#i especially love when he's this fucked up shade of desire for violence that gets so mixed up it turns into wanting to fuck obi wan

[maulfucker]

yeah sure you can have the whole paragraph. as a treat

[bvnnywrites]

Still Waters Run Deep

Chapter 2: Überprüfen

PAIRING: Eldritch!König x Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the very long wait. My body gave out on stress and I passed out the side of the road this Monday on my way home. Also, I was manic and I had an episode yesterday so yayeet. Also, I read all your comments in the last chapter and asvbhbvdvdhdhfhv I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. THANK YOU SO MUCH RAHHHHHH. Anyways, enjoy the chapter! UwU

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, NSFW, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Fingering, Stomach Bulge, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Implied Discharge, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority, No Beta Reader, Dom! König, Size Kink, Size Difference, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Older!König, Eldritch!König, Monster!König, Masturbation, Dark Romance, Blood and Gore, Violence, Monsterfucking

THE ONLY INTERESTING THING TO DO AT KORTAC, if he wasn’t out and about in the field, was apparently dwelling in the thought of committing fraternization – and König chided himself that he was better than this.

But there’s nothing to worry about. Of course, he isn’t losing sleep overthinking the eager look on your face to get in his good graces—his approval and validation. No. he isn’t staying up late, seeing your adorable pouty lips and sweet-looking eyes glancing up at him because you’re too small whether you stood or sat. Especially, the softness of your flesh when he held your chin to make you look at him, or the warmth of your body when he soothed you from seeing those disgusting pictures.

König definitely does not want to know every detail of your life—what your flesh taste like pressed against his tongue, what it feels like as the tentacles on his face roam your body and leaving slick in its trail, what you like or hate, what blood type you have, how soft your hair is when he’s gripping it in his fingers while he’s shoving his cock deep in your little cunt, what your favorite position in bed is, what it feels like to have your pussy milking him desperately as he breeds you again and again until you’re pregnant with his children.

No.

No.

Who the hell was he kidding?

He’s is a fucking pervert—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

What he’s doing is fucking disgusting and he can’t believe that he’s thinking this way about you. God, König knows he’s a thousand shades of fucked up, but he did not expect to be like this. The colonel never expected he’d go this fucking low. He doesn’t want to be like he’s father—a disgusting fucker who was selfish and sick in the head—but he can’t help but fall straight down the rabbit hole and into the maws of the abyss of his own wicked desires.

König is a fucking disgusting creep because you’re so sweet, calm and understanding when he threw the first few layers of ugliness from his soul, dumping it on your lap, and you so graciously comforted him. He is disgusting because you’re literally twenty-three years younger than him, old enough to be his daughter, and yet your eagerness to obtain his approval has him losing his shit. You have him losing his morals. The softness of your skin has him wanting more, his teeth clenched with poorly contained desire, and yet he demands more – to be closer, to reach into the depths of your soul and twist it until you’re as fucked up as he is—craving him the way he craves you. You have him understanding why his father did what he did because now he thinks that maybe the sick fuck couldn’t control himself in the presence of his ‘Aphrodite’.

And you… you were König’s ‘Aphrodite’—the embodiment of his desires, both good and bad.

He is a fucking pervert because you were eager to help him in this manhunt for the so-called beast. Eager and desperate to advance in the ranks of the military – that’s all you were probably hoping, but instead of following the logical side, König had let himself be swayed by the waves of his depravity.

König was always proud of his self-control – his more human nature that he had inherited from his beloved mother. He never thought the day would come where these sickening thoughts would run in his mind. He was a monster, yes, but nature does have a way of being more predominant than nurture. At least, in this case. It didn’t even matter that his mother – who despised and loved him at the same time – had engrained the Lord’s teachings into his head or the holy scriptures that she would beat into his flesh.

All those teachings went to waste because at the end of the day, he was his father’s son.

He could see the disappointing and disgusted look on his mother’s face right now.

But all that washes away when his mind comforts him with the thoughts of you. The way your pretty eyes look up at him through long lashes, the way your voice addresses him has desire pumping in König’s veins. Because somehow, when it comes to you, he feels calm as he feels the need to lash out. He feels the need to bite and claw at you, marking you as his own little wife to love and to fuck. He wants to rip off his mask in front of you and make you braid his hair and weave flowers into it because you called him ‘beautiful’, wants to let one of his tentacles slither around your neck while he bites you and marks you as his. His little and eager to please mate—his beloved wife-to-be.

He can still see your pouty face, as if you’re there right in front of him. Your pretty wide eyes looking up at him—looking at him as if he wasn’t a disgusting monster—like an actual breathing person. Your scent lingers in his nose for the past two days. You smelled delicious – divine, if he’s honest. You reeked of the shower gel that you use,  and that suffocating perfume—or is it a cologne?—that you’re using to make yourself fresh. Several thoughts ran in his head, wanting nothing more than to smother you in his scent. Rubbing his smell all over you, until every single being—doesn’t matter if mortal or not—would know that you’re his.

The thought itself had his cock twitching more than it did before. It’s throbbing hard, leaking precum all over his hand as he pumps it with his fist while the other grips the sheets. Judging from your smaller form against his, you’d definitely be fucking tight, which was why he was gripping it mercilessly. The pictures of pin-up girls had long been discarded. He doesn’t need those when he has your pretty face, adorable ass, and alluring scent engraved in his mind. He’s a fucking perverted old dog… and it was all because of you.

König wants to have you on his knees before him. Relieving him of his stress by wrapping your adorable lips around the head of his dick, soft tongue lapping at the precum he’s making as if you’re a goddess and the gushing liquid was ambrosia—the very thing you needed to live.

He wants to take care of you, cradle you in his arms and pepper your face with kisses and show you how much he can just provide for you—KorTac isn’t cheap in their payments, and he is one of their best mercenaries they have, not counting the huge mess he has made that his superiors are ordering him to clean up. He was too valuable for them to lose, so they’re just asking him to wipe away the evidence and pin the blame on some poor soldier who was there at the wrong place at the right time.

König wants nothing more than to hold you close. He can’t even think about letting you fall in the grasp of another man—whether they be as old as him or young as your age, whichever you prefer—because you are fragile as you are gullible. He can tell by the way your eyes glimmer at him or the kindness that blossoms on your face whenever you cater to the soldiers under your command, acting as if you’re a mother to them. He wants you to be his. His little, beloved wife. Waiting for him in the house he’d buy for you in Hallstatt or maybe he’d catch you walking along the shoreline of the lake while you’re telling stories of yours and his love story to his unborn child that grows in your womb.

By God König wanted you more than anything.

He’s thinking of putting you on your knees, preferably on his bed so it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable in the long run, so you can be comfortable while he shoves his cock down your throat. Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, little whines and moans vibrating from you and on to his length and muffled from how strong his thrusts are inside your tight, wet, and warm mouth.

 Your face would be messy, mascara running down your cheeks, if you had any, and lip gloss smeared and staining his cock. And König would try to be gentle, so he wouldn’t end up breaking you, but it’d be impossible when you’re so eager to please him. You’d have trouble barking out orders and speaking normally, because he knows he’d wreck your throat by the time he’s done with you.

König is fantasizing about it—having you in such a state, making use of your delicate mouth and moving tongue.

But guilt flashes across his mind. No. No, he couldn’t do that to you. You’re a fragile little thing—not to mention a human. You’re like an adorable little mouse beneath him. Breaking you would break him too—hurting you would hurt him too.

He is a worthless monster, a disgusting being that should be shot dead for just thinking of you—his klein hase—like this. That woman who read his future was right. He was depraved. He’d ruin you…

But God have mercy on him because he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to back the fuck away from you.

Your name falling from his lips like a prayer, chanting your name as if you’d be able to save him from eternal damnation – and maybe you could, in your own human way. A primal and dark urge to have you in his full mercy, waiting for him to claim you. He… He just wants to be accepted by people, to be welcomed by his peers, but none of it matters now because he just wants to be accepted by you. He’s panting and groaning, pumping his dick several times, chasing that climax. He is shamelessly hard, cock angry as it's about to burst.

König feels dirty for this. He felt like a teenage boy who’s jerking off to his crush. And despite that, he’s imagining you sucking on his cock or having your forehead pressed against his, whispering how much you love him and how you can’t wait to be filled with his cock. He imagines your cum-drunk expression, eyes glazed as your head is muddled and filled with nothing but pleasure, and that makes him cum; thick ropes of white shooting out from the tip, while his cock pulsates as he pumps it continuously before gradually slowing to a halt.

He keeps cumming, more than he usually does. The white, thick liquid staining his abdomen, pants, and sheets. He moans, biting his lips in a poor attempt to conceal his pathetic whimpers. His release covering his hand—sticky and disgustingly warm. Bless KorTac for allowing him and other high-ranking superiors to have their own room, because he knows goddamn well that he won’t be able to commit such sinful acts in communal barracks.

Post-nut clarity hits him hard, almost the same way his mother would, and he’s shameful for what he had just done. The two of you barely know each other, only getting information about you out of your files, and yet he was infatuated with you the moment you arrived on KorTac that sunny day. And yet he fell in love completely in just a matter of two days after talking with you.

He wants to resent you for what you made him do. He wants to worship you and mark your body with his marks. He wants to be left alone—preferably in your arms while you stroke his hair and look at him lovingly because no one ever looked at him the same way you do.

“Mein Gott, Shatz. What are you doing to me, liebling?”

König pants, letting his head fall back into the pillow as he sighed. His muscles relaxed, so much that he feels like he’s going to be one with the mattress. He lays there for a bit in his own bodily fluids before he got up to clean himself and get changed, replacing the sheets with cleaner ones.

“Colonel, are you there?”

Your soft voice came to his ears, making him stop in his tracks. Was he delusional to the point that he’s imagining your voice? He’s losing it. He’s definitely losing it because no way in hell did you sought him out at—he glances at his clock and sees that it’s 24:58 on a Wednesday—this late in the night. König ignores the voice, opting to throw himself back into the bed, cuddling his pillows and imagining that it’s you.

“Colonel?” Your voice echoes, followed by a soft knock. “Sir? This is very important, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Oh. No, he’s not actually hearing things. You’re actually outside his door. König wore his mask, covering his ugliness because he didn’t want to scare a pretty little thing like you. It would be too soon for you to see his face. It’d be like putting a frog straight in boiling water instead of heating it up little by little.

He rushed to fix the cloth over his head, zipping and buttoning his pants. König almost tore the bolts of his door just to immediately see you, and when he swung the door open—almost ripping it off the hinges—he saw you standing there with several dossiers in your arms. Your pretty doe-like eyes, the ones he fantasized about as he came literally just seconds ago, looks up at him with a sheepish gaze. You smile apologetically up at him, neck craning to properly look at him. He sees the way your eyes glanced at his shirtless torso before flickering up to look at him.

Were you attracted to him the same way he is to you?

Did your cunt also drip at the thought of him, the same way his cock throbs at the mere thought of you? Did you also touch yourself when you were alone the past two days after you two spoke to one another? Did you also call out his name? Whimpering and panting as you flicked your clit and plunged your tiny fingers in your weeping pussy–

“Sorry to disturb you so late at night, I was ordered to give you these documents. Horangi said that I deliver these to you because it needs your immediate approval, sir.”

You say to him, spouting out your reasons and he can see that you’re doing so in hopes of not angering him because you think you’ve disturbed his sleep. How adorable. König keeps a note to himself to tell Horangi not to let you out this late at night; he doesn’t want you being suspected as the killer. Your cheeks are slightly red, and König finds red pretty on your face. So much so that he wants to just grab your squishy cheeks and pepper it with kisses. Maybe nibble on it affectionately.

“It’s alright. No worries. Come in, Schatz.”

He moves aside, letting you in. And, oh boy, you eagerly entered his chambers as you rushed to the desk in his room. You bend over to place the heavy papers on his table, and he has half a mind to bend you over the desk, tear off your clothes, and fuck you stupid until all you can do is mewl and whine on his cock. The fact that he was imagining you on your knees, choking on his cock or pumping it with your hands while you whispered sweet nothing to him five minutes ago didn’t help the colonel either.

“I’m really sorry. I know you’re probably sleeping–”

“I said it is fine, liebling. No need to lose your head over nothing, ja?”

He finds it endearing that he calms you, that his words weigh that much for you. Usually, he’s used to barking orders, establishing things with force. And yet, when he speaks to you softly, reassuring you, that it’s alright if you waltz into his room—into his heart, even—and take whatever you wanted is a nice change of pace. He’d give more to you on your way out, because he loves you. He wants to marry you. He wants to take you back with him to Austria. You’re beautiful in gear, but König knows you’d be more beautiful in maternity dresses.

But he is sane about you. Completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing wrong with his state of mind regarding you. Everyone loves strongly, ja?

“It’s late at night, and I don’t want you to end up as a corpse in the halls, liebling. Let me escort you to your quarters, ja?” He says softly, walking up to you as he effortlessly moves the paperwork that were practically heavy for you. “It would ease me to sleep, knowing you’re safe and sound in your bed.” König pats your head.

“I… um… are you sure, sir?” You look at him, confused as you tilt your head in confusion. “You must be tired for the day, and I’ve already taken up much of your time.”

He ignored your words of worry as he grabbed his hoodie and wore it, finally giving you an ounce of mercy because as much as he loves the way your eyes are drawn to his torso, he also doesn’t want to give you cardiac arrest just because he was being too much for you.

Now that you’re here in his room, alone with the colonel, your heart hums nervously. You pray that no soldier would see you walk out of his room at this hour. Because you don’t want to burden him with silly rumors when he’s drowning in paperwork, focusing on an investigation, and you don't want to add up to his plate.

“I want to protect you from harm, Schatz. With me around, I doubt the beast would hurt you.”

Lies. No, wait. It’s not all lies, so basically just half-truths. With König around, the thing that lurks in the halls of KorTac would never hurt you, if anything it would worship the ground you walk on. Ask him to give you a town for your dowry, and he would enslave every continent on Earth and lay it by your feet—because the thing in the dark is him, and he loves you, and he wants to give you the world.

“Okay. I mean… if that’s okay with you, sir.”

“König.”

“What?”

“Please, mein liebe. I would appreciate it if we drop the formalities. We are comrades, ja?”

“Alright… as I was saying, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you, König.”

“You’re not a burden. Not to me… not if it’s you, mein liebling.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion with the way he addressed you. It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel important. You don’t know German, and you kick yourself mentally because you wish you knew what he was calling you. For all you know, he’s calling you stupid affectionately. Because it took you weeks before you realize Izzy was calling you ‘stupid’ in the most affectionate way possible, so who’s to say the colonel is any different?

Before you can ask him what the words mean, he walks past you, opening the door for you. You walk out his room, thankful that no one’s there to see the two of you together.

You two walk down the halls, side by side. And poor little you.t you’re practically walking alongside the devil. The halls are empty, devoid of any soul. The trip to your room was quiet, no one is around, obviously. Soldiers were already asleep, and those who didn’t need to follow the curfew were chilling in their room or buried in neck-deep paperwork in their offices.

König wished he wasn’t the monster right now. He wished it was someone else, because he wants an opportunity for him to be a hero. To be a protector. To put up all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while you praise him for his strength and bravery. Maybe shower him with loving kisses, even. He wants something to try and kill him, just so he can show you that he can protect you from anything and anyone who would want to kill you, but then you stop in front of your room, making you turn and smile at him.

He loved your smile, the way your skin stretched and your adorable features twist just to give him a kind gesture

“Well. This is my stop.” You offer him a warm smile, unaware that it’s a currency that König could never afford yet you willingly give it to him for free. “Thank you… for looking out for me, König.”

“You’re a valuable soldier. It would be a shame if the thing lurking the base comes and kills you, Shatz—I want you safe.” He smiles at you beneath the mask, and the way his eyes crinkle is adorable and you know he’s smiling when they do that. “For as long as I’m able to, I’ll protect you, okay?”

His fingers gently held your chin, afraid that he’d break you at the slightest pressure. Your heart thumps in your chest. How could Roze or Izzy ever tell you to avoid him? He was practically a sweetheart. The colonel wanted you safe more than anything, isn’t that enough to warrant an inch of friendship from you?

Your eyes met his, those eyes that remind you of a storm at sea, are filled with nothing but warmth. It makes your breath hitch with how… oddly intimate it feels. You’re sure that if you weren’t a soldier, if the two of you met outside the forces, as civilians, without the medals and badges, you’re sure that he would’ve kissed you right then and there. It felt like your heart was about to explode – it’s too overwhelming.

So, you forced yourself to look away, stepping back and away from his grasps—from his touch. The absence of his touch makes your head clear without realizing it felt hazy in the first place. Such a strange effect that the colonel has on you.

König is displeased that you’ve put more distance between you two, but he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t want to make you worry, despite the adorable look on your face whenever you do look troubled. So, König opts to pat you on the head briefly.

“Sleep tight, Schatz. Don’t forget to lock your door, ja?”

“Alright, co–König. Good night.”

As you shut your doors, the monster outside stood there for a few more minutes before it walked away.

“Did something good happen today, colonel?”

“None of your concern, major.”

