of blood that warms your cheeks.

Takeshi scoffs.“I’ve known you all of one hour and it’s obvious to me.”

You have to hand it to Rick’s friend, he’s observant. It’s true, you have been harbouring a secret crush on your co-worker for years now, despite the knowledge that it is entirely unrequited. Word around the office is that Rick Flag doesn’t date, not since the incident with the archaeologist. With this in mind, you’ve tried hard to brush off the idea that there could be any meaning behind the lingering glances and fleeting touches that the two of you share in the corridors of Belle Reve.

Besides, any faint hope raised by Rick’s invitation tonight was swiftly dashed the moment he introduced you to Takeshi Kovacs. Takeshi, you have been informed, is in town on business and will be crashing at Rick’s two-bed apartment for the duration of his stay. Even without the sly glance between the two friends when you first entered the bar, you’ve been subjected to enough set-ups over the years to recognise this for what it is. Only Takeshi has yet to make a move, and Rick shows no signs of leaving any time soon.

“I’m not pining,” you insist again, turning your whole body to face Takeshi. He’s watching you with the ghost of a smirk playing across his pretty mouth and your stomach somersaults. He might not be Rick, but there’s no denying you’re attracted to him. Now that your eyes are trained on his lips, you can’t help wondering what it might be like to kiss him. As far as set-ups go, you suppose Rick could have done a lot worse.

As if he can read your thoughts, the corners of Takeshi’s mouth uptick into a full smirk. He leans even closer, his warm breath fanning your cheek. “You’re a shitty liar. I see the way you look at him. Tell me you don’t want to fuck him.”

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you repeat, although the words come out somewhat strangled. Of course, it’s a lie. But admitting to his ridiculously hot friend that you very much would like to sleep with Rick, seems counter-productive. Especially if you don’t want to end up going home alone tonight.

Takeshi raises his brow, obvious amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes. “It’s written all over your face. You can barely take your eyes off him.”

To emphasise the point, he switches his glance, looking over your shoulder instead. Subconsciously, you find yourself following his line of sight. Your attention lands once more on the wide expanse of Rick’s shoulders, straining beneath his dark t-shirt as he leans over the bar.

“See?”

Turning back to Takeshi, you shake your head resolutely even as your heart is thumping faster and faster. “We’re just friends.

He smirks. “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to convince me otherwise.”

Conscious that Rick will be returning at any moment and emboldened by the two beers making their way through your system, you swiftly close the small distance and crush your mouth against Takeshi’s. It’s unlike you to make the first move, but you desperately require some means of steering the conversation away from your feelings for Rick, and kissing Takeshi is not exactly a hardship.

If Takeshi is surprised by your sudden reaction, it doesn’t show. His big hand rises to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place as he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue along the seam of your lips. He tastes of whisky and cigarettes and something forbidden. When his other hand lands on your waist, fingers squeezing your flesh and drawing you closer, it stirs an aching desire between your thighs. You reluctantly pull away, lest you lose yourself to his lips.

Opening your eyes, you find the smirk has left Takeshi’s face, replaced instead by a heated gaze. “Was that an attempt to convince me?” he asks, “Or are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Yes,” you respond bluntly to both questions, slightly dazed from the kiss. “Is it working?”

A trace of begrudging admiration crosses Takeshi’s face, but before he can answer, three drinks appear on the table, and you become aware of Rick slipping back into the booth beside you. His jean-clad thigh brushes against yours as he leans over. “What did I miss?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Takeshi beats you to it. “Your friend and I were just getting better acquainted, Flag. You were right, she really is something.”

Your cheeks burn again, just as you catch Rick shooting what seems to be a warning glare in his friend’s direction. Takeshi simply shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

As Rick steers the conversation back around to work and questions Takeshi about his latest case, you become increasingly aware of the lack of space between the three of you. Rick’s thigh is still pressed against your own, the heat of his body burning through the denim of his jeans to your own skin, bare below the hem of your skirt. On your other side, Takeshi’s arm is now slung over the back of the booth, almost encircling you. Every now and then you feel his calloused fingers drift across your shoulder.

Rick is halfway through recounting the details of one of his less successful missions, when Takeshi groans suddenly. “God, this is painful.”

“What?” Rick demands, obviously insulted. “You’re the one who asked-”

Takeshi cuts him off. “I’m not talking about your thrilling story.” He shakes his head and drains the rest of his drink. “I’m talking about this.” He points a finger between you and Rick. “If you don’t hurry up and make a move, I might just have to take her for myself.”

“Excuse me?” You’re not sure who’s more shocked in that moment, you, or Rick, because when you dare to glance over at him, you could swear that the colonel is blushing.

“Ignore him, darlin’,” Rick advises, busying himself with his own drink. “He thinks he’s being funny.”

“Cut the crap, Flag,” Takeshi continues, leaning back in his seat and surveying the two of you with that infuriating smirk. “What are we doing here?”

“Tryin’ to have a drink,” Rick offers dryly.

He’s rewarded by a snort before Takeshi turns his attention on you, his large hand landing on your bare knee. “This one,” he points to Rick, “talks about you every chance he gets. Can’t shut him up. Had to meet you at least once while I was in town. And honestly, I can see the appeal.” He addresses Rick now. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I’ve already established that she wants you. When she was kissing me, I could tell she wished it was you.”

“Takeshi!” you yelp, both stunned and mortified by his bluntness.

“You – you kissed him?” Rick’s expression falters, his hazel eyes widening. “When?”

“I…uh…” you splutter, confused. “I thought that’s why I was here. That you were, you know… setting us up?” You can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something. That you’ve unknowingly entered a game, only nobody has cared to explain the rules.

Rick’s bewilderment quickly turns to understanding, and his gaze darkens. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “You really are a dick, Kovacs,” he growls. And then he leans in and kisses you.

The moment his lips meet yours for the first time, you could swear that your heart stops beating. Kissing Rick is different to kissing Takeshi. Rick is gentle – tentative, even - and it only makes you want him more. How long have you been waiting for this? Too long, some would say. Because Takeshi was right. You have been pining for Rick, ever since the day you met him. You’ve just always been too shy to do anything about it. And so, it seems, has Rick.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind as Rick’s broad hands reach up to cup your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks as he glides his tongue between your lips. It’s such a small touch, but every nerve in your body is on fire, crying out for more. You should have guessed that one taste of Rick would be all it takes to have you addicted.

As Rick continues to explore your mouth, your body, with increasing fervour, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The way he asks you to check over his reports before submitting them to Waller. The way he’ll stop by your desk with an extra coffee after he returns from a mission. The way his eyes always find you across a crowded briefing room. You’d attributed his quiet, considerate attentiveness to friendship and nothing more, but as he kisses you so deeply, so thoroughly, you realise how wrong you’ve been.

You pull away finally and breathlessly, only remembering that Takeshi is still there when he begins a slow round of applause.

It’s not long before the three of you find yourselves heading back to Rick’s place. Once again, you’re tucked tightly between the two men, their arms and thighs rubbing firmly against yours in the back of the cab. Rick has made it pointedly clear that Takeshi didn’t have to leave yet, but the bar is closing soon and as Takeshi reminded him, there’s a bottle of something old and expensive waiting in the apartment.

You don’t mind. For the time being your attention is fixed solely on Rick and the way he has laced his fingers with yours, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. You feel giddy, and it’s not just from the alcohol.

When you arrive at the apartment, Rick takes your coat. His fingers linger on the bare skin of your forearms and his beautiful eyes sparkle with unspoken longing.

“You want somethin’ to drink?” he asks, finally pulling away.

“Sure.”

“No point askin’ you, is there Kovacs?” He glances over his shoulder towards the other man. “Play nice while I grab the bottle.”

Rick disappears into the kitchen, leaving you alone with Takeshi for the second time this evening. You can feel your blood thrumming beneath your skin as his watchful gaze travels over you.

“Looks like I was right.” He smirks, taking a seat in the armchair.

“Right about what?” You frown as you claim the couch opposite.

“You do want to fuck him.”

There’s little point in denying it. Not anymore. When Rick asked you to come home with him, the intention behind his tentative request was clear. You open your mouth, intending to give a witty retort, just as Rick returns with a bottle of whisky and three glasses.

“He ain’t botherin’ you, is he?” Rick frowns when he sees you and Takeshi staring heatedly at one another from across the room. “Won’t hesitate to throw his ass out of here if he is.”

“No, he’s fine,” you assure him, taking the glasses. “I think he’s just jealous.”

“Sounds like Tak,” Rick agrees, throwing an uncharacteristically smug look across at his friend.

You have no idea if that’s true or not. You haven’t been able to get a read on Takeshi all night. He’s equal parts sarcastic and cocky, but there seems to be something buried beneath the surface. Something deeper, something raw. You thought you caught a glimpse of it when you kissed him, but as soon as you withdrew, the spell was broken. You’d be lying if you said a small part of you didn’t long to uncover the side of Takeshi Kovacs that he’s so clearly trying to hide away.

Once the three of you have a drink in hand, Rick joins you on the couch. Takeshi appears to be distracted by something on his phone, so you don’t feel too self-conscious when Rick’s hand finds its way to your thigh, his fingers drifting dangerously close to the short hem of your skirt.

“Been wantin’ to do this for a very long time,” Rick admits, not quite able to meet your eyes. It’s a side to him you haven’t seen before. This uncertain and bashful version of your friend is a world away from the no-nonsense commander of Task Force X.

“And what’s that, Colonel?” The alcohol has made you far braver – bolder - than you would be under normal circumstances. You’ll worry about that in the morning.

Surprised by the playful lilt to your tone, Rick places his glass - and yours - on the coffee-table. When he straightens, he reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your face.

“This,” he responds. And then he kisses you again.

The tenderness from earlier is still there, but so too is a new-found confidence. Now that he knows you want this – that you want him - the kiss rapidly heats up, with Rick slipping his hand under the hem of your skirt. A few inches more and he’ll discover just how much you want this.

Silently, you will his fingers further; both of you are too far gone, inhibitions dulled by drink and desire, to remember that you’re not alone. It’s only when your own hand finds its way to the top of Rick’s thigh, fingers dancing towards the fastening of his jeans and eliciting a low moan from him, that you hear the tell-tale sound of a throat being cleared.

When you pull away, you find Takeshi watching you from his position on the couch. He grins over the rim of his glass. “Don’t mind me.”

Rick shoots his friend a meaningful glare. “Told you, Kovacs. You didn’t have to leave the bar so early.” The implication is crystal clear; he’d rather Takeshi wasn’t around for whatever he’s planning next.

Takeshi drains his glass and places it on the coffee-table next to yours. "Come on, Flag. We've shared a girl. Think I can handle listening to you rail one in the other room."

For a second, you assume you must have misheard, but judging by the reddening of Rick’s cheeks and the wide-eyed look of mortification that crosses his face, you heard every word correctly. Your own cheeks burn as you consider the implication. “You’ve what?” You direct your question back at Takeshi.

“Nothin’,” comes Rick’s swift response. But you’re too distracted, watching as Takeshi’s lips quirk up into a rare smile, his eyes creasing in wicked amusement.

“Don’t listen to him,” Takeshi tells you, conspiratorially. Then he turns to Rick, arching a brow. “Don’t know why you’re embarrassed all of a sudden. You were pretty enthusiastic about it that night. And if you ask me, I think she likes the idea.”

Needing to do something, anything, to ease the tension caused by the two men looking in your direction, you grab your glass again and take a too-large mouthful of whisky, the bitter liquid almost choking you as it burns on the way down. Maybe you do like the idea. And maybe that should scare you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and return your glass to the table. They’re still watching you, waiting. “What?” You play dumb. “It’s none of my business what the two of you got up to in the past.”

“But what about in the present?” Takeshi probes. He’s leaning back in his seat, cool and composed, but there’s a glint of excitement in his eyes as he surveys you.

“Kovacs,” Rick warns, that muscle in his jaw ticking as he stares at his friend. You are still aware of his hand resting on your thigh, a burning brand reminding you of just how you’re hoping this evening will end.

Takeshi flagrantly ignores him, his attention fixed firmly on you. “You’re intrigued, aren’t you?” The smirk has returned. “You’ve kissed both of us. Now you’re wondering what it might be like to have both of us inside you?”

“Tak!” Rick snaps, his voice deep and tinged with disbelief. “I am so sorry about him, darlin’. He’s… well, he’s just Kovacs.”

Rick’s apology, wholly unwarranted, washes over you. Takeshi’s statement has startled you completely and you’ve bitten down on your lip, almost drawing blood. You’ve known him for a matter of hours. How is it that he’s constantly able to read your thoughts? It’s uncanny, this ability of his to understand your own desires before you even fully realise them yourself.

Never in a million years would you have considered the possibility that Takeshi is currently laying on the table. But now that the seed has been planted - now you know this is something they have done before - you find temptation bubbling away beneath your skin like molten lava.

“Go on,” Takeshi encourages, ignoring his friend again. “Tell us what you’re thinking. Tell us what you want. No questions, no judgement.”

Your eyes dart to Rick, only to find his expression has softened in the last few seconds, somehow mirroring the sincerity of Takeshi’s request. He nods, almost imperceptibly, letting you know that whatever you decide, it’s ok. This knowledge sends a pulse of heat straight to your core. You never would have pegged the straight-laced colonel for enjoying such proclivities, but the subtle reassurance he’s giving you now is all the evidence – all the persuasion - you need.

“I’ve never done anything like that before…” you begin nervously, conscious that both men still seem to be hanging on to every word that leaves your mouth. Rick squeezes your leg, urging you on. It’s becoming more and more apparent that maybe, just maybe, he wants this too.

“But I think -” you continue. “I think if I was ever going to try… I would want it to be with the two of you.” Because as desperate as you are for Rick, ever since you kissed Takeshi, you haven’t quite been able to get him out of your system.

You don’t miss the silent exchange as the two men glance at one another. The weight of Rick’s hand is a constant pressure on your skin, but he doesn’t say anything, in fact, he barely moves, barely breathes. Takeshi on the other hand, leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees as he regards you intently from across the room.

“What are you saying?”

“Don’t feel like you have to do this, darlin’,” Rick cuts in before you can answer. “We’re not pressurin’ you into anythin’. We can forget this conversation ever happened.”

For the first time all night, Takeshi and Rick seem to agree on something. “But if you really want to do this, we can take it slow,” Takeshi tells you, his voice softening. The surprisingly gentle tone, free of snark and amusement, only serves to stoke the fire that is raging through your body.

“He’s right,” Rick adds. “If we do this, we go at your pace. You want us to stop, you just say the word.”

You nod faintly, glancing between the two men and wondering just what exactly you are signing up for. There’s a tightness in your chest, but it has nothing to do with fear. You’ve always felt safe with Rick, and you trust every word he’s saying – Takeshi, too. You trust that they’ll respect your wishes, your boundaries, and that if it gets too much, they’ll stop.

“Need to hear you say it,” Tak grunts and when you look over again you notice the way his fingers are gripping the arms of the chair. It seems that you and Rick are not the only ones who want this badly.

When you reply, you ensure your voice is loud, confident. You don’t want to leave them in any doubt about your desire. “I want this.”

Rick squeezes your leg again. Words seem to be beyond him as he gazes at you with lust and wonder shining in his beautiful hazel eyes. You can take a good guess at what he’s thinking. It’s not the direction either of you imagined this night taking, even when you left the bar with Takeshi in tow. But working for ARGUS means you’re both used to doing things a little differently.

Slowly and gracefully, Takeshi rises from his seat. Every muscle in your body is coiled, tense with anticipation for what comes next. As he stalks forwards, it feels like you and Rick might be nothing more than sitting prey. But you’re not afraid. When he reaches the couch, he holds out his hand, beckoning you towards him with the crook of a finger. You find yourself standing at the silent command, placing your hand in his and allowing him to draw you in.

Takeshi gazes down at you. Like Rick, there is barely concealed lust gleaming in his eyes. The longer locks of his hair have fallen over his brow making him look softer, more innocent somehow, but you’ve seen and heard enough tonight to know that danger still lurks behind that pretty face.

When he kisses you this time, moulding his mouth to yours, it’s slow and explorative and your heart threatens to burst right out of your ribcage. Unlike the hurried exchange at the bar, there’s no longer any rush. He and Rick have all night to do whatever they want with you, and you want it all.

Takeshi’s large hands slide under your skirt, bunching it around your hips as he kneads the flesh of your ass. The insistent ache between your thighs increases, knowing full well that Rick is right behind you, watching everything from his position on the couch. When you moan against his mouth, Takeshi breaks away.

His gaze darkens as he glances over your shoulder to address his friend. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”

You gasp as his hands slip beneath your ass and he lifts you in one smooth movement. With no choice but to wrap your legs around his thick waist, you cling on tightly as he carries you to the bedroom. Rick is hot at his heels.

Before you reach the bed, Takeshi sets you gently back on your feet. “Any second thoughts?”

You shake your head earnestly.

Takeshi’s lips quirk into another wicked smile as he steps back and starts to unbutton his shirt. You only realise you’re staring open-mouthed at the revelation of so much tanned skin when Rick takes your hand and spins you around to face him instead.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he marvels, before cupping your face and kissing you softly.

You can’t help but think the same about him. About both of them, in fact. As he deepens the kiss, Rick’s broad hands begin to explore your body and when they slip beneath the hem of your blouse to encircle your waist, you release a shuddered breath. His touch sets your nerves alight, the flames of desire licking your veins. Despite everything that has happened this evening, you still can’t quite believe that this is real. That he is real.

You’re conscious of Takeshi standing close by, watching now. Although you can’t see him, you can picture the intensity of his focus and it sends another rush of heat between your legs. Rick slowly starts to walk you backwards until you hit a solid wall of bare skin and muscle. When he releases you, Takeshi swiftly takes his place, his own hands landing firmly on your waist and pulling you flush against him.

Rick steps back and pulls off his t-shirt. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his sculpted chest and tattooed biceps, such a glorious sight to behold. Takeshi dips his head and whispers against your jaw.

“Like what you see?”

But he doesn’t give you a chance to answer. His lips have found the sensitive spot below your ear and as his teeth graze over your skin, a soft whimper escapes your lips. You feel him huff out an amused breath when your head falls back against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

His hands rise from your waist, travelling a tantalising path upwards until he’s cupping and squeezing your breasts through the soft silk of your blouse. It’s not enough. You need to feel his touch against your bare skin - no barriers.

“Takeshi,” you moan breathlessly, hoping he will get the hint.

Watching the two of you with a heated gaze, Rick closes the distance until he’s tilting your jaw and capturing you with another claiming kiss. Powerless to resist the temptation, your hands fly to his scar-flecked chest, marvelling at the heat that ripples off his body.

Trapped so thoroughly between so much naked flesh, it suddenly feels like you’re wearing too many clothes. Takeshi clearly shares your opinion when he murmurs to Rick, “Undress her.”

It’s rare for you to hear anyone give the colonel orders, so you are surprised when Rick doesn’t hesitate. He grips the hem of your blouse and pulls it over your head, before his fingers deftly unclasp your bra. The items have barely fallen to the floor when you are finally rewarded with the skin-on-skin contact that you have been yearning for; warm hands cover your breasts, softly squeezing and pinching your sensitive flesh. Takeshi again.

Rick’s focus turns to the waistband of your skirt, sliding the material down over your hips and thighs. Leaving you in only your underwear, his large hand slides between your legs and he nudges your ankles apart, wide enough so he can cup your mound. You’re certain he will feel the evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties.

“So wet already,” he groans in awe, confirming your beliefs as he drags a finger along your covered core.

Intrigued by his friend’s observation, Takeshi removes one hand from your breast and places it between your thighs. With two sets of fingers probing between your legs, you are ready to combust on the spot. The sensation is intense, like nothing you’ve felt before. You are completely and utterly at the mercy of these two huge men and your mind is swimming with the possibilities of how good they could make you feel.

Unlike Rick, Takeshi tugs your panties to the side, his thick finger parting your slick folds. “Fuck. Take ‘em off, Flag.”

You whimper at the loss of contact, wordlessly pleading for more.

You don’t have to wait long. Once again, Rick does as he is instructed, sliding off your underwear and leaving you completely exposed. There’s no time to feel self-conscious though because Takeshi’s hand returns to the apex of your thighs, where he begins to trail his finger along your wet centre.

“Such a good girl. You’re so ready for this, aren’t you? Is this what you’ve been wanting all night?” Takeshi’s voice is dark yet soothing as he strokes you again and again. His other hand is still moulded around your breast, and you can feel his arousal digging into the base of your spine.

“Yes,” you pant, your hands flying to Rick’s shoulders for support, clutching him just as tightly as Takeshi clutches you, until there’s barely an inch of space between the three of you.

“S’ok, darlin’. We’ve got you.”

Then, through some unspoken agreement that leaves you wondering just how many times they’ve done this before, the two men manoeuvre you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Bracketed between Takeshi’s thick legs, his hand slips around your waist, keeping you firmly in place against his chest.

“Flag’s gonna make you feel really good now.”

Precisely at that moment, Rick lowers to the ground, his hands gripping the backs of your legs and spreading them even further apart. He looks up at you through a deeply hooded gaze and sweeps his tongue across his lower lip. It’s a mesmerising sight, the colonel on his knees before you.

Your fingers scrabble for purchase against Takeshi’s thighs as you try to prepare yourself for what’s coming next. Then, without saying a word, Rick lowers his head and licks a stripe exactly where Takeshi’s fingers were moments earlier.

“Oh God, Rick!” You cry out as he laves at your core with broad strokes, lapping at your juices. Dissolving into pleasure, your head falls back against Takeshi’s shoulder, grateful as the other man tightens his hold on you, keeping you in place for his friend.

“Keep going, Flag,” Takeshi coaches as one hand rises to pluck at your hardened nipple, rolling the pebbled flesh between his deft fingers. “We both know how long you’ve been wanting to do this. Show her just how much you want her.”

Rick’s tongue flutters over your sensitive bundle of nerves for the first time, and you let out a shattered sob. “Please.”

It’s still not enough. With every glide of his tongue, a void is opening deep within the pit of your stomach, an emptiness begging to be filled.

“That’s it. Can you hear these pretty noises she’s making for us, Flag?”

Rick’s answer comes as a muffled groan against your core, sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. The way the two men talk about you alone is enough to make you lose your mind.

“How does she taste?”

Rick suddenly plunges a finger inside your soaking centre, pulling his mouth away just long enough to respond. “So good, Tak. So fuckin’ good.”

You keen at his words, lust drunk and yearning for more as Rick slips another finger inside you. You barely recognise the sounds leaving your mouth as his tongue swirls around your clit and he scissors his fingers, slowly beginning to massage your inner walls.

“He’s stretching you out for us,” Takeshi murmurs into your ear, still squeezing and tugging insistently at your delicate nipple. “Gotta make sure you can take us.” Something about the implication of ‘us’ sends you spiralling even further into the endless pit of desire.

As Rick ravenously continues to fuck you with his mouth and fingers, you feel your climax approaching, the familiar coiling sensation low in your belly growing stronger and stronger with every sweep of his tongue.

“You gonna come for us now?” Takeshi asks, his voice deep and encouraging as he presses his lips against your jaw. “Are you gonna show us what a good girl you are?”

As if his words weren’t already enough to tip you over the edge, Takeshi turns your upper body towards him. He dips his head, his hot mouth clamping over your peaked breast, where he starts to bite and suck. Rick’s fingers continue to curl inside you, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

You shudder, heat spreading over your skin as you are utterly overwhelmed by the sensation - by what the two men are doing to your body. Your climax barrels towards you with every touch, until the tension in your lower abdomen finally snaps. You fall back against Takeshi, a strangled noise tearing from your chest as the wave of your release overtakes you.

Takeshi holds you, limp in his arms, as you come down from the soaring high. His lips brush over your cheek and jaw again as he murmurs soothing words of praise but you’re barely able to comprehend what he is saying, especially when Rick withdraws from between your legs, and you find his lips shining with your arousal. The dazed look on his face surely mirrors your own and you’re helpless but to watch, enraptured as he rises to his feet and starts to shed the rest of his clothing.

Takeshi is still hard against your lower back, and you tear your eyes away from Rick, twisting in the other man’s lap so that you can palm him through his pants. Even through the rough material, you can tell that he’s impossibly large.

“Want to touch you,” you whine, fumbling with the fastenings.

The attention they’re giving you is exquisite, but you are desperate to pleasure them too, craving to feel their bare bodies beneath your hands.

When your fist wraps around his smooth, scorching length, Takeshi lets out a deep groan, the kind that reverberates throughout your entire body. You start to move your hand up and down, revelling at the shattered breaths you pull from him with every squeeze of your fingers.

He stops you abruptly, covering your hand with his own. “Want to come inside you,” he mutters against the shell of your ear. “But it’s only fair that Flag gets to fuck you first. He’s been waiting a long time for this.”

Your gaze falls to Rick, gloriously naked as he watches the two of you with patient intensity. You nod, flustered and frantic at the promise of having them inside you. Now that the fire has been stoked, you need more of them and urgently.

Takeshi shifts so he can slide his pants the rest of the way off and then you find yourself being repositioned. He moves you up the bed, until you are spread out and propped up against him. Slotted between his thick thighs once more, the now familiar feeling of his arousal presses against your spine. One hand returns to your breast, the other drifting south to where Rick has prepared you.

Takeshi slides a single finger inside you, finding you swollen and soaking. “Looks like he did a good job getting you ready for us.”

Unfazed by the way his friend is exploring every inch of your body, Rick crawls onto the bed until he’s hovering over you. His lips find yours and he kisses you with that same surprising tenderness. Your stomach tightens when you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good, darlin’?” he asks, pulling away.

Trapped so tightly between the two broad men in a tangle of limbs, it should terrify you, but all you can think of is how badly you want this.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly.

“Tell me if it gets too much.”

Takeshi grips the backs of your thighs, hauling them up towards your chest so you are obscenely spread for Rick. “Go on,” he encourages. “Fuck her, Flag.”

When it comes to you, Rick doesn’t need to be told twice. You find yourself rocked by a jolt of excitement whenever Takeshi instructs him. There’s a dynamic at work here, a shift you can sense in the colonel. At work he’s the one barking orders, but here, in the privacy of the bedroom, he takes them willingly. And it’s clear how much he likes it - that it lifts a weight from his shoulders, allowing him the freedom not to think, just to feel.

As Takeshi holds you open, Rick slowly buries himself inside you, inch by inch. No matter how well he prepared you with his fingers, the pressure still takes your breath away as he fills you so perfectly.

“Fuck, baby,” Rick groans, allowing you a moment of stillness to adjust to his size. “Your pussy feels so good. Better than I ever imagined.”

His words send a heady wave of heat through your body. He’s been thinking about this?

“Tell her how often you imagined it,” Takeshi urges, his hands returning to your breasts, squeezing, and pulling and pinching. “Tell her how often you jerked off in the shower thinking about her beautiful cunt.”

Rick stares down at you in wonder as he feels your walls flutter around him. “It’s true, darlin’. I’ve wanted this so fuckin’ much, you have no idea. Just been too scared to tell you.”

You lace your fingers around his neck and drag him down, crushing your lips to his. As he kisses you fiercely this time, you feel his hips draw back and he starts to move inside you, setting an agonisingly slow tempo. Every stroke of his cock feels like ecstasy and nestled between Takeshi’s thighs, every thrust pushes you harder against the other man’s length.

Takeshi’s heart is pounding at your back and as Rick picks up the pace, Takeshi’s hand drifts over your collarbone, his calloused fingers rising to wrap around the delicate column of your throat. You feel your walls clamp down around Rick’s cock, your breath hitching when Takeshi applies the softest amount of pressure. He could break you apart if he wanted to, both of them could.

“How does she feel, Flag?” Takeshi asks, brushing his lips against the side of your mouth.

“So fuckin’ tight,” comes Rick’s strangled reply.

Takeshi’s other hand slips between your bodies, dangerously close to where Rick splits you open. The pad of his thumb glides over your clit and you shudder, grasping at his arm as you plead with them both to continue.

Rick’s thrusts become faster, a thin sheen of sweat beginning to glisten over his beautiful chest as he pants. “Fuck, Tak. I can feel her gettin’ even tighter when you do that.”

“Don’t stop,” you agree, breathlessly, as you feel your second orgasm racing towards you.

Spurred on by your comments, Takeshi continues his ministrations. Your nerves are on fire, and you are so close to losing your composure. You tilt your hips up to meet Rick’s thrusts, allowing him to drive in deeper and deeper.

“Fuck me harder, Rick,” you whimper, digging your nails into his back. “Please. You feel so good.”

Rick complies, slamming his hips into you faster and infinitely deeper. Almost imperceptibly, Takeshi tightens his grip around your throat, but it’s still so gentle, just the ghost of a touch.

“You’re taking him so well,” he praises roughly. “You gonna come around his cock now?”

“Yes,” you cry, arching your back as his thumb continues to circle your clit with increasing speed. “I’m gonna come.”

For the second time in the space of an hour, the two men have you shattering, breaking apart at the seams as your orgasm crashes into you. Rick’s own release follows almost immediately, his hips stuttering as he curses and spills inside you.

“Oh fuck, darlin’. You’re perfect.” He slumps against you, crushing you further into his friend.

As Rick’s head falls to your chest and his lips trail over your damp skin, you slide your fingers through the lengths of his hair, wanting to keep him in place as you fight to catch your own breath. He’s everything you dreamed of and more, but at the back of your mind you are very much aware that the night is far from over.

When Rick withdraws, rolling onto the bed to lie beside Takeshi, his friend carefully turns you around until you’re straddling his waist. His jaw is clenched tight as his throbbing arousal presses against your aching centre. You have to marvel at the man’s ability to maintain his composure while Rick was fucking you against him.

You reach out to brush a lock of hair from his brow and his eyes shutter at the unexpected gentleness. “Your turn?” you suggest, your lips quirking into a shy smile.

The glimmer of softness you saw in Takeshi’s gaze vanishes and suddenly he’s lifting your hips, positioning his thick cock at your entrance. A gasp tears from your lips as you sink down around him. He’s bigger than Rick, although you wouldn’t tell from looks alone.

“Fuck, Tak,” you pant, your eyes widening as you struggle to accommodate him.

Takeshi is temporarily speechless, the only sound he makes is a low moan as you begin to roll your hips over him. Instead, he lets his hands do the talking, roving them over your body, alternating between gripping your hips and squeezing your breasts, like he just can’t get enough of you.

“You feel good, Tak. Really good.” You lean forwards and capture him in a kiss, your fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as you continue to ride him. His hips jerk up, responding to your touch, your praise.

“You were right,” Takeshi rasps to Rick when he’s finally capable of speech. “Such a fucking tight, perfect pussy. To think you’ve been missing out on this, Flag.”

“You talk too much, Tak,” Rick groans. You glance over and find him already semi hard again, fisting his cock while he watches the two of you. His hazel eyes are glassy with arousal.

“Think Flag’s feeling left out,” Takeshi grits out as you rock against him. “Turn around for him, beautiful. Let him touch you while he watches how well you take my cock.”

It takes no further encouragement for you to do as Takeshi asks. Rick helps reposition you so that you’re no longer facing Takeshi, but you’re looking at him instead. As Takeshi grips your ass, bouncing you over his cock with an increasingly brutal pace, Rick cups your jaw.

“You’re doin’ so well, baby,” he praises, peppering kisses to your cheek and jaw. “Look at you, takin’ him so deep.”

You’re a whimpering mess between the two of them, any coherent thoughts long driven out of you by the way Takeshi is fucking into you relentlessly. “Need you to come for me,” he growls from behind, squeezing your flesh.

“Don’t think I can,” you whimper, clutching Rick’s forearms to steady yourself. It’s almost too much, but it feels so good.

“You can do it, darlin’,” Rick coaxes, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “You can give us one more. Don’t think, just feel.”

His other hand dips between your legs and you choke out a sob when he finds the spot where Takeshi is spearing inside you. Gathering your slick on his fingers, he starts to rub your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck, Rick,” you yelp, reaching for his cock and squeezing him tightly, lest you lose yourself entirely to the powerful sensations overtaking your body. You want – no, need - him to feel as good as he’s making you.

You pump your hand up and down his length. He’s staring at you in awe, open mouthed and gasping with pleasure, his hazel eyes never leaving yours. With Takeshi slamming you down over his cock, and Rick strumming your throbbing clit it’s only a matter of seconds before you’re falling apart again, your eyes rolling back as you convulse around Takeshi’s cock.

“That’s it,” Takeshi grunts. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” And with one last powerful thrust, he empties himself inside you.

“Good girl,” Rick grunts, his own release painting the taught wall of his abdomen as your hand squeezes him one final time. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

The sensation of a pair of warm lips brushing over your cheek stirs you from a deep sleep. Your eyes flicker open to find Rick hovering above you. His handsome face is illuminated by the pale moonlight creeping through a gap in the curtains.

“Come with me,” he whispers, careful not to wake the other man still sleeping soundly beside you. It’s a tight squeeze for the three of you, even with Rick’s king-sized bed and you have to peel yourself away from Takeshi; his big hot body is moulded firmly around you.

Rick takes your hand, drawing you to your feet. Every part of you aches, but in the most satisfying way as he leads you out of the bedroom and across the dimly lit hallway into the bathroom. He starts the shower running, before turning to face you.

“Wanted to have you to myself just for a little while,” he admits. “That ok?”

You nod, feeling oddly exposed as you stand naked before Rick. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with him all evening. Without Takeshi as a buffer - a dominant distraction – you can feel a new kind of intimacy building between you. A new kind of nervousness, too. Because now that it’s just the two of you, it’s hard to forget that come Monday morning you will be back to being colleagues.

“How you feelin’?” His gaze travels across your face and you can sense his apprehension, the twin to your own.

“Good,” you tell him. Although the word doesn’t nearly cover it. “Great.”

His eyes crease, a tentative smile stretching over his face. His hands land on your hips, pulling you closer. “You’re amazin’, do you know that?”

You reach up and stroke his stubbled jaw, your thumb tracing over his bottom lip. “Did you mean what you said before? About wanting this - wanting us?” You ask him shyly. “Because I have, too, Rick. For the longest time.”

“Every word of it, darlin’,” he assures you, rubbing a soothing circle over your hip. “Think maybe we could see where this goes, you and me?”

“Yes,” you agree. A thousand times, yes.

Rick carefully positions you under the shower head, your back flush to his chest. With delicate hands he starts to wash you, wiping away the evidence of your earlier activities. As he works away, his lips press against your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, and it’s at this moment that you understand with certainty that whatever happened here tonight, this connection between you and Rick is real. It scares and excites you in equal measures.

Without an inch of space between your slick bodies, it’s impossible not to notice Rick’s growing desire. It stirs a heat between your own legs, and despite your exhaustion you push back against him, silently giving him permission.

“You sure, darlin’? We were pretty rough with you earlier. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m sure.” You grind back against him. “Please, Rick. I need you.” You were right, earlier. One taste was all it took. You’re addicted to him.

His hand slides down the curve of your spine, splaying across your ass, parting your legs so he can slide inside you. The sound of the shower muffles your moan of pleasure as he sinks in to the hilt. It’s still a stretch. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the size of him.

When he’s fully seated inside you, your hands fly to the wall, supporting yourself as the hot water cascading over your skin creates a feeling of intense pleasure. Rick begins to plunge in and out of you, excruciatingly slowly.

“I won’t break,” you assure him.

“I know, darlin’. Maybe it ain’t you I’m worried about.”

Before you can reply, the bathroom door opens and Takeshi walks in. “Round two, huh?” He observes with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he takes in the sight of Rick still buried deep in your pussy.

[jechristine]

would it be okay if you would expound more on the subject of queer theory and how it isn't inherently a performativity of "performance"? do you have any good books on queer theory i can read as it's pride month?

I have passing knowledge from grad school where I took a critical theory class, a Victorian sexuality class, and a Shakespeare & masculinity class, in which we read lots of queer approaches to reading texts, themes, plots, and characters. I’m not a queer theorist myself by any stretch, and I didn’t end up using queer theory in my own doctoral work. I’d say I’ve been exposed to it in an official setting, but that’s it. You could use this very hasty and simple sketch as a starting point if you’re interested—

So as I learned it queer theory grew out of linguistics.

The linguistic stuff is complicated, but the gist is a guy name Ferdinand de Saussure said that, even though things may exist in the natural world, they don’t exist for us before we name them. And then the things that we’ve created through naming only exist in relation to the other things that we’ve created through naming. This was called Structuralism because it described how language was a structure in which words and thus things that we know only exist in relation to other words and thus other things that we also know. Every one thing is “not” the other things.

Anyhow, another French guy named Michel Foucault (History of Sexuality) wrote a history of sexuality that built on this idea and others, too. Here and separately he worked out a whole theory of power (ideology) as productive, which holds that power keeps creating categories and words in order to know and control things. The thinking is that if something isn’t named, it isn’t known, and that unknowability is potentially dangerous to power. Foucault applied this idea to sexuality. He said that we tend to think of sexuality as having become less and less repressed over time, but what really happened is that sometime in the 20th century power started to take this big, broad category of threatening-to-power non-normative sexuality and started breaking it into parts, knowing and naming more and more categories of it, thereby bringing non-normativity under its control. (Norms have of course always been under its control.)

Simultaneously linguists developed theories around performative speech utterances. Performative speech is speech that is action, speech that makes reality. The most canonical example is the “I do” at wedding ceremonies. Two people say the words, and the words themselves make the union.

So Judith Butler (Gender Trouble) and some other theorists applied these ideas to gender and then to sex. They say all genders are performative not in the sense that there is something “real” underlying the performance but in the sense that there is nothing without the performativity, nothing that exists apart from it. Like Saussure said that there are no things that exist for us without a name, Butler said that there is no gender and no sex without our millions of performstive iterations of categories that we ourselves and our ancestors have created, and they’ve been known, named, and created by power so that they can be controlled.

Those are some very broad outlines of some key thinkers. There have been thousands of voices of all races and backgrounds departing from Foucault and Butler in all kinds of different, extremely productive, and often empowering ways. Those two aren’t foundational because they were 100% right but because they paved the way for new ways of thinking and new questions that didn’t really exist before them.

[vampireinterview]

It has come to my attention that some of you have not been made aware of the fact that Plato was well known for being a Destiel shipper, in addition to the fact that he also wrote some philosophical works on the side. Let me explain.

Plato was an Athenian thinker whose real name was Aristocles (Plato most likely comes from the Greek word for ‘broad”, he might have been so jacked that people nicknamed him for his wide shoulders, which is irrelevant to the topic at hand but I’m collecting receipts on my hypothesis that all hellers are physical beheamoths). His work regarding the philosophy of love can be interpreted through the lens of the Deancas love story, which can potentially lead us to discover the very essence of what makes Destiel so impactful and universal, so bear with me, I’ll make it as introductory as possible.

Plato’s Symposium is a dialogue which contains the philosopher’s basic view on what love can be. The influence of the aforementioned text has been so strong that even those of us who are blissfully unaware of its contents have heard of the concept of “platonic love”. It is with great disappointment that I have to inform you about the fact that the way in which the term is colloquially used can be considered quite removed from the core idea of what Plato’s love is supposed to be about. Commonly people utilize it to refer to a non-romantic and non-sexual emotion towards an individual. However, even though the extrasensory love was the end goal, it was never too far distanced from the earthly, carnal desire that was supposed to lay the foundation for greater experiences.

One of the most illustrative elements of the Symposium is no doubt the Love Ladder metaphor (also known as Diotima’s Ladder of Love, the Scala Amoris); Plato believes the act of loving to be a part of the process of initiation into the non-material world of ideas. Every step of the ladder helps one approach the transcendence of one’s soul, and so we can single out six steps to immortal absolutes:

1. The first step is developing an appreciation for a particular person. It’s a very much carnal (though not necessarily conventionally sexual) desire for beauty of a specific individual. According to Plato only through the love of the physical can one love the non material. The visceral infatuation with another’s body is often strongly rooted with the self-hatred of one’s own aesthetical poverty: within the carnal love we seek to find that which our own body lacks. The desire between Dean and Cas doesn’t have to be seen as strictly sexual, as the appreciation of beauty does not warrant a conventionally erotic subtext. This sort of fascination with the flesh is most noticeably highlighted in the many “eye sex” scenes in seasons 4-5, and is later brought up by Hester:

The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost. 

2. The second step stems from the appreciation for all physicality derived directly from the love one has for the lover’s form. It’s fleshed out any time Dean finds beauty in the dark times, where he would have never found it before or when Cas sees humanity through the lens of the love he has for the beauty within Dean Winchester. This step is all about finding the allure in everybody, not in spite of but rather because of having fallen for a specific person’s material form.

3. The next step is a love which transcends the physical and teaches an individual to feel affection towards the souls. The attraction one can experience in relation to that which is non material is precisely what takes the function of the driving force behind both Castiel’s and Dean’s decisions in season 6 and onward (arguably even much earlier for Cas? or even Dean? Maybe we’re talking about season 4?). As evidenced by the apparent lack of attraction Dean experiences towards Jimmy himself, he must have already moved on to this stage (the Cas he loves is not just the vessel he inhabits). Castiel on the other hand feels heavily infatueted with Dean’s spiritual allure (even when he’s physically on the verge of a breakdown, he’s still beautiful, still Dean Winchester). 

4. It is only then that one can find love for the institution. If one worships souls, then one also has to worship the product of those souls: and, sure enough, loving humanity led Castiel to love its structures and ethical systems and be willing to die fighting for them. In the later seasons he exhibits fascination over all the little rules that guide an average human’s life (which is especially fleshed out in his season 7 dialogues, where he contemplates all the small details of the societal structure, ie: how important is lipstick to you?, maybe the human institutions should ban its production). Same can be said of Dean: the customs and traditions of other people are subject to his affectionate protection in the later seasons, which sets s6 and onwards Dean apart from the early seasons Dean who cared mostly about his blood relatives. The found family arc was for him a process of growing attached to the order of life which was previously foreign to him, and him learning to navigate functioning within a big family structure and an organization (the last one is physically manifested by his move from a chaotic life spent at random motels to living at the bunker, property of the institution of Men Of Letters).

5. Then comes the deep appreciation of knowledge. Now, it is widely disputed whether what Plato meant should be strictly narrowed down to just one kind of knowledge (in many English translations you might encounter the word ‘science’, though used in the ancient sense). The process of gaining knowledge is often equated with the understanding of ideas in Plato’s work, therefore we’re going to stick with that. The act of loving the process of discovering both the external and the internal world is a strong factor which pushes Dean to self examination, or the examination of the inner psyche. It is that pursuit of knowledge that is the very coronation of his entire character arc: the realization of his role within the story (”I’m not the ultimate killer”) which was directly derived from the act of loving Cas.

6. The final stage of platonic love is reaching the love of the very concept of Love. Once again, interpretations vary, but for the sake of the argument, I’ll clarify that: the discussed kind of love transcends both the body and the soul. An individual is in love with Beauty, not just one of it’s physical or spiritual manifestations. In my opinion, this stage is extremely well depicted during the 15x18 confession scene, for it is a kind of love achieved by Castiel. He is no longer just in love with the body or soul of Dean, he’s also in love with the sole idea of loving him. He quite literally states that he’s fallen in love with the idea of just being, just saying it, just falling in love. 

Upon achieving this state, he transcends his material conditions both by leaving the human world (his move to another dimension - the Empty - could be just an illustrative manifestation of the transcendental move of his essence) and giving birth to a new world order. The way in which he later on goes to rebuild Heaven and give birth to a completely new, structure of the universe is in line with a concept that Plato ties into the finale step of the Ladder - pregnancy of the soul. At one point in Symposium he describes Diotima saying that:

That in that life alone, when he looks at Beauty in the only way that Beauty can be seen--only then will it become possible for him to give birth not to images or virtue (Because he’s in touch with no images), but to true virtue (Because he is in touch with the true Beauty).

What is the christian equivalent and personification of the true idea of Virtue if not the abstract concept of Heaven? The moment Cas creates a new portrayal of Virtue he finishes the Ladder. It could also be argued that the true pregnancy of the soul was actually finished when Jack ascended to the status of God: an entity which belongs to the realm of ideas and is perfect by its very nature is birthed through Castiel’s love (which can be traced back to the feelings he has for Dean Winchester).

And it is the fact that Dean’s arc got stuck on the fifth stage of the Ladder that causes me so much pain. He dies before transcending and experiencing the non-temporal and non-relative feeling of love that one can gain only through the admiration of beauty itself. His life was cut short and his soul has already left the mortal, physical world, therefore he is forever unable to experience the feeling of loving Love and Virtue so much that his soul gives birth to an unbreakable idea.

In conclusion: if you ever see somebody say that Dean and Castiel’s relationship is platonic, just agree. It is very much so platonic in the sense that through their carnal and spiritual desires they’ve manged to (nearly, in Dean’s case) transcend their material conditions and reached the divine aspect of ideal Beauty and Virtue, rooted in a love that’s so deep that it’s perfectly able to redefine the structure of one’s existence.

tagging some people who have vaguely expressed interest in acquiring the third eye:

@cryptcas​ @futureheadnerd​ @doctorprofessorsong​ @sinnabonka​ @theangelwiththewormstache​ @absoluteheller​ @fivefeetfangirl​ 

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Nine

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Smut (Somnophilia, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Power Kink, Anal), Language, Injuries, Minor Violence, Trigger Warning: Neglect, Childhood Trauma, mentions of mental illnesses

Word Count: 5.5K

A/n: Nat goes on a rant in this part that is very relevant. If y’all have any questions about her rant, ask and I’ll answer based on my own personal knowledge with the subject matter. I hope you all enjoy!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

SORRY IF SOME TAGS ARE FORGOTTEN!!!!

Series Masterlist

You anxiously wait in the pristine office, looking around nervously at everything in the room.

There isn’t a lot, and hardly anything super personal, but it’s something to get your mind off of impending doom.

The door opens and you jump to your feet, staring at the tall man as he walks in.

“Miss (Y/l/n).” He nods. You wring your hands out and gnaw on your bottom lip before speaking, voice small and hoarse.

“H-have you heard from James?” The blond man stops in his tracks. “What do you mean?” You shake your head, sniffling and taking a deep breath.

“H-he hasn’t been home in a few days... I’m worried. The last time he was home the soldier was off the rails... he was really rough... and then he disappeared. I-I know I’m just supposed to be his stress relief but I’ve grown to care for him and if something happened to him I-” Steve places a hand on your shoulder, gently ushering you to sit down. He can’t help but glance to where your skirt rides up as you move.

“It’s okay. I’m sure he’s okay.” Your bottom lip wobbles and Steve’s eyes are drawn to it.

“I-I... what do I do?” He sighs and sits on the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his broad chest.

“First of all, relax. I’ve known Buck my whole life. I’m sure he’s fine. He probably felt bad for hurting you so now he’s trying to figure out how to make amends.” You take a deep breath then nod, clenching your jaw tightly.

“I hope he’s okay.” Steve watches you, proud of how you’ve grown attached to his friend and a little envious of the relationship the two of you have.

“I-I’m sorry for wasting your time, Captain. I was just... I don’t want anything to happen to him is all.” He nods, leaning forward and smiling softly at you.

“Call me Steve. And you haven’t wasted my time.” You smile, eyes darting down to his lips for a moment then back up to his baby blues.

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home.” You hesitate, looking down and shrinking in on yourself.

“What’s wrong?” You shake your head and scoff at yourself. He crouches down in front of you, shouldering his way gently between your legs and for a moment he wonders what it must be like to be between them in a different setting. His eyes find your panties and he licks his lips. The light blue fabric has a small damp spot in the middle and he finds himself fighting the urge to bend you over his desk.

He rests a big hand on your thigh, smoothing over the bare skin for a moment before smiling encouragingly up at you.

“I just... I don’t like being in the house alone. Especially when I don’t know where he is or if he’s safe. I just... it’s scary,” you whimper, closing your eyes tightly.

‘Oh Lord, Buck’s gonna kill me,’ he thinks, knowing that he’s about to take full advantage of your fear.

“You can stay with me until we find him. If you want.” Your eyes snap to his and you nod, fighting a smile.

“Yes, please. If it isn’t too much.” He shakes his head, lips brushing against your thigh for a moment.

“Anything for you, Princess.” The nickname makes you shiver and you can’t help but smile this time. He stands up and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

Instead of backing up like you know you should, you stay pressed against him, head back so you can look into his beautiful eyes. His cock twitches in his pants at the innocent look in your eyes and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to step away from you.

The ride to his apartment is filled with tension, and he nearly breaks more times than he’d like to admit.

The final straw, however, is when you’re looking around his bedroom (which he so kindly offered up for you to sleep in) and make yourself comfortable, not giving a rat’s ass that he’s there.

You look over your shoulder at him, making sure he’s still standing in the doorway watching you. And sure enough, he’s there.

With nimble fingers you pull off your top, skirt dropping to the floor a moment later.

“You know,” you begin, climbing onto the bed in just your underwear. “It’s been so lonely since he’s been gone. Could you... stay with me for a while? I’m not used to sleeping on my own.”

He watches you bat your eyelashes at him and mentally curses himself for what he’s about to do. He pulls his shirt off, his jeans following closely after.

“Come here.” It’s not a request, it’s an order, and it sends sparks flying in your belly. You crawl to the edge of the bed and look up at him, holding your breath in anticipation as he steps towards you.

One hand comes up, long fingers gently tracing over your throat before wrapping comfortably around it and giving a light squeeze.

You let out the breath you were holding, eyes falling closed as he leans down and brushes his nose over your neck.

“You miss having a cock in that tight little pussy?” You squeak at his words then nod, whimpering when his other hand trails down your shoulder to your chest.

He pulls back slowly, eyes raking over your figure as if he’s pondering something.

“Lemme help you with that,” he murmurs, crawling onto the bed with you. You move backwards then lie down, heart thumping loudly in your chest as Steve crawls on top of you. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your throat then peppering kisses down down down until he gets to the middle of your bra.

“Gonna let me take this off?” You nod breathlessly, arching your back as he reaches under you. He pulls your bra off easily and his lips are immediately latched around your left nipple. A moan slips past your lips and he grins against your chest, teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive skin.

“S-Steve...” he adores the way you sound. “That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s making you feel this good?”

“Y-You, Steve. Only you... please... I need more....” He nods, pushing himself up to his knees and sitting between your legs.

“Such a pretty colour on you, baby. You look so pretty.” You hum, body alight at his praise, and he chuckles.

“Bucky doesn’t take care of you the way he should, does he?” You shake your head, looking up at him through lust-clouded eyes.

“He doesn’t. Can you? Take care of me the way he should, show me how he should treat me.” He nods, chest puffing out a bit at the challenge.

In an instant, he’s ripped your panties clean off of your body and he looks ready to devour you.

“You want me to eat this pretty pussy? Show you how a real man eats pussy? Yeah? Ask daddy nicely.” You absolutely love this.

“Please daddy. Please eat my pussy.” He leans down and attaches his mouth to your dripping centre.

Your back arches off the bed at the contact and you moan loudly, eyes rolling back into your head as he laps at your folds then focuses his tongue on your clit.

He expertly works the little bundle of nerves, flicking and smoothing his tongue over it in a way that has you seeing stars. Your hands find his hair and you tug him closer to your centre, cursing as he slips two long fingers inside of you.

His mouth continues its assault on your clit while his fingers search for the spot that’ll make you see stars. When he finds it you let out a gasp, thighs clenching around his head as the coil in your belly tightens.

He’s unrelenting, tongue and teeth working your clit while his fingers continue pounding against your g-spot, making you see stars. He has you cumming in no time, gushing and creaming all over his handsome face, and he licks up every last drop.

When your legs stop trembling and you seem to have regained your breath, he climbs up your body to lie beside you, watching with pride as you struggle to open your eyes.

His fingers find your lips and you take them into your mouth, sucking the taste of yourself off of him. He grinds his teeth together and before you can comprehend what’s happening, he’s got you flipped onto your stomach, legs forced apart by his knees while he slides a pillow under your hips.

“You ready for daddy to show you how a real man fucks?” You nod desperately, wiggling your hips back a bit. He chuckles and grabs onto them, stilling your movements. The tip of his cock, all hot and wet and perfect, presses against your slit and you can’t help but moan, arching your back a bit more.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?” You nod, hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as he slides his cock through your drenched folds, gathering your wetness on his length and coating himself in it.

“Your pussy is so nice and small, bet you’re gonna squeeze me so tight, huh? Gonna have this pretty little cunt wrapped around me so damn tight and you’re just gonna take it, aren’t ya? You’re just gonna take the fuckin’ beating my cock’s gonna give you, huh?” You nod again, desperately wanting him to fuck you.

He pulls back, then slides his cock through your folds again, then pulls back, and slides through again. On the third time, and just when you’re about to snap at him to hurry up, he plunges right into you, successfully silencing any thoughts you had.

A smug smile spreads across his face at the way you gasp and choke, his length throbbing inside of your tight heat.

“B-Big,” you whisper, eyes rolling and toes curling at the feeling of him just sitting inside of you. “Y-you’re so big.” Granted, he’s not quite as thick as Bucky, but he’s longer. He hits every perfect spot inside of you while still making you feel like you’ll fall apart if he moves but die if he stays still.

“Look at that...” he whispers, eyes focused on where the two of you are connected. He slowly pulls out, groaning at the way your cunt clings to his cock. He traces the rim where your pussy is stretched and tight around his cock and you can’t help but shiver.

He grins to himself for a moment, pulling out even more until only the tip remains in you, and then he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt again.

You let out a broken shout of pure ecstasy and he feels himself fill with pride nat the fact that he’s the one getting you to make those sounds.

His hands stay tight on your hips as he pulls back then pushes in, starting up a steady pace and making you feel every inch of his deliciously long cock.

“You my good girl? Huh? You gonna be a good girl for daddy and take every inch of me? Yeah, you’re daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?” You nod dumbly, tears leaking out of your eyes as he fucks you senseless. “I’m daddy's good girl.” He nods then speeds up.

The feeling of his hips slapping into your ass combined with the stretch of his cock in your pussy and his balls brushing your clit has you balancing precariously on the edge, almost ready to fall into your second orgasm.

He leans forward and grabs your hands, pushing them into the mattress with his weight but you absolutely love it. His hips speed up and his lips find your neck, licking and sucking on the tender skin while his cock absolutely abuses your pussy.

“S-Steve! I... can I cum? Please. Please, I’m gonna cum, please!” His teeth find your neck and he bites at your skin, the pain pushing you headfirst into your second fiery orgasm of the night.

“Cum around my cock,” he murmurs, thrusts unrelenting even as you clench around him. He basks in the feeling of you, slowing his thrusts but putting more force behind each one. You’re not sure where your second orgasm ends and third one begins, all you know is that if he keeps this up you’re gonna pass out.

He groans into your neck, muscles trembling as his own climax approaches.

In a matter of moments, he’s spilling his seed deep in you, coating your walls in his cum.

“Gonna fill you up,” he murmurs, pumping his hips while your cunt milks him of everything he has to offer.

“Gonna mark this pussy up so you always know who you really belong to.” You clench around him at his words and he groans, hips slowing before stilling.

He stays on top of you for a moment, just catching his breath, then pulls out and flops onto his back. You’re perfectly content to remain where you are, but he’s having none of that. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you onto his chest, one hand between the two of you to help you sink back down on his cock.

You whimper as his softening cock presses against your tender walls and he can’t help but chuckle.

His hands rub soothing circles on your back and a small part of you wishes that this was the man you were forced to be with.

You squash that thought quickly but cuddle closer to Steve, post-orgasmic bliss taking you to sleep quickly.

You fall asleep on his chest, but he finds himself unable to fall asleep just yet. Not with the way your breasts are pressed to his chest, or the way your cunt clenches and flutters in your sleep.

He spends hours trying to fall asleep, trying to ignore the throbbing in his balls and the way you’re keeping his cock so warm. But he can’t.

Steve Rogers isn’t done with your body just yet.

He carefully rolls the two of you over so that you’re on your back, hovering over you and making sure you’re still asleep. When you show no sign of having regained consciousness, he slowly starts thrusting his cock in and out of you again.

Your body is pliant and lax and he finds himself so entranced by it. He leans back onto his haunches, grabs you by the hips, and hoists you up so that you’re at the perfect level for him to fuck.

He wastes no time in taking what he wants from your body, fucking you hard and fast and borderline brutally, not giving a single fuck if you wake up.

You stay asleep for far longer than he thought you would, what with the way he’s fucking your abused and swollen pussy. The squelching sounds of your soaked cunt is almost enough to drown out your confused groans, but he hears them. Over the pornographic sounds your pussy is making, you’re calling out for Bucky, wondering what’s happening.

And that fact alone only spurs Steve on.

He fucks you even harder, cock hitting every spot inside of you that makes you see stars, and you moan.

“Go back to sleep, Princess. Daddy’s just finishing up here,” he whispers, hands holding your thighs so tightly that he’s definitely leaving bruises.

“m’kay,” you whisper, head cloudy with sleep. He watches the way your eyes fall closed, the way you just succumb to him and allow him to do whatever the hell he wants with your body.

His abs clench and soon enough he’s cumming inside of you again, adding to the white mess inside of your puffy pussy.

He pulls out after a long moment and gets on his stomach between your legs, eyes focused on the way your pussy twitches and gapes, a thin line of white trailing from your pussy to your tighter hole. An idea strikes him and before he knows what’s happening he’s got his middle finger in your pussy, coating it in a mixture of his cum and yours.

Once he deems it wet enough he slowly pushes it into your lower hole, eyes focused on the look of pain that crosses your features. He hums to himself, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he fucks your ass with his middle finger.

“Bucky never take this hole? Huh? Nah, he just sticks to that cunt of yours. So this pretty little ass is all mine.”

He pulls out of your ass to coat his ring finger in the slick oozing from your cunt, then pushes the two fingers back into your ass.

“Would you look at that? A fuckin’ natural.” He fucks you with his fingers, working your ass open slowly until he can fit all four fingers inside.

“You’re gonna take my cock in your ass, Princess. And you’re gonna like it.”

He positions his cock at your ass and uses his fingers to scoop the cum out of your pussy. He covers his length in it then slowly eases into your ass, face scrunching up at just how tight it is.

“Jesus... Fuck, you’re tight,” he rumbles. Your face is contorted with pain and your eyelids flutter for a moment before slowly opening.

He pulls your legs up over his shoulders and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head while he slowly rocks in and out of you.

His hips don’t stop, even as you’re on the verge of waking up. He continues fucking your ass because fuck, you’re so tight and so perfect. You whimper at the pain but he continues, hips speeding up as he feels ready to burst again.

You start squirming beneath him and that's what does it. The fact that he has you pinned and you can do absolutely nothing to free yourself. The absolute power he feels over you. He cums hard, shooting his load into your ass and making a mess that matches that in your pussy.

Only when he’s sure he’s been milked of all the cum in his balls does he pull out, and even then he’s not finished his assault on your sleeping body.

Now that he has you, has an outlet, he intends to make full use of it.

~*~

“You look tired,” Fury notes, eyeing the super-soldier warily.

“Had a long night,” is Steve’s reply.

The blond man pushes open Bucky’s front door, listening carefully and trying to find any evidence that the man has been home in the past 24 hours.

“Buck?” He calls, walking through the house and pausing every so often to listen for any noise.

He almost doesn’t notice it. It’s so faint and so far away that if he was even the slightest bit more distracted he would’ve missed it.

“Someone’s here,” he whispers, feet pulling him to the basement door. The sound of muffled arguments only gets louder the closer he gets.

Fury follows Steve down the stairs, eyebrows raising as the blond jogs over to the cellar latch.

He pulls it open, the sound of the argument ceasing in an instant.

“Buck?”

There’s an audible sigh of relief. “Steve! Nat’s here too. You’ve gotta help us, man.” Steve hurries down the ladder, confusion slapping him in the face as he takes in the scene before him.

Bucky is on the ground clutching at his chest, blood staining his shirt and dribbling from his chin while Natasha is bound and naked beside him, a bar spreading her legs apart.

Steve’s cheeks flush and he quickly glances away from her, tugging his jacket off and covering her body with it while he works to untie her bonds.

When she’s finally free, she wraps herself in his jacket and stumbles away from Bucky, heart racing in her chest.

“What happened?” Steve asks, grabbing her forearms and pulling her into an embrace. She takes deep breaths, trying to compose herself and not lash out before giving a proper explanation.

“He broke her, that’s what happened. He broke her and she finally exploded.” She pushes past him and up the ladder, Fury waiting to help her out of the house.

“What the hell does she mean?” Steve asks his friend, grabbing his arm and hoisting him to his feet.

“She’s gone fuckin’ crazy, man. She kidnapped Nat and she stabbed me! Yeah, I was a little rough with her, but I didn’t think she’d go ape shit!” Steve thinks back to the night he spent with you, trying to piece things together.

You seemed so genuine. And yet you’ve caused so much damage.

“Where is she?” Bucky asks suddenly, his hand pressed tightly to the wound below his ribs.

“She uh... she spent the night at my place. She was still asleep when I left.”

The brunet stares at his friend, different emotions playing through his body. He opens his mouth to speak but a voice that isn’t his comes out, a metal hand reaching up and grabbing Steve by the throat.

The blond grabs his arm, confusion in his eyes as his friend chokes the life out of him.

“Buck!” He rasps, calmly fingers sliding down the metal of his arm. “Buck, stop!”

The brunet shows no sign of even hearing his friend, and Steve quickly finds himself running out of options.

He thrusts his fist out, striking the injury at the brunet’s ribs.

He drops Steve and grabs at his chest, panting hard and shaking his head a few times.

“Fury, get the tactile team here. And have a second team at my house now!”

Steve grabs the brunet, pushing him to the ladder while he’s still disoriented and in pain.

He climbs up the ladder then up the stairs, collapsing on the floor in the kitchen.

“Where is she?” He demands, his voice caught between Bucky and The Soldier.

“We're finding her,” Steve says warily, eyes focused on the man on the ground before him.

“She’s dangerous, Steve, she’s fuckin’ dangerous.”

~*~

“So you really didn’t think to do a thorough background check before you went and grabbed her?” Natasha asks, arms crossed over her chest as she glares at the three men before her.

“I had nothing to do with it! Fury and Steve brought me files of different women and told me to pick one so I did,” Bucky defends, raising his hands from where he sits in front of Steve’s desk.

“You’ve got different problems, problems that we’re gonna discuss later,” She hisses, levelling him with a glare that tells him to shut the fuck up.

“We did a background check. Her mother is supposed to have died years ago, her father too,” Steve defends, “the legal documents were hidden deep. It took a while for Stark to find them.” The redhead raises her eyebrows in confusion.

“So what’s the deal then? What secrets needed to be hidden?”

“Her father commit suicide. He was a paranoid schizophrenic, got removed from the family after the neighbours reported him exhibiting... strange behaviour and teaching his daughter... unethical things. He then escaped the psych ward and jumped out of the twelfth-floor window, died on impact,” Steve says, eyes scanning the document on his computer screen.

“Her mother raised her until she was fifteen, then she got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, official diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder with recurring episodes of intense psychosis that included visual hallucinations.”

“So craziness runs in the family,” Bucky mumbles, wincing when Nat elbows him in the ribs.

“They’re not crazy. You of all people should have some sympathy and empathy when it comes to mental issues and disorders.” His jaw clenches but he otherwise says nothing.

“So what about (Y/n). What’s her... official diagnosis? If she even has one,” Natasha urges.

Steve’s eyes rake over the screen before finding the part where you really come in. “She was removed from her mother’s care after her teachers noticed patterns of neglect. The official diagnosis she was given was Conduct Disorder, but they thought nothing of it considering her upbringing. She bounced around through group homes and foster families until she turned eighteen, which is when she moved to New York and got her own life.”

Natasha is silent for a moment, mulling over Steve’s words.

“Conduct Disorder is the precursor to Antisocial Personality Disorder, isn’t it?” She asks, eyes flashing to the blond. He nods, having read in-depth about that particular disorder.

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks. Steve sighs and pats his friend on the shoulder. “It’s what, back in our day, we’d call a psychopath. Or a sociopath. Those aren’t the politically correct terms anymore, but that’s pretty much what she is.”

Bucky nods thoughtfully, thinking over the words for a moment before speaking. “That explains the stabbing.”

Natasha grabs Bucky by the collar, her eyes full of fiery anger.

“No, James! She’s had this disorder her whole life and yet she has not one smidge of a criminal record! Her disorder isn’t what made her lash out and do that terrible shit! You are! You’re the one who beat her and broke her! You destroyed her, mentally and physically! You don’t get to shove off what you’ve done onto a disorder that she had under control!”

She’s panting, her chest heaving as she finally gives him a piece of her mind.

“You fucking destroyed that girl, James. This is her mind’s way of protecting what little sanity she has left. She isn’t a bad person because of her disorder. If I remember correctly, she was nice, she was liked by people, and she was a functioning member of society. So don’t you dare go and blame your actions on her disorder because I can guarantee that if you hadn’t fucked her up so bad, she wouldn’t have lashed out the way she did!”

The two other men are silent, Steve trying to figure out what Bucky could’ve done that was so bad while Bucky hangs his head in shame.

“I know that what I did was wrong, but I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop myself.”

Nat snorts, “bullshit. I don’t care if it ‘wasn’t you’. You still started treating her badly. Fuck, you agreed to this whole thing in the first place. You caused this, James.”

“What happened?” Steve finally asks.

“What happened is that your war buddy over here decided to see how much torture it takes to break a person. Turns out it’s a lot less than you’d think. Fucker took a video of it and everything.” She turns to Bucky with her arms crossed over her chest. “Show him the video.” He shakes his head, hand instinctively going to his phone.

“Show him the fucking video, James. Show him what you did, why she is the way she is. Do it.” He grinds his teeth together, trying not to lash out at her.

“See? He knows that what he did is too fucked up to even show you.”

“I agree that things haven’t gone the way we thought they would, but that’s a fact we need to accept,” a new voice chimes in from the doorway. Natasha glares at the man as he walks in.

“How could even suggest something like this?” She demands. Fury shrugs, lips pursed for a moment.

“There are certain people in this world... whose roles are expendable. They don’t serve one significant purpose. So I gave her a purpose.” She shakes her head. “You don’t get to decide the importance of people’s lives. That girl was doing just fine, and then you decide to ruin her fucking life.”

“There was no way we could’ve known things would’ve gone this way.” He sounds so unbothered by this and that only pisses Natasha off more.

“No, but there was a chance you could’ve realized that if he needs an outlet so bad, maybe he should be the one we’re focusing on! If the soldier is that uncontrollable, maybe we shouldn’t have him here with us! Maybe we should lock him up somewhere where no one will find him if that’s how dangerous he is.” She points aggressively at Bucky

He’s out of his chair in an instant, chest heaving as he glares at her.

“I care about her! I value her and she’s important to me! To both of us! I’m not fucking happy with what I did to her but we made it work! We were happy! We were functioning perfectly!”

“Then why the hell did you sleep with me?!” Natasha counters, stepping forwards so she’s toe-to-toe with the assassin.

“If you were so fucking happy playing house with your little sex toy, why did you feel the need to start something with me?! Not only were you dishonest and deceitful with me, but you were fucking lying to her too! You lied to us both! You fucking deceived us both! If you cared about either one of us, you would’ve told us both what was happening from the start!” She’s shouting herself hoarse but she doesn’t care. She hopes everyone in the building can hear her.

“It’s not that simple! I couldn’t just confess to you what my coping method was! You’d never understand! And she was just starting to trust me again, to be good for me. I didn’t want to lose that.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, scoffing slightly at the absolute idiocy of the man before her.

“James, you don’t understand. That woman doesn’t trust you. She’s terrified of you. She’s been mistreated her whole life and now you come on the scene and you fuck her up even more. She’s realizing that giving in to your sick fetishes and desires is what makes you give her attention, and she’s gone her whole fucking life without having attention so she’s gonna do everything in her power to keep it.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, wrapping her arms around her torso.

“That woman doesn’t love you. She’s afraid of you. Afraid of the monster she knows you are.” She turns around and shoulders past Fury on her way out.

“You guys have fucked up. We’re supposed to be the good guys. The good guys don’t fuck people up the way you have,” she calls over her shoulder before storming off.

The three men are all silent before Steve clears his throat.

“So what are we going to do about her? We can’t exactly have her running around telling everyone what happened.” Fury nods, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll try talking to her, see if we can work something out,” Bucky suddenly says while avoiding the eyes of the men around him. He slips his phone into his breast pocket and makes for the door, stopping when Steve speaks.

“She stabbed you, Buck. Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks, his hand grabbing Bucky’s shoulder. The brunet nods with a sigh. “She wanted me to pick her over Nat. And maybe that’s what I should do. For the time being anyway. Just until we figure out what to really do with her.” Steve nods, his hand patting his friend on the chest before allowing him to leave.

Bucky walks out without another word.

“I trust that you’ll be able to make the difficult decision, right Captain?” Fury suddenly asks, eyes going pointedly to the phone in Steve’s hand. Steve holds it tighter, clearing his throat after a moment.

“Yes sir.”

“Remember when you sacrificed your life to save the lives of thousands of people?” Steve nods warily, trying to figure out where Fury’s going with this. 

“Sometimes, we need to sacrifice one to save the many,” Steve replies, realizing what Fury is implying.

“Make the right choice, Rogers. That’s all I’m saying. The right choice for everyone.” He leaves the room without another word and Steve sighs, closing the door then plopping down at his desk and unlocking Bucky’s phone.

He scrolls through the camera roll until he finds the video, beyond curious as to what Natasha was talking about.

His eyes are focused on the video, watching the way Bucky uses your body and degrades you. When the camera pans up to your tear-stained face, he groans, blood rushing to his cock.

It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong to find something like this so very arousing and so satisfying but he can’t help it. The absolute control Bucky has over you is something Steve yearns for, something he's been wanting for quite a while.

And he makes the decision then and there that maybe Bucky isn’t so much in the wrong after all.

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter One

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

A/N: Hey everyone! So, after some consideration, I’ve also decided to post each No Saints chapter on individual Tumblr posts, as well as Ao3. I know some people like reading things on Tumblr and it must just seem easier if there are actual chapters uploaded to here as well. I’ll be posting them all over the next few days and then we’ll be all caught up! 

This also means that I can now have a TAG LIST, so if you’d like to be notified for when Chapter Nine comes out, then please tell me and I’ll tag you when I update next. 

Once again please excuse any small spelling or grammar mistakes. No beta we die like men.

Word Count - 7.3k

Chapter One

Working as a mechanic on Nevarro didn’t often gift you the visual of friendly faces, and that was no different with the Mandalorian—he never showed his face. You wouldn’t know his smile even if he decided to wake up one day without slotting Beskar all over his body.

But you knew his stance, the broadness of his shoulders, his preference for short range blasters with the safety close enough for his index finger to reach before firing at will. You didn’t really know people on Nevarro, but you knew their weapon of choice.

It was knowledge that had ended up being valuable, both to your survival, and to that of the Mandalorian.

“I’ll pay you for this information,” He offered bluntly. He never begged, nor did he show his true emotions within his modulated voice very often. The only vague emotion you’d seen him give off was anger—seething and insatiable— the first time he’d ever approached you for a repair.

“What good will this information give you?” You asked, genuinely. “I don’t know their names, this is hunter country. No one ever gives away their identity,”

“A weapon needs someone doing the firing,” He replied simply.

You agreed to his terms, partly from the initial fear that he would harm you, think you to be working against the Guild, but also from the generous sum he was willing to give you for every piece of information you passed onto him.

And thus, began a sort-of partnership that you’d never expected.

You were no saint. You knew the damage done by the goods you willingly sold to trained killers, assassins, Guild members. You saw the bodies dragged from their ships to the Guild, you saw the bounties that went out, kicking and screaming and spitting at their captors—

You saw the blood and dirt and flakes of flesh with every weapon upgrade or repair, but now, you didn’t bat an eye. It was business, it was your livelihood, and it was good money, thanks this this agreement with the Mandalorian that you’d made a while back.

Mando arrived back on Nevarro every few weeks. His condition was always subject to review; sometimes he flowed through your doors, ready for a quick exchange; other times, he took his time with it, sitting opposite you as you went through the recent repair logs, discussing the types of people that came through your doors.

Over the months, however, he always ended up sticking around for longer periods of time. Whether it was from earlier exhaustion, or the normalcy of having a conversation that didn’t end in bloodshed, you didn’t mind. He was the only constant in your life, splitting up your weeks and months when, before, honest interaction had basically been at zero.

“Are you not worried?” He asked one evening. It was late, and your shop was technically closed. You’d awoken to the subtle clicks of your entrance being lockpicked, hoisting yourself out of bed in nothing but your nightwear and grabbing the blaster you kept by your pillow.

You’d rushed to the shop front, aiming your blaster right at his chrome covered head. He’d raised his hands immediately, not once going for his own weapon. The feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lowered your weapon hadn’t been one of anxiety, but of warmth—he trusted you enough not to grab his weapon, not to even incline that he was going to shoot you.

“Worried about what?” You replied, flicking through the logbook.

“A bounty escaping, knowing that you shared this information,” You stopped flicking through the pages, freezing slightly where you sat opposite him. You sensed his sudden unease, deciding to look up directly into his visor.

“Tell me this, Mando,” You began. “What’s my name?”

He looked at you blankly, but you liked to imagine what facial expression he pulled beneath his helmet. In this moment, you imagined he was almost panicking, trying desperately to think back at what your name could be. It’d been over six months, yet names were never properly discussed. His silence proved that he’d just realised this.

“See? You don’t know it. My face is somewhat known here, sure, but my name? I try not to share it as much as you try not to show your face,” You sent him a raised brow smirk. Innately, you felt you had a responsibility to come across stronger than you looked, which is why you shoved down those subtle flickers of anxiety that arose from his question.

Sure, you had those doubts, anyone would. But living on Nevarro, doing what you did, it was an element of the job that you simply had to expect. You suspected Mando also knew that feeling well.

“You’re single-handedly keeping me in business, Mando,” You chuffed, almost sadly, but kept up an unbothered attitude. “I wasn’t going to turn this down and all these months down the line, no matter the danger, wouldn’t change that.” You ended, and you could have sworn you heard him breathe out, almost as if he was relieved that you knew these conditions from the beginning.

You kept flicking through the logbook, until you finally stumbled across a repair. “Here it is,” You perked up, shuffling yourself round so Mando could see the book over your shoulder. Your index finger grazed the page, just underneath the line he was looking for. “Repaired his blaster pistol last month. He didn’t look like a hunter, more like a scared blurrg, from what I can recall,”

“Young? Old?” Mando questioned.

“On the young side, definitely. Looked more like a runaway than anything else,” You added, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. Usually, you divulged the weapon information of other hunters gone rogue, wanted by the Guild; assassins and thieves, or whatever other dirt washed up on Nevarro and in your shop.

This, however—you remembered him. He was young, he was scared, shaking like a newly born calf when he’d bumbled into your shop.

“That fits the bill,” Mando stated, before rising from his seat. You followed suit, making your way back round your front work desk and slotting the logbook beneath it. You tried to keep your expression blunt when you turned back to him, but you couldn’t help the wave of overthinking that landed in your brain.

You stared at him, leaning against the desk until your shoulders rose to cover your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a sigh, but evidently that was enough for you to get the Mandalorian’s attention.

“What?” He spoke harshly, in the same old modulated boom you were used to hearing. You forced yourself to stay still, trying desperately to find his eyes beneath the abyss of his dark visor, but of course it was no use.

“Don’t break into my shop next time,” You diverted your emotions. “Just knock if it’s after hours,”

Mando nodded once, the moonlight gleaming off the chrome that surrounded his face for just a second, before disappearing once more. He shuffled a leather gloved hand through his satchel for just a few seconds, before approaching you at the work desk.

Unceremoniously, he placed your pay in front of you, each credit dropping with a small ping against the metal surface.

“See you,” Mando said bluntly. You nodded in return, before the Beskar covered man left your shop swiftly, shutting your door gently on his way out. You stared at the credits disapprovingly, before going to relock the door behind him.

You forced yourself to shuffle through your pay, counting the credits so you could note them in your budget, but you furrowed your brows as you finished rounding them up. You must have counted them wrong—there were an extra five hundred credits than what you’d agreed with the Mandalorian all those months ago.

Shaking your head, you went about recounting them, only to get to the same exact outcome. Was it an honest mistake in his counting, or had he overpaid you? Tipped you, helped you, heard the way your voice had almost faltered when you’d told him he was keeping you afloat?

You were awash with a new type of conflict—somewhere between thanks and extreme anger. The thanks were certain; he’d listened, and he hadn’t needed to do that, but he’d done it anyway. The anger; this implied you owed him now. As much as you’d come to enjoy his occasional visits every few weeks, the man was still an utter mystery to you. You didn’t want him to have the option of springing up in here and asking for a favour, knowing that he’d done one for you prior.

But there was still a warmth—it came subtly and out of the blue often, when you were around him. You could have slapped yourself at how fast it came this time round, taking you by surprise and speeding your heart rate up beneath your ribs.

He’s a bounty hunter. Get over it.

You placed your usual cut in your savings bundle, in the safe by your bed, but the extra five hundred stayed out of that bag. You shuffled back into bed with no indication of tiredness flooding over you again. All you saw in the static darkness of your grimy bedroom was the outline of that damn helmet—

And the wonder of what lay beneath.

The next week and a half was long and soul-crushingly slow. You’d had about three repair requests total, completing them all in a matter of hours, not making more than a few thousand credits from the sales. Nevarro had seemed restless recently, with less hunters returning to the Guild for more pucks. Maybe it was just a slow week.

Mando arrived back in the evening again, after you closed your doors early for the weekend. The sunlight trickled over Nevarro sparsely, but that evening was particularly warm, so you decided to have some fun.

Your shop had a back courtyard, nothing major, but you’d transformed it into a mini-firing range a year or so back. You were firing a classic blaster when you heard him approach from behind you—you jumped out of your skin at the sight of him, blaster raised, defensive stance donned.

“I told you to knock, Mando,” You boomed out, clutching your heart and switching the safety on your blaster immediately. Mando raised his arms in subtle apology, but you could have sworn you saw the subtle shake of his shoulders beneath the Beskar.

“You sounded... busy,” He spoke, and you squinted at him, feeling your cheeks flushing. The bastard was laughing. He was silently giggling beneath his helmet, the only indication of his lapse of stoicism being from the tiniest movement of his chest and shoulders, almost indecipherable.

You shot him an amused scowl. “Did you—,”

“I locked it,” He replied, already knowing what you were asking. You gulped down surprise at his immediate response, turning back to your makeshift firing range and trying desperately to calm yourself down.

Now, you were a strong woman, that was no question. But the constant mystery of the last six months in Mando’s presence had provided you with more than you’d bargained for. Was it a reflex to suddenly feel invested in this guy’s life after a while? To want to know his backstory, his missions, his favourite breakfast food or blaster style?

The extra credits from your previous trade had only increased these feelings. What was it about a man in a mask? Or, more specifically, what was it about Mando?

And now, as you awkwardly struggled with the safety on a blaster you’d been firing since you were twelve fucking years old, all you could think about was the tone of his voice as he’d said I locked it.

“You shoot?” Mando questioned, moving round to stand next to you. You shot him a smirk, trying to conceal the thoughts within your head.

“I don’t just repair blasters, if that’s what you mean,” You could have cringed at how cocky you’d sounded, but it was too late.

“Show me,” He spoke. He didn’t demand it, but the way his voice arched it was as if he could make anyone do anything he said, just from the steadiness of that modulated drawl.

You did as you were told. You shook off your limbs subtly, before flicking off the safety and aiming at the targets you’d made. In flashes of green, you hit one, two, three targets with ease, right in the centre of their bullseye.

You changed it up, feeling a surge of confidence, or perhaps the want to impress this stoic man. Skilfully, you flipped the blaster in your hands until it had transferred to your other hand, firing another three times on the same targets and hitting them dead centre once more.

Your index finger clicked the safety on, before you stood in place, admiring the shots you’d fired.

“Try this one,” He said beside you, before he plucked the blaster from your hand and replaced it with this own weapon. You looked it over as it slotted into your grasp. It was heavier than yours, bigger, with a more distanced safety, probably because of the hand width that the Mandalorian possessed.

You furrowed your brows at his blaster, smiling at the way the steel glinted. It was well cared for, polished and gleaming, but slightly worn away around the trigger. Well-used. His own personalised weapon.

You raised the blaster towards the targets, all too aware of the way that chrome helmet was tilted towards you. You steadied your arm, applying just the right amount of pressure against the trigger, before it fired in quick succession—

You analysed the blast fire, the weight, the wind, fixing your trajectory upon impact with the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. When you stopped firing, overseeing the new collection of burning holes in the targets, you realised you’d hit them all dead centre again.

To your delight, or to your utter amazement, Mando let out a low, long whistle from beneath his Beskar.

“That’s a custom weapon,” He spoke afterwards, moving to stand before you. “Not many people could change their shooting style like that to fit the blast radius,” It was the closest thing to a compliment that you’d ever heard him offer.

You stayed silent as he replaced his blaster with your own once more, sheathing his weapon before his visor looked straight into your soul. It was shameful, how you realised you could probably stand there and analyse the chiselled and curved edges of his helmet for hours, how if you focused strongly, you could see him breathing beneath his heavy armour.

You forced yourself to step back, looking back towards the shop. “Right—business,” You said, heading inside immediately with Mando following on your tail.

You dropped your blaster on your work desk, grabbing the logbook and getting ready to flick through it once more, before Mando spoke up.

“I seek no information today,” He revealed. You froze, before slotting the logbook back beneath the desk slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his reason for visiting you.

“Okay,” You said, upon rising from beneath the desk once more. All of a sudden, you remembered his money—burning a hole in the safe in your room. You perked up, slapping your hands on the desk for lack of what the fuck to even do before getting round to almost scolding this man. “Then, I have a bone to pick with you,”

Mando dropped himself onto his usual stool, flicking his cape behind him and leaning back in subtle comfort. You swallowed, trying not to interpret anything from his clearly at ease behaviour, before heading to your bedroom quickly.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” He spoke up from the shop floor, and your heart skipped. Was that an attempt at a joke? At some comedy? You had to stop yourself, as you got to the floor and riffled through your safe for his overpaid credits, from allowing a warmth to spread through your gut.

You wanted to curse, as loud as you could. Had it really been that long that you were getting flustered over words from a Mandalorian? Undoubtedly the most hostile and unwelcoming people the galaxy had?

Or, was it just Mando himself that had you overthinking every sentence, every visit?

Credits secured in your fist, you made your way back out to the shop, dropping yourself opposite him and grabbing his arm suddenly, not stopping to think that this man could probably break you in half with his bare hands.

You dropped the credits in his gloved hand, sitting back as he stared at the pellets he now cradled in his palm.

“Not what we agreed,” Is all you said in explanation, picking up a tankard of water and sipping some down your throat, for lack of knowing how to cover up your neon cheeks after the exchange. The weather. It’s just the heat.

“I upped your pay,” He retorted.

“Bullshit, Mando,” You retaliated, allowing a few chuckles to escape your lips. Your face softened then, as you looked over to him, sitting awkwardly, still not knowing what to do with the returned credits. “Your money is your money, Mando. I’m fine with what we agreed,”

His fingers finally clasped around the credits, as his body went back to relax against the wall once more.

“Your shop,” Mando began. “You said I keep you in business,”

“That doesn’t mean I want more of your credits. Owning a washed-up weapons repair shop on kriffing Nevarro isn’t ideal, but neither is being a bounty hunter,”

“You’d earn more as a hunter with the way you shoot,” Mando replied instantly. You perked your brow, sending him a small smile.

“Are you saying I’m not a good weapons mechanic?”

You almost burst out laughing with the way Mando straightened himself, immediately being on edge. His fists tightened, almost as if he was suddenly overthinking if he’d insulted you or not.

“N-no,” He partially stuttered out, but you couldn’t keep your laughter contained. You burst out in giggles, overseeing his complete lack of sarcastic understanding. It was endearing; it made him appear more human.

“Joke, Mando. It was a joke,”

He relaxed after that once more, albeit more hesitantly. He went to slot the credits back in his bag placed on the floor, and as he did so, you allowed yourself to indulge. Beskar gleamed as he leant down, showing the twist of his torso and outlining strong triceps on the small amount of him that was unarmoured.

His neck was slender, compared to the size of his helmet. You wondered how the hell he wore that thing constantly. It didn’t look light, nor did you expect it to be all that comfortable.

If he saw you gawking when he rose once more, he didn’t make any indication of noticing. To avoid revealing what you’d been doing, you moved to cross your legs as a save. “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.

Mando tensed up slightly at your question, but not enough to come across as surprised. He’d already admitted to not needing information from you today.

“Habit,” He replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that warmth one again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in your home, hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind once more.

You wanted to know him, but you also knew that asking him these things would result in nothing good.

You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”

All effort to force those feelings away dissolved, as soon as you heard the low, modulated chuckles from beneath his helmet. They floated through the room, along with the image of his shaking shoulders and tight chest as his laughter tumbled to the floor.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately, knowing that it would be a noticeable blush. You grabbed your tankard, bringing it to your lips as you continued to indulge in looking at him, as he calmed down from the small burst of laughter that he allowed himself to show you.

There was something pulsing within you that you simply couldn’t contain; that want; that desire, after so long without knowing anyone on this godforsaken planet. Before you could stop yourself, words were already tumbling from your mouth.

“I don’t see many people on this planet, besides you,” You admitted. Mando slowly turned his visor to you, making it known that you had his full attention.

You immediately felt too vulnerable, resulting in you standing from your seat and heading round to your work desk, slamming the tankard down on the top. “It’s... well, it’s nice. I hope that, even if you don’t need information, you continue to come by,”

You held your breath as soon as you stopped talking, too afraid that you’d overstepped a line. Not that this transaction with him had ever been professional, but you knew Mandalorian’s were inherently focused on their job, and their job only.

When he didn’t reply, or move, or do anything, you started to panic. You played it off as best as you could, by downing the rest of the water in your tankard and averting your gaze to beneath your work desk, like you had the immediate need to start taking inventory.

Mando rose a few moments later, grabbing his satchel and placing it over his shoulder. The breath caught in your throat as he approached your desk. You almost gasped as a gloved hand reached for your forearm, dragging it out to hover in front of him.

He dropped the five hundred credits into your palm as your eyes flicked over his helmet at light speed. He stepped back, removing his grip from you and placing his visor upon your face one last time, before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

He unlocked it, but didn’t open it. You felt your pounding heartbeat as he cleared his throat.  

“It is,” He let out lowly. “Nice.”

The door swooped open and shut behind him gently before you could say anything in return.

He didn’t come back the next week. You wondered if you’d scared him off, if your tiny confession of enjoying his company was too much.

You thought back to the way he’d said the word— Nice— as if it wasn’t something that was often spoken in his vocabulary. For a man of little words, you were increasingly amazed at how he managed to convey things with his body alone, being weighed down and covered up by Beskar at all times.

The credits still weighed on you. You’d given them back to him, you’d made yourself clear, but then he’d given them back and left without a trace.

You prayed to some god out there that it wasn’t a Mandalorian way of saying goodbye. From what you knew of Mandalore, which was very little, you knew they weren’t the gift giving types, but it still made you think.

Yet all that he’d done, despite the deal, the trade of information and the abrupt middle of the night awakenings, those small attempts at light-hearted banter and void visits had given you just a shred of hope.

People on Nevarro were cut-throat, you knew that better than most after making your home there for so long. That’s why this shook you to your core, sparking this unlikely partnership with someone such as Mando.

Stars, you missed him. It sounded ridiculous when you said it in your head, but you did. Contact was little to none on this planet.

You didn’t speak more than a sentence to people needing repairs. You didn’t sit down and talk, and fuck, the loneliness was something you were used to— yet six months of regular meetings, even just to trade information, had offered you a warmth you hadn’t realised you’d missed—

Until he was gone.

It wasn’t until three weeks later that you ventured out of the shop, certain that you were going mad. You hardly frequented the bar at the entrance of the city, choosing to stay safe and locked away in your small isolation inside the shop, but the absence of people was sucking you dry.

You entered the bar, making sure not to seem out of place. It was still an odd feeling, seeing people sitting around and drinking. You knew a lot of the locals— returning customers for repairs, all of which were hunters.

Perhaps there was some unspoken understanding that you weren’t to be touched, as the small nods of hunters hit you when you accidentally met their eyes. It almost made you feel known, but at the same time you hadn’t felt much since that last conversation with the Beskar clad hunter.

You were heading towards the bar when a voice rang out behind you. “Miss!” You swivelled on your heels, hitting his eyes.

It was Greef Karga. You knew him, everyone on Nevarro did. He was the Guild contact here, the one that most hunters got their pucks from for the next job.

“Karga, hello,” You replied, not politely, but not harshly. Being polite got you nowhere on Nevarro, and you knew that despite his smiles and willingness to be friendly, Karga was a snake in the grass.

“Drink?” He questioned, and you found yourself accepting his offer. You made your way to his booth, slotting yourself in opposite him. He grabbed a bottle of blue liquor from the floor by his feet, clicking at the droid behind the bar for glasses. “What brings you here? You don’t usually venture from your establishment,”

You regarded him, all too aware of the blaster on your hip for safety.

“Slow few weeks. Fancied a change of scenery,” You replied bluntly.

“Ah yes, business is slower than usual currently,” He admitted. A droid placed two shot glasses on your table, scuttling back to the bar. Karga swiped them towards him, uncorking the bottle and filling up both glasses. “But your repairs are stellar, and I hear your custom blasters are best sellers,”

He dragged a glass towards you, which you took once he’d taken his hand away. You swilled the liquid around, trying not to look too despondent.

“Parts are sparse,” You admitted. ���Fewer hunters need new gear. I’m starting to think there’s someone better than me on Nevarro,”

Karga let out a coarse laugh, which you first mistook for a chesty cough. His smile was indication enough, however, of the funniness he obviously though that required.

“No, my dear, there’s no one better,” He replied. You chose to ignore him calling you dear. Opposite you he raised his glass to the sky, prompting you to do the same. “To good business in future,”

You nodded at him in response, before downing the blue liquor in one gulp. It burned as it slinked down your throat, hitting your stomach and causing a warmth to spread through your gut. Nothing like the small conversations the Mandalorian gave you, but it made you feel something— and that was in short supply around here.

Karga sighed in refreshment after slamming his glass back on the table, but his gaze fixed on something behind you as you deposited your glass back down. “Ah, Mando!” He exclaimed.

Your heart stopped.

You stayed utterly frozen in place, feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline surge through you.

“That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days at least,” Karga continued.

You tried not to let the hurt surge through you. So, he had been back since your last meeting. He’d been back, and he hadn’t come to visit. You tried to rationalise your hurt— he held no obligation to stop by the shop, he held no responsibility, yet— you wished—

You wished he would have.

“I trust you know our resident weapons mechanic,” Karga continued, gesturing to you. You forced yourself to turn round and look at him— face to face. His helmet stared at you blankly in response, and you wondered what expression he held beneath.

Maybe it was annoyance, thinking he was finally rid of a nobody mechanic from the inner city.

Maybe it was surprise, or hurt, or pain. You knew that despite the immense effort you were putting in to keep your stare blunt, he’d see right through you.

“Yes,” Mando replied after what seemed like hours. You turned back to Karga, pushing your glass to the middle of the table in dismissal.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going,” You got up swiftly, standing in front of Mando after leaving the booth. He looked down at you, chrome visor focusing on your eyeline. You found yourself flicking your eyes from the left and right, as if you could see the placement of his eyes beneath the helmet—

Then you looked away.

You sauntered out of the bar, ignoring exclaimed farewells from Karga as you booked it out of the bar, heading straight back to the shop. Your strides were fierce, your heart pounded painfully beneath your ribs and you couldn’t stop yourself from balling your fists.

You felt like screaming, but you kept your mouth shut and your jaw tense. You felt like punching, kicking, pounding something, but you didn’t, instead opting to breathe it out as you entered your shop and slammed the door shut behind you.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You yelled at yourself to calm down, to accept that it was nothing. God forbid, you’d gotten worked up over the smallest indication of human interaction, from a man whose face you’d never fucking seen, no less.

It was stupid. You’d long grown out of enjoying fairy tales, and this wasn’t one. You were a grown woman, hyper-fixating over a six-month long dodgy deal with a bounty hunter that you didn’t fucking know— not really, anyway.

In a frenzy, you unsheathed your blaster, heading out to your courtyard. You fired at will, not stopping to aim your blaster or even try to hit the targets. When that got dull, you actually started to try—you positioned your feet parallel to your shoulders, straightening your spine and extending your neck—

You fired, hitting the targets dead centre every time, just like normal.

You fired until your trigger finger began to ache, until the incessant anger and hurt in your chest had dissipated to a low roar that you could manage in other ways—with the bottle of Coruscant whiskey that you only saved for special occasions; big deals, good months, and, evidently, to feel something other than red, hot and seething anger.

You went to sheath your blaster, when the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up—

You turned swiftly, raising your gun and keeping your eyes wide open. You faltered when you saw the familiar glint of moon rays on chrome. Mando stood in the courtyard doorway, just as he’d done the last time you’d seen him.

Your elbow buckled, dropping the blaster to your side as you kept yourself composed. You stared him down like you were unbothered to see him. You had a feeling he knew that wasn’t the case, though, and if he’d been there for a few minutes before then your incessant firing would have proven otherwise.

“Mando,” You spoke first, keeping your voice steady. “What information do you need this time?” You kept it professional, not wanting to think back about the way you’d been so blatantly vulnerable to him before. He probably thought you to be childish, over-emotional, idiotic.

You’d rather he thought you to be that, than weak.

“What were you doing with Karga?” He demanded it this time. His voice was low, lower than usual, despite the modulator. You sheathed your pistol, stepping towards him once. He didn’t move aside.

“Drinking,” You stated the obvious. You made a move to try and get past him, but a Beskar covered forearm leant up against the doorframe, stopping you even more so.

“He’s bad news,” He continued. You let out an annoyed scoff.

“I know who Karga is. Kriff—I live here,” You accidentally let your annoyance travel through your words, making it exceptionally clear that you were pissed, if it hadn’t been obvious before.

You grabbed his forearm, tugging it away from the doorframe and pushing your way inside. He let you pass eventually, watching as you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from beneath your work desk. You jumped up onto the desk, letting your legs droop over the side as you uncorked the bottle.

It was silent. You could tell he was trying to find something to say, to bring up the obvious tension, but you also got the sense that Mando didn’t often apologise.

Why should he? He didn’t promise to come back.

He hadn’t promised. You had no idea why you were so ticked off, yet there you were—seething, angry, hurt, perhaps on the brink of tears, but possibly relishing in the fact he’d come to the shop after your little encounter. You felt sick at your own feelings.

“Are you... mad at me?” He spoke finally. The breath caught in the back of your throat. His hesitation made it clear; he didn’t often delve into the workings of others. He was being kind by even asking you about this.

You felt like a dick. All of a sudden, you could see even more so that you were being incredibly irrational. Weeks of zero contact had turned you into a moron. A lonely, overthinking moron.

You glanced up at him, holding the whiskey between your thighs. You let out a sigh.

“No,” You let out. “I’m sorry. It’s been... a strange, few weeks,” You chuckled slightly after speaking, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a small gulp. “Loneliness is a disease, Mandalorian,” You added, taking another sip and slotting the bottle back between your thighs.

Mando moved from the doorway, striding towards you slowly. You stayed in place, focusing on the warmth that the whiskey provided you with. You finally looked up when he stood before you, not close enough to slot between your hips, but close enough for your knees to graze against Beskar.

He reached out for the bottle, grabbing it from between your thighs and making his way around to the main shop. You went to turn, but the leather of his gloved hand slotted itself between your jaw and your neck, pushing your gaze to the back of the shop.

“Don’t look,” He told you, warningly.

You did as you were told, all the while counting your shallow breaths as they quietly shook from within your body. You heard the subtle glug of the bottle, the drip as the liquid sloshed around within the glass, and then the bottle was being slotted back between your thighs from behind.

Mando’s arm wrapped itself around you as he made sure it was back in place, his glove grazing over the top of your thigh and skimming your waist as he retracted his arm back. You’d be lying if you didn’t relish in those small touches.

They set your skin alight, despite there being no skin-to-skin contact involved. It was the closest he’d ever come to you, allowing the gentler side of himself to appear. You’d never see him this way; guard down, a softness to his voice and his unknowing gaze.

You knew that he’d just raised his helmet to take a sip of whiskey—that was enough to make you gulp back the desires within your gut. You couldn’t believe he’d felt comfortable enough to do that around you. You hesitantly turned, waiting to see if it was allowed, but fully turned to him when he didn’t push your gaze away like before.

You swivelled on the top of the desk, bringing your legs round to droop over the other side, while Mando grabbed his usual stool and dragged it closer to you.

He sat, sighing slightly as he did so, before looking up at you sat before him.

“Solitude,” He spoke. “I prefer that word,” His voice was soft. You knew he was tired just from the way he spoke; he was exhausted.

“Solitude implies a sense of peace,” You replied, stepping carefully over your words. “Do you feel peace in your ship, all alone?”

“Do you feel peace in this shop?” He hit back with, avoiding your question completely. You were about to say no, but you stopped yourself. This shop was all you had, all you knew. Your choice of loneliness, over solitude, was an obvious indication of the way it made you feel, and you wanted to bet that Mando knew that, but—

Without this life, you didn’t know where you’d be.

“It’s all I have,” You admitted, finally. He nodded subtly, not moving his visor from your face.

“And this,” He said, gesturing to the Beskar he donned. “Is all I know. This is the Way,”

You looked down, swinging your legs back and forth for lack of what to do. You wanted to know more—you always wanted to know more about Mando, that was a given. But right now, you wanted to ask him everything.

“Is that why you stopped coming here?” The words trickled from your lips pitifully, but you had no choice but to accept that you’d spoken them.

Mando was silent for a few moments, but he made no indication of looking away from you. You wondered if, beneath the helmet, he was actually looking at you. Maybe he was zoning out, or was focused on the wall behind your head instead.

“I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break,”

There it was—that warmth. It erupted within your gut, winding its way up your spine and neck, circling down your limbs and to the spot between your legs that you always chose to ignore. You tensed up immediately, forgetting about the whiskey bottle between your thighs as the sensation only increased the wobble of your upper thighs.

“Like you said,” Mando continued, and you could have sworn that his voice sounded strained. Like he was holding back, like his body was almost forcing him to stay quiet. He stood suddenly, causing a small gasp to leave your lips involuntarily, as he strode forward to slot himself partially between your legs. “Loneliness is a disease,”

You went jelloid when a hesitant hand was placed on your thigh—

Stars, it’s been a while.

You were slowly beginning to unwind, as Mando placed his other hand on the opposing thigh, slotting himself further between your legs. As much as you wanted to speed this up, to feel skin touch skin, you didn’t know if that was actually possible for the Mandalorian.

“M-Mando,” You stuttered out, but it only made his grip tighten around your plump skin. You instinctively raised your hands to his chest, feeling the smoothness of his Beskar. “Just— wait,” You managed out, despite all of your senses not wanting him to stop what he was doing. His visor shot to your face quickly and his hands fluttered away from your thighs.

You wanted to cry— that’s not what you’d meant—

You swiped your hands across his Beskar chest plate, reaching down for his large forearms. You heard the breath hitch in the back of his throat, as a small moan escaped his modulator.

You placed his arms back on your legs slowly, but he still looked on his guard, wondering what you had to say.

“Loneliness is a disease,” You spluttered out. Your cheeks were flushed a neon red, and you could feel the rapid heartbeat erupting from beneath your ribs. “It’s— overwhelming,”

When he didn’t move or speak, you wanted to kick yourself. Had you done it again? Revealed something that was too much and reduced yourself to a vulnerable mess? For a moment, you thought Mando could smell the weakness within you, but even you didn’t realise you’d unwind this fast at the most subtle of touches from the Mandalorian.

You froze when he raised a gloved hand to pinch your chin. His thumb was firm but gentle, his other fingers curled just beneath your jaw, and his stare was unwavering.

Stars, your whole body throbbed at his touch. You wanted more, but you also didn’t want it to end as quickly as it had started, and you’d meant what you’d said— overwhelming. It was a red, hot heat that you hadn’t felt in years, it was something that you’d have to get used to again, and from the fumbling touches that Mando gave you, you felt he might be in the same boat.

His thumb slowly made its way to your mouth, gliding back and forth over your bottom lip. You were positively glowing, feeling the intimate touch of the hunter for the first time after what seemed like months of fantasy—

You’d had dreams of him, falling asleep to the image of his helmet or the way he slumped on your stool every so often, so desperate to see what lay beneath his armour.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He needlessly questioned. The way his voice trickled all over you was enough to make your body surge towards his once more. You had to stop yourself from reaching for his waistband, overcome with a hunger that you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s okay. We have time,”

With five simple words you could have collapsed to the floor right there. All too soon, his touch vanished from your skin. You leant forward has he removed himself from you, stepping back while you tried desperately to get his touch back.

The whiskey bottle between your legs slipped suddenly, toppling from its place between your thighs as you realised you’d started to open your legs wider where he’d stood between your hips. You grappled at air to try and stop it falling, but it fell from the desk—

Right into a skilful gloved hand. Mando gripped the bottle with a ferocity that you knew he’d wanted to grip you with, before stepping forward once more. He slotted the bottle between your thighs once more, but right in the nook of your upper thighs—

You shivered uncontrollably as both hands came to cradle your thighs, pushing them together to keep the bottle in place.

You watched, defeated, as he picked up his satchel from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, staring at you atop the desk when he was ready to leave.

“If I see you drinking with Karga again, I won’t be as gentle,” Despite his efforts to keep his voice strong, you heard the breathy way he spoke.

It filled you with a confidence that had disappeared as soon as he’d first placed the bottle back between your legs.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” You challenged. You couldn’t stop yourself from sending a smirk his way, and it had the desired effect—

Mando dropped his helmet to the floor as the most subtle of groans escaped his lips. He swivelled and turned, heading for the door immediately afterwards.

He opened it, letting in the cold Nevarro air. You watched as he slinked out of the door, pulling it shut from the outside—

And then there was silence. You breathed out a shaky breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding, grabbing the whiskey and taking a large gulp as you tried to regain your composure fully.

You went to bed that night utterly elated, his chrome visor appearing behind your eyes all the same.

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