#how do they haul that shit around on their poor neck while still having the agility to dance around me in a fight

[oneforthemunny]

I want to do primal play with cowboy eddie where he tracks me down on his horse and when he find me he hog ties me and spanks me over his lap on his horse

oh non.

what have you done.

you've got my wheels turning big time. holy shit.

18+ minors dni!!!!!!!!

you play 'hide and seek' always you hiding, always eddie finding you.

you have five minutes to hide. he puts it on a timer not he porch, going inside to wait for you.

"don't cheat, eddie!" you always squeal, and he always tells you he won't, and he doesn't. why would he? where's the fun in that.

you know you could head down the road, run down he dirt path and make it towards the road and really win, but you wouldn't be winning at all, truthfully. eddie wouldn't find you and then you'd win, and really, you didn't want to win.

so instead you hide- in the barn, in the fields, sometimes on the porch, once at the backdoor. you had unlocked it, waited until the timer shrilled and eddie went to the stables to get medusa, his beloved black mare, before slipping inside, cheekily waiting on the bed for hours.

this time, you snuck behind the barn, in your tall boots and little flashlight- eddie made you carry just in case. you pressed your back against the wood, hearing the shrill of the timer sound from the porch, eddie's heavy boots on the creaking planks of wood.

you hear medusa's neigh, hooves stamping on the ground and eddie's gruff whisper. "let's go find her, sweet girl. can't let her win, can we?"

you grin because you know he won't find you here, too close to the stables. he always went behind the pasture first.

or so you thought.

medusa's loud whine makes you jump, footing falling and stumbling into the barn. you pause, heart hammering in your ears, the light from the barn all that illuminates the night sky around you.

"hm," eddie hums, his voice getting closer. "maybe I don't need you after all."

your eyes squeeze shut, willing yourself to move. you can hear him getting closer and closer to the back door. the creaking of the door awakens your senses, heavy boots stomping through the tall grass towards the pastures. the boots are tall, rubber hitting the back of your knees with every pounding run.

eddie's hot on your trails, a salacious grin that shines in the moonlight, pounding towards you as you sprint towards the fence. your barely reaching for the wooden door before two rough hands grab you, yanking you and pulling you into his firm chest with a solid oomph.

"oh, you went too easy on me this time, girlie." eddie grins, hot breath tickling the back of your neck, making you squirm in his grasp. "you musta really wanted me to catch ya."

"no," you whine, though the aching between your legs tells you something different. "I fell! that shouldn't count! I had a really good hiding place." you stomp your boot on the ground, pouting up at him, bottom lip jutted in the light of the moon.

"oh, poor baby," eddie mocks, hands still gripping the fat of your hips. "I tell ya what, I'll only use my hand on you tonight, how's that?"

you pout but let him haul you back to the house, flinging you over his propped knee, peppering your ass with hard smacks like his own sort of prize- and in a way, it was. it was even more of a prize when he had you over the kitchen table, drooling and clawing at the wood while his cock split you open, soaking the floor beneath him in a puddle of your own release, hips snapping into the blazed, reddened skin of your ass.

it was your favorite game to play. even when you lost, you really won, always knowing it would end with you like this; ruined with an aching ass, while eddie fucked you relentlessly for hours.

[scribbleshanks]

The Pure Vessel better not be a snitching vessel.

[ragingbookdragon]

I Saw It Coming When You Threw The First Punch

Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence

Author's Note: I honestly feel like I get my irritation from people out by writing stories where the characters punch people. I live vicariously through my characters. Enjoy! -Thorne

Getting the call that his wife had been taken into GCPD custody was not one that Bruce had ever expected to receive. Not in a million years. And yet, low and behold, Gordon had called sounding apologetic that she’d been detained after a physical altercation at the gala she’d hosted earlier that evening.

Which was absolutely baffling to him, because the only person more anal retentive about screwing up at a gala than Alfred, was his wife. So, something must’ve seriously set her off if she’d hauled off on somebody. And Gordon had made it quite clear that it was his wife that threw the first punch, though beyond that, he didn’t know what else had occurred because she’d invoked her rights to the company lawyer and to remain silent, simply staring at the wall while the other officers tried to get a story out of her—Bruce knew she wouldn’t crack. Other than him, his wife had a reserve that no man, alien, or god could break. He’d never say it, but he was envious of his wife’s willpower.

He arrived rather quickly with all four sons in tow, knowing that the sight of the entire family would probably help her chances of getting out and they waited patiently to be escorted to where she was being held.

When they arrived at the interrogation room, they saw her sitting there with crossed legs, hands placed palm down on the table. Her eyes were closed in what Bruce recognized as her deep meditative state; the one she used to fight off telepathic control from enemies—she was probably recounting what happened that night.

“What are the charges?” he asked Gordon and the older man sighed.

“Simple battery and public disturbance.”

Bruce hummed lowly in his throat and gazed at his wife. “How do you see this playing out for her?”

“If the woman she keelhauled doesn’t press charges, there’s possibility of probation with community service.”

He had to play naïve. “And if she does?”

Gordon met his gaze. “Then you’re looking at your wife going into lockup for a year.”

Bruce let out a sigh. “I’ll call our lawyer then.”

“I’ll give you and your wife some privacy,” he replied, hitting a button on the keypad beside the door, and the glass went dark while the glowing red button recording the room turned off.

“Thank you, Gordon,” he said, and the detective waved as he walked off, closing the door to the interrogation room behind him. Bruce looked at his sons. “Let’s go see what set your mom off tonight.”

***

The door to the room opened but she didn’t open her eyes, still under the cold water in her retreat.

“(Y/N),” someone murmured and though the voice was familiar, she didn’t come to yet.

“(Y/N),” they repeated a bit firmer. “Come back up.”

Ever so slowly, she allowed her mind to come back from the deep waters and she opened her eyes, smiling at her husband and sons.

“Good evening family.” Damian immediately sprinted to her and buried his face in her neck, and she laughed, running a hand through his short dark hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You are in trouble,” he murmured and pulled away to look into her eyes. “We will do whatever you need, Umi.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Don’t worry about me baby. Knowing Little Miss Martha May, she’s not going to press charges over our spat.”

“I think simple battery is bit more than a spat, mom,” Dick worried, brows furrowing in concern. “What did you two even start fighting about?”

Her eyes darted to the glass then to Bruce and he said, “Gordon turned off the cameras.”

“Mom,” Tim started, and she looked at him; he held up his phone screen. “I just assured that you’re protected here.”

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I knew I should’ve just walked away but I couldn’t help it. She just set me off like a match to gunpowder.”

“What’d you guys even duke it out over,” Jason questioned, and she sighed again, recounting the night.

***

“You’ve thrown another wonderful party, Miss Wayne,” Lucius murmured, handing her a champagne glass.

She grinned widely, thanking him. “Thank you, Lucius, I try.”

“Clan couldn’t come tonight?”

“You’ve always been perceptive about us, haven’t you?”

“To use your words, I try,” he laughed, and she nodded.

“Patrol started early tonight,” she said inconspicuously, eyes shifting around to glance at who was walking near them. “Besides, most of them only come to these to appease the crowd.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re the only one who actually enjoys these.”

“Only when Bruce and the kids are here,” she corrected. “It’s easier to bullshit when they’re here to pick up the slack.”

He barked a laugh and she chuckled in return when someone walked up to them. She turned and immediately grimaced at the old classmate of hers.

“(Y/N), such a beautiful party you’ve thrown tonight,” the woman greeted, though it was laced with cheerful fakeness.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Good evening, Marianne. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Oh, you know me, I’m always up for a party.” Her eyes drifted around. “Where is your husband? I wanted to thank him for the gift basket he sent after my operation.” Marianne gave her a sarcastic smile. “Isn’t it rather off for a host to avoid his own party?”

Note to self, yell at Bruce for sending her a gift.

“He had to work late tonight. So did the boys.” (Y/N) matched her smile. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to know that you thought of them though.”

Something shifted in Marianne’s eyes. “Oh yes, the children you have.” She leaned in close and murmured, “You know I’ve been hearing some rather negative rumors about yours and Bruce’s decision to adopt orphans rather than have some of your own.”

(Y/N) blinked, not sure if she should be shocked or unimpressed. “Really? Care to enlighten me?”

Marianne waved a hand. “The major one is that you simply took pity on the strays because you were barren.” She felt like she’d been slapped across the face and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the woman.

Apparently, that was all the ammunition that Marianne needed because she offered a sympathetic smile an placed a hand on (Y/N)’s arm. “Oh, you poor dear.” She patted her arm again. “You should’ve come to me instead of adopting orphans. I would’ve been happy to be a surrogate for you.”

(Y/N) shrugged the hand off her arm and reached up, pulling the silver teardrop earrings from her ears. “Yeah, those orphans aren’t mine, not biologically.”

She pulled off her diamond wedding rings and handed them and the earrings over to Lucius who took them and stepped back.

“But you know what they are?” she glowered at Marianne and seethed, “They’re my sons.”

The next thing anyone knew, the two women were rolling on the floor, their hostess throwing punches that seemed to make everyone wince when they connected to the woman’s face.

***

“And all I remember was being escorted down here,” she finalized, eyes drifting to Bruce’s.

He simply stared at her for a moment before he let out a heavy sigh and put his face in his hands. “I’m proud that you defended our family, but at the same time, I’m disappointed that you let Marianne set you off.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you’re taking her side?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Bruce shot back. “If she decides to press charges, you’re going to be in lockup for a year.”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that, (Y/N).”

“No, I do,” she blinked and leaned forward. “If Marianne doesn’t want me to ruin her image with shit she did when she was a teenager, she’ll keep her mouth shut and take the blame for this.”

“What’d she do, Ma?” Jason questioned curiously and she turned her attention to him.

“Enough that’ll disgrace her image amongst every elite this side of the globe if she tries me anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything, the door opened and they turned, seeing Gordon walking in. “Good evening, Miss Wayne,” he greeted, and she smiled.

“Good evening, Jim. How’s your night so far?”

He chuckled. “Not too bad. I got to detain my favorite socialite and listen to all my officers speculate what she did.”

(Y/N) lifted her hands palm up beside her shoulders. “I live to please, Jim, you know that.”

“I do.” He walked over and handed her a few papers. “When asked if she wanted to press charges, Marianne Walters declined. She instead gave a rather detailed statement that she instigated the fight and threw the first punch.” He stared at the busted lip she had. “Does that match what happened?”

She quickly looked over the papers and nodded. “Yes, that���s true.”

Gordon sighed. “Do you wish to press charges?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No,” she smiled. “There’s no reason to make a fuss about this.”

“…Miss Wayne, you and Miss Walters are all over the news.”

She shrugged. “And people have very short memories. They’ll forget about this.” She handed back the papers. “Send this to my lawyer and she’ll handle it with the prosecutors.”

“You think they won’t press charges despite Walters?” Gordon asked and she nodded.

“Oh, they won’t,” she said then looked at the clock. “Am I free to leave? It’s been a long night.”

Gordon let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes Miss Wayne, you’re free to leave now.”

(Y/N) rose. “Wonderful.” She looked at her sons. “Boys, let’s go.”

They followed her and Bruce stood from the table, standing beside Gordon. “Thank you, Jim.”

Gordon grunted. “I know (Y/N) threw the first punch.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do.” He huffed. “And I don’t blame her either.” He watched (Y/N) laugh at something Dick said while the others groaned around him. “You’ve got a good woman, Bruce. Good wife. Even better mother.”

Bruce looked at his wife and let an easy smile cross his lips as she pulled them all into hugs. “Yeah…yeah, I do, don’t I.”

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Of Constellations & Creeds

Chapter 21: Fire of Devotion 

Summary/Author’s Note: Din presents you with a gift that he has had for while. You start exploring what it means to work as a team and meet a fiery mechanic that takes a shine to you. 

There is a note at the end for what something looks like if you guys are having a hard time picturing it. I tried to do my best. Thank you for reading! 

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!reader (Alpha/Omega/soulmates AU) Word Count:  5k Warnings/Promises: Mature/18+ - language, sexual themes, weapons/shooting

[Previous Chapter] [Series Masterlist] [My Complete Masterlist]

--

This is what dreaming felt like. 

You were the perfect temperature of warm bodies and crisp blankets. Sprawled among the sheets, you lucidly stretched your body as your mind slowly woke up the rest of your limbs. You started by wiggling your toes while you listened to the birds chitter in the trees outside the barn, your ankles, your back, and lastly your arms. You quietly popped your fingers as you brought them up to rub gently at the back of your sore neck with a groan. 

"Shit."

You winced as you stretched your arms and suddenly remembered why your shoulder was so tender. Rotating the cuff much slower, you worked the stiffness out of the muscle until you could move it more freely. That was at least a little better. 

Before falling into bed last night, Din had ravished you against the wall, then again on the ground, neither one of you able to stop long enough to tear yourselves apart. The idea of moving into the comfort of your bed never came up, due to not wanting to wake the kid and once again...that required you to stop touching each other. Whatever discomfort you felt had absolutely been worth it. 

The morning sun was warm on your face and you opened your eyes to find the Mandalorian facing you...still helmetless. You had worried the moment you fell asleep everything would have ceased to have happened. You really wouldn't have seen his face. You really wouldn't have received his mark. But he had sleepily assured you that closing your eyes erased nothing and he promised to be here when you woke up. Everything you had done last night was no dream. It had been very, very real. 

“Din?” you whispered almost inaudible, as if to test him. 

His eyes were closed and his mouth open ever so slightly as he continued to sleep with his arm bent behind his head against his pillow. He looked younger in the sunlight. The gentle rays tinting his already light brown skin to a warm sienna, it did the same to his hair, finding the small strands of molten gold throughout the tousled dark curls. He was so handsome and you had yet to tell him, but something told you he wouldn't believe you even if you did. 

Did Mandalorians have a concept of beauty? When you spent your entire adolescence with a helmet on, you couldn’t imagine it mattered much what the person underneath looked like. It leveled the playing field so to speak. While society squabbled over such trivial attributes, you imagined Mandalore was more concerned with your ability to win a fight, to negotiate, to contribute to your clan.

It used to be easy to look at him with disdain. Then that disdain turned to something little more than convenient indifference. It was easy to blame him for the destruction of your home world, for the loss of your old life. Anger was always easier. And yet as you looked at him now, and fought the desperate urge to trace the bridge of his nose with the tip of your finger, you knew you felt something else towards him. Something that you hadn't felt in a very long time. Something that felt a lot like affection...a lot like love.

Yes, to you Din was beautiful. But then again when you loved someone, weren’t they always? There was that word again. It made you smile quietly to yourself as you mulled it over in your mind. 

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, a chaste kiss that caused a soft groan to come from somewhere deep in his chest as his arm slid around your middle. 

"Good morning," you whispered against his mouth and he grunted, not bothering to open his eyes. 

"Ten more minutes."

You smiled, kissing him again as he pulled you closer. You reached down and grabbed the blanket before pulling it up over the both of you more securely. For a man that never took a break, he loved sleep more than anyone you had ever met. 

"Alright, ten more minutes," you said quietly as you moved to kiss his cheek before tucking your head under his chin against his chest and closing your eyes. 

--

Saying goodbye to Omera and Sorgan was more painful than you imagined it would be. She was the first person who understood your struggle. If it weren't for her who knew how long it would take you and the Mandalorian to find one another. But no matter how you felt, you couldn't stay here and she couldn't come with you. It seemed everywhere you went there was something new to lose, a new heartache to experience, and as you hugged her tightly and held back your tears she was added to the long list of loss in your life.

"You'll always have a place here," she said quietly as you squeezed her tighter. It's as if she knew you were trying not to fall apart. She felt the soft cloth that you had used to bandage your shoulder and she leaned back to see your face and give you a knowing grin. “But you are now right where you’re supposed to be.”

"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes as she fixed the shawl around your shoulders and gave your arms a pat. 

“Keep up with your meditations. They’ll help.”

“I know.”

"Take care of them," she nodded to the man behind you who was holding the child and waiting patiently for you by the cart. "But don't forget to take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The trip back through the woods to the Razor Crest was a somber one and you watched as the child stood at the back of the cart and waved its tiny three-fingered hand at the group of children who were waving in return. You leaned forward and rubbed the space between its massive ears gently. However you were feeling was probably nothing compared to the little guy. He didn't know what was going on, or that there were people hunting him, or why you couldn't stay in such a beautiful place where he had made so many friends. It was tough being a kid in such a big world. Maker, it was tough being an adult in such a big world. 

You looked back as you felt Din put his hand on the small of your back and lean his helmet against your temple for the briefest of moments. You lowered your walls ever so slightly and accepted the comfort that he sent your way. Maybe Omera had been right, maybe he had wanted to stay too. 

--

Being back on the Razor Crest came pretty naturally to the three of you and to say you were surprised was an understatement. Fresh supplies from Sorgan filled the storage bunker and with more variety to eat than prepackaged rations, your spirits were much higher than they had been previously. 

“Come on, kid,” you said, gently as you picked up the child and straightened his burlap cloak. “Nap time.” 

“Ba-to!” he squeaked, raising his arms up and giving you a two-toothed smile that warmed your heart. 

“Just for a little bit,” you assured him. “Then you can come up front and help pilot. Sound good?” 

“Ah-yo!”

“No, no, I promise,” you answered him like you were having a full conversation. “I’ll make him let you. You’re plenty old enough,” you scoffed with a laugh. “You just need a few phone books to sit on.”

He gave another happy squeak as you sat him in the hammock hanging above Din’s bed and tucked him in. You dug out the small stuffed frog that Winta had made for him back on Sorgan, with it’s bright blue felt skin and lopsided eyes, and helped him nestle it under his chin. You gave him a soft pat on the head and waited for him to close his eyes before pressing the button on the panel that closed the door with a quiet hiss. 

You heard your name being said from above you and you went to the ladder that led to the cockpit, looking up to see the Mandalorian looking down. He had brought the ship out of hyperdrive for the time being as you researched a plan of action. Without coordinates, it was pointless to travel in circles and waste precious fuel.

“Can you come up here for a second?” he asked and you nodded. 

Taking one rung at a time, you hauled yourself up into the main hull and gratefully accepted his help in order to plop your butt on the floor with a smile. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling back. 

There had been precious little time for him to take off his helmet once you were back on the ship. Somehow the ship was less private than the bed you had shared in the barn. Although you were disappointed not to be able to look over and see his face whenever you wanted, you understood. This was a new experience for him in a way you would never understand, a type of vulnerability that you would never know, but how you longed to kiss him properly again. You wanted to feel his lips on the back of your neck as he curled himself behind you for sleep. All selfish reasons, of course, but that didn’t diminish them in any capacity. 

“What’s up?” you asked as you leaned back on your hands and looked at him where he stooped beside the captain’s chair. 

“I got you something.”

“Me?” You leaned up with widening eyes as you put a hand to your chest in question. 

“Is there someone else I’m traveling with?” he asked and you glared at him before realizing it was his poor attempt at dry humor. “Yes, you.”

He moved under the chair and dragged a medium sized trunk out from the alcove created by the dashboard and the control panel. You recognized it as the trunk he had received from the armorer back on Nevarro. It was a dark slate colored material and he popped the latches before 

beckoning you closer.

“I hope you like them.”

“Whatever it is,” you encouraged him. “I’m sure I will.”

“You don’t have to use any of it if you don’t want to--”

“Din, just show me.”

“Alright, okay,” he let out a heavy breath and lifted the lid before spinning the entire thing slowly around to show you.  

“You didn’t have to get me anyth--oh, goddess,” you said softly in amazement. 

Inside, carefully protected by a velvet type of lining, were crafted pieces of a silver metal. You hesitated, reaching out to touch one of them and thinking better of it before looking at him as if you needed permission. With a careful nod of his helmet, you picked up one of the cylindrical pieces and brought it closer for inspection. 

“Is it--?”

“Beskar,” he nodded. “It’s yours.”

“Din, I--”

He held up a gloved hand to stop any argument you may have had and helped you take the pieces out one by one. Two bracers that fit perfectly over your wrists and protected your forearms about two inches from your elbows. He took them gently and slipped them over your tender skin before locking them into place and letting you get used to the feeling. You made a fist with both of your hands a few times, opening and squeezing, testing how they felt.

“They lock like this,” he said after completing the motion. “They’ll deflect anything. Blaster-proof. Just hold your arm like you would defensively,” he instructed, pulling your arm up to protect your face and tapping it once with his finger. “Ping. Right off the beskar. We can practice.”

“Handy,” you nodded and he dove back into the box for the next piece. 

“This,” he offered the single pauldron to you, moving around your body slightly to fit it to your non-dominant shoulder. “Protects your dominant side by sitting opposite it.”

“Because I turn my body away from the blow?”

“Exactly.” He put it over your shoulder and clamped it down around your bicep. Hooking it securely across your torso. “Plus, the added weight on your dominant arm would slow you down if you’re using your staff.”

“Makes sense.”

“Move your arm,” he said and when you did, he adjusted it slightly. “How’s that?”

“It’s extremely generous and useful but--”

“No buts.”

“I--”

“You’re my Omega,” he interrupted you gently. “You have the right to wear it. And it’ll help keep you safe--and if you’re safe, I’m focused.” His hand came down to rest gently over your shoulder blade, covering the still tender skin of where he had marked you. 

He had a point but it still made your ears burn with embarrassment. You knew he didn’t mean it as an insult to your abilities. You had more than proven you could handle your own when you first met, but the knowledge that your safety proved a distraction to him still made you feel guilty. You felt the sudden need to apologize but you knew Din wouldn’t want to hear it, let alone entertain such an idea.

“There’s one more piece,” he said gently. He held it out gently and when you looked at him in confusion he offered his hands forward. “Can I?”

You nodded and sat still with your hands in your lap as he made sure any stray pieces of your hair were out of the way. Even with the gloves and his armor, he was always so gentle, so careful. When he was satisfied he held out the silver circlet and slipped it around the front of your forehead and over your temples. The blocky beskar came to a strong point between your brows and the edges came down in front of your ears to frame the sides of your face. Each subtle point that mirrored the larger one turned what would have been an ordinary face guard into something much more symbolic. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you said softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also having a hard time wrapping your head around the idea that such a piece of finery was really necessary. 