Horangi was as sharp as ever, deep voice rumbling in his chest which intimidated most people around him. He was also the only one in the ranks to be able to speak casually with his superior – even though all of KorTac members usually avoid the giant soldier since they don’t really want to risk being discharged because they can’t function properly anymore. Horangi was the closest thing König has to a friend – which is kind of sad since a former gambling addict was the only one who can tolerate his shit and can understand him, even with his hood permanently on.

But Horangi was right.

Something good did happened.

You happened.

“That new lieutenant.” König starts. “If you’re sending her out to deliver files, tell me so I can escort the klein hase to her destination,” the colonel orders him, “I do not wish for her to be hurt.”

He spent the night awake, drinking and shredding it in the gym, trying so hard to put your adorable face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, he hasn’t seen you running around base for the day because he’s too busy cooped up in his office and signing off the papers that you’ve given him hours ago, but the way your facial features would get distorted into something more adorable every single time he closed his eyes was highly concerning.

And he calms himself down in those wee hours the same way he did moments before you knocked on his door—jerking himself off until he felt nothing but self-hatred and the yearning of having your soft body pressed up against his.

“She’s a lieutenant, König.” Horangi snort. “You know I don’t recruit the weak.”

“She’s a woman,” König responds, “I’m not saying she’s weak, but most soldiers in base are men… I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

“She can handle herself.”

“And what of the monster on the loose?”

“Why? Do you plan on eating her next?”

“… Perhaps.”

König thinks for a moment. It should be easier if he would have an official legal reason to keep you by his side. Have your desk literally in his office so he can always keep his eyes on you, make sure no one lays a finger on you. König chucks his delirious thoughts to the lack of sleep, his fingers held down the paper while he wrote with his pen, but he wished he was holding you down and fucking into your wet cunt instead. He had those things before – overthinking about the tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but understood that he can’t be with them—it could be his childhood crushes that he could never had thanks to his hideous appearance… and anxiety. It could be fantasizing about a pretty woman that caught his attention one day—imagining a life with them, multiple kids, and maybe a dog or two. König is aware that he has a problem , but not like… this; never dangerous.

The problem was that he knows he can have you.

Perhaps not in a traditional way. No. He can’t court you, that’s against the rules, and König wished nothing more that you were a civilian instead of a soldier. Because of your badge, he couldn’t be with you. He has half a mind to snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate because he knows you would never marry a monster like him, so abducting you was… reasonable. He can shower you with gifts in your captivity, decorating you with all the gold and jewel in the world while he’s fucking his child into you. He can have his men kidnap you, and yes, it is inhumane but you would be happy with him as his wife than a woman playing as a lieutenant. He would soothe your worries, fuck you every single hour with no rest until his cock rearranges your insides and impregnate you until he can convince you that he was the perfect mate for you, and then boom – happily ever after.

He knows that he can have you.

And it drives him crazy because he has never felt a strong urge to want  something so bad in his life. At this point, it’s not even a want. It’s a need. It’s hilarious how the two of you barely knew each other, but König was head over heels for you. He wants you by his side, whether you’re willing or not.

“Have you eaten?” Horangi asked.

“Not yet.” König answered.

That’s how he found himself sitting down at the mess hall, eating this food that was barely stimulating his senses. Horangi didn’t join him, said he had to attend a meeting with his soldiers since a complaint was given to him. It was good, actually. There was rice, three hamburger steak, gravy and mashed potatoes. They gave him a bigger serving simply because he was a giant man, it only made sense to give him enough sustenance to function. The food was delicious, but König didn’t really pay attention much to it.

Now that he has had a taste of you—you giving him kind words and smiling at him—König couldn’t get enough. You were like a drug. He want to pin you down, ravage you in bed, feel your walls clamp and spasm around his cock over and over again while you’re reduced to nothing but mewls with a cum-drunk expression the same way a drug addict heats heroin over a spoon before injecting it into their systems.

He needs you under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed with sweat and marked with his lips and teeth.

He needs you under him, creaming on his cock while he stretches out your cunt deliciously – taking him to the hilt like a good girl, cock forming a bulge on your abdomen. Juices dripping on to the sheets while he suckles on your nipple, his other hand groping your other tit.

He needs you under him–

“Colonel?”

König’s eyes snapped up and locked on to yours, and the concern scribbled on to them has his heart swooning over you once more. Your brows are turned upward with worry and you standing in front of the table he was sitting at, calling out to him has him wanting to put you on his lap and nuzzle against the crook of your neck. He smiles underneath the mask, seeing you again, blessing his eyes with your beauty.

“Ah, liebling. What brings you my way?”

“Roze is on a mission and Izzy is currently in a meeting, and every seat is taken. So, I was wondering if I can sit with you.”

“Of course, mein liebe. Your company is always welcome.”

You can sit on his lap.

You can sit on his face, ride him while he eats you out. Tongue lapping at your sweet juices as you cum on his face. God, he wants to spoil you. Cover you with kisses and embrace you because he loves you.

To König, you’re adorable when you eat. Your cheeks puffing a little like a chipmunk as you chew your food, before gulping some of your water. There’s a bit of mashed potato smeared by the side of your lips, and you don’t seem to notice. Before he can stop himself, his fingers had made contact with your skin, wiping away the stain. He sees you visibly froze, eyes widening so adorably.

“You had mashed potato on your face.” König chuckled, wiping the food off of his gloves with a tissue.

“O-oh…” You stutter, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I was hungry… I missed breakfast.”

Your cheeks turned red, flustered at his gentle gesture, and König eats that shit up. His mind keeping the moment in his head. His desires spilling over it like ink; tainting a shared innocent memory between you two. He stares at you for a solid minute, engraining your features into his memory—as if he hasn’t memorized your face at this point—and smiles softly beneath the mask. There are scars all over his body, including his face, and the tentacles on his face struggles not to reach out to you and feel your skin against it.

He wants you to know that he would do anything for you. How he’s willing to lay down his life for you. How he’s willing to protect you from anything because you’re all he ever wanted in his whole life. You would appreciate a man with scars, right? After all, it’s a sign of bravery.

König took part in many battles, too many to count with his tentacles and fingers and toes combined; spent his youth training to be the best killer possible. He took part in many conflicts and killed hundreds, maybe thousands even,  while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – maybe, except for talking to people sometimes. It’s not like he’s terrified of them, but rather afraid of making a fool of himself. König always hated talking to people, but being colonel meant he had to communicate to soldiers under his command and his superiors.

He isn’t afraid of anything. But… he is afraid of you finally seeing underneath the mask and thinking that you, in fact, find him revolting to look at.

The colonel takes one look good at you, and figures that maybe it’s worth the internal turmoil if it meant that he would have you by his side. He would agree to get as many ranks as possible if that meant he could provide for you and have you quit your job as a soldier. If that would allow him to come home to every day and night instead of sleeping alone in his room.

“I suppose you enjoy your breakfast, liebling?” König chuckled, and your face just goes even more red.

“It’s delicious,” You answered, smiling sheepishly.

He loves it when you smile. Obsessed with it—the way your eyes twinkle with delight whenever you cast your gaze at him without a hint of disgust.

“Would you like to get coffee someday?” König offered. “I know a café that has really good coffee or if you prefer non-caffeinated drinks, they also have milkshakes and their desserts are pretty good.”

 And you with those pretty doe-eyes of yours say, “Sure! Set the time and date, colonel.”

Other soldiers are looking. They’re glancing at you and him, but you don’t seem to notice the stares or the fact that it had gone slightly quiet. He is a creep, weirdo and all the words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones these past few days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are smiling at him with such unbridled admiration was driving him mad.

“How about this Thursday, ja?” König inquired, wanting to hear your opinion on the matter.

You think for a moment, brows furrowed and König finds it really endearing. Izzy said she’d take you to a café but she wasn’t really sure yet since she says it might be the day Horangi and her go on missions. Roze wouldn’t be back until Sunday, and you’re left alone with nothing on base.

Well… there is König.

“Sure! I’m free this Thursday.” You say to the colonel, brimming with excitement at your newfound friendship.

The monster is pleased. It seems you’ve checked out all the boxes he’s looking for in a mate.

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P.S. Idk how to tag or if I did it right^^

[samodivaa]

Words don’t trigger him, emotions do

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Anger, resentment and especially, jealousy—those emotions were all he knew while you both spent decades at Hydra.

Warnings- angst, jealously, mental struggles, smut, possessive sex, love bites

Words- 3400

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And his love has its own dark morality when rivalry enters in, when another man dares to flirt with you and Bucky shall show well what he shows best.

“Hello, snowflake" he says "Hope I'm...interrupting”

There is an intonation so bitter and so imperative that the man who you are talking with shallows hard. The words which are set in the air—in themselves they are simple and sweet. But his jealousy, protectiveness are a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing.

"Do you know the man?" he asks politely, blue eyes burning with violence.

There is a natural comorbidity between possessiveness and jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill.

„Yeah, I do,“ you reply and Bucky feels alone in the moment your eyes break contact—and in a fever, among the walls of the bar, he looks around too, a thickening twilight peeps out in his mind.

"Who is he?" he asks in a pleasant but cold voice, now clearly less friendly than before.

„It doesn’t matter“ you smile softly, that sentence is a uttered curse to Bucky’s ears. Immediately, his guard is up.

Bucky is silent for a moment, suffocated by the situation, ringing in his ears, and the heart—it will bust.

The simplicity of your answer spreads as frost, closing off the light of his eyes. His mind starts racing once again, a nameless emotion has nested in Bucky – who is that guy?

Bucky sits on your left side before he leans on the counter next to you, with his metal hand and puts his right one on his tight, closer to his gun strapped there.

You know him, you know that behavior— this yearning to protect, tearing at his insides like hunger and thirst. It is not love. Love is warm and soft, like a bed of leaves. But this is dark, like the shade under a poisonous shrub, and it is hungry. So hungry.

You know its' name—Winter.

You're stuck with him. Not for a few decades, not for centuries. You're tied to him forever. That's why you are good at putting out his flame before it grows—the frame he still carries from the past.

Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, apart from its inconvenience there's even something touching about it—his starless nights eyes—his face, as if it has been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life.

You are equipped to handle what he has, both past and present—package deal of both. In other words, you have been assigned a load you can handle.

“Bucky-”

“Let's go home, it’s getting late” he interrupts, in a soft, vicious voice.

“Give me ten minutes”

He feels like a thread has come between you when he hears your answer, tugging, tugging at his heart—so hard, it hurts him.

You glare at each other. He closes his eyes, because there is a petulant woundedness with which he stares back at you.

Neither of you say a word until Bucky moves, leaning back against the counter, and folding his arms over his chest. It takes all his concentration, to keep from ripping out this man’s throat. But Bucky shoves the familiar fury down, to the place where he stifles Winter's power.

“Okay”

He says as he looks over to the man, and wants him to say something mean so he would have an excuse to shoot him. Bucky is something dark and beautiful, in conflict with what he shows to the world and what he truly feels inside, it is hard to control it.

A worry deep in you stir, but you ignore it for now, pushing it down as best you can with the distraction of music and whiskey.

You fully turn to the man and all Bucky wants is your full attention. He wants your gaze to stay fixed on him, only him. He wants to stare into those beautiful eyes for as long as he lives.

Every avalanche begins with the movement of a single snowflake, and you are this Snowflake tonight.

When the ten minute mark hits you hear a quiet screeching sound—he has carved a small heart on the counter with his index metal finger—you can’t believe how jealousy has him gagging, his blue eyes are clouded before he lowers his gaze to the floor.

Snow is super soft, bottomless and amazingly light, yet supportive—until you take a wrong turn and feel every crystal reacting within your soul, suffocating you. Bucky has lost himself in the emotional storm: it takes so little this time, to put fuel in his cynical heart.

“Bucky…” you whisper and your eyes meet, his actual humanity can’t seem to triumph over the rage and jealousy this time, something you hardly imagine in your wildest dreams.

And this is the secret you both share—the kind you don't dare to let out—Words don't trigger him, but emotions do. You can’t leave them unnoticed, unattended and unsolved.

“Let's head home”

Your language has been lost for so long at Hydra. But not the gestures. It is almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of understanding each other without the need for words.

He maintains his silence, but he slowly gets up—he doesn’t look back, he knows you are following him closely. Of course you do, but you think about what has just happened

While you were looking into his eyes, there were fragments of his inner struggle that were deeply repressed—he always tries to repress the past. It’s hard to distinguish if they were buried inside because dealing with them was such dirty work, or if he was ashamed to voice them.

The truth is that he would rather dig his own heart out, with a knife, than admit it. A while ago he let you know that it's hard to control certain emotions—but he didn’t want to throw his intimacy in front of you, especially when he cares.

But nothing stays secret forever

You are trying to heal too, but, finally, there are things which he is afraid to divulge even to himself—he needs you, he needs your reassurance, he feels like someone will snatch you from his hands, damn his split personalities and untrustworthy habits from the past, but he can’t help it, it scares him.

You are both unearthed by deception, torture, brainwashing, whose essence was shrouded by Hydra—your own father naming the Winter Soldier program after his own daughter, you, stringing you with Bucky together—the yearning theme of your life.

After you escaped Hydra, you went your separate ways until he came back to you, searching for someone who understands him.

That was a year ago.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants you, the more my desire rises and swells—

“Bucky” He shakes his head in exasperation, not stopping as he climbs the stairs to your shared apartment, aiming for the door, but he can’t stay with you, not when he is not fully himself “Bucky, stop, talk to me”

You have known him for so long, you can see the pride through his words, the truth through his silence, and the anger through his smile.

Always.

“Soldat“  he turns to you, perusing your body as he comes to stand in front of you, his abysses as deep as those of love, finally meet yours.

That realization takes about a nanosecond to register in Bucky’s brain before the real important information comes to the forefront—you’ve noticed.

He lowers his head toward you, so you could feel his breath warm against your skin, your mouths only inches apart

“Why did you call me that?”

He has no answer nor idea, just a never-ending list of questions, he is searching for a loophole that increasingly feels like a noose—he denies it, he tries to—you are not entitled to exposing him like that.

How hollow is it for him to have no secrets left—Bucky's love gives, and Soldat's lust takes.

His gaze, improper, is the most sensual thing he can have done at this moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm as you speak

“Tell me, how can I help?” You put your hands on his chest, your eyes still locked and an unwelcome sensation pierces you.

“You already know” he says thoughtfully as his cool gaze devours you “snezinka” (snowflake) and his lusty grin when he says that, it's sinful—and pleasurable.

“There is nothing to worry about. Do whatever you want to make yourself feel better” All you want to do is make him feel better, to drown his worries in your embrace.

Both shame and worry drown themselves in the dark eyes that stare back at him.

You.

Only you.

Bucky dreads this power you have over him.

Everything you say is exceedingly obvious, and undoubtedly true, but he feels that something more obscure, more frightening lurks in the back of your mind.

You don’t halt the hands he lays on your waist when he pushes you, backing you into the door.

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1968–1969, Zhao Jianmin Spy Case

„That is going to be mass murder, send them together.“

This mission is a long, never-ending massacre, it never ends.

He is lost in your eyes, it’s eating him alive.

Corpses fill the floor, the sight of gore is peaceful in your corrupted existence. He becomes obsessed in this moment of solitude with you, he has the need to touch you and you respond with a kiss, blood all over your face.

Your wretched fate is shared, your need for touch also.

Winter’s lust betrays him as he pushes you against the wall, feasting on your lips and neck, his hands running up and down your back.

“Relax, Winter” you giggle as you gently press your fingers into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss as he looms over you- waiting with a predatory grin.

„I need you, Samodiva“ he slurs, eyebrows furrowed as he glances up at you. His trembling fingers touch the strings in vain, wanting to find the right notes from the fading memory, Soldat wants his soul to vibrate again; with lust, with love.

He knows you feel his arousal, your closeness causing him to grow hard, inhaling sharply, enjoying the sensations you are eliciting in him.

“I need you, too” you finally answer without faltering.

This is all Soldat needs to hear - his tongue flicking lightly over your neck once again, tracing the skin slowly, eliciting a moan from your lips, bodies acting on instinct.

A soft squeak escapes your puffy lips, the tension building up in your body too fast, too soon. Winter puts his hands around your waist, your pants already unbuckled, surrendered to him.

He wastes no time, there's no time left… his hands suddenly drop to his own pants, popping the button open and then pulling down the zipper.

The feeling of your insides drains all of his self power to not come on the first trust, he moves at an excruciating slowly pace, fucking you into the bloodstained walls, there is a glimpse of human nature when you fill the room with moans.

„I am yours,“ he whispers, his words sending a series of chills through her.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

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“1968, do you remember?“ he groans as he brushes his mouth against your cheek. The plea in his tone floods your veins with a whole different form of power “Just say no, snezinka-”

“This is exactly what I want“ you counter. As you arch your back, pressing the tips of your breasts against his chest, closing your eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravages inside you.

He leans down more, his mouth only inches from yours. “Fuck,” the barely leashes growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in your body flares to life.

Bucky loves seeing you pinned to the door—his control balancing precariously on the point of a knife. He tightens his hands holding you even closer, until your chest is pressed against his own, you can feel his hard cock pressing between your bodies.

