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jangofctts · 4 years

Text

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met.

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things.

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income.

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing.

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster.

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles.

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship.

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back.

Whatever.

Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off.

Maybe.

-=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you.

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.”

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?”

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think.

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.”

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots.

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.”

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.”

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…”

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own).

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that.

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

-=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show.

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will.

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans.

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal.

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter.

Eh.

Could be worse.

At least you aren’t dead.

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun.

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light.

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room.

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.”

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.”

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.”

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt.

Damn it.

-=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this.

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn.

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red.

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.”

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.”

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved.

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side.

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.”

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”

You wince.

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.”

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet.

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch.

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage.

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?”

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.”

You frown. “Poor guy…”

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp.

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?”

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder.

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.”

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.”

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them.

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right.

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath.

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning.

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet.

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man.

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell—

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling.

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“She isn’t made of glass.”

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.”

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance.

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.”

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.”

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.”

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin.

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again.

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole.

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.”

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope.

Here you are—asphyxiating.

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it.

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off.

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on.

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.”

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah.

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?”

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.”

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree.

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk?

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.”

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.”

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.”

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din."

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb.

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing.

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees.

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch.

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds.

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm.

“Paz—“

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh.

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough.

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.”

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.”

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.”

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you.

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?”

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered.

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation.

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.”

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration.

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip.

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind.

Din’s kiss is devouring—

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning.

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.”

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on.

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside.

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth.

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now—

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit.

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away.

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.”

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.”

“Neither will your arrogance.”

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out.

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.”

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic.

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further.

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words.

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips.

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?”

Din.

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position.

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath.

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.”

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him.

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete.

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.”

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need.

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much.

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours.

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder.

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?”

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.”

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts.

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before.

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.”

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems.

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air.

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.”

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future.

You shrug it off.

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear.

“You love her, don't you?”

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak

or’dinni--dumbass idiot

vod--brother/comrade

tag list:

@bobafctts @djxrxn @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aerynwrites @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @trippedmetaldetector

#happy SINday :)#pls accept some mando schlong #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #fanfic #my writing #reader insert

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deaddee-anime-brownfanlady · 3 years

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DadsBatJokes AU TIDBITS, HEADCANONS, AND OTHER FINE LITTLE DETs.

[ Here are some personal headcanons dealing with Jack (Joker) & Bruce Wayne about how they handle being daddies well also doing the vigilante crime-fighting couple duo at the same time. Also some info on baby Malik too. ] {Despite not knowing how he got his pasty white skin condition or why he has green hair, Jack tends to feel this constant slight burning sensation on his skin almost like this ongoing tingling / a bit itchy sunburn type of feeling all over him.} {When Bruce & Jack are doing their vigilantism together as Batman & Joker dealing with criminals or other scumbags of Gotham they tend to sometimes get into disagreements or arguments when it comes the whole No Kill Code rule; while they often times usually tend to work well with each other there are moments…especially from Jack were he does his very best to be understanding of Bruce moral choice of not killing and he gets the reasons why he does it with what happen to his parents, but Jack deeply feels also thinks that certain people are better off dead instead of them making things in life worse & even more awful. They both try not to get too much into the topic sometimes since it always gets either one of them upsets or angry especially from Bruce side of things.} NOW ABOUT LITTLE BABY MALIK : { Malik is Bruce & Jack adopted 3 / 4 weeks old Infant son who was unfortunately left orphan due to a villain attack that ended up killing Malik biology parents. Its still unknown on which or what villain rouge causes said attack, but by luck also miracle the little guy was left with no major injuries. } { Malik full original birth name was Malik Anthony Mohammad, upon adoption it was later changed into Malik Mohammad-Wayne.} {Little Malik is of mixed race heritage. He’s about half Iranian & half Afro-Cuban with a semi-medium dark brown tanned skin tone along with little tuffs of tight curly brown hair. He has these patches of spotted freckles on both sides of his face also on his nose, under his eyes, and also he got freckles on his little baby bum } {While Bruce & Jack were more then happy to take in Malik as their son despite going through some difficulties and all in the progress, lets say they both were hit hard with a dose of fast delayed reality of Holy freaking shit! Were parents now. Even though Alfred was glad to give some pointers and tips here & there to help out, Bruce while super grateful…didn’t like having to always to relay on Alfred for parental help with his new son. Jack on the other hand didn’t mind some of the advice from Alfred…but he would much rather use google search on his smartphone because while he admire “Jeeves” help as he said to Bruce “Now darling you do know I love old Alfy just as much as you do but…really Brucie bud are you actually willing to take full complete baby advice from a man who came up in a time were they thought giving children real legit radiation in those kiddies chemistry kits is a good idea now” ; Bruce knew that Jack was only partly joking but he fire backs saying along the lines that Alfred has kept him alive for this long & dealt with him being batman so some of his advice couldn’t be that bad.} {Since Jack has a lot of nicknames & terms of endearment for Bruce/Batman, obviously it would only make sense for him to have plenty of ones for his son too. Which the following are: Malikee, little Prince, Sweetie-Malikee, Darling boy, sweet boy, Sunny-son, Boo boo bear, dotty butt, munchkin, tiny man, curly wormy, chub-chub-boob, Mon Chouchou (French for my cabbage) and little duckling ,} { Upon being adopted & taken in as a new member of the Wayne family there was of course big buzz from the Gotham media & tabloids about it…and unfortunately a good half of it was mostly negatively aim at Jack. Deeply questioning his parental abilities or even his capability of being a “Proper” parent at all due to his mental health issues also because of his past at Arkham and his slight bad history with Harley Quinn and their semi-kind of violent but mostly impulsive crime-sprees together, Bruce tries to obviously handle the mess & reassures Jack telling him that he shouldn’t worry about what those gossip news/articles say; Jack really doesn’t give a shit about what these pricks say about him cause well…he’s been pretty used to being called a lot of things & being seen as a freak & so forth.} {But one thing that’s truly upsets also highly pisses him off is that these Gotham elitists also these news tabloids assholes will actually insinuate that he would probably or likely do something to harm Malik, which just gets him so riled up on so many levels to even think that he would hurt his precious little prince.} {When it comes to diaper duty they both of course handle the task, although surprisingly Jack tends to deal with it a lot better then Bruce can. Especially when it comes to dealing with the more messy poopy diapers which Bruce while he still does it…there are certain times were he feels like he’s going to pass out, Bruce doesn’t get how Jack can handle it so well which Jack explains to him some of the things he dealt with also seen in Arkham which sometimes involved other inmates bodily fluids or gross smells you just make a face and move on. Jack often times teases Bruce on it saying along the lines of “Aww what’s wrong batsy can’t handle a full load can’t we~ Ha! “} {One of the things that Jack loves to do for Malik is sing to him, especially when he’s fussy or crying non-stop, most of the songs that Jack tends to sing for Malik are either old songs from the 1930s or 1940s / 50s also 60s along with some 70s & 80s thrown in the mix, One that Malik seems to be real fond of or usually puts him to sleep is the Everly Brothers song ‘All I have to do is dream’ Which Jack sings as a sort of special lullaby to Malik every night or when he’s super upset and can’t clam down.}

#batman x joker #jack napier #joker x batman #batjokes au #batjokes #dadbatjokes au #dadsbatjokes Au #the joker #joker #jack napier x batman #batjokes headcanons #batman telltale au #batman #bruce wayne #john doe telltale #batman telltale #joker headcanon #batjoke #joker headcanons

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crimsonheart01 · 3 years

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Make the Season Bright (Fred Weasley x Female!Reader)

A/N: FRED DESERVED TO LIVE! We were all robbed and I will spend my days making sure that fanon supersedes canon! To my lovely Nonny who requested this, here is the wintery fluff Fred Weasley we all need!

Prompt: 24. “I’m watching the Barbie Nutcracker.”

Word Count: 2.2K words

Playlist: The Christmas Song - Nat King Cole [YouTube] [Spotify]

Warnings: None!

“They know that Santa’s on his way He’s loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh And every mother’s child is gonna spy To see if reindeers really know how to fly.” The Christmas Song – Nat King Cole

He apparated into the alleyway behind her apartment complex and peered around the corner to ensure that no muggles caught him. The snow was falling in thick flakes, the silence of it crossing over everything. He could see the busy street of muggle cars zooming by, but their sound muffled by the weather. An experience not everyone got to experience. It was hard to explain, but it was one of his favourite things about winter, the hols aside. He thoroughly enjoyed a serene snowfall.

He scanned up and down the parking lot before making a clear beeline for the double low-rise apartments in front of him. His booted feet crunching with each step. He murmured a quick charm to brush away his footprints from the alley behind him. It was unlikely that anyone would notice the one-way prints, but he didn’t want to compromise himself or her.

A flurry of snowflakes floated past him in the breeze, and he hunched his shoulders forward while shoving his mittened hands into his pockets. He really should’ve worn a thicker jumper. There was no way she was going to believe he hoofed it on the underground all the way here in what he was wearing. He briefly thought about transfiguring it into a peacoat but knew it was putting too much at risk. He’d find a way to distract her from asking too many questions.

He hopped up the few steps into the courtyard, heading to his left to come up to the building doors. He paused before pressing on her buzzer and looked up into the second-floor window. He could see that her curtains were pulled closed, but he could still make out her shadow on the couch. He could see the flicker of light from her TV.

He was called out of his thoughts by the sound of someone approaching. Fred had become a keen ear on all things around him ever since the war. He figured it was overcompensation for George losing one of his. He spent more time reading body language and listening to everything around him. He could catch the smallest scrape from across the busy shop. In tonight’s quiet, it wasn’t hard at all for him to hear as the door was unlocked and then the hesitation of the other person before stepping through.

“Hey, buddy,” The stranger next to him called out, “You coming in or not?”

Fred whipped around, always surprised at the cold politeness of muggles. It made him chuckle. They were still offering to hold doors open or letting people pass, but it was always coated with distinct antipathy. He guessed that it wasn’t too much different from the way that the old purebloods of the wizarding world looked down on everyone else. That forced civility with the lower class always present in the way they held themselves.

He smirked to himself. The thought that purebloods and muggles had something in common made him want to taunt and tease a few specific people, but the war was over, and people were trying their best to move on and, in some cases, change. However, he knew that if others were making attempts to adjust to a new society, he couldn’t continue to treat them as unkindly as he’d done in the past. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present and turned fully towards the door.

With a broad smile to the other man, he nodded, “Yes sir, thanks!”

He bustled through the opened door behind him, and they parted ways as Fred skipped up the stairs two at a time. He was fascinated by the layout of muggle apartment buildings. Everyone in the wizarding world, or at least everyone he knew, lived in houses—most similar to the Burrow but some as grand as a Manor.

Reaching the second floor, he turned to his right to the first door and knocked lightly while trying the handle. The latch popped open, and the door opened easily under his touch. He raised his eyebrows in concerned shock but then remembered that they made this arrangement a few days ago. She was expecting him.

He poked his head through the door, looking straight and then to his right to where she was curled up on the sofa. He grinned at how comfortable she looked. There was a mug in her hand while her feet were curled next to her on the cushion with a blanket thrown over her lower half. He admired her small grin as she watched whatever was on the screen, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

He sent a silent prayer out to Granger, the smartest muggleborn out there. She’d given him a crash course in all things muggle that had helped him woo this fine woman. He was still trying to find the courage to tell her who and what he really was, but it was always hard. Every time he found himself on the verge of uttering that infamous phrase, he always chickened out. Oh, if George could see him now.

Pushing the door open, he extended his arms out with a flourish, “Honey, I’m home!”

He did a bit of a spin while she looked over at him and chuckled at his entrance. The sound of her laughter sent his heart into a flurry, and his stomach filled with butterflies. He realized at that moment that tonight was going to be the night that he finally told her. Stopping in his twirl, he leaned over her sectional couch and sent her his signature wink. She clutched at the mug in her hands as she tipped her head to the side and laughed out loud at his antics.

He quickly toed off his shoes and shed his jumper, hat and gloves. He hopped over the back of her sofa, ignoring her protests as she stepped all over the cushions until he was cuddled up against her. He leaned in as close as he could get, only her cup stopping him from making it all the way. He gauged the scowl on her face, finding the mirth laying unhidden in her expression. He lit up into a bright smile before smashing his lips against hers.

She sighed at the greeting, letting her shoulders relax and her hands holding the mug settled into her lap. She lifted one hand away from the item to lay it against his cheek, sneakily threading her fingers up into his hair. He broke the kiss with a fake but content growl. She laughed again, quietly, only for the two of them.

Taking a liberty, he lifted her cup and leaned forward onto the table while taking a moment to watch the movie playing. He furrowed his brows at the scene before him, utterly confused. She’d shown him animated movies before, but this one looked very strange. Almost as if they were plastic dolls or something. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He snuggled back into her, ducking under one of her arms and wrapping both of his around her.

“What’re we watching?” He asked, his eyes glued to the screen.

She smiled, “I’m watching Barbie Nutcracker.” There was a bit of pause where she shifted to get more comfortable before continuing, “I always watch it at least once around this time of year. To satisfy my younger self.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, having no idea what a Barbie was, so all he did was nod in agreement. Together, they hunkered down and finished the entire film, Fred weirdly fascinated with the storyline. He recognized a few tidbits from wizarding traditions, but so much had been dumbed down by, or even for, muggles. He wondered if this was the only version there was out there or if they had multiple ones.

It didn’t take long for the movie to end, and he found himself wanting to ask her a thousand questions, but as the credits rolled up the screen, she shuffled out from under him. He pouted at the loss of her warmth, but when she bent to pick up her mug, he understood.

She walked around the coffee table, calling over her shoulder, “Do you want a hot chocolate?”

He watched her as she went, wondering again how he managed to get her to give him any time of day. Instead of spending too much time stuck on the how, he focused on the now.

“Yes, please, my dear.” He shouted out to her.

He heard her tinkling laughter at his response before there was the sound of her moving about her minuscule kitchen. He continued to stare at the direction she’d gone in, resolving to figure out a way in how to announce his truth. He wondered if he could apparate quickly over to Granger’s flat and get her opinion on the matter, but he figured that was stomping over boundaries and chose not to do it that way. Or perhaps a Patronus to his twin and give him a double surprise.

Letting out an aggravated groan, he stood up and wiped his suddenly clammy hands down his jeans. Why couldn’t this be any easier? He strolled around the sofa to pick up his effects and hang them up properly. As he was walking over to the coat rack, he dropped a mitten, and as he bent to pick it up, a small WWW box fell out of his pocket. He eyed it warily, knowing he hadn’t put it there, and before he could figure out who or what it was, it was exploding into the room around him.

There was a loud bang as their signature product burst to life in her tiny living room. He heard the clank of cups onto the counter and heard her footsteps as they came running. He swallowed, panicking and tried to yell for her to stay put, but it was too late. She was standing in the entryway of her kitchen, staring directly at him and the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes fireworks popping off around him.

He glanced over at her sheepishly. This was quite a stitch and one he was completely inept at talking himself out of. How did he explain magic to a muggle?

“Oh, Merlin,” She whispered, more to herself than anyone.

Fred floundered for an explanation, but once he registered her exclamation, he stopped.

“You’re a – are you a witch?” He blurted out.

She licked her lips, staring at the bright W now illuminating her entire flat.

“Are you one of the Weasley twins?” She countered.

They both stared at each other, astonished at the turn of events. Then simultaneously, they registered the other’s question and answered at the same time.

“Yes.”

“Merlin.”

Then they both dissolved into shocked laughter. She leaned heavily on the wall behind her before sinking down to the floor, giggles continuing to fall out, to the point that she was wiping tears from her eyes. Fred followed suit, finding himself sitting cross-legged in the middle of her living room. With a quick wave of his hand, he snuffed out the fireworks and left them sitting there with nothing but the smell of gunpowder and fresh hot chocolate between them.

“You lied!” She exclaimed, pointing a finger over at him, “You told me your last name was Weekes!”

His mouth fell open at the accusation, and he tried to feel ashamed, but he was in the same boat as her.

He pointed back, “You lied to me too! You let me think you were a muggle this whole time!”

She laughed incredulously, “Only because I thought you were one!”

“We’re a right pair, aren’t we?” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

A long moment passed where neither one said anything. They were both processing the events that had transpired. Then Fred looked up and regarded her questioningly.

“Do you really live here?” He asked.

She grinned and let out a huff, “Yes, I prefer it.”

Then he had another thought, “How come you didn’t recognize me?”

“I had my suspicions at the beginning, but after a while and all the hints I kept dropping, I figured I was making a baseless assumption on the red hair.” She shrugged.

He let out a loud guffaw, “I wish George were here to see this. He’d be in stitches over all of this.”

She smiled over at him, realizing belatedly that she’d been dating one of the most eligible bachelors this side of the Atlantic. She blinked a few times, the shock of that setting in. She wondered if she should mention it, but he didn’t seem phased by it when he thought she was a muggle, so maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about.

“So, where do we go from here?” She finally asked.

He gave her a wicked grin, “You wanna see the shop after hours?”

She raised her eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yeah, I happen to know the bloke who runs the place,” He nodded conspiratorially.

She let out an amused and slightly exasperated sigh, his classic mischievousness and devilish personality connecting a lot of dots. She nodded at him before crawling over the short distance between them and taking his face in her hands. She kissed him soundly, rendering him speechless.

“No more secrets.” She murmured, and he nodded in full agreement.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #fred lives #12 days of ficmas 2020 #holiday prompts

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soumenoraw09 · 3 years

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How can I lose weight quickly? The most effective method to Lose Weight Fast — Quick and Easy Weight Loss Tips

Shed 5 pounds in a single week! It’s a figure of speech we see all over the place. And keeping in mind that it’s conceivable that somebody can lose that much in that time-frame, it truly relies upon your digestion and heaps of different variables remarkable to you, including actual work and body structure.

The eating routine itself can fool you into believing that this eating style is working — when truly, you may restore what you lost when you eat carbs once more. That can feel unbelievably demoralizing in the event that you need results that last more than seven days.

In light of my involvement with sustenance directing, a large portion of us will in general nibble on food varieties that aren’t supplement thick, yet are high in calories. Significant offenders frequently come as refined grains like oats, chips, wafers, and treats yet additionally calorie-pressed beverages like juice and pop.

Skirting sweet drinks is regularly the least demanding approach to get more fit quicker. You don’t feel full from drinks, so trading those out for shining water or unsweetened tea and espresso is the best spot to begin.

take 28 days challenge weight loss (click here)

1. Concentrate on eating quality food sources, not including calories.

Yes, that implies try not to crunch the numbers. All things considered, put your consideration toward consolidating more organic products, veggies, protein sources, and entire grains into your eating regimen, says Wendy Leonard, RD, author of Rhode Island Nutrition Therapy. Ya know, food varieties with heaps of supplements and nutrients.

In the event that you center around the nature of food, there’s a decent possibility you’ll eat more supplement thick choices that leave you satisfied, adds Lauren Sullivan, an enlisted dietitian with Cleveland Clinic’s Center for Human Nutrition. This can mean normally eating less calories without having to overthink it.

Checking calories can remove the pleasure from eating, Zeitlin says. It can likewise prompt an undesirable fixation on remaining under a specific carbohydrate level or working out to consume calories. Considering food and not a mathematical question can tackle those issues.

Need some more explicit ideas? Loneke Blackman Carr, PhD, RD, right hand teacher of local area and general wellbeing nourishment at the University of Connecticut suggests looking at the Dietary Guidelines for Americans to figure out how to assemble a fair, supplement rich plate.

2. Try not to skip meals.

Overlooking your appetite is never a smart thought since your body capacities best when you eat at normal stretches during the day, says Alicia Romano, RD, a clinical enlisted dietitian at the Frances Stern Nutrition Center at Tufts Medical Center in Boston, Massachusetts. Doing so assists with controlling your glucose so you can keep away from the spike and crash that accompanies eating a major dinner on an unfilled stomach.

Eating routinely likewise keeps you stimulated and less inclined to nibble on sweet stuff for the duration of the day, Zeitlin says. “Feeling languid and blah triggers you to search for helpful in and out food choices.” To be clear: These food sources aren’t “terrible food sources,” and you don’t have to keep away from snacks or bundled merchandise to get more fit. Zeitlin takes note of that you ought to eat this (and any kind of food) carefully and when you really need it, not on the grounds that your body is denied and desiring energy.

Zeitlin prescribes eating each three to four hours for the duration of the day. Regardless of whether that is a tidbit or supper, it’s just about placing some sort of energy into your body..

3. Eat foods grown from the ground with each feast.

Indeed, your mother was correct (once more). Foods grown from the ground are useful for you, and we as a whole most likely need to eat a greater amount of them.

Vegetables — particularly non-bland vegetables like spinach, asparagus and celery — give a huge load of supplements and fiber, clarifies Leonard. Fiber eases back the absorption interaction and upgrades completion and supplement admission at supper time, so eating it at each feast can help you feel satisfied longer in the wake of eating, Romano adds.

Eating an eating regimen wealthy in foods grown from the ground has likewise been demonstrated to support wellbeing otherly, with contemplates discovering defensive advantages against coronary illness and type 2 diabetes, Williamson says.

So what amount would we say we are talkin’? “A large portion of your plate ought to be foods grown from the ground,” Williamson says. The rest ought to be a quarter protein and a quarter entire grains. Obviously, this is anything but an immovable principle, however generally isolating your plate into these extents can help you ensure you’re eating supplement rich plants at each supper.

4. Keep a food diary.

On the off chance that writing down all that you eat in a day causes you to feel regretful or restless, skirt this completely. All things considered, individuals who track what they eat (as in food varieties not calories) will in general be more fruitful in shedding pounds since it brings issues to light about the thing they’re noshing on, says Elizabeth Mayer-Davis, PhD, an enrolled dietitian and seat of the Department of Nutrition at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Indeed, a progression of studies distributed in the Journal of Personalized Medicine recommend that those utilizing applications to screen their eating regimen and action were bound to encounter an increment in weight reduction.

Zeitlin suggests keeping a food diary where you record what you eat at every dinner and nibble and when. That way, you can think back and learn in the event that you’re truly eating however many veggies as you might suspect you are or in the event that you’re eating consistently or coincidentally skipping dinners on occupied days.

You can likewise attempt a photograph food diary application like Ate Food Journal, Leonard recommends. She noticed that individuals will in general like this methodology better on the grounds that opening an application and snapping a fast pic is way less monotonous than recording every last insight regarding your suppers for the duration of the day. Also, it’s similarly as successful

5. Reconsider your beverages.

You don’t have to remove liquor to get thinner, and having a Coke won’t destine your weight reduction objectives. In any case, it is a smart thought to know about the thing you’re burning-through and realize that your beverages might be a greater wellspring of calories than you understand — and possibly something you wouldn’t actually miss all that amount on the off chance that you traded for water or seltzer and lime.

Leonard suggests wiping out or definitely lessening how much alcohol you drink a little while to perceive how you feel. The experience could make you consider switching around your drinking propensities on the off chance that you notice an improvement in your personal satisfaction with less assimilating.

6. Focus on protein and entire grains.

We previously discussed foods grown from the ground, however we need to sing the gestures of recognition of protein and entire grains as well.

Protein is a significant macronutrient that our bodies need to work appropriately. It’s a decent wellspring of energy, and it requires a moment for our bodies to process it, which implies it gives a consistent wellspring of energy.

When matched with starches, which rush to process, everything moves a little more slow — which causes us to feel satisfied and keeps us full for more. Additionally, in case you’re working out, protein will be considerably more essential to help revamp your muscles and keep you moving and getting more grounded

7. Drink more water.

The best sub for sweet or boozy beverages? Plain ol’ H2O. Remaining hydrated can really help you feel less swelled and full and simply keep your body running similar to a well orchestrated symphony.

Drinking water can likewise assist you with getting tune with your craving signals. “Our bodies will in general feel hungry when we’re really parched, so when you’re not drinking sufficient water for the duration of the day, you may believe you’re eager and reach for additional bites when truly you simply need a glass of water,” Zeitlin clarifies. On the off chance that you know you’re a hydration sovereign, you’ll know a food craving implies you’re really eager and need to eat.

8. Continue to eat the food varieties you love.

You totally ought not deny yourself of the food sources you love to get more fit. Truth be told, proceeding to eat your faves can help you arrive at your objectives.

In the event that you allow yourself to continue to eat your top picks, you can fulfill your longings without gorging. In case you’re zeroing in on eating supplement rich, useful for-you food varieties most of the time, that treat or donut or frozen yogurt dessert won’t prevent you from getting in shape. Additionally, appreciating what you burn-through is sound as well

9. Overlook the scale.

On the off chance that you get on a scale each and every day for an entire week, it will show you an alternate number each day. There are a ton of things that can impact the amount you gauge — like how much water your body is clutching. Eating a great deal of sodium, not dozing enough, and exercise would all be able to affect water maintenance and change the number on the scale. It’s simply not a decent marker of your genuine body weight.

#how can i lose weight quickly #diet #weight loss

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

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notable moments from The Real Fake Car Job

leverage 5.07

me, 0.00000000000001 seconds into the episode: iS tHaT sHaGgY fRoM sCoObY dOO ???!!!

- - - - -

Kyle: I just figured a guy like you would have, I don’t know, an office or something.

Nate: Oh, yeah, I tried it once. Had trouble keeping it in one piece

a little on the nose there

- - - - -

Hardison (controlling pictures on the display): I got the security-camera footage from Eagle Cove’s parking lot.

Eliot: Those guys are Federal Marshals. Hardison, zoom in on that gun right there. That’s a Glock 23, .40 caliber... standard-issue weapon of choice for Marshals Service

bitch it’s distinctive

- - - - -

eliot’s car is literally the most inconspicuous ride E V E R

- - - - -

Sophie: Look at the items confiscated after his arrest. There’s high-end art, properties all over the world, vintage cars... all seized and sold at government auction for pennies on the dollar. Somewhere in there is the thing he loves that’s been taken away forever.

Nate: Okay. Hardison, Parker, you’re on that.

(Parker nods)

her W I N K at hardison

- - - - -

Parker: Cool. (throws a bag of garbage into the van)

Hardison: Looks like it’s just a bunch of car-restoration shows, some soap operas... embarrassing. What you doing?

Parker: Got his garbage. Garbage is always best.

Hardison: I just had Lucille detailed! Oh, are you kidding me? Get... girl... Is that seafood I smell?

Parker: I don’t... yeah, a little... whew

let lucielle live

- - - - -

(Erickson places a ‘Wifi password $5’ sign over the ‘Free Wifi’ sign)

Erickson (to customer): It just means that it’s available.

Customer (hands him $5): Mm.

Erickson: Thank you. (pockets money) So, the password..

woW HES A PIECE OF SHIT

- - - - -

(Eliot and Hardison are crouched in some greenery)

Hardison: Hey, easier done than said, man. Craigslist. One simple ad, and these rare-car guys will flock to any empty lot just for a peek at a vintage carburetor.

Eliot: Owner’s heading out of town.

(Owner exits house)

Hardison: He won some trip... all expenses paid to Bora-Bora.

Eliot: He’s a lucky man.

(Owner gets into car and drives away)

their smug looks as they crouch in the bushes together

chaotic boyfriends

- - - - -

(Eliot approaches garage doors)

Hardison: Oh, hey, hey, hey.

(Eliot hesitates, then opens the garage door to reveal a Packard Coupe)

Hardison: No way am I giving up this life to be an ordinary person.

Eliot: Did you talk to Parker about that?

Hardison: What you mean... why would I... No, she’s the least ordinary person I know... you know. Shoot. Wait. Do I have to talk to her about stuff like...

Eliot: Yeah.

Hardison: ‘Cause I... You know what? Just forget it. Let’s get to work

eliot talking to hardison about his relationship with parker? ot3 vibes?

- - - - -

parker’s become so good at grifting I’m so proud of her

+ SHES SO CUTE IN THAT FLOWERY DRESS AND FLOPPY HAT IM G A Y

- - - - -

they baked the marshall a fucking FRUITCAKE

- - - - -

Sophie: They always throw out the cake, but they keep the tray.

this show has so many good tidbits

- - - - -

Hardison (laughs): Just all up in each other’s business 24/7. Nothing to do.

Parker: I could never retire. Could you... would you ever...

Hardison (quickly): Mnh-mnh. Mm. No, hell, no.

Parker: Good. Good.

Hardison: Are you sure you...

Parker: Mm. Good. Then we’re on the same page.

Hardison: Eliot told you.

Parker: You were flailing just a little bit.

Hardison: A skosh?

Parker: Yeah, a skosh

the three of them look out for each other and I love that for them

- - - - -

(Sophie and Eliot walk across the parking lot with a shopping cart full of miscellaneous equipment, an axe and a shovel that they begin putting into the trunk of Eliot’s car)

Sophie: She there?

Eliot: Yeah, she’s in the back of the parking lot, watching us like a hawk.

(Marshal Rose is watching from across the lot)

Sophie: Are we being suspicious enough?

(Eliot hands her the axe)

Sophie: Never mind.

(Marshal Rose continues to watch as they load the car)

Sophie: So, what do you think you’re gonna do after all this is done?

Eliot: Always wanted to open up my own restaurant. Now I’m probably gonna get stuck making sure Hardison’s doesn’t go out of business. Throw a couple of drunks out every once in a while. Maybe the place will get robbed once a year.

anyone remember that meme where you try to buy five things that scares the cashier the most? their haul gives those vibes.

eliot deep down you KNOW hardison got the brewpub for you because he loves you

ALSO bby has a simple retirement plan bless his soul

- - - - -

(Sophie looks at a coil of rope)

Eliot: Don’t- don’t use that.

Sophie: Hmm?

Eliot: For future references, you can chew right through it.

Sophie: Huh. (puts rope into the trunk) Any other tips from back in the day, when you used to... (makes slashing motion across her neck) people?

(Eliot walks around the car while Sophie pushes the cart away. Marshal Rose watches as they enter the vehicle)

again, another good tidbit from leverage, you never know when you need knowledge like that

- - - - -

(Sophie watches Eliot digging a hole)

Eliot: After sunset, this field is gonna be completely dark. No clear sight lines from the road. First thing to find a body out here would be a coyote...

Sophie: Okay. Now I’m scared.

Eliot: I’m here.

Sophie: Eliot. You’re what’s scaring me.

(Marshal Rose approaches through the grass, watching and listening)

Sophie: So, just for argument’s sake, which one of us do you think would cope better? You know, with being an ordinary person? You know, without going... mad?

Eliot: Me. (continues digging)

Sophie: Really? ‘Cause, um... well, you know, I was thinking me.

Eliot (firm): It’s me.

lmfao sometimes eliot really doesn’t know when to Stop™

he’s trying his best, your honor

- - - - -

Sophie: The South entrance will be clear in 10 seconds.

(Eliot punches each of the men, knocking them out)

Sophie: Make it five

my aesthetic is it being only one punch of eliot’s that takes a goon out

- - - - -

Parker: You think it’ll work?

Nate: It has to.

Hardison: What will work?

Nate: Lots of cars in the ‘30s were diesels. They would run on vegetable oil. We’re gonna fuel up the Packard and try to...

Hardison: The car?! The car that’s all the way over there?! You mean we got to run over there and get in the car, drive through a gunfight, and pray that it’s bulletproof like the Batmobile?!

(a bullet ricochets nearby)

Hardison: Okay, I’m in. Let’s go. Go, go.

let hardison rest pls he’s baby

- - - - -

Sophie: I couldn’t help overhearing what you said in the warehouse about putting the past behind you.

Nate: I had a gun to my head.

Sophie: This is our bar. I’m sure I can rustle up a gun somewhere.

Nate: Mm. You were wrong about one thing.

Sophie: Really? Because I couldn’t possibly be right, could I?

Nate (leans closer): Wanting to move on with or without you... it matters. We matter

wow nate/sophie stans really kept winning this season

#leverage #leverage 5.07 #leverage 5x07 #The Real Fake Car Job #mine #notable moments #leverage season 5 #season 5

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loniden · 4 years

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How to Eat Healthy During the 2020 Lockdown

This has been a fascinating week with such an unforeseen development in a brief timeframe. Almost all of us are at home for two or three weeks, which brings along new difficulties when following a keto or low carb diet. In this article, I'll give you tips about how to eat well when stuck at home.

The most effective method to Eat Healthy When Stuck at Home

I don't have a clue what it is about the vulnerability of our reality that makes me need comfort nourishment and to heat hand crafted chocolate chip treats. On the off chance that you've been battling staying keto or low carb, you aren't the only one. I surveyed the Easy Keto Low Carb Recipes Facebook page, and keeping in mind that there were many adhering to the keto way of life, there were similarly the same number of battling. It's anything but difficult to push eat when all that we've known is unexpectedly open to question. How would you eat well when stuck at home?

In complete honesty, I haven't eaten consummately for as far back as not many days. I'll do incredible the vast majority of the day, at that point end up giving in here, and there later toward the evening and into the night. Regardless of whether it is only a bunch of my children's Cheetos or a little treat, those little chomps include, and before I know it, I get myself, saying what the hell., I've just spoiled today I should eat anything I desire, which is never a decent course for me.

At the point when I go off arrangement for a few days, it causes me truly to feel yucky. My stomach gets all enlarged, my garments don't fit also, and my vitality levels are lower. With not realizing to what extent we will be home, I realize I need to feel my best. Good dieting is basic to my general prosperity. Else, I realize it would start to influence me intellectually.

Also Read: 6 Awesome Body Changes When You Give Up Carbs

Since I realize that there are numerous who may be managing similar battles, I thought I'd share two or three unique tips that may help we all to eat well when we are stuck at home during this exceptional time in our country's history.

Tips to Eating Healthy During a Challenging Season

1. Resolve and Discipline Always Win – Sticking to a good dieting way of life goes a long ways past inspiration. As I referenced right now what making my bed showed me weight reduction, inspiration is whimsical, and it depends on feelings and conditions. Inspiration will bomb me, particularly in our present circumstance, not realizing a distinct end in sight. I need to determine and decide to stay with day by day trains again and again that bring achievement. Surrendering to transitory wants again and again (hi Oreos) never genuinely causes me to feel better.

2. Recall Your Why and Your Wins – When enticement hits, which it unquestionably will recollect your why and your successes. For what reason did you begin following a keto or low carb diet? What achievements have you achieved en route? Have you gone down a size? Not, at this point constrained by desserts? Have more vitality than you used to have? Record these things on the off chance that you need to with the goal that they are a consistent token of why you should proceed on your smart dieting venture regardless of the way that your life may look altogether different at this moment.

3. Change from Keto to Low Carb – If you have been exacting keto and can't appear to refocus, maybe changing to all the more a low carb way of life may be useful. Thusly, you'll give yourself more breathing space and a couple of more carbs a day. You likewise won't need to concentrate on remaining in ketosis. Eating low carb rather than keto may be the ticket that gives you enough opportunity for progress. On the off chance that you aren't acquainted with how they are unique, Low Carb versus Keto: Differences and Benefits is an extraordinary asset.

4. Plan Ahead – If you wind up battling in light of the fact that there is unexpectedly more nourishment in the house that you wouldn't ordinarily eat, arranging very well might assist you with remaining on target. Plan dinners and snacks with solid other options. For instance, if every other person is eating pizza, make a heavenly crustless pizza or pizza chaffles. That way, you can fulfill your desires and remain on target.

Additionally, in the event that you dinner prep early, you won't be without solid nourishment alternatives. Here are five straightforward strides to supper prep that will make preparing dinners simpler when you get exhausted of cooking.

5. Keep Easy Keto Treats and Snacks on Hand – When you are home throughout the day consistently, it's anything but difficult to surrender to careless eating and eating eventually. There are such huge numbers of great plans for keto desserts and tidbits, yet now and then I simply need something I can get rapidly without getting the kitchen filthy once more. With being home for an all-encompassing measure of time, we all will probably be cooking more, so having simple choices we can get and appreciate may help us not snatch our child's tidbits. Here are a couple of my most loved keto snacks I like to keep in my wash room. In the event that you can't discover them locally or don't have any desire to get out, Amazon is an extraordinary alternative.

6. Pick a Day – I wouldn't ordinarily recommend this, yet edgy occasions call for additional choices. Pick one day a week or at regular intervals, where you appreciate carbs without blame. Perhaps you might want to go through one day seven days heating with your children however have stayed away from it since you don't feel sufficiently able to disapprove of unique treats. Right now, picking one day seven days to have a heating day or solace nourishment cooking day with the family would give you enough alternatives to have the option to adhere to keto or low carb the other six days. On the off chance that you don't figure you could refocus following a day away from work plan, at that point this alternative would not be a decent decision for you.

7. Pick a Nonnegotiable Start Date – With an ongoing sudden spike in demand for staple goods, you probably won't have the option to load up on low carb wash room nourishments you typically eat. Or then again, you may require a brief timeframe of alteration with everything else feeling wild before committing once again to smart dieting. Regardless, set another beginning date. On this day, you'll refocus, no inquiries. What that may resemble is this, " For the following fourteen days I'm going to make sense of our new self-teach plan, load up on low carb food supplies once stores restock, and get some kind of foothold once more. At that point, precisely fourteen days from today, I'm returning to eating low carb."

A couple of days before your new beginning date, start a feast plan and basic food item shop to set yourself up for progress. On the off chance that you need dinner thoughts, here is a rundown of more than 90 free keto supper plans you can get to whenever. Having a beginning date will likewise give you an opportunity to intellectually get ready for the change.

8. Start and Stick with a New Exercise Routine – Now that our timetables are not, at this point brimming with children's games exercises, school exercises, self-teach gatherings, church, youth bunch social occasions, and so forth we have much more opportunity to do things we've been putting off because of absence of time. At the point when I am reliably working out, it causes me to settle on better nourishment decisions as I would prefer not to fix all the difficult work I've done. There are loads of 30-Day Exercise Challenges on Pinterest that are anything but difficult to start. Indeed, even 20 minutes of activity daily causes me to ponder the nourishments I put in my body. Here is a Pinterest Board loaded with various exercise programs and chiseling programs on the off chance that you need motivation.

Also Read: The Future Of Low-Carb Diets: Lessons Learned From Past Fads

9. Give Yourself Grace Upon Grace – We've never confronted this sort of emergency in the course of our life. I don't have a clue about that anybody realizes how to move the progressions that have occurred in our reality. The greater part of us aren't accustomed to being stuck in our homes for broadened periods. You may require a period of modification first before you can get settled and resolved to refocus. Assuming this is the case, that is alright. There is no disgrace or judgment. Right now, neglect to make dealing with yourself and remaining sound a need, regardless of whether it takes you a piece to pull together while the residue settles around you.

Everything Is Not Lost

In the event that you are battling, everything isn't lost. Essentially, pick how you can eat well while stuck at home. What you do probably won't resemble what the following individual is doing, yet you need to discover what you can adhere to in the midst of new difficulties.

I'm hitting my reset button today and committing once again to remaining on target. I'll adhere to more low carb than keto, for a brief timeframe at any rate; maybe I'll return to keto as we get sunk into our new ordinary. Since I am at my objective weight, I may even pick an off-plan day once consistently or two and appreciate making (and eating) family plans that have been passed on through ages that aren't low carb with my kids. I may even appoint my more seasoned children a night to prepare supper (it's a significant fundamental ability all things considered) and simply appreciate what they decide to cook without blame. I can guarantee you if my child is cooking cauliflower WILL NOT be on the menu. lol

Relish the Time and Make Memories

The majority of all, I need to appreciate this time with my family, gain experiences we probably won't have set aside the effort to make in the event that we weren't stuck at home, and relish this time together. I'll despite everything eat soundly, only not as exacting as I regularly would with the goal that I don't come out of this having put on weight. I simply don't need it to be something I consider continually, or that controls me. This season in our home will be devoted to time together and memory-production.

At the point when you get tired recall, each tempest comes up short on downpour. There will be another season.

#keto #carbs #diet #healthy #eat #food #covid19 #quarantinefood

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waywardnerd67 · 5 years

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Mystery Girl

Summary: Working his way through college, Jensen works at the campus bookstore in between studying and playing baseball. When a mystery girl comes in to the bookstore, Jensen ends up in between a rock and a hard place. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader Pairing: Jensen x Reader Warnings: Fluff/AU Word Count: 1205 Squared Filled: College AU (Fluff) / Bookstore AU (AU) A/N #1: @spnfluffbingo2019 and @spnaubingo A/N #2: As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

Check Out: SPN Fluff Bingo Masterlist

Jensen Ackles began his junior year of college at UT-Dallas with a full class load, baseball training three days a week with every other weekend and now a part time job at the campus bookstore. He walked into the bookstore for his closing shift.

“Hey Jensen, how you are doing today?” his manager asked as he set his bookbag behind the counter.

“Pretty good. Has it been busy today?” His manager shook his head which brought relief flowing down Jensen’s body.

The manager tossed the keys to him, “Should be a quiet night so hopefully you’ll get some studying in. Just make sure you go home to sleep and not here on the counter.”

Jensen chuckled, “Yes sir. Have a good night.”

His manager waved goodbye as he walked out the front door leaving Jensen alone with a few customers in the store. He restocked a few carts of books and helped a few customers find books for their classes. Around six o’clock the store was empty, and Jensen opened his history textbook to study for an upcoming test he had.

An hour later, Jensen nearly fell off his chair when he hair the bell on the door chime. Looking up, his jaw dropped slightly as a woman walked in with her earbuds in looking down at a notebook. Her (Y/C/H) hair was pulled to one side in a ponytail and she wore a UT-Dallas hoodie with jeans along with black Chucks.

He could hear her music blaring in her ears as she walked towards the back of the store. In the few months he had been working here not once had he seen her, but she walked around like she knew the store like the back of her hand. He grabbed a few books following the same path she took and pretended to re-shelf them.

She was sitting cross legged on top of a table. Three large books fanned out around her as she wrote in her notebook. Her head was bopping to the music playing in her earbuds. She glanced up their eyes connecting for a split second before he quickly looked away. Jensen quickly put the book on the shelf and returned to the circulation desk.

Going back to his own studies he tried to push the beautiful girl out of his mind. When it was time to close he looked around for the mystery girl not remembering seeing her leave. Twice around the bookstore he found he was alone, and disappointment filled his chest. After balancing the register, he closed up the store and as he was locking the door someone came up behind him.

“So, do you always spy on random girls in the bookstore?” Jensen jumped turning around quickly seeing mystery girl behind him.

Her sweet smile and even sweet voice send shivers down his body. “Uh, no I wasn’t… I wasn’t spying.” He said nervously.

She scoffed placing her hands on her hips, “Uh-huh, you were totally spying on me. Since you were you can come buy me a drink now.”

Jensen looked down at his watch seeing it was past ten o’clock and he had an early workout with the baseball team before his first class. Looking back up at her he found his body of a mind of its own, “One drink.” He said following her down the sidewalk. “I’m Jensen, by the way.”

“Jensen? Jensen Ackles?” she asked as they approached the nearby bar most students hung out at.

He nodded surprised she even knew his name. As they entered the bar, he saw some of his fellow teammates in there having a good time together. Jensen could not help but wonder why they had never invited him out. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to mystery girl.

“Do we know each other? I have to say I think I would remember someone like you.” He said as they sat down at a table.

She looked over to the bartender holding up two fingers, “No we’ve never met but I don’t think there is a single person on campus that doesn’t know who you are. Captain of the baseball team, all-star pitcher, perfect GPA and not too bad on the eyes either.”

He felt his cheeks heat up as he chuckled, “Wow, I didn’t know I was so popular.”

“You didn’t?” she asked raising an eyebrow at him as the bartender brought over their beers. He shrugged taking a long drink. “So, tell me Jensen, why were you spying on me at the bookstore?”

“I wasn’t spying on you. I’ve been working at the bookstore for awhile and never seen you in there. Curiosity got the best of me.” He explained watching as she tipped the glass to her lips. He took in a sharp breath watching her take a drink.

“How long have you been working at the bookstore?” she asked taking off her hoodie revealing a Led Zeppelin shirt underneath.

“A few months now. I had to get a job in order to help pay for room and board. I only work the closing shift.” Jensen glanced back to his teammates just as they were leaving the bar never once noticing he was there.

Mystery girl whistled waving her hand in front of him, “Hello… stalker boy, I’m over here or would you prefer to go off with your friends?”

Jensen shook his head, “No I’m good where I’m at. Plus, I haven’t even learned who you are yet making me a terrible stalker, mystery girl.”

She laughed taking another drink, “Mystery girl, huh? I kind of like that. You know for being so popular around campus I have to say you are kind of a loner. I mean you teammates didn’t even acknowledge your presence.”

“I don’t normally go out with any of them. I’m on a full ride scholarship for baseball so I keep to a strict training and studying schedule. I’ll have time for fun after college.” He explained taking another long drink.

He was surprised by the smirk on her lips, “Interesting. I really thought you would be the type to always be out, having fun and with a lot of friends.”

Jensen finished his beer just as she did, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, you didn’t disappoint me at all. Actually, I’m more intrigued by you now. Come on stalker boy, come hang out with me for the night and let’s see what kind of fun we can have.” She stood up putting her hoodie back on.

He knew he should go back to his apartment, study some more and go to bed. There was something about her though that made him want to follow her to the ends of the Earth. He stood up going over to the bar and paying for their drinks. Jensen followed her outside and stopped on the sidewalk as she turned around.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

He shook his head smiling, “Not until I know your name mystery girl.”

She gave him a breathtaking smile as she held out her hand to him, “(Y/N). Now, are you coming or what?”

Jensen took a hold of her hand and in that moment, he knew everything was about change for him.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93 @spnbaby-67 @1967-essentialghoul @dean-winchesters-bacon @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903 @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @klanceiscannon14 @superromijn @witch-of-letters @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @babykalika2001 @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @time-travel-bouqet

#spnfluffbingo #mystery girl #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles

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swanandapirate · 5 years

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A Muted Hue of Grey (14/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (previous mentions of alcohol abuse, violence, and sex)

Wordcount: 3415

Links: ao3 // ff.net // spotify chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // chapter 10 // chapter 11 // chapter 12 // chapter 13

A/N: Here we are, the last chapter. This is such a surreal moment because after more than a year this story is over and done. This @captainswanbigbang experience has been one of a lifetime and has taught me so much!

One last thank you to @ofshipsandswans and @acourtoftruelove. Honestly, I can't even properly express how important these two have been for this fic, its successful completion, and just in my life in general. I both love you loads.

Not to forget my amazing artist @shady-swan-jones who has made epic art for this fic, who is just such a lovely person and who, out of all the possible fics, picked mine, for which I am very thankful.

Without further ado, one last time, A Muted Hue of Grey

---------------------------------------

“Emma, no.”

“Killian.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Emma,” he repeated, his blue eyes serious as he kept eye contact and shook his head.

She rolled her eyes before returning the look.

“I have to go home,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” he disagreed.

His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back to him. The bedcovers shifted, baring her legs as she attempted to wriggle out of his hold and get out of bed.

“I haven’t been home in three days,” she told him, reminding him of how one evening together had shifted into a night together which had then merged into another one and another.

Not that she had any qualms with it.

None whatsoever.

Especially with the way his lips were pressing feather-light kisses against her spine.

“Stay.”

Emma couldn’t bring herself to say no. Not to him, not to the way his hair was so playfully mussed, not when the crinkles near his eyes appeared again, not when they were in such a good place.

“Okay.”

-/-

They hadn’t been in this place for long. It had taken a lot of talking and arguing and reasoning to get there. A lot of hurting and painful introspective. But it had been for the best and so she’d endured it. He had too. Because they thought it was worth it.

And honestly, it was worth every tear that had been shed, every long silence that had taken place.

What she got in return was more than anything she could’ve hoped for.

-/-

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s still free?”

Killian looked up from his book, his brow instantly furrowing. He didn’t need more to know who she was talking about; they hadn’t mentioned his name in weeks, hadn’t encountered him in the time of peace they’d received.

But it had been nagging Emma. He was still out there and as much as they could try and ignore his existence, he still roamed around London being his psychopath self.

Something she struggled with. Call it a savior complex but it felt unfair to have been such a big part of his malfeasance and not prevent others from his wrath and psychotic behavior.

Killian put his book aside and wrapped his arms around Emma’s ankles, pulling her closer to him on the couch.

“This again?”

She sat up and leveled her eyes with him.

“I know you don’t like to talk about it but it has to bother you as much as it bothers me. What happened to try and prove his guilt?”

“I found things that are more important.” His hand brushed over her cheek, the warmth of his hand conveying tenderness along Emma’s skin.

She leaned into his touch, the sudden emotion creeping up her throat. It wasn’t unusual for him to express affection, show how much he cared for her but it still affected her. She wasn’t used to being that adored. And then there was something else.

She hadn’t said I love you yet.

She wanted to say I love you almost every moment she spent with him. But it got stuck on the tip of her tongue every single time.

“I get that but what if he sends his minion to hurt you again? Or other people. What if he goes for Anna or Elsa? I just don’t like that he’s out there, Killian.”

He sighed while averting his eyes from her, placing his chin on her knees. He had to know she was right. She was also pretty certain he felt the same way. His good form was ingrained into him, a crucial part of who he was. He’d want to do the right thing.

Emma placed her hand on his cheek and gently turned his face to her again. In a sad way, her lips curled.

They had to do the right thing.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, the sadness reaching him too.

“Maybe try taking another route? A more legal one this time?” She cocked her head in suggestion.

“We would have to find someone to help us legally, but Gold has people everywhere. They cannot be one of Gold's puppets.”

“I might know someone.”

Might was a wrong word. She knew the perfect someone.

-/-

“Did you ever tell me he went to law school?”

An ambulance raced passed them as they walked on the street, synchronized steps sounding against the concrete. It wasn’t far, only two blocks, but Killian had still grabbed her hand to walk the way.

Emma swung their linked hands.

“I might’ve? I don’t remember.” She shrugged. She’d never thought Samir being a lawyer would be something she’d need but here they were: on their way to his shop.

“And he works in a shop?”

Emma checked the street for incoming cars before quickly crossing and pulling Killian along.

“It’s his dad’s,” she explained. “There’s a whole story behind it, I’m sure.”

“Well, I believe you.”

“Why thank you, Jones, for that assurance.”

He winked in response, eliciting a smile on Emma’s face.

The shop appeared from behind the corner and she smiled. It had been a while since she’d seen Samir, fewer midnight snacks and drinks that needed to be bought recently. Maybe his theory about being a not so happy single was correct.

This was also the first time Samir and Killian would meet and she was looking forward to it. Her favorite people in this city had to meet at some point, and even if this visit wasn’t just for pleasure, it still meant something.

The door opened, the bell rang and they were inside.

The store was empty but not for long as Samir emerged from the back, a pack of what looked like cereal in his hands and blocked his view.

“I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time, Samir,” she reassured.

As he walked to the cereal rack, back facing them, Samir spoke again: “Is that my favorite customer I hear?”

She laughed.

“It might be.”

“I hope it’s her. My sales have been suffering since she decided to disappear more and more,” Samir replied, still not turned to them.

Emma and Killian looked at each other, both raising their eyebrows with a smile.

Finally, Samir finished putting the boxes away and approached them, a smile directed towards Emma and a curious glance towards Killian and their entwined hands.

“Hi,” she finally greeted her friend properly.

“Hello,” he replied.

Killian patiently waited in silence until Emma introduced the two of them to each other.

“Samir, this is Killian,” she began. “Killian, this is Samir.”

“Nice to meet you, mate.” Killian released her hand and reached for Samir’s outstretched one, the men sharing a quick but genuine shake. “Emma has told me a lot about you.”

“You too, mate.” He nodded. “What brings you to my humble shop?”

Emma took a step forwards.

“Remember when we first talked and I told you that if I ever needed a lawyer, I’d call you?” She gave him a second to recall the memory before she continued. “The moment has come.”

Samir did not seem surprised or taken aback at all. Instead, a fire lit up his dark brown eyes as something Emma couldn’t describe as anything other than determination appeared.

“You’re taking him down?” he asked, looking at the both of them for an answer.

She sought Killian’s eyes, wanted to be sure that they were both one hundred percent sure of the path they were going to go down. When she found them, Emma knew that this was what they were doing, even if it was the last thing they did.

“We are,” she replied, the same determination that could be found in Samir’s eyes now in her voice. “If you’re up for it.”

“Rocky Road.” Samir smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”

-/-

They spent hours, days, weeks searching. Searching for the smallest lead or detail that was off. Soon they realized it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

And it was fucking frustrating.

How could Gold never once have made a misstep? How was that even possible? All humans make a mistake at some point, so why didn’t he?

Samir couldn’t do a lot if they had nothing to go off. He couldn’t think of a charge without proof, couldn’t magically make an accusation appear out of thin air.

Killian tried using the things he’d gathered before but the tidbits of information were mostly outdated and incorrect.

Emma… well she got more frustrated by the minute and wasn’t as useful to the investigation as her companions.

It was so unfair. On paper, this man was a saint. Donations to nonprofits, he tipped fairly, he even recycled. You name it and The Honorable Mr. Gold had most likely done it.

Which, again, was fucking frustrating.

Emma grunted, throwing one of their folders on Killian’s coffee table. She let her head drop into her hands, momentarily sick of reading and reading, processing information without discovering anything valuable, anything useful for the case they were trying to build.

A case that was currently non-existent because of said shortage of information.

She sighed against her palms and closed her eyes. An empty nothing was better than going back to the file, with information being catapulted at her.

A headache was forming between her temples and so she stayed like that, hands half-buried in her hair and forehead leaning against her palms.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Oh god!” She jumped and placed her hand over her heart as she saw who the culprit was. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Killian stood next to her with an apologetic grimace on his lips and a plastic bag in his hand.

“Apologies, love. I did announce I was home,” he defended himself, not to take the blame off of himself but to tell her it wasn’t on purpose.

“It’s fine. It’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” She got up and quickly kissed his mouth in way of greeting.

A delicious smell wafted upwards and reached her nose, making her stomach growl. She’d forgotten to eat. Again.

“You bought Chinese?”

He’d told her that he wasn’t the biggest fan of Chinese food and that he ate it maybe once every three years (and that was a broad estimate) So every time he came home with takeout, she knew he did it for her. Because she loved it almost as much as he didn’t like it. Because he’d thought of her while walking past the Chinese restaurant and wanted to make her happy.

She should really tell him she loved him.

“I was in the mood for some spring rolls,” Killian shrugged.

Emma wasn’t falling for his act and stepped back into his personal space, lips searching his again, this time for more than just a peck.

They broke apart, their chests heaving ever so slightly as they both came up for air.

“I should best put this on the table,” he said, his hand lifting the bag of Chinese food again.

Tell him.

Emma, tell him.

“Killian?” she blurted out, her mouth acting before her mind could reconsider.

“Aye?” He turned to her with expectant eyes which definitely didn’t help with the stress that was tormenting her body right now.

Emma took a deep breath, thanks to their earlier tiny make out session, she could attribute her breathlessness to that and not to the source of her fast-beating heart and sweaty palms.

“I love you,” she said and she felt lighter instantaneously. “I thought you should know that.”

Killian left the Chinese food for what it was and strode towards her, only three big strides before he reached her, touched her, kissed her.

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” he echoed the words, whispered them against her slightly swollen lips. “I thought you should know that too.”

Laughter bubbled out of Emma with the complete happiness and tranquility she finally felt, and of that earlier frustration, there was nothing left.

-/-

“Honestly, I think it’s bollocks. He must’ve paid someone to clear his records. No one is this clean,” Samir mumbled through his full mouth of spaghetti.

Emma sipped from her glass of water and set it back down on the table before taking another bite of her own food.

Quite early on, they discovered that once the three of them—Emma, Killian, and Samir—got together to discuss their plans, it usually turned into just friends hanging out for a while as they all got along extremely well. Emma had honestly been afraid that her friend and her boyfriend wouldn’t get along at first but now, they sometimes got along too well. They had a serious bromance going on and she wouldn’t say she was jealous but she wouldn’t mind if they got along slightly less either. So they went from random meetings in the middle of the day to actual planned dinner evenings for a perfect mix of business and casual.

So that was why Samir was now stuffing his face with Killian’s divine spaghetti and commenting on how he thought the situation was bullshit.

Which Emma agreed with one hundred percent.

“I know, mate, but we have nothing else to go on,” Killian reacted.

“Have we covered all bases?” Samir asked again, but they had. “Youth? Career? Family? Anything we could’ve missed?”

Killian shook his dark locks in a negative answer.

“Milah told me he had no family to speak of so that’s a dead end.”

Emma froze, her eyes popping open as she dropped her fork on the table.

Gold’s brother.

“What did you say, Swan?” Killian frowned as Emma had apparently not only thought it but had actually spoken it out loud.

She cleared her throat before repeating what she had just come to realize. “Gold has a brother.”

“A brother?” Both Killian and Samir said in unison—there was that bromance she was speaking of.

She turned to Killian and grabbed a hold of his prosthetic.

“The guy that attacked the both of us, his name is Malcolm Gold.”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

She knew it because Malcolm’s ego got hurt and he wanted to boast about his powerful name to scare her even more.

"He told me. He might be lying but there is a similarity between the two that makes me think he was telling the truth and that they are brothers."

She got up, not waiting for any type of reaction from the both of them, not having the patience to wait for them to collect their thoughts on the information she’d just handed them.

Emma had already wasted enough time by not thinking of a lead she had had all along, from way before they had decided to try and take Gold down together. She didn’t have the time to be angry with herself right now, that would come later, now she needed to grab her computer as quickly possible.

Faster than ever before, she typed in her password and pulled up some of the online tools she’d often use while researching one of her cases. ‘Malcolm Gold’ she typed in and fervently asked Zeus, the universe, to give her this one thing, to give her something to work with.

“And?” Killian asked, still seated at the table, seemingly understanding what she was attempting to do.

She looked up from the bright computer screen and smirked at her team.

“It seems our dear Malcolm isn’t as good in hiding his tracks as his baby brother is.”

-/-

Malcolm Gold was, as Emma discovered, a man of many facets. One of them being an arsonist, another one of them being a notorious drug dealer who was the supplier of a variation of cocaine called Fairy Dust.

Not the most positive of reputations. And yet, somehow, he had spent a grand total of thirty-one hours in jail.

And there it was.

A lead.

After Emma’s discovery, it was all hands on deck; it was countless all-nighters with coffee as their only fuel. It was reading and more reading until their eyeballs went dry.

It took so much but they’d done it.

She was about ready to cry when Samir told her the news.

They had an airtight case. Gold was guilty of blackmail, extortion and the fabrication and distribution of narcotics.

And the son of a bitch was going to jail for it.

-/-

They stood in the parking lot of the courthouse, Emma and Killian leaning against Killian’s Toyota and talking in low voices in case someone overheard them. This was a big moment, something they’d worked towards for months, but Emma couldn’t stop shaking.

Months of work were depending on this. Innocent lives were depending on this. Her sanity in general was depending on this. So, it was safe to say that the stakes were pretty damn high.

From across the parking lot, she saw Samir appear, dressed in a dark suit that made him look way older than his young twenty-four years. She had total faith in him, however. He was relentless and thorough. And he was her friend.

“Hello,” he greeted them and they smiled in response.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come inside too?” Samir asked.

She looked at Killian and saw the exact same answer in his eyes. They didn’t want to face him again, not after all he had done and attempted to do. The man was a maniac and the less time they had to spend in his company, the better.

“No, Samir,” Killian said in her stead. Her hands weren’t the only thing that was shaking. “This is all you. We believe in you and we want to thank you for all that you’ve done for us. You’re a true friend.” He clasped his shoulder before going for a hug.

“What about you, Rocky Road?” Samir said as he turned to her. “Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” she finally spoke, managing the tiniest smile. “I trust you completely.” Emma looked him in the eye, reassured when she saw the embers burn in his eyes. “Go destroy him.”

Samir smiled at her and nodded sternly before giving her a hug as well. “For what he did to you,” he whispered as his arms were around her, “–gladly.”

Gold was not prepared for the fury he was about to meet.

“If it’s alright with you, mate, I’m taking Emma home,” Killian said and Emma looked at him in confusion. That wasn’t what they had planned.

Before she could question it, he silently grabbed her hand and squeezed and while she didn’t exactly fully understand what he was saying, she understood enough to not disagree. He really wanted to take her home, so she’d let him. There wasn’t a lot she could do on a courthouse parking lot, either way.

“Fine by me,” Samir replied, “I’ll call you with the verdict.”

Emma was curious about what Killian’s plans were once they got home but he simply took off his jacket as they entered the apartment, toed off his shoes, motioned her to take off her own and led her to the couch once she had. He settled into it and opened his arms to welcome her, an invitation she’d glady–always– accept.

For the time they lay on the couch, there was only Killian and nothing else. No sorrow or fear, only love and warmth. Her hands finally stopped trembling.

In the peace of the purest tranquility, she fell asleep surrounded by him. His heartbeat under her head, his scent in her nose, his legs tangled with hers.

It must’ve been hours later when she woke up, her body still glued to his but the light entering through the window completely different from when they had first gotten comfortable in the sofa. Cranking her eyes open, she looked up and found Killian looking at her with soft eyes, hand smoothing over some unruly blonde hair. He bowed his head and tenderly pressed his lips to her hair.

“We won.”

She sought his eyes and saw the honesty and contentment that lovely shade of blue emitted. Emma didn’t reply to his statement, not in words anyway. She just tightened her arms around him even more and kissed his collarbone before closing her eyes and feeling yet another kiss on her skin, this time on her forehead.

And at last, the mist of grey had lifted and left just the tiniest sparkle of brightness.

-------------------------------------

And that's it. Our bbis get a happy ending and all was well. I'd like to thank you all for coming onto this ride with me and staying loyal fans as the fic progressed. I'd like to thank everyone who left a comment, a like, fun tags, a kudos. While writing the chapters, I sometimes thought "but what if no one likes this fic I've been working on for months", but the response has been incredible so thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope you enjoyed the ride and I hope you have a lovely 2019. Bye!

#csbb #captain swan #cs ff #captain swan big bang #cs au #cs mc #AMHoG #my words and sentences

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casworan · 5 years

Photo

❝ pride was fed to him from a silver spoon and now that he’s grown up, he’s grabbed the spoon and fed his ego some more. ❞ THOMAS HAYES? No, that’s actually CASWORAN ROWLE. Only EIGHTEEN years old, this SLYTHERIN alumni works as a PHILANTHROPIST and is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as A CIS MAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be SNOBBISH, ENTITLED, and CRUEL but also DISCIPLINED, METICULOUS and CHARISMATIC.

LINKS: stats, pinboard, playlist. CHARACTER PARALLELS: schmidt (new girl), henry winter (the secret history), alistair ryle (the riot club), chad radwell (scream queens), chad charming (descendants) --- (how are two of these named chad wtf) HELLO uh just a heads up that i donut condone any of the behaviour this shithole throws into the world. yikes! also there’s some triggers in here for abuse and terminal illness, but they will be marked <3

history

let’s get one thing straight --- emrick rowle and hemera rosier did not love each other when they married each other and they knew about it. they both agreed that their marriage was a good choice, a smart move, that it would benefit both and --- well, they both had ambition streaming through their veins, so the choice was made easily. they married, for political reasons, for money, but absolutely not for love.

casworan was born a year into their marriage and was the perfect son. he wasn’t given a welsh name like so many rowles before him had, but a cornish one, celebrating hemera’s mother’s cornish ancestry.

casworan means one who is powerful in battle, which emrick liked. he wanted a soldier, a pawn, a piece in his great chess match that was the world.

cas is a cousin to genie, wes and lo, and also to seren on his mother’s side.

and casworan’s parents might not love each other, they did love him. his mother’s love was doting and smothering, but genuine and unconditional. his father’s was conditional, and based on expectations and constantly changing from hot to cold. emrick raised casworan to the perfect heir, the perfect son, the perfect pawn.

emrick rowle is a strategist, but also a coward. he uses his money and influence to pull strings behind the scenes, but is never the one to publicly call the shots. casworan is his son, but he’s also ... another piece in the game. he’s the person who’ll pick up where he left off, and emrick won’t leave everything to someone he does not trust and respect.

hemera is evan rosier’s daughter, by the way, and by no means a sweetheart, but a better parent. compared to emrick, the standard is quite low but still --- she is a better parent, and casworan is a complete momma’s boy.

so casworan grows up --- spoiled dirty and loved by both parents. he learns languages (french and kernowek from his mother, latin and english grammar and such from a tutor), learns to play the violin, learns about his family’s history and legacy and how it intertwines with the rest of the history of the wizarding world, learns about blood purity and how one day he and his parents will rise above all the unworthy members of their society. he takes it all up and questions nothing, both because he has no reason to, and because his parents are convincing.

abuse tw (verbal and physical) // that’s not to say life was perfect. there was always a certain coldness at home. the lack of love between cas’ parents was clear to him from a young age, and it’s quite a strange thing, when your parents don’t seem to love each other but dont have any issue with it. there was no room for failure at home, no room for toeing the line. his father’s words could go from praising and prideful to harsh and cruel in seconds, his hands hard and unforgiving. casworan learned to keep his back straight and work harder and to swallow whatever anger he felt. he listened to every word that came from his father’s lips and took them in as truth and never questioned the way things were. end of tw

casworan went to hogwarts at age eleven ( he’d seen the castle before, of course --- he’d visited hogsmeade plenty of times before with his mother ) and was sorted into slytherin there. it was an easy sorting --- there were not many non-slytherin qualities the hat saw, besides maybe a sense of loyalty and a hunger for learning but cas’ cunning, shrewdness and ambition outweighed everything.

hogwarts came easy to casworan. he was a good learner and knew plenty of people from his life before school -- people who ran in the same circles. to branch out wasn’t something he felt he needed to do, with a few exception here or there ( for either particularly skilled people or other purebloods he didn’t know yet ). casworan likes learning, values his education and was, well, a nerd. a hardworking student. was in a few clubs too, i’m sure --- i will get back on that when i have it figured out for plotting purposes!

terminal illness tw // in casworan’s third year, his mother fell ill. it was a genetic disease, an incurable one, one that soon left her weakened and bedbound and tired. his father’s response wasn’t to stick to her side --- they didn’t love each other after all, and in all honesty, hemera didn’t want him on her side either --- but to flee in stead. his involvement in shady dealings grew and he retreated to the city more and more for work. casworan ... well, didn’t respond very well.

abuse tw // he raged. he cried and raged and kicked against his father’s shins and demanded that he solved this because, well, the world had always given casworan exactly what he wanted, and when he got something he absolutely did not want, the one person he could blame was his father. he acted like a child because he was one, and his mother was going to die, and his father broke the news in such a cold way that he couldn’t help but rage. his tantrum was met with cold eyes and the same cruelty cas had felt before.

this was when a seed of hate for his father started to grow, something he’d never even dared to feel before. it’s still growing to this day. end of abuse tw //

a family friend moved in to help his mother, and they got a second house elf and life changed, thigns shifted. casworan learned what it was to feel out of control and well, he didn’t like it one bit. he’s entitled and spoiled and used to getting everything he wants and this situation is something he has absolutely no say in and it drives him mad. rather than give him some perspective, it just makes him act more entitled and controlling in the rest of his life. end of terminal illness tw //

so cas makes his way through hogwarts, acting like an entitled twat, hanging with his lads, having a laff here and there and earning a whole lot of NEWTs. he had no qualms sharing his world views or sharing his entitled nature, here and there showing a more violent and cruel streak. casworan is a bully, an elitist prick, someone who looks down on most people.

when the war breaks out, well --- he’s quick to sign up. he believes in the cause, of course, and there’s no other option, really. he’s been prepped for this life. this is what he was made to do. he doesn’t even consider not joining. and so he joins and feels pride and power and a thirst to proof everyone around him that he’s the motherfucking shit. what an IDIOT.

besides his death eater life, cas is mostly focused on maintaining his image. like his father, he works hard on things like charity and philanthropy, so his name appears in the newspaper linked with good news almost exclusively. he’s picky, of course, about the causes he works for ----- things related to education, he genuinely works for, but there’s also some questionable things he donates to.

and then besides that, cas is mostly focused on enjoying life. getting drunk or high out of his mind, fucking shit up with the lads, having a good old time because guess what? the world is his to own and ruin, and he won’t stop at nothing. he’s entitled and obnoxious, but he always pays and tips well and sees absolutely no issues with his behaviour. he can’t wait for the world to become even more his as the war progresses.

personality & tidbits

...... an asshole.

no literally he’s such an asshole. he’s so fucking used to the world catering to his ugly needs and getting everything he wants and he’s so entitled and such an ASSHOLE.

someone please punch him

anyway --- he likes Extra things. velvet and silk and rich fabrics and leather shoes and accessories with snake themes and polo shirts and ... he dresses like a frat boy, but then mixed with wizarding fashion

ugly.

pretentious and snobbish to a fault. wants nothing but the best and is used to the best. would often complain about the house elves and their quality of food at hogwarts, because his house elves were much better cooks, they had been trained in france after all!!!

kind of hates his name and prefers to go by cas at all times, and i dont blame him

has daddy and mommy issues lmao !!!

capitalist right wing scum, tbh. would have voted trump and brexit and all that shit if he was a real person. I HATE HIM SO MUUUUUCHHHHHHH.

“if youre poor, thats your own fault!”

he is literally the worst person

i hate-write this character its a load of fun

he loves his hair lmao

plays the violin and generally likes classical music? a snob, i told yall. also likes other music, let me figure it out pls thanks

okay let’s talk about some of his better sides because so far all ive done is drag this kid and thats reasonable, but ... he’s got some good things, i guess.

he’s a good friend. like, if you’re his mate, you’re his mate for life (or until you turn your back, which is when he will feel hurt and will hurt u back yike!). he’ll be there for u Big Time. not good at emotional support, but good at sitting with a glass of wine/whiskey and talking/listening. will finance u if u need it (he doesnt like poor ppl but makes an exception for friends i guess?). will punch someone for u.

he ... does really value education? he would just like to see hogwarts change around bc there’s so much unnecessary shit (read: muggleborn students and subjects like muggle studies and divination). but yeah, he rly thinks that learning is important and that u have to ~broaden your mind ( but not too much ofc )

he is pretty family oriented, and rn he’s of course 18 so that’s not a big thing, but he’d be a ... proper dad? i think? he rly wants a big fam eventually

still a dick

good dueller and generally a pretty skilled wizard which is a bummer :/

loves partying and getting drunk out of his mind and then breaking stuff that isnt his, very riot club like

idk what else to say but HE IS AN ASSHOLE.

#iidyintro #yikes tm

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larissaloki · 5 years

Text

Walking avengers 18

Sorry its taken so long, decided to split this chapter as I'm struggling with the next bit!! Hope you all enjoy!

Colossus’s group was not what Sam expected at all, despite the various hints about their group, Sam was still surprised when Thor and he were introduced to them.

In front of them, crowded inside a small living room; wooden beam supports are placed here and there, most furniture sees to of been moved out of the room to leave space for bedding on one side. Windows boarded up and heavy fabrics cover them to make sure no light escapes, alerting the dead that the are there. Nearer the door to the left is supplies and bags piled up, easy and quick to grab in a hurry, the only bit of furniture left in the room is the sofa, cushions dark with dirt and tears here and there from weapons nicking them.

Sat on the sofa currently, is an old man; bold and in what looks to be washed out faded jeans and a plaid shirt. The man looks to be in his 50s at least, his eyes watch the new arrivals calmly and with a soft welcoming look framed by laugh lines and crows feet by the eyes.

Besides him, eating out of a metal container, is an elderly old, blind women, her dark skin has laugh lines and crows feet same as the man besides her. She’s wearing a tatty purple jumper that has obviously seen better days, she wears dark soft looking joggers.

The last one on the sofa is a young adult Indian man, he seems to be trying to clean a gun, following Logan’s direction who sat on the floor with Negasonic and another male. The last guy has light brown hair that would probably look blonde in the summer sun, his face is what most would consider handsome, the kind of face that would have been popular in school.

“Hello everyone, I hope Logan told you about the group we met? This is two of the members, Sam and Thor. They have come to see us and take us to their base if they are happy with our group” Colossus introduced Sam and Thor to the group had now turned to give the their full attention.

“Welcome Sam” the old man nodded at him as he greeted him before turning to Thor and nods at him as well, “Thor, I am Charles Xavier. This lovely lady besides me is Al and on the end is Dophinder. On the floor here is Negasonic who I’m sure you have already met, Logan and this is Johnny. We call him Pyro”

Smiling serenely, Charles whole personality seems to bleed safe and gentle. Sam can feel all tension leaving his bones as he looks at the elder man, muscles he didn’t realise were tense are now relaxing.

It’s Thor who nods back at him with a smile of his own, “aye, nice to meet you all though wish it was under better circumstances.”

“It is a shame indeed”

Heaving a sigh, Sam approaches forward a bit into the crowded room, eyes trailing over each person as he silently evaluates them all.

“We would like to invite you all to live in the same camp as us, work with us against our shared enemy. They took one of our people recently which is how we met some of you”

“Logan told us what happened, I’m sorry this has happened to your group. We would all like to extend our help to your group in defending against Francis and get your friend back”

Charles voice is calm and soothing as he speaks, yet firm and with utter confidence; Sam is positive that Charles could speak with such conviction that Sam could take on an entire hoard with one dagger.

The blind lady, introduced as Al puts her food container down finally and licks her lips, trying to gather the last of the beans sauce.

“Is the place where your group is stationed safe? What is your group like? I don’t want to move to a place easily invaded sweetie”

Sam could understand her concern, that’s why they have people seeing each group, to see them for themselves without having everyone in potential danger. Thankfully its Yukio who speaks up as she packs away some of their supplies, an opinion they would trust.

“It’s a big place, lots of rooms to booby trap and hide in if we get attacked. The group themselves are nice” she smiles sweetly as she presses a quick kiss to Negasonic’s lips as she passes her. “I’d say we would be safe there with them”

“Aye, the Avengers are a strong group, joining together we would be stronger. We have vehicles outside to move you all back to our place tonight if you wish to join us?”

Extending the offer, Thor looks between each person but settles his gaze on Charles, sensing that the elder man is the one that calls the shots here. Thor’s heightened senses can tell that Charles is a Sun, his calming aura only evidence of a lifetime using it to his advantage to influence situations and keeping everyone level headed. Even Thor can feel the effects and all tension bleed out from him, yet he knew nothing bad would happen to him not Sam here, that Charles was most likely trying to avoid any conflict or simply does this without realising now.

“I’m sure we would all love to join your group” Charles addresses his group asking for their vote; unsurprisingly they all voted in favour of going.

Sam and Thor helped the group pack up for the journey, helping Charles get his battered wheelchair loaded up while Logan carried him. Logan seemed particularly protective of Charles Sam noted, nearly always hovering nearby Charles when he could and being the one to help him when Charles asks for help.

Dophinder seemed to be the one in charge of watching Al as he helped her into the camper with the others. Most bags being thrown into the back of the truck so that everyone could fit into the camper.

The ride back was slow but silent, not wanting to attract any Deado’s as they made their way through the streets, they were also on high alert for any ambushes from Francis’s group. Weapons gripped tightly and senses dialed to 11. The hooting of an owl making them all jump at one point.

Sam was never so happy before in his life to see the drive and gates that lead to the mansion, drawing close to the gates, he pulled to a stop letting Thor off to open the gates.

Quick as he can, Thor makes his way to the gates, glancing around to make sure no one is hiding close by when his foot kicks something on the ground. Pausing and looking down to see what it was he kicked, Thor sees a small black walkie talkie. Taped to the front is some writing that he can’t make out in the dark, bending to retrieve it Thor realises it says Stark on the taped on bit of paper.

Feeling a sliver of unease go down his spine, Thor hurriedly pocketed the device and got the gates open as fast as he could, standing to the side to let Sam through before locking them up tightly again.

Getting back into the truck, Sam gives him a concerned look as he drives up to the mansion.

“What was that you picked up outside the gates Thor?”

Silently, Thor took out the device and passed it over once they pulled to a stop. Sam’s sharp intake of breath told Thor that Sam must have had a similar feeling as he did. Whatever is on the other side of this device, could not surely be anything good. Thor dreaded handing it over to Tony once inside.

Again, they all worked together to get everyone inside, Loki and Bucky coming out to help as they had been watching through the windows, awaiting their arrival. Once inside, everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief, no longer a moving target out in the open.

Locking the door and casting a few wards and alarms on the door, Loki glances at the new group with an analytical gaze, storing away any tidbits of information he notices. Bucky seems to be doing the same to his side, the winter soldier training in him doing it practically on autopilot. Bucky may hate the years in Hydras grasp and he may despise what they did to him and made him do, but he cannot deny that the skills he picked up and honed has helped him survive this hell so far.

“Thanks for the help getting inside man” Sam nods at Bucky patting his shoulder as he passes him. “do you know which rooms are set up for these guys?”

“Me and Natasha set up the wing opposite ours, for everyone’s comfort both groups have a distance from each other, while still maintaining a sense of closeness and safety” Loki draws as he walks around the group, heading for the stairs leading up to the upper levels.

“Thank you for the consideration” Charles smiles softly at them all, still held in Logan’s arms, wheelchair being carried in Logan’s other hand.

Tipping his head politely, Loki calls for Thor to help the group carry everything upstairs to show the group to their rooms, allowing them to finally get settled in for the night. Bucky watches the weary and tired group trudge up the stairs, obviously exhausted from running all the time; looking themselves for much more permanent homes to dig in roots again.

Groaning, Bucky cracks his neck and rubs at the sore muscles, turning to Sam to bid him goodnight, just wanting to go to bed and drag Tony finally away from his project frenzy with Bruce. He pauses when he sees the worried look on Sam’s face, biting his bottom lip as he plays with something in his pocket.

“What’s wrong Wilson?”

Jumping at being caught, Sam glances at Bucky quickly before diverting his eyes to his own pocket again. With a heavy sigh, Sam pulls out the device he still had on him.

“Thor found this outside the gates when we came back… “

Handing the device over, Sam sees how Bucky’s eyes are immediately drawn to the tag with Tony’s name on it. The hand writing unfamiliar to him but Bucky is 99% positive Francis is involved with this thing.

“Do you think this has something to do with Francis?” Sam wondered quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the suddenly vast entrance hallway.

“Undoubtedly” Bucky pursed his lips in irritation. Its way to late to deal with this but again, it could be something they will want to deal with sooner rather than later. If this has something to do with Steve, they will want to know tonight.

“I’ll go get Tony, Bruce, Nat and Clint if he’s up. You go see if Loki, Thor and whoever from the other group wants to join us. Meet you in the sun room down here in 20 minutes?”

“Sure thing”

Agreeing with a Bucky’s orders, Sam sets off up the stairs first. Leaving Bucky rubbing at his face in sudden bone deep exhaustion. If they didn’t have the undead to worry about, this wouldn’t have been as difficult, plans much more easily planned and the government on their side. As it is, they have so many things running against them, that what would normally probably be an easy rescue mission; was now mission impossible.

He can guess that the opponent is bombarding them with all this, to make them sloppy, rash in their decisions and easier to take down.

It’s how the winter soldier would of gone about something like this.

It’s nearly 30 minutes later when Bucky could pry Tony and Bruce from tinkering with the spare tech, meeting Sam downstairs with the Asgardian brothers, Colossus, Logan, Pyro and Charles. The rest must be settling down for the night, Nat offering to watch over the kids as well we Clint incase of any issues.

As Bucky glanced one person to the next, he noticed the increasing tiredness everyone was showing. Even Thor and Loki looked drained and weary from the last few days, the emotional roller coasters they have all been on. Hell he didn’t know what the new comers have been facing, but he has no doubt that they had similar soul draining days and encounters.

Once all seated, Bucky stood up to draw everyone’s attention.

“I know it’s late, and we all would rather be in bed right now; resting after such a busy day. However something has come up. Something we all need to talk and be present for, Sam show them what you found”

Sighing heavily, Sam holds the walkie-talkie; which Bucky had given him back once Sam had come back down with the others. Everyone’s eyes are immediately drawn to the name taped onto the front, then almost as one, they all turn to look at Tony who pales a bit. Eyes trained on the device.

Bucky takes up talking again as he takes a seat by Tony’s side, pressed tightly against him to offer comfort.

“They found this outside the gates on the way back home, it’s obvious that it’s Francis playing with us. We wanted to have everyone vote on calling now or waiting, find our what everyone thought as if we turn this on, there will most likely only be stress waiting for us on the other end.”

Taking calming breathes, absorbing the comforting smell and presence from the Dom at his side, Tony clasps the device in his hands resting in his lap. Tony is going mad being in this place, no suit to fly to bust Steve out from where ever he’s being held. So many times Steve has helped him on this journey and protected him and Peter, Tony hates the feeling of helplessness that he is experiencing right now.

“We should turn it on, the longer we take to answer the worse things could be getting for Steve and whoever else they have taken. The world may have gone to shit, but we are all still the Super Hero’s that once protected the world. We can’t let this Francis intimidate us, not now.”

Determined, Tony looks around at the others for their opinions, though he is pleased when he gets looks of agreement in return.

“This call will no doubt be staged to be as stressful as possible, aimed to push you into making rash decisions Tony. You must make sure you keep a calm head as much as possible, understood?” Charles chimes in, his soothing voice firm in a way most parental people somehow manage to have. The advice and support of the fellow Sub, strengthens Tony’s resolve to try and beat Francis at his own game. Simply having everyone there for support was helping him keep himself calm as possible.

“I’ll try as best as I can, Bucky I want you to intervene if you think I’m making bad calls OK?”

“no problem doll-“

“Are we sure it’s OK for Tony to call? You all had an emotional day, perhaps we can contact on your behalf?”

Concerned, Colossus speaks up. His face drawn into an uncomfortable frown, everyone pretty quickly got the impression that the big guy was very protective of every one around him; be it sub, dom or switch. Because of this, Tony found he felt no offense at Colossus’s concern for him, it came from genuine concern and not a sexiest view that he wouldn’t be able to handle this. The action reminded him briefly of how Steve is.

“Don’t worry wrecking ball, I’m OK to do this, I have you all here to help me or take over if I can’t handle it OK?”

Nodding, though still tense, Colossus sits back to listen. Bucky gives Tony’s shoulder a quick squeeze for courage and support, muscles tense with the impulse to steal the device and rip Francis a new one. Bucky was not looking forward to this conversation.

Taking a deep breath, Tony brings the device up closer to be able to speak into it, clicking a button to turn it on. Static crackles through the air.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me? This is Tony Stark. You left this outside our gates” Taking his finger off the button, Tony listens for any reply. Static seems to fill the room as every one holds their breathe in union.

It almost makes them all jump when they get a reply.

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