“You look breathtaking,” he argued and it made you smile. “You’re an Omega, an Ursa at that--people deserve to know.” He swallowed hard and nodded to the box. “If we find more beskar I can have a proper helmet made instead of--”

“A tiara?” you asked with a bite of wit and he chuckled. 

“It has more purpose than that, I promise.” He touched the sides that came down almost level with your jaw line. “These protect your peripherals--keeps light from obscuring your view for long range weapons.”

“Smart.”

“And this,” he touched higher, closer to your ear and a soft static hum came before you heard his next words twice, almost overlapping one another. “Has a direct com line to me.”

“That,” you put your hand over his and spoke into the mic as if to test it the other way. “Is incredibly useful.”

He gave a nod to signal that it had worked and he dropped his hand from your face to rest comfortably on your thigh. You put your hand over his and held in gently. It was beautifully crafted and you were having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that he had spent any of the rarest metal in the world on something for you. But that wasn’t the only issue, no, there was something else. An issue of the timeline. 

“When did you have this made?” you asked, tracing the metal etching that lined the outside of the bracer. 

“When we got the bounty on the kid--I had it made along with mine.”

“But that was before I agreed to be your Omega,” you said carefully, watching his body for any sign of tension. There wasn’t any. 

“I know.”

You bit your lip and looked down. With a shake of your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking. “What if I would have left? What if I never agreed to this? You--”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have,” you argued. “And then all of this would have been for nothing. You--”

“I had a feeling.”

You looked at him in awe and realized how much he had staked on you making the right decision. He would have sooner sold his beskar than taken away your freedom, the freedom to choose what you wanted. He had hoped against all hope that you would eventually want him, but there was no guarantee. To Din it was all left up to faith. Faith in his creed, faith in his people, faith in you. It was hard not to feel undeserving of such things, but it only confirmed that perhaps it was time that you had a little faith in him. 

Going up on your knees, you moved the metal storage box out of the way and grabbed him by the front of his chestplate. He said your name softly as you slid into his lap and his hands came around to rest on the swell of your hips. You tilted his helmet back just enough to kiss his lips, drawing a soft sound from them as he tasted you. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly and you were glad you could see his mouth move up in a genuine smile. 

“You’re very welcome.”

The more moments like this that you had, the easier it became to realize just how ‘all in’ you were when it came to the bounty hunter. When he had stepped off of his ship and chased you through the woods now flight like a lifetime ago and in a way it was. That was a different life completely. And you were okay with that. The world seemed a lot less scary now that you were on the same team. 

You leaned in to kiss him again but there was a loud bang and whoosh of energy as something dropped out of hyperspace and the Razor Crest rocked slowly. Din lowered his helmet and the two of you looked around before you slowly climbed out of his lap and to your feet. 

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” 

He moved to the pilot’s chair and leaned over the control board, inspecting the map and waiting for the radar to ping something back. Nearly the exact moment a blip showed up on the neon green screen, a blast screamed passed your vessel and struck the ship, rocking it back and forth. 

“Buckle in,” he barked and the two of you moved to your respective places. 

You fell into the co-pilot bucket seat to the right of the Mandalorian and placed your feet up on the footrest to brace yourself. As soon as you clicked your seat belt, your fingers instinctively wrapped around the control stick in front of you and reached up to flip the buttons on your side of the dash. Your side of the ship whirred to life as you shared control of the panel with Din, making it easier for him to focus on flying. Like you had told him before, if he handled the fancy maneuvering, you could squeeze a trigger.

Another wave of fire lit up the dark atmosphere around you and Din turned the ship to try and find the culprit behind the attack. 

“If the kid sleeps through this, I’ll be impressed,” Din said as he swiveled his own chair around and jammed the buttons for the back up thrusters. 

“I’m pretty sure he could sleep through anything,” you agreed.

“Pa-too!” 

The two of you both whipped around to see the small, green thing standing in the doorway with its arms in the air and a wide smile. 

“You were saying?” the bounty hunter chuckled and the child stumbled its way to you as the ship took a nosedive. You barely had time to grab him by the tiny cloak and haul him into your lap. 

“Got ya!” you said and he squealed with laughter. At least someone found your current predicament funny. You tucked him on your lap securely as a series of blaster fire whizzed passed the sides of the ship.  

“Hand over the Child, Mando.” A deep voice said through the com-system and when the child in question squealed again you clapped your hand over his mouth. Another round of shots pinged around you and the crest gave a jolt as one of the engines took a hit. “I might let you live.”

“Guild?” you asked and Mando nodded before grabbing a large lever to his right and yanking it down quickly. 

“You got both hands on the blaster cannons?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued. “When I say fire, let ‘em have it.”

Another hit rocked the ship as the engine on the left started to sputter and burst into flames before it powered down. Din cursed quietly under his helmet and pulled another lever to quickly power down both engines. “Hold on!” he yelled over the roar of the enemy ship as he rolled the crest out of the way of another round of fire. Stars streaked passed the windows as you both stared upwards and the other ship came directly into view. 

“I can bring you in warm,” the enemy bounty hunter said flatly, “...or I can bring you in cold.”

“That's my line,” Din said in a deadly tone before he hit the thrusters and pointed at you and the kid. “Fire!”

You squeezed the trigger on the gun leavers and shots fired from the front of the razor crest, exploding the smaller ship into a wave of orange fire and metal debris. You flinched away from the bright light and the child clapped its tiny hands as Din gave you an approving nod. 

“Oh-ah!”

“Not bad, little one,” you laughed softly, kissing the top of his green head between his ears. “Not bad.” Din clicked on a few of the switches above his head and the dashboard lit up in a series of red and orange lights. You watched him carefully and waited until he stopped before you spoke. “How bad is it?” 

“We’re losing fuel,” he said, pulling up the map and thumbing through a few different screens. He thumbed through a few of the nearby planets before double tapping the screen and bringing up one of the larger orbs. “Mos Eisley is the closest place where we could dock and get some repairs.”

“Will we make it?”

“Of course.” He pulled another leaver and the ship gave a lurch forward before it evened out. “We have enough in the power reserves to get us there--don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried,” you said, biting your lip to keep a soft smile from gracing your features. The truth was, with Din, you were never worried. 

--

Mos Eisley was the largest spaceport on the planet of Tatooine. Din explained that what it lacked in a centralized docking bay, they made up for in the fact that they had hundreds of hangars that were each maintained by individual workers and mechanics. It sounded impressive but to you it looked like little more than a patch of dust and poorly refined sandcastles. 

The control tower told you to head for bay three-five and the Mandalorian copied as he steered the ship in that direction. The Crest had definitely seen better days as it sputtered and landed with jerky movements before finally touching down in a puff of sand and a clang of metal. 

As you drifted through the vast emptiness of space before entering the atmosphere, the child had somehow lulled himself back to sleep. It was actually pretty impressive the amount of naps he managed to squeeze in in a day. 

You carefully tucked him back into the sleeping compartment and put on the rest of the clothing you had from Arvala-7. It was still breathable but it wasn’t nearly as light as the cloth you had sported back on Sorgan. The leather riding pants and bantha hide boots would keep the sand out of your more intimate places, while the tan corded top and matching cloak kept your skin protected from the harsh sun without absorbing much of the light. 

The beskar looked out of place with the rest of your attire, but something told you it was just the fact that you weren’t used to it. What was your favorite mantra as of late? One thing at a time. 

You stopped in the doorway to the refresher and couldn’t help but stare at your reflection in the mirror. The metal of the headpiece that Din had tucked gingerly into your hairline. You had spent most of your life running from what you were: an Omega, an Ursa, a royal lineage of some kind that you had no desire to uphold. And yet, the tangible evidence was glittering on your forehead. Had Din designed such a thing or had it been at the behest of the Armorer? Somehow you felt you knew the answer to that. 

You saw Din appear behind you in the mirror before you ever heard him and you prided yourself on not nearly jumping out of your skin. 

"Good to go?"

When you nodded, he hit the button that started to lower the ramp on the main hull and you squinted against the bright sun. As you walked down the ramp a group of rust colored droids popped up from their current task and scurried towards the Mandalorian. Their saucer-shaped heads bobbed in place making them look like mushrooms on stilts as they surveyed the ship and chipped back and forth to one another.

Din pushed back his cloak and drew his blaster, firing one shot from the hip into the dirt. The droid squealed and jumped into the air before clamming up into a tiny ball. 

“Mando!” you jumped and looked at him in surprise before looking back to the shivering droid. 

“Hey!” a woman’s voice screeched from inside the building connected to the hangar. She pointed at the two of you through the window of what looked to be a very dusty office. “HEY!” she yelled again, scrambling out the door and stomping over to you. 

Next to the Mandalorian she was incredibly short, but her demeanor was so incredibly scrappy that you weren’t entirely sure who you would bet on if the two of them were in a fight. Her grey mechanic’s jumpsuit was dusty and oil stained from no doubt thousands of ship repairs. Her hair was incredibly curly, poofing out in tight ringlets all around her head to her shoulders and seemed to be growing by the second as she jabbed her finger at Din’s chest.

“You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Din said flatly, pointed his own gloved finger to the fear-filled robot.

“Yeah? You think that's a good idea, do ya?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest before looking at you. “Blink twice if this brute is holding you hostage, honey. Though by the looks of ya, I’d say you can handle your own.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized on Din’s behalf before you introduced yourself and stepped in front of him. “We just need some repairs.”

“The name’s Peli,” she returned the politeness and shook your hand with strong, jerky movements. “He always this grumpy?” she nodded at the bounty hunter.

“Actually you caught him on a good day,” you smiled and she chuckled. Din sighed.

“Alright, well, let's look at your ship.” She picked up a clipboard and walked over to the crest. Looking it up and down slowly, she made a fist and knocked twice on the main hull and listened to the klonk that came from the inside.

“Is it bad?” you asked.  

“Oof…” she winced as she wrote some things down. “Look at that.” She looked over her shoulder at you before gesturing to the sides of the ship. “Bad? You got a lot of carbon scoring building up top. Ya know--If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a shootout.”

“Well…” you started and Din cleared his throat.

“Can you fix it?”

“Special tool for that one. Oh ya, I'm gonna have to rotate that…” She mumbled. Peli ignored you both as she continued to poke and prod the undercarriage of the ship before pulling down a side panel and coughing at the smoke that it produced. “You got a fuel leak! Look at that, this is a mess! How did you even land? That's gonna set you back.”

Din looked down at her as she walked back up to him and he tossed over a coin purse that jingled when she caught it. “I've got 500 Imperial Credits.”

“That all you got? Well…” she weighed the money in her hand and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned to the droids who were slowly approaching again now that she was there to protect them. “What do you guys think? I mean-- that should at least cover the hangar.”

“I'll get you your money,” Din reassured her.

“Ha! I've heard that before,” she rolled her eyes.

“I promise, we’ll pay you somehow,” you interjected and Peli looked you over again before waggling her finger at you. 

“Now, you I believe.” 

That made you smile and she returned it. 

“Just remember--” Din started.

“Yeah. Yeah. No droids. I heard ya.” She stuffed the credits in her pocket. “You don't have to say it twice. Jeez. Womp rat.” She mumbled the last under her breath as the two of you took her dismissal as a sign you were free to leave. 

You waited until you and Din were out of earshot before you glared at him in disappointment. “We have got to work on your people skills.”

--

Note: When imagining the headpiece Din had made for you, I was drawing heavy inspiration off of Queen Hippolyta’s crown. Something that keeps your hair out of the way, looks futuristic and strong. 

Hey guys, as always there is always room on the tag lists! That being said there are about 300+ of you that want to be tagged in this fic and that is totally cool, but I am human and I miss names and forget tags, SO–if your tag didn’t work, I forgot it, or you want to be moved to another group, please message me or send me an ask. Even if you have already sent me one reminding me, I PROMISE it was not on purpose. A lot of times I wont answer until I have PHYSICALLY put you on the tag list that way I don’t forget! Thank you so much. - K

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[verai-marcel]

Serendipitous Meetings (Arthur x GN!Reader, Modern AU, 18+)

Summary: You foolishly didn’t mark where you parked in the huge parking structure, and spend some time looking for your car. You run into a fellow who did the same thing, and things get ridiculously serendipitous from there.

Author’s Notes: How many tropes can I shove into this fic? Let’s face it, I just wanted to have Arthur fuck like the manly man that he is. Also going for gender neutral as much as possible, so all my readers who want a piece of Arthur can have him.

Tags: Arthur x GN!Reader, smut, light D/s tones, size kink, light spanking, neck grabbing, rough sex, dirty talk, modern AU

AO3 Link is here, li’l darlin’.

Word Count: 3764

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

"Shit."

You let out a long suffering sigh as you looked around the packed parking structure. In your rush to meet your friends, you had forgotten to take a photo of where you parked. Now you stared at the large expanse of cars, racking your brain for at least a slight memory of how you got to the venue entrance from your car. 

Sticking your hand into your pocket, you gripped your phone for a moment before letting it go. You had already shooed your friends away, insisting you had parked nearby and could get to your spot no problem. Swallowing your pride, you started to search the rows for the off-white bucket of bolts you dared to call your car. 

After searching one floor, you trudged up the stairs to the next one, stopping a few steps past the landing to gaze upon the hundreds of cars before you. You faintly heard another set of steps coming down the stairwell, but you were so mired in your own despair that you didn't pay the sound any mind. 

"Shit," said a gravelly voice next to you. 

Glancing over, a very broad set of shoulders filled your view. Your eyes flicked over the red and black flannel shirt and blue jeans, with an almost hilariously large belt buckle. Then you looked up. 

Oh no. He was gorgeous, in a rugged, manly-man sort of way. That chiseled jaw, the five o’clock shadow, that thick neck… he was the kind of man who could probably pick you up and throw you over his shoulder with ease. You were so busy staring at him in tired awe that he finally noticed you.

A pair of turquoise eyes met yours. "Sorry," the man said. "Can't find my truck."

It took you half a second to remember to respond. Then you gave him an empathic half-grin. "I can't find my car either."

He pointed upstairs. "What's yer car look like? Maybe I saw it up there."

You shook your head. "It's just a generic off-white Toyota Corolla."

The man shrugged. "Oh. Well, sorry darlin', there's a bunch of those up there."

You sighed, lamenting the fact that your car was one of the most popular cars out on the road these days. You also secretly enjoyed him calling you darling with that accent of his. He sounded like he had just stepped out of a spaghetti western. 

"Maybe I saw your truck downstairs, if it stands out," you said, trying to be helpful. 

"It's a blue Chevy pick-up. Really old, like one o' them classic trucks, 'cept it ain't been cleaned up like the ones you see in a car show."

Your memory flashed with the image of a dirty blue truck in your apartment complex's garage. You stifled a laugh at the thought. You had always wondered who drove the old thing, since you had never seen its owner. 

"Nope, I didn't see a truck like that downstairs," you told him. 

"Oh. Well, guess we better start lookin'," he said. He looked at you for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You waited.

“Maybe,” he finally said, “maybe we could look together? For a bit. Keep each other company.”

“Okay,” you said easily. Part of your brain screamed that it could be really easy for him to just pull you into his car, but you dismissed the voice in your head. He seemed alright; you had a good feeling about this guy.

The two of you took off towards the left side of the structure. Putting your remote under your chin and hoping it would actually increase its range, you hit the button on occasion. 

“Uh, what’re you doin’?” he asked, pointing at your remote.

“Oh, I read about this online, someone figured out that you can use your own head as an antenna, or something like that.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but eventually just nodded. “Huh, I guess that makes sense.”

You shrugged. “Haven’t tested it before this, so I’m hoping it actually works.”

The two of you wandered further and further towards the center when finally you heard that familiar beep. 

*BEEP BEEP*

He chuckled. “Guess it works.”

You had never been so happy to hear that annoying little buzzer of a horn. You took off at a jog without waiting for the man, going towards where you had heard the sound, and as you turned a corner, you spotted it. 

It was the big, old, blue truck from your apartment complex. 

No way, you thought. There is no way. Maybe it's a similar truck. 

Going back, you saw the man wandering around, still searching. 

"Hey Mister!" you yelled. 

He turned towards you. 

You excitedly pointed towards the truck. "This yours?" 

He started walking to you, and as he came closer, you could see the smile on his face and felt your heart skip a beat. 

"Thank you," he said, stopping in front of you. "Where’s your car?"

You grinned and hit your unlock button. The little off-white sedan next to his truck let out a little beep, the lights coming on. 

"Wish I had one of those," he said wistfully. "Sure woulda made my life easier." He looked at you with a small smirk as he opened the door to his truck. "But then I wouldn’t have met you. Thanks fer your help, angel."

You smiled, feeling your cheeks warm from his comment. "No problem." You struggled to find anything else to say, feeling pathetically desperate to hear him speak more. "Have a good night," you finally said. 

"You too," he said, his voice a little lower, a little more breathy as he hauled himself into his truck and closed the door. Now that you had a pretty good feeling that he was a decent guy and not a creep, you half-wished he really would pull you into his truck and have his way with you. 

Shaking the lewd thought from your head, you got into your car and set up your phone to listen to a podcast as you drove home. You eased your way out of the garage, through the local roads, and onto the freeway. For the next thirty minutes, you would spot the same blue truck out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes you’d pass him, sometimes he’d pass you. 

Maybe it’s a different blue truck, you tried to convince yourself.

You couldn’t convince yourself any further when you pulled into your apartment complex right behind him. He parked at his usual spot, three away from yours. Climbing out of your car, you saw him walk towards you.

“You followin’ me?” he asked gruffly, though the grin on his face clearly showed his amusement at the coincidence.

“I can’t believe we live in the same complex,” you muttered, still in shock that you had never seen this handsome man before. “How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, ‘bout two years now.”

“Shit,” you thought to yourself.

“Why’re you cursin’?”

Oh crap. You said that out loud. “I, uh, um,” you stammered.

He quietly watched you, letting you stew in your own embarrassment, an amused grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying watching you squirm!

Feeling your face heat up, you blurted out the truth.

“We could’ve known each other sooner!”

It was an unfortunate tick in your personality that you had never managed to get rid of, and now, watching his eyes widen at your embarrassing remark, you wished the sidewalk would just open up and swallow you whole. But since that wasn’t going to happen, you opted to turn around and stalk away.

“Hey now, wait, you can’t just say that and leave,” the man said, jogging to catch up to you. When you wouldn’t stop walking, he swerved in front of you, forcing you to stop mere millimeters from him. You noticed how big he was, how little you were in comparison. You weren’t a small person by any means, he was just… large.

“Why’re you runnin’ away, darlin’?” he asked, his voice hushed as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. Perhaps with the way you acted, you seemed that way to him.

You took a deep breath, accidentally inhaling his scent, a mix of pine trees and a subtle hint of campfire smoke and musk that made you want to bury your face in his chest and stay there. Desire shot straight between your legs, reminding you that it had been a long time since you’d been with anyone. Letting out a shaky breath, you made the poor choice of looking up at him.

You were blinded by his kind smile and seduced by his deep voice. “Do you want to know me?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes, I do,” you answered immediately.

He pointed to his apartment. “I live there. Want to share some whiskey?"

You paused. He was a stranger. 

A stranger with beautiful eyes and the sweetest smile you had ever seen. 

You followed him willingly into his den. 

***

You blinked after he turned on the lights. When your vision cleared, your expectations were, fortunately, not met at all.

You had expected a bachelor pad with junk everywhere and clothing on the floor. What you saw was a clean and neat living room with a simple couch and a TV on top of a small entertainment center that held a few blu-rays and a blu-ray player. The short table in front of the couch had a plate on it, a smudge of ketchup and some crumbs on it, and a glass with a little bit of water left.

The man went to pick up after himself, putting the dirty dishes in the sink before going to his pantry. His kitchen looked pretty bare, except for the dried herbs, tied up in bunches under his cabinets. 

While he shuffled around bottles, you went to sit on his couch, but not before pausing for a moment to look through the door to his bedroom. He had a bed that looked big and comfy, his sheets somewhat askew but otherwise in place. Didn’t look like there were any clothes or boxes lying around anywhere. So either the man was tidy, or he didn’t own a lot of things.

“Curious li’l one, ain’tcha?” he chuckled behind you.

Spinning around, you could only give him a sheepish grin. “Yup, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

He smiled and gave you a tumbler of amber liquid with a giant sphere of ice. “Curiosity like that could get you in trouble one day,” he said mysteriously, gesturing towards the couch.

You raised an eyebrow, but sat down anyway. You took a sip of the ice cold whiskey, enjoying its slow burn down your throat. It was smooth and sweet. “This is fantastic, what is it?”

“It’s a blackberry flavored whiskey,” he replied as he settled himself on the couch, a little closer to you than you had expected. “I thought you might like it.”

“Oh?” You leaned in a little closer. “And why is that?”

“Somethin’ a li’l sweet fer a li’l sweetheart,” he said with a grin. He knew he was being schmaltzy, but you didn’t care. You were eating up his words, spoken with that deep rumble that went right between your legs.

You continued to sip and make small talk with him until your ice had melted and the late night had become the witching hour. But he didn’t seem to mind, and you wanted to stay.

“You got a bit o’ whiskey here,” he said as he leaned in and reached for the corner of your lips, his thumb catching the drop that had escaped your last sip. You flicked out your tongue to catch him, and your eyes met. A heartbeat passed. The whiskey gave you strength.

Taking his hand in yours, you surged forward and kissed his lips, tasting whiskey and his woodsy scent. A low moan came from deep within him, but he did not reach for you. His hands gripped the cushions as he let you take the lead, climbing into his lap and wrapping your arms around him, your fingers kneading his broad shoulders. You kissed the breath from him, desperate to feel him against you.

When you finally broke away for air, you stared at his eyes, now filled with lust and longing, and realized you didn’t even know his name. 

He came to the same conclusion. “What’s yer name, darlin’?”

You told him.

He nodded and repeated your name. It sounded so good when he said it. “Feels nice to say it out loud,” he said. “I’m Arthur,” he added as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tenderly. “How far do you want to go?”

“All the way,” you said, grinding your hips against his groin, making him take a shuddered breath.

Without a word, he picked you up and carried you to his big, comfy bed. He dropped you unceremoniously and took off his shirt.

He was ripped. He was built like a man who had worked all his life in a physical job, carrying & lifting. With his tall stature, his broad shoulders, and his huge arms, he made you feel small.

You had never been more aroused in your whole life. 