All he needs is one push.

And you are about to shamelessly shove.

“Come on, I can take it” you tilt your head up to his and draw his bottom lip between yours, sucking before gently nipping him with your teeth. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay” He speaks against your throat and finishes one languorous stroke up the column of your neck.

It breaches something within him, and he gives in.

Finally, mouths collides, and the kiss is hot and hard—it invades his body, abolishing any constraints and bringing to life the desire for you. It grounds him firmly in the moment and drags his body in it, too—Bucky wants to be the only thing touching you, the only thing that touches you ever again. He is kissing the shell of your ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses.

Rage. Lust. Jealousy. Past. Preset. Every day is a reminder of how nothing stays the same, every day an exercise in variability, resilience, understating and trust.

You love the seasons, but, you must admit—at the risk of offending the others—Winter is your very favorite one. What a beautiful madness, to explore the darkness in his old self and find joy in the unearthing of such a wicked past.

He craves you, he kisses you again.

When your mouth touches his, it is like a blade glancing off metal—the darkness inside him briefly lights up with violence and rage before the emptiness comes flooding in like a black lake—you see it in his eyes.

“Let’s get inside '' he hears your whisper and he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers. He might be lust-intoxicated, but he always cares.

Tonight, you have successfully deflected his attention from the gloomy thoughts and the contemplation of his past—his lust rushes, but his love makes him wait.

His love lasted for decades—will last for a lifetime.

Awash with trepidation, you two manage to get into the apartment, but the moment you lock the door—your back is against the wall again.

All those desires Bucky has felt in passing have culminated, growing deeper, hungrier, darker—he can do whatever he wants with you.

That through alone causes trouble below his belt.

He pulls his shirt over his head, the sight of his sculpted muscles, crisscrossed with countless scars. They have the strange power to remind you both that the past is real.

Bucky’s hands languidly roam the curves and valleys of your body as his kisses became sensual, slow and deep. There is such a luster in his eyes that you have to look away, but when you look back at him, his gaze hasn’t moved, still focused on your face.

Then he shifts his mouth to your neck for a hard love-bite that makes you cry out— the need to possess you, to claim you, he never did that before.

But even though you feel his erection stir as you press your hips against his, he doesn't attempt to resume the lovemaking in full, he catches you around your slender waist again and brings you close to whisper teasingly in your ear

“Ты - моя, слышишь?”

You begin to feel a familiar wetness form between your legs.

“Bucky,” you call out, impatient with desire.

But that exact position triggers so much delight, of the heated memory—he has all the time in the world, not as the last time.

He kisses you like he has forgotten how your mouth tastes—with a curious childish delight, kisses like wants to take you dancing.

As you pull apart, you remove your own shirt and his teeth scraping down the skin of your neck, his hands sliding around back to remove your bra, tossing it aside.

His right hand makes its way up, passing over a mark left by a bullet—your cheeks heat, and your breath hitches, but you can’t look away, you follow his hand with your eyes.

“I was not there when you got shot” he says as his fingertip skims the top of your breasts “When was that?” he uses the vibranium arm to lift one of the long locks of your hair to his lips and inhales the scent.

“It doesn’t matter”

And maybe you are right, but it stands as a reminder yet again of how you too escaped death's touch before. It was almost...normal for you back then.

Bucky takes a breast into his mouth to suck at it vigorously as you shiver in his grasp, the metal hand sides down to your waist to keep you against the wall.

You let out a small moan as you feel his hardness tighten and press even more insistently against you.

You worm your hands between your bodies, opening his jeans, freeing his length from the confines of his boxer-briefs, then reaching in to caress it and he burying his face in your neck to stifle his groan.

Bucky shudders when when you take him in your hand, stroking him painfully slowly. He allows it for several moments before hiking up the skirt of your dress to quickly tear your damp underwear.

He rubs a hand down your leg, fingers curling behind your knee and pulls it to his hip.

You instinctively jump, he catches you, abandoning his attempts of fingering you in favor of grabbing your hips, and you moan as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He loves you.

He loves you because nature wills it as it did for decades.

Because you are already long united by the past.

The bare flesh on every part of you always belonged to him, the scent emitting from your skin is his—he loves you, but he doesn't dare tell you that.

You have become Bucky’s favorite hiding place over the past year, the place he put every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, you keep him safe.

You have possessed him—and you never knew it.

He has been dependent on exactly how close he can have you next to him, how long he can get to stay at your apartment—making various excuses every time until you suggested to him to move in with you two months ago.

“Bucky,”

you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to continue, running your hands over his shoulders.

Your voice pulls him out of what was ravaging in his mind, all those thoughts, but then he kisses as he roughly inserted his cock with no warning, you let out a surprised gasp as his forehead falls to your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips and pressing you against the wall more firmly when he bottoms out, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of your body against him.

You are made for him, made for fucking.

“I love biting you, I need it” his voice is brittle, not saying anything else.

You stare like he is something you can’t comprehend, something unexpected – willingly admitting.

Your fingers thread gently through his hair and you can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to claim you, to reach the white-hot ecstasy. 

You have never seen him like that.

He bites his way along your jaw to the base of your throat. His mouth is hard and punishing, lathering your skin with marks—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—thrusting into you wildly, trying to elongate your pleasure for as long as possible, but suddenly he is choking on moans as waves of climatic bliss are sent throughout his body.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

This night you learn about his jealousy, it has you starving to learn more about this side of him. A new hunger that you know you will satisfy only with time.

His steel blue eyes hide a nearly irresistible urge to claim you—it’s hard for Bucky to control it when the incurable desolation of Winter exaggerates in displaying old emotions.

[miguel-owhora]

SYNOPSIS — a spider turned into a mutt, a feral beast sticking to the shadows, only ever coming out to get a taste of blood and to feel the gentle hand of his master petting his head.

TYPE — drabble

WARNINGS — 18+ , trans!miguel , reader is implied to be a hybrid of sorts , implied violence , implied bloodshed , borderline villain!miguel , dacryphilia , cunnilingus , overstimulation , implied multiple orgasms , cliffhanger

MORE — based off a cai bot i wrote + an old bot i wrote a long time ago and i think is long lost by now lol. also inspired by that one post abt someone being submissive the way a guard dog is. anyways, have this piece of shit while i finish up the other draft i have.

FEM-ALIGNED READERS AND MINORS DNF, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED.

TAGS — @sweetcorpse , @tophamhat-kyo , @villainousdelicacy , @realitylemon

You've always liked the color red. Red cherries, red cars, red flowers, red soda cans, red shoes - red, red, red. You especially liked the darker shades of the warm color, of the first color of a color wheel, of the top dog color. A color that screamed danger, that moaned passion, that roared violence, and sobbed bloodshed. It was a color you were always fond of, especially when paired with other darker colors and items.

Blood, for instance, was your favorite shade of red. Well, the color of red that someone bled was your favorite. There was something so beautiful about it, something so organic, to know that color was inside of us all. It made you dizzy in the best way possible, and it made you excited whenever it spilled out of somebody's wounds.

You also liked the color on Miguel. He looked absolutely breathtaking in that spider suit of his, form-fitting and sensual, like something born from lust itself. How the color constricted around his limbs, like tempting serpents, dark red and whispering into your ear, how it looked on his lips, like smudged paint and juices of a red fruit. You could never take your eyes off him, pupil dilating at how the color red looked on him, how your hands looked on him, how the color you so loved look like a marking brand on the man you were infatuated with.

For all the brute that you were, you were not dumb. You were well aware of how Miguel would keep a special eye on you, how he would stalk you on your livefeed, how he would lick his lips at the sight of you bloody and bruised but strong and victorious, and how his scent would thicken with that of arousal. And it amused you know he would shift and turn away, how his jaw would tighten with embarrassment, trapped in false comfort that no one knew of his desires - and he was partially right. No one else had a nose as strong as yours - you weren't exactly Human, you were superior, and your heightened senses allowed you to pick up things not even the spider-people could.

Including the thick scent of a horny bitch.

Something was bound to snap, and it happened sooner than later. After a particularly vicious mission, you've been called back to Miguel's office. He took one sight of your towering, blood soaked figure and couldn't contain himself, lust overtaking logistics.

It's how Miguel found himself laying back on his desk. His legs were forcefully bent over his chest, pinned down by your grip, hands so large against his thick, muscular thighs. Best of all, your head was stuffed between his legs, hungrily slurping up all his pussy juice he had to offer.

Miguel lost track of how many he had cum already, reduced to trembling limbs and a tear tracked face, voice hoarse and breathless from all the moans and cries he was letting slip by without a second thought. His pussy was puffy and slick with cum and hus juice, hus cock throbbing and swollen from the times you've sucked the life out of it.

And you were only just beginning - Miguel had caught sight of the hard bulge in your pants, fuck, Miguel had wanted it in his mouth and in his cunt and in any other hole he had. But you had ignored him and simply dipped your head and began to eat him.

Miguel tried to wiggle, tried to pick up the pace to get to the prize he wanted. But all he was a low, rumbling growl that resonated from your chest, a guttural sound, and a firmer hold on his thighs as you mouth encased his pussy and made Miguel squeal.

No, you weren't planning on stopping anytime soon.

all rights reserved © miguel-owhora

[malxshrine-a]

          𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀❟ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 :

Sukuna has very many redeeming qualities mired in shades of confidence, pride, and violence. You realize that he’s silly, that he takes himself seriously and doesn’t at the same time. The same mouth that claimed someone can’t do a thing to him, praises that same person in the next breath. The weak show him what they are made of and he sees; his mouth opens to give them the truth. always the truth.

Telling someone the truth of their ability, tenacity, and power does not diminish his own nor does it harm his pride ANY.

Sukuna has very many redeeming qualities to the point that someone is endeared to him, and then, you see him unhinge his jaw to swallow a fucking mother ... and her child later on. do not think desirable qualities are synonymous with the good aligned. or that heroes cannot be truly terrible people. They can, and often are.

Hercules is the best fit for this analogy. both the gods and humans hated Hercules to the point that the gods begged Zeus to punish him severely. every last one of them. and that is not often expanded upon much, because how could someone do good deeds and be a trashcan person at the same damn time? very easily.

Sukuna is like this in reverse and it’s supposed to be this way. It is good that he is this way. Why? because one-dimensional characters begat one-dimensional feelings along with them. He’s cartoonishly evil almost, it’s true. the more we’re privy to the more it makes sense why he’s so dramatic and more than makes sense why the sound of this dramatic bitch’s name is enough to make people LOSE THEIR SHIT — enough so that people make the STUPIDEST decisions in concern to him.

We see him get folded by Go-joe so easily to show how drastic one finger is to having just ONE more to boost his power. I’ve seen quite a few people take this to mean he should be wrote off completely. I can GUARENTEE you this was on purpose. Sukuna passively gains cursed energy. he BREATHES and the next moment gains more strength. and these comparisons people make to his fingers ( even Gege himself out of a need to misdirect people ) and another character’s strength are to the Sukuna from a thousand years ago. I BET YOU. it’s hard for a character that is in pieces to be measured accurately, especially one that grows stronger without even needing to do much. hence why this odyssey to get his fingers to make it an actual effort; growth.

when I took Sukuna I said to myself, violence for the sake of it is empty fun. anyone can roleplay someone without a heart, because people wish they could leave theirs at the door and be terrible. but villains who are more decent than some of the heroes and do deplorable things are top tier. It’s my jam. My entire love.

You’ll never see me excuse Sukuna, but you can bet he’ll do something so sweet in one moment, be sassy the next, and follow it up by suplexing jesus on the cross while small children are barbequed because he is morally wrong. and he is only wrong, because he does whatever he wants. he destroys whatever he feels like. he eats people.

and yet, I endeavor to keep Sukuna reachable. he is uniquely able to be weak and strong at the same time. it does not diminish his character to be silly, to have him fail, to watch him get folded. He is someone that loves to fight, first and foremost. he will never take a loss seriously as he is because he is not HIMSELF right now. it is prime real estate to just be somewhere between absolute domination and ‘ i’d fight GODS, and even if I lost, bitch, i’m not afraid and do it againn cause i can ’. 

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

can you please write an imagine for nigari?? he have a love/hate relationship with a girl where they throw shades to each other but they always have the other's back during games, and one day a guy flirts with her at the beach and he gets mad

I’d love to. Thanks for requesting! 😉

A Bullet Between The Eyes | Suguru Niragi

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. OC’s)

Summary: Niragi and you have a bickering relationship with each other. One night a guy tries to buy you a drink, not noticing the psychotic man standing nearby.

Warning: a lot of swearing, smoking, violence, threatening

Word Count: 2.6k

*reader is female

Niragi gif credit

Music was blaring through the speakers at the highest volume possible and made your ears almost bleed. You swore you could feel the bass in your bones, shaking them against each other to the beat. You had become immune to the deafening dubstep music and the annoying yells of everyone in the large crowd. People were pushed up close and personal to one another, grinding against each other like a pack of horny animals. It made you sick.

You leant against the neon-lighted bar that was fixated about twenty metres from the dance floor. You watched as people pushed each other into the pool nearby as you took a large puff from your cigarette. You had never smoked before being thrown into this horrific world, but the stress and worry brought you to consider the damaging habit.

“Bunch of idiots,” you muttered angrily under your breath. “How the fuck are they having fun? Do they not realize their brutal fates are waiting to creep up on them?”

Your close friend Sara sat in the stool beside you. She glanced at you and then in the direction you were staring. “I mean, I guess that’s why they’re having fun. They only have such a short life ahead of them,” she responded, turning back to the bar and taking a swig of her drink.

“I mean to be honest Y/N, I’m surprised you’re not letting loose of your cold attitude and having fun,” Sara stated over her shoulder to you.

You broke your gaze from everyone else and looked at her from the side. “Why is that?” you asked, curious as to what she meant.

She looked at you and smirked. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen you,” she chuckled.

“Huh?”

“You and that militant. You’ve been getting awfully close to the psychopath. When did it all start?” she sneered.

You pulled a confused expression before realizing what she was referring to. “Oh you mean Niragi,” you said, “We just help each other out at games, it increases our chance of surviving.” You brushed off her accusation and took another puff of your cigarette.

“Sorry if I’m being nosy, but it’s just strange,” Sara assured. “In the months I’ve been here, I’ve never seen Niragi warm up to someone. He’s always remained the same unempathetic, abusive bastard that I’ve always known.”

You stared at her side profile, not being too sure what to say.

You wouldn’t say that you had a good relationship with Niragi, considering the fact that he really did know how to push your buttons. If anything he was your enemy. But for some reason when you two were placed into the same groups to complete a game, you work together and against the others.

It was like he completely changed his persona from a cold-hearted prick to an overly protective (still a prick) figure. It gave you whiplash at times.

You let out a small chuckle and smirked at Sara. “And how would working with Niragi make me want to go and dance more Sara?” you questioned, going back to the topic you started at.

Sara turned herself around fully and stared you down right in the eyes. “All I’m saying is, if you’re looking for a quick way to die, keep sticking around Niragi. You know how he is Y/N, and when he gets the chance, he’ll put a bullet between your eyes with that rifle of his.”

She stood up off her stool and strutted towards the pool with her drink in her hand, probably to have some fun herself, considering the games were beginning in the next couple of hours. No one knew which night would be their last.

Your eyes followed her figure as she walked away. “Huh, maybe she’s just jealous,” you muttered.

You turned around and leaned over the bar, asking the bartender to make you a drink. The blonde girl nodded and got to mixing it for you. You sat in the seat that Sara previously was and let out a big sigh. You honestly were getting tired of the constant parties every single night, it was starting to get old.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, your mind kept bringing you back to what Sara was saying about Niragi and you. Was it really getting that obvious? Were other people noticing?

The bartender slid the drink towards you and you thanked her. You lifted the cold drink to your lips and tipped your head back, taking a big amount into your body. You wanted to be at least slightly intoxicated when the games start. It always helped ease your anxiety.

As your head began to feel heavier and your limbs became a bit numb, you noticed that the usual warm chatter that surrounded the neon bar had dissolved, almost to silence. You were confused, whipping your head around to see the cause.

You felt your face drop into a scowl as you noticed the familiar face that you hated so much. Niragi’s black and white button up turned turquoise from the lighting, and his eyes which were a deep dark black as he peered around the bar looking for something. You locked eyes with the all too familiar rifle that hung on his shoulders effortlessly, obviously just there for show. 

You pointed that out to him one time which ended with your back against a hallway wall and the barrel of the rifle pressed harshly against your temple with Niragi’s disgusting spit in your eye. “You still think it’s for show?” he hissed.

He tried so desperately to get you to be scared of him at The Beach. Why in the hell did that brutal and bully personality of his fade at the games?

You swiveled back around in your seat, facing your back towards the frightening man.

‘Why can’t he just fuck off,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Why do I have to run into him everyday.’ It was becoming a bit suspicious, the amount of times you would catch Niragi around the corner of a room you’re in. He would always play it off as by chance but you’ve begun to think otherwise.

A hand slowly placed itself on your bare lower back and someone leaned in close to your ear. “Hey there sweetheart, I’ve been looking for you all night. A little birdie told me you would be here,” you heard Niragi purr into your ear.

You cringed at his sickening sweet tone and turned away from him. You could smell the slight tang of metallic blood on him. He’d probably ‘took care’ of someone some time earlier.

“What the fuck do you want Niragi,” you growled, not looking him in the eye. Niragi chuckled at your tone.

“That’s not a very nice hello. I thought you would’ve warmed up to me by now. You seem to put an awful lot of trust in me at games.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and pinched your earlobe gently between his thumb and index finger. You rolled your eyes into the back of your head in annoyance and slapped his hand away from your face.

“Piss off. If you’ve come here just to get on my nerves then you can beat it.” you spat at him harshly. He seemed taken back by your bold movements.

“Are you sure you want to speak to me that way? I might just leave you to die if you’re rude enough to me.” he snickered, keeping that smug smirk on his face that made you want to bash him over the head.

“So be it then, at least when I’m dead I won’t have to deal with your annoying ass.” You stuffed the rest of your cigarette into a tray on the table and stood up out of your seat to face the tall man head on.

He towered over you, that annoying and insolent smile never leaving his tanned face. Just his face alone created a rage in you that was indescribable.

“I don’t need some psychotic man with a machine gun to protect me Niragi. I am fine on my own. If anything, I could beat your cocky ass with my bare hands alone.”

“Well you seem awfully confident. Keep that same attitude when I have you cornered during a game, you might have to prove yourself right in order to survive.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s however you want to take it sweetie. A threat or a head-start.”

You frowned up at the man, not knowing how to respond. You walked back to the seat and grabbed your jacket that hung off it. “Have fun by yourself you prick. Why don’t you choose a fucking personality and stop switching between the two. You give me bloody whiplash.” You spat down at his feet, narrowly missing his shoe and marched away from him towards the pool to look for Sara.

You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit that night. You weren’t in the mood to start a verbal war with him, especially in front of everyone.

You found Sara sitting on the edge of the pool. There weren’t a lot of people around her, as everyone was either at the bar or on the dance floor.

You placed your hand gently on her shoulder and sat down next to her with your feet in the heated pool. It was a kind of awkward silence for a few moments before Sara spoke up.

“Sorry about before, I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she started, looking into your eyes. “I understand that it must be hard for you, being the object of a psychotic man’s desires.” She said empathetically.

You appreciated her concern, as there were times where you were honestly scared for your life around Niragi. He really wasn’t the best person to be around, but you had already known that before you got closer with him. You never thought he would become as annoying and insistent as he had.

“I’m just worried about you. He’s a manipulative and untrustworthy person and I would hate to come back from a game one day to see your body with a bullet through your head.”

You stared into the water thinking about Sara’s words. “I know, I would hate that as well. I don’t trust him like that Sara. I would never put my own life in his hands, because I know he would hurt me with no remorse whatsoever.”

You both sat in silence for a bit with Sara leaning her head onto your shoulder. You wanted to spend this nice time together before leaving, just in case anything was to happen.

“I better go,” she announced after a while. She stood up and placed her hand on the top of your head. “Good luck Y/N. Make sure you don’t die out there. If anyone can survive, it’s you.”

You smiled at her words and looked up at her. “You too Sara. Love you.”

She said it back and then trudged off into the direction of the entrance to the hotel.

You wanted to be alone with your thoughts for a bit, but that didn’t last long when a tipsy young man with brown hair decided to plop himself right next to you, a little too close to just be friendly.

“Hey love! You’re looking awfully gorgeous tonight,” he beamed, placing an arm around your shoulder. You were taken back by his boldness, not knowing how to react.

“Oh, thanks I guess? I mean I’m dressed the same as I always am,” you said trying to keep the conversation light.

“Hmm really? Well I guess you’re just always gorgeous then,” he giggled and leaned closer to you.

You started to panic a little bit. This boy was a bit too flirty for his own good.

“Hey! Do you want to maybe come get a drink with me at the bar?” he asked in a cheery tone. You looked at him in shock and shook your head quickly. “No it’s fine really! I just had one so I don’t feel like another.” you insisted, laughing awkwardly.

“No really it’s fine! Actually you know what, I’ll grab it for you. You just wait here and I’ll be back soon,” he said with a big smile on his face. It seemed very contradicting to his pushy behaviour.

You started to get annoyed. “Please, it’s fine. I was just about to leave anyway,” you lied.

The young man still pushed. You found it quite pathetic really. Was he really that desperate?

Before you could even say anything else, you suddenly saw the man fly sideways and land in the pool. Your mouth fell open in shock and you watched as he came back to the surface gasping for air. “What the fuck? Who was that?!” he yelled out frustratingly. Everyone around the pool had gone silent to see what the commotion was.

You looked back to the side of the pool to see none other than Niragi himself who had a proud smile on his face. “It was me you little bitch.” The young man’s eyes widened in fear.

“Are you sure you want to go flirting around with a militant’s woman? You might just be looking to get your head blown off!” Niragi cackled psychotically. “Go find your own toy to play with.”

Niragi aimed his rifle towards the man and everyone surrounding the pool panicked and ducked down. The man screamed in fear and started yelling to do anything that might spare his life.

“My deepest apologies Niragi! I didn’t know she was with you! I promise I’ll stay away from her from now on!”

You felt somewhat belittled. How dare he apologize to Niragi but not you. You were the one that got harassed.

Niragi let out a giggle and pulled the trigger of his rifle. The deafening sound rang in your ears and you watched as the bullet narrowly missed the young man’s head by an inch, creating a splash in the water next to him.

Niragi kneeled down with an evil smile on his face and harshly gripped the boy by his hair to lift him closer to his face. “If you ever touch her again, I won’t hesitate to put multiple bullets between those annoying ass eyes of yours. You understand?” He growled.

“Yes! I understand sir! I promise!” the boy cried desperately.

Niragi let go of his hair and watched as he swam to the left of him to scramble out of the pool and sprint away from him towards the dance floor. Probably to hide among other people so if Niragi changed his mind about sparing him he would be harder to find.

You breathed heavily in shock, not believing what you just witnessed.

“What the fuck was that?!” you yelled at Niragi. He looked down at you with an emotionless expression.

“Huh?”

“That was so over dramatic! Niragi I don’t know if you know this, but we’re not together! We’re not even friends! You can’t go around threatening anyone who lays eyes on me!”

Niragi rolled his eyes and kneeled down to get closer to your face. “Look, that idiotic boy was just trying to get into your pants. He didn’t want anything else from you. I just did you a favor, you should be thanking me!” he exclaimed.

You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance. “I was very aware of that fact Niragi, but I had it under control!”

“Did you really Y/N? Because from the way you were shaking it didn’t seem like you did.”

You stared into his deep, evil eyes. For once, you actually felt small underneath his gaze.

“Whatever, I’m going back to my room.” You stood up from your position and scurried away from the scene. As much as you hated to admit it, you were partly grateful to Niragi from saving you from that situation. You would never admit it to him though. You just wish he didn’t do it with so much aggression.

“Would you like me to walk you back-”

“Niragi! Fuck off!”

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while anon. I really hope it’s what you wanted!

[summer-time]

Stress relief - or how to ask forgiveness at your Copad (part 1)

Summary: after a rought mission, you only want to return home, grab a few snacks, and sleep for a month, but Crosshair decide to be his annoying self. The ending is not what you ever thought of.

Pairing: Crosshair/female!Reader (kinda pre relationship)

Tags: canon typical violence; Crosshair being his charming self; language; allusion at sex; reader is without physical description; reader use her/she pronouns; copad = desire in Mando'a.

N/A: I'm sleep deprived - it's like 3.44a.m. here - but I needed to write something with our favourite sniper. And because I saw so many great fics for the Kinktober here on Tumblr, my mind spiraled deep into my dirty toughts: the smutty part will be up today (after I had a chance to sleep) or tomorrow. This is a prequel to the main course - just to warm yourself up ;)

"What the hell was that?!" - you nearly screamed, anger twisting into your mind and blood boiling with rage and incredulously.

The idiot trooper in front of you didn't even seem to listen to your hissed voice, busy as he was at rolling his stupid toothpick into his mouth and grinning victoriously with the rest of the squad.

His disregard made your anger skyrocketing to the stars and above, eyes narrowing at the lazy and unabashed gaze he threw at you.

"Hello again, Dollface, miss me?" - he dared to ask you like he didn't break formation without comming you. After all, you weren't part of his squad, so if you nearly escaped your death for his little change of plans, he couldn't even care less about it.

"Don't fucking call me that! Are you out of your goddammed mind?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" - you hissed angrily while the stings of your wounds reminded you that you needed to stop the bleeding soon and putting on some bacta to heal them.

You watched as his sharp eyes zoomed onto your face - with a shade of anger under his cold irises - but you were caught too much into your own emotions to care about that. You nearly died because he changed position without warning you; you thought he had your back, but he left you in the middle of the battle to run to Tech.

If you were less angry and more logical, you could understand his motivations: Tech was his brother, his teammate from birth, and he was a little vulnerable while he downloaded pieces of information. You could sympathize with the instinct of protecting the people you cared about, and care a little less about a stranger who would be with the squad only for a couple of missions.

But you were also on this mission. You tried to be gentle and respectful to all members. You didn't try to be a burden to them, but rather you willingly shared your knowledge and helped around the ship. You were the one to discover the word codes used to enter the Separatist base.

And your reward had been a near-death sentence, thanks to the sniper.

"It's a side effect I didn't know about? Are your brain cells all dead?"

"Careful now, Princess, you better watch your tone with me." - he slyly said, piercing stare right into your eyes. Fuck this guy, and fuck his attitude.

"You changed position without telling me!" - you hissed, trying to make him understand the tight spot he threw you in. Your anger strongly returned at his raised eyebrow, his toothpick lazying rolling through his lips. Again.

"You didn't need to know. Besides, you said you could take care of yourself on the battlefield, did you not? I don't see the problem here." - what a complete bastard! Yes, you were training in combat, but you believed he was covering you - especially if you were overwhelmed with enemies. And he didn't!

And he didn't care. Your anger suddenly left you at the mercy of the battle aftermath - at the pain of your wounds, the soreness of your muscles, and the tiredness of your eyes. Your emotions faded from your face, and with a tired sigh, you left the Bad Batch to return to their ship to treat your wounds.

The return trip was quick, even if filled with a low tension between you and Crosshair: Hunter had tried to pry as to why you were been so silent, preferring to be left alone, but you deviated his attention into helping him make his mission report. You choose to leave out your very, very bad experience: you quite liked the squad, and a bad review would surely catch the Kaminoes' attention. And you didn't want that, even if the Bastard could use some manners drilled into his thick head.

"Well, guys, see you at another mission, I suppose." - waving your hand, you quickly disappeared in the crowd, not giving the clones time to replay at your goodbye. You needed some time off to acknowledge what happened: going to your apartment was the best idea so far.

You wanted to relax, to spend the rest of the evening drinking hot tea and watching bad holomovies, maybe getting a warm shower before going to bed. Unfortunately, your good luck decided to leave you at the mercy of the Bastard: as you were taking your keys out of your pack, you caught the unique black armor patter on the corner of your eyes. You quietly swore, hoping it was Hunter and not the sniper: but you were wrong. Fuck your damned luck and all the stars above.

"We need to talk, Princess." - his monotone voice was already grating on your nerves. It wasn't enough that you spent your entire time listening to his sarcastic comments on your qualification or ignoring you altogether, now he wanted to talk? Well. Fuck. Him.

"No, we don't. " - you hoped it was the end of the story. But the Bastard didn't seem to listen at all, roughly grabbing your keys from your hands and walking into your home - without an invitation.

Yes, a few bangs on the wall for his head could solve the problems. Maybe.

"Oh, Crosshair, come in, please, make yourself at home." - you snarled at his back, closing the door. You saw a smirk on his face, wiped out when he curiously gazed into the small kitchen and the living room.

"What is your problem with me?" - he suddenly asked, voice still monotone. First, you angrily tried to set him on fire with only your eyes, before spilling then out what had happened. And his face kept his stupid expression on, rolling toothpick in his mouth, and intense gaze on you.

"We knew you could handle it." - that was his fucking response. You wanted to hurt him so bad, to let him feel at least one percent of your swirling emotions. And you tried to throw a punch at his stupid smirk, willing to wipe it out - an impulsive reaction of your idiotic brain - but the Bastard caught your wrist, pulling you closer to his body.

You snarled, trying to pull roughly your arm free and out of his grasp, not that you really could: despite your hard training, Crosshair was still a clone, bred to be a better soldier that you could ever be, and he was one of the most skilled. You couldn't escape his grasp without him letting you out. And at the moment, he didn't want to.

"Ah-ah, Dollface, you don't need to be this physical. But if that it's something you want, I'm more than happy to help." - stupid, arrogant smirk; a harsh character that hid one deep desire: after all, why not help his poor team member? She seemed in need of steaming off some stress, and Crosshair knew a very pleasurable way to do it.

He spitted his anti-stress on the floor and sneaked his free hand to her neck's base, gently cupping it while catching how his maybe-Copad's eyes followed his rapid movements: her pupils were wide open from anger, cheeks nearly red after all her shouting, silence interruped only by her hushed breaths. She made a delicious imagine, one that Crosshair hoped would be followed by something more if the evening would go on.

He kept under control his instinct to grab her chin and kiss her senselessly, not giving her time to think or speak. But no, he wanted to make sure she would be willing, that she could still refuse him and his offer if she wanted to: so, he slowed down, taking great pain in restraining the part of his mind that felt exposed, and great pleasure on seeing her pupils dilatating impossibly wide, black consuming all her lovely eyes.

He adsorbed all her little inches of breath, of her warm cheeks now flushed bright red, of how her body had slightly stiffened at their shared closeness and then relaxed. She could still say no, and he would back off without bringing this interaction up ever again.

He gave his Copad more time, to refuse, to say yes, to remain there, to do as she pleased, before he decided to initiate something: if not a kiss, maybe a gentle headbutt, a Keldabe kiss only for her. Not that she would understand the real deep meaning of it, she didn't even know Mando'a or their culture. It could be his little secret, or he could use it to annoy her in the future; maybe she would lose all her patience after hearing him call her by any pet name in Mando'a and not knowing it. Maybe his brothers would laugh at him for being a romantic under his cold demeanor.

"Let me say how sorry I am for your little misadventure." - Crosshair smirked, licking his lips: she didn't say no, she didn't refuse him and didn't seem scared too much - she stopped struggling to free her hand from his grasp some time ago. He could kiss her at least, and then if she allowed it, he would made up to her: he wanted her forgiveness, and the sniper had some very convincing arguments to prove it.

[bookishofalder]

Night Changes [Four]

Summary: Desire and darkness consume Poe and the reader, leaving them with only one goal. In the aftermath, years of pain and grief finally surface. 

Warnings: 18+ Sex Pollen=dubcon/noncon smut. Dark themes, mild violence/injury descriptions, language, angst, fluff. WC: 10,551

A/N: SURPRISE! One day early because I love you all and got my shit together this week. PLEASE NOTE the red banners are visual cuts you can use to skip the dark smut should you prefer to! 

Poe stood next to Charlie on the tarmac, waiting impatiently with his stomach in knots of excitement and anticipation. Even Charlie was shifting from foot to foot, uncharacteristically quiet while watching the transport ship slowly landing. When it hit the ground and the flight intake crew moved forward to help with debarking, he tossed Poe his signature grin.

“Ready, Flyboy?”

Poe laughed, “What does that even mean?” He glanced down at his shirt, straightening it for the tenth time before smoothing his hair carefully. “It’s been two years, I’d have gone to pick her up myself if they would have let me.”

“That’s my point,” His friend replied smoothly, raising a brow at Poe, who gazed back at his best friend, bewildered. “Two years apart, barely been able to speak with her, you keep her picture in your inner pocket here,” He tapped Poe over the heart, where the picture would be if he was in his flight suit, “You two are the most clueless lovebirds, I swear. Don’t hold back on my account.”

Glancing at the ship to see the ramp still hadn't lowered, Poe frowned, a rush of emotions swirling within. “You...uh, knew how I-?”

Charlie clapped Poe on the shoulder, “Isn’t there a term for it? Soulmates, I think. Yeah.”

“Charlie, I don’t think-“

Charlie rolled his eyes, “I’m not saying anything else about it, don’t worry. Just wanted you to know I understand why you took so long picking the perfect shade of sand shirt to wear under your jacket.”

Poe hummed in response, stunned by the casual way his friend spoke like everything was inevitable. He wasn’t so sure, though he’d always thought the term ‘soulmate’ could apply to platonic relationships. And while he was pretty sure he’d never just felt platonic toward you in any sense, Poe wasn’t going to get his hopes up that you actually may return his feelings.

Two years ago, Poe had held you the entire night before his and Charlie’s departure for D’Qar, cried along with you over how impossible it felt to part, to not see each other every day when his life had been wrapped around yours since as long as he could remember. He had left a part of himself there with you on Yavin-4, and now you were about to disembark your transport ship and unknowingly hand it back to him by simply being with him, real and tangible.

He was nervous to see you, he didn’t know why. Maybe Charlie’s words were only highlighting Poe’s own concerns now that you were mere moments away. He had barely even been able to get in contact with you for two years, he and Charlie were far enough away and regularly over-worked that it was impossible to do as much as they both would have liked. What if you climbed off of this ship as a completely different person? Perhaps things wouldn’t be as easy and natural between you both now, after so long apart. 

He’d gotten through these past two years without you knowing he would always have his memories of you, that before he knew it you would be with him-and Charlie-again, and new memories could be made. Maybe you didn’t feel the same. Regardless, the last thing Poe was going to do when he finally had you back was confessing his feelings and risk fucking everything up straight off the cuff. He’d lived with these feelings for a long time, he could continue to do so now.

Lost in his thoughts, Charlie suddenly stood taller next to Poe, who glanced at his friend to find he was beaming toward the transport ship. Following his gaze, he first saw that the ramp was down and many of the passengers were now splitting away meeting friends and family. It only took him a moment from then to locate you.

The moment his eyes landed on you, excitedly bouncing down the ramp with a duffel bag over your shoulder, eyes searching wildly around, Poe felt every single worry melt, and a heavyweight on his shoulders seemed to lift away. You still looked like you, and stars were you ever beautiful, the loveliest woman-because, you were a woman now, not a kid, not a goofy teenager-he’d ever laid eyes on. He drank you in, during those moments you hadn’t yet spotted Charlie’s waving arm. Two years had given your curves a new classification, a reverence within Poe rising as he gazed briefly in surprise at the swell of your breasts, the fullness in your hips.

He could...drop to the ground right here and declare his undying love for you, just for coming back to him with that same fucking perfect smile. Just for the way your eyes finally found him and Charlie and you lit up like a sun, bathing everyone lucky enough to be within your presence in your warm glow. It was a fucking sight, a moment that he would never forget; you grinning and then hurrying forward through the crowd. Your duffel bag hit the ground just seconds before you were throwing yourself toward your brother and Poe, who each expected exactly what you would do and easily stepped forward and caught you. Crushing you between them in an embrace that felt so whole, so entirely right. Poe felt for the first time in two years as though he were home.

Wherever in the galaxy Poe went, if he had you with him it would be home.

“Oh stars, kriffing STARS,” You were squealing, an arm wrapped behind each of their necks to hold yourself up, your lips peppering warm kisses between them each, “I’ve missed you both so much, my best guys!” You had a few happy tears on your cheeks now, Poe noticed when you leant your head to his and pressed your forehead to his own, repeating the affectionate greeting with Charlie.

“Kid, fuck it’s good to see you,” Charlie’s voice was thick with emotion, but his eyes were much drier than both yours and Poe’s. “How was the trip?”

“Maker, Charlie, Poe-you’re both so tall!” You laughed, realizing you were dangling a few inches above the ground as they held on to you. Poe liked the way he could feel your laughter as your body moved against him; as though you were passing it to him. “The trip was fine, crap food but I had a nice elder lady as my seat-mate. Reminded me of mum.”

They set you down, though Charlie was stroking your hair out of your face and Poe kept his hand on your waist, unable to let you go and lose the sensation of you finally, finally in his arms again. He never wanted to be apart from you for that long again, not if he could help it. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it home for mum’s funeral,” Charlie murmured, an apology he’d repeated many times since your mother’s passing a few months prior.

“Hey,” You smiled sadly, “You two spent a lot of credits to holo-call in for it, that meant a lot to me. You know mum would have been livid if you’d abandoned your duties just for her.” Still, a few more tears slipped down your cheeks and Poe reached up with his free hand to gently wipe them away as Charlie nodded solemnly, opening his mouth to respond when-

“Horn! Hey, come meet my brother!” The three of you glanced around, Poe recognizing one of the mechanics Charlie was friendly with waving him over. Pressing a quick kiss to your temple and assuring you he’d be right back, Charlie hurried away to greet the mechanic and his brother.

When you turned to peer back up at Poe, your grin wide and eyes seemingly doing their own assessment of him, he realized that this was now the first time you’d been alone together since that night two years ago. Feeling his face flush, Poe tugged you close against him and pressed his lips to the top of your head. You certainly hadn’t gotten any taller yourself, now especially small in his embrace. Something about the realization settled warm in his belly, but he pushed the thoughts away.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart,” He whispered, pulling back slightly to look down into your eyes again. Your expression was a little shy, as though you were pleasantly caught off guard by his affection, “How have you been, really?”

You had your hands pressed against his chest as you smiled up at him. “Good, glad to be here finally. Yavin-4 didn’t feel like home anymore after mum,” You trailed off, eyes falling and brightening somewhat as you gazed at his chest. “Poe, you got uh,” You slide your hands across the expanse of him and Poe had to work to keep himself from gasping at the sensation of it as heat coiled within him, “Like, big? Broad. Wow, oh and less scruffy, too!” You added, eyes swinging back up to his clean-shaven jawline.

Poe made a noise of embarrassment at your words, smiling at you shyly. Reaching up with one hand, you stroked along his jaw one, two, three times. Dousing fuel on the fire within him, the motion was so second nature, intimate, comforting, that he really could have gathered you in his arms right there and pressed his lips to yours. He wanted to ask you if you realized how much he fucking loved you, if you had any idea what you did to him, body and soul and mind consumed and controlled by you and only ever you.

Instead, taking a deep breath, Poe shifted himself away from you casually, leaning at the same time to bring his head level to yours, his nose scrunched, “And you are exactly as short as I remember. Actually, might be shorter with my extra couple of inches now.”

“Rude,” You laughed, playfully smacking his shoulder, whatever tension that had just been present now gone. Your eyes strayed away from Poe’s to look all around at what you could see of the Rebel base here on the tarmac, your gaze landing almost hungrily on a nearby x-wing before jumping to watch as several flew overhead; the current patrol.

He watched you in adoration as you drank in your first real glimpse of the Resistance, your eyes widened in wonder and excitement that Poe had felt too the moment he’d arrived on D’Qar.

But in truth, it didn’t compare to what he was feeling right now.

Poe reached up and stroked your cheek, “Welcome home, (y/n).”  

MISSION DAY SIX - ABOARD CRUISER

“Commander.” You stepped out of the cockpit, your hands twisting in front of you nervously. Poe looked up from where he sat on the bottom bunk. “We’re safely in hyperspace. Autopilot engaged.” You kept your voice soft, as if afraid he would startle.

Or maybe you were afraid of him now. He wouldn’t blame you.

Rather than replying, Poe simply made a noise that was meant to be confirmation he had heard you but it came out strangled enough that it sounded like he was in pain. And he was in agony but he was trying to hold it all back, figure out how to forget.

Did there exist a plant that could make him fucking forget?

He watched as your face twisted before you dropped to your knees in front of him, his body stiffening when you pushed between his legs. Your hands came to rest gently on his cheeks as Poe met your eyes, their expression mirroring his own; pain, regret. But there was something more there, though it hurt him to see it: concern.

“Poe,” Your voice was soft and Poe felt himself tremble in response, unwilling to accept your kindness. “Please, Poe. You didn’t do anything wro-“

Poe jerked himself out of your hold, leaning back as you remained crouched before him, your hands falling to his thighs to keep steady. “Didn’t do anything wrong?” He breathed, watching you look up at him. “I keep hurting you. All I do is hurt you, (y/n). Don’t tell me everything is okay.”

MISSION DAY FOUR

Desire.

It was...the only thing you could feel anymore. All there was. Nothing else in your mind, like it had been scraped of every memory, every morsel of you and the only thing that remained was this burning, intense thirst. It was fucking incredible, there was no pain anymore, the heat felt like it belonged, that you were designed for the sole purpose of allowing it to burn you. When you set your gaze to the man before you, you could see that he was burning too.

Poe, with his dark eyes and heaving chest, moved quickly-almost too quickly, and you wondered if the pollen gave humans a physical boost. It would make sense because when he was suddenly lifting you and thrusting you against the stone wall, you didn’t feel it. There was only pleasure, no pain, no disorientation, but fuck the feel of his hands finally on you was exactly what you needed. The relief of his touch was enough to have you craving more, more now, now!

As if reading your mind, he was swiftly peeling your layers of gear off, ripping and tossing the material, tugging off your boots, one hand holding you against the wall and it wasn’t until he was sliding your pants down that you realized you were dangling a few feet above the ground. So there was definitely some juice to the pollen. Something about that realization made your toes curl in anticipation.

“Please, please fuck me, I can’t wait another minute,” You heard yourself begging, and dark Poe smirked, pulling his clothing off before adjusting his grip on you. Now, his hand slid down to roughly hold your ass, pressing his body against yours so closely you were supported between him and the wall. You wrapped your legs around his hips, moaning at the feel of his erection pressed into your thigh, and you glanced down to watch as he lined himself up with your cunt.

And stars, he was huge, the biggest you’d ever had. Thick and veiny, you let out the filthiest moan just looking at his cock, your sounds morphing into screams when he tilted his hips and thrust into you completely in one swift motion. Filling you. Growling as he claimed you entirely.

It should have hurt. Even with how wet you were, being split open and filled so brutally should be agonizing but it felt amazing. You could hear yourself demanding he never stops once he began a fast, harsh pace. Your head knocked back into the wall and you still felt no discomfort, not with dark Poe surrounding you, filling you so perfectly. One of his hands did shoot up and grip your jaw, pressing your head into the wall so that you couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

He was feral, his expression greedy and dangerous and it only made you clench around him. “Fuck,” He groaned both hands tightening their hold on your hip and face, “G-going to fucking ruin you for any other cock, little girl. Fucking brat, always so mean, and now you’re begging for me to fill you up, aren’t you?”

You were delirious with pleasure, his words shot straight to your pussy, but you still managed to reply. “Want you to...fill me up, use me, just n-never stop fucking me.” He growled at your words and pressed his lips to yours, his hand on your jaw forcing your mouth to open so that he could lick into you, taste you and swallow your whimpers and moans for more. After a few minutes of this pace, you felt the coil you hadn’t realize was tightening suddenly snap, and you gushed all over his cock as you had your first orgasm.

“Oh maker, I’m cumming, fuck!” But even as you came, crashing through wave after wave, dark Poe didn’t let up and you didn’t feel even remotely spent. An orgasm of that magnitude should have had you passing out; instead, you screamed for more.

+

Poe couldn’t get enough of your body, tight pussy clenched around him as he took you in every position. He didn’t feel tired, sore, and despite having already filled you several times with his seed, his erection hadn’t worn off. You allowed him to roughly handle you into whatever pose he felt like, though you would curse if he took too long, and then mewl when he’d enter you again and begin harshly pounding you. Those dark eyes of yours always focused on him, taunting him. Begging him to claim you.

He was behind you on the floor now, one hand gripping your hip and the other pressed into your lower back, forcing you to arch for him. You were screaming for more even as he relentlessly slammed into you and he only grinned at the idea of giving you what you wanted. He smacked your ass to punctuate every other word, “So fucking tight! Such a good little slut, taking all my cum, you want more now?” He slapped you one last time as his hips slowed, his orgasm tearing through him and pulling another from you and he cursed aloud at how fucking good it felt when you squeezed his cock during your high.

“More, fuck, more!” You whined moments later, even as his forward thrusts forced out the excessive amount of cum he’d filled you with. It was hot, the visual alone enough to hold his attention as you wiggled against him and begged.

“Good little slut, taking me so well,” He moaned, leaning over your back and nipping marks into your neck. When he rose back up, he pulled you with him so that you were flush against his chest as he picked up the pace again. The new angle seemed to hit something inside you differently, as your renewed screams were filling the room within seconds. “Such a perfect body, look at these tits.” He whispered into your ear, one hand cupping your breast and pinching your nipple.

You came again, drenching his cock and before you even stopped moaning from the high you were asking for more.

And fuck, he was going to give you more.

+

Hours, it had definitely been hours. At least six, you thought, if the light from filtering from the hall was anything to go by. The sun was different on this planet, never fully setting, so from your best knowledge you guessed Poe and you had been fucking for a good six hours, minimum.

It wasn’t enough. You hoped it never stopped. Maybe it wouldn’t.

It still didn’t hurt. Each orgasm wasn’t yet enough. You could see rather than feel the bruises on your skin, the cuts on your knees and hands from the rough ground. Even when Poe spanked you, the bite was momentary and delicious. This high was simply incredible. The sensation of him coating your insides with thick ropes of cum was forever engrained in your mind now.

You were riding him now; had been for the last few orgasms. He liked letting you do the work even though it didn’t feel like work-and watched as you rolled your hips and bounced for him, his hands occasionally reaching up to play with your tits. When he would come, he would grab your hips and slam you down, his strength preventing you from moving as he filled you deep, usually pulling your orgasm along with him because he was just so fucking sexy groaning for you.

“Like riding me, little girl?” He growled, releasing your hips and allowing you to start moving again. This time, you braced your hands on his chest so that you could change the angle, moaning when his thick cock dragged along your walls in the most perfect way. Kriff.

“Love it, never stopping,” You gasped, the room loud with the noises you each made and the sounds your cum stuffed pussy made each time he entered you. “Fuck, so fucking good.”

You sunk yourself onto his cock for a long time, watching his face as he filled you over and over, and still, it wasn’t enough.

Was it ever going to be enough?

+

Poe could see you were cock drunk, your grasp on Basic slipping to the point where you simply whimpered out short phrases, some of them entirely unintelligible. It was incredible, seeing you bent over the table, stuffed full of his cock and unable to articulate properly how good it felt.

“Oh fuck, here you go, take my cum,” He snapped his hips forwards and came, his grip on your hips like steel, holding you in place to take every last drop. You came moments later, your orgasm soaking him and dragging his out again. After just a moment, he readjusted you, lifting one of your legs onto the table and holding it there, his other hand sliding up your back and pressing to the back of your neck, pinning you.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” You screamed when he started up again. He smirked, enjoying the sound of his body slapping against yours. From the way he held you, Poe had his wrist comm directly in his line of sight. After a moment, he registered the time on the display and realized that you’d been fucking for twelve hours, give or take. Twelve hours.

“Fuck, been fucking you all day little girl, filling you with my cum for fucking hours and hours,” He groaned, pressing you into the table even more. You whimpered in response, unable to speak. “Yeah, you love it, don’t you? Want more, come on I know you can speak, tell me you want my cum.”

“Uh, fuck I w-want, want your c-cum, please!”

“Yeah you do, fucking slut,” He picked up the pace again, then shot over the edge as you screamed, “Take my cum, take it, fuck.” Poe growled, still amazed at how tight you were, milking his cock perfectly every time. Once his orgasm subsided, he flipped you over onto your back and took a moment to gaze down at you.

Your black eyes were staring up at him hungrily, waiting for him to decide his next move. When you licked your lips, an idea popped into his head. He reached down and spun you so your head was at the edge of the table, your legs pointing away from him. He moved you so that your head just dangled over the edge, and then he pushed his fingers into your mouth, wetting them.

“Gonna put my cock down your throat, think you can handle that?” He said, grunting when your lips wrapped around his fingers and sucked a little. He was quick to replace them with his cock, one hand moving to hold under your head and the other guiding his length into your eager little mouth. “Fuck, yes.” He moaned, quickly setting a steady pace.

Once he had a rhythm going, Poe used the hand not supporting your head to place one of yours behind that one, “Tap, fucking hell yes, t-tap my hand if you need air, ah shit!” He just managed to give you the instructions before the overwhelming feeling of your mouth working on him so expertly had his balls pulling up and before he knew it, he was shooting his load down your throat.

You swallowed everything and then continued sucking him off as he fucked your face.

Thirteen hours.

+

He tasted delicious. You’d almost wished, when he shot that first load down your throat, that he’d started things out this way so that the taste of him was on your tongue the whole time. You made up for it by taking as much as you could, swallowing around his length as you pulled orgasm after orgasm from him.

Eventually, you were moaning around him enough that he realized it had been a while since you’d cum, and he pulled from your mouth. His dark gaze searched your cum covered face greedily before he climbed onto the table, pulling you up to lift you over his cock. He lowered you slowly onto him, the stretch exactly what you needed and so perfect that the moment you were fully seated you came, jerking in his arms.

You were in his lap, your legs wrapped around his back, and you briefly thought of how this was the most intimate position yet. Your chests pressed together, and he was expertly moving you in his lap, helping you to ride him.

His face was a breath away. You closed the gap.

He groaned when your mouth opened for him, letting his tongue taste the mixture of you and his spend. You squeezed his cock harder, you were so turned on, and it only took a few more rolls of your hips to feel yourself come undone again.

Your head felt heavy, so you let it fall into the crook of his neck, nuzzling.

“Oh yeah, so fucking good,” You whimpered, your arms around him, “Oh, Poe don’t stop!”

Poe.

Your Poe.

+

This is how...this is how he would have liked to be with you the first time, how he pictured it when he was younger. You straddling his lap, wrapped around each other as you rolled your hips and he pulled the most delicious sounds from you with his deep thrusts. It was intimate, the position allowing him to move between kissing you, holding you, licking your breasts, ensuring you were enjoying it as much as him.  

He could whisper sweet nothings into your ear this way, tell you he loved you and that he’d take care of you. And you would have liked it too, he knew, because you liked watching his face, reading his expressions every day and he knew that would have translated over to making love.

But this-this wasn’t making love, was it?

You had dropped your head down as you came again, your body curling into his as though for safety, comfort.

“Oh, Poe, don’t stop!”

He was going to cum again, the sound of his name on your lips for the first time hurling him over the edge, “Sweetheart, oh fuck, (y/n)!” He pressed your body into his and dropped his head to your neck, where he peppered it with gentle kisses as he spilled inside of you.

You both slowed your movements after coming down from your highs this time.

Poe felt himself panting, out of breath. You were panting too.

But why...why was he on the table? Poe leaned back slightly and you raised your head at his movement, your eyes meeting his. They weren’t as dark as before, but you looked tired. Poe felt tired, exhausted really.

You were still moving your hips, almost as if on autopilot. But you were frowning at Poe as you did, and then you winced. He froze, watching as you looked down at yourself, his eyes following yours.

“No...” He heard himself whisper in dawning horror. You were covered in marks; bruises or bites, hickies, red welts from places that looked like they’d been slapped.

They had been slapped. He had slapped you.

Poe felt himself softening inside you, a pain in his back and knees, his chest smarting as well. He glanced down and saw track marks from your nails down his chest. He didn’t even remember you doing that, it hadn’t hurt at the time. You whimpered, this time in pain and he looked back up into your eyes. They weren’t dark anymore. You were crying.

“Sweetheart-“ Poe faltered, shaking his head and trying to clear the clinging fog. You shifted a little and he slipped from inside of you. Both you and Poe groaned at the sensation, and you quivered as the mixture of fluids spilled out from inside you. “I-what happened...what did I do?”

Poe was sobbing now too.

It took some time to regain enough strength to move from the table, without the boost the pollen had provided you were both spent and every tired, aching muscle, bruise and bite mark or scratch could be fully felt now. Poe recovered first, easing himself to his feet and searching for the packs you’d each dropped when things...went dark.

You were panting on the table still, in much worse shape than he was and the rising panic inside of Poe was giving him the energy he needed to get to the medkits. He pushed through the pain in his limbs, thirst in his mouth and throbbing in his head-none of it mattered right now, not when you were suffering. He glanced at his wrist comm as he unzipped the medkit and realized, with horror, that it had been fourteen hours. Fourteen hours of brutal, relentless, rough sex.

The plant hadn’t just taken away inhibitions, hadn’t made it impossible to resist one another, no it had obliterated both of you-pushed you both into the far recesses of your minds and forced you to watch as its pollen turned you into feral, angry animals with exactly one goal.

And it stole from you both, stole your consent, your right to chose, abilities to control the urges that were twisted by its potency. Warped into selfish desire, the need for release and control, as if it was some archaic mating ritual-mark, consume, dominate. It wasn’t real, none of it had been, each of you losing yourselves in a hopeless battle against the strength of the pollen. And Poe...he had been violent, mean, brutal. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been, but it was the unavoidable reality that he was much bigger and stronger, the boost of the pollen making it easy to manhandle you.

He would never forgive himself for harming you. For the things he said, the marks left all over your body. If he could have died instead, fought against the pollen and let whatever happened in that case happen, he would have. Ten times over, he would have.

Just like Charlie, he would have sacrificed himself in an instant to protect you.

But you had refused to run and told Poe that you didn’t want to die. At that moment, right as he was coiled to try and run from you, he realized that you could die too. There was no medical backup, no nearby crew to call for help. It was Poe and you and the bacta shots that would have been completely ineffective with the pollen pulsing through your systems. He had to give in, and the darkness had taken him over the moment he accepted it.

He remembers fleetingly thinking of all the times in his life he had let himself think of being with you intimately. Usually guilt-ridden, he pushed the thoughts away; as a teenager, he failed half the time, and as an adult, he tried to refocus on other women, but they never measured up. When his imagination did get the better of him, it was always, always tender. Soft, slow, sensual. Just the very idea of being the one pulling moans from your lips and taking care of you would send him over the edge.

But that wasn’t what happened here. It wasn’t a light high that lowered inhibitions and made the sex last longer, feel more intense. No, this was a sinister plant so potent it drove away each of your humanity and respect for one another, pulling pleasure for yourselves instead of giving it to one another.

It was cold and harsh, and Poe was devastated.

You whimpered suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts, his head shooting up to look toward where you were laying on the table. “Sweetheart?” He stood the medkit in hand and tried to swallow back his sobs as he moved toward you.

“S’okay,” You groaned, eyes pressed tightly shut, “Find the bacta?”

“Yes, I-“ Poe faltered as he stood at the edge of the table, his hands holding the bacta shot he’d pulled out. “Can I touch you, or do you want to try and-?“

“Poe,” You mumbled tiredly, “I’m okay, please just give me the shot.” You attempted to roll yourself to your side and expose your buttocks for him but only ended up sobbing in pain again.

Flinching, Poe reached out and gently, so incredibly carefully, helped you to twist your hips. He heard himself whispering words of comfort but focused on opening the shot and lining it up. When he plunged the needle into you and pressed down on the plunger, you let out a weak but relieved little moan. “You’re okay sweetheart, I’m here, I’ll take care of you.” He promised, tossing aside the bacta shot and brushing his fingers over your face comfortingly.

His shattered heart beat hopefully when you reached up and took hold of his hand, squeezing.

+

Poe was watching you race Charlie up an older tree, his strength no match for your agility as the smaller sibling. It was a lazy day, hot enough to warrant a day by the river-which was what most of the kids in their town on Yavin-4 had been thinking, it seemed. The banks of the river were piled with kids and teens as far as he could see, though thankfully the prestige of the Horn and Dameron families left your favourite spot along the water relatively free of unwanted guests.

A few friends were nearby, giving Poe his space as he sat leaning against a boulder. A book sat open in his lap, though he’d been distracted many times now thanks to his inability to control his thoughts around you. His father had assured Poe that it was natural at seventeen to have a wandering mind, a surge of hormones, he’d horrifyingly explained. He advised that should the thoughts and feelings become too intense, that Poe needed to take a few breaths, refocus elsewhere, remind himself of the person that deserved his respect and not his wayward thoughts.

But Poe didn’t have these thoughts or feelings or whatever the fuck about anyone but you. It had always been you, and though so far he’d managed to hide his emotional and physical feelings from your notice, it alarmed him in moments like this. When you revealed much more skin than usual in a simple water suit, hair and sun-kissed skin damp from the water, he worried he might slip up. He was as ashamed of the direction his thoughts would go in as he was sure that you would, for the rest of his life, be the only one he ever truly admired so ardently, loved so deeply that he fought to refuse to disrespect you with his hormone fuelled thoughts.

You gave a whoop when you reached the highest point the tree would allow, its trunk and branches thinning enough to make it unsafe to climb any further beyond. A friend of yours, Tahla, and a few of his buddies were nearby in the water, laughing and teasing you from below and jokingly daring you and Charlie to jump. It wouldn’t have been unsafe to do, so instead, you both laughed and began the slow climb down.

You were moving much more slowly than Charlie now, out of breath from the race and taking care not to scratch yourself. Your brother hit the ground, tossed Poe a smirk, then barrelled into the water to cool off. Poe rolled his eyes, laughing as Charlie started picking up some of the smaller guys and tossing them into the water. A game fondly, yet unofficially, referred to as tempting the bull.

Poe adjusted himself against the rock, trying to get comfortable but he felt warm enough now that he thought he should get in the water as soon as Charlie wore himself out enough not to be a threat. You were still a good way up the tree, now slowed even further as you had a conversation with one of Tahla’s friends that had come out of the water to chat with you. Frowning to himself, Poe watched as you continued a friendly banter and felt the clutches of envy reaching for him.

This seemed like a good enough excuse to close his eyes and take one of those deep breaths his father advised. First standing, Poe tugged off his shirt so that he could make his way to the water, then allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Taking half a breath in until the sound of a branch snapping and your scream halted him in his tracks. Poe’s eyes snapped open and then he was frantically running, too far away to do anything as you lost your grip and fell, slamming into the ground on your side and letting out a pained wail.

Poe briefly met Charlie’s wide eyes as they both ran for you from different directions. Panic reflected there, but Poe got to you first and his eyes moved to you. Annoyingly, the blonde who had been speaking to you-distracting you-was knelt over you and worriedly checking you over.

Poe pushed him away from you, “Don’t touch her,” He heard himself snarl, taking a threatening step toward the kid, who raised his hands in surrender, “Get the fuck-“

“Poe,” He halted in his tracks and spun at the sound of your tiny voice, his anger waning the moment he saw you clutching awkwardly at your arm, Charlie knelt beside you. It was like you hadn’t even noticed your brother, though, your eyes only on Poe, surprisingly intense as you stopped him from chasing down Tahla’s idiot friend. “I-I think my arm is b-broken.” You sniffled, eyes streaming, and flinched as some of the tears ran through the scratches on your cheek.

“Oh sweetheart,” He was kneeling in front of you seconds later, inspecting you all over for any more injuries, thankful when your head appeared to be free of any bleeding. He looked to Charlie, who read his thoughts instantly.

“Kid, I’ll run ahead and let the Healer’s know what happened, flyboy’s got you.” Charlie kissed the top of your head and ran off at full speed.

You let out another sob, this time revealing to Poe that your pride was as injured as your arm. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m here, I’ll take care of you.” And with great care, he slid one arm under your legs, the other bracing your back, lifting you as he stood.

He carried you with great caution, moving a little slower than he’d prefer but, since you were still flushed and awake he figured jostling you too much would cause more damage than taking his time getting you to the healer.

“Were you gonna punch Raine, Poe?” You asked, still holding your arm carefully.

Poe grimaced, “He distracted you, should have waited till you were on the ground to bug you.” He replied tightly, not meeting your gaze as he didn’t want you to see in his expression how upset he was.

You sensed it, though, your good hand reaching up to stroke his jaw one, two, three times in a successful effort to soothe him.

“Raine isn’t all that distracting.” You murmured after a minute. Poe had to bite back a pleased smile, a little guilt bubbling up as a rogue thought tumbled in the back of his head that perhaps you had been looking at someone else when you became distracted.

+

Poe was a stubborn fucking man, this was something you’d always been keenly aware of, but at this moment you wanted to throttle him for it. You didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with him, though the bacta shot he’d given you had you feeling physically wonderful, it did nothing to help your mind.

And you were so weary, all you wanted to do was sleep but his refusal to receive his bacta shot was preventing that from happening. You just needed to close your eyes for a few hours and let your brain process everything that had happened.

“Poe, there’s no reason for you to say no to the shot. You know I have to do it, it’s my directive-“

“And as your Commander,” He cut you off, pushing the hand that held the shot away, “I’m ordering you to not follow the directive. I’m fine. Don’t need it.”

And he wouldn’t even look at you now, his eyes everywhere but yours, his expression tight. Stubborn, stupid flyboy!

You considered how to convince him, realizing the arguments you had used so far were ineffective. “Poe, I don’t know anything about this pollen.” You stepped up to stand in front of him at the table, both of you now dressed in fresh clothing, skin scrubbed with medical towelettes, though you both needed to take showers urgently. You stunk.

Poe glanced at you nervously as you came into his space, and you wanted to cry at how he looked afraid of you. Afraid to move, because he might hurt you. You could see him taking the last few years and pushing it all into this fucking day, convincing himself that he hurt you again, that it was somehow his fault.

You’d really done a number on him. Your heart filled with sorrow.

“I feel fine.”

You set the shot down on the table next to where he sat, then reached up and grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. He flinched at your touch, his body going rigid. “Poe, baby please let me do this,” His brows shot up in surprise at the sincere concern in your voice, the tenderness of your hands on his face, “If for no other reason, to at least prevent cardiac arrest or...or a relapse.” You didn’t want to say this aloud, but you knew that just because you’d been exposed to the pollen once didn’t make either of you immune to its effects. The bacta would ensure that nothing further happened while you were on the planet.

“What?” His voice was sharp, “Are you saying I could...that I might-“

You shook your head, “I’m saying I don’t know, and anything is a possibility if you don’t take the shot.”

Poe sighed heavily, his eyes closing as he gave you a small nod. Wordlessly, he stood and you dropped your hands, picking up the bacta shot as he undid his belt and pushed one side of his pants down just enough to reveal his buttocks. Wasting no time, you plunged the shot into his skin and let out a breath of relief at his sound of content. Without thinking, you placed your free hand on his lower back in comfort.

“Thank you, Poe.”

He fixed his pants and glanced at you over his shoulder, his expression painfully dejected. You wanted to hold him. Instead, he took a few measured steps across the room and stooped to pick up both of your packs, no longer meeting your eyes. You sighed.

“Let’s find somewhere to get a few hours shut-eye.” He said, leading the way out of the room.

You followed him, glancing over your shoulder at the room one last time, your heart ten times heavier than it had been before you entered it.  

+

It didn’t take long to find a room with a few bunks, you and Poe each falling to an empty bed and falling asleep in a matter of moments. You were able to get a few hours, waking up feeling surprisingly refreshed, one of the helpful effects of the bacta shot. You were on your back and blinked up at the base of the upper bunk for a few moments, confused as to why you’d awoken. A sharp, suppressed sob pulled your attention to the bed just across from you, though Poe’s back was to you, you could see his shoulders shaking. He was crying.

It happened then, a monumental shift inside of you that was like seeing your whole life flash before your eyes. Only it was all Poe, every single moment of your life interwoven with him because he had always been there, always been absolutely everything to you. Seeing him across the room from you, trying to hide his pain again. Something in the core of your being shifted. You had to bite back a gasp as you felt several years of pent-up anger and pain begin to melt away until you were left raw, trying to reconcile how you had let your relationship with Poe get to this point, and even why you ran in the first place.

Maker, you were awful. Charlie would be ashamed of you, he loved Poe like a brother and you had been nothing but cruel these last couple of months. Another choked back sob cut through the air and you wanted to walk over to Poe and soothe his pain, assure him everything was okay. But it wasn’t, and you didn’t know how to even begin to try and repair everything between you and him, especially not after what had just happened.

But you did...you wanted your best friend back. Which meant you needed to do some serious thinking. And that couldn’t all happen right here during the mission. So you pretended to just be waking up, noisily to give him a moment to hide his tears and pushed everything else back-just for a little while longer.

Poe stilled, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his head duck down, no doubt wiping his tears away. By the time you sat up, he was rolling over at pretending he had just woken up as well.

“Hey,” You gave him a small smile, then glanced at your wrist comm. “If we eat something and then start our search, we can be back at the ship in roughly four and a half hours.” Poe nodded in response, sitting up, and you watched him reach into one of the packs by the side of his bed. He pulled out two bottles of water and a couple of rations each, handing yours to you and carefully avoiding touching your skin as he did.

As much as you wanted to tell him you weren’t afraid of him, you knew this moment wasn’t the time to start the conversation. Instead, you ate in silence, Poe’s eyes on the floor and yours gazing at the walls, which had some basic Empire propaganda posted upon them.

After breakfast, you each suited up properly for exploring the facility and set out, wandering the halls cautiously in search of the main control room. It didn’t take too long to find, though you were held up trying to get the door to disengage. When your usual tricks didn’t work, you had to set up a charge and blow the door. You’d used these kinds of minor explosives plenty of times, retreating down the hall further than necessary as you counted down until detonation.

Surprising you, Poe suddenly spun from where he stood next to you and blocked your body protectively with his wider frame as the door was blown off of its hinges. He looked over your head, hands clenched at his sides, but he didn’t move until you leaned to look around him and confirmed it was safe to move in.

You felt as though your heart was sitting in the back of your throat now.

It was well preserved, evidently one of the first rooms to be locked up when the Empire forces abandoned this outpost. It was a treasure trove of intel and you excitedly got to work, breaking away from Poe to complete a safety sweep.

After completing a preliminary search of the room, you found the main control panel and, flipping through every piece of information you had in your brain on old technology, you started pulling it open to seek out where you could insert the data drive you’d brought. You were confident BB8 could crack through any ancient firewalls on any of the data you were able to recover. Poe was doing similar work at the stations' console across the room, working in silence but sometimes you could feel his eyes on you, looking away before you could catch his eye.

A while later and you were on your back under the console, seeking out the hidden panel that would give you access to the data bridge. It took a few minutes, but you finally found it and had to finagle it awkwardly with your nails, trying to pry the cover off. It gave a satisfying little ‘pop’ when you managed to free it.

And then it promptly fell straight onto your face.

It shot straight through your hands, the edge smacking off of the corner of your cheek before bouncing to the ground. “Fuck!” You cried, feeling the skin tear and warm blood pooling out.

Stars, you really were off your game.

Dabbing at the blood carefully with the sleeve of your shirt, you were suddenly dragged out from under the panel by your ankles. Before you could even question what was happening, Poe was leaning over you, his expression panic-stricken, only paling further when he saw the blood on your cheek.

“What happened?” His voice was frantic, hands hovering above you; it was an entirely uncharacteristic reaction for him that for a moment you could only stare up at him in surprise. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“I’m okay,” You assured him hurriedly, sitting up onto your elbows, “Just dropped that panel on my face.” You gazed at Poe as his eyes dropped from you to the panel now laying on the ground next to you. A modicum of relief swept over his features fleetingly.

Wordlessly, he reached into your nearby pack and pulled out a bacta-spray. When his hands raised toward your face, you watched as he hesitated briefly before he touched you, one hand wrapping around the back of your head to hold you steady, the other applying the bacta-spray.

Still holding you, he dropped the spray into the pack again and pulled out a bandage. “Turn your head for me, sweetheart.” He murmured, his eyes focused on your cheek.

You did as he asked and waited as he used both hands to apply the bandage over your skin. Peering up at Poe when he finished, you were touched by his gentle care, though you understood it was coming from a place of contrition more than anything. His fingers absentmindedly brushed downward, to ensure the edges of the bandage were sealed; you shivered involuntarily at the light contact.

Poe went rigid, his eyes meeting yours briefly in surprise before you glanced away, your face flushing. “Thank you.” You murmured, remaining still until he scooted back and stood, and then you were quickly pushing yourself back under the panel.

MISSION DAY SIX - ABOARD CRUISER

You sat back on your hunches, eyes on the man in front of you as he came apart, the emotions he’d tried hiding from you since that morning now spilling out. You were holding yourself steady by gripping his thighs and could feel the way his body was as rigid as durasteel. You looked at him and reminded yourself that this was what you would do to him if you left again, that leaving things unsaid and unresolved was never the answer.

“I hurt you, over and over,” His hands came to clench at his sides, gripping into the sheets of your bunk, “I said horrible things to you, at Charlie’s funeral and then since you’ve been back, and yesterday I-I can’t even-“

“Yesterday wasn’t you, Poe, it wasn’t either of us.” You interjected softly, urging yourself to remain exceptionally calm as he came undone.

He huffed, unimpressed with your argument, “Y-you and I, we lost everything the day Charlie died. But you kept it together, organized the funeral, smiled and hugged everyone who came up to us...all I could do was stand there and be angry at y-you even though I knew it wasn’t your fault,” Poe shook his head aggressively when you opened your mouth to interrupt, “No, you know it’s true, you even said it yourself. I failed you. And then you came back and I failed you again, let us drift further apart than we’d been when you were in a different galaxy. You lost your brother, and then I lost you both and I-I’m so, fuck (y/n), I am so sorry.”

And he sobbed, a retched, heartbreaking sob that almost knocked you off of your feet, it was so real and deep. You couldn’t help the tears that poured down your cheeks in response, and you were momentarily at a loss of how to respond. How could you even begin to help take away that much pain? When you were the fucking person who caused it?

Unsure of what else to do, you slid forward and in between his legs again, your hands moving to grip his forearms. You rubbed up and down soothingly and held him harder when he tried to pull away.

“You shouldn’t be near me, not after w-what I’ve done to you.” He gasped out, failing to move out of your grasp but continuing to struggle. It was a testament to his fear of causing you harm that he simply didn’t push away, as the stronger person.

“Neither of us had any choice, Poe, we were both covered in that pollen. And,” You moved your head to catch his eye, to ensure he heard your next words, “And Poe, I was the one who tackled us into that bush, who forgot the map they studied for two days that showed that cliff. Do you blame me for what happened?”

Poe almost glared at you, stilling, “Of course I don’t blame you-“

“Then understand that I don’t blame you either, Poe, fuck.”

“(y/n),” His voice dropped, thick with emotion, “You said...right before I-you said that you didn’t want to die. When you put it like that, I knew it meant you understood what was happening but hadn’t heard of a plant this powerful and didn’t know if you could die if we didn’t...” He paused, shaking his head. He looked at you then, through tear-soaked lashes, an expression so full of sorrow you stopped breathing. “That was the only reason I stayed with you. I was fighting it, I was going to make a run for it when you wouldn’t. I wanted to run, let myself die because I could feel what the pollen was making me want to do to you and fuck, it scared me. What I did to you yesterday was horrific. Unforgivable. Everything I’ve done to you is.”

Suddenly, you were angry, his words registering in your brain like an explosion, “Shut up,” You growled, harsh enough to catch him off guard and he was peering at you in surprise, eyes searching your face in confusion. “Don’t ever, ever say-I can’t believe you...why would you want to die, Poe? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you think I could survive you dying? That I would want to live in a galaxy where you and Charlie were both gone? I left, I know, but I always knew you were at least alive!”

Poe gaped at you in shock, looking as though you had just slapped him awake, cleared the fog from his brain. Before you knew what was happening, he reached down for you and gripped your waist before dropping to his knees on the ground with you, crushing you into a tight embrace. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, and you wondered how you ever could be trusted enough for this strong, capable man to let himself become so vulnerable for you.

“Didn’t mean it,” He murmured, nuzzling your neck slightly as you instinctively run your fingers through his hair. “I promise I won’t leave...if you don’t want me to, I won’t leave you.”

You remained in Poe’s arms for some time, the silence was no longer heavy with anger but rather thick with emotion. And stars, you had forgotten what being held by Poe was like, the warmth and safety his arms had always surrounded you with. You let yourself forget; instead, you’d spent these last few years painting a picture of Poe Dameron with only the medium of his final words to you, resulting in an ugly, distorted image that served to fuel your pain, your resentment.

In doing this, you had forgotten how complex Poe was, how he acted cocky, snarky, but deep down he was a serious, earnest man with a heart of gold. He let himself feel, didn’t try to hide his emotions from you or Charlie growing up, he cried when you cried and...and fuck, the one time he messed up and let his emotions get the better of him, you fled and didn’t look back. You didn’t let him apologize, and you knew even if he had found you straight after your fight you wouldn’t have listened.

You abandoned Poe because you had been afraid, a coward if there ever was one in this situation. And you weren’t just running from the loss, you were running from feelings you didn’t understand the depth of until you lost your brother. Because there was this moment, it was so brief, fleeting, but for just one moment you had been relieved that Poe hadn’t died during the Gold team mission.

And what did that make you? Not only a coward for running but a monster for thinking it in the first place. Instead of dealing with any of your feelings, your grief, you took the easy route and fled literal constellations away, severing ties with the one man in the whole galaxy who mattered to you anymore because you were terrified of how fucking in love with him you had been, and how your brother dying was what made you realize it.

+

Poe had let you shower first, taking time while you were in the fresher to collect all of the items from the mission and put them in an airtight container. He didn’t want to risk any of the pollen getting onto either of you again. Once he’d done that, he put on a fresh pot of caf and was halfway through his first cup when you emerged, hair down in long, damp tendrils, wearing another of Charlie’s old shirts and some worn jersey shorts.

“Oh, maker, caf!” You groaned happily, eagerly accepting the cup he’d poured for you and taking a long swell, eyes closed. Poe watched you, his mind still reeling over everything that had occurred in the last day.

You had been acting so much like the you he remembered, the person he’d grown up with-so kind-hearted, understanding. It was overwhelming to try and process what had happened with the pollen while navigating this shift in his relationship with you. For the first time in a long time, Poe felt as though his best friend was coming back to him.

“Did you,” He paused, gauging your reaction to his voice, but you just observed him over your mug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Did you keep a lot of Charlie’s things?” If you were upset by the question, it didn’t show. You considered his words, nodding.

“I did, at first. I left so quickly that I didn’t have time to grab anything of his...Tommy and Rico boxed everything for me and kept it stored until I was reassigned.” Your expression tightened at the memory, “I had a few weeks off, I planet hopped to some of Charlie’s favourite spots, then once I was settled in at my new assignment had everything brought over. I kept a lot of his shirts, personal effects. Just donated his pants, really.”

Poe smiled, “I guess there were some very happy big and tall men that found those pants at the shelter.” Cheesy, he cringed internally.

But you laughed, a genuine little giggle just for Poe, one he’d heard a million times before but it had been so long, emotion bubbled up within him and his smile faltered; he glanced away, hoping you wouldn’t notice his shift in mood.

“What is it?”

Poe sighed, mildly amused at your familiar behaviour. You never did let him get away with hiding things if you could help it. Rather than explain how much it meant to him to be standing there with you, laughing, he swivelled the conversation, one last thing on his mind.

“I’m going to say something, and then if you want to just close this conversation after I do, I’m good with that, okay?”

You tilted your head curiously, giving him a little nod, “Sure.”

Poe looked away from you, staring down into his mug as he considered how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I know it was the pollen, all of it,” He took a deep breath, willing his brain to make itself useful, “I still need you to hear me say this: the things I said to you during...while we were under it-I wouldn’t ever say anything like that to you, (y/n). They were mean and filthy, crude words I’ve never...would never...not that we would, I mean, shit.” He ran a hand over his face, holding over his forehead as his frustration with himself grew.

“Poe?” You said after a pause, and he glanced up. Your expression was exceptionally understanding, “The same goes for me. The scratching too wasn’t me. And,” Your lips quirked, “I think I called you Commander a few times, and please know I do not call people by their rank during sex, stars.”

Poe chuckled, “Obviously, that would be fucking embarrassing,” Your smile widened at his response. “It’s just important to me that you know I would never think or enjoy saying mean and degrading stuff like that about a woman, about you.”

You nodded and bit your lip, “I’ve always known that, Poe.” Pausing to take another deep drink of your caf, you then pointed with your free hand to your right forearm, “Also, um, I have an implant so we...that is, I’m not going to, uh...” You trailed off awkwardly.

His eyes widened in horror, realizing he hadn’t thought beyond the potential emotional consequences of what had happened. “Shit, are you sure?”

You nodded vigorously when his gaze fell to your stomach before meeting yours again, “No sex pollen babies.” Each of you looked away at the same moment, embarrassed.

After a few minutes of quiet, Poe looked back down at you. You were standing next to him, leant against the counter and staring unseeingly in front of you. “Sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocused and met his, “Y-yeah, Poe?”

He moved slowly, careful not to startle you. Using his free hand, he cupped the back of your head and lowered his own to press your foreheads together, an affectionate display you had both done since you were little. He felt you relax into it, and for a minute everything was quiet and peaceful and safe.

Poe felt like his shattered heart wasn’t in so many pieces anymore.

And then you reached up with your hand and stroked along his jaw one, two, three times. Just like that, he felt you come back to him.

Poe smiled to himself, getting lost in the feeling.

@mermaidxatxheart​ @foxilayde​ @eleinemk​ @paintballkid711​ @mylifeisactuallyamess​ @20th-centu-fairy-girl​ @deitysnips​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @ubri812 @poedameronloverx @hoeforthefictional @astrological-bitch @itsnottilly @its-djarin

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 6

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader

word length: 2.9K

chapters: 6/?

warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, click through the read more, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

notes: slightly shorter than my usual, but i needed to get some stuff fixed up. if ya’ll like my stories please consider donating to my ko-fi— a bitch is poor lmao

Steve swept you up in his arms and turned to deposit you on the landing upstairs, evidently trusting the others to keep you contained for a moment. There was an audible scuffle going on in the den, Bucky would be heard growling from outside—snapping at someone who made the mistake of asking how he’d gotten out there so fast? Tony was growling at Peter who looked seconds away from begging for forgiveness.

“You guys made it safe, I’m happy to see you Nat,” Steve drew the redhaired woman into his arms and sighed in relief, but you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement; honestly you were having trouble thinking, your brain clouded with the sudden onset of absolute and uncontrolled panic.

The moment the black-haired man had been pulled away by the delta currently stomping back up the stairs, clarity had returned to you like a slap in the face. The golden fog that obscured your vision immediately dissipated and just as quickly you’d been overwhelmed with gut wrenching fear. You didn’t actually remember kicking Steve in the face or making a break for the stairs, but evidently you had and you cursed your hindbrain for running towards the stairs—you should’ve jumped straight out the window; you had a better chance at out running Bucky and whoever else was down there than the two alpha primes and their surrounding packmates.

Before you could even take a step towards the still wide-open window, the black-haired man appeared with a green flash and wrapped around you tightly. “Shhh , pet, no. No windows for you, darling, come now—back to your nest.”

In a moment of truly unusual harmony, your consciousness and hindbrain agreed that the bed was the last place you wanted to be. That wasn’t your bed, the omega hissed tearfully, you’d never made a nest—that wasn’t yours. It could barely be called a nest, even. There hadn’t been any careful consideration regarding the placement of the pillows and blankets, there were no articles of clothing or soft items that had been scavenged or stolen to elicit a feeling of safety or comfort. Worst of all was the way it smelled. Obviously, it didn’t reek, the mix of individual scents wasn’t a bad conglomeration, but your hindbrain whined at the unfamiliarity. This wasn’t your pack’s scent.

The cohesion was jarring, and you groaned. Regardless of the reasoning, your hindbrain was aware that you didn’t get to have a pack and that reminder always hurt. It desperately desired one, but an omega’s primary objective was survival.

After all, you in all of your fully conscious state knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would never have a pack—it wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting at this point in your life. You were too old to be regressed into the type of omega that packs wanted, your body too badly reliant on the chemical reactions produced by suppressants after fifteen years to stop taking them. At your age, to be found by a pack meant death.

They would get sick of trying to fix you. You’d die from quitting the suppressants cold turkey. They’d beat you for disobedience until your body gave up. You were nearly thirty and that was ancient for an unbound omega and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially an old dog who was bound and determined not to be taught.

“LOKI!” Bucky bellowed as he stomped past Steve and the redhead on the stairs, looking three shades past furious.

The man holding you let go very quickly after that, spinning you away and moving to intercept the furious delta with an equally unpleasant expression. Why couldn’t you have just fucking kept it together upon meeting Bruce—that blood in the water, shark nosed asshole, if you had reigned in your panic there was no way he could’ve scented you through your suppressants. Steve was a different story, but if you’d been quick and calm you probably could’ve made it.

You scanned the room quickly; Bruce was on the bed, checking on Wanda. Bucky and Loki were on the floor fighting, half entangled with Peter and Sam who were doing their best to put their own fight aside to keep the deltas from killing each other. Steve was still halfway down the stairs with the other redhead, talking to her quietly. Tony was—

“Okay, princess, okay,” Tony was wrapped tightly around you from behind, carefully keeping your head braced between his chin and shoulder when you tried to thrash. “This isn’t fair to you, you’re way too fragile for this right now. Put your head here, breathe with me.”

“Please let me go,” you didn’t realize you were crying until you spoke, words coming out in sobs. “I don’t want to die like this, please—”

“You are not going to die, little love,” Thor sounded so sad from where he came to stand in front of you. “I’m not going to bond you, not while you’re so upset. But the results of the tests Bruce ran showed that you are in danger. I cannot allow that and no matter how angry you are with us, we will not let you suffer needlessly.”

“I’m not suffering! I swear, I swear I’m not suffering I’m, I’m happy! I’m happy living my life the way I have been. Please, let me have the choice, I want to be alone, it makes me happy!”

Trying to explain to a literal God why you deserved personal agency was an exhausting business, especially when said God was as condescending as Thor. His indulgent and sad smile was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but there really wasn’t a point in getting angry—he obviously couldn’t even fathom the concept that what he was doing was wrong. It’s not like you could do anything anyway, you weren’t built for violence but for running away. Every bone in your body vibrated with rage; the injustice was overwhelming.

For fifteen whole years you’d been just fine. You would’ve continued to be just fine, if it weren’t for some super nosed freaks crossing your path. What were the odds of the only people in the world who could scent you from beneath more than a decade’s worth of suppressant use would have a cabin in Quebec that you happened to clean—and run into said people because they happened to show up early; an incredibly unusual situation.

It made you think about Mrs. Hunt. She’d only called to give you a heads up because of the last time, when the homeowner had tried to assault you even while he’d thought that you were a beta . You wondered how long it would take her to realize something was wrong; it was getting late and you’d yet to return her cart despite telling her you’d be there shortly.

The real question would be whether she tried to help or not once she discovered your presentation. She could try to help, try to stick them with omega theft, but they could claim civic duty like Peter had earlier. Besides, that was contingent upon her wanting to help you considering you’d lied to her for so many years.

“You’re so distressed, won’t you let me purr for you?”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare take away—”

“Little love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even know me,” you spat, turning to address the room at large. “What kind of fucking superheros are you? Let go of me! Let me go!”

Tony sighed and hefted you up into his arms, one wrapped around your torso while the other hooked under your knees and pinned you carefully across his body. You struggled uselessly against his strong hold; he wasn’t as strong as Thor or Steve, but his bicep was massive next to your head and you could feel his muscles through his clothes as he walked to the bed.

“We can’t, princess,” he murmured into the side of your head as he lowered both of you to the bed, sitting propped against a mass of pillows in the corner. “We’ll never find an unbound omega in your age range again. Plenty of omegas have been offered to us, but they’re all practically children. You’re our last chance—”

“There are plenty! You said plenty! Pick the oldest who wants to be in this fucking shit show and leave me alone!” Everyone tensed when the tone in your voice approached a shriek.

“We’re not taking an omega who’s not even legal to drink—”

“That alpha is like eighteen!” You tried to gesture to Peter, who gaped at you like you’d wounded him, but your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides.

“Peter is twenty-four, actually,” Tony spoke with mirth when Peter jumped onto the bed and crawled until he was pressed against Tony’s side and your back. “And before you ask, Wanda is twenty-six.”

“We’re so lucky to have found you,” the alpha half purred, pressing his nose into the back of your neck. “We’ll make you happy, happier than you are now.”

“It’s gonna be a rough start,” Bruce laid down in the nest a few feet away, welcoming the woman you recognized as the Black Widow into his arms when she slithered into the bed. “We have to balance your hormones, or you will die. You wouldn’t have lasted another year on those suppressants.”

“Death would be a reprieve,” you hissed shortly, freezing when the tone of the room immediately changed.

All attention was suddenly on you, Bruce still making direct eye contact with those sad puppy eyes, “I know that feeling, sweetheart—”

“We will do it another way then,” Thor interrupted, sending Bruce a quieting but loving look. “I said I would not bond you while you are in distress anda I will never break a promise to you. Open your mouth, this will be quick.”

Steve seemed to sigh in response and followed to stand next to the other prime, “I lost my chance. You’ll help her?”

Thor leveled the shorter blond with a careful look before nodding, both showing signs of deference and affection and respect that you did not care for. The rattle of a belt prompted Tony to turn you, setting you carefully between his legs while continuing to hold down your arms with what could appear to be an affectionate bear hug. He even linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently as you tried to squirm.

“No. No, no no no, that’s disgusting, I won’t—”

“Shhh , I’ll do all the work little love, all you need to do is swallow.”

He was jerking his cock carefully, a flick of his wrist near the head catching your eye. That was a dangerous weapon, the same way you’d come to learn Steve’s was and you had no intention of letting it anywhere near your mouth. You clamped your lips shut, teeth grinding.

“Stubborn,” Peter snorted a laugh and you would’ve snapped at him had his hand not dove between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick lips of your cunt until he found your clit.

You had to stop yourself from screeching, the head of Thor’s cock directly in front of your face. “Very. Come on now, open up.”

The fingers pinching your nose shut came as a shock, you’d crushed your eyes shut out without realizing it and they snapped open when your face was assaulted. Steve was kneeling on the bed, carefully cutting of your air supply with one hand and stroking your head with the other.

“Come on, precious, you’ve gotta breathe,” he stated softly, smiling when you were forced to pull your lips back to gasp for breath—until he realized your teeth were still locked together. “Really ‘mega?”

The next thing you knew his thumb was shoving against your molars, literally prying your jaw open. There was no way to fight it without hurting yourself, especially once he wedged his thick thumb between your top and bottom teeth. You barely had a second to anticipate the horror before an unnecessarily large cock found it’s way between your lips.

You tried to shriek, your brain finally catching up to the whole series of events, but it was no use. His scent was overwhelming and his dick stretched your lips, your jaw forced completely open. Thor groaned, a triggering noise as he very carefully pressed forward until your mouth was completely full and he was settled against you tongue.

“Suck for me, little love, just a little,” he grunted, just barely working his member between your lips while his huge hand stroked the rest.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time for a massive load of cum to shoot into your mouth. It was thick, and the way that Thor growled immediately made your pupils blow wide like you’d done a line of coke.  

Your body went lax immediately and you swallowed on instinct when a hand gently rubbed your throat. The fuzz in your brain was the result of arousal, a brutal orgasm that rocked your body at the sound in combination with your body’s sheer delight at the taste of alpha cum. Somewhere you realized that was disgusting but the haze in your brain made you more focused on the hand between your thighs rather than the indignity.

“Man, this shit ain’t fair,” Sam complained, panting from the exertion of trying to prevent Loki and Bucky from killing each other. “They get to cuddle and we—Hey!  Quit that, man!”

“All of you stop fighting,” Steve’s alpha order was brutal and effective.

The sounds of scuffling from behind Thor stopped immediately and there were huffs and snarls and low grumbles but the nest started shifting all around you. You were dropped back to lay against Tony’s chest, having inadvertently swallowed the entirety of the god’s massive load.

“She’s so cute,” Wanda cooed from somewhere to your left.

“We’ll need to go over what we’re doing from here,” Steve sighed once everyone had settled, still watching your dazed expression with a small smile. “But let’s just… nest for a bit, okay?”

The word nest triggered something in your half alpha-cum stoned brained and you looked around the den with a displeased expression. It was a terrible nest; all of the pillows and blankets were in weird heaps and the scent was so wrong. You didn’t really want to nest here, your hindbrain grumbled in agreement, but you’d fix the damn thing. You whined and wriggled until Steve gave Tony the go ahead to stop fully restraining you.

The bed was incredibly soft, which was an upside and crawling across it was like sinking your knees into clouds as you collected the soft heaps of blankets and pillows as you went. You wanted everything off so you could start from scratch, brain muddled by the wrongness of the current layout. You wanted to wash the sheets, the pillow cases, the blankets, all of it. The scent wasn’t right.

“Help her.” It was a quiet request from the Black Widow, who’d also started shifting around to remove the items. “She doesn’t like it like this.”

It was easier to get everything pushed away and in neat piles with the packs’ help, everyone immediately moving to help organize the pillows. You only snapped at the blond beta—Hawkeye, your memory supplied— once for putting a soft blanket on the pile with the not soft blankets. He immediately gave an apologetic burr to which your hindbrain purred back instinctually; evidently a good reaction.

“Why does she like Clint? They haven’t even spoken.”

“She doesn’t like him, she snarled at him!”

“She hasn’t purred at anyone else!”

“Shut up, fuckin’ idiot.”

The noise you made was one of discontent and disdain, the arguing deltas immediately quieting. You didn’t argue with the chirping growl that meant displeased omega, not in a real pack where the goal was to keep omegas pleased and docile. Somewhere your brain reminded you that this wasn’t your pack but the alpha hormones filling your blood and confusing you and yet somehow all you could focus on was whining and pushing at pack members to get them out of the way as your rearranged; clicking your teeth grumpily when you were handed a blanket instead of a pillow or vice versa.

You found yourself being corralled back into the corner, where Natasha and Wanda immediately wrapped themselves around you. Thor had found Bruce and settled beside and settled near your feet where you’d built an intricate nest wall of pillows and blankets. Two of the deltas, Tony and Loki seemed to be glaring at each other—even as Tony laid himself completely on top of the other and they both relaxed into comfortable holds.

It was interesting, watching the pack dynamics as they moved between each other. Clint wrapped around Natasha from behind the same way Carol found her way behind Wanda. Peter had weaseled his way into curling against Loki’s side while tossing a leg over the man’s hip, subsequently laying it over the backs of Tony’s thighs. Sam, Bucky and Steve all found their way into a neat grouping on the bed closest to the stairs, piled as close to the subsequent piles of superheros as possible.

There was some sort of pattern beginning to form in the back of your brain but you were still too confused, too sucked into your own omega hindbrain by the overwhelming introduction of alpha hormone to your system. Instead of following the thought through to the end, you found yourself warm and comfortable and full and falling asleep tucked between the groupings of presentations as if it wasn’t totally, 100% against your will.

 content warnings: forced cum eating, chemical manipulation, dead dove: do not eat

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Four

This content is explicit and is 18+

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

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 5.6k

Chapter Four

“You’re angry,” Mando said plainly. He stood in the shop, door closed and obviously locked, a week later. You stood behind your work desk, glaring up at his chrome visor and saying absolutely nothing.

You pointed to the collection of credits on the desktop. Mando followed your finger, seeing what the supposed problem was.

“You’re angry because I gave you my last pay?” He questioned, stepping closer to you at the desk.

“I said I don’t want your credits,” You told him bluntly. “Your money is your money—,”

“That was before you saved my life,” He interrupted, coming to lean down on the desk opposite you. You inhaled deeply, feeling a subtle rush of excitement in your gut at his closeness, despite the scolding you wanted to give him.

“I don’t want your money, Mando,” You stated, staring straight into his visor. “It’s not fair,”

“It is fair,” He retorted. “I haven’t needed information for a while. You’ve given me whiskey, bread, company—,”

“I don’t do that because I want to be paid, Mando!” You erupted. Stars, was this your first fight? God forbid.

He stepped back subtly, almost as if he was trying to figure out your emotions. You could imagine the furrowed brow beneath his helmet, the look of confusion and trying to understand what you fully meant.

“Then hear this,” He began. You heard the tone of his voice as he became sterner, as he’d figured out his words for definite. “If you go bankrupt, what happens then?”

You couldn’t help it, you had to roll your eyes at him. “That’s not your responsibility—,”

He interrupted you with a muffled groan, but instead of a seething anger, you felt... butterflies. When before it had simply been you admitting to your silly wants or desires, he’d finally cracked—he’d finally admitted that something was affecting him. “Without you on this planet, what will I do each time I return?”

You stood up slowly, involuntarily dropping your mouth open from this fucking realisation. Was Mando giving you credits to keep you in business? So he’d still have you to return to between jobs?

You couldn’t help it. All of your anger dissipated into thin air, replaced by the intense longing to fucking hug him, or laugh in his face about being the vulnerable one this time, or take off his helmet with your eyes closed and kiss his actual lips.

None of which you actually did—

Well, apart from the laughter. Soft chuckles escaped your lips, making Mando step back even further. It wasn’t often you were the one laughing at him, but this time was different.

“What?” He let out. You could hear the rising anger in his tone, but you couldn’t stop yourself from chortling. “What?” He repeated, stepping forward to approach you at the desk. You looked up into his visor, cheeks a soft shade of pink, smile shoved all over your face.

You allowed yourself a few seconds to breathe, to calm down, before you finally cleared your throat, getting in close to his visor. “You like me,” You whispered, followed by cascades of laughter once more. You had to grip onto the desk for support, otherwise you were sure you’d drop to the floor, clutching your stomach as your abs started to hurt.

Mando didn’t move, he only looked at you—stars, he was good at looking at you. Stare unwavering, body unmoving, but eyes racing behind his visor as he fought to soak up the entire image of you in front of him.

He let you have your fun, laughing solely at his expense, or maybe just to stop yourself from body slamming him to the floor in a fit of absolute arousal. When you’d slowed to subtle hiccups of laughter, he reached out, grabbing your neck and pulling your face closer to his helmet—

Stars, you ceased to breathe. You flicked your gaze over his visor, from left to right and back again, hoping that maybe you were hitting his eyes beneath. Fuck, what you’d do to see those eyes. You craved to know the colour, the warmth, the looks that Mando actually sent you. You wanted to see him clamp them shut with absolute pleasure, you wanted to see them crinkle when he laughed.

“Annoying,” Was all he said, but you didn’t feel hurt from it. You knew he was fucking deflecting—because you did that often. You settled on sending him a slight smirk in return, but all levels of composure went out of the window—when your name trickled from his lips—

Your name. The one you’d blurted out last week, before he’d fucking put you to bed. You went to move back immediately, but Mando’s grip on your neck only increased. He brought his other hand to settle on the other side, keeping you stuck right in front of him.

“There it is,” He whispered, letting out a few amused modulated breaths. “That blush,”

Stars—you wanted to simultaneously kill him and snog him.

“That blush makes your annoyance tolerable,” You raised your brows suddenly as your gut coiled uncontrollably. His voice was nothing more than a low growl, disguising itself as subtle anger; but you knew the difference. You’d heard Mando be angry, you’d heard him be soft and gentle, but you’d also heard him when he was fucking gagging for it—gagging to put his hands on your body, gagging to have you wrapped in his embrace.

“Does it, now?” You trickled out, the rising feeling of warmth fluttering through your body. It started in your stomach and spiralled outwards, hitting your chest, your arms, your shoulders and your pussy. When it hit that, your brain all but shut down, replaced with only the need—the need to hear him moan again. “What else makes it tolerable?”

Mando immediately started shaking it head. “No. I have to meet with Karga,”

You pouted at him, sticking out your lower lip and sending him a sad frown. You started sniffling overdramatically, wondering if this blatant fake act would actually work on him. He only shook his head again, faster this time, as if he was trying to convince himself not to go there. “Karga may have fallen for it, but I won’t,”

Your face dropped into an actual frown as you sighed. Mando removed his grip from your neck, picking up his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder like always. You walked round from behind your desk, trying not to get sad about how short his visit had been this week—he was a busy man, especially after the lateness of last week. He was probably trying to build up trust with Karga again.

You stood in front of him as he stared down at you, small frown still on your lips and the blush still plastered on your cheeks. “Short visit,” He stated, but it made you smile slightly. At least you weren’t the only one thinking it. “Do you still have that communicator I gave you?”

Stars, if you’d been blushing before, you were fucking red now. Your hand instinctively went to your wrist, where the comm had been since he’d put it on you last week. You hadn’t taken it off. Fuck. This is embarrassing.

Mando noticed your awkwardness, looking down to your hands and seeing that you still had it. For once, he didn’t let out a chuckle, but you figured it was as a kindness to your tomato face. “Good. Keep it,” He demanded softly. “It means I can talk to you as soon as I land,”

You tried not to let out a squeal. Mando hadn’t just admitted to wanting to keep you on Nevarro, for his sake, he’d also just made it incredibly clear that he, maybe, missed you. Missed you enough while he was off collecting quarries to want to speak to you as soon as he landed on Nevarro once again.

This man—this man of steel and metal and cold, of violence, who could definitely snap you in half in the blink of an eye, was one of the most gentle and kind beings you’d ever come across. The Mandalorian.

Maybe that wasn’t saying much, considering the people you’d been surrounded with for your entire life; but you felt the good in him. You felt his kindness, his warmth, his want to be there for you, next to you, with you. Fuck—don’t fall for him completely. Don’t you fucking dare.

If only he’d fuck you soon. That would be the cherry on of everything.

But there was something so quenching and satisfying about the build-up—the tension, the stares, the wonder of what part of your body he’d touch this time round, of which part of himself he’d reveal to you next. Stars, you loved it.

Mando nodded at you once, going to leave the shop, but you stepped forward abruptly.

“I’ll... see you next week?” You let it out in a rush, afraid that he’d dip through the door too fast for you to say a goodbye. No—it wasn’t a goodbye. It was a “see you later”.

Mando strolled back to you slowly, silently, as every step hit you like a brick. He let out a sigh, or a moan, or a whatever—it sounded half-way between pained and lost for words. Before you could figure out its meaning, he wrapped two Beskar clad arms around your shoulders, bringing a gloved hand to the back of your head and pushing you forward to rest upon his chest.

You gasped at his initial touch, not yet being used to this intimacy with him. Stars, you’d wrapped your legs around him before you’d wrapped your arms around him? It was enough to make you laugh, but all you felt in that moment was a softness that almost made you cry. It was an embrace that you hadn’t felt in years; a simple hug.

You’d forgotten all that could be fixed with one simple gesture of arms wrapped around your body. You’d forgotten the feeling of a chest rising and falling, of hearing a subtle heartbeat as your ear rested right over it. Mando’s was no different—it was a soft badum, over and over again beneath his Beskar.

You closed your eyes, guiltily realising that you didn’t want to let go, not anytime soon. But that time was cut exceptionally short, when Mando pulled himself away first. He gently peeled you from his body, extending you to be an arms-length away before dropping his arms.

“See you next week,” He said lowly. And then he was really gone, gently shutting your door from outside and leaving you to stand in the Mando-less silence of your shop.

Stars. This fucking sucks.

The more time you spent with the Mandalorian, the less you wanted him to leave. With every passing, it was becoming more of a battle on your emotions. Get it together. You berated yourself incessantly, telling yourself to get over it, to keep going forward, but with the passing time without him, you realised—

You were thinking more and more about your past.

And that was something that you never liked to do.

Despite the years, the change of perspective, the countless hours of repression and years of work to get yourself away from it, it was becoming impossible. You saw flashes while you worked, when you shot in the firing range, before you slept. It haunted you, seeping into your bones, as if you’d never fucking left it all behind.

Debilitating was a whole different ballpark, but this was debilitating. When you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t differentiate between your older and younger self anymore—behind your eyes, you still saw her; cut-throat, unremorseful, naïve.

What you always seemed to forget were your morals; you’d never wanted to do what you’d done. You’d never wanted to become what they made you, but it was all you knew, all you had, until you’d managed to get yourself out of there.

Maybe you’d picked Nevarro to settle as eternal punishment for your actions. Maybe you’d picked it because the danger, the griminess, the dirt and blood reminded you of the only home you could remember as a child.

You stifled a gasp as you dragged your hand down to your boot, sticking your fingers under the leather to feel the jagged, scarred skin on your right ankle—the mark they’d given you. The mark of your abilities, your absence of mercy, your creed.

Only when you got older did you realise it was never a creed—it was a cult, a gang—and you’d simply been one of many children trafficked to work for their ranks. If you hadn’t grown such a tough skin, you would have died alongside the ones that didn’t make it. So, you grew, you trained until you couldn’t stand, until your stomach ejected its contents, until the agony of the hits you were taking turned to a numbness that you’d learned to expect and persist through.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it. Stop.

You endured. You continued your work, you refused smiles from customers and repaired blaster after blaster, sometimes stