#Airspace management

[mellowumbra]

~Beautiful edges~

An alpha!Abbywerewolf! x afab!omega!reader

SMUT SMIT SMUT MDNI

will have smut, like prolly gon be nasty need holy water smut. plot! slowish burn. alpha, only female alpha you've ever met. Smut is not under the cut but will be expressed!

⚠️ warnings: porn with plot!! dom!sub dynamic, breeding(r!receiving), vulgar words, VULGARITY, descriptions of genitalia, breeding kink, werewolfheat/rut! overstimulation (r!receiving) power and strength kink

Shummary: meeting an alpha was easy. Trying not to fall in love with one? Harder than it looks.

Here is to ALL YALL freaky sob's that just want to see Abby as a werewolf,,,, I love y'all so much

Also I'm SO SORRY THIS TOOK MY MONTHS FORGIVE ME

~~~~

Relocating to the WLF had taken some time to feel somewhat normal and you owed your life to them. You were accepted as one of them, when you were first alone and near death. Omega's in the wilderness alone was a death sentence, but you managed to make your life here wonderfully enjoyable. As close as normal got, it all flew straight out the window when you met Abby Anderson.

Was it strange to meet a female alpha with unbridled power, skill, and rage? Absolutely. Did she scare the ever loving shit out of you? Absolutely. But that didn't stop you from perking your ears to listen every time her name was mentioned.

Abby was a force of nature, she commanded respect without needing to utter a single word. Six feet of muscle and piercing blue eyes that glowed gold and opulent when her wolf appeared. Everyone in the WLF knew about Abby, and were either terrified, infatuated, or a little bit of both. She worked for Isaac, as she was trained and worked like a dog in combat. She led the most dangerous of patrols under Isaac, the man who allowed the WLF to keep you safe, who sent her out to do his worst work.

Being an unmated alpha made it even more..interesting...

As soon as her name entered your airspace, words passed around about the alpha's skills during her rut. You could not stop the onslaught of other companions dishing tidbits during these conversations. Hell you couldn't go anywhere in the past two weeks and not hear about Abby Anderson, the most "skilled" alpha in the entire WLF. You were even more curious to why a female inherited an alpha title. You wondered why you hadn't heard her name sooner, and you soon figured out why. Abby had been in a relationship, and a serious one at that. But, that was over, from what the other omegas in your rounds gossiped about. You were surprised to hear that Abby had been dating a male, a one of almost equal rank as her. Her most recent "pursuits" were women.

You rolled your eyes at Arya's gossip and finished suturing a deep abdomen wound from your most recent patient. The man smiled at you, thanking you for the dressings and ointment. "Hey y/n," Arya says, your other medical assistant and friend catches your attention.

"Yeah? Whatcha need," you ask, wiping down your med tray and discarding a dirty needle.

Arya then asks you if you need to stay longer or if you need to head out. You reply no, you've got nowhere to be. Arya quickly discards her medical garb and ducks out, the sun already set. You sigh and work on seeing if anyone other WLF member needs to be attended to.

Something overpowering and strange enters your sense just after. It makes you stop, startled by the sudden thick air. A strong scent, almost hypnotizing. Abby Anderson is sitting on the bed across from you, blue eyes fixed on your figure. You start, now taken aback at how she appeared almost soundlessly.

"Jesus Anderson you scared the shit out of me," you swore, walking over to inspect a large shoulder wound running from her shoulder to mid bicep. Her muscles glisten with sweat, a now failing stitch job visible against her skin. Her honey hair in a signature loose braid, freckles dotting her neck and shoulders, clad in a gray tank top that exposes her skin to the blistering sun. "Sorry, is' just a habit," she breathes, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Her smile is dizzying but wanton, skin too white. She's in pain.

"It's alright, what are we looking at huh? A mighty alpha needing some help?" You tease, lifting her arm to assess her shitty patch job. Abby hissing at the pain or the figurative jab, you weren't sure.

You smile quietly, adding in a few words of "Alright gimme a second, I can fix you up."

"Thank you y/n, if I tell Manny that his stitch job was shit he'd take it personally," she chuckles dryly to avoid the grimace of you cleaning her wound with alcohol.

The stench almost clears your nostrils of her overpowering scent, almost. With a steady hand, you begin to swiftly move a needle through her flesh. The skin gave way easy to the needle, signalling she must've avoided coming here for a few hours, at least.

"You avoided coming in here, at least since before dinner," you say brazenly.

Abby puffs a quick breath through her nose, unhappy with the answer you've settled on.

"Maybe I did."

You can feel her eyes on you, this whole time. She follows the movements of your fingers, you can hear her nose purposefully inhale quickly at least once, and your cheeks heat at the sudden interest she's taken in you. Her scent is making your mind do flips, alphaalphaalphaalpha repeating in your head by your unhelpful wolf. Your hands almost shaky by the end, Abby rolls her shoulder with the new bandage applied.

"Keep that one for at least the next 2 days, or until you've noticed its leaked through your bandage. Keep it as dry and clean as possible," you instruct.

Abby just flashes you a blinding smile. "You do a good job, I feel better already. Thanks doll," she flashes a wink at you, smirk in her eyes.

That wink makes your ears turn red, palms suddenly sweaty. You roll your eyes to act nonchalant, placing a narcotic in her hand.

"Take these no less than 12 hours apart with food, and I mean it Anderson, with food," you say, fingers brushing one another's as you close her fingers around the pills. A resounding shock zaps through your fingers as fast as lightning, snapping her head up at you. Her eyes flash red just as fast, replaced by their usual blue.

Your eyes are wide, hand zinging from some unseen energy. Abby thanks you silently with a nod, hands stuffed in her pockets, and rushes off.

-------

Ever since that day in the infirmary, Abby is never out of your sight. During inventory rounds with your other med students, led my Abby's surgeon father, Dr. Anderson. She's always just looming. Your friends start to ask questions when the blonde walks into the infirmary one day, looking as healthy as ever.

You stare curiously as catch her eye, when she throws another wink at you. All your other friends blush and try to look busy.

"You don't look in pain Anderson?" You question, raising an eyebrow.

"No," she chuckles, "but I do want to ask if you had any extra isopropyl alcohol on you? One of my buddies managed to get blood all over a cell, and we need a cleanup," she says, so casually.

You start, but manage to stutter out a response.

"Um y-yeah we have some but it's not here yet, I can bring it to you in an hour or so?" You question, to which she just nods and winks at you.

"Find me in the FOB on the first floor sugar!" She calls out, leaving you a blushing mess.

----

Some time later, alcohol in hand, you make your way to the FOB, when a sharp pain in your abdomen makes you lean against a wall in a back hallway. You shake your head, trying to clear your head as your wolf has taken over, screaming for help. Panic ensues. You know any willing male werewolf will hear you, and you sink into a corner.

Someone rounds the corner, and you can't see who it is as your vision is blurry with tears. You turn your head away to ease the embarrassment. The same overpowering scent you remember from two weeks ago invades your mind, and your wolf goes nuts. It's Abby, and she knows exactly what's happening.

SMUT I REPEAT SMUT

"I'm so sorry please don't come closer pleaseAbby," you beg through near tears, your heat blinding and painful. Quick breaths through your nose accompanied with full body shakes makes Abby growl lowly. She knew you needed to be claimed, the pain unbearable for her future mate to endure. A rumble in her throat makes you tilt your head towards the ceiling, breaths coming in faster. That growl is pure power, pure dominance. The fear in your heart of her power comes through your eyes and Abby realizes your fear, and it hurts. Your intoxicating scent fills her nose like a fog, your fight against a need to be taken care of slowly failing. Your heat and scent flies down to Abby's pelvis, unable to stop the whirlwind of arousal she feels.

"Hey, hey look at me," she commands, power still in her voice. She's knelt to your eye level. Don't be sorry baby. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise y/n, I promise. Please, let me take you somewhere safer," Abby begs. Alphas don't beg, they command. Her beg, plea has you staring in her eyes, desperate to believe her.

You pant, fear still swirling in your eyes. Abby just offers her hands, warm and calloused. After not saying anything, she slowly lifts you into her arms. Eyes lidded, mouth slightly parted, your heat addled brain screams at the feeling of power and protection. You can't help but inhale deeply at her scent, your core aching for more. Abby slips you into her room.

"Y/n, please," Abby begs. "I want to help you." Her eyes are a tinge of gold, showing her alpha side. She puts her forehead gently to yours. "I know you have feelings for me," she breathes. "But I won't do a thing unless you say it's okay."

Tears streaming down your cheeks, your eyes widen in surprise. You're lucid for just a second. "Oh god Abby, I-I don't know what to say," you groan, embarrassed. Your heat is blinding, a near total body and mind need to just be taken care of.

"I won't do anything you don't want baby," she cooes, her pet name undoing your resolve.

You take a deep breath and swallow, knowing that all you've wanted is for Abby to make you hers. And only hers.

"I want to be yours. I want to be only yours," you admit, cheeks darkening. "Please tell me you feel this as strongly as I do," you rush out, fully vulnerable.

Abby's turn to be wide eyed is short lived before she lands her lips on yours, desperate and hungry. "I want nothing more then to make you my mate. I- want- nothing more -than to fuck you into -this bed- for hours," she groans as you moan into her mouth. Her lips are warm, your arms reaching out to tangle in her blond hair. Your heat is begging, burning like a fire under your skin. You whine pitifully, Abby now fully aware of your need.

"I know darling, I know," she whispers. Abby lays you down on her bed, kissing you with a new ferocity that made you tug at her clothes. Feeling her strong abs run over your now bare chest made you bite her lip, a low growl coming from Abby's throat. Her mouth kisses down your neck and reaches the softness of your chest. With lips and tongue, she sucks your nipple between her teeth, licking it as it grows in need. Moaning at this was music to your alpha's ears. Your breasts are damp with spit and raised pink nipples fall in her mouth as she attends to one after the other.

She pulls your pants off, letting your heat racked body shiver at the sudden coolness. Her eyes flash a deep gold now, looking you over, a wanting moan leaving her lips.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to see you like this, how long I've been wanting to do this with you," she groans, the obvious bulge in her cargo pants making your mouth water and brain go fuzzy at her words. Her hands sink into your skin, pulling the flesh as she drags her hands down your stomach and over your thighs. Your cunt is wet, glazed over with slick and need. Pink lips swollen at the want of satiation. She kisses you, hand reaching down to palm you, gathering your wetness along her fingers. Your pants have turned into whimpers, into breathy moans.

"You're so wet for me, my precious mate," she cooes, dominance leaking through her words. "I wonder how wet you'll be when I sink my cock into your wanting pussy," you moan at her words, pulling off her pants. A small gasp leaves your lips as her member springs out of her boxers.

"That is a dick of an alpha for sure," you breathe out, hearing Abby chuckle darkly at your surprise. Its shaft covered in small veins, her pink head leaking precum at the sight of your naked body. Abby leans forward on her elbows, soaking up more of your slick on her cockhead, her kisses to your lips bruising. Your scent is making her drunk, the end goal of this mating lost. Ignoring her own desperation, Abby sinks below your waist and licks a long slow strip up your center, capturing your clit in her mouth to softly suck.

"I'm not fucking you stupid until your come all over my face, my pretty mate" Abby groans.

Her name leaves your lips in a yelp, unfettered moans follow. Her tongue is masterful, her lips covered in your shiny arousal. Up and down she moves her tongue, taking time to let herself tongue fuck you, dipping into your wetness. Latching onto your clit, she sucks soft pressure and swirls her tongue. With nothing to grab onto, you resign to tugging at your alpha's long blonde locks, legs high above your head, resting on her shoulders. The muscles in her back flex and stretch as she fucks you.

"Abby, o-o-oh fuck Abby baby pleaseplease alpha please," you moan and moan, dragging your hands through her hair.

At the mention of her title, Abby growls and picks up her pace. You feel the band in your belly tighten and snap within seconds as your orgasm washes over you in a blissful wave. Your toes curl and back arches off the bed, head thrown back in a long and loud moan. Abby continues to fuck your aching cunt into overstimulation, your legs shaking and breath uneven.

"Baby, baby I can't-can't take it anymore," you whine and moan. Abby doesn't stop but unlatches herself and slaps your pussy lightly with her palm.

"You're going to take what i give you angel, and you're gonna say thank you alpha," she hums and holds your jaw with her hand. "Okay baby?" She asks.

"Yes baby," you say softly, lips puffy as Abby captures them in a deep kiss.

"Thank you alpha," you admit shyly, peeking at her reaction through your lashes. Her breathing is ragged, hair undone and messy. Her eyes are a fierce gold, desire evident.

It didn't even take a minute before she slowly sinks herself into you, squelching sounds accompanied. Snapping up her head to you, she examines your features for any sign of pain. Your eyes are half open, lips parted in an O.

"Are you hurt?" She questions, stilling inside. You slowly shake your head, gripping her shoulders and wrapping your legs around her waist. With that, Abby slowly moves through your now sopping cunt. Her breath is short, focusing on not coming too early. You wrap around her like a vice.

"Fuck-fuck fuck baby you're so wet, so tight so warm you're so perfectfuck you are soperfect," Abby moans.

You moan at her praise, tangling your fingers in her hair, reveling in the closeness of your skin. Held up by her strong arms, the muscles in her biceps flex by your head.

"Hold on tight princes," Abby whispers into your ear, nipping at the skin.

Her thrusts start slow and languid, drawing out loud moans at each bury inside you. Your moans only get louder as her Hips snap back into yours at a near brutal pace, relishing in the wet sound of skin on skin. Abby examines your fucked out state of bouncing breasts, loud breathy moans and profanity.

"Fuck Abby fuck ABBY fuckfuckfuck my alpha fuck my alpha," you moan out, whining at the feeling of her cock stretching your walls to a beautiful feeling.

"Markmemarkmeplease baby breed me please baby please," you whine out, surprising Abby at your vulgar confession.

"Yeah baby? Fuck you'resofuckingwet, you take my cock so good baby you want my pups baby? Want me to breed you like a good puppy?" Abby moans, as the slap of wet skin fills the room.

"I bet you'd like me to breed you, huh baby?" Your fucked out smile gives her the answer she needs. "Yes abby please baby breed me please don't stop," you whine.

"Dirty girl, I knew you'd like that," Abby seethes as she bites your neck, sweat on her brow.

"You wanna be all round and fuckin full for me?"

"please Abby please baby yes yes yes!" you exhale a loud moan from your chest, as she leans forward to kiss you hungrily.

In a fast motion, she flips you on your belly, arching your back and pressing your cheek into the soft mattress. Your ass on display as she spreads you to see the slick drip down your thighs. You shake your ass slowly, all shame gone, wanting to be bred like a bitch in heat.

Her hands find your hips again, fucking into your cunt immediately like the world was ending. Muffled moans and screams come from your lips, Abby moaning at your soaking pussy sucking her in and milking her cock for all it was worth. Listening to your moans go up in pitch and your cunt get tighter and tighter told Abby you were so close to coming.

"You'gon come for me baby? Come all over my cock baby, c'mon you can do it. Cream all over my cock my good puppy," she rushes out, hands pulling you back to bounce on her dick.

"Fuck-ff-fuckfuck Abby I'm gon come 'my god I'm gonna come," your legs shake and let your orgasm push Abby into hers. Abby grabs your stretched out hand and squeezes it, to ground you. White hot pleasure consumes you and the heartbeat between your legs races.

You yell her name and moan a loud FUCK, drool sticking to the side of your cheek.

But abby wasn't done yet, your pleasure just comes first.

Abby's groans grow higher and higher, as your pussy pulses around her. As she feels you completely tighten around her, Abby's orgasm explodes. She feels her cock swell and a euphoric feeling washes over at the feeling of her breeding you completely full.

"Fuck baby, fuck baby ohgod," Abby moans as she collapses against your sweat drenched skin. You moan back weakly, shivering at her slow kisses up your back.

"You're so beautiful baby, gonna be so beautiful for me," Abby whispers, pulling out slowly to your disappointment.

"Fuck princess look at you," the alpha groaned, skilled fingers pulling your puffy pink lips apart to watch her cum drip out of your overstimulated pussy. You whine again, sensitive to her touch.

She coos, kissing the swell of your ass cheek.

"Come here princess let me hold you," Abby coaxes, slowing moving your body to lay between her legs. She softly kneads your back as you lay, breathing in her scent. Soft kisses to your forehead manage to lull you into a dreamlike state.

"Rest my precious mate, I've got you baby," Abby breathes, wrapping her strong arms around your figure.

Maybe falling in love with an alpha isn't hard after all.

[inbabylontheywept]

"The reaper had a scythe. I have a combine harvester."

Arlach tapped his fingers nervously. He’d have gladly given up his life for the liberation of his people. A combine harvester (even a deluxe AI driven model) was a pittance compared to that. Still, he didn’t really understand what he was hearing.

“I uh… heard you’re hooking up my strawberry picker to an air defense cannon?”

The human technician assembling the gun held up a hand, finishing up some last tweaking of the wire harness. He touched two wires together carefully and swore when a shower of sparks shot out of the contact.

Set back, but not defeated, the man paused his task to answer the farmer’s question.

“See, you’re looking at this wrong. It’s an AI harvester, and it works great for strawberries, but machines don’t really see ‘strawberries’. They rate strawberry-ness. There’s a lot of ways to manage that, but it looks for a generally pointed shape, some seeds, and that nice red color. So your run of the mill strawberry generally receives an almost perfect strawberry-ness score, but something like this-”

His hands dug through all the pockets of his work suit before they finally found their target. He fished out what had been a standard ferroslug before it was painted bright red and smattered with a handful of black dots. He took a moment to admire it himself before tossing it to the farmer and continuing.

“Well, it’s not a strawberry, but it scores as one. Well enough that the machine gets positive feedback from its alignment unit every time it puts one of these babies where it's supposed to go.”

Arlach stared at him blankly.

“So what, you’re convincing it to fill a cargo container up with painted bullets?”

The technician grinned.

“There's no a limit to how fast it's allowed to fill that container up. At no point did the alignment protocol even consider that it'd be capable of throwing a 'strawberry' at mach nine. And the cargohold is important, but the rocket its attached to is more so. You know what looks a lot like a surface to orbit rocket?"

Arlach’s brain clicked.

“The hypersonic missiles they've been throwing at us.”

The grin widened. Arlach himself felt slightly awed to have found the connection.

“Will it work?”

The human nodded.

“It’s damn near the only thing that can. To shoot down something going that fast, that low, you either need a dummy missile that can brute force outrun it, or enough computing power to hack a station. The alliance is too chickenshit to send over their actual military AI's, but these myopic-type digibrains are supposed to be safe for civilian use because the idea of convincing your tractor that a bullet is a strawberry and a WMD is a cargo loader was a little too creative for the morons over at John Deere Galactic. And if that digibrain just so happens to function near the exoflop level, they're going to have a hard time sneaking anything larger than a bee through this airspace.”

The alien’s hands went over its crest as its mind reeled.

“They're not the only ones who would never think of this. It's brilliant. I never would've considered it.”

The tech shrugged good naturedly and went back to retrieve the two ends of wire that he’d dropped earlier.

“Eh, it's not coming from nowhere. There’s something of a human tradition about using farm equipment for war. I'm just lucky to be part of the next evolution in this. The reaper himself only used a scythe. Now I get to use a combine harvester.”

[ragingbookdragon]

She pulled the stick hard to the right, managing to avoid a too close missile. Curses echoed from around the cockpit, half thrown her way, the other their enemy. “Midnight!” Ghost yelled from the seat next to her. “Get us out of here!”

“I’m trying!” she yelled back. “I fly F-18’s, Simon! Not helos! This is a little different than my day-to-day flight!” she pushed forward, urging the speed to increase as she looked behind her. “Jesus, how did we even get here? What did you guys even do!”

Soap was in the back, strapped in, eyes shut tight, muttering, “Fuck we’re dead. We’re gonna die.”

Alejandro was screaming expletives in Spanish.

Rudy was holding his rosary and repeating hail Mary’s.

“Midnight!” Ghost urged again, and she looked down at the device in her hand.

“Five miles is all we’ve got!” she looked at him. “Open a comm! Switch it to 17.75.”

“What!”

“Do it now!” he did so, and she heard the flicker of voices. “NAS CC, this is Midnight, service number O-six-nine-two-five-eight-one. We are currently engaged in air combat with an enemy of the State.” She looked back. “Repeat NAS CC, this is O-six-nine-two-five-eight-one, I have Mexican and British Special Forces aboard this aircraft, requesting air support.”

O-six-nine-two-five-eight-one, this is NAS CC, we have established contact with base command, fighters are en-route to your location. How do you copy?

“I’m about to cross over.”

ETA on fighters, five minutes.

She gave a huff of relief and reached over, flicking the channels. “Members of El Sin Nombre, you are currently engaged in unauthorized warfare on United States Military personnel.”

An angered voice came over the comm back at her. Nononononono! You engaged us! Estúpidas malditas fuerzas especiales mexicanas!

“Repeat, you are engaged in unauthorized warfare on United States Military personnel.” Her eyes dropped to the screen, and with a smirk, she declared, “Over United States airspace.” She looked at Ghost, the other men in the cabin, suddenly keying in that they were saved. “Alpha, Mike, Foxtrot!”

Ghost’s eyes widened and he shouted, “In other words, Adiós motherfu—”

Missiles sunk around their helo to the one coming behind them, the explosion rattling the inside of the cabin. Soap reached forward and grabbed her shoulders. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MIDNIGHT!”

She patted his hand as she followed the fighters back. “You all owe me! This just cost a favor from command to do this!”

O-six-nine-two-five-eight-one, fighters are returning to base. Do you copy?

“I copy, NAS CC,” she said. “I’ll need a transport to pick up the special forces.”

Copy. Runway three is open and waiting for descent.

She flicked the comm off and tapped her mic. “See, Colonel, the US Navy isn’t so bad after all.”

Alejandro groaned into the headset. “Nunca quiero pasar el rato con ustedes tres nunca más. Dios mío.”

“Aww, don’t hurt my feelings, Ale,” she cooed. “I’m much better at hanging out than these guys are.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Frozen Ground: Part 1 (Din Djarin x Female Reader)

Content & Warnings: romantic fluff, love at first sight, Mandalorian culture

Word Count: 5.4k

Din travels to a farming planet to recruit a reclusive group of Mandalorians to help retake Mandalore. The snowy season is starting, and the locals are preparing for their winter observance. While waiting for the Mandalorian covert to come to a decision, Din spends time with the local population, finding a bit of comfort with a particular someone.

A/N: Part of the Winter 2023 Collection

Part 2

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: buir – father, mother Mando’ade – Mandalorians (plural) vod – brother, sister, comrade

The N1 Starfighter exits hyperspace and cruises through Itera airspace.

Grogu snoozes softly in Din’s lap. His small body is curled up in a ball, and his face is turned into Din’s chest plate as he slumbers. The foundling has been asleep the entire way to Itera, and he shows no sign of waking any time soon.

Din glances away from his foundling and out the N1’s viewport. A small twang of nervousness coils in the pit of his stomach as he observes the quickly approaching planet. It’s not the planet itself that worries Din, but why he was sent here in the first place. It is the task that Bo-Katan Kryze placed upon him with confidence that sits heavy on his shoulders.

Bo-Katan is uniting the clans. She is calling back the tribes in an effort to reclaim Mandalore. She heard a rumor that a reclusive tribe of Mandalorians dwell on Itera. Din is supposed to find them, and convince them to come back with him to Nevarro.

That is all the information he has. Bo-Katan had little intel to give. Din has no idea if these Mandalorians are more like his tribe, or if they lean more towards the ideals that Bo-Katan and her kin follow.

As Mandalorians, this tribe on Itera should welcome him. But Din knows that isn’t always the case. It wasn’t that long ago that Din had his own misgivings against fellow Mandalorians who walked the path differently than he.

When he first met Bo-Katan Kryze and her Nite Owls, Din shunned them. Even when they stepped in to save his foundling, and then later when a group of Quarren attacked him, Din was still reluctant to engage with them.

It’s not his proudest moment, and since then, much about his life has changed. The way he sees the galaxy, and his understanding of what it means to be a Mandalorian has shifted significantly in the last few years. While he holds tightly to his ideals, he knows that his way is not the only way.

Mandalorians should not hide in the dark any longer.

The cloudy expanse of Itera becomes clearer as Din cruises closer. Itera is a fertile farming planet located on the edge of the Middle Rim. Din rummaged around in some public achieves to scrounge up any information he could about it. According to the information he did manage to locate, Itera is relatively peaceful and mostly inhabited by small farming communities.

Even though Bo-Katan lacked information on who these Mandalorians are, she was able to provide Din with an estimated range of coordinates. She told him that they might be located within this range, but wasn’t entirely sure if her intel was reliable.

He’s worked with less.

Din punches in the numbers and the navigation system focuses in on a small bit of land in the northern hemisphere.

The N1’s engine purrs, and Grogu turns over in Din’s lap. The foundling does not wake.

Din’s ship breaks through the atmosphere and effortlessly transitions into the gray cloud cover. The clouds spit Din out over dreary farmland. Below him, droids and people work the land.

Din does not see any buildings that indicate a settlement. He checks the navigation system again and it reveals his suspicions. The coordinates Bo-Katan gave him cover too much land. He’ll need to tighten the search.

“Kriff me,” mutters Din, as he clears the coordinates from the nav system. “R5, scan the surface. Let’s find civilization.”

R5 chirps, and then a little antenna pops out of its head, spinning slowly in a circle. Din reduces his speed over the farmland, waiting for R5 to give him an answer. After a few minutes, the antenna retreats, and then the navigation system lights up with new coordinates.

Din follows the set path. While most of what Din sees is farmland, buildings start to appear in small intervals. At first, it’s just one or two, and then a cluster at a time. Before long, the wall of a settlement appears. There is open land to the left that Din deicides to land on.

He brings the N1 down softly.

Grogu still doesn’t stir. The little womprat has his right hand in his mouth, and a little line of drool runs down the back Grogu’s palm. Sighing, Din wipes it away.

“R5, what’s the temperature outside?” asks Din quietly as he watches a few swirls of snow drift down from the gray clouds. They land on the glass of the N1 and immediately melt.

R5 responds in a series of binary and Din sighs.

It’s far too cold for Grogu to be walking around for long periods of time. The snowy season has arrived on this planet, and Grogu will need something warmer to wear.

Slowly, Din releases the hatch and cold air drifts in. Using the blanket from Grogu’s pram, Din wraps the foundling in it, gently laying him down in the cockpit seat. Din steps out onto the wing and then the hard ground as the hatch closes.

He turns to R5. “Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.” R5 beeps in reply and Din heads toward the open gates.

The wood wall of the settlement seems more decorative than functional, roughly stopping at Din’s chest. Once Din approaches the entrance, he notices that there are no gates at all. It’s entirely open.

Strolling down the main street, Din realizes rather quickly that no one avoids him. It’s the exact opposite. Every person he passes greets Din with a friendly “hello” or nodding of the head before going about their day.

It’s bizarre. Strange. And it momentarily disorients him.

Din thought that he might ask around, see if he could find someone willing to talk to him. But every friendly face only causes him to question who he needs to speak to on locating the Mandalorian covert. No one shies away or avoids looking directly at his helmet. Each person is bold and unafraid of him.

Is the Mandalorian covert known to these people? Do they interact with them frequently?

Perhaps. It would explain why no one seems frightened of him.

Din enters deeper into the settlement, seeking out a cantina or public establishment where he might find information. Not finding any such place on the main road, Din tracks back to the very front of the settlement, deciding to head east and take a look around.

Rounding a corner, he hears the distinct sound of laughter. It’s not one person, or even a few, but a low roar like a small crowd. Din keeps walking, tracking the sound, coming across a small building that hardly looks big enough to hold a drinking establishment. In addition, the door is just red fabric handing from the top of the door frame.

The laughter comes again, and it’s much louder than before. He’s in the right spot.

With all the confidence Din can muster, he strides up to the curtain, pushing it aside and he steps into the building.

Din comes to a grinding halt, nearly tripping on his own feet.

This is not a cantina or anything similar.

A group of women, nearly fifteen in total, occupy the space. They all have large canvas sacks next to them, each one full of something different. Some look like they’re full of flower petals while others appear to hold bright red berries. The women vary in age. Most of them are older than Din, but there are a few who look to be about his age, give or take a few years.

They glance up but keep working, several of them smiling softly at him.

Din feels like an unwanted intruder even though the women appear calm and indifferent to his presence. He mumbles a “sorry” intended to back out the way he came, but the moment his boot slides backward, one of the women stands, her full attention on him.

“How can I help you, Mandalorian?”

You dust a few petals off your apron, missing the one in your hair, and approach Din, hands clasped in front of you. Din’s heart temporarily stutters to a stop before revving into a thudding beat he can feel in his ears. You’re pretty, but that isn’t the only thing he notices. You’re delicate lines and curves appeal to him in a way that trigger’s his protective instinct.

The flash of feeling, this need Din suddenly exhibits flashes bright and hot before his brain catches up and tries to smother it down to cooling embers.

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Din tries to back out again but you only push in, and Din’s hand relexify forms a fist in an attempt to thwart the growing need to touch you.

“There is no interruption. How can I be of service to you?” Your head tilts to the right slightly, and the eagerness on your face sends blood to his groin.

Din’s eyes roam all over your body, but his eyes keep going back to the lone petal that’s tangled in the strands of your hair.

The other women still work, none of them glancing in Din’s direction. He decides to seek help, knowing it might not do much.

“There is a Mandalorian covert on this planet that I’m searching for. Do you know where I might find them?”

“Oh,” you murmur. Your eyes round slightly, and your lips part in surprise. “I didn’t realize—I thought you—” You shake your head and the petal in your hair stays put.

“Is there anyone here that might know?”

The gentle surprise morphs into amusement. “Everyone knows where they are.” The corners of your mouth curve up into a soft smile and Din nearly melts under that gaze. He is so absorbed in your beauty that your words are the last thing to catch up to him.

Everyone knows where they are?

Din does not have the chance to follow-up, you’re already talking, telling him exactly what he needs to know. “Just to the north of here. There’s a forested area where the covert lives.”

This is unusual, and Din is slightly unsure whether or not he can trust what he might find once he ventures in that direction.

“Do you know where exactly?”

You shake your head. “We do not go in. They like their privacy, and we are respectful of that.”

This is better news. The two groups must interact frequently. It would explain why everyone in town isn’t afraid of him.

“You’re not from around here?” you ask, curiosity tinging your tone.

“No,” replies Din. “I’m not.”

Your gaze softens. “If no one has, allow me to formally welcome you.”

Without thinking—without pausing to reconsider—Din reaches toward you, his gloved fingers plucking the petal from your hair. He presents it to you, open palmed.

Delicately, you lift it, rubbing it between your fingers. With your gaze on the petal, Din takes a step back, the curtain brushing against his back. You glance up, and Din inclines his head, disappearing quickly before he does something he’ll regret.

Din still burns beneath his armor even after he arrives back at the N1. Grogu is still sleeping, and his ship is entirely untouched. Din is careful with the foundling when he settles back into the cockpit.

He relays the information to R5 who promptly scans the area, sending new coordinates to the navigation system. Once clear, Din follows the trail north, finding the forest you mentioned. Din circles around a few times, eventually settling on a flat spot of land just outside the tree line. Din lowers the N1 to the planet’s surface. Grogu stirs in his lap but doesn’t wake.

He leaves Grogu behind again with R5, knowing that he can come back for Grogu later. The droid will look after him until Din can assess the situation.

As Din approaches the tree line, he pauses, surveying the ground around him. At first glance there are no footprints of even animal prints. He engages the scanner in his helmet. The moment it switches on, his screen lights up with glowing boot prints. They are everywhere, moving in so many directions that Din cannot find a pattern.

Frowning, Din switches over to another scanner. This one seeks out what only Mandalorians leave behind for others of their kind to find. He sweeps the scanner over the ground, and then the trees. He comes up empty.

Sighing, Din starts walking, stepping past the tree line and tries again, this time doing a slow sweep of the ground and trees. The hard ground crunches under his boots, and it is incredibly quiet, the only sound is the whistling wind.

On a tree in the distance, a soft glow catches Din’s attention in the scanner. He pauses, takes one step back for a better view. It’s a glowing Mythosaur with an arrow beneath it pointing to the right.

This is his lead. This is his break. You were telling the truth.

Din heads toward the glowing symbol and then follows the direction the arrow indicates, scanning the area for any other markers. He locates another that directs him deeper into the trees. It leads to a large rock formation. The stone slabs are layered over each other like a twisted crown.

There, glowing bright against the gray rock, is another Mythosaur.

“Hail, vod.”

Din whirls around, his hand on his blaster. The only thing that stays his hand from drawing the weapon is the use of the word vod.

A male Mandalorian drops from a tree branch and strides forward, stopping a few feet away from Din. His armor is dented in a few places and painted in various green tones that emulate the trees.

No wonder Din didn’t see him.

The man has not drawn his weapon, which means he does not see Din as a threat. But why would he? Mandalorians are stronger together, and any reunion, even between tribes, is a joyous one.

Din immediately removes his hand from his blaster, standing tall and proud. He has a job to do. “My name is Din Djarin. I’ve come on behalf of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze.”

The green-clad Mandalorian crosses his arms. “I see,” he replies, tone grim. “And what does Lady Kryze want with us?”

Better to get it out now in case he’s turned away. “She is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”

The man is quiet for a beat before he answers. “And she wishes for us to join her?”

“She does.”

The Mandalorian nods, and drops his arms, striding forward. “Well, Din Djarin. You are welcome in our enclave, and we will hear what you have to say.” He presents his hand and Din clasps it. “I am Crix Lera. Welcome to our home.”

Crix releases Din’s hand. He brushes past Din and heads to the rock.

Din follows, and notices a small opening that Crix disappears inside. The space isn’t tight but the formation of the natural rock hides the entrance. You’d need to know exactly where it is to see it.

Din slides through the opening, only to find himself in a small tunnel. Crix walks ahead, and Din follows on his heels along the path. They don’t walk for long. The small tunnel begins to widen, and then opens up into a large communal area.

The first thing Din immediately notices are the lack of faces. Everyone wears a helmet except for a few small children. The communal area is circular, and the center of the room is lower than the rest of the floor. There is a fire burning there, the smoke curling upward to exit through a naturally formed ventilation shaft. In the rocky ceiling are small cut outs that let in some natural light.

When Din enters the area on Crix’s heels, several people pause and glance up, watching the duo as Crix walks along the edge of the room. Din takes this time to take a closer look at the Mandalorians he’s been sent to speak with.

They all appear healthy. Their armor is relatively clean and in good repair. The ratio of men to women is fairly equal, and the number of foundlings is much larger than his tribe’s. Din’s gaze passes over a woman standing by the far wall with a man and a small child. She’s clutching her belly, and that is when Din notices the slight bulge underneath her chest plate.

“You’ll meet with our armorer and tribe leaders,” says Crix over his shoulder, drawing Din’s attention away from the slowly growing crowd of Mandalorians.

“Do they make all the decisions?”

Crix shakes his head. “No. We make them as a group. But when it comes to matters pertaining to the whole clan, they are the ones who mediate the discussions. We will often look to them for final guidance.”

Din does not reply. It’s similar to how his own tribe operates, but he still has too many questions.

Crix guides Din to a small cut in the rock wall. It’s an archway, and it deposits them into a much smaller chamber. A simple forge sits in the center of the room. A Mandalorian Armorer and a child stand together near a workbench. The child is young but old enough to start their training. The two of them talk softly.

On the opposite side of the room, another Mandalorian hammers away at some armor. It’s clear that this is still a child, perhaps a teenager, and must be an apprentice of some kind because his armor is like that of the armorer’s.

The armorer and child both look up when Din and Crix enter the room. Din hangs back near the archway as Crix addresses the armorer.

“We have a visitor, Vikal. This is Din Djarin. Sent to us by Lady Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. He says she is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”

At the mention of retaking Mandalore, the apprentice pauses mid-swing to glance over at Din. The small child at Vikal’s hip shifts slightly, clearly nervous.

Vikal sets the vambrace he’s holding on top of the workbench. He turns toward the apprentice. “Darro. Take your brother and leave us.”

Darro immediately responds, heading in their direction.

“But buir!” protests the child, his little fist tugging on his father’s hand.

“Hush. Go with your brother.” Vikal places a hand on the child’s shoulder just as Darro presents his hand. The child takes it, and Din steps to the side as they pass through the archway.

Once they leave, Vikal steps out from around the workbench and strides forward, pausing just a few feet away from Din. Vikal’s armor and clothes are all black. It’s almost like looking into the void of space. He’s tall, too. Perhaps as tall or even surpassing Paz Vizsla in size.

“Yours?” asks Din, using the question to learn a little bit about the tribe’s practices.

“Mine,” confirms Vikal. But he doesn’t elaborate, and Din decides not to say anything more. “Have you just arrived?” inquires Vikal. “From Mandalore?”

“No,” answers Din. “I came from Nevarro.”

“That is far.”

Vikal closes the distance, his helmet moving with him as he clearly observers Din’s armor. It is not an objectifying look, but an appreciation. “You wear fine work.”

“The armorer of my tribe forged it for me. I am honored by it.”

“This is the Way,” states Vikal.

“This is the Way,” replies Din.

Vikal inclines his head and takes a step back. “You are our guest here. You shall have our hospitality before we speak on more serious matters. As warriors, we are always so quick to take action. Rest. Eat. We will proceed from there.” He turns to Crix. “See to it that Din Djarin has a private room and a hot meal.”

Crix nods, and he and Din depart.

In his private room, Din removes his helmet, and eats.

The food is hot. Fresh. So different from the plain rations he’s used to eating with his tribe. Din wants to know more about this one. He is curious to their ways. When Crix comes for him, the two return to the main communal area. The entire tribe is there, including all the younglings. It is then that he notices several Mandalorians clutching infants.

Din scans the crowd and his heart drops into his stomach.

R5 is here. The droid is on Vikal’s left side. On the armorer’s right, sitting on the floor near his boots, is Grogu. The foundling has a wooden bowl before him. He reaches in, and lifts a handful of something that Din doesn’t recognize and shoves it all into his mouth.

Din immediately aims for Grogu. Seeming to sense him, Grogu glances up and coos, his food covered hands reaching for Din.

“I assume this one is yours?” asks Vikal as Din lifts Grogu and holds the little womprat up to his face. Din checks him over but the foundling is fine. No signs of injury expect the food that’s smeared all over the child’s hands and face.

“Yes,” sighs Din. Crix holds out a hand, indicating he should take a seat. Din does so but he puts Grogu back on the floor. The foundling immediately crawls toward the bowl.

“Your foundling and the droid arrived not too long ago. Found us quite easily. Impressive for one so young.”

Din smiles softly behind the helmet.

Vikal rubs his knees and then stands, striding forward, stopping before the fire. The entire room quiets.

“Mando’ade! We welcome Din Djarin.” Vikal turns toward Din and extends his arm in Din’s direction. The Mandalorians in attendance beat their fists against their chests three times before dropping their arms. “He brings us an important message.”

Vikal retreats, stopping before Din. “Approach, vod. We will hear you.”

Din stands slowly. Grogu’s head tilts to the side, watching Din, his mouth full of food. Din walks to the center of the room just shy of the fire.

“I am Din Djarin. My tribe lives on Nevarro. I have come before you at the behest of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze. She is rallying the clans in an effort to return to and reclaim our ancestral home world of Mandalore. She sent me to ask you if you are willing to join our efforts.”

Din pauses and every single person in the room is watching him, saying nothing. He swallows, knowing that he’ll need to say more to convince them to join.

“I know that I am in no position to ask this of any of you. But we have lived in the dark for too long. Our people are scattered. Like stars in the galaxy. Perhaps it is time for us to live in the light once again. So that our culture may flourish and our children can feel what is it to play in the sunlight.”

The Mandalorians around him chatter softly, but Din cannot differentiate between their conversations. He turns toward Vikal, and the man stands. “Is Lady Kryze certain of success?” he asks, addressing Din. “Mandalorians are few, and our preservation is important. Can she guarantee that there will not be needless death?”

No.

Din sighs, his shoulders heaving slightly. “I cannot give you any such certainties.”

Another Mandalorian stands. It is a man, and his armor is a deep red. “That planet is cursed. The air is unbreathable and nothing grows. We have all heard the stories. Why should we go back to a dead planet?”

“This is not true,” says Din vehemently. “I have been to the surface. I have seen Mandalore with my own eyes. The air is breathable. Life is possible.”

The quiet chatter heightens. Becomes a dull roar.

“What is Lady Kryze’s plan for when the planet is retaken?” This time, a woman asks the question.

“Her goal is the Great Forge. That will be our place of operations and base for reconstruction.”

Din will tell them the truth. There is no reason to hide anything.

“But will we have a place there? Can we call Mandalore home? Or must we return to this planet?”

“All Mandalorians are welcome.”

Vikal nods and stands. “Does anyone else have questions for Din Djarin?” No one replies. “Thank you for relaying Lady Kryze’s message. You have given us much to consider.” Vikal addresses the room. “We will reflect on this, and then convene tomorrow evening for deeper discussion.”

The crowd of Mandalorians incline their heads and place their fists over their hearts. When their arms drop back to their sides, many start to get up and leave.

This isn’t the outcome Din was hoping for. He thought he might receive a quick answer, or even an indication that they are willing to join.

Crix comes up beside Din. “Decisions are never made quickly. You’ll likely be here a few days.”

“As long as I can return with an answer.”

“I’ll come for you tomorrow morning. The local population is holding a festival to celebrate the coming cold.”

Din thinks back to you and the women in that small dwelling. He didn’t exactly get a good look at what you were doing, but Din can only assume the two are connected.

Din tips is head to the side. “You mingle with them?”

“To an extent,” shrugs Crix. “They have no standing army or protection. We look after them, and they take care of us. It has kept our tribe safe for many years.”

Din nods and then bends at the knees to pick up Grogu, cradling the foundling close to his heart.

Crix fetches Din in the early hours of the morning. Grogu is left behind with the other younglings. Din is reluctant to do so, but Crix is persuasive, and Grogu is visibly happy to be amongst other children.

The two men head back through the tunnel, stepping out into the forest. The sun is starting to rise but it’s hard to see through the gray clouds. It snowed overnight, and there is a dusting across the forest floor.

Three Mandalorians mingle just outside the exit. Two men and one woman. They greet Crix with firm handshakes.

“This is Din Djarin,” says Crix. “He’s joining us on our visit into town.”

“Passionate speech you made last night. I’m Jido. Welcome.” Jido and Din clasp forearms and shake.

Jido steps back and points his thumb over his shoulder at the other two Mandalorians. “That’s Ran and Cerra.” Ran gives Din a half-hearted salute while Cerra lifts her hand in greeting. Jido leans in and whispers. “They’re a bit boring.”

“Heard that,” snaps Cerra as she turns her back on the group. “We going?”

The five of them head into the trees, walking in the direction that Din entered from. When they exit, Din heads for the N1, looking it over for any signs of tampering. It’s clean, and Din sighs with relief.

“The people here don’t touch things that aren’t theirs. Your ship will be fine,” states Crix as he walks up beside Din. He runs his gloved hand over the wing in appreciation.

“On Tatooine, I had a run in with some Jawas,” replies Din.

Crix snorts. “What was left of your ship?”

“Nothing.”

Jido, Ran, and Cerra’s jetpacks ignite. Crix and Din follow suit, the five of them launching into the air. Din trails behind, following the four Mandalorians as they jet across dreary farmland.

In minutes they approach the small settlement Din visited yesterday, landing right outside the wall. The people moving about don’t even seem to care that a group of Mandalorians landed amongst them. They keep going about their lives as if is this the norm. It’s the same reaction they had with Din.

Din is almost always the stranger. The unknown variable. In crowded places, he is avoided unless someone needs something from him.

He stays at the back of the pack. Jido, Ran, Crix, and Cerra all appear relaxed. They chat amongst themselves, and even stop for an old woman who presents a basket to them full of the red berries Din saw yesterday. Each Mandalorian takes a handful and deposits the goods into various pockets of their flightsuits.

The old woman approaches Din and holds the basket out to him. He doesn’t want to offend her. He scoops out a decent handful and finds a home for them. He’ll share it with Grogu when he returns.

The old woman inclines her head and moves on. Din’s helmet follows her but Crix taps against Din’s upper arm, drawing his attention away from the woman.

Din inhales, and he isn’t sure if the voice receiver in his helmet picks up the soft sound.

You’re standing right there, eyes bright and eager.

“You found them,” you say enthusiastically.

“I did.” Din is nervous. Why is he nervous? Do you do this to him?

Crix crosses his arms and pops a hip. “The two of you know each other?”

You laugh, and it’s the loveliest sound Din has ever heard. “He stumbled in to Tarra’s workshop while we were preparing the Daily Strands.”

“Make enough for us?” asks Jido, his voice a bit sultry. A bit teasing. Din instantly hates that he’s speaking to you that way.

“There are plenty. So, yes,” you tease back, smiling widely.

Crix shifts, turning his body toward Din. “Since you’re our guest, you don’t need to follow us around while we work.” Crix inclines his head in your direction. “She’ll show you around a bit.”

You look so hopeful that Din cannot say no.

He walks beside you the entire time as you go on about the important buildings, the history of the people, and the finer details of your culture. Din is enraptured by how animated you are toward him. He hardly risks asking any questions, mostly wanting to hear you talk.

“Here we are.” You extend your hand toward the building Din stumbled into yesterday.

“Are we going inside?” asks Din skeptically.

You grin and push back the curtain, gesturing for him to come inside. He follows, and this time there are only two other women in this space. They greet Din politely, but return to their work. You walk over to a large table. On it, are…necklaces? Din isn’t entirely sure what they are.

With caution, he approaches, you present one to him.

“These are Daily Strands. We wear them every day during the winter observance.” You point to the threads holding it together. “The threaded cord is the base, symbolizing the importance of community.” Next, you point to the flower petals. “These symbolize the eventual thaw and growth of new life.” Then the red berries. “These are native to the planet. We dry them out to represent the frozen ground.”

“And what do these symbolize?” asks Din, pointing to long, thin, green, stick-like leaves.

“Abundance. These are needles from local trees, and they grow everywhere.” You smile softly. “But it’s more of a wish for prosperity in the future.”

These are what Jido and Crix were referring to.

 You gently lift the Daily Strand, presenting it to Din like an offering. “It’s customary to wear one of these.”

Din does not refuse. Instead, he lowers at the waist so that you can slide it over his helmet and around his neck.

You gently draw away and your hands fall to your skirts, your fingers fumbling with the fabric in nervousness. “It is also customary for the giver to kiss the cheeks of the receiver.” You shrug. “But I can make an exception given the circumstances.”

Din remembers how eager Jido was to receiving one of these. Briefly, Din imagines you kiss the sides of Jido and Crix’s helmets, and Din instantly simmers.

Not knowing how to ask, Din bends again, this time just enough that all you’ll need to do is to go up on your toes to place those gentle lips against his beskar.

“No exceptions,” he murmurs.

Your mouth forms a soft o, and then it cools, turning into tender satisfaction. Slowly, you kiss the curve of his helmet on the right side and then the left.

Even with the helmet on, Din still manages to catch a whiff of your scent. You smell like the trees and warm sugar. Without instruction, his hand brushes against your hip.

You do not draw away, and that pleases something deep within Din. When you pull back, Din instantly misses your heat.

“I will wear this every day,” says Din, his hand resting against it briefly.

You laugh, and Din doesn’t understand what you find so funny. “It’s a Daily Strand. You receive a new one each day.”

Every day? Does that mean you’ll kiss him every time you place a new one around his neck?

“Then I will be back tomorrow for a new one.”

“Promise?” you murmur.

“Promise.”

Part 2

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @dameron-grant-spector @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666

[in1-nutshell]

Another thought just popped in how about some possible more interaction with old Predacon buddy and the other cloned predacons maybe just predacon buddy just trying to make sure the other predacons don't get into trouble and basically grounding them

More Old Predacon Buddy coming up! Quite the popular Buddy I see.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon with Predaking, Skylynx, and Darksteel

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

Buddy needed to take a break.

They had been couped to the base for the last 3 months and hadn’t been able to fly due to the amount of work that needed to get done on base.

The recent Decepticon activity, everyone was on edge.

And Buddy’s patience was running low.

It was bad enough they had to deal with the constant bickering between their teammates over stress, but now they couldn’t even go out without someone telling them otherwise.

Well… Buddy needs their little flight break.

Right.

Now.

“I’m heading out.”--Buddy

Ratchet looks at them.

“What do you mean out?”--Ratchet

“I’m going flying Ratchet.”--Buddy

Ultra Magnus stands in front of them.

“We are to stay in the base until its time to deploy. You especially given your alt mode.”--Magnus

Buddy straightens their back struts and looks at him dead in the optics.

“I am going to go flying Magnus, or are you going to try and stop me? Because believe me, I need an outlet for everything that is being pent up in my chassis. Do you want to be that outlet?”--Buddy

“Let the go Magnus.”--Ratchet

“Ratchet—”--Magnus

Buddy moves past him and runs to the entrance of the base and shoots for the sky.

Magnus just looks annoyed at Buddy’s form.

“Trust me Magnus. You do not want to have Buddy get like that when they are already looking for peaceful solution.”—Ratchet

Magnus grumbles a bit, but silently agrees with Ratchet as he walks back to his habsuite.

Buddy knew better than to go flying to densely populated airspace and areas.

But they did know a place that hardly anyone went to.

To their surprise, someone was there.

Well, more like several bots were there.

It was Predaking and… two other Predacons?

Buddy immediately shot down and surprised Predaking when they landed next to him.

“Predaking.”--Buddy

Buddy walks over to their fellow Predacon.

Predaking nods curtly.

“Buddy.”--Predaking

Skylynx and Darksteel are still tussling around.

“Who are they? I didn’t know there were others like us.”--Buddy

“Shockwave.”--Predaking

“Ah… that explains it.”--Buddy

Buddy tries to introduce themselves but the two are suddenly interested in fighting them.

Predaking is about to lash out at them, but Buddy makes him stand down and dares them to attack them all at once.

Predaking is a bit stunned by the dare but knows full well that Buddy could handle themselves.

“Now boys, on the count of three, I want you to attack me in any way you see fit.”--Budy

“Buddy…���--Predaking

“Its fine Predaking.”--Buddy

“You want us to attack you?”—Darksteel

Buddy stretches out their wings.

“Yes.”--Buddy

“Deal old timer.”—Skylynx

Buddy gets in the ready stance and nods at Predaking to start the count.

“3…”--Predaking

The two Predacons get ready to pounce.

“2…”--Predaking

All their limbs are ready.

“1.”--Predaking

The two Predacons leap at Buddy.

They don’t last 3 minutes.

Buddy standing over them.

“Now, what do you have to say about this old timer?”--Buddy

The two Predacons beneath Buddy are in awe by how this clearly older Predacon managed to handle two younger Predacons at the same time.

They try to edge Predaking to fight Buddy.

Buddy playfully edges him too.

But Predaking already learned his lesson from last time.

The four of them fall into a comfortable conversation before Buddy needs to head back home.

Buddy says goodbye to the others and flies back home.

Buddy lands outside the base entrance panting a bit.

“Buddy!”—The kids

Buddy looks up to see the kids running up to them.

“Why hello to you too.”--Buddy

“You just got back?”--Miko

“Yes…”--Buddy

Buddy takes a sharp intake feeling the dent on their side.

Jack is the first to notice.

“Woah… Buddy are you okay?”--Jack

“I am fine Jack.”--Buddy

“That doesn’t look fine to me.”--jack

“I’m an old bot Jack, I’m bound to get some dents that take longer to heal than others.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but that one looks like someone rammed their head into your side.”--Miko

“…Anyways—”--Buddy

“Don’t change the subject!”--Raf

“…What if I told you tomorrow instead? I’m about ready to drop into stasis.”--Buddy

The kids look a bit unsatisfied but let Buddy go on their way.

They will get the answers one way or another.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 9

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 6,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, peril, blood, and angst. 

Part 9: Breach

Loco’s eyes widened as he watched the surveillance feed. 

“Coño carajo,” he cursed in Spanish. “Hey, boss.” 

Frank was just about to step out of their “office” (a dusty back room behind the library). He stopped at his subordinate’s voice and turned back, frowning when he caught sight of the large triple screens. 

A helicopter had just landed on the roof of the mansion. It had a red banner painted with “Fiesta Tours” on the side. The door slid open, and out tumbled a skinny kid who fell onto his knees and threw up on the ground. 

His blonde girlfriend came out and patiently rubbed his back. Though she rolled her eyes at something the pilot said. 

It was Billy Butcher, which meant the other three assholes jumping out of the helicopter were the rest of his team that had eluded Antonio’s men in Medellin.  

“Damn it,” Frank muttered. “How’d they get through our airspace without tripping any alarms?”

“They stole a fucking tourist trap, bro,” said Loco.

By the time he glanced up, Frank had already moved back to his desk to unlock a large safe with both a code and a fingerprint. Out of the safe came a briefcase. Loco stood from his chair and grabbed his gun.

Frank popped open the case and grabbed one of several vials. He gave one to Loco and pocketed two more before he locked the briefcase again.

“Keep them busy,” Frank said. He pressed a finger to the communicator in his ear. “Saul, we have company. Meet me upstairs, then prepare the getaway as a contingency.”

“Got it,” Saul responded. He was currently on patrol on the east side. Frank knew it would take him roughly two and a half minutes to get back.  

“Y el Capitán?” Loco asked. And the Captain?

Meaning Soldier Boy. Instead of answering him, Frank pulled out his cell on his way out of the room. Loco was on his heels. 

“What?” said Ben. As usual, he sounded annoyed at being bothered. 

“Sir, we have a breach,” Frank said. “It’s Butcher.” 

Fuck. Ben grimaced, though he didn’t voice his displeasure. His hand tightened on the cell phone at his ear.

“Where is she?” he asked. He heard Frank give a command to check the feed. It was Loco’s voice that gave the reply.  

“In the garden,” Frank answered. 

Typical, Ben thought. The garden was your favorite place. You hadn’t told him that, but he’d caught you there often enough.

“All right, get her to the helicopter,” Ben said. “Take her to the next house. I’ll deal with Butcher and his cocksucking crew.” 

Frank resisted the urge to raise a brow, even if his boss couldn’t see it. Extracting you from the house was not the original plan. But he agreed and parted ways from Loco with a nod. 

When Saul caught up with Frank in the hall on the top of the stairs, second floor, Frank handed him a vial of V24. Both men shot up together, each taking sharp breaths at the intensity of unnatural green-hued chemicals running through their veins. 

Frank recovered first, rolling his shoulders as new awareness made his senses sharp, his blood already pounding with adrenaline. 

“The most expensive damn high I’ve ever had,” Saul remarked, smirking. 

Frank didn’t take the same pleasure in it, but he conceded that with a nod. Being able to see through walls was an advantage, at least. It just took a moment for his vision to even out and normalize.

“Get it done,” was all he said.

While Saul continued on to the roof with super speed, Frank made his way down the stairs, and through the French doors to the backyard. He found you there, sitting on the grass with a book in the garden. 

Good, he thought in approval of your jeans and V-neck top. You would be easier to transport this way. 

He called your name, and you greeted him with a smile, until you noticed his sternness.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

Frank pulled you up by your arm, firm but not painful. 

“We have to go,” he said. Despite your protests, he led you back inside, then up the narrow staircase that you realized would have to lead to the roof. There was nowhere else to go on the roof but up, and away. Frank was taking you away from the house. Why?

“It’s my team, isn’t it,” you said.

You stared up at Frank’s profile. His mustache often obscured his expression, but you caught the way his brows tightened, as did his hold on your arm. It felt tighter, stronger than usual, and not just because he hadn’t manhandled you in a long time. 

It raised your suspicions, but your heart was also thumping faster as you realized that your friends were here somewhere.

“Where’s Ben,” you demanded to know. A tendril of worry laced up your spine. “Where the hell are we going?”

“To a secure location,” Frank replied. But he didn’t give you more than that. You dug your heels in on the stairs and tried to work your arm out of his grip, but he was unrelenting. 

“Let me go!” you snapped. “I have to talk to them.”

“Boss’s orders,” Frank said, his jaw tightening. You could tell he didn’t want to hurt you, but he would drag your ass up the rest of these steps.

You were reduced to pleading. “Frank, please! He’s in danger.”

His eyes sharpened at that. 

“You may not believe it, but they can take him down,” you said. Desperation shone in your eyes, and you fought the conflicted nature of your emotions in what you were about to say.  

“If I’m there, maybe I can talk down both sides,” you argued. “I know you’re just following orders, but if you care about your next paycheck, you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Frank seemed to consider your words for all of three seconds. 

Then he continued to haul you up all the way to the roof. You were struggling and shouting, but you were made to go all the same. 

When the door opened to the roof, however, Frank caught a slender fist in his face, knocking him right out. You gasped as the man careened back and nearly bowled you over, but that same hand caught him by the collar and kept him from crushing you. 

You looked up and brightened with an incredulous smile.

“Kimiko!” 

The smaller woman gave you a smile and a small wave with her free hand. But before she could finish Frank off, you raised your hands against her raised fist.

“Wait! Don’t kill him,” you asked. “Just leave him here.”

Kimiko looked confused for a second, but she did as you asked and helped you let him down gently to the ground. You noticed the blood hastily wiped from her hand and face—onto her black leather jacket.  

“Where is everyone?” you asked. 

Kimiko signaled ahead, but you opened the door to the roof real quick, just to see the littered bodies of dead men on the ground. You blanched at the sight. 

You turned away from the scene and followed Kimiko, who lowered her head as she continued down the stairs. 

Despite yourself, you hoped Loco and Saul had gotten away, at least. They were your captors, but they’d never treated you badly. You’d even cooked for them, hung out with them, listened to them bicker and bitch, and watched them cheat one another at cards. They were criminals, but they weren’t monsters. 

And not wanting to see them die only scratched the surface of your conflict when you thought about Ben. 

As you and Kimiko jogged through the mansion, heading toward the sounds of fighting and yelling and destruction downstairs, your guilt began to grow. 

You knew very well what Ben had done. But the truth was, you no longer had the heart to condemn him.

To play jury and judge and executioner—interning him into an ice box until he could be neutralized, or until the end of his unnaturally long life.

To continue making him pay beyond his forty years of imprisonment. 

You’d seen the worst of him: his salaciousness, his temper, his trauma, his destructive coping mechanisms, and painfully outdated ideals. 

Yet, Ben was more than all of that. He’d allowed you to see more. 

But the moment you said any of that, you knew how he would react. Just as you knew how M.M. would look at you. And it made your chest ache and your mind spin faster than it already was. 

What the fuck am I going to do?

You got your opportunity to answer that question when a star bolt shot right in front of you and Kimiko—through the open door of a large room. 

It was big enough to be a ballroom for parties, but right now it was a battlefield between your friends, a support team of CIA officers, Loco and his team of men, and of course, Ben at the center. He was in his full Soldier Boy gear, complete with the stupid-ass helmet. 

While Hughie had clearly been made to hang out at the fringe of it all. He stood there, looking worried with a gun in his hand that he didn’t look all that comfortable with.

He noticed you and Kimiko first and called your name. You smiled and accepted the joyful hug he gave you (after he carefully tucked his gun in his pants). 

“You’re actually okay! I can’t fucking believe it,” he said. But then he quickly amended, “I mean, we all hoped you were still alive, I just mean—”

You just laughed and teasingly slapped his cheeks between your hands to stop his fumbling. “Thanks for coming to find me.”

Ben ears must’ve been perked up, because he sharply glanced over. You getting free wasn’t part of his plan, you knew, and he did not look pleased. Your amusement fading, you let go of Hughie and met Ben’s gaze across the room.

You were worried. About him. About everyone. 

“We don’t have to do this,” you told Hughie. Kimiko had already joined the fray to stop a gunman from clipping Frenchie from behind. 

Your earnest gaze met Hughie’s confused one. “He’s not what you think he is…well, not exactly, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “He fucking kidnapped you!”

“Technically, he didn’t. It was one of his overzealous groupies,” you replied, your expression firming at the thought of Antonio. “That guy’s dead. But there are more reasons. I’ve gotta stop this somehow—”

“That’s…not a good idea,” Hughie was saying, and even tried to stop you when you took the gun from his pants. But you ignored his protests and headed right into the jungle of bullets and star bolts, and the crunch of bone and blood. 

You didn’t shoot to kill, evading and defending yourself more than fighting back. Annie noticed you with a happy smile, as did Frenchie and M.M. Butcher was busy shooting at Ben with a fucking launcher. 

But Ben avoided the massive projectile with a simple knock of his shield. It sailed through the back windows, eventually exploding into the sky. 

For a moment, there was enough of a lull in the room that you took the opportunity to open your mouth, prepared to call out to both men.

However, something else broke through the windows—from the opposite side. 

It was a dart that landed between Ben’s feet, black and flashing a small red light. He rose a brow. But before he could just kick the thing away, it detonated.

The explosion was bigger than even Ben anticipated. It blew up a huge crater in the ground, knocking him and everyone else surrounding several feet away. 

Even you were tossed back. Your gun clattered away from you as you landed painfully on the ground, most likely onto a dead body. You blinked the haziness out of your vision as you struggled to recover, to pull yourself up. 

“What the fuck?” you heard Ben utter. 

When you turned your head, you couldn’t help echoing his statement. 

Black Noir was standing just before the large crater, the one he’d apparently created.

He’s dead, you thought dizzily. Or at least, he was supposed to be. Homelander killed him six months ago. 

Seriously, what the fuck. Ben was bewildered, to say the least. He’d been told that his unfortunate spawn had offed Noir, but yet here he was, the little shit. 

“Fucking Noir,” Ben said with a laugh, after he’d stood and made a show of rolling his neck. “What frosted hole did you crawl out of?”

The supe didn’t respond. Didn’t even move a muscle from where he stood in the center of the room. And the rest had gone quiet by now, waiting and watching as two predators approached one another.

“I heard you became a fucking mute,” said Ben. He smirked at the crater in his floor. “You’ve figured out how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that. But we both know you’re not up to this. You could never even shine my fucking shoes.”

Ben tossed the first punch. He expected the way Noir deflected, but not the force behind his blow, which pounded below Ben’s ribs and forced a grunt out of him. He actually felt it.

Along with subsequent punches Noir got in before Ben finally remembered to raise his shield and get back on the offensive. But now he was annoyed. Noir was never this strong, not even on his best day. What kind of bullshit does Vought got him hopped up on? More V?

And then, a solid punch to his face had Ben stumbling back. He caught his smarting jaw with no small amount of irritation, and he wiped at his nose. 

It came away bloody. Ben stared at it in disbelief, and then, in anger. Back from the dead or not, he was going to put Noir back in the fucking ground today. 

His blood burned hot. So much that he realized, belatedly, that his chest was starting to get that nuclear glow. 

Good, he thought. He’d blow a third hole through this cocksucker, and whoever else got in his way. 

“Ben!” 

Your voice cut through the whirring in his ears as he grappled with Black Noir, just loud enough for Ben to notice you. You weren’t far from your friends, but he realized then how close to danger you were. 

He was impossibly hot now, and still fighting hand-to-hand with Noir. His jaw locked as he tried to focus on the fight and figure out what to do. It was getting harder and harder to focus—on Noir, on the power growing inside him, on your worried face. 

Shit, wait—

And he lost control. 

It was all of seconds. 

Annie was just ahead of you, closer to the blast zone. So in those last precious moments, you made a decision: you pushed Annie out of the way.

Then your feet were once again swept from under you, and you flew back even harder than the first time. You blacked out before you had the chance to feel any pain.

That came later, the next time you opened your eyes.

When your vision was able to clear of the mess of colors and shapes, sharpening into focus, you saw Frank as he pulled you out of the rubble. But it was at your expense, as a sharp flare of pain erupted in your side. 

You didn’t recognize the sound of your own voice, a strangled groan. In the distance, maybe you heard Annie’s voice. Or even M.M.’s, you couldn’t be sure. You flashed in and out of consciousness after that. 

The next scene you truly remembered was being laid down on the floor of a helicopter. A backpack was tucked under your head. The engine was loud, rearing to go. Frank was shouting to someone, whoever the pilot was (you hoped it wasn’t Loco). 

“She needs more than a medic,” you heard Frank say. For a man who was usually so stoic, you thought you heard grave worry in his voice. 

You managed to look down, and you frowned at the long piece of wood protruding from your side. It wept blood beneath your ribs.

Your light green shirt was slowly getting stained, but your mind was so fuzzy, it was hard for you to understand what was happening.

“Let’s go!” Loco shouted. 

Oh, no, you thought. He was going to fly this thing.

“We can’t take off yet,” said Saul. “Where’s—”

A soot-stained hand grabbed onto the frame of the helicopter’s open door. You recognized that hand, followed shortly by the rest of Ben. His helmet was off, shield tucked onto his back. He looked pissed.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he snapped. His frown deepened the moment he saw you, which you didn’t quite understand.

“Ben,” you said, even though it was an effort to do so.

Every breath was like a hot knife cutting deeper into your side. Your eyes closed at the pain, and at tears that burned down your cheeks. It also cut through the brain fog enough for you to realize this was bad.

It was very bad. 

A splintered chair leg had impaled your body. 

“Get a vial,” you heard him say. 

What? You struggled to open your eyes again. Ben was there, looking down on you with a different kind of frown, and something deeper in his green eyes. His sweaty hair fell over his brows, and you had a sudden itch to brush the strands aside. 

You were pacified a little when his half-gloved hand came to rest on your head, over your hair. His thumb traced over your brow. 

“Hurry the fuck up, Frank,” he said, briefly glaring over your head. Frank soon appeared at your side. He held a green vial in his hands, tinged with blue. Your eyes widened. 

“What…”

“That needs to come out first.” Frank nodded at something you couldn’t see. You didn’t have the strength to look down anymore. You knew this was it, though.

You were going to die.

Ben’s hand braced your shoulder. His eyes met yours. 

You didn’t understand the thoughts crossing through them, or his hesitation. But you did feel it when he grabbed the large wood splinter and slowly pulled it from your body. Your scream sounded almost inhuman to your own ears. 

At least the pain was enough to knock you out once again.

Ben had no such reprieve as he looked down at the gaping hole in your side. Scarlet blood ran and pooled by his knees, even slipped through his fingers and around his hand when he tried to clamp down on the wound. 

“Fucking do it already,” he said through gritted teeth. 

With a short nod, Frank injected V24 into your arm. 

You healed in minutes. 

Breath drew into your lungs—a reflex as chemicals flooded through your blood and knit your organs, muscle, and skin tissue closed, even regenerating the blood you had lost. And it felt like a switch had turned on in your brain, set to “high voltage.”

You sat up as a ragged sound erupted from your throat. A hand closed on your shoulder, and you instinctively fought it off. 

“Hey. Easy,” said Ben.

Your breathing was shallow as you met his eyes, focused on his face. You noticed Frank on your other side, poised to support you if you needed it. You looked down and noticed your blood-soaked shirt, the blood on the floor of the aircraft, and the empty syringe in Frank’s hand. 

“You shot me up,” you realized. Your voice shook, but anger drew your brows together before you whipped your head back to Ben. “You shot me up with V24!”

He stared back at you, his expression tightening. “I saved you.”

“And you kidnapped me. Again!” you shouted. 

“You were hurt, and I saved your fucking life! Again,” Ben countered, gesturing at you with his blood-stained hand. But you glared at him.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you snapped. 

At that, Ben glared right back at you…but he stayed quiet. 

Good. You huffed and turned away from him. You folded your knees up to your chest and rested your forehead against your knees. 

You had nothing else to say to him. 

You ignored Frank’s helping hand when the helicopter finally landed at the next house—this time on the gravel driveway.

This place was at the top of a hill on the outskirts of a thick jungle. Once you were led inside, you could tell this house was smaller, though just as lavish as the last one.

Ben seemed too exasperated with you to follow you, instead going his own way to find his room upstairs. Frank led you to a guest room downstairs, where he informed you that he’d find you some new clothes. You were dismissive with him, and he left you alone soon after.  

Part of you felt bad for giving him a hard time. You knew he had saved you after the explosion. He’d likely gone out of his way to find you and pull you out of the rubble, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still salty about his part in your re-capture. Not to mention the fact that he’d given you temporary Compound V against your will. 

And speaking of which…

You sat on your new bed and looked down at your arms and hands, clenching and unclenching your fists. What mystery power had V24 given you?

As basic as it was, you felt…strong. Like you could run a marathon without stopping. Like you could punch straight through that wall, and not even feel it. You felt more than just confidence coursing through your veins, like no one and nothing could stand in your way.

Was this how Ben felt all the time? If so, you could almost understand why he could be such an asshole. 

But you also thought of how he’d been with you for the past couple of weeks; how much he’d shared with you about his parents, about his life before becoming Soldier Boy. And yes, how he’d saved you more than once. 

It just didn’t change the fact that he took you—away from your friends, and your chance at freedom. 

True to his word, Frank delivered a bag of clothes to your door about two hours after he’d left you in your new room.

You opened the door just enough to snatch the bag out of his hand, before closing the door in his face. You heard his tired huff on the other side, but soon enough, he walked away from your door. 

So you took your time in the shower, scrubbing grime and blood out of your hair, off your skin and from under your nails. Then you dressed in a shirt and some yoga pants from the bag Frank gave you.

And you tried not to miss the house in the mountains while you wandered this one. You opened every door you came across, finding more guest rooms, a laundry room, the kitchen.

But you stopped once you reached the gym, complete with an elliptical, a couple of treadmills, hand weights, a sparring mat, and a large punching bag.  

Venturing inside, you found some sports tape to wrap up your hands. Then you wandered over to the punching bag. With a resigned sigh, you aligned your hips correctly, bending your knees with your fists raised up to your chest. And then, steeling yourself, you tested out your strength with a single punch. 

It sent the punching bag flying on its chain and hitting the wall. A loud thump echoed through the room, even making you flinch. 

Yep. Definitely got super strength, you thought with a frown. Basic, but useful, you supposed. 

“Whoa,” Ben said with a chuckle. You turned your head and found the man leaning casually in the doorway. He was out of his uniform, freshly washed, and wearing a plain black shirt and dark wash jeans. It was a more modern look for him. You couldn’t help eyeing him from head to toe.

His sharpening grin told you that he noticed.

“At least you got something good,” he remarked. 

“Leave me alone,” you groused. You threw another punch. This one tossed the bag hard and created a massive indent and several hairline cracks in the wall. 

Feeling a suspect prickle across the back of your neck, you twisted and aimed your next punch behind you. Ben caught your fist with an amused grin. You found it damn infuriating. 

So you tossed out a left hook. He evaded it with a tilt of his head, but when he pushed you back, you actually felt his strength behind it. It only forced you a couple of steps back though. 

Ben baited you with a beckoning hand and a cocky smirk. “Take your best shot, sweetheart.” 

You narrowed your eyes. If nothing else, you were going to wipe that smirk off his bearded face. 

He let you come at him first, blocking your first and second blow before throwing a punch of his own. You grabbed his wrist and put all your strength in cracking your elbow into his face, making his head snap back with a grunt. 

Ben’s hand went to his nose, and actually came away bloody. He hummed, and his gaze flicked up at you. It was your turn to smirk. You got back into your ready stance and tilted your head at him in challenge. 

Ben chuckled and rolled his neck. “All right, baby doll. I’ll give you that one.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you retorted.

You ducked his attempt to grab you and drove a knee into his gut. Then you stepped between his feet, breaking his stance and his balance by flipping him over your shoulder. You just didn’t expect him to drag you down with him.   

The two of you tussled across the ground, rolling off the sparring mat and onto the hard wood floor. Ben managed to pin you down for a moment, but apparently, you’d been endowed with superior flexibility as well. You grabbed his neck and kneed him in the ribs with all the force you could muster. 

Ben uttered an annoyed grunt. He flinched and unwittingly allowed you the opening you needed to wrap your thighs around his hips and flip you both over—until you were the one pinning him down. 

You knew he wasn’t trying his hardest, however. He was trying to subdue you, not fight you for real, or he would’ve thrown you off by now. He was going easy on you, and it made you irrationally angry.

So you slapped him. Ben blinked and looked up at you, incredulous. 

“Oh, you better be fucking careful—” 

You cut him off with another slap. “Fight me!” 

Ben grabbed your wrist before you could slap him again. His green eyes glittered dangerously, but you stared down at him, unafraid.

Both of you were breathing hard. You were straddling his waist, your free hand braced on the floor by his head. A line of sweat rolled down from your cheek to your neck. His eyes followed the path of it down your shirt.

By the time his hot gaze snapped up to yours, you knew you were in trouble. And there would be no escape. 

Ben hooked a hand on the back of your neck and crashed your lips against his. You slapped a hand against the floor, but you didn’t pull away. You did demand from him in turn, forcing your tongue into his mouth and grabbing at his hair. 

Ben wrenched up your shirt, and you helped him raise it over your head, followed by his shirt and belt. He sat up enough to drag your yoga pants down your thighs, while you broke open the button and zipper of his jeans. 

His lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking and biting until you cried out in his ear. You gripped his hair tight when his thick fingers found their way between your folds and slipped inside you.

Your sighs turned into moans of pleasure as his fingers worked you over, gathering your wetness and rolling over your clit roughly. 

“Ah, shit,” you uttered. All you heard from him were his sharp breaths as he concentrated. 

You instinctively squeezed his hips tight between your thighs. You knew he could get you off just like this, but you were too impatient. You stopped his hand and pushed him down, and with your newfound superhuman strength, you were actually able to do it. 

His back hit the ground with a thud, and he smirked up at you, letting you tug his jeans and boxer briefs down. 

You didn’t stop until his cock was freed, and once you positioned yourself, you sunk down, burying him into your wet heat. Both of you groaned in relief, and your inner walls tightened around him on reflex.

Ben’s grip on your hips became crushing. Had you been normal, it would’ve broken your bones. “Fuck. Gonna take me for a ride, baby girl?” 

“Hell, yeah,” you said, panting for breath. “Buckle the fuck up.”

You were surprised that he was letting you stay on top, but his eyes were alight with desire. You braced your hands on his shoulders and began, rolling your hips at a slow, deep, almost torturous pace. Ben’s head snapped against the floor in frustration, his eyes closing.

“Christ. If you don’t fucking move, I’m gonna do it for you—”

You snapped your hips hard, cutting him off from his words with a guttural sound. Your own release was building. You could taste it, but you could also admit, while pleasant, this pace wasn’t going to cut it. Bracing a hand on his chest, you increased the tempo of your rolling hips. 

Ben’s hands reached up to palm your breasts over your bra, then forcibly freed them without taking it off. You gave a pleased sound when he roughly squeezed and rolled his thumbs over pert nipples. Your hands wandered down his chest, over his arms, whatever you could reach. 

Then Ben’s jaw clenched, and he sat up with you in his lap. You felt his body tensing beneath you. With little warning, he spilled hot inside you. You gasped at the feeling of him, then at his insistent fingers above your entrance, roughly rubbing at your clit. Soon enough, you came along with him.

Gasping for breath, you clung to his shoulders. Both of you were dewy with sweat. Your bra was tucked up all the way into your shoulders, and neither of you had been able to completely slip out of your pants. His hair was wild, as was yours, you were sure. 

Ben’s hands pressed against your lower back, and his cock was still bottomed out inside you. But all you could do was hold onto him.

“See?” Ben said. His voice was deep and full of grit in your ear. “Isn’t it better this way?” 

Your brows furrowed, and you pulled away enough to see his face. 

“You…you prefer me as a supe, don’t you?” you said. Ben’s mouth closed, but he rose a brow as if to say, why not?

You finally noticed the deep cracks in the wall, the small craters in the floor under your knees, and by Ben’s head. There was still a bit of blood congealed around his nose from when you’d hit him.

“This isn’t me,” you said, though you hated how your voice shook. Emotion burned in your eyes, threatening to create tears.

You let go of his shoulders and slid off of him, pulling on your yoga pants and tugging down your bra. Ben watched you from his seat on the floor, with a tensing of his jaw and knitted brows. 

“I don’t know if you just like playing with me, or if you actually care about me,” you said, scooping up your shirt. Your eyes met his with an angry glare. 

“But if you ever give me Compound V against my will again, I’ll never forgive you.”

Butcher stared into his fifth of whiskey, already anticipating his second. If nothing else, Soldier Boy kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet. 

While the CIA combed through the half-ruined mansion, Butcher sat in the kitchen while Hughie and Annie’s arguing grated on his ears.

“She fucking took my gun, had this crazy look in her eye, like she was gonna talk Soldier Boy down. By herself,” said Hughie. “But her exact words were, he’s not what you think he is.”

“She saved me,” Annie said. “She wouldn’t just go with him.”

“She went willingly,” said Butcher. “Ain’t no other reason why she’s alive.”

“Nah, man,” M.M. said. He shook his head, then rested it on a thoughtful fist. “I saw it. One of his guys pulled her out after the blast. He took her.”

“But for what? Why would they want to keep her?” Annie said incredulously. 

“You think, maybe…Soldier Boy likes her?” Hughie asked.     

Butcher considered that with a dark chuckle, then a long sip of his whiskey. 

“We can work with that,” he said. “O’ course, now we got Black-fucking-Noir to deal with as well. Question is: was he after us, or Soldier Boy?”

Trust M.M. to address the elephant in the room. 

“And how the hell is that motherfucker alive?” he added.

Ben was contemplating that very same question. He sat at an old mahogany table in a stuffy old room, while his men argued in front of him. 

“He had regenerative abilities,” Saul reasoned. “Vought probably got him to a hospital after Homelander left him for dead.”

“No way, man. I heard his fucking intestines were hanging out of his stomach like a goddamn fish,” said Loco. 

“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Frank suggested. 

“No,” Ben said. He had his chin propped on his fist. “It wasn’t him. Not the real Noir.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but it was a gut feeling. Whoever that had been behind that black mask, he was strong. As strong as Homelander had been, which made Ben’s gears turn on the possibilities… 

“Saul.” Ben looked up at his subordinate. “Assemble a team. You’re going back to the States for some reconnaissance. I want to know exactly what the fuck Vought did, and what else they’ve got in their fucking arsenal. If Stan Edgar’s after me, then he’s gonna get it up the ass.”

He should’ve never let that little weasel get even an inch of a hold back into him. Now Stan thought he was going to double cross him? Again? 

Yeah, fucking right. The thought stirred the rage in Ben’s blood…but he forced it down to a low simmer. This time, he would be smarter about this. 

Stan had a bad habit of playing God. Ben wanted to know how he did it this time…though that same gut was telling him that he already knew.

No matter how you tossed and turned, the chemicals of V24 still coursing through your blood wouldn’t allow you to sleep. 

After another fruitless hour, you turned onto your side. This time, you had a room with an old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand. It read close to two in the morning. 

You huffed and dragged yourself out of bed, but you didn’t bother changing out of your pajamas before you slipped on your sneakers and left the confines of your room. 

You still weren’t being watched, but you knew better than to try and escape either. You noted the newly installed surveillance cameras in every hallway and every room. 

You wandered a bit aimlessly, but somehow, your feet took you down to the kitchen. There you found Ben, sitting at the kitchen table with his third beer. To be fair, you were sure it was like water to him. 

He looked up at you when you came in, making you stop short. You weren’t sure where you stood with him after today. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to be in his presence.  

But when he gestured to the empty seat in front of him, you found yourself grabbing a beer from the fridge and joining him at the table. 

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. It wasn’t the first time, and Ben was just as evasive. His eyes roamed your face before they returned to his beer. 

Regardless, you suspected what his answer might’ve been if he were honest. Because that moment—calling his name, seeing that nuclear light, pushing Annie out of the way, being pulled back into the world by searing pain in your side—it was keeping you up too.

“What do you feel when your chest lights up?” you asked. Maybe it was too bold of you, but right now, you felt confident enough in your super strength to test him.

Ben’s gaze found yours dryly. 

“Hot,” he replied. 

“Well, yeah. You’re pretty much radioactive,” you quipped. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t have fucking cancer yet.” 

He frowned at you in annoyance while you sipped at your beer. 

You hummed, tapping your nails on the glass in contemplation. “Maybe Vought could help you neutralize it. Even I can admit, they have some of the best scientists in the world on their payroll.”

“I wouldn’t let Vought handle a cup of my fucking piss, let alone poking and prodding and studying my fucking blood,” Ben snapped. He wouldn’t be anyone’s fucking lab rat. Not again.

“Like an experimental drug, for example. Given to you against your will,” you wryly supplied. But your voice was edged with agitation.

Ben’s face tightened into a glare. “If you wanna say something, fucking say it.”

You could later admit, you lost your temper then. You shoved away from the table, too angry to even take your beer with you.

“You know, you still haven’t even apologized!” you said. But before you could leave, Ben’s chair scraped across the ground as he stood and grabbed your wrist. He tugged you back to face him, and he stood looming over you with a steely frown.

“You want a fucking apology for saving your miserable life?” he asked. 

“If I’m miserable, it’s only because of you,” you spat. 

Ben scoffed, though his grip on your wrist tightened. “We both know that’s a lie.” 

You just stared up at his face and spewed words you knew you didn’t mean.

“You don’t know anything about me, Ben.” 

His body was wound tight, his frown tight and almost sneering. You were furious—at his smugness, at your inability to completely hate him. But you both faltered once your eyes met his. 

When his lips once again crashed against yours, you opened your mouth to him, pulling him down to you by his shirt.

Ben dragged you flush against him, first by your hips, then by your hair. He forced your head back so he could deepen the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. 

His fingers then pressed their claiming marks into your side, in the same spot where you were stabbed this morning. Where you had only been healed with the chemicals still coursing through your veins. 

That thought alone cut through the intoxication of his kiss, and made you remember yourself.

You pushed hard against his chest. You were still strong enough to force him back a step or two. Ben stared back at you in irritation. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” he shouted. “Would you rather I’d let you bleed out on the fucking floor?”

“I know! I know I would be dead,” you said, matching his volume.  

No matter how you felt about Compound V, there was no doubt, he’d saved your life. 

But what you’d said to him then still stood. 

“If you hadn’t tried to waste Black Noir with a power you can’t control, then I wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. That’s the definition of collateral damage,” you said. 

Ben crossed his arms defensively. 

“You’re the one who jumped in front of the bullet like a goddamn moron,” he said. “Ain’t my fucking fault if you get yourself killed.”

And just like that, your anger faded…into dismay.

He might very well care about you, but in many ways, he was still an asshole. And you were exhausted.

“Fine, Ben.” You blinked past the well of tears burning in your eyes, but your refused to let them fall. 

After you turned away from him, you didn’t see how his face fell, with both disappointment and guilt breaking through his anger. Your next words would sear into his mind for days to come. 

“Just leave me the hell alone.”

AN: 🤭 Please don't hate me! loll They'll get back on track soon enough...

Next Time:

“Why are you trusting me with this?” you asked. 

Ben’s lips quirked wryly, but there was little humor in it. His hand, half-covered by his glove, reached up to brush your chin. 

“I’m not,” he replied. “I expect you’ll jump at the chance to get back with Butcher and your asshole friends. But either way, I’m gonna find out if you were worth it.” 

Keep Reading: PART 10

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2 @spnfamily-j2 @redqueenoffalconcrest

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @theonlymaninthesky @sleepyqueerenergy @agalliasi @skyesthebomb @chriszgirl92

[bfpnola]

Updated version! ID written by @swosheep (it won't let me tag you oof)

ID 1: All images are of an Instagram post by letstalkpalestine2. The first one is titled "Lets Talk. What is Hamas? Answering the basic questions".

ID 2: the second image is titled "What Are Its Origins?". the body text reads: "Hamas is a Palestinian political party and armed resistance movement based in the besieged Gaza Strip. It emerged in 1987, at the start of the First Intifada, as a reaction to intensifying israeli violence and as a religious alternative to the secular Palestinian parties that dominated the scene at the time. Hamas was originally a branch of Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood but later cut ties with it and became an independent group. In 1992, Hamas formed a military wing called the Izz al-Din al-Qassam Brigades to resist the israeli occupation. The Brigades carried out several significant operations against Israel during the Second Intifada, which established Hamas as a leading force in the Palestinian resistance."

ID 3: the third image is titled "Who Are Its Leaders?". The body text reads: "Hamas is composed of a political wing and a military wing. They each perform different functions but operate under the same leadership structure." There is a grid with four sections. The first section is titled "Political Bureau", and reads: "- Headed by Ismail Haniyeh from exile - Sets general policy". The second section is titled: "Izz al-Din al-Qassam Brigades" and reads: "- Commanded by Marwan Issa and Mohammed Deif - Conducts military operations". The third section is titled: "Shura Council" and reads: "- Led by Saleh al-Arouri in the West Bank and Yahya Sinwar in Gaza - Handles affairs in Gaza, the West Bank, diaspora, and israeli prisons". The fourth section is titled: "Gaza Government" and reads: "- Headed by Prime Minister Issam al-Da'alis - Enacts policies and provides social services to people in Gaza".

ID 4: The fourth image is titled: "What Does Hamas Want?" The body text reads: "Its 2017 charter states that its current political program is to: - Implement the right of return for all Palestinian refugees; - Establish a temporary Palestinian state along the 1967 borders (the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip) and arrange a long-term truce with israel. Hamas considers the establishment of a Palestinian state on the '67 borders as a temporary step. It refuses to recognize israel's legitimacy and advocates for the 'full and complete liberation of Palestine, from the river to the sea.' Hamas's 2017 charter states that its struggle is against the israeli state and the Zionist movement due to their occupation of Palestine, not Jewish people, and criticizes israel for associating its actions with Jewish values. Hamas's stated goals for its current operation are to - Free the thousands of Palestinian prisoners held by israel, - End the Gaza blockade, - End the status quo where Israel continues its occupation without cost".

ID 5: the fifth image is titled: "Does Hamas Control Gaza?". The body text reads: "Not really. Hamas administers local affairs, while israel controls much of Gaza from the outside through its blockade. israel forcibly controls: - Airspace, - Sea access, - Movement of all goods and people in and out, - Telecoms networks, - Electromagnetic sphere, - Tax distribution, - Population registry, - Water, - Electricity and fuel. Hamas began governing Gaza in 2007, and has since managed: - Healthcare, - Education, - Infrastructure, - Social welfare, - Law enforcement, - Public employment. Hamas is not a sovereign government. israel's blockade prevents Palestinians from independently exercising sovereignty over Gaza's population, development, and economy."

ID 6: The sixth image is titled "Does Hamas Represent Palestine?" The body text reads: "Hamas is one of many Palestinian political parties. On the one hand, Hamas was democratically elected by voters in 2006, garnering a plurality of West Bank and Gaza votes (44%) for its social services and resistance efforts. Today. Fatah and Hamas, the two largest parties, are roughly tied, each enjoying the support of a third of the public. On the other hand, many Palestinians strongly criticize Hamas's political wing due to its corruption and repressive policies, and the last elections were in 2006. 43% of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza believe that no party represents Palestine. The other polled Palestinians were split between parties, with no clear winner. We have no statistics for Palestinians in the heartland ("israel") or diaspora. However, Hamas is currently the only major group that pursues armed resistance, which is widely supported. So while most Palestinians might not support Hamas as a party, the overwhelming majority support acts of resistance in general, whether by Hamas or others."

ID 7: the seventh image is titled "Is Hamas a Proxy of Iran?". The body text reads: "No. Hamas is an independent group with a political program and military strategy distinct from Iran. Hamas and Iran are strategic allies, meaning that while Iran provides Hamas with significant financial, military, and political support, Hamas does not act or operate on behalf of Iran. It makes decisions based on its own interests, and independently manages relations with countries like Turkey, Qatar, and Egypt. For example: In 2012, Hamas cut ties with Syria because it opposed the Assad regime's violent crackdown on protesters. It took this decision despite angering Iran, a close ally of Assad. Regarding Operation Al-Aqsa Flood, even israeli officials admit there is no evidence that Iran was in any way involved. Iran was actually surprised by it. Hamas independently coordinated and launched the operation to achieve its own goals."

ID 8: The eighth image is titled "Does Hamas Negotiate with Israel?". The body text reads: "Hamas views armed struggle as only one of several tools to end apartheid & occupation, such as diplomacy. In 2006, in an op-ed for The Guardian, Hamas chairman Ismail Haniyeh revealed that israel refused Hamas's proposal for a truce. In 2008, former Hamas chief Khaled Meshal offered a 10-year truce in exchange for a sovereign Palestinian state along the 1967 borders with Jerusalem as its capital." israel rejected the proposal. In 2016, Hamas offered a long-term truce in exchange for simply ending the Gaza Blockade. israel rejected it. In 2018, Haniyeh revived this offer by sending a handwritten letter in Hebrew to Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu. But israel rejected it again. israel repeatedly rejected Hamas's diplomatic initiatives because israel saw no reason to end the oppressive status quo, which it believed gave it power & privileges over Palestinians with minimal downsides. israel's benefits outweighed the costs. Hamas is trying to change that."

ID 9: the ninth image is titled "Is Hamas Risking Palestinian Lives?". The body text reads: "Westerners often accuse Hamas of risking Palestinian lives by fighting apartheid and thus inviting a deadly israeli crackdown. But the reality is that israel's blockade is slowly killing everyone in Gaza. [quote] 'We have paid a high cost in lives in this conflict. But if that's the price for long-term changes - breaking the siege and obtaining freedom - it's one many of us feel we have no choice but to swallow.' [unquote] -Haytham Besalso, civil engineer from Gaza, 2014. [quote] 'We are bleeding here, anyway [..] The Gaza Blockade crushes any opportunity for peace.' [unquote] -Ismail, anonymous journalist from Gaza, 2021. The argument that Hamas is responsible for israel's killing of Palestinians is malicious. It blames the victims for resisting apartheid and absolves the oppressors of responsibility, treating the mass killing of children as a 'normal' israeli response."

ID 10: the tenth image says: "You don't need to support Hamas as a political party to support Palestine. Most Palestinians don't support it as a party. But Hamas is an effective political player in the struggle against apartheid, oppression, and colonization. It has achieved remarkable success in preventing israeli violence in Jerusalem and freeing Palestinian hostages abducted by israel. Hamas has institutions, ministries, student movements, and women's movements, and employs thousands of doctors, teachers, judges, and aid workers. It is part of the fabric of Palestinian society. So while you don't need to support Hamas to support Palestine, you cannot oppose oppression without supporting the resistance to it. You cannot support freedom while supporting israeli efforts to wipe out those who fight for that freedom, including Hamas, to leave Palestinians defenc Pales". End ID.

the original caption states that @/LetsTalkPalestine2 does not endorse any specific party, including Hamas, and that the last word on the last slide should be *defenseless.

[phoenixcatch7]

The Wayne doll house

Have some haunted doll au, since it's been bubbling away in my mind.

The bat cave is large and sprawling, many layers and tunnels and hollowed out cracks in the walls. It takes many years to fully reinforce to prevent stray kids from tripping into stagnant waters or fall down crags as he once did. The doll cave, as it becomes known, is in one of the deepest, darkest corners, one where the lights of the furnished caverns above don't reach.

It's one late night sitting at the computer when it suddenly occurs to Bruce that his first encounter with a doll was at the well entrance, many levels above.

There was nothing there when he went back.

-

The justice league stared at the subaru. The subaru, having no eyes, did not stare back.

The seven of them had just finished a very long, arduous mission, and narrowly escaped government censure after the base they'd been raiding had turned out to belong to some corrupt official. With the alert up, they couldn't escape through city airspace, or even in their hero suits.

So civilian it was.

Batman had hotwired some bloke's car while the rest of them ducked into alleys and shop bathrooms, but the problem remained. There was seven of them. And five seats.

"I can shift into something more suitable for being carried," suggested j'onn, "but I believe one of us might have to hide."

"Foot well?" Hal tried, and everyone looked around at the tall, bulky, broad heroes.

"Think they'd have to go in the boot," Barry finally said. Everyone immediately turned to him. "No."

Batman spoke up before the discussion could devolve.

"I think.... I would be best for that."

The team stared.

"Batsy?"

Having no lungs meant he could not drag in the tired sigh he wished, but whatever force allowed this body to talk was capable of approximating something suitably resigned.

"As I am, I am... incapable of fully passing as human. It would be best if I remained out of sight."

"So just? Go change? I swear we won't be weird about whoever you are under the mask. Even if you're like, bald."

"Thank you, Wally, but I'm afraid I'm being serious." Reaching for the mask in broad daylight was unpleasant, but the glue and wires held as he gave it a few thorough tugs. "It doesn't detach."

Everyone stared. Clark reached out as if he wanted to check, but withdrew.

"Do you even have a civilian identity??" Oliver eventually asked. "Because at this point I'm genuinely not sure."

Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries had a meeting that same evening. "Hn."

"Can we go back to the 'incapable of passing as human' part?!"

"We can discuss it in the car," he snapped, stalking past Barry and popping the boot. "In case you haven't forgotten, we're on a time limit."

For once, that seemed to encourage them, and batman, with great dignity, folded his joints and cape into the small space, ignoring Hal's mutter of 'what kind of contortionist -' as he slammed the lid. With a little shuffling he managed to activate his comms.

"I will inform the watchtower of our delay."

"Batman, they're tapping all outgoing signals, you can't -"

"It won't trigger," he interrupted, before he twisted his consciousness and sent it spiralling across the country.

Bruce awoke with a groan, stretching his limbs and taking a moment to marinate in his annoyance before he reached for the comm and voice modulator on the beside table.

"Batman to watchtower, we've encountered delays. If the Texan state government calls we haven't entered the state in six weeks. Batman out."

-

"Alien?"

"No."

"Reanimated corpse?"

"No."

"Uh... Demon?"

"Hm. No."

"You're not just a meta human, are you?"

"No."

"Vampire?"

"No."

"Robot??"

"No."

"Batsy, please, someone's got to win the bet eventually. How do we even know you're not lying?!"

"You don't," Batman said, not looking up from his paperwork and Flash groaned, letting his sticky notes fall to the floor as he buried his head in his arms.

"One day," he bemoaned to the keyboard, "one day we'll figure it out."

"Until then please keep your eyes on the monitors."

Flash groaned again.

-

Robin ducked under superman's arm as he scuttled down the corridor, laden with the night's haul of snacks. The real problem wasn't getting them - stopping league members from raiding the kitchen would be extremely counterproductive - but keeping them until he could return home to his human body to eat them. Batman had started searching him each time they left and it was really cutting into his daily sugar intake. Unfair! Just because he didn't actually use energy to stay up my night to fight crime, it felt like he did!!

'Oh, you're broken, Robin, oh, don't go out until the glue has fully set, Robin' his arm was fine! It wasn't like there was much crime to be fought on the watchtower anyway! At least not physically.

So he was pretty pleased with himself until he went to set the snacks down and found that the tar like glue they used had soaked through the sleeve and gotten all over his chocolates.

With his other hand, he tried to pry them off, wincing as the wrappers tore and stuck. He tried to shake it, ignoring the way his elbow rattled in the joint.

"Come on, come on - aw, cheezits."

The arm fell off. Robin stared despondently at the limb, surrounded by torn wrappers and dripping black glue where it connected to the elbow. The sour stink of formaldehyde filled the air.

He was going to be in such trouble with Bruce.

The click of the door jerked his head up.

Flash stood in the doorway, wide eyed. Robin stared back.

Flash screamed.

Oh yeah @dehydratedmockingbird have a thing

[suhjihanma]

𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑺𝒛𝒏.

☩Pairing: Gojo Satoru / Female Reader ☩Word Count: 1,909 words ☩Content / Warnings: Gagging, Clothed gagging, dress gagging (?), dirty talk, fingering, pussy fingering, slight hints of anal play, hints of face-sitting, begging, hints of submission, slight orgasm control/denial, dresses, ass worship, hot intercourse, hot weather, tongue-fucking, overstimulation. ☩Author's Note: Minors DNI. Well, I love being flagged by tumblr. Any who, honestly, I had this idea in my head all day while being at nursing/PCT orientation for my new job, of all the weird places. Felt a tad bit rushed due to dealing with a slight sprain in my ankle right now. This stuff hurts, man. Happy reading! By the by, I'm officially on AO3 for more of the spicy stuff. As always, requests and suggestions are open, loves. "𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎."

August.  

The hottest month of the year, and yet you managed to survive another scorching evening. You suggested that the window was not going to help the temperature that became brutal to bare. It’s not like he was going to listen anyway. Of all the times to be in a personal crisis, the ancient air conditioner that your mother lend to you back in her college days was long gone. A good run for twenty years for her became just five years for the both of you. You were contemplating buying a replacement yet, the financial burden was growing to be steep.  

If it’s not one thing, then it’s the next thing.  

Thankfully, the night breeze was faint when the air brushed across your flushed body. Sweat continued to pour from the side of your temples as you miserably laid across the uncomfortable, worn carpet. The old carpet scruffs against your wet back as you hitch your ever flowing long dress above your knees. You would think that the dress would help the unbearable heat but, the continuous perspiration suggests otherwise.  

“Just take the whole thing off. Problem solved, ____ .” Said the man beside you that was completely being unfair with the cooling airspace. You looked over at him and his signature smile that crept condescendingly showed.  

“That will be even more of a problem, Satoru.” You whined. A faint chuckle from him was given. Slowly turning yourself around, your stomach presses against the floor, arms flared out. A loud sigh of exhaustion rose from your mouth as you complained on and on about the weather. The summers here were unbearable. You wondered how someone like Satoru could deal with this heat.  

Then again, you have always forgotten that he came from a climate that was nothing but humid.  

A strand of your hair droops slowly across your face. You play with the strand by blowing air with your pursed lips, with a small effort of cooling your drenched face in the process. Boredom was tiptoeing in the dark, let alone the smooth vocals of an R&B vocalist that was serenading the hell-heated room. Boredom wasn’t all that bad. You were left in your thoughts of the sounds of Satoru bantering over the female vocals. Sabotaging the mood could be left in your favor but, you wanted to be good for your man tonight. It’s times like this where you want to be caressed in his arms, yet the heat was torturous.  

You only told yourself that there’s a difference between the ‘heat’ in the bedroom and actual ‘heat’.  

______________________________________________________________

The night grew to be slightly cooler. The sounds of cicadas slowly began to fade as the sounds of the neighborhood rose.  

The sounds of doors being slammed from cars overlapped with moans.  

The sounds of faint idle chatter overlapped with mewling.  

“Who knew you can get horny in this god-forsaken weather?” Satoru chuckled before slowly running his hands to your back thighs. His enjoyment grew to be a bit much as he brought both hands to make your clothed ass, seeing how the fat moved from one side to the other could make a grown man like himself go wild. Both of his hands now started to firmly grab at the top of your ass, and you couldn’t help but to moan out from the roughness.  

Satoru can be rough when he wants to be. The aspects behind it all became enticing. He simply wanted you to become weak with every impact that had on you. The sight of the eyes, the thought of you squirming underneath him, miserable by the weather, and aroused by his touch was the perfect combination of a weakened submissive.  

“That’s- Oh, shit.” You moaned out before resting your head on the carpet again. The touch of his fingers danced across the opening of your dampened sex towards your clothed vaginal opening. The sensations grew to be sensitive by each brush. The long fingers lazily danced towards your folds and with a motion of a pinch, you raised your head from the carpet and looked towards the side of Satoru. A small smirk greeted you. The frosted eyes that were curtained behind his white bangs were attentive to the small jolts that each nerve in your body was desperately yearning for.  

“Can the salt on your skin make up for the sweetness of your cunt, ____-chan?” Satoru voice grew with delight, yet the sultriness of his tone grew to be more present as he brought one of his hands to lick the secretions that came from underneath.  

“Although, I do feel like embarrassing a submissive toward the point where she turns red brings out more flavor.”  

One of your eyes cocked an eyebrow as you wondered what he was babbling about. “Since when did you became a food enthusiast, Satoru?” The breeze from the window gently brushed behind you as you felt your dress being lifted from the back along with your clothed panties. Curiosity lingered closed to you before feeling a sharp sting from your ass. A small cry came from your condescending mouth as your head dropped down to the thin carpet flooring, withering from the excruciating pain that came across both his bare palms that stung red.  

“Look at it.”  

Shocked, you look up to face the man by turning your head to the side. Ass up in the air, you were in a vulnerable state. A vulnerable state of pleasure, you responded in a mewl before shifting your shaped ass against the palms that were still holding on.  

“Since I’ve been eating this dripping cunt. That’s when.” Satoru continued with his fingers, now sunken deep into the heat that drove you mad from his touch. As his fingers continued to dive deep into your heated core, fingertips brushing slowly against the sponge-like organ that rests inside you a cry was let out. Just by his fingers, you were already being driven to your climax until you noticed a change of pace. Motion began to slowly stall as Satoru let out a laugh to himself.  

“I wonder, ____-chan. What’ll happen if I fucked this cunt outside this fuckin g heat, hm?” The twists of his fingers correlated to the devious remarks that came from his snarking lips.

“Although, I do feel like we have some judgmental neighbors. I mean, who wouldn’t judge a whore with her legs and ass out on display. Getting fucked on the sidewalk is a dream of yours. Do not lie to me. Is it, ____?” The filthiness of Satoru’s rambling juncture made you moan out desperately, aching for the next touch of his fingers. The tortuous nature of Satoru was going to get old eventually, and you could not bear to hold in your climax any longer.  

The aching of the fermenting release consumed you in the worst way. All you were doing was waiting for Satoru’s word to gush all over his fingers.  

“Satoru, it’s coming. I don’t think-” You yourself was turning into a rambling mess by the sloppiness movements of fingers while the sensation of fullness slipped away. A dragged-out whine of torment was silenced by the clothing material of your colorful dress that once shaped your figure. Now to mention it, you didn’t realize that the full dress was taken off your body. Peculiar questions didn’t need to be answered now as the muffled cries began to grow more as you felt a familiar muscle lapping between your thighs. Then, the soft thighs that were aching for a man’s touch now were being caressed by him. As Satoru’s hands were occupied with your thighs, his mouth was more occupied with the sensitive opening. You sensed a tiny roughness between your swollen clit as you cried out for more, begging Satoru to not stop.  

“Fuck.” You muffled from your wettened dress that became slick with partial saliva.  

Your release was beginning to rupture from your core as Satoru slight smacks you across your ass. His eyes pierced through your drunken-esque gaze, letting you know that he was now in control of you, as if he was hinting at you for reaching the peaks of your aching climax.  

“Let it come. Let it come.” Satoru’s voice was muffled by the wails that came from your mouth as you guided your lips against his tongue, hips gyrating to the steady motions of his lapping tongue. Eager'd to let you come all over his face, Satoru locked both of your hips in to reduce the motions. Feeling imprisoned by his arms, hands, and mouth, you couldn’t help but to become undone. To be unraveled by his touch, it was becoming unbearable for a woman like yourself. The licking became intense, your heightened senses became intense, it felt as if your body was going into a personal shock that was nothing but pure, raw, and erotic sensations.  

In general, you didn’t know how long you could last by Satoru fucking you with his tongue.  

The violent orgasm crashed through your soul; a dragged-out moan eroded from your hoarse vocals while the muscle spasms that were beginning to show, crept to your knees, having yourself to slowly buckle from the intensity of everything.  

“There you go.” Satoru chuckles before noticing your slight fatigue. “Easy.” He calmly says before shifting you onto your back on the floor. Grateful for his help, you looked at him with a gentle smile. “Thank you.” You kissed him on the cheek before feeling relieved. Satoru smiles at you while studying the rapidness of your chest going up and down. A kiss of the check was in return as he wipes the sweat that was forming across his forehead. He shared a sigh of relief before looking back at you again before getting back up from the floor.  

“Friendly reminder that sundresses don’t work well as gags.” He laughed as he looked for an article of some clothing.  

“Shut up.” You huffed out of annoyance. In your side vision, Satoru begins to put back on his briefs. “Hey, what about you?” Satoru looks up and then his semi-erection that was begging to show from the bulge of his briefs. “Don’t worry about me. “  

“You sure, baby?” You mewled, hinting that a second round could be in the cards. Satoru simply shakes his head and smiles at you, tiredness slowly appearing on his face.  

“Positive.” He now grabs his pants and starts to put them on.  

“Besides, there’s still time to get that air conditioner. That’s something that we must worry about.” He chuckles, waiting for you to drag yourself in to accompany him. A small groan was let out as you slowly began to make your way from the carpet that had nothing but the stain of sweat and sex. You groaned from the slight uncomfortableness of body starting to adjust from its laying position, wondering why Satoru was so willing to purchase this air conditioning unit.  

“At least let me shower first?”  

“Not if I’m lapping that cunt in that shower.”  

You turned with a disorientated glare before shaking your head out of disbelief. “Do that and you’re the one who is buying the unit.”  

Satoru’s face turned into a face full of triumph. Only you know what’s going to happen next. Satoru looks at the pants that he just put on before slowly taking them off while giving you a smile that expressed nothing but trouble.  

“It’s a deal, then.”  

[papasmoke]

I hope the Chinese government uses a swarm of 1000 high altitude spy balloons penetrating soverign US airspace to make a perfect 3d scan of me tripping and falling on my face on the sidewalk while managing to keep my open beer perfectly upright the whole time

[princessprettyprivilege]

5 Things to Come to Terms With For Pretty Privilege, No Sugarcoating!

1. Your purpose/reasoning.

To fully acknowledge your beauty and its effects, the sooner you can manage it.

I had to stop convincing myself it’s a one-off occurrence and everyone experiences it, because it’s not true.

My purpose is to level up, work for myself without worrying about finances, and just being able to buy & live how I want, without sacrifice!

Identify yours.

💎💎 Beauty is a vehicle, be a fully loaded one!! 💎💎

2. The scary effects.

Overt beauty, like money and power, brings the best and worst out of people.

I no longer go out at night alone unless it’s to the neighborhood store because people are insane.

Your spatial awareness needs to be up to par.

You can pretend to be naive to its effects, if you are, until you have to be identified by a family member.

3. ✨✨ Having to toughen up. ✨✨

Wandering around bright eyed and bushy tailed will put the largest bounty on you.

If you’re already wearing your head on a swivel, you need 2 more heads.

Emotions will greatly intensify in your presence, so people will go out of their way to humble you, embarrass you publicly, take advantage and generally take you down a few notches because you’re a threat.

Being called a bitch, ugly, whore and shallow mean nothing to me.

😍 Bitch = beautiful, good on you for noticing! 😍

When you look really good and know it, there will be public displays of hatred & jealousy and times you’ll be uncomfortable by women trying to claim their significant other’s by making out in your airspace, announcing they’re taken, acting jealous and the like.

Form thicker skin, read between the lines, value your opinions over others, find others who can relate and level up your mindset to stay ahead.

4. ✨ Intelligence being your powerhouse. ✨ Being a beauty queen + speaking as such = muah 💋💋 that’s peak hotness to me!

Education, well roundedness, and intelligence reflects in how you carry yourself.

People enjoy assuming beautiful people are lacking in brawn to make themselves feel better.

In my required speech class, my professor coached a pageant queen, then I took a Dale Carnegie class for professional speaking!

If you can find a DC class, public speaking, and improv, enroll!

5. Not stressing out due to your pretty privilege!

I’m wholly aware of the dangers, as well as the life changing benefits since the same dangers could arise if I was on the opposite end.

Viewing pretty privilege as a lifestyle enhancer will help you enjoy it!

I CHOOSE to enjoy my pretty privilege and love the enhanced version of my life!

Choose to enjoy makeup routines!

Choose to enjoy your privilege! I choose me!

💖 Choose you, and maximize the pretty! 💖

[thecutiecollective]

Masha Rupitska for Airspace

IG: MkRupitska

Represented by Dolls Model Management

[forasecondtherewedwon]

You tired of seeing me your inbox yet? 🥲❤️ please do tell me if the third Buck/Bucky prompt in a row is too much, I’d hate to ask for something you ain’t feeling and to impose.

But, if you are so inclined I like the idea of what your writing magic could conjure up with:

12. Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue or/and 26. The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin

Thanks in advance once again, for real.

little fix

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Gale "Buck" Cleven x John "Bucky" Egan Rating: E Word Count: 2778

Summary: Gale dabbed on extra cologne in preparation for the many, many hours he knew he'd be spending in the cockpit. Once in Algeria, the heat reinvigorates the scent, and John notices. Gale kinda likes that he does.

Algeria, and the heat rose shimmering from the dusty earth as well as radiating down from the white-hot marble of the sun. The temperature in combination with the losses they’d suffered in enemy airspace had the boys hankering to go off on their own. Limited shade had snaffled those plans, forcing them together.

Gale grabbed the dog tags hanging from his neck, tossing them aside so they flicked around and hung down his back instead, the hot chains tracing a fine, burning line across his throat. He hated waiting. Then he felt bad about that, since this baking purgatory was better than death. He knew how to manage the heat, how to move slowly, how to soak the shirt of his uniform and put it on his head so his vision wouldn’t swim in this dry desert pool. Still, he was irritable, feeling useless. What he really hated was circumstances beyond his control telling him to stop—making him stop. He felt pressed beneath the world’s sweaty palm. It was pointless to wriggle. That wouldn’t get him free.

He stood by his plane, resisting the urge to reach up and lean, as it would’ve meant placing his hand on the burning wing. To occupy his restless hands, he plucked the tank from his chest and flapped it to simulate a breeze that just wasn’t there. He was watching John amble past when his friend stopped abruptly, as if called to attention. John’s head whipped around to face his way. His dog tags glinted. His eyebrows drew together above his sunglasses.

When Gale lazily lifted his hand in greeting, John ignored it, continuing on. Well. Sound seemed muffled to Gale in the heat; he couldn’t hear what John was saying to the boys, but they shifted into halting motion, congregating a hundred yards off. John sauntered back his way.

“You givin’ orders now, Major?” Gale lobbed.

He studied John’s mouth, which twitched and pinched, fighting some smartass comeback. He wondered whether John had just contained an order for him.

“Just keepin’ ’em sharp while we wait for the twelfth,” John said, joining him by the wing. He stopped, pushed his sunglasses up his forehead, and squinted around. “You know you’re not in the shade, right?”

“I won’t feel any real relief until we’re back in the air,” Gale confessed.

He probably should’ve stepped out of the sun though; he could feel the sweat rolling down his skin. Releasing a puff of breath to ready himself for movement, Gale swiftly peeled the damp cotton tank from his skin and let it fall to the ground.

From John, there came a sound like a groan that rippled into a short cough. Gale looked at him askance.

“You smell,” John explained bluntly, before dropping the glasses back over his eyes.

Gale stared at him in numb disbelief.

“You really gonna—”

“No,” John said, cutting across Gale’s retort, “you smell good.”

“Alright,” Gale replied simply.

But he’d felt something at John’s surprising response—a kind of tingle up his back. Refreshing.

“It’s cologne,” he added, when John continued to stand next to him in silence. “I knew I’d be sittin’ in that cockpit a long time, and I didn’t want to smell like I had. Spare my boys’ noses.”

“What’d you do? Bathe in it before we left the base?” John rocked towards him, just a little. His chin tilted up and Gale knew John was inhaling. He was being breathed in.

“Too strong?”

“Nah, I’m just surprised I can still smell it. Seems like England was forever ago.”

Gale shook his head to indicate he didn’t have an answer.

“Must be the heat,” he offered, because that seemed as good as anything.

“Right.”

John stood there another minute, hands on his hips. Sunlight flared off his sunglasses and Gale couldn’t tell whether or not John was staring at him. He glanced towards the men. They were awfully far off, comparing logs, by the looks of it.

“You want help checkin’ your ship?” John proposed.

Gale shot him a quizzical look. Checking his ship? What, had Lemmons taught John some secret fix Gale didn’t know about? He doubted it. John’s hands moved, thumbs tucked into the waist of his pants as they slid towards his fly, palms settling on his hipbones. The triangle made by his index fingers drew the eye. Yeah, Gale doubted it very much.

He heaved on the hatch and offered, “After you.”

John’s mouth stretched into a thin, dangerous smile, and he hauled himself up into the plane. Gale followed.

The air inside was hot and dense, making him immediately lightheaded. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the interior, adding to his disorientation. There was John, removing his sunglasses and casting them aside at the navigator’s station. Careful, Gale wanted to caution. You’ll need those again. But not inside, not in here. He smirked as John suddenly tried to play it cool, scanning his eyes unseeingly across a chart. Gale reached up and braced his palms overhead, just to wait John out, but when John turned, he knew he’d caught the scent of the cologne again. Mostly because John went, “Oh, god,” and swept his gaze down Gale’s body.

Gale was already growing hard when he advanced on John, planting a hand on his chest and shoving him into the navigator’s seat.

“Not sure it’ll hold us both,” he muttered, but John’s hands were on the back of his thighs, and hell, it wasn’t like this wasn’t exactly what Gale’d planned to do.

He straddled John, sinking onto his lap. As soon as he was close enough, John had his nose thrust against the middle of his chest, breathing deeply. Gale prided himself on his ability to maintain his composure, but he couldn’t have denied the broken groan that left him when John’s tongue lapped a wet line up his skin. John exhaled, making the air on the licked strip feel almost cool.

“Can taste it,” John muttered against him. “Sweet, salty.”

Gale grasped John firmly by the chin and raised his face.

“Lemme see,” he said, eyelids lowering as he stared at John’s mouth.

Before he felt John’s lips, he felt his tongue, pressed flat and slick as it stroked across his own. Gale rubbed his hand along John’s unshaven jawline, fingers on its hinge as John opened his mouth wide and Gale went on the offensive. Instinctively, he shifted forward on John’s thighs. John’s hands kneaded down his back before landing on his ass and attempting to yank him even closer. Gale parted his legs a little more, feeling John’s erection, rubbing against it until John broke the kiss with a low grunt, with a hard-bitten, “Fuck, Buck.”

The sweat rolled down Gale’s spine and John wiped it back up, fingers racing to hook into the chain that still hung backwards. The slight pressure on Gale’s throat had him tipping his head back. John’s eager tongue tasted his neck, his teeth closing in a pinching bite below Gale’s jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin’ mark me,” Gale sighed out, even as his cock throbbed with a rush of blood, making him jerk against John—John, who only bit harder.

The plane was becoming a furnace as they swallowed each other’s tongues again in a probing, insistent kiss. John kept grabbing him, like somehow, he could get Gale closer. Gale was sure they were soaked in each other’s sweat, and more than sweat—John pushed a damp patch of his pants into Gale’s abdomen, his cock straining behind it to be palmed, to be sucked, to be allowed to glide over all the skin John’d licked, Gale could only assume.

Unexpectedly, John stood, bringing Gale with him, until he lowered him, huffing a breath against Gale’s cheek as his feet hit the floor and he nudged his hips into John’s. They maintained contact as they edged around each other. Finally, Gale sat, looking idly up at John. He felt a smug smile on his mouth and tapped it with his fingers.

“Get on your knees, John,” he instructed softly.

John gave him a sloppy salute and promptly followed orders.

It was a pity, Gale thought, that the navigator’s station really wasn’t made for this, that he couldn’t slump down more comfortably when John snuck his fingers behind Gale’s knees to draw his hips forward on the seat. He leaned forward, ignoring Gale’s erection, and kissed his stomach.

“Where to, Nav?” he asked.

Gale scraped his fingers into John’s hair and directed, “Due south.”

Having only been on nice dates with nice girls before the war, Gale couldn’t really wrap his head around the sight of John kneeling before him, John’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock. He groaned quietly, flexing his hand on the back of John’s head as he bobbed. John took him deep without warning; Gale felt the squeeze of his throat like a near-death experience—the pressure, the flush of heat up his already sweltering body, the darkness dancing at the edges of his vision from the intensity of the pleasure. It beat getting flakked.

Never mind the swaggering walk John’d adopted outside this plane—within it, John had one pace, and it was urgent. Gale’s hands seemed to move without his conscious thought, his fingers tightening in John’s sweat-dampened hair. He couldn’t tell whether he was demanding more or begging for a quarter John wouldn’t give. There was only his grip, John’s mouth, the vivid sound of it that hounded Gale when he shut his eyes, trying, for some reason, to last longer. The 12th could turn up at any time, but he didn’t want this to end. John had his head bowed over Gale’s lap as though in prayer and Gale liked it, liked it way too much.

When he lost himself down John’s throat, John did like they’d been trained to do with mission plans if they had to bail out: he swallowed the evidence. Gale grit his teeth together so the noise he made when he spilt couldn’t gather into a scream the boys would hear. Gradually, he went from tugging on John’s hair to stroking it, mumbling apologies that John didn’t seem to give a damn about as he stared adoringly up at Gale with a grin on his face and his cheek resting on Gale’s knee.

“Goddamn,” Gale mumbled. He rubbed a hand over his face and tucked himself back into his shorts, leaving his pants open for the moment, as though to give the heat John had fuelled a chance to escape.

Looking very proud of himself, John got to his feet. He thrust his shoulders back to stretch his back. It put his hips right in Gale’s sightline, or close enough to be no accident; visible through the khaki, his rigid length was as thick with suggestion as the unusual silence John wasn’t filling.

Languidly, Gale reached for those hips, smirking up at John as he reeled him back in. John reached behind him and took hold of the navigator’s table while Gale thwapped his belt open. Before doing more, Gale caught John’s eye. He crooked his finger beneath the hem of John’s stained tank. He dragged the material up, then leaned in and kissed him there, below his navel, the soft fuzz of hair against his lips, the heavy scent of John’s skin right under his nose.

“You’re goin’ too slow. Gonna get us busted,” John warned, but Gale heard the shimmy in his voice. It came from the tender place he wanted people to think he hadn’t been born with. Impervious all the way through, his smile the smile of a man who couldn’t be touched. And here was Gale. Touching him. He kissed him again, so light and soft, and unzipped his pants.

“It’s not your turn anymore,” Gale reminded him.

John cleared his throat as Gale took hold of his pants and shorts both, pulling them down to expose his rosy cock.

“Roger,” John acknowledged above him, like handing over control of the aircraft to the bombardier. “Your turn.”

Gale gripped his shaft, heard the panted breath.

“My turn,” he agreed.

He began with kisses that barely skimmed the skin, just to drive John wild. It gave Gale time to think, to recognize again and again that this was his best friend, that it felt right, that he’d never been so hot for anyone—nothing to do with the temperature. When he finally added his tongue to circle the head of John’s cock, John went literally weak in the knees, almost falling on Gale. To Gale, it was so incredibly attractive of John to forget how to hold himself up that he completely scrapped his tactic of leisurely, torturous attrition and opened his mouth, sucking as much of John as possible.

“God fucking—” John spat. “Son of a—”

All his curses were clipped as though punched from a machine, but when Gale hummed in enjoyment, John snarled like a big cat, low and lingering and ragged. Gale groaned with his mouth full and John slapped a hand to his naked back, drawing him close. The intimacy of the act—John’s fingers tensed between his shoulder blades, not John’s cock shuttling faster across his tongue—made Gale a little weak in the knees himself. He held John’s bared hips for strength.

“Major? Buck?”

It sounded like Douglass, shouting up to them from outside the hatch.

Gale pulled his mouth wetly from John, which left John looking like he was in no shape to deliver a rational response, even though Gale knew he’d probably try if he didn’t speak up himself.

“Sit tight, Lieutenant,” he called back. “Just got a little tinkerin’ to do on the ship.”

Sitting back, he closed his fist around John’s length and started up a smooth stroke.

“Need any help?” Douglass asked.

“Nah, just some bolts that need tightening, wheels to grease.” Gale winked at Bucky and spat into his palm before returning his grip, stroking faster.

Douglass didn’t reply and Gale felt it: the rush he associated with high-risk scenarios. Could be that Douglass would climb dutifully up through the hatch to offer a hand. He’d see John with his top pushed up, his pants dropped down, gasping and moaning as Gale disassembled him like picking the fluff from a dandelion. The both of them sweating. Gale with his feet planted wide and his hands placed for control, and yet drooling from the corner of his mouth until he picked his moment to swallow. Because John was audience enough, he did it now. There was a hiccup in the rhythm of John’s thrusting as Gale’s throat snugged around him. And then John was shoving insistently at Gale’s shoulder. Gale sat back, disgruntled, and looked up to see John’s beet-red face scrunched in concentration.

“You don’t think I can manage?” he demanded, meaning the swallowing, meaning the hot gush he’d been working himself up to feel pour down his throat. His voice sounded rough.

“I wanna see it on your chest,” John said tightly.

He took himself in hand and Gale tried his best to consume it all with his eyes: the tension in John’s features, the furious pumping of his fist, the pillowy veins that wound down John’s forearms and into the back of his hands. Gale flinched when John came—the sudden warmth of it on his skin. He could feel it sliding down, so he leaned back in the chair as much as he could to slow it. John panted above him, chest heaving, gaze fixed on the milky streaks that resembled Mustangs’ contrails, if Gale’s body were the sky.

“Satisfied?” Gale asked wryly.

John settled his stare on him, a dark, blistering blue.

“Extremely,” he said. He sighed and hung his head. “And I need water.”

Gale jerked his chin towards the hatch.

“Go. But get me somethin’ for…” He glanced from his chest to John.

“Nah, looks good.”

Gale raised his eyebrows.

“Alright,” John conceded, giving a hop as he hitched his clothes back into place. “Stay put, Buck.”

“That’s the plan.”

John patted him twice on the shoulder, then held on. He leaned down for a kiss. The prodding tip of his nose into Gale’s cheek; the enthusiastic press of his lips, full on Gale’s mouth. John straightened, collected his sunglasses, and headed for the hatch. This felt so natural to Gale already, and yet…

“I never thought we’d be here,” he admitted.

John paused, sitting at the edge of the hatch.

“Africa?” he asked facetiously.

Gale snorted. Grinning, John slid his sunglasses into place and dropped out of sight.

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 2 ("I PROMISED YOU THE MOONSHINE") EDITION

Being a day late to watching and writing about Only Friends allows me a little airspace away from the gasps and dopamine of the collective community first watch of each episode, and lemme tell ya -- my dash yesterday was so hot, it was like melting Tupperware on a stove. Unfortunately for many in the fandom, the ships are going to sink. That shower scene got some folks wrecked. Many folks on my dash have a sudden disdain for Neo Trai (poor kiddo). For anyone who reads around here, you might remember my implored begging of the Tumblr family to watch Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends premiered, and I still stand by it. The Only Friends team -- Jojo Tichakorn, Ninew Pinya, writers Den Panuwat and Best Kittisak -- are playing with a lot of concepts that I thought were just FABULOUSLY explored in this second episode, and these concepts ARE going to lead to further innuendos and endings that the shippers are just not going to like. (I think GOKB primed us for this.) And frankly, by the way this episode played out (as we were talking about a couple days ago, @lurkingshan) -- I think that's a hell of a point that the team is making in our faces.

I'm going to get to this more in a moment. Let me explain more, by way, of all things (!) -- plum wine.

So a bunch of us meta clowns (cc @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan) were talking about a theory I had on Friday regarding the theme of ephemerality in the first episode. How Cheum indicated to Mew that there's a lot in Thailand that'll bring them down, from pollution to radiation. She wanted Mew to nab Top -- she indicated that life is fickle, so what did her homeboy have to lose? Go get yer man, she said.

@ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan and I took this conversation further yesterday (please read all the reblogs on this link, folks, it's a great conversation!), exploring the many more references to the ephemeral, fickle nature of time and life that Only Friends is referencing. @chickenstrangers clocked that Yo's bar is called YOLO. @ranchthoughts clocked that Sand's bag of plum wine read "you only live once." @lurkingshan noted that Jojo's played around with the ephemeral before -- in Gay OK Bangkok, examining the impact of HIV on Bangkok's gay male population.

The reblogs of the post linked above also capture some common mentalities about the "future" for our current crop of young folks today (I... am not young, lol), particularly for the young queer community. That through climate change, the slow-snail-paced fight for equity (like the legalization of same-sex marriage in Thailand) (and even comparing it to the roll-back of rights for the LGBTQ+ community in the States) -- as @ranchthoughts wrote, there seems to be a stronger sense of "live fast, die young," among younger cohorts than when I was a young lass, born in the 1980s, when a middle management career could get you everything you needed, with a unfettered retirement in sight.

To me, the most wrenching references to the ephemeral in this second episode focused on death. "Do you want us to die?," Sand asked laughingly as Ray played around in the car. Top can't sleep alone because after a childhood trauma, he's afraid he'll die alone. Ray's deceased mom is shown with a glass in her hand.

And how are these young folks behaving? In the face of literal death, as they themselves are referring to it: they're living life very riskily. Top's a player. So is Boston. We hope they're playing safe. (Gay OK Bangkok had condoms all over the place. I haven't seen any yet in OF.) Ray's blood alcohol levels are clearly through the roof. Sand's committing a crime.

Say what now? Committing a crime?

I hope folks clocked that. What's REALLY making me shake my head is how slick the non-sexual commentary was in this episode.

Going back to my original post on ephemerality that I let loose on Friday: I talked about the metaphor of plum wine and the passage of time -- how plum wine tastes sweeter and better as you let it age.

Sand was pissed that his bottles of plum wine broke because he's making it himself. That's why he wanted Ray to pay him back for the lost supply. Sand lost both product AND time.

Making and selling plum wine is illegal in Thailand. It's like the selling of rotgut during Prohibition.

SAY WHAT? For real. Thailand's laws around alcohol are wild, y'all. The display of alcohol logos is weirdly regulated (I laugh at how bottles are often blurred out in Thai dramas), brewing alcohol within Thailand is insanely complicated (some people brew alcohol in Thailand, then bottle it elsewhere and import it BACK into Thailand to skirt these laws), and -- you cannot buy alcohol from 2 pm to 5 pm.

Remember we saw Ray sneaking some sips from a flask outside the hostel site? That's a major flag for confirmed alcoholism (drinking alone during the day). But also, if Ray wanted a drink during the hours of 2-5 pm -- he had to have the booze on himself to have a tipple.

We know Jojo does NOT shy away from political commentary. We saw it in spades during Dirty Laundry.

What I love about Jojo's work is that he's unafraid to call out the hypocrisy of these kinds of laws. The making of plum wine is ILLEGAL? In Japan, making umeshu is traditional. (It's also the easiest and most delicious thing ever, please try making it!). For many of us around the world, making umeshu is a hobby, and a perfectly safe one at that. Considering Thailand's economy is so dependent on tourism, and that Bangkok itself is a world-class city, you would think that the selling of alcohol wouldn't be so complicated, and yet... 'tis.

This leads me to what I saw as the second Big Theme of this episode, besides ephemerality: I saw a lot of hypocrisy in this episode.

We got the liquor laws bullshit. We got Boston. Boston strikes me as a hypocrite for setting up his friend Mew with Top -- all while Boston's still wanting to get with Top, to the point of sneaking into Top's shower.

And Mew strikes me as a hypocrite, too. He wants to "redo" the start of his relationship with Top?... on his own terms? So, they're not boyfriends anymore? After already....having dated? Believable, my dude. The guys are in a PatPran-esque battle of... something, and I don't think it's wits, because neither of them seem to have many wits about them. They seem to be more interested in just winning a goal that (except for sex for Top) seems wholly unclear. Does Mew not know that Top may very well NOT respect Mew? Is Mew aware that his read on Top may not be at all accurate? And.... does Mew actually care? I'm not convinced of it.

Live fast, die young. What does it matter to be a hypocrite if the future is unstable, if time is speeding by -- and if no one is holding these young folks accountable for their behavior, as I put into the tags of @ranchthoughts's post yesterday? As Nick says to Boston: "you're a rich guy -- you don't care much for things." What, exactly, would make these rich kids care about being ethical human beings?

Accountability is around the corner for this group. Nick is starting to catch feelings. Boston is wondering why he's getting rejected by Top. Sand's recognizing that Ray's sniffing out something between them (cc @neuroticbookworm) (and, who knows, as NBW first referenced in her post -- Sand might be catching feelings, too). All of these friends -- it's mindblowing! -- leave Ray alone, often, wasted off his ass, to get himself home, as Sand himself notes.

These characters are going to get hurt, and it's only a matter of time until we begin seeing it happen. At the micro-level, human to human, they will hurt each other. And society, Thai society, is doing these young people no favors by not helping to equalize the inequity between rich and poor -- as Sand has to take risks to sell illegal hooch, of all things, to just get by.

Wrapping this up with what I was mentioning up at the top about the jibbles that the fandoms are starting to feel towards the established GMMTV ships of this show slowly sinking. Isn't there a bit of hypocrisy there as well? This show is NOT going to be pretty for the ForceBook/FirstKhao established ships. What are we, as fans, going to do when that time comes? Will we condemn Jojo? Will we stop watching the show? Will we equivocate by way of blaming other characters?

This show should be celebrated already for the risks it's taking, and the risks it will take. (Remember: fans protested at the GMMTV building in 2019 when the KristSingto ship was broken for He's Coming To Me.) Only Friends deciding to take on the toxicity and hypocrisy of shipper fandom? Bring it on. We cannot only enjoy the performances of these actors when they're paired up with one repeating partner. As the life of Gay OK Bangkok depicted, as the life of Only Friends is depicting -- life is a whole lot more complicated than just a dreamlike, over-organized monogamy between two people (ahem, Mew). Life -- and TIME -- will bring complications and change, sometimes unwanted change, that we have to learn to handle and manage. I'm not colored surprised in the least that Jojo's making this experience for us jump out of the screen and into our own hearts, as we see our beloved actors take risks upon themselves by their breaking of their own ships. I am all here for it, and I hope the shipper fans can be, too.

(BIG UPS to the small meta army family -- @ranchthoughts, @lurkingshan, @chickenstrangers, @neuroticbookworm -- I'm so thrilled to continue being thoughtful with y'all!)

[tomwambsmilk]

Welcome to the Succession Cannibalism Poll!! (aka the Succibal Face-Off)

One week ago, a private jet set out carrying 31 people and one dog, all travelling together for unclear reasons. The pilot attempted to take a shortcut through arctic airspace, but unforeseen turbulence forced the plane down. All 31 passengers + 1 dog survived, but the cabin crew were all killed in the crash.

Food supplies were slim, and dwindling. Finally, they made the difficult decision to eat one of the cabin crew, a flight attendant by the name of Andrew Dodds, who had drowned in a small puddle of water when the plane went down, and whose body was perfectly preserved by cold. They reasoned that help was on the way, and after all, Dodds wouldn't be needing his body anymore. It was a temporary measure, to get everyone out alive, they told themselves...

.... But in actuality, it was only the beginning.

32 Succession characters are trapped in the arctic, and the only food remaining is each other. Who will be the last one standing when (if?) the rescue team arrives? Who has the physical grit, the strength of will, and dubious morals required to eat their companions and make it through to the end? That part's up to you!

The rules:

there are 16 polls in round one. Each will go live at the same time (provided the queue system works properly) at 11:15pm EST, and be live for 24 hours

Don't just vote for your favourite! Remember, this is about who in a given pairing would actually be able to eat who

In the event of a tie, super-secret tie rules are unlocked. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it

Feel free to add more detail in the notes! Was it a tough struggle or did one give in quickly? Did someone sacrifice themselves, or did they get stabbed in the back? Did they gut hunted down? Did they run? Did someone cry?

Consider reblogging to increase the reach of the polls!

Masterlist of Round 1 polls under the cut (with links, once they go live). Good luck, and happy hunting!

Sandy Furness vs. Karolina Novotney

Lawrence Yee vs. Connor Roy

Nate Sofrelli vs. Colin

Frank Vernon vs. Rhea Jarrell

Jeryd Mencken vs. Willa Ferreyra

Roman Roy vs. Tabitha

Greg Hirsch vs. Jess Jordan

Mondale Wambsgans vs. Stewy Hosseini

Caroline Collingwood vs. Gerri Kellman

Kerry vs. Logan Roy

Siobhan Roy vs. Gil Eavis

Cyd Peach vs. Hugo Baker

Ewan Roy vs. Naomi Pierce

Karl Muller vs. Kendall Roy

Brian from Management Training vs. Tom Wambsgans

Marcia Roy vs. Rava Roy

[ambasingresident]

Map Of America At The Height Of The Second American Civil War And Toppat Activities In The Territories

(Decided to do some mapping again after a long time (former mapper in Reddit), this is based on the Hearts of Iron 4 mods (Kaiserreich and TNO: Last Days of Europe) and takes place in @crown-of-roses-thsc 's THSC universe mixed with some TNO characteristics)

"The Divided States of America"

Lore: In the turn of the 21st Century, the Germans have abandoned the ways of Nazism in favor of democracy after the cabinet loyal to the old and bigoted ways was overthrowned by a democratic opposition group with help from the US, Russia and her allies, finally restoring peace and harmony after years of being under the fascist boot. In Russia, after having unified the Motherland under the democratic banner of Shukshin have successfully reclaimed their western territories and the sacred capital of Moscow from the Germans, going so far as to reach all the way to Germania (Berlin) and humbling their ideas of being the master race with help from their allies and the Organisation of Free Nations. In Italy, although elements of fascism remained within the Italian Empire have managed to liberalise and relax their ideals, allowing democracy and prosperity to continue functioning as it is to preserve their empire and their colonies. In Japan, after years of claiming the title of "Hegemon of Asia" has finally been humbled by a coalition of Russians, Americans, Chinese, Filipinos, Indonesians, and other oppressed groups and within the Japanese Empire and allies, forcing themselves to give up most of their lands and submit to a joint CSTO-OFN occupation. Establishing a reformed constitutional monarchy with democratic characteristics. In West Africa, after coming on top, the French Military Alliance have re-established French rule over West Africa in preparation for their liberation of the French homeland from the Germans. After their inevitable defeat, the newly restored France aimed to democratise West Africa and relax their grasp over their Francophile native allies in West Africa. The world seemed to be on it's path to a democratic and bright future.

In the US, after strings of authoritarian and progressive presidents have managed to stay intact and lead the free world to a bright future. However, despite the light of the future shining a dark shadow of misfortunes would dampen the light as certain issues oppositions of the presidencies have not yet been addressed. Adding to the burden are the efforts of those opposition groups and politicians to remain prevalent, even resorting to ruffled the government with scandals and misdemeanors. All would be good until a certain group called the Toppats have emerged in the 2000s, wreaking havoc across the US and some parts of the globe through criminal activities from stealing artifacts to partaking in minor terrorism. Efforts have been made by the US military and OFN-CSTO troops to contain the group and to bring justice to the criminals. However, they would prove to be difficult in handling but they would be mostly idle for some time which did not concern the government, until during one event in Washington DC the Toppats under Terrence Suave had successfully assassinated the US President at the time along with some of his cabinet members through their airship and proceeded to raid the capital. After some time the airship was forced to flee after the US military pushed them back to international airspace. The aftermath of the assassination would be everlasting as not only another president was assassinated during office, but was done in the very capital of America with such technology. Seeing the opportunity, opposition, seperatist, and other non-affiliated groups rose up and declared their legitimacies to the "true" US, depose the weakened federal government, or separate from the decaying body of the United States. It is now the present, and the United States has be dragged into another civil war, adding to the burden of the Toppats who have taken over Las Vegas during the chaos and used as their new HQ to raid the territories of the United States. Allies in the OFN and CSTO have occupied the overseas American territories such as Russia occupying Alaska and establishing a military government and Italy being trusted with administrating the Panama Canal along with other OFN members to prevent the lands from suffering the chaos the mainland is currently facing. The questions for now are who will succeed the United States, will the US comeback or become a footnote in history and who will be the one who will deal with the Toppats once and for all.

"The Onslaught Of The Toppats"

Lore of the Toppats: Since the start of the 2nd American Civil War, Terrence Suave, Chief of the Toppats have claimed responsibility for the raid in Washington DC and the death of the US President as a form of boast to those in the government and to the other factions about the wrath of the Toppats and his. As Las Vegas was contested territory and left to succumb to anarchy, Terrence led the Toppats to Las Vegas and claimed it for the clan. With the riches of Las Vegas under his grasp, he would loot the city and repurpose the businesses, luxury resorts, and casinos to generate income for the Toppats, although some claim that the services were either excellent or terrible and the staff were abused (despite most of them being Toppat themselves). Even when having Las Vegas under his grasp, the Chief of the Toppats is still not satisfied with the riches and luxury, so he formed a system where small to large dispatches of Toppats would be assigned to a certain territory and are given certain assignments such as stealing a valued artifact, corrupting the bureaucracy of the local government, smuggle weapons and illegal substances, and steal certain ships. Even factions the belong to the government have declared the Toppats as a terrorist group and Terrence as an enemy of the state. While the onslaught continues and his rule over Las Vegas tightened, he would slowly not feel himself and would become a tyrant who purges his fellow clan members in the same vain as Joseph Stalin and the Great Purge. This would go on until Ellie Rose and a group of rebel Toppats will overthrow Terrence as Chief and have Las Vegas be besieged by General Douglas Stickmin (Father of Henry Stickmin) of the USAF Central Command.

(Idk why I did all of this, I was bored and inspired by my current gameplay in Hearts of Iron IV. Check out the TNO lore for more context of the other half of my thingy)