Your body was ready to be thoroughly fucked by this man, and you hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet. You watched hungrily as he undid his belt and dropped his jeans & boxers, your eyes taking in his size. He wasn’t even at full mast yet, and you already wondered if you’d be able to take him all in.

“Your turn, darlin’.”

Taken out of your trance, you took off your clothes as he watched. You started at a normal pace, but when you saw him take himself in his hand and stroke himself while watching you with a lustful gaze, you slowed down, making an attempt to tease him. Already topless, you lay back on the bed and lifted your legs up, sliding your pants upwards. Slowly, you exposed your ass to him, winking salaciously.

He stroked himself a little faster. A soft moan escaped his lips. “Darlin’, yer makin’ it real hard fer me to stay in control here.”

You glanced down at him. “I can see it’s real hard,” you said with a playful smirk.

“Oh, yer goin’ ta get it now,” he said, his grin becoming predatory as he climbed onto the bed. Grabbing the rest of your clothes, he pulled them from you, flinging them over his shoulder before flipping you onto your belly. He gripped your ass and squeezed hard before giving you a firm spank.

“Ooh!” you yelped. 

“You want more?” he asked as his hand soothed over his mark.

You could tell he was asking for permission. Turning back to him, you gave him your best pouty face. “Does Sir think I need more?”

Arthur looked immensely pleased with your response. “I think so,” he said, his voice deepening with a thread of command that turned you on beyond belief. He straddled your legs and rested one hand on the curve of your ass. “I told you, curiosity would get you in trouble.”

He spanked you hard once more. “That’s fer sneakin’ glances into my room,” he said. He gave you three more swipes, each in slightly different areas so you wouldn’t get too sore. Then he grabbed your ass with both hands and massaged your muscles, spreading you open as he thrust his cock along the cleft of your rear.

“Yer so obedient, sweetheart,” he murmured as his hips rocked, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments. Then with his strong grip, he manhandled you onto your back, wrapping his big hands around you and pulling you into his arms. He cradled you for a sweet, gentle moment before rolling you around like you were as light as a pillow before setting you back down onto the mattress. He leaned over you as he reached for the nightstand, pulling out a condom. You watched him slip it on, but he didn’t move to enter you. Instead, he reached down and began to stroke you as he loomed above, watching your reactions.

You moaned and writhed under his deliberate exploration. His hands traveled languidly along every inch of you. When he found a sensitive area that elicited a soft noise of pleasure from you, he lingered, making you whimper and lean into his touch. He finally touched you lower, where you longed for his attention, but to your frustration he continued his study at the same leisurely pace. Soon his strokes became faster and he pressed harder against you. His eyes nearly glowed as he watched you lift your hips towards his hands, imploring him for more. Using his new knowledge to his advantage, he brought you to the brink and then shifted his touch elsewhere, making you cool off before working you back up again until you were going insane with need.

“Please, please Arthur, I need to come,” you begged.

He only smiled as he slipped a finger inside of you. He slowly worked you open enough for two of his fingers, then three. Soon he was dragging you to the edge again, and you hadn’t even had his cock. You were feeling like you were being denied the thing you wanted most.

“Arthur,” you whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Louder, darlin’.”

“I want your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?”

“Fuck me!”

“Say it again. All of it.”

“Fuck me with your cock!”

His smile was wolfish, satisfied that he had heard you beg for your desire. Pressing the head of his shaft against your opening, he pushed, easing his way inside of you.

You were right. He was big, long, and oh so thick. He stretched you deliciously, and you keened softly as he took you, claimed you, made you his in the most carnal of ways. He reached up and slipped his hand under your head, gripping your hair at the base and pulling slightly. 

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I want to see you while I’m takin’ you,” he murmured.

You couldn’t look away from him. His look was intense, as if he commanded your entire being, your body his to use for his pleasure. And you willingly gave it to him, letting him sheathe his entire length inside of you. He held you still while your body adjusted to his claim, watching you with an almost proud expression.

“Good li’l darlin’,” he said as he leaned over. He kissed you gently on the lips, then on the forehead, and as if he was overcome with affection for you, peppered kisses along the curve of your cheek and down your neck.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you now,” he whispered into your ear. “You tell me to slow if it’s too much for ya, alright?”

You nodded, sure that whatever he was about to do to you, you could handle it.

He lifted himself up onto his forearms, his hands framing your face. “You look so damn cute,” he murmured before his hips slowly pulled back. “So fuckable.”

Arthur slammed his cock deep inside of you with one forceful stroke. He immediately looked down at you when you let out a cry of surprise. He waited, quietly checking in.

“More,” you whispered.

You thought you saw relief cross his features before he gave you a teasing smirk. “Ask me nicely and I just might give it to ya.”

“Please sir,” you begged, “I need more.”

Arthur gave you a single nod before rocking his hips, building you up slowly, his gaze nearly burning a hole into you with their intensity. As your body stretched and accommodated him, you clawed at his arms, greedily clamoring for him to speed up. He let out a feral growl before wrapping a big, rough hand around your neck, his other hand gripping your leg and spreading you wider for him. 

"You think you can take more, darlin'?" 

You looked up at him and smiled a challenge. 

He began a ferocious pace, angling himself to take you as deep as he could go. All you could focus on was the impact of his body against yours, his thick shaft filling you over and over, unrelenting as a tidal wave.

Soon he let go of your neck so he could sit up and grip your hips with both of his hands. He was fucking the breath out of you with each hard thrust, the sound of his hips slamming against yours filling the room with a lewd rhythm, intertwined with your breathy cries and his low moans of pleasure.

He reached down and stroked you, his touch rough and vigorous, matching the way he was ravaging you in a haze of lust. You could feel yourself sprinting towards that delicious finish line. The end was in sight as your hips jerked wildly, your legs wrapping around Arthur as he thrust even harder and deeper than before. 

"Come fer me," he murmured. "I want to feel you lose yerself around my cock."

You screamed as his words broke the dam that was holding back a torrent of pleasure, your climax tearing through your body at breakneck speed. Your legs stiffened, your toes curled, and your fingers dug into his very muscled biceps as you came harder than you ever had. You shook with aftershocks as Arthur continued to thrust, his hands letting go of your hips as he fell upon his forearms, caging you in as he chased his pleasure. 

"Fuck sweetheart, I'm comin'," he moaned before he buried his head into the crook of your neck. He gave three more erratic thrusts, then nearly crushed you with his weight as he pressed his hips against yours, keeping himself inside of you for as long as he could. 

A breathless moment passed, the two of you trying to catch that elusive breath. Arthur rolled off of you, quickly gathering you into his arms as he tumbled onto his side. 

"Goddamn," he finally muttered. "Wasn't expectin' to have such good company."

You turned in his arms so you could see the wide grin on his face. "For once, I'm glad I got lost in the parking lot."

He kissed your forehead. "Me too, darlin'. But let's make sure we don't get lost again." He found your hands under the covers, brought them up to his lips, and kissed your fingertips. 

"After all, I only just found you, my li'l darlin'."

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

End Notes: Been a while, and of course, all of my pent-up lust just came streaming out of me in a flurry of words and phrases. Hope it’s still hot enough for you, my lovely readers!

[1kook]

skirt chasers - drabble iii

this a skirt chasers drabble in case u couldn't tell uhhh here’s i and ii lol

summary; “I think the alcohol broke my amygdala. Your epidermis looks pretty today— did you use that toner I told you about?” warnings; alcohol mention, tit sucking, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, uhh making out??? ratings; mature (18+) misc; educational abolitionist!jungkook, drunk jk, mentions of throwing up lol, jk is an anatomy frEAK, more skirts, more jk has questionable kinks wc; like barely 2k

notes; i wrote this in like 40 mins bc i couldn't stop thinking about STIMBO jk from skirt chasers and how cool he is enjoy xxxx also i barely rmr shit from anatomy bc it was the worst course of my life so pls bear with me

His first mistake is getting drinks with the boys. You like to think you know your boyfriend pretty well, know what he’s good at, where he excels, where he thrives, and well. Drinking doesn’t rank too high on the list.

Jimin calls a little past midnight. “Kook’s on the table,” he slurs into the phone, too loud and too sloppy for a Wednesday night phonecall.

“Ha?” you mumble back, rubbing your eyes until you see stars. The room is dark, practically spinning from how out of it you are. Chaeyoung is dead asleep in her room, so even whispering feels like a crime. “Where are you guys?”

Some bar on the south side of town, that strip where all the newly turned twenty-one year olds go to get wasted. Jungkook’s supposed to be studying for some big exam he has on Friday— at least, that’s what he told you —so it takes a few minutes of convincing on Jimin’s part until you’re shrugging your coat on, blindly navigating through your apartment for your keys and wallet. You briefly consider taking an Uber, but ultimately decide you’d rather get stabbed to death on a public bus so at least your family can sue the city afterwards.

Jungkook is indeed on the table, except the table has long since tipped over. So now he’s just sprawled across some dirty bar floor, puppy-soft head of curls spilling over his forehead. He’s so cute, so adorable. You want to kill him. “Up,” you command, channeling the strength of twelve football players to haul your beefy boyfriend off the ground.

“Baby,” he beams, looking at you but not actually looking at you. “I think the alcohol broke my amygdala. Your epidermis looks pretty today— did you use that toner I told you about?”

You don’t even know what that means, can’t even question him, because then Jin is angrily yelling at you to cover his tab. You pay with a stiff middle finger, flail the three dollars in your wallet at him, before sweeping away your poor damsel in distress. “You’re supposed to be studying,” you huff, can’t even be mad when he stops to throw up in a bush outside the bar. You’re so embarrassed, pretend you don’t know him as you pull up the bus times on your phone.

He’s huffy by the time you get on the bus, sniffling against your neck as he cries about his common hepatic portal vein thing— you don’t fucking know.

Chaeyoung isn’t too impressed with you when you bring him home, dump him on the couch while she steals your AirPods from your room. “Explain yourself,” you demand, and his head rolls back.

“I hate school,” he complains, slaps a hand down against his forehead. You’re certain he’s concussed himself this time. Then he’s bending over, head held between his hands. “Wanna cry.”

You sigh, kneeling in front of him. “You’re almost done,” you comfort him, hand on the back of his head. He’s so sweaty, and smells like all his friends colognes at the same time. “You’re smart, baby, you can do this.”

Your words have the opposite effect, because then he’s rocking forward childishly, nearly rams your skulls together and kills you. He’s reached the point of his insobriety where he’s too sad and huffy to think, sadly leaning against your shoulder as if that’ll somehow solve all his problems. You doubt it will, but there’s really nothing much you can when Jungkook reaches this point, so you settle on softly patting the back of his head until the fool is fucking snoring against you.

Chaeyoung blesses you with her divine retribution the next morning by using up the last of your body wash, and then you’re left to deal with a hungover Jungkook on a Thursday morning. You’re pretty sure he had a class that morning, but he wakes up too late for you to even try to convince him to still go, and then he’s moping on your couch in last night’s clothes. You’re getting ready for your internship, blouse half buttoned, pencil skirt wiggled up to your waist.

“Abolish exams,” he mutters, numbly staring at the ceiling as you wipe his face with a cleansing towelette. He doesn’t seem remotely interested in the shower or the pancakes you made, which lets you know this is a much more serious issue than just a drunken episode. “Aren’t they stupid?” You nod. “Sure, test me on every damn thing we’re learning right now as if science isn’t always changing and I’ll have to keep learning anyway.”

He looks over at you, under-eye bags absolutely horrendous. “Tests are stupid,” you agree, and it seems to be exactly what he wants to hear as he sinks into your arms, face buried in your chest. “Too stupid for smarty-pants Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook groans, flops over you on the couch all smelly and gross. “They test you for memorization and not comprehension,” he adds, finally wiggling out of his stinky clothes.

With Jungkook, you can never tell where things are going. One minute he’s cursing the education system and the next he’s kissing along your neck in his rambling fury. “As if I these materials will somehow become nonexistent once I’m working,” he huffs, hands on your thighs. Your breath hitches in your throat, fingers digging into his biceps as he mindlessly kisses down the valley between your breasts. “Shit’s so fucking stupid,” he spits, bunching your skirt around your waist.

“Jeon—“

“I’m just trying to be a fuckin’ pediatrician, for fuck’s sake,” he growls, hastily undoes the front buttons on your blouse. Your black bra comes into view, heart pounding in your chest as Jungkook makes quick work of reaching behind and undoing it, pushing it away, and cupping your breasts in his palms. He guides one of your legs around his waist, tucks it around him as he gets to work raining down kisses on your tits. “So pretty, doll,” he murmurs, pretty pink lips leaving smooches down your chest.

You bite down on your lip, watch through hazy eyes as those big doe eyes flick up at you, tongue swirling around your nipple. “N— Not tired anymore?” you pant, hands in his hair. It’s still dry and knotted from last night’s adventures, but you don’t mind. Not when Jungkook’s hard cock is flush against your thigh.

“Nah,” he confirms, rolling his hips forward against your core. Oh he was horny horny this morning. Or was he angry horny? You don’t care, either way you were winning. “I serenaded you last night, y’know?”

You snort, but it morphs into a whimper when he captures your rock hard nipple between his perfect teeth. “Not a serenade,” you whimper, fingernails running along his scalp, “if I’m not there.”

Jungkook leans back, lets you breathe for a second as he unbuckles the front of his pants, jeans pulled down around his thighs. And of course he’s hard as fuck by now; this was Jeon Jungkook you were dealing with. He could get it up and going in two seconds flat at the mere sight of your collarbones. “You were there,” he insists, capturing your hand in his all romantic like until you’re flustered and shaking him off. He levels you with a cheesy grin, presses your palm against his chest. “Here.”

You gag. “That’s disgusting.”

Jungkook laughs, all squeaky and airy because he’s never given a fuck about looking cool in front of you. His next words only prove your point. “Why? Don’t like being nestled against my left lung and esophagus, all sexy like?”

You roll your eyes, tug your panties aside to give him a full view of what his dorky anatomical talk has done to you. “Dick me down or go away,” you say, pointer finger nudging his chin up when he stares too long

He snaps his teeth at you, almost bites your finger, the fuckin’ weirdo. “Sassy today,” he teases, presses the tip of his cock against you. Both of you groan, watch as he glides himself up and down your folds, angry mushroom head pushing against your clit. “Always so wet for me,” he mumbles shakily, eyes zeroed in on your wet folds and how slick they feel against him. “Didn’t stretch you out again.”

“Yo— You’re mean about that anyway,” you pant, pulling him closer by those firm ass cheeks of his. “I can tell when you’re using me as a reference model.”

Jungkook gasps as if he’s genuinely scandalized by your claim, follows your wordless command and finally lines himself up with your quivering entrance. “I’m a hands-on learner,” he offers, his cheeky smile still on his face until he finally sinks into you and his features twist up all pretty. “Your pussy’s just so pretty, baby,” he grunts, hand on your hip.

Your face feels warm, from the pleasure that rolls over your body and the vulgarity of his words. “Shush now,” you say, try to sound strict and in command, but he’s got his other hand cupping your jaw, looking at you like you’re a goddess and not some dorky college student in their even dorkier internship uniform.

“Temptress,” he mumbles, pushes past your clenching lips until he’s flush against you, your walls spasming around his cock because he just feels so good. “Tried to sneak past me in that tiny skirt.” He draws back, lets his swollen head catch at the entrance before sliding back in, pace slow and sensual, too intimate for some random Thursday morning. “Little doll just needs to be fucked in the morning, doesn’t she?” A pitiful whimper catches in your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head with every glide of his dick back inside of you.

“N- Not my fault you have naughty eyes,” you whimper, hand coming up to bite at your knuckles as Jungkook continues to fuck you so sweetly. “Fuck.”

Jungkook ducks over you, wavy hair tickling your forehead as his hot breath fans across you. Smells like the mouthwash you made him take and hints of last night’s alcohol. “Can’t help it,” he husks, capturing your lips in his. Sloppy and wet, tongue clashing with yours as he guides you along, hips slowing to rhythmic ruts that have you moaning after each roll.

A few drawn-out thrusts later and you’re coming, body so sensitive this early in the morning, and it certainly doesn’t help that Jungkook looks like that (sweaty and worn, dark eyes watching you writhe beneath him). Surprisingly, it takes him a few more rushed thrusts before he follows, barely managing to pull out in time before his sparkling cum is splattering over your tummy and the skirt bunched around it. “No,” you whine, melting into the couch. “Jeon, this is my only one,” you complain, rubbing a hand over your eyes as if that’ll somehow make your legs work again enough to push him off.

Jungkook says nothing as he tucks himself back into his boxers, chest heaving from exertion as he crashes back onto the couch. “Liar,” he responds after a moment, out of breath and half asleep again. He’s still technically hungover. Hand lazily drawing circles on your knee as you sit up, wiggling your skirt back down. He gives you this indecipherable look. “I hid the other one under your dresser.”

You smack his arm. “Why the hell would you—“

He tackles you back into the couch, presses the stain into your skirt. It must feel gross against his naked tummy, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. “Makes me too horny,” he announces, pout pressed against your neck. “I had a teacher fantasy the other day. Did I tell you?” You roll your eyes, resigning yourself to this new life squashed beneath your boyfriend. “You were my high school anatomy teacher and I failed, so you made me stay after school for supplemental lessons—“

“That’s an abuse of power,” you point out, back to carding your hands through his now sweaty and greasy hair. “And you would never fail an anatomy class, that’s literally your comfort area of study.”

“Listen,” he stresses, lifts his head until he’s peering at you with these humongous Bambi eyes. “You spanked me and—“

“Go get my skirt.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[donutloverxo]

Spoiled

Kinktober day 5 - Mirror sex

*gif is not mine*

Note - this is a bit of a rushed job. Because while I like August I didn't want to end the year on him lol. It has to be our husband. Thank you so so much for all the support and love all of you have shown me this past year, it's serves as a great motivation for me. I have a resolution of writing 200k in the next year so hopefully there's a lot more hoeness and happiness this coming year for us all. Love y'all❤

This is the last part and sequel to past self and messed up. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Warnings - 18+ only, Smut (m/f), daddy kink, light anal play, hints to threesomes, jealous Steve, cum play, rough sex, general nastiness.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

“I am so tired. I mean time travelling is fun and all but sooo exhausting,” you mumbled into the pillow as you laid face flat on your bed. The soft plush mattress providing some much needed comfort to your sore muscles.

After the snap both you and Steve had moved into a brownstone in Brooklyn, it was much smaller than your quarters in the compound but you never really liked having that much of a distance from him anyway.

Even if you weren’t doing anything, you’d prefer to do nothing with him. Just lounging around on like a couple of couch potatoes.

It was hard for him to not have much to do. With half the world gone and the Avengers broken up he spent most of his days volunteering and leading therapy groups. Telling others to move on, that’s what their loved ones would want for them, while not being able to do so himself. Blaming himself for everything that had happened.

He told you that having all that free time made his mind go to dark places, thinking of his past, of all the lives that he wasn’t able to save. And after years of denying that he needed any, he decided to go to therapy.

They were a tough few years. But everything was fine now. As fine as it could be. His friends were back, you joked about how Bucky and Tony had matching cyborg arms now, he laughed at that but they didn’t. There was still plenty of hostility there, he didn’t exactly expect them to become ‘bffs', as you’d called it, hopefully they’d learn to get along.

He unzipped your boots, pulling them off and massaging your feet, listening to you babble nonsense about all your theories about time travel.

He always called you his sunshine. It was an apt petname for you, you brought light into his life, you were his light at the end of the tunnel. After years of being alone, it was as if he was waiting for you all along.

While you had your share of breakdowns during those five years, lots of fights with him because you wanted to move on and not be stuck in the past. He agreed with you, he didn’t want to be stuck, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t give up on those he loved.

You were always there for him. His only solace during those dark times.

He had changed a lot, when he met you he was still the Captain, then he was on the run, living in shady motels and not knowing who the fuck he was.

He became a bit more melancholic after the snap, the whole world did, a lot needier for you and your attention and love. Because he was so grateful you weren’t gone.

If you had... he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He knew it annoyed you because even though you loved him, that he didn’t doubt one bit, you also liked your independence. But he’ll always need you way more than you need him.

“Sunshine?” he called for your attention, his hands now moving up to your calves, applying just the little bit of pressure.

You giggled, looking over your shoulder to him as you felt your face heat up, “I swear, Steve, you’re so cheesy.”

“Do you...” he cleared his throat and then shook his head, it was stupid of him to even think something like that much less verbally express it to you.

You turned around, laying flat on your back, “What?”

“It’s silly,” he pressed his lips in a thin line.

“I don’t care, you still have to tell me. Come on,” you lightly kicked your legs which were on his lap.

“Do you ever wish... you were with someone closer to your age.”

He couldn’t look at you, even after all these years of being together he couldn’t be completely vulnerable--a life of rejection making him anticipate the worst.

“Why would you say that?” you sat up, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

It wasn’t just that you were younger, almost everyone was younger compared to him, but you had a young soul that would never grow old.

And he... he was no fun sometimes, how long would it take for you to grow tired of him. Did just you like the thrill of being on the run? When he was more edgier and rougher than he is now.

“I could never even imagine being with anyone but you,” you assured him.

He scoffed, “Didn’t seem like that when you were with him.”

“Oh, you mean ‘you'?” you cocked your head to the side, feigning innocence.

You knew how jealous your fawning over his past self’s beard had made him. To be honest, you would lose your shit if he acted that way towards any other woman, even if said woman was a version of you.

He shook his head, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait,” you cupped his cheek, making him look at you, “You’re so jelly and needy sometimes, daddy.”

He bit the inside of his as you knelt on the floor before him, parting his legs, your hands fumbling with his belt but he stopped you by holding onto your wrists.

“We should get cleaned up...” he half heartedly tried to stop you but you managed to pull all his straps open and take his hardening erection out of his pants.

“We probably should...” you hummed, “But I guess I need to show daddy how much I love him,” peaking out your tongue to circle his leaking tip.

“I know you love me, sweetheart, but I just worry sometimes if I’m too old fashioned for you?” he wondered, letting out a shuddering moan as you took him in your mouth, looking up at him with your wide innocent eyes--always so full of life.

You swallowed around him, moaning at the familiar taste and scent of him, taking him deeper till he hit the back of your throat.

Steve being old fashioned did bother you a little at times. Not the part where he was an absolute gentleman, always holding the door open for you, paying for your dates. But where he always wanted to be the one protecting you. Taking care of you. Which was good, but he needs some loving too.

“Swallow it all, honey,” he instructed as he held your head down, his spend coating the back of your throat as you followed his command like a good girl.

Opening your mouth and holding out your tongue, “I did it, daddy,” you proclaimed proudly.

He prodded at your mouth with his fingers, under your tongue, to make sure that you got all of it, “Good girl,” he smiled as you suckled on his fingers, “you always need to have your mouth stuffed, honey, don’t you?”

You only nodded, letting out a pathetic whine when he pulled his fingers out with a loud pop.

“Let’s go shower, honey,” he said but then frowned when you shook your head.

“Are you done already? That’s it?” Don't say it, don’t... “Got another one in ya?”

You knew you were digging your own grave, of Steve wanted you he could literally fuck you for days, you had tried to ‘test' that on your honeymoon. To see who would give out first, your poor pussy or his unyielding supersoldier stamina.

Obviously he won and you were never able to complete your little experiment.

He gave you a fake sweet smile, dripping with--so much malice which was so not Steve. Gripping your hair he yanked you back to bare your neck to him, his other hand tracing your pulse point before wrapping around your neck, applying the slightest bit of pressure - because you were precious, he’d never want to actually hurt you, “I was going to make love to you in the shower, sweetheart.” he squeezed tighter as you choked, wrapping your tiny hands around his wrist, “But then you had to go and say that. What should we do with you?” he mused.

“Fuck me?” you sassed, while making love sounded nice, you would much rather have a good dicking down.

“No, you have to learn your lesson, honey. I maybe older but it only makes me better. I’ll have to show you I guess,” he tutted.

Hauling you up, with his hands under your arms, he manhandled you till you both stood before the dressing mirror you had gotten a few months ago, pressing your cheek against its cool surface as he worked on the seams of your cat suit.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed, ever since you had bought the large mirror, he liked to watch you as he took you apart in it, sometimes making you look, somehow that seemed to suck all your sass and feistiness and you’d just turn into a shy flustered mess in his arms, refusing to look at the mirror or at him.

Which would only fuel his lust, because he still had the ability to surprise you, even after he’d seen all of you. Felt all of your caverns, and you, intimately and knew them like the back of his hand.

“Never really got the opportunity to, now’s good a time as any, wouldn’t you agree?” he nibbled at the shell of your ear, smirking as you weakly nodded.

“You’re so good at doing what you’re told.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, kneeling behind you to rid you of your tight pants before burying his head between your legs.

Nudging your intimate lips apart with the lip of his tongue, “You’re already soaked, honey,” he observed, licking his lips to savor your taste before prodding at your second hole with his tongue, just so he could hear you gasp.

“Steve!” you exclaimed, not expecting that. While Steve was more of an ass man, he never wanted to fuck you or even touch you there. But after a lot of course convincing from your side he had to give in.

He bit the flesh of your buttocks before speaking against it, “Since you like having all your holes stuffed, maybe I should call Bucky to help me out sometime...”

“Really?!” you perked up, looking down at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t give you an answer, instead fucking you with his tongue tillyou were quivering around him, crying out loud, as the mirror fogged up.

“Bucky’s nice...” you mumbled incoherently as he rose to his feet, his nails digging into your hips as he picked you up till you were standing on your top toes to meet his height. Sheathing his hard length inside you in one firm thrusts as he stayed still to let you get used to him.

“Hm. Am I not nice?” you saw him frown behind in his reflection, “I buy you whatever you want. Give you whatever you want, don’t I? Apparently it’s not enough for you. You’re getting too spoiled, I need to start saying no,” he drove each word home with hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck.

“NOOO,” you whined, tears streaming down your face at such an outrageous prospect. Steve never said no to you. Not even when you literally asked for a threesome with his past self. “I was saying...” You tried to say but moaned as he pinched your clit, trying to jerk away from him but his firm hold on you made it impossible. “That he’s nice...” you panted, “Slow down, please!”

He hummed to make a show of thinking about it but then fastened his pace, twisting your clit between his fingers as he watched your face in the mirror.

“No.”

“He’s nice.... but he’s not you,” you wailed, clenching around him as your climax washed over you.

He had to hold onto your waist, so you wouldn’t collapse on your shaky leg, he smiled, “That’s very touching, doll.” He said.

“’is the truth.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing it with Bucky though. He knows you’re mine.” Unlike a certain someone who was dumb enough to think he had any claim on you, “Can you hold for me?” he asked as you nodded.

Planting your hands against the mirror you braced yourself as he fucked you from behind, filling you up to the brim with his warmth.

“Okay then. You wouldn’t find me kicking him out of my bed...” you giggled.

[tommytranselo]

Hello! Can you please do a platonic Tommy x Sam x Paulie prompt?

i'm sorry this took so long, but thank you for sending this! finally got me to dig out a couple paragraphs of a premise that had been sitting in my drafts for ages. warning for mild blood/violence, and for language as usual. ---

It’s one of those collection missions that should be simple but somehow goes wrong–like the job that ended with Sam pissing all over a barroom floor as a last ditch distraction, the several that had Paulie leaving some poor sap’s blood staining their own counter, and (God forbid) the shitshow at Clark Motel. This time it’s a bartender who’s been getting more and more reluctant lately to fork over the cash, a guy who used to pay dues to Morello and didn’t appreciate the brief reprieve after the old Don’s death coming to an end at the hand of Salieri’s men. He’s the stupid short-tempered type who doesn’t think too much before trying to act like a tough guy–the three have seen enough of those in their time to know that despite having a bite to match their bark, they only get to sink their teeth in once, and usually harmlessly. Tommy’s fatal mistake is turning his back when he goes to pick up the money, and with what seems like a split-second chance ripe for the taking in front of him, their reluctant customer decides to act on it: he takes a bottle to the back of Tommy’s head with a resounding crash. The echo seems to come from far away, Tommy thinks, as his knees buckle and the darkness overtakes him.

The bartender is very, very lucky he does not get end up with a bullet in him that very instant. Paulie and Sam have their guns on him in a heartbeat and he seems to realize his mistake, because his hands shoot up over his head in surrender and his eyes go wide with fear. They corner him without a fight, and it’s only a matter of moments before Sam’s scooping Tommy up off the floor, checking to make sure he’s breathing, while Paulie gives the bartender an asskicking he’ll remember for years to come. Sam gets in a couple of blows too, just to drive the point home, just to put his anger somewhere productive. They haul Tommy to the car; Sam sits in the back with him, pressing a handkerchief over the bleeding cut at the back of his head (there is no glass in it he can see, thank Christ), while Paulie drives fifteen over the speed limit, knuckles white on the wheel.

“He still out back there?” “Cold.” Sam presses two fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse, like he can’t already see Tommy’s chest rise and fall–mostly it’s just to reassure himself. “What was that asshole trying to pull back there, anyway? He was unarmed and outnumbered three to one. What did he think was gonna happen?” “He didn’t think, Paulie. Guys like that never do.” “But why act up now?” “My guess? With Morello gone, he started getting ideas about skipping out on dues while we were still getting things under control. He won’t get any ideas about it again.” “Hope so.”

They drive on for a couple more minutes in tense silence before Tommy stirs at last, and Sam snaps to attention. “He's waking up.” “Thank Christ,” Paulie says in the front seat. Tommy lets out a low groan and cracks his eyes open. His head's pounding, and there's something sticky in his hair–blood. It takes him a moment to put it together, but he's in the back seat of a car rattling down the road, slumped into someone. There's a hand on his shoulder, an arm wrapped around him protectively. “You okay, Tom?” It’s Sam. “Yeah...” he mutters, straining to sit up a little. “What happened?” “Shit-for-brains bartender didn’t want to pay up, so when you turned around the genius decided it’d be a good idea to smack you across the back of the head with a bottle, and you just dropped,” Paulie says. “You had us pretty damn worried, Tommy.” He lets out kind of a hissing noise. “How long was I out?” “About fifteen minutes or so. Just long enough for us to take care of the asshole that hit you, get you into the car, and get the hell out of there.” Sam cracks a slight, nervous grin. "Guess this makes us even now, huh?” “Hey, I’m not saved quite yet,” Tommy says wryly. The smile vanishes in a heartbeat. “Don't joke.” “You're one to talk.” Sam scowls. "Yeah. I know.” “Don't tell me you two are fighting back there at a time like this,” Paulie cuts in. “Nah,” Tommy mumbles, “just talking. Just talking.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, reopens them only halfway. “Where we headed?” “Doc’s house,” Paulie says. “We gotta get that cut on your head checked out, looks pretty nasty. You were bleeding all over the place till Sam here managed to slow it down a little. He hit you pretty damn hard.” It’s only now Tommy notices the blue handkerchief balled up in Sam’s hand, stained dark red with his blood. He doesn't answer Paulie’s remark, just sort of grunts. “You alright?” Sam says quietly. His hand is still on Tommy's shoulder, protective, anxious. “Yeah. I’m alright.” “Don't go falling asleep on me before we get there.” “I'm awake, Sam.” “Good. You better stay that way.”

Paulie gets them to the doctor a mere few minutes later. “Record time! I’m almost as good a wheelman as you, eh, Tommy?” “Sure, something like that,” he replies with a weak smile. Sam gets out of the car before he does and holds out an arm to hold him up, walks him to the front step with Tommy leaning on his shoulder, still woozy. Paulie bangs impatiently on the door, and Tommy has to chuckle a little at his urgency. It’s only a little cut; he’s seen them both survive much worse. “Good lord,” the doctor says, when he opens the door. “What happened to you?” “Got hit over the head,” Paulie replies grimly. “You’re bleeding everywhere.” “I’m not–” Tommy touches his forehead, and when his fingertips come away red he realizes for the first time that what he’d assumed was drying sweat on his face is in fact blood. “Oh.” “Didn’t get a chance to clean that up,” Sam mutters. “Come inside, we’ll get you patched up.”

He’s ushered in, sat down on a table. Paulie and Sam hover around him awkwardly, getting in the doctor’s way till he shoos them aside. “First thing is to fix up that cut. Let me have a look.” The doctor picks through Tommy’s hair to inspect the damage, murmuring unintelligibly to himself. After a moment he says, “It's not deep. Shouldn't need stitches. It seems to have bled a lot, but head wounds usually do. I'll just clean and bandage it.” Sam's hand lingers comfortingly on Tommy's shoulder while he's patched up, letting out the occasional grunt of pain as the cut is cleaned out. Paulie sits on his other side, trying to think of something helpful to do. Tommy ends up with bandages wound awkwardly around his head, hair sticking up every which way, but the doc makes it work. That done, he finally cleans the dried blood that's dripped down Tommy’s face, then steps back.

“You were hit over the head, you said?” “Yeah.” “Were you knocked unconscious?” “Yeah. For about...” he pauses. “Fifteen minutes or so,” Sam supplies helpfully. “Mhm. Are you dizzy at all? Nauseous?” “Kinda.” “Ears ringing?” “Yeah.” “I see. Well, the good news is that there’s nothing severely wrong, and that cut on your head should heal fine.” Tommy raises an eyebrow. “What’s the bad news?” “It appears you may have a concussion.” He looks to Paulie and Sam. “Someone should keep an eye on him. Don’t let him sleep for several hours, just to make sure nothing worsens.” “Trust me,” Sam says, jerking a thumb at Paulie, “nobody’s sleeping with him around.” Paulie just rolls his eyes and looks to Tommy. “Hey, we’ll take good care of you. I promise. “I know,” Tommy says. “You always do.”

[toosicktoocare]

Omg omg!! 9-1-1 prompts!! I’d really love a Buck x Eddie (either romantic or platonic) where Buck gets stuck in a building for a bit too long and gets super woozy from smoke inhalation and Eddie is having to help guide him to help after hauling him out of the building. Obviously only write it if you want to!! —withstarryeyes

Sorry for the delay on this, @withstarryeyes I’ve actually had this written for, like, 2 weeks now? Maybe 3? I just forgot, lol

When the last family member stumbles out of the building with Bobby, Eddie expects to see Buck trailing behind, but he’s not, and Eddie’s gut twists hard. Tension sets his jaw tightly. and he grips his radio to keep his hands from shaking. “Buck,” he calls into the device. “Status update?”

He’s met with static, and he doesn’t hear the others approach him from behind; he doesn’t hear anything aside from the roaring fire warming his face.

“Buckley,” Bobby tries, voice steady at Eddie’s side. “You want to maybe get out of the burning house now?”

“Uh, trying, Cap, but-”

There’s a crackling crash from the second floor, and it takes every physical ounce of will power to keep Eddie planted in place and not rushing head first into the fire.

“Buck?” Bobby tries again, and it’s the very subtle flick on concern that edges his words that has Eddie shoving his radio close to his mouth.

“Evan,” he growls, desperation thick in his tone, and then the radio’s crackling, and Buck’s breathing that comes through is harsh and heavy.

“I’m kind of stuck.”

It’s exactly what Eddie did not want to hear, and he can feel the blood drain from his face, leaving him terrified down to his very core. His eyes find a bedroom window on the second story, and then Buck appears before it, waving down sheepishly at them.

“Where’s his oxygen mask?” Eddie asks, more to himself, and Hen gestures toward one of the kid’s propped up in the back of an ambulance, an abandoned oxygen mask lying at her feet.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under his breath. “I’m going up.”

“You are not,” Bobby interrupts, falling in step beside Eddie as Eddie all but marches toward the ladder truck that’s already stationed with the aerial aimed to the roof. He’s slipping into full gear, but before he can start the climb to the top of the truck, Bobby’s in front of him, promptly blocking him.

“Bobby-”

“-You have a dislocated shoulder, Eddie. It’s not happening.”

“I’ve worked through worse,” Eddie fires back, eyes briefly flicking toward the roof to see Buck still at the window, looking, for the first time tonight, mutely scared.

“And that’s a poor reflection on me, so from now on, injuries stay on the ground.”

Eddie’s clenching his teeth, struggling around crumbling composure, but then there’s another roar of shifting fire from the building. It’s just enough to capture Bobby’s attention, and Eddie takes his chance to slip from his sling and yank himself up to the top of the ladder truck. He barks out a few orders to the others manning the aerial, and then he’s being helped into the remaining gear and starting across the ladder at a dangerous speed.

“Diaz, get back down here.”

“Eddie, what the hell?”

“I’m not popping that shoulder back into place again, Eddie. You’re on your own this time.”

Eddie ignores his radio, considers tossing it all together, but then he makes it to the window, and Buck, who’s swaying on his feet, coughing into his fist, is shooting Eddie a worried look. He motions for Buck to move back, and in a quick motion, he’s breaking the window and helping Buck onto the ladder.

“Your shoulder,” Buck wheezes, and he tries to pull away, to not cling to Eddie’s bad arm, but he’s staggering, light-headed, and Eddie snakes said bad arm around Buck’s waist, grounding him.

“Move,” he growls into Buck’s ear, and the two make their way back to the truck, Eddie supporting Buck’s weight, guiding him back to the truck then helping him off the truck, and it’s not until Buck’s feet are hitting cold, solid ground that Eddie can breathe fully.

“Diaz!”

Eddie will take Bobby’s scolding; he’ll take it at any hour or any day, but right now, Buck needs oxygen. Luckily, or not, depending on how one looks at it, Bobby’s anger dissipates to clear concern when he stops before them and eyes Buck, who, with every passing second, is seemingly struggling more and more to remain standing.

Buck’s head lolls to Eddie’s shoulder, and though the gaze Bobby shares with Eddie is sharp, indicating a silent more to come, he nods, and takes Buck’s other side, helping Eddie get him to Hen and Chimney.

The next few minutes are a blur. Buck’s fitted with an oxygen mask, and though he’s cleary drained, he’s still whipping out quick jokes and jabs with Hen and Chimney, and Eddie desperately wants to cling to that, to the normalcy, but as much as he tries, he can’t. He can only focus on the way Buck’s hand absently rubs at his chest, or the way his face briefly flicks to pinched pain with each inahle he drinks in. For a moment, all he sees is Buck standing at the window, and all he hears is the masked, crackling fear in his voice over the radio, how he tried to sound calm, but Eddie knows him better than that.

“Earth to Eddie. Did you hit your head, and I not see?”

Eddie blinks slowly. Buck’s in front of him, swaying faintly on his feet and frowning, and Eddie shakes his head, hand reaching out on instinct to feel Buck’s steady, thumping pulse against his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” Buck fires back quickly, Eddie’s abandonded sling in his hand. “Bobby’s three seconds from losing his shit, you know.”

Eddie looks over Buck’s shoulder to see Bobby frowning deeply at him, and he offers a sheepish half-wave before he turns back to Buck, trained eyes studying  Buck’s poor pallor, the soft wheeze that accompanies each rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s shaking his knees, most likely to hold his balance.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? You were in there for a while.”

“Hen said she wants to look me over tomorrow before our shift, but otherwise, she said I should be fine. I just need to keep an eye on my breathing throughout the night.” Buck lifts one hand, palm spreading softy over Eddie’s injured shoulder. “You should get Hen to look at-”

“-Stay the night tonight,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck’s jaw falls slack.

They’ve been exclusive for a few months now. It’s been clumsy, both working to find a new type of balance, but it’s been nice, and Eddie’s been wanting to ask Buck over for the night for a while now. While Buck’s stayed over before, on the couch after late shifts, this, Eddie thinks, is different, and he can’t think of a better time.

“What?”

“I can watch over you- make sure you’re okay so you can rest.”

“Eddie, that’s not-”

“-Please,” Eddie presses, and whether or not it’s the desperate weight behind his tone, Buck nods, his resolve giving in, and Eddie slips his arm around Buck’s waist, supporting him as he leads him back to the truck. Buck stumbles, and though Eddie’s shoulder is throbing, he tightens his hold.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital now?”

“Yeah, Hen said I’ll just be a little light-headed for a bit.”

Eddie’s not wildly satisfied with that answer, but he drops it as he helps Buck into the truck now that another station’s pulled up to work on dousing the remaining flames. He keeps quiet when they get back to the station, sticking wordlessly close to Buck’s side, keeping an ear to his breathing, a hand to is back, and he’s just about to hop into his truck after having changed and gotten Buck settled into the passenger seat when Bobby pops up in front of the truck.

“Eddie.”

Eddie meets Buck’s sympathetic gaze, shrugs, and turns toward Bobby. “Look, Cap-”

“-You disobeyed direct orders.”

“I know, Cap, but-”

“-You aren’t one to normally do that, Eddie. That’s Buck’s job, not yours.”

“Cap, I understand that, but-”

“-Did you even consider the risk, Eddie?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie shouts before he deflates against a sigh, dropping against the front of his truck and running the hand of his good arm down his face. “But, Buck... He outweighs any risk, Bobby. He always will.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to put you two on seperate shifts, and I really don’t want to do that. You two work too well together, so make sure,” Bobby steps a little closer, clapping a gentle hand to Eddie’s good shoulder, “this doesn’t happen again.”

“I can’t promise that it won’t, Bobby.”

“Just, shut up and nod, Diaz. I’m too tired to think anymore about this tonight.”

Bobby’s tone is light, a soft smile coloring his lips, and Eddie nods, his own smile pulling through the stress.

“Take care of him, okay? Call if you need anything.”

“Yes, Cap.”

Eddie hops into the truck when Bobby walks back into the station, and he can physically feel Buck’s almost dopey smile piercing the side of his face. “Don’t say it,” he groans, turning a tired gaze toward Buck, but Buck’s already batting too long lashes at him.

“My hero.”

[fruitcoops]

Hi! Do you think you’d be willing to write some Cubs fluff for Mardi Gras? Like Leo making Finn and Lo do something (I don’t exactly know how it’s celebrated)?

Oh my god I LOVE Mardi Gras!!! Also, I haven’t done Cubs fluff in a while, and I combined it with a couple other related prompts. This fic includes Cubs and Coops bonding (ft. Logan being a little shit), Leo learning to drive in the snow, a chaotic trip to the grocery store, and Lions family dinner after a winter walk. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove, as always <3

“Eas—Easy, babe, just take it nice and steady,” Finn gripped the ‘oh, shit’ handle with one hand and Leo’s thigh with the other; in the backseat, Logan rubbed his neck where the seatbelt bit into it.

Leo took an unsteady breath and carefully pressed the gas again, wincing as the car rumbled under him. “Oh god, oh fuck, okay.”

“Snow isn’t that hard to drive in—” Finn cut off as Leo slammed on the brakes again. “—as long as you don’t brake hard whenever you feel a little bit of ice. Lo, you okay?”

“Fine,” Logan wheezed, bracing against the car door.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” Finn murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the road as Leo began inching forward again. “If you start to slip, take your foot off the gas and do not slam the brakes, okay? We don’t want to skid.”

“I don’t get why you can’t drive us there,” Leo said, glancing in each of his mirrors even though they were still in a fairly residential area. Ten minutes on the road and they’d barely made it four blocks from the apartment.

“Because you need to know how to drive properly.”

“I know how to drive!” Leo saw Finn and Logan exchange a look through the rearview mirror and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Stop it. When’s my next turn?”

“Still 53rd.”

“Left or right?”

“Right.” Finn tapped out a quick text on his phone. “Cap and Loops just arrived at the store.”

“Fuck,” Leo muttered.

“It’s okay, Peanut, take your time,” Logan said. “Just focus on getting there safely.”

Leo tried to breathe deep and they rolled down the block, flinching each time snow or ice crackled under the tires or threatened to make them slide. “I drive in the rain all the time. This shouldn’t be hard.”

“Rain is way different than snow.” Finn pointed to the next intersection. “Turn there.”

They took the turn a bit wide, but thankfully there were no cars on the other side—still, both Finn and Logan went pale. Logan cleared his throat. “Streets here aren’t as wide as New Orleans, mon amour.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Leo grumbled. “How much further?”

“The parking lot is on the next block.”

They almost got stuck driving up the small ramp into the parking lot due to Leo’s ‘slow and steady’ approach and he could have sworn he heard Logan muttering the Hail Mary in French under his breath. Parking was easy—nobody in their right mind would be driving after a true Gryffindor snowstorm. Except us, he thought wryly as he turned the engine off.

“Don’t forget to lock the car,” Finn said mere seconds after the key was out.

“Dude.”

“Sorry. Uh, Cap’s by the produce section.”

They were too focused on not slipping and falling on their asses to talk much while they walked through several snowdrifts to get to the front entrance of the grocery store; Leo sighed with happiness as soon as the heated air hit his face.

“Harzy!” Cap waved an arm over his head from the apple stand, smiling brightly. “You survived!”

“It was a close one,” Finn called back with a grin, sliding his hand into Leo’s back pocket as the three of them walked over.

“Dibs on riding in the cart!” One of Logan’s legs was already halfway into the basket before Sirius could stop him; he kicked aside the celery and onions and settled down, leaning back onto Sirius’ hands. “Bonjour.”

“Get out.”

“Non. I live here now.”

“I’m not pushing you.”

“I will!” Finn said. “Where’s the old ball and chain, Capsicle?”

“Call me that again and you can say goodbye to your ball and chain,” Remus said drily, lugging a bag of rice over from the other aisle. He stopped when he saw Logan, looking amused. “Hiya, Tremz. You look comfy.”

“Oh, I am.” Logan lounged in the cart, letting one leg drape over the side; he groaned when Remus set the rice bag on his chest. “Was that necessary?”

“No, but it was funny.” He grinned at Leo. “How was driving?”

Leo shrugged. “Decent.”

Sirius snorted as they began walking toward the meat section. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s a miracle I wasn’t beheaded,” Logan said. “Fish, how fast can you make it to the end of the aisle?”

“Loops, time me.” Finn tightened his grip on the cart and bent into a runner’s stance; Leo and Sirius both rolled their eyes as Remus dug his phone out of his pocket and opened up the timer.

“Ready…set…go!” Finn ran for three steps before hopping onto the under carriage as Logan whooped. Remus stopped the timer. “Four point six seconds! Get back here, I wanna try.”

“You’re not going to beat that time,” Logan laughed as he climbed out of the cart.

Sirius raised his eyebrows at the same time Remus stuck his tongue out. “Watch me. Knutty, can I trust you to be an unbiased timer?”

Leo shrugged. “Sure, gimme your phone.”

“You have one of your very own.”

“Trying to hide something, are we?” Logan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Sirius pushed him away by the forehead. “Spill the beans, Loops! Got some spicy messages in there? Some things poor baby Nutter Butter can’t handle?”

“No, I just don’t trust any of you with anything that belongs to me,” he laughed. “You’re walking safety hazards.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Leo said as he set the timer. “Ready? Go!”

Sirius nearly tipped the cart over when he stood on the lower bar, making both of them yelp and wobble for a moment. Leo stopped the clock at the end of the aisle. Three point nine seconds.

“Sorry, guys, that’s four point eight seconds!” he called as Sirius pushed the cart back up to them.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Show me the phone.”

“I already reset the time.”

“So we definitely won,” Sirius said while Remus clambered out of the basket and Logan took his place. “Get out, Tremzy!”

“Make me!”

Sirius reached in and grabbed him under his armpits, but Logan kept a tight grip on the sides. “Are you done?” Remus asked wearily once Sirius started shaking him. “ ‘cause our grocery list is, like, a million miles long.”

With a disgruntled noise, Sirius dropped Logan back into the cart. “With any luck, he’ll be crushed under the food. What’s next?”

They had a few more competitions during their journey through the store, including onion basketball, vegetable Tetris, and a highly amusing game of twenty questions that ended in Sirius laying the bag of rice over Logan’s face.

Leo did some mental math as they walked out with six grocery bags full of ingredients. “We’ll need about seven pots to fit all this, but we’ve only got two that would work.”

“I think we’ve got one or two as well,” Remus said as he hauled a bag into the trunk of their car and brushed his hands off. “Celeste probably has some, and I can give Lily a call. Where are we making it, again?”

“Dumo’s. There’s nowhere near enough space at the apartment and I don’t want these two anywhere close to it.”

Finn shot him an offended look over a bag of onions. “Hey!”

“I love you, sweetheart, but if you fuck up my gumbo I’ll cry.” In the back of his mind, Leo was already thinking of small jobs for Logan and Finn to do so they could make it together, but they didn’t need to know that. It could be a Mardi Gras surprise.

“The sun’s coming out,” Sirius mused, looking upward at the clear blue sky. “Nothing we bought is going to melt. Do you want to go for a walk before we head out?”

Logan checked his phone. “We’ve got time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Leo agreed.

“I’m never going to say no to a snow day,” Finn laughed, wrapping his arms around Leo and Logan. “Lead the way.”

“So, Knutty, gumbo is basically chicken noodle soup, right?” Sirius asked as he linked elbows with Remus and started down the sidewalk.

“Uh, no.” Leo made a disgusted face and reached out to smack the back of his shoulder. “That’s blasphemy. Gumbo is more like stew, but you put less meat in it and more of a vegetable base. There aren’t noodles, either. Do you even know what a roux is?”

Sirius glanced back at Finn, who shrugged. “…I do not.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Leo muttered. “A roux is the base to all good New Orleans food. It’s flour and oil, and you heat it up so whatever you’re making has an actual taste to it, as well as some thickness. If you get it wrong, the whole thing is pretty much ruined.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Damn.”

Ahead of them, a pack of kids played pickup hockey on the park’s frozen pond. Several of them wore Lions sweatshirts or hats and Leo leaned his head on Finns beanie with a smile. “Look at how cute they are,” Finn cooed, waving to some of the astonished parents who had spotted them.

“Oh, killer hit,” Remus said as one kid went on a breakaway. “Is he—hey, nice shot!”

They paused for a second to applaud and a jumble of excited yelling echoed off the trees around the pond; Leo burst out laughing and draped his other arm across Logan’s shoulders, pulling him in closer to their huddle as they began to walk again. “We should head out there sometime. We live close enough.”

Finn hummed in agreement and stood on his tiptoes with a hopeful smile. “Kisses?”

Leo obliged, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous. That had nothing to do with hockey.”

“I didn’t get any kisses,” Logan grumbled, snuggling into Leo’s ribs.

“Get up here and I’ll give you one!”

“My nose is cold!”

Leo sighed dramatically and bent down to kiss the rosy tip of his nose—at the last second, Logan popped his chin out of his coat collar and caught his lips. “That was smooth as fuck. Better?”

“Much.”

“Are you three being gross again?” Remus teased, craning his neck to look back.

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“One walk,” Sirius sighed. “I wanted one walk where we could hang out in peace and quiet.”

“You invited the wrong people for that,” Leo snickered as they looped back around the block into the parking lot. “Harzy, baby, can you drive us back?”

“You need to learn!”

Leo turned on his saddest puppy eyes and stuck his lower lip out. “Please?”

Finn scrunched his nose up and flicked his shoulder lightly. “You’re too cute for your own good.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Obviously.”

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

After a quick pit stop at their apartment to pick up the pots, they arrived at the Dumais house just past two in the afternoon. Sirius and Remus pulled into the driveway just as they began unloading groceries from the truck and hurried over to give them a hand; all five of them were immediately mobbed by children the second they set foot in the house. Leo carefully took the onions from Logan so he could sweep Katie over his shoulder and tickle her knees, making her dissolve into giggles.

“My boys!” Celeste called from the entrance to the kitchen. She practically glowed with excitement as she pulled them into a group hug and Leo melted a little when she pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “You brought the food, yes?”

“We’ve got everything we need,” he confirmed, holding the onions and a pot up as proof. “As long as you’ve got counter space, we’ll be a-okay.”

Sirius and Logan lingered in the doorway, chatting with the kids in rapid French that Leo didn’t even try to keep up with—he used to think regional differences were made up for internet clout, but even after living with Logan for close to a year he sometimes struggled with the pace.

Celeste helped them gather cutting boards, knives, and basic spices that they hadn’t picked up at the store; Leo felt a thrill in his gut and drummed his hands happily on the countertop at the sight of the familiar ingredients. He made a mental note to send a picture to his mother later that night as he rolled up his sleeves.

“Think you can handle rinsing vegetables?” he asked, passing Finn a bag of green peppers.

Finn rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and he pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek before going to the sink. Remus unpacked the last of the bags and gave him an expectant look—Leo was struck by the sudden realization that for once, he was the only one in the kitchen who knew the recipe.

“Um, I’ll start the roux,” he said, grabbing the flour and oil. “Loops, can you start dicing the peppers, celery, and onions? Cap can help out once he gets the squid children off him.”

A smile tugged at the edge of Remus’ mouth. “Bold of you to assume he won’t drag them in here.”

“Alright, Rookie, what’s my job?” Sirius panted, grinning wildly as Adele wrapped herself around his lower leg and groaned with each dragging step.

Remus spared him a playful I told you so look, and Leo shook his head. “As long as you can use a knife with a kid clinging to your leg, you can help your fiancé chop the basics.”

Sirius mock-saluted him and hobbled to the counter; behind him, Logan wandered in with Marc under one arm and Katie under the other. “I have potato sack delivery,” he announced, giving them each a gentle shake. “Can these go in the gumbo, too?”

“No!” both shrieked at the same time, flailing their legs.

“Those look like pretty good potatoes to me…” Sirius said, glancing down at Adele. “What do you think?”

“Put ‘em in the soup!” she yelled.

“It’s not soup,” Leo complained, though he couldn’t be heard over the loud protests of the youngest Dumais kids.

Sirius finally got Adele to let go of him when he started cutting onions—“Do you want to smell like onions?”—but Katie perched on the edge of the counter and watched every move Leo made with eagle eyes as he finished each roux and began mixing the trinity in. Each motion was muscle memory—the smells wrapped him in a hug made of tangy peppers, smooth chicken broth, and a kick of spice at the very end.

Much to his surprise, Sirius, Finn, and Logan were quick learners. Making five massive pots of gumbo was much easier when he had five more hands helping him; Celeste had even been sweet enough to put jazz on as they cooked and the six of them took turns dancing, partnering with whomever was closest.

The others started arriving at five—almost immediately, the kitchen was crowded with ten new hockey players who crammed as close as they could to the stovetop to smell the bubbling broth. Noelle was the only one who was allowed to get within ten feet of the food, much to Talker’s chagrin.

Honestly, it was a miracle that they made it to the table without the rest of the team falling on the gumbo like a pack of wild hyenas who hadn’t eaten for a week. Kasey’s bouncy leg shook the edge of the table in anticipation until Leo reached over and smacked him on the thigh with his spoon. “Be patient, Bliz.”

“I’m always patient!”

Eight different people made noises of protest and he scoffed, leaning his face over the bowl to get a whiff of the thick steam. Dumo tapped his fork on the side of his cup; it wasn’t quite a classy ding-ding, but it made enough noise to catch people’s attention.

“First, thank you all for coming here for a family dinner,” he said, smiling so wide it made Leo’s heart warm. “Second, I’d like to welcome the older and wiser O’Hara to his very first Lions dinner, since he had the great fortune of visiting just in time to be adopted by the team for a night!”

Loud cheers filled the house and Alex gave a slight wave, blushing under the attention as Kasey and Nat jostled him between their shoulders.

“And finally, everyone say ‘thank you’ to Knutty for sharing his top-secret gumbo recipe from home. We might not celebrate Mardi Gras like New Orleans, but this is a party nonetheless.” Dumo raised his water with a wink and Leo squeezed Logan’s hand under the table as seventeen voices thanked him for his cooking, despite the fact that they hadn’t even tasted it yet.

The house went dead silent as people took their first bites, then erupted into noise. “Holy shit, Knutty!” Nado all but shouted, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. “This is witchcraft.”

“It’s called ‘cooking’, you should try it sometime,” Leo shot back, grinning. The chicken thighs melted in his mouth, and the pop of lemon and spice at the back of his throat tingled all the way down to his bones. He didn’t think Pots had taken a breath in thirty straight seconds. Leo closed his eyes, letting the tangled muddle of his family’s voices roll over him, mixing with the taste of home.

“Ça va, mon amour?” Logan asked under his breath, touching his elbow.

Leo smiled and touched their foreheads together, setting his spoon down on the edge of his bowl. “I’m so fucking happy right now.”

Logan smiled and the edges of his eyes crinkled. “You look happy.”

“You two are whispering without me?” Finn whined, scooting his chair over a few inches and squishing Logan between them. His bowl was already half-empty, Leo noted with a sense of satisfaction. “That’s rude.”

“I love you,” Leo said. It needed no embellishments; no big, dramatic displays. “And I love making food for everyone.”

“You can do it any time, baby rookie.” Kasey scraped the sides of his bowl to catch the last few grains of cornbread, knocking his knee with Leo’s. “Next time we have a sleepover, I’m not ordering pizza.”

“So I’m going to be your personal chef?” Leo snorted. “Not a chance.”

“What’s that saying? The Mardi Gras one?”

Leo savored his next bite of gumbo and looked around the table as everyone chatted and laughed at the top of their lungs. “Laissez les bon temps rouler,” he said. “Let the good times roll.”

[babybatscreationsv2]

Reputation pt2 (End)

Marvel | Winterstarker

Peter doesn’t mean to count cards, he really doesn’t. He’s just a natural at it. The problem is that he can’t seem to stop himself and Bucky isn’t going to let a little card cheat steal his boss’s money.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

Part 1

Warnings: noncon,  crying, rough sex, face slapping, degrading language, bondage

They dragged him through the casino and into the back. The walls were bare and gray. They passed a dozen doors, some marked with things like 'storage' or 'maintenance' others just blank. They pushed open one of the unmarked doors and hauled him inside.

Peter struggled as he took it all in. Along one wall was a big couch. It was a deep red fabric with a matching ottoman in front. On the other wall was a big bed in matching red. In the middle of the room were two floor to ceiling stripper poles. Nothing in this room offered Peter any comfort.

Completely naked, they forced him to kneel on the ottoman. He was blindfolded and tied with his arms behind his back, wrists tied to his ankles. Bucky warned him to keep quite and not to move.

He heard movement around him. There was some quiet discussion about work schedules. No one was terribly concerned with him and that both gave Peter time to calm down and reason for worry. How often did they just kidnap and rape people? What was Tony Stark going to do to him?

After a while, he heard the door open. Someone came in and others went out. Someone sat down on the couch in front of him. He flinched as a hand touched his chest, feeling along his pectorals and down his ribs.

"You are a sweet one aren't you?" said a man. He had this satisfied sort of purr in his voice as if Peter were a buffet he were indulging in. He shivered, goosebumps rising all over his skin.

A hand curled gently around his throat. With his thumb, he tipped his head back and side to side, examining his face.

"Incredible find, Buck."

"I'm right here," Peter spat. "I'm not a toy."

The man chuckled. Then he slapped him hard across the face. Peter gasped. He nearly fell over but rough hands caught his shoulders and sat him upright.

The man, it must have been Tony Stark, continued to run his hands over his body. "You're whatever I say you are, pretty boy. You're mine now. Do you know what happens if I decide to slit your throat and dump you in a river?" His finger traced a line over his throat. "Not shit," he laughed.

"When your body washes up, the police will say it was an accident. I could carve my confession into your skin and it wouldn't make a difference. Just another tragic cold case." He shuddered as he lightly traced the line of his jaw.

"You'd better be on your best behavior, Peter. I'd hate for anything to happen to you. You're so awfully pretty."

Two fingers touched his lips and Peter opened his mouth obediently. He sobbed as Tony pushed his fingers inside his mouth. He gagged at the taste at first, but the feeling passed. He pushed into his throat and Peter's face heated as the man fucked his mouth with his fingers.

"That's right. I knew you could be a good boy," he purred. "Do what you're told and you get to keep your beating heart."

He removed his fingers from his mouth, dragging them over his lips. "Keep your mouth open," he ordered. Peter did. Fear made him feel cold and sick, but he could be obedient.

Wet fingers dragged over his nipple. Peter whimpered. His nipples were sensitive and just a small touch made his body crave more. He could practically feel the excitement in the air at his response though no one said anything.

Tony traced his nipple with one finger. His dragged his nail over it. Peter squirmed and gasped. He felt his cock throb. Drool dripped from his open mouth. Even though he was blindfolded, he squeezed his eyes shut. The more Tony played with him, the more his cock ached. He was getting hard, fast. Tony teased and lightly pinched. Then he leaned in, Peter could feel his hot breath, and his mouth closed around the little nub.

Peter screamed in pleasure. Those hands grabbed his shoulders again holding him still. He whimpered and panted and moaned. Tony was sucking on his nipple, running his tongue over and around it. Then his teeth grazed over it.

"Ah, ah," he whined. "Please."

Tony chuckled. "Please, what dear?" He sat back and Peter frowned. He wanted more. Then he started to come back to himself. Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt awful, like a disgusting whore. He shouldn't be enjoying this. He didn't even want to be here.

"Oh, poor thing," Tony teased. "Were you enjoying yourself?"

"He's gone all soft, boss," said Bucky who stood behind him.

"Well we can't have a soft slut. Where's the fun in that. New rule okay, baby? Daddy will make you feel good and you don't feel guilty about it. Got it?" He tapped Peter's cheek and he nodded.

"I don't actually care what you think, but I won't have you making me look bad by going soft on me."

Hands touched his face and he heard a thoughtful hum. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, boss."

"Afraid I'll fall in love?"

"Kinda," Bucky snorted.

"Well now I have to." The blindfold slipped off his face. Peter squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he adjusted to the light. He blinked as his vision recover.

"My God," the man whispered. "He wasn't that pretty on the camera..."

"Told you," Bucky laughed.

"Keep on. I'll put you in the corner while the rest of us have play time."

Peter looked at the man in front of him. He was pushing fifty and handsome as hell with dark hair and warm eyes. He could have at least had the decency to be some fat old pervert, but no. They just looked at each other for a moment.

"You two gonna get married or what?"

Tony shot him a look. Then he looked back at Peter. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Oh, there's gonna be plenty more where that came from."

He went back to toy with that same nipple only now it was sore and becoming raw and Peter hissed when he touched it. He squirmed and Bucky held him still. Tony smirked. With two fingers he pinched hard and Peter shrieked. Tears spilled from his eyes again.

"That's it, baby," Tony said softly. "Pretty, red, wet eyes. Put him down on the floor."

Bucky picked him, grabbing him by the waist. He kicked the ottoman aside and set Peter down at Tony's feet. He watched as Tony unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. He stood and grabbed Peter by the hair. He tried to pull away but Tony jerked his head.

"Remember what I said about dumping you in a river?" he warned. Peter opened his mouth. "That's a good boy."

He slipped his cock into his open mouth. Peter could taste it as it slid over his tongue. He shuddered. Tony groaned as he pushed down into his throat. Peter gagged and struggled, but he didn't stop until his nose was pressed painfully against his abdomen.

Peter gagged and tears poured down his face. Tony watched him with hungry eyes. He held him there, with his cock in his throat, unable to escape, until Peter's lungs were burning and his eyes began to flutter shut he struggled to stay conscious. Then he pulled back.

Peter gasped, dragging in a ragged breath. His lungs and throat hurt. Tony didn't give him long to recover. He fucked his throat, pulling all the way back and letting spit run down his face just to slam back in. It was painful and he couldn't breathe and he made the most humiliating noises. His own spit dripped down onto his half hard cock humiliating him even more.

Bucky sat down on the couch, stroking his frankly monstrous cock while he watched. It was a miserably long time before Tony stopped. He pulled back, breathing heavy, spit connecting the end of his cock to Peter's open mouth.

"Ass up," Tony commanded. Bucky scooped him up again and put him on the ottoman. With his arms and legs bound, he could only lie on his face with his ass in the air.

Tony cock was sloppy wet with spit when he pushed into his ass. He was still slick from being fucked earlier. He wasn't as big as Bucky so it wasn't as painful, but he fucked hard and fast leaving Peter whimpering and shaking beneath him. He grabbed his hips and pushed in deep, spilling his cum with a low moan. He stopped and panted for a moment.

"Gotta hand it to the little cheat, he's a good fucking lay."

Bucky laughed.

Tony grabbed him around the middle and picked him up. With his cock still buried in Peter's ass, he sat down with Peter in his lap. His arms pressed against Tony's chest and his knees on the couch.

"Ready to dump another load?" Tony asked Bucky.

He grinned with a smile that made Peter shiver. "After a show like that? Course I am."

"A good performance deserves applause," Tony chuckled.

Bucky stepped up and Peter sobbed as he grabbed his chin. Reluctantly he opened his mouth. Bucky's cock was so big he felt like it would break his jaw. It was almost a mercy that he didn't fit down his throat. Still it hurt for him to fuck his face, hitting the opening of his throat, making him gag and cry and shake.

Tony pressed little kisses along his neck. He nibbled and sucked on his ear lobes. Peter closed his eyes and it only made everything worse, but when he opened them he had to look at Bucky's pleased smirk.

"Swallow," Tony warned in his ear. Then Bucky came in his mouth, much of it hitting his throat and making him gag. He barely swallowed fast enough as it slid down, slimy and thick, on its own. Bucky wiped his wet cock off on his cheeks.

"What a good little cock hole you are," Tony praised.

"Yeah, thanks for the fuck, pretty boy," Bucky agreed. Tony chuckled.

"Please," Peter's throat hurt and speaking only made him cough. The words came out rough and broken. "Let me go, please."

"Aw, poor baby," Tony cooed. "Is it too much for you? I'm not the kind of man to let a partner go unsatisfied. You at least have to cum before you go."

His hand wrapped around Peter's cock. He shivered and whimpered, but he was too tired to argue. Peter hated that he actually got hard.

"That's a good boy. Let's see you cum. I know you must need it after all that."

Peter whimpered, but he let he it happen. He panted, rapidly reaching climax, then finally he came, cum spilling over Tony's fist. It felt so good after so much pain and stress. Only Tony didn't stop when he needed him too and it hurt. He squirmed and whined.

"Please, stop. I came like you wanted," he pleaded, throat burning.

"Oh pretty baby," Tony cooed. "A bottom has to cum at least as many times as their tops. That's just good manners. Two more and then we'll let you go."

"I can't- please," he sobbed. His cock was too sensitive, his body was screaming, he couldn't stop whining and crying and pleading. Then it started to feel good and much too quickly he was cumming, but it only felt good for a second before he was again oversensitive.

"Please," he cried, his voice totally broken, only coming out as a whisper.

"All that squeezing is getting me hard again, you know that?" Tony said. Peter sobbed. He shook his head, begging him to stop, but he couldn't speak.

Tony rolled his hips, holding on to him so he could rock forward and back. He kept stoking his cock and his whole body shook in pain. But Tony's cock moving his in ass felt good and Peter moaned, too. He didn't know if he wanted him to stop or to keep going anymore. Then Bucky was prying open his mouth and fucking it again. As Peter screamed and came, body spasming and shaking, they both came filling his ass and coating his face.

"Oh dear," Tony said. "I guess that's two more for you."

The rope holding his arms and legs came undone, but Peter was too tired to do anything about it. Bucky picked him up and laid him down over the ottoman.

"I think he's all tired out. Look at that." He looked Peter over. His fingers carded through his sweaty hair and gave a tug that made him whimper.

"We'll just have to break out the toys," Tony said.

Peter couldn't do anything more than breathe. Then he was screaming as Bucky put a vibrator against the head of his cock.

Tony moaned. "You're gonna get me fucking hard again, sweetheart."

Peter wasn't sure anymore what was pain and what was pleasure. His whole body shook. He cried, gasping for breath. Then his next orgasm was forced out of him. Bucky held the vibrator against. Peter thrashed and screamed and they both had to hold him down.

"Please, Mr. Stark- please- I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"One more, baby. Gotta give us one more."

"I can't," Peter hiccuped.

"If you take too long, I'm gonna have to fuck you again and we'll have to start all over."

"No, please!"

"Dammit he's pretty," Bucky mumbled. He turned up the speed of the vibrator and Peter screamed, raw and open like he'd been shot. He came, shooting cum onto his skin.

The vibrator slowed, then turned off. Peter's legs felt like jelly.

"That's a good boy," Bucky pet his thighs. His hand touched his cock and Peter screamed, sobbing again. It was too sensitive to be touched.

"We'll he's not gonna cum again that way."

"I have an idea," Tony grinned. He took the vibrator from Bucky and turned it on. Peter watched in horror, too tired to move. Tony brought the toy down and touched the tip of it to his abused nipple.

Peter shrieked, this time in pleasure. It felt so good. Then Bucky was there, sucking on and teasing the other one. Peter panted and whined. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything more than take it. Pleasure built and his balls drew up and he didn't know how he could possibly cum again, but he did, this time dry and screaming, back arching, and finally he passed out.

He woke up in the bed, feeling hazy. He groaned and sat up. Tony and Bucky sat at a table playing cards. Peter was pretty sure he wasn't ever going to play cards again.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Bucky smiled at him.

"Can I leave now?" Peter said. He coughed. His throat hurt so bad he thought it might be bleeding.

"Well the thing is, sweetheart," Tony smirked. "When you were sleeping we just couldn't help ourselves. So you're gonna have to cum another seven times for us before you go. I have a reputation to uphold."

[platypanthewriter]

The Tanning Rock

Harringrove April prompt 28, Tanning--Creatures!AU (This one grew to nearly 6k and I’m so sorry) @wasting-time-again​ HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HAVE A MERMAN!  XD

The lawyer who summoned Billy—about an inheritance, he said—was...weird.  Straight out of a movie, with long incisors and a cravat, and he steepled his fingers as he talked.  

Max said he was probably actually a vampire, and Billy agreed—which was weird, because as far as Billy knew, his mom’s family wasn’t exactly old money, and it was hard to imagine a vampire getting on a plane to fly clear to California and summoning him to a crypt full of file cabinets, all just to read a will about his mom’s collection of surfing stickers and pile of old National Geographics.  

Billy knew his father had disowned him, so he bit his lips together, waiting to hear that his mother had died.

“I am here about the estate of your grandmother,” said the vampire lawyer, and Billy drew a shaky breath of relief.  “Your mother was disowned—” he said, and Billy almost snorted a laugh—like mother, like son, he thought, “—and so her domicile has passed to you.”

“Wait, what,” Billy breathed, wide-eyed.

“It is an unusual case,” said the lawyer—Fangun and Stayk, est. 986, read his card, but Billy wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Fangun or Stayk, or whether the whole thing was a joke yet, so he kept his mouth shut.  “You will take ownership of the house and land, however, you may not live there—that is, not year-round, not unless you are given an invitation by a resident.  It is a closed community.”

“...can I sell it?” Billy asked, and the deepset eyes of the lawyer stared back at him, bloodshot and dry.

“At well below market value,” he said, steepling his fingers again.  They made a dryish noise.  “As I said, they dislike outsiders.  And a stranger will be even more of an outsider than you, in whom runs...the blood of the place.”

Billy wondered, dully, whether he’d inherited a haunted graveyard, or a den of werewolves, and groaned into his hands.  Maybe he was part zombie somehow.  Just his luck.  “Where is it,” he sighed.

“It is not on commonly available maps,” said the vampire, and Billy nodded.  It figured, he thought, though his ears perked up considerably when his grandmother’s lawyer laid out a map of Hawaii.

 They got a ride from the shore on a fishing boat at four o’clock in the morning.  “It’s barely tourist season yet,” said the fisherwoman, showing Max how to steer.  “There will be a ferry, in a week or two, but I can give you two a ride out the day your visa’s up if the ferry quits sooner.”

“We want enough time to look around,” Max said, glancing at Billy.  They’d let their lease run out, and sold most of their things, because a few orange crates of records were a small price to pay for never running into Neil Hargrove around town.  “You could get a job on one of the normal islands,” Max had suggested, quietly, over and over.  “If they don’t like us enough.”

Billy’d never suggested moving Max so far away, but she’d assumed they were going, and after a while he went along with it.  It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, getting a job in a hotel somewhere after the islanders threw him out.  Max would probably love it, in Hawaii.  

A fresh start, she had said, and it sounded good.

He and Max were greeted by a woman in a wheelchair, who stamped their passports.  “Technically, we’re a different country,” she said, smiling.  She had very brown skin, and looked contentedly half-asleep in the sun.  “You’re the only visitors on the island, for a week or two,” she said, cocking her head.  “We’re not always in a big hurry to scrub up the ferry for the summer.  We love the money, but the tourists...” she laughed, shaking her head.  “Three-month pleasure trip visa.  Have a nice summer,” she said, waving them away.  

Her benign lack of interest lessened Billy’s initial fears that he’d inherited membership in some rich, yoga-pants-wearing, white Human Superiority cult.  

 The house was traditional-ish, with a grass roof and walls, big open windows with no glass, only shutters, and a wide shaded veranda all the way around.  It looked over a beach with rolling waves, and Billy couldn’t wait to get his board out there.

“I’m gonna look around the house,” Max said.  “See if I can find any neighbors.  Maybe I can bring them cookies.”  She set her jaw, frowning around at their luggage, and the scattered pillows.  “Maybe we can buy some furniture somewhere.”

“...we can always just come here for summers,” Billy told her, breathing it in.  

“Yeah, you’re gonna have a great time getting a tourism job where you don’t work summers,” Max said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow, and Billy realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that she expected him to figure it out.  Find someone who wanted him to stay, here, on the island, at his grandmother’s house.

“I’m no good at making friends, Max,” he reminded her, and she snorted.  

“Better get out of my hair, then.”  She folded her arms, taking another deep breath of the smell of grass in the sun.  After a long moment, she looked back at him again.  “...we’ve got a little over three months, Billy.”

He suspected it sounded longer to her.

 When he wandered down to the beach, Billy could see someone’s tanned shoulders lying across a jutting rock about fifty feet out, and he paddled a ways towards it on his surfboard, getting the lay of the ocean.  There was a rip tide, dark and eerily quiet, to his right, but the rest of the beach had shallow, warm, clear waves over white sand and coral until a dark dropoff about fifty feet out where the rolling waves began.  

As he paddled closer to the rock, he could see the man on it—asleep, Billy thought, just lying in the sun as the waves lapped at his skin.  As Billy drifted closer, paddling with his hands, he could see a long-fingered hand hanging in the water, and he paddled faster, suddenly wondering whether the man wanted to be out on a rock, or whether he was a Dude In Distress, his leg cramped, needing a ride to the beach on Billy’s surfboard and a trip around the boardwalk, and maybe some shaved ice.  

As Billy approached, the guy opened his eyes, frowning over at Billy with wide, half-awake brown eyes.  He pushed himself up on the rock with his arms like the goddamn Little Mermaid, Billy thought, amused. His throat went dry watching the flex of muscle, and the water droplets where the dude had lifted himself out of the bay.  

Billy paddled at random, a little, unable to tear his eyes away.  He cleared his throat.  “Just, uh, making sure you didn’t need any help,” he said, staring at the tanned arms and swimmer’s chest in front of him, nearly triangular, like a superhero.  “I, um.  Guess you’re fine.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, starting to smirk, and then his eyes widened, and Billy realized in a flash of blue and foam that he’d drifted right into the fucking rip tide.  Right in front of the gorgeous dude on the rock, Billy thought in the back of his mind, trying to hold onto his surfboard and let the rip tide take him wherever it would.  Just his luck, he thought, dying because he was so damn gay he saw nice shoulders and his brain switched off.  He hadn’t even gotten a chance to breathe before he got sucked down, and his lungs and sinuses were starting to ache worse than the rest of him, even as he was buffeted around against his board, when an arm slid around his waist.

He wanted to yell at the guy—and he did, in an explosion of bubbles—because what the hell good was it gonna do, swimming into a rip tide, but the muscles against his back and butt flexed, and they were moving sideways out of the rip tide, and then Billy’s head was above water.  He gasped and choked, coughing up half the sea.  The ocean moved soothingly around them, as this dude had no trouble holding Billy up, and Billy tried to clear his throat and eyes.  

“Have you seriously never seen a tail before,” the guy groaned, hauling Billy along like he was no more effort to lift than a little kid at the pool.  Billy felt rock against his thigh, suddenly, and scrambled onto it, coughing and wiping his eyes to see he was on the jutting rock the dude must have jumped off of, to save him.  

“How-how fucking humiliating,” he gasped out loud.  “Can’t believe.  C-can’t believe I fucking p-paddled into a rip tide.”

“You drifted back into the...yeah,” his hot rescuer said, still in the water, with one hand on the rock to hold him steady as he frowned at Billy.  His voice sounded a little odd—Billy was reminded of the Chinese grocery by his house, where their English was perfect, but they had a lilt as they tried to speak an atonal language with a tonal ear.  Up close, he was even prettier, with moles Billy wanted to track down his neck and shoulders, and a doubtful, scrunched-up mouth Billy wanted to kiss.

“Sorry,” Billy wheezed, still coughing.  “Sorry, I’m such a moron, sorry.”  He tried to keep his eyes above the water level, but some part of his brain kept looking for tanned legs kicking under the surface, and he suddenly registered that the moving colors weren’t just fish and anemones.  “Holy shit,” he coughed out.  “You have a tail.”

His rescuer frowned harder, probably worried Billy had brain damage.  “I figured that’s why you swam into the rip tide,” he said slowly, and Billy shook his head, groaning.

“No—fuck, I’m sorry, you—you’re just hot as fuck, I’m just a moron, I’m—damn it,” he sighed.  “Sorry, jesus, I’m so fucking rude, sorry, I just didn’t notice, I was like ‘How the hell did he get me out of there?  OH!’, sorry,” he muttered, sighing.  “...drown me.”

“I am though, right,” the merman said, grinning, “—hotter than you,” and Billy realized he’d found the only person on the island more annoying than he was.  

“Yeah, yeah, just laugh at the poor gay moron who nearly drowned staring at you, that’s nice,” he huffed, lying back against the warm rock to catch his breath.  

“Was it love at first sight?” asked his rescuer, and Billy opened his eyes to glare.  

“Shut up, asshole,” he grunted.  

“Just asking,” his tormenter asked.  “Are you gonna pine away, sighing over me?  Hey, d’you think you’ll always do that?  If I swim over in town, you think you’ll fall off the boardwalk?”

“Fuck you,” Billy told him, leaning his face in his arms and laughing.  “Yeah, probably, you shithead.  Are you gonna...follow me around?  So I can look like more of an idiot?”

“Mmm, can you though…” the gorgeous merman asked thoughtfully, and Billy growled into his arms, feeling his whole body warm.  He blamed it on the sun.  “Why,” his rescuer asked, pulling himself up to laugh against Billy’s ear.  “—you want me to follow you someplace?”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, laughing harder.  “Are you afraid to leave me alone now?  What if I try and eat my surfboard?”

“...are you gonna?” 

“Maybe?!” Billy told him, then pushed himself up, frowning around to look for it.

“I’ve got it, it’s right here,” the smug asshole told him, waggling the surfboard in the water.  “Want me to take you back to shore?”

“No!” Billy laughed, sighing.  “I’m going surfing, just because I nearly died making an ass of myself doesn’t mean—”

“Hrm, maybe I should keep an eye on you.” 

“Why,” Billy asked, then pitched his voice just a little lower.  “You like what you see?”

“I could get used to it,” the merman said, and Billy started to preen, but the dickhead finished with “—kind of a comedy special, kind of thing,” and Billy reached over and smacked a big splash of water at him.  

He laughed, his throat arching back, the gills along it thin dark lines that Billy fantasized kissing around.  

Just as Billy was considering grabbing the surfboard and using it as a weapon of blunt force trauma, the merman leaned in close, his smirk widening around pointed teeth, and his cool, salty lips pressed firmly against Billy’s.  Billy made a weird gulping noise in his throat, and the asshole started to pull away, but Billy leaned in, and fell clean off the rock.  His weight dunked them both, and they rose sputtering and laughing, Billy held securely in his merman’s arms as his surfboard floated away.  He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“...my name’s Billy,” he panted.  

“...Steve,” the mer-dickhead said, raising his eyebrows, like it was weird to want to know his name.  

“...I inherited a house here,” Billy told him in a rush, drunk on kisses.  “I’m from California.  My mom used to talk about this place when I was a kid.  Surfing here.  With her mom.”

“...is she here?” Steve asked, steadying them with one hand on the rock, and glancing back at the beach.

Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Fuck, sorry, you don’t need to know my shit.  We can make out.  You’re short-circuiting my brain.”

“...I should probably get your surfboard,” Steve told him, grinning, but he leaned his head in again, gentle with his sharp teeth, and Billy inhaled shakily as the points grazed his lips and tongue.  

“Jesus,” he whispered, once he could talk, and then he licked his lips and wrenched himself away to swim after his surfboard, just so his smug rescuer wouldn’t have to fetch it for him.  The waves got bigger as he got out to where the trees weren’t acting as a windbreak, and he clambered up on his board, glaring back as Steve wolf-whistled.

 When he let the tides pull him back towards the gorgeous merman on the rock, he lost his mind again, telling him his tail looked like a peacock butt, and Steve cracked up, grinning at him.

“...so, neighbor, you have to win someone over enough to invite you to stay,” he said, cocking his head.

“Yup,” Billy told him, pointing up at the house he’d inherited, built into the hill, the old grass vacation cottage blending in with the trees.  

“And your method is to tell me I look like bird ass,” Steve continued, and Billy grimaced, waving his hands.

“No!  No, I don’t—I know people have to get to know you.  Here.  I’ll…” he sighed.  “I’ll try for a few months and see what happens.  If nothing...clicks, maybe I’ll try again next summer,” he said, grimacing, and wondering what Max would do, if they weren’t allowed to stay.  Leave, maybe, he thought—she was seventeen, and she could get a job herself.

 He ended up teaching Steve to surf, after showing off his best efforts.  When he swam back, panting, Steve looked properly impressed, and even more tanned.  “Teach me,” he said, and Billy leaned in to kiss him again, nodding.  

“That gonna get you to like me enough to let me stay?” Billy asked, and Steve frowned at him, but Billy laughed, and leaned in for another kiss.

“Tomorrow?” Steve had whispered against his lips, and Billy got no sleep at all that night, he just rolled over every couple hours to check the clock, and see that another two minutes had passed.  

Steve was fascinating to watch on the board, his tail trailing as he controlled it with his hands around either side, his abs flexing as he held himself in a kind of plank pose with the support of his tail.  Billy watched, and realized he was drooling.  

“You like me enough to keep me?” he asked that night, teasing, and Steve laughed.  

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

 Merpeople—or at least, Steve, Billy corrected mentally, realizing he was dealing with a sample size of one—loved bread.  Like a cat, Billy thought, watching Steve eye his croissant, or bagel.  He started just bringing one every morning for Steve, and some coffee, and it was hilarious watching the fluffy flesh of a croissant dangling between Steve’s shark-like teeth.  He waited every morning, and even though Billy wasn’t sure whether Steve was waiting for Billy or the bread he was carrying, he got heart palpitations every time he came down the ramp to the dock, and he could see the little lump of Steve’s head on his folded arms, the rest of him hanging off into the water.

“A few bagels aren’t enough to win me over,” Steve told him, and Billy’s stomach twisted, a little.  He wished he hadn’t brought it up, kind of—the knowledge that he might have to leave hurt, like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop worrying at in his mouth.  “Maybe more croissants,” Steve said, smiling, and Billy brought him more croissants.

 When they’d arrived, they’d discovered the town was filled with mermaid stuff, and at first, Max and Billy had snickered at it, because surely even if there’d been a merperson or two living near a human town once, they’d died decades ago, or they just traded with fishing boats, far out at sea.  They hadn’t considered the amount of people in wheelchairs, or the spray bottles close to hand.

When Billy suggested he bring lunch down from town, Steve swam over to haul himself up—his tail flashing in the light—through the bottom of one of the little sheds on the dock.  Moments later, he banged the door open, wheeling out in an old rusty wheelchair.  He spun it in a circle, waiting for Billy to climb out of the water, and then zipped ahead up the ramp to the path.  

“Wait up, jesus,” Billy yelled after him, and Steve laughed, the muscles in his arms mesmerizing as they spun the wheels.  He slowed down eventually, panting, enough for Billy to jog and catch up.  “...lemme know if you want me to push,” Billy told him, and Steve snorted.  

“Touch my chair and die,” he said.  

“Fair enough,” Billy said, holding his hands up, and Steve laughed.  

“It makes me…” he squinted, thinking.  “...seasick…?” he offered, and Billy nodded, trotting along next to him.  

“Motion-sick, probably,” he suggested, and Steve mouthed it as he rolled along.  

 The lady at the shaved ice stand leaned out and folded her arms on the edge of the little window, laughing at Steve.  “You know they make those that work!” she called, and he flipped her off.  “They don’t have to be electric!  They make ‘em that just move smoothly.”

“It’ll just rust in my shed,” Steve told her, shrugging.  “It’s fine.”  As they waited for their tacos, Steve pulled up to a table, and his rusty, janky wheels kept rolling backwards, until Steve sighed and bent down to stuff some rocks under there.

“My friend Robin and I went in together on a nicer one,” he said, “—but I can’t park it in the shed.  This one’s not so bad,” and Billy’s perception of it shifted a bit—maybe it was more like getting stuck with an old beater car occasionally, instead of something Steve needed help with.  “...want to wander around, after?” Billy asked.  “I haven’t got any souvenirs yet.”

Steve paused, then licked his lips.  “Planning your trip home already?”

“...dunno yet,” Billy said, the invitation unspoken between them.  It seemed ridiculous to want to stay so badly just because he’d met a pair of gorgeously tanned shoulders and a teasing smile, but it also wasn’t...hard to imagine, lingering on the island to go snorkeling with Steve, and learning about the reefs—he’d absorbed enough for a few semesters of marine biology, he was fairly sure, but told as stories, just off-handed things Steve had seen—and Billy was already wanting a drysuit, so he could go in the fall.  Maybe Billy could get a job on a fishing boat, he thought vaguely, or help out in one of the shops.  

If Steve would invite him.

Steve had slid his hands under Billy’s swimsuit a few times, pressing him back on their rock, or on the docks, rocking into him as Billy panted and gasped and fell apart under his hands—but he never said anything, after, and Billy hesitated to ask whether it was...anything, to Steve.  Maybe he picks an idiot every summer, he thought, watching Steve smile at the depictions of mermaids on every surface of every shop on the main street.

“You all spend so much time keeping everything dry and dead,” he said, grinning over at Billy, who’d been anticipating a comment on the mermaid’s hourglass-like proportions, not her lack of water damage.  

“...oh,” he said.  

“I have a figurehead like that, but covered in anemones,” Steve said, cocking his head.  “It’s beautiful.”

“I mean...you could...plant a vine on it, maybe?”

Steve nodded.  “Put it outside in the rain, let it grow.”  The lady behind the counter sighed, rolling her eyes, and Steve laughed.  

“There’s a whole movement to ‘preserve’ our art,” he whispered to Billy.  “Which mostly means they don’t let it become our art.”

“Huh,” Billy said, wondering whether human houses looked like museums, or mausoleums, to merpeople.  

“Not to say that I’d pour water on your television set, or drop your mattress in the bay,” Steve said, grimacing a little, and watching Billy’s face.  “I get that much.”  He looked kind of uncomfortable with the lady behind the counter glaring at him, ducking his head.

Billy leaned to kiss him.  He nearly steadied himself on the chair, and then remembering it would roll, and just held his hands away.  Steve grinned up at him, particularly at his outstretched hands, and yanked Billy down on his not very much of a lap, hurriedly curling his tail up and around Billy’s waist as Billy threatened to slide down the smooth scales to the ground.  Billy threw his arms around Steve’s neck, wide-eyed, as Steve held the wheels firmly, keeping the chair from rolling backwards under the weight of two grown men.  

“Let’s go,” Steve whispered, and Billy nodded, breathing Steve’s sun-and-salt smell, and wondering whether it was okay to ask whether Steve would consider inviting him to stay—just until the next season, Billy thought, as the chair and Steve’s tail moved under him.  Until the next summer, when he could ask whether Steve wanted him to stay again, or whether he wanted Billy gone.

After staying a whole year, Billy thought he might not have it in him to ask whether Steve was tired of him yet, but the thought of waking every morning to run down to the docks with coffee and banana bread was addictive, and he tried not to think about the end.

 Billy ran into the lady who’d stamped his passport, and caught himself staring at her tanned legs propped up on the railing.  “Oh, I’m human,” she said, laughing.  “But I love it here.  I can even shop in the little bookstore, imagine,” she said, and now that Billy thought about it, he realized it had an elevator in the back, and little lifts for the walkways along the higher shelves.  “I’ve never had someone offer to lift me into their cafe, here,” she said, her nose wrinkled, and Billy nodded slowly.  

“Shoot that thing!” she yelled, when she saw Steve’s awful old wheelchair, and he flipped her off.

 “We can only invite a few people,” Steve told him, as they ate noodle bowls.  “It’s for somebody you marry, you know, their family, maybe.  Or if you leave the island, and have a kid.”

“Yeah,” Billy said softly, hearing the message clearly—invitations were not to be wasted, and Billy wasn’t special enough to keep.  He finished his lunch, trying not to feel all butthurt about it.  Max would probably understand.

Steve kissed him again, on the docks, and Billy leaned into it, feeling the familiar pressure of tears in his sinuses, and behind his eyes.  He had three weeks left, he told himself.  Three more weeks.  Steve slid a hand up the back of Billy’s head, humming against his mouth, and Billy let himself go soft in his arms.  

When they returned to the docks, Steve dug a big beach blanket out, and they spread it out on the sand, and Billy stayed out that night, losing himself in Steve’s warm hands and mouth, under stars like he’d never seen before.  

 Steve was watching his face the next morning, with a little frown, and Billy pulled away, sitting up.  

“Better than croissants?” Billy asked, smirking a little, and Steve sighed.  

“Was that what this was?  Fucking me won’t make me give you an invitation,” he said.  He didn’t look amused, the way he had over the bagels, and Billy wondered whether it had worked, a little.  Billy’d always had a talented mouth.

“I won’t know if I don’t try, will I,” he said, laughing.  “Maybe another round will help?”

“...I have to go,” Steve said, and he didn’t even fold up the blanket, just pushed himself off the edge and slid over the wet sand into the water, gone in a flip of tail.  Billy watched for long minutes to see whether he’d come back—they’d been spending every day together, but probably Steve had stuff he needed to do, all the things he’d done before Billy had shown up at the island, easy with his body and his affections.

Billy folded up the blanket, and sat it in the shed, looking around.  There really wasn’t much in there—it was the size of a small bathroom, with some knives for fishing, and a frayed net, and the beat-up wheelchair.  

It smelled like Steve, and Billy stood and breathed, his eyes blurring with tears.

 Steve didn’t come back, and after an hour or so Billy walked home, and ran into Max returning.  “Billy!” she said, with a wide grin.  “Nice night?  I was out getting breakfast.”  She told him about somebody named El, and somebody else named Lucas, and a Dustin.

Max was making friends too, he realized, which kind of made everything worse—she was doing her best, and Billy was just mooning over some guy who thought he was barely good enough for a fuck on the beach.  She’d even met their families, he realized, listening, and registered that he hadn’t met any of Steve’s friends.  He groaned into the pillows tossed around on the mat floor, and sighed.  

“Should I stop seeing him?” he asked, mostly at the ceiling.  

“I dunno why now,” Max said.  “You’re not gonna find somebody else in a couple weeks.”

“Shit,” Billy groaned again.  

“We can try again next summer,” Max said.  “I like it here.”

The idea of returning the next summer, once Steve was bored, was enough to make Billy clench his jaw tight against the pillow he was hugging, squeezing his eyes shut against tears.  “...yeah,” he said softly.

“God, you sound tragic,” she sighed, wandering over and dropping to sit on his butt.  He grunted.  “It’s fine, jesus.  Worst case scenario we have a, like, vacation home.  The vampire dude said we didn’t have to pay taxes on it.”

“Yeah, just pay for plane fare,” Billy sighed.

“He’s out there, y’know,” she said, “—tanning,” and Billy scrambled up so fast he dumped her with a drum noise on the taut mats.  

 When he swam out, Steve just stared out to sea, and Billy clung to the edge of the rock, biting his lips.

“I’m not giving you one of my invitations,” Steve said.  “So stop trying to manipulate me into it.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, kind of wishing they’d never met.  “Yeah, okay.  Do—is that all, or are you sticking around?”

“I’ll stay,” Steve said, frowning at him, “—if you still wanna waste your time on somebody who’s not—how do you say it?  Putting out?”

“...it’s not a waste of time,” Billy told him, swallowing hard.  “I just wanted it to last longer, is all—” and Steve’s eyes narrowed intently.  He grabbed Billy around the back of the neck, and yanked him into a kiss.  

 The remaining weeks, he took Billy snorkeling, and they had sex every night under the stars, Billy panting Steve’s name, and Steve holding him so tightly it almost hurt.  Billy took him to meet Max, and she eyed him warily, but Billy fought and succeeded at securing Steve a plate of brownies, and he was vocally appreciative.  She softened a little, at that.

 Two days before they had to leave, Steve was lying next to Billy on the wet sand, the waves lapping up nearly to their waists.  His shoulder was warm under Billy’s head, and smelled like the high ocean waves.  

“...d’you think you’ll come back next summer,” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“Depends on whether I can afford airfare,” he said, sighing.  “Depends on whether I can get a job somewhere that doesn’t need me in the summer.”

“...so I might just never see you again?” Steve asked flatly, and Billy laughed, shrugging.  

“I don’t know,” he said, “—do you want to?”

“...fuck you,” Steve sighed, and Billy pushed himself up to frown at Steve’s face.  

“I don’t know what you want,” he said, glaring back at Steve’s narrowed brown eyes.  “You wanted me to shut up about staying.  What am I supposed to say?”

Steve bit his lips together, and looked away.  “...you know I’m gonna give you an invitation.  You can just tell me.”

“What,” Billy whispered, scrambling to sit up, his heart pounding as Steve flopped over to scrabble around under his wheelchair, his tail flapping around a little in concentration, like a cat’s.  He held an envelope out to Billy without even looking over.

“There,” he said.  “All yours.”

“What,” Billy breathed, and then he half-crumpled it, opening it clumsily.  “You—you’re giving me one?”

“Two,” Steve said, flatly, frowning down at the sand under his hands.  “You and Max, right?”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, scrambling over to kiss him, once, then twice, relishing the little noise Steve made in the back of his throat when his lip slid between Billy’s teeth.  “I have to go tell her,” he said, half laughing, his vision blurring with tears.  

“Okay,” Steve said, quietly, and Billy hugged him before scrambling up and running back to the house.  

 Max stared at the two calligraphed invitations on the odd plasticky “paper” the merfolk used, written in Sharpie, and shook her head slowly.  “You did it,” she said, and Billy laughed, nodding.  

“He wanted me to stay enough,” he said, wiping his eyes, and desperately wanting Max to offer to handle the paperwork, so he could run back and kiss Steve.

There was a knock on the door.  Max ran and opened it, and a short-haired woman wheeled in in a rainbow overall dress, and a small, fancy electric wheelchair, her tail the reds and oranges of a sunset.  Billy never quite stopped being envious of how pretty the merpeople were.

“Steve gave you his invites, didn’t he,” she said, and Max slid them around her back, her eyes narrowing.

“...yeah,” Billy said, warily.

“Give them back to him,” she ordered, glaring between them.  “He’s been saving those a long-ass time.  He’s got plans for those, and he doesn’t need guilt-tripping by a pair of manipulative orphans, jesus.”

“I didn’t guilt-trip him,” Billy said, feeling guilty, suddenly, and remembering Steve’s stiffness as he handed them over.  “I didn’t,” he said, less certainly.  “...he...he just likes me, he wants me to stay—”

“He’s known you three months, and you told him you fucked him to get someplace nice for your sister to live,” she said crisply.  “Give them back.”

“He’s not giving them back,” Max hissed, but she was staring at Billy in horror.

“I didn’t say that,” Billy said, waving his hands.  “I didn’t!  Not...exactly.”

“Fuck you,” the woman said, glaring.  “You pressured him.”

“Fuck,” Billy agreed, his eyes tearing up again.  “Lemme—lemme go talk to him.  Max, give—give ‘em here.”

“No,” she said, sounding choked, but he walked over and grabbed them, and hugged her.  

“We’ll figure it out,” he said under his breath, for her ears only, and ran back out.

 Steve was perched up on his rock again, and Billy grabbed his surfboard and sat on it to glide out, paddling with his hands.  The water was clear under him, his shadow passing over the anemones on the reef, and he watched the fish darting around, swallowing repeatedly.  

“Hey,” he said, when he got close enough, and Steve’s head jerked around, glowering warily.

“...you came back,” he said.

“...you want me to stay, right,” Billy said, cutting straight to the chase.  “You gave me these because you want me to stay.”  Steve frowned back at him, and Billy’s heart sank.  “Answer,” he said, his throat closing around the word.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it,” Steve said, reaching out, but he just grabbed Billy’s board before he could drift into the rip tide again.  “You wanted to stay.”  He was tense, and he wouldn’t meet Billy’s eyes.

“What do you want,” Billy asked again.  “...because I think your friend Robin’s in my house, and she says I guilted you into it, talking about Max.  Do you...if I didn’t need an invite.  Would you want me to stay?”

“...I guess,” Steve sighed, and Billy swung his leg over the board, dumping himself straight down in the water, because he was definitely about to make some kind of awful noise, and the sea felt good on his hot, wet cheeks.  Steve couldn’t see him crying underwater, he thought, grabbing a jut of rock to keep himself from floating back up.  

He wished he could take a few slow breaths, he thought, closing his eyes, and then something brushed his arm.  He opened his eyes on Steve’s wide-eyed face, his hair swirling in the water.  Billy bit his lips together harder, his hands clenching on the rock, and Steve shook his head, pointing up. 

“Up,” he mouthed.  “Come on.”

Billy let himself be hauled upwards, and pushed up on the rock again, like when they’d first met.  

“What are you doing,” Steve asked, hanging on to Billy’s surfboard.

“Nothing,” Billy said, keeping his voice level.  “I thought you wanted me to stay.  For me.  You can have your invites back.  I didn’t—” he took a deep breath, hearing Steve’s voice say stop trying to manipulate me, and Robin’s guilt-tripping.  “I fucking know I’m pathetic, okay, you don’t have to pity me.  Sorry I—sorry I fucking tried, jesus, I just—” he shut his eyes tightly again, laughing as he imagined Robin’s disgusted look knowing Billy’d gone out and cried.

“Wait, fuck,” Steve whispered, clambering up next to him, where Billy barely fit by himself, since it was high tide.  He was warm from the sun, his tanned skin gleaming with water droplets, and Billy salivated, because his dick obviously hadn’t gotten the message it wasn’t wanted.  “Wait,” Steve said, half on top of him, his weight grating Billy’s shoulder blades against the rock.  Billy didn’t really mind.  “You only want to stay if—if I want you, what—what does that mean—”  His brown eyes were huge.

“...don’t really know how to be clearer,” Billy told him, unable to pull his eyes from Steve’s mouth.

“You don’t want to stay unless I’m happy about it,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s hands.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how it gets, when you fall for somebody,” Billy told him, raising his eyebrows, and Steve took a shuddery breath and kissed him again.  He didn’t stop, though, he just kissed Billy and kissed him, laughing shakily, his eyes welling up with tears.  

“Don’t go,” he whispered, as Billy clung to him and the rock, trying to keep them from tumbling off.  “I want you here, I want you.  Stay with me.”

“I’m what you want?” Billy asked, startled, his brain hazy from warm kisses, and the scrape of pointed teeth.  “‘M yours then,” he whispered.  “All—all of me.  S’yours.”

They laid there so long, whispering and giggling, that Billy had tan lines of Steve’s fingers on his shoulder for months.

Here are the other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done!

[spookyceph]

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

-

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

[disgruntledspacedad]

Save a Horse 

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: (fluff, slice of life) You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. 

words: 2kish

warnings: language. Utter ignorance of ranch life, but Ears is enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic.

a/n: unbeta’d.

It was Pop’s idea to start with. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” he breaks the easy morning silence suddenly, resting his empty mug on the counter and shooting you an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly, thinking wryly that Pop certainly knows how to catch your attention. 

Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. He’s been a little jumpy ever since he’d got you back, and with good reason, really. You rest a reassuring hand on his thigh and squeeze, receiving just as much comfort from the gesture as you’re offering.

This man is your rock.

Pop is still watching you expectantly, and you feel your lips tug upward. It’s so easy to smile at Chucho Peña. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Pop grins, and Javi blusters a deep sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being early November, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Pop leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that you don’t understand in the slightest. Javi follows silently, catching your fingers in a vice grip. His jaw is tense, his brow furrowed in that little frown that seems to be permanently affixed to his face ever since Colombia.

Your heart flip flops, and you stop, pulling him close enough to rest your head on his chest. Automatically, Javi’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and he sighs deeply into your hair. 

“Freaking out,” you remind him gently. 

He huffs a tiny laugh. “I know.”

You lift your lips for a quick kiss, and Javi obliges eagerly. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” you murmur as you pull away. 

“I know,” he repeats softly, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t. 

“Come on.” You tug at him, noticing Pop carefully not watching you in the distance. “It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that,” Javi mutters darkly, but he follows anyway.

“This is Caballo,” Pop announces, stopping in front of a freakishly huge black stallion.

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to keep that favorable impression you’ve made.

As if sensing your thought, Pop winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Caballo is all yours.

Pop declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Es una pequeña perra.”

Together, you laugh. You’ve picked up on enough Spanish curses during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Pop offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Pop. “Can I make him go faster?”

Pop tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like Javi doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say in your most dignified voice, nudging Caballo with your feet like Pop had told you. Caballo jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a questioning glance back at Javi. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Pop is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

 Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Caballo reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

Exasperated, you decide that Javier Peña is far more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Caballo shouldn’t be a problem. 

You square your shoulders, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi kind of girl - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

“Hyah!”

Caballo is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Caballo. You’re not begging, you’re not.

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Caballo is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Caballo’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. Grip with your knees, some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you think he might be chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Caballo’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of where, not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Ears! Ears! Ears!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your hair wild in the wind and your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your way to your feet again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Ears, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you stutter, breathless. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My feet, Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths puffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “I saw.”

You try to stagger upright and don’t quite manage it. You’re feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk, but before you can stumble again, Javi is right there, hauling you to your feet and catching your lips in a deep, gentle kiss.

“You.” Javi breathes into you, his mustache tickling at your lip, and you lean heavily against him, allowing him to do most of the work of holding you up. “Ridiculous girl,” more kisses, “What do you have against me, huh?” a soft nip at the corner of your mouth, “It’s like you just try to scare the life out of me, Ears.”

“Dunno.” Your voice trembles, and you’re unsure whether that’s leftover adrenaline or the way Javi’s gigantic hands are stroking possessively at your ribcage. The flannel he’s wearing is worn soft with age, and you nuzzle into it, sighing. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“I can think of better hobbies,” Javi growls at the skin of your neck.

“Not right here,” you laugh, suddenly aware of Pop approaching. Javi whines like a puppy as you push him away gently, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and your heart swells in your chest.

Christ, sometimes you still cannot believe how fucking lucky you are. 

“Besides.” You can’t resist stealing one last kiss from his chin. “You know you love it.”

Javi’s breath catches. His eyes darken. One thumb strokes softly at your cheek, tucking back a stray hair. “Querida,” he starts -

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you, and both you and Javi jump back as if burned. Pop has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, his dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Pop reaches to grip Caballo by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Pop asks, holding out the reigns in your direction. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Pop’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life. 

Caballo takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’s sensed your intent and wholeheartedly does not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest, bumping shoulders with Javi in a gentle reminder that you’re here, you’re okay. “I know there’s still some beer in the fridge.” 

Pop nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Caballo on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your almost father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

[baphellzebub]

Dbd plague x nonspecific gendered reader smut

(TW!: vomit, death, sickness, dub-con)

I'm very hormy uwu

God. They were dead. All of them. You had no clue how you had survived this long.

She had picked off your teammates one by one and now she was coming for you.

Out of all of them, Plague was the worst. You hated her. Eveything about her was awful. The way she gracefully strode towards her victims, the odd difference of her sickening scent and the incense burner she had with her on a regular basis. You hated it. Somehow she still looked human, like a person, but, still she was not. You despised it.

She was coming. You knew she was. You could smell her. You could smell the rotting flesh, the sickening scent of puke, you could almost taste it in the air, the thick scent almost clogging up your lungs, making you feel ill and queasy.  God, she was closing in on you fast. The hatch was stuck shut. Shit, shit, shit! It was jammed. You yanked at it desperately as you heard the Plague moving in on you, your hands drenched in sweat, the claminess not helping as you pulled at the hatch.

You weren't going to get out of this, your choices were run or try to get this damned hatch open.

Just as you had made your choice, you realised; she was behind you.

Before you could stand and run, she grabbed you by the neck, hauling you into the air with her immense strength- how could a walking corpse be so strong? Fuck knows.

You struggled as you were lifted, squirming and thrashing to get out of her grip. Your hands gripping onto her wrist harshly, hoping to get her off of you.

She stared you in the eyes as your throat went dry, you felt sick. This woman- no, this.. creature had killed your friends and now your demise would be next. You could only hope it would end quickly, but you doubted it strongly.

Slowly, your grip on her wrist loosened as the air left your lungs, you were grateful of that. The sickening aura around her was slowly fading as you yourself faded in and out of consciousness.

You almost knew what was coming. You'd seen it multiple times. Too many times to not know.  She seemed to stutter for a moment, the rotting flesh of her body shuddering slightly as she brought herself back, slightly hunching towards your face. Yes, you could barely breathe, but in the couple of rasped out breathes you could get in, you could smell the rotting flesh and the ailments that affected her decaying body. 

Suddenly, her mouth opened and she spewed a torrent of sticky, burning vomit over your face and body. Your eyes clenched shut as she did. The warm puke covering you and wetting your shirt. It smelt. It smelt terrible. Worse than her.

Then, she dropped you to the floor.

You hacked loudly, the vomit on your skin feeling like corrosive acid, digging into you. You felt weak, hot, sick. You were shaking. The contrast of the cold air around you and the hot puke over your chest and face was giving you goosebumps. Although unpleasant, there was an odd twinge of... excitement coming from between your legs. Your thighs rubbed together as you slowly looked up at her towering form. She glared down at you, one hand on her wrist as if she was feeling where you had previously gripped down onto.

You swallowed a thick glob of bile, shuddering at the feeling.

Silence. There was silence. No sound. It was dense, like the air around you.

Your breathing was rapid, heavy, your body covered in sweat, you hadn't any idea of what was happening. Plague was standing in front of you, holding her wrist in a tender grip staring off into space, seemingly. All was still. You were fearful, frozen, you couldn't move.

Especially once she moved downwards, kneeling above you. Even now, knelt down, she was towering over you.

Your head burnt, your body was hot, the thin clothes you wore were almost unbreathable.

Plague's hand moved from her wrist as she gently, slowly moved towards you, her hand reaching out, you flinched expecting the worst, clenching your eyes shut. But, you felt the cold hand that had previously been gripped on your neck, softly cupping your jaw. It was such a gentle touch, yet so cruel.  Cautiously, your eyes opened to look at her. Your mind was fuzzy with sickness, in your state, she almost looked... beautiful. The decay and rot of her face and body seeming familiar, calming. How? How could you think this?

This was the monster that had killed your friends, had chased you down, injured you, but now? In the haze of your ailment, she seemed comforting. The cold hand that had cupped your chin, tilted your head upwards, inspecting you delicately. You were confused, but at the same time, the twinge of excitement you had felt earlier had became stronger. Was this her fault? Was this the sickness she radiated? Or, was it just you?

It had been a while since you'd had any form of tenderness from anyone, there was no time for it. You didn't want to, but, against your better judgement, you leaned into the cold touch. Her other hand dropped her weapon, reaching up towards her other one, gently caressing the side of your face. She wanted something from you, and in all honesty, you truly couldn't complain.

You heard her shakily, raspily breathe in, seemingly relishing the sight of you. Your sickly pale complexion, your body hot and sweaty, the bright red flush on your face. She was inspecting you- all of you.

With a soft, yet swift movement, she pressed her cold, dead lips to yours. You had thought you'd felt death before, but this? Now? Now you were surrounded by it. Her large body enclosed you against the wood barely allowing you to move as her thumb gripped your chin, opening your mouth slightly so she could push her tongue inside. God, you thought you were going to vomit there and then, the feeling of her cold, wet and decaying tongue against yours was terrible, yet, so exciting. It excited you and she could tell.

Her kiss was cautious, yet thorough at the same time. Her tongue exploring your mouth, the sickening taste filling your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body weak as she continued, her hands moving down, she would not be idle at this point. Her deft hands starting to remove articles of clothing from your body, peeling the fabric off of your sweat drenched skin.

It happened faster than you had realised, soon you were naked, the cold air coating your heated skin. Her hands ran up your thighs, soft ministrations from rotted flesh covering you. It had been so, so long since you had felt anyone hold you like this, and -you assumed- she was in the same boat. The rot and the cold of her fingers left trails of goosebumps on your skin, yet, it was so pleasant.

Once again, she pressed her lips to your own, giving a chaste kiss, she continued to press kisses down from your lips, your chin, neck, collarbone, chest... your skin was heating even further than before, you felt as if you were burning.

You could still smell the vomit she had purged over your body earlier and somehow, that got you even more riled up- it was disgusting, but, so, so very hot at the same time.

You were broken from your thoughts when you felt the cold hand grip onto your inner thigh. In an instant, you opened your legs for her.

Two fingers reached your core and rubbed against you, as she continued to pepper your neck in the softest kisses, her other hand resting against your hip. You squirmed as your breath hitched. She knew what she was doing to you. You hated it. You loathed it. But, at the same time, you needed it. You needed this. No, you needed her.

She continued her caresses and touches on your body, turning you into a dripping, moaning mess- like putty in her hands. You were shaking, your head tipped back, your hands barely just holding onto her forearms. She relished in the feeling of your soft skin against her own damaged skin.

Before long, she had readied you enough, she was patient with you, as her sickness ravaged through your body and shot through your core. You were at a point where you couldn't move, your limbs were like jelly, you felt too sick.

Slowly, she inserted two fingers inside of you, pushing her body up against yours, her long, sharp, jewled fingers hurt, but, at the same time, felt so pleasant. You could feel the rotting flesh against your bare body, your energy seemingly being drained at the same time.  She pumped her fingers inside you experimentally, you let out a mewl of pleasure as electricity shot through your body. So, she sped up.

Oh god- it shouldn't feel so good, but good lord, did it.  The combination of the sickly haze and the overwhelming pleasure was almost too much for you, your poor body shook as you came over her hand, she pulled out, watching you twitch and come down, allowing you a moment before she pulled her dress to the side. You weren't expecting her to have anything underneath it, you were very right. She hadn't any undergarments, why would she?

You swallowed thickly again as she moved herself further atop you, pressing herself against your core. You were still overly sensitive from your previous orgasm and the stimulation of friction almost sent you into a frenzied state of horniness.   The friction between you both seemed to be getting her off too, as every now and then, she would let out a grunt of pleasure, her eyes glued on you to watch your reactions to every touch and rub. She watched you turn into a mess- more of a mess- underneath her, the enjoyment she felt from this was exhilarating. She pushed herself down on you even harsher than before and you came again, your body twitching and convulsing as you moaned and squealed in your own high of pleasure.

Her strong arms pinned you to the floor, muck covering your back as she forced herself down against you, trying to reach her own high. Her mouth met yours once again and you opened your lips for her instantly, she shoved her tongue down your throat, one hand gripping your chin as you whimpered into her mouth, your eyes rolled back in your skull. You were overestimated, your skin was electrified and yet, you still wanted more.

It took a while before she found the right rhythm of thrusting against you for her. She was practically grinding you into the floor, forcing you down further as she reached her own high, she tensed. Her head tipping backwards, her eyes wide and glazed over as she stared into the sky.

She let out a long, raspy groan as she finished herself off, riding out her own orgasm.

Finally, she pulled away from your sweaty body, allowing herself to calm herself down. She still knelt above your glistening body, watching your fuck-hazed expression, your glazed eyes, your legs twitching and your knees slightly buckled. Her breathing had now slowed as she slid her arm beneath your back, slowly hoisting you up into her strong grip, she held you upon her lap for a moment, leaning down towards you. Your vision was blurry and darkening, you could feel yourself slowly dying. She smiled sickeningly, preparing herself, before vomiting over your face and body once more. You were so hazy and hot you couldn't move, you couldn't react. All you could do, was choke loudly, throwing up over yourself, you couldn't move. You couldn't move.

Fading from reality. You felt yourself let go as you puked your stomach to emptiness. Plague embraced your sick, feeble, dying body until your last breath, she did so until the warmth from your lifeless corpse fizzled out to be as cold as she. Then she hoisted your body up and carried it away. You were to be kept.

A worthy offering.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: Little Damerons

Series Masterlist

Plot: Poe and Y/n take a trip for Poe’s birthday.

Warnings: extreme fluff, so much fluff, chocolate dipped cotton candy with sprinkles kind of fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Life has been kicking my ass these past few weeks so writing has been on the back burner. It’s still insane but I found time to finish this one. It felt like the series deserved a nice piece of fluff consider it’s so intense 😂 Please forgive any typos, I’m lazy and tired and my brain is basically mush right now...

————

The first sound I heard upon waking up made me smile before I’d even opened my eyes. Bee’s beeps and squeals were moving around the room at a frantic pace.

“Thank you, Bee,” I groaned, “I got it from here.”

As it was every morning, Poe’s arms were locked tightly around my waist. It was of great difficulty turning myself around so I could face him. He hadn’t moved a muscle through Bee’s wake-up call and didn’t show any sign of changing that. I rolled over onto his torso and finally got a groggy moan out of him.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” I greeted him in a singsong tone, propping my chin up on his chest.

Poe rubbed a hand over his face and opened his bleary eyes, focusing them on me. “What if the birthday boy wanted to sleep?”

“As willing as I am to grant any and all wishes today, that one is a no-go,” I replied sweetly, tapping him on the nose lightly, “We’ve gotta haul ass if we’re going to make the most of a rare day off.”

I began to roll towards the edge of the bed but was apprehended. Poe pulled me back into his arms and maneuvered me to straddle him in one smooth motion. His hands found their way up his shirt I was wearing and rubbed circles into my back, sending a shiver through my body.

“I’ve actually got other plans for our asses at the moment,” he said, his gruff morning voice and suggestively raised brow making it nearly impossible to deny him, “Ten minutes tops.”

“You and I both know neither of us does ‘ten minutes tops’, Dameron,” I said, trying my best to ignore his hands wandering south and failing as a soft moan escaped me. “But I did say I was granting wishes today.”

Poe lazily smiled up at me as I slid my hands up his smooth chest and lowered my lips to his. He took me by surprise and flipped me over so I was trapped underneath him, the two us laughing into the kisses that followed…

————

A significant amount of time more than ten minutes later, Poe and I were far from Ajan Kloss in the cockpit of his new X-Wing. Ever since we’d planned where to spend his birthday, I’d been dreading the destination we were fast approaching. But there was no chance of me ruining the day with ghosts from the past.

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Poe reported as he performed the action, bringing us face to face with the planet. A shiver of panic ran through me as my blood ran cold. The blue waters only reminded me of blue blades clashing in a fit of desperation and rage. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” I said firmly, trying to feel as confidant as I sounded, ���I’ll be fine, there’s no way I’d miss this.”

Poe hummed in disbelief but kept us on course, steering us towards a greener portion of the menacing planet. I tried to center myself, I wanted to be fully in the moment for the day. It was too important to Poe and I’d been looking forward to it ever since we’d started dating. Anxiety ran through me again as we flew above the greenery, memories of wandering aimlessly above trees flooding my mind. As we got closer to our destination though, my stress began to lessen as the excitement set in.

Eventually, we were landing in a large clearing of land near a small house. I was the first to pop out of the cockpit and make it down the ladder with Poe following close behind. Our feet had barely touched the ground before a figure emerged out the front door of the house and made a gentle sprint towards us. Poe left my side to jog over to meet him, the two of them embracing upon collision and laughing joyfully. I watched from a distance, beaming as I watched the reunion between father and son.

Poe kept an arm on Kes as he gestured for me to come join them, “Dad, this is Y/n.”

Kes Dameron was, I had a feeling, the spitting image of Poe in thirty years. They could have passed for brothers with a significant age difference. As soon as I made it over, I was pulled into a warm hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you, Y/n,” he said over my shoulder, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You as well,” I returned as we pulled back to get a look at each other, “Poe’s told me such wonderful things about you.”

“However many times he’s brought me up, I can promise you,” Kes said, his eyes flicking to his son briefly, “It’s nothing close to the number of times I’ve heard about the captivating Y/n Solo.”

I smirked and turned around to face a very pink cheeked Poe, “Captivating, huh?”

He stammered, “I mean, I may have used it once…”

Kes’ chest rumbled with laughter as he patted my back, “Come inside and I promise to embarrass him some more.”

He pulled me under one arm and his son under the other and we made our way into the Dameron homestead. It seemed that I stood to finally leave Yavin 4 with some pleasant memories…

————

We’d spent our day catching Kes up on our lives, it had been a while since Poe had last visited so there was a lot to fill him in on. The former comrade of my family gave me his sincerest condolences over the losses of Dad and Uncle Luke. It was so strange to think of my family and Poe’s having known each other, like there’d been a decades old string connecting the two of us together. Kes regaled us with stories from his days as a soldier and we told him a few of ours. I shared more than Poe, it was clear he didn’t want to worry his father too much with his particular brand of reckless. Kes eventually caught the lightsaber hooked to my belt and asked about my training. 

“Before you leave, you have to go out to the backyard,” he said, “Your uncle gifted us with a Force after the war, someone like you needs to experience it.”

Once the skies darkened and we sat around the dinner table, Kes made good on his promise to embarrass my loving boyfriend.

“So Shara and I come running into the backyard and there he is,” Kes slapped his son’s shoulder, “Cockpit closed, lifting the damn ship into the air!”

I had my napkin covering my mouth as I laughed uncontrollably, the image of Poe as a child giving his parents a heart attack was completely believable. “Had he ever been up before?”

“Only with Shara and she never let him touch the controls,” Kes replied with a laugh, “He’d watched her enough times to know how to get it off the ground.”

Poe was a sport about each story from his early years, defending himself occasionally, though very few of them left him with an opportunity to do so. He’d been just as much trouble as a kid as he was now.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” I chuckled, “My dad never let me touch a thing on the Falcon until I was thirteen. And I didn’t fly her on my own for much longer.”

“Keep up, Solo,” Poe teased from across the table, “Some of us are doers.”

I smiled and shook my head at him, “I think you broke enough rules for the both of us in your younger days.”

“You calling me old?” Poe asked with a palm thrown over his heart in mock pain.

“Are you calling thirty three young?” I quipped back, swirling my wine in its glass, “I saw a couple gray hairs the other morning I didn’t tell you about.”

Poe’s cocky expression faltered briefly as his eyes widened before returning to normal, “You’re lying.”

Kes and I caught each other’s eye and shared a sly smile, both choosing to take a sip of our alcohol and leave Poe in suspicion. His confident exterior was broken by the tentative hand that ran through his jet black curls.

I’d convinced the two Dameron men to let me clean up after dinner so that they could spend some uninterrupted time together. They didn’t get to talk as much as either of them wished, that was a reality of war. Some went months without speaking to their loved ones. I felt unbelievably lucky that my mother was only a few minutes away at any given time of the day.

As I’d finished, Kes and Poe entered the kitchen. Seeing them side by side, it truly was astonishing how similar they looked.

“I think I’m going to head to bed and let you two have some time to yourself,” Kes announced, patting Poe on the back before making his way over to me, “I’ll be up early tomorrow so I can see you off.”

He wrapped me in a fatherly hug and I sunk into it, I couldn’t remember someone as quick to welcome me into their life as Kes Dameron. In a single day he had practically initiated me into the family as one of his own. Though nothing could ever replace the holes left by the fathers I’d lost, it was comforting to be around a dad again.

We bid our goodnights and with Bee charging in our room, it was just Poe and I left. He slung an arm around my neck and I laced my fingers with his as we walked back to the living room.

“So have you had a good birthday?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Poe laughed under his breath, “Are you kidding? This whole day has been perfect. And Dad loves you…”

“I love him,” I replied as we made our way to the sofa, “But I feel bad for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Judging from his stories, the poor man has spent every day worrying about you since you were in diapers,” I answered as Poe fell back on the couch, keeping our hands locked.

“Every parent worries,” Poe stated plainly, “Are you saying you never worried Leia and your dad as a kid?”

“I didn’t pull half the shit that you did,” I chuckled, “I hope that particular Dameron gene doesn’t carry over to our kids.”

As soon as the words had left me, I wished I could have retracted them. Poe’s eyes eyebrows lifted in surprise as he gripped my hand. “Our whats?”

“Our…nothings,” I scrambled for a sufficient denial, “I said nothing.”

“No, you said-“

“No I didn’t,” I faked a yawn and attempted to pull my hand away, “It’s late and we have to leave early so we should get to bed.”

Poe tugged me by the hand so that I had no choice but to land next to him on the couch, “Oh no, I want to hear about these kids we’re having.” 

My cheeks felt red hot to the touch as I rubbed my free hand over them and groaned. While I’d thought of mine and Poe’s future in daydreams, we’d never actually talked about it. Why should we? We’d only been together for five months. Even if we’d practically been a couple before that, it felt like a conversation for further down the line.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Poe pulled me closer and wrapped an arm around me, I settled against his chest and prayed that he let the subject go. “Well, if it’s nothing then it shouldn’t be so hard to talk about.”

“I just think about what our lives might look like after the war sometimes,” I explained timidly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sweater I wore, “We could retire somewhere like here, build a house…”

“Sounds nice," Poe said, “We’re married in this scenario, right?”

I looked up at him and caught the mischievous gleam in his eye, “I don’t know, are we?”

Poe shut his eyes and nodded, “Oh, definitely.”

“Alright,” I smiled, trying to hide my glee at the thought, “We’re married, living in our house on a planet we’ll decide on later and the war is over.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, rubbing his thumb back and forth against my shoulder, “And our army of kids are wrecking all sorts of havoc in the backyard.”

My body shot up at his words and I stared down at him, “Who said anything about an army?”

“I think we should have at least ten,” Poe answered so straight faced that I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, “We could totally handle it.”

“Says the man who’s job in the child making process takes ten minutes. Who do you think’s giving birth to these ten children?” I shrieked, sending him clutching his chest and into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said after regaining his composure, “Ten’s not the magic number. But can we agree that it’s higher than two?”

I grabbed the two fingers he was holding up and settled back against his chest, “Agreed.”

“So we have an undetermined number of kids waving around lightsabers and trying to fly their old man’s X-Wing.”

“No,” I strongly objected, “No lightsabers or piloting till they’re old enough.”

“C’mon, we both know that at least one of them is going to be a Jedi considering your family. Might as well start them young.”

Of course there was no guarantee but it was safe to assume that yes, at least one of our kids would probably be Force sensitive. “Well, I hope at least one of them takes after you. I don’t think I could handle more than one little Padawan running around using the Force to throw things at their sibling’s heads.”

Poe snorted, “Knowing us, they’ll be a handful. But they’ll be great.”

“Damn right they will,” I agreed, rubbing a hand over Poe’s chest as I tried to conjure up an image of our children in my mind, “They’ll probably have your hair.”

“And your y/e/c eyes.”

“They’ll run their mouths like you.”

“But be the first to protect their family like you.”

“They’ll be reckless.”

“They’ll be stubborn,” Poe stated before inhaling deeply, “The galaxy better watch out, the Solo-Dameron-Organa-Kenobi kids will be unstoppable.”

“Okay, we’re definitely gonna have to drop a few names,” I made note of.

“I disagree, I think it conveys strength,” Poe objected, stroking a hand up and down my arm, “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

I hummed for him to continue, “How come you don’t add Kenobi to your name?”

We’d had so many conversations about my fateful visit to Ahch-To, but my family’s name was a sore spot that I hadn’t talked to him about yet. I had no way of finding out my father’s last name or if my grandmother had given my mother her last name of Kryze. Kenobi was the only name I could claim. “I thought about it but it’s not safe,” I answered quietly, “If it got out that I was the granddaughter of Obi-Wan, everyone in the galaxy would be after me even more than they already are. Believe me, I wish I could but it’s not realistic.” 


Poe squeezed me tighter on hearing my explanation, not saying a word because there was really nothing to say. Neither of us could change the fact that I was a wanted woman. Nevertheless, it killed a part of me to not be able to take pride in bearing both of my family’s names.

“So I’m guessing you’ve thought about our future too considering how many details you’ve been providing?” I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood of the conversation.

“Maybe once in a while…” he teased, “On long fights back to base or sometimes before falling asleep at night. It gives me something extra to fight for on the tough days.”

I traced the sharp outline of his jaw as I watched him speak. The thought of Poe flying his X-Wing with one of our kids on his lap or me teaching one of them how to levitate objects made my heart beat fast in excitement. But for every dream I had, there was an equal amount of doubt. I knew that the reality of our lives were that even after the war, we’d probably never have a peaceful existence. And if I shifted the focus to myself, I held my own fears about raising children.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even a good idea though…” I admitted, lowering my gaze, “I’ve never had any sense of normalcy in my life, I doubt I’d know how to provide it for our kids.”

“Normal is overrated, and are you kidding me? You’d be the best mom in the galaxy,” Poe said, pecking my hair softly before stroking his hand over it, “We’ll make all of it happen, might take a while but the Damerons will have their day.”

“The Damerons…” I repeated back to him, a smile spreading across my face, “I like that.”

We laid there in the quiet a while longer, soaking in the peaceful silence before our lives descended back into chaos. The one day leave for Poe’s birthday had been a gift to both of us, a 24 hour oasis in the midst of the raging storm we were caught in. We spent our days strategizing, fighting in the skies and undergoing intense training. But here we could just be…soft. We could be what we would’ve been had there been no war. I fell asleep that night on Poe’s chest, dreaming of a free galaxy and curly haired children chasing playing with BB-8 as Poe and I watched.

————

Kes hadn’t exaggerated, the Force tree my uncle had gifted him and Shara was extraordinary. I didn’t even have to try to feel connected to the Force, the second I��d stepped foot in the backyard it had overwhelmed me. There wasn’t enough time for me to properly meditate underneath it, but I still used the little time I had left to center myself. I could feel the Force flowing through every part of me, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“I’m glad you got to see it,” Kes’ voice called from behind me, “It’s something special.”

“Sure is,” I agreed, opening my eyes but still unable to turn away from it, “Is Poe done checking the ship?”

Kes came to stand next to me, admiring the tree too, “Almost, he sent me to come get you but you take all the time you want.”

“I wish I could,” I smiled sadly, finally turning to face the man, “But we can’t be late getting back to base. There’s so much going on, we’re lucky we got a full day off. Well, I don’t need to explain wartime to you…”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about. I saw my share of action during the Rebellion…” Kes paused, staring off into the distance as he relived a decades old memory. He snapped back after a few seconds, shaking his head and returning his gaze to me, “Well, I’m just glad I got to see the two of you for however long I could. I worry about both of you.”

“You worry about me?” I asked with a quirk of my lips.

Kes’ expression shifted further into its somberness, “Of course I do. I know how dangerous war is but I also know how dangerous it is to be in love during war. There wasn’t a day during the Rebellion where I wasn’t worried about losing Shara. I know both of you know that feeling well.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. The thought of something happening to Poe was quick to make me emotional.


“I’ve lost the love of my life, the last thing I want is for either of you to have to go through that. The two of you…You’ve got something very few people are lucky enough to find. Something that deserves to live on long after this war is over.”

There didn’t seem to be a right thing to say in response. Poe and I’s worry for one another never waned, it was like a constant white noise in both our minds. There was no guarantee of seeing the next day during war. It was a reality we lived with every day whether tucked away in base or on mission off world. How many couples were casualties of war? Too many to count, my parents having been one of them. But the belief that Poe and I wouldn’t lose each other was something I clung to each day. The future we both fought for was one where we didn’t have to worry about losing one another.

“It’s a constant fear, losing him,” I mused as I stared out at the clear sky, watching the rising sun, “But I don’t regret being with him, not for a second. He’s worth all of it.”

“I know he feels the same way,” Kes smiled softly and patted my arm, “From what Poe has told me, you’ve pulled your share of stunts.”

I swiveled back to face Kes and raised a finger, “If he’s talking about what happened above Batuu, I’d like to play up the fact that I took out eight TIE’s singlehandedly.”

The former rebel soldier cocked an eyebrow, “Impressive, but no…He told me about Crait.”

“Crait…” I sighed, finding the ground much more interesting to look at.

“Even before he told me I’d heard about it. You were the talk of the city and I imagine everywhere else.”

“Yeah, apparently news travels fast…”

Crait seemed like a lifetime ago. It was no longer the actual fight between Ren and I that bothered me, though I’d admit to still questioning why he hadn’t killed me occasionally. It was the legend status I’d achieved without trying to. The over exaggerated tale of my heroics had spread across the galaxy quicker than I knew what to do with. Not only was I one of, if not the, most wanted woman in the galaxy but even the Resistance had begun treating me differently. Seemingly everyone except my mother and friends treated me as if I was some deity. I was glad no one else knew about my being a Kenobi or the attention would become too much to handle.

“I hope you’ll see that more as a symbol of what I’m willing to do for the cause rather than my personality. What I’m willing to do to protect the people I love,” I said, staring at him with all the conviction in the world, “That includes Poe.”

“I know, and that dedication is what makes the Resistance, and Poe, lucky to have someone like you.”

I could hear Bee’s squeals, only making out my name and knowing that we needed to head out. Kes and I turned to each other regretfully before he put an arm around my shoulders and we began to make our way out of the backyard. I turned my head to get one more look at the Force tree and silently promised myself that the next time I came, I’d spend a proper amount of time underneath it.

Poe was beginning to load Bee into the X-Wing when Kes and I rounded the corner of the house. Even though we were headed back to base where as soon as we landed we’d be thrown back into our responsibilities, he still looked relaxed. He hadn’t put on his commander’s hat yet and was simply Poe Dameron at home with the people he loved. He reminded me of the day I’d gotten back from my last stay with Dad, when we’d flown back from the transport station. We’d both been so carefree and at ease and I’d wished then what I was wishing now…for the war to be over.

“Any more Poe stories you want to send me off with?” I jokingly asked Kes, we were still far enough away that Poe wouldn’t hear me.

“There was one I wanted you to hear, he’d never forgive me if I told him but…” Kes chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, bringing our walk to a halt. “It was the day he arrived at the Resistance base. We’d talked after Leia recruited him about how excited he was about having command of his own fighting wing, meeting the other pilots…Pretty much everything he spoke about had something to do with an X-Wing. That night he called me and you could’ve paid him any amount of credits to talk about anything flying related and he wouldn’t have cared. The first thing he said to me after ‘Yeah, everything’s fine’ was ‘I’m pretty sure I met my future wife today.’ And for the rest of the call, not one mention of any ship. Just about this girl who had shown him around base and ate dinner with him and who he tried to be extra funny around just to make her smile. I made sure to make note of what he was saying so once I finally got to meet this Y/n he spoke so highly of, I could tell her that there hasn’t been one day that boy’s known you where he hasn’t been in love with you.”

My grin was practically idiotic by the time he’d finished telling his story. Poe had only mentioned that he’d fallen for me the first day we’d met and he’d never mentioned anything about telling Kes about me. I gazed over at Poe, standing atop the ladder next to his ship and my heart swelled. Just as it did when he returned home from a mission and we’d embrace outside of his ship. Or when we’d climb into bed together at the end of a long day and his arms would instinctively wrap around me. Or when I’d work late nights in the command center and he’d send Bee in with a sweet note stuck to the droid’s body. I didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love with him, but every day he showed me it was. He spotted us and waved me and his dad over. After a tearful goodbye with Kes, Poe and I were on our way back to base.

When we were in hyperspace, I tilted my head to press a kiss to the side of Poe’s mouth. He smiled at me, “What was that for?”

“I just love you,” I shrugged.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I love you too,” he replied, taking my chin between two of his fingers and locking our lips together.

————

A/N: I’ve been getting notifications every few days that people have been liking chapters which causes me to skim over some of them. I really can’t believe I started this series back in May as a way of coping with quarantine boredom and here we are six months later and I can see the end in the distance. I’m so glad that you guys enjoy it and it can distract you from the nightmare that is this year for just a few minutes. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one! Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!! 🦃🦃🦃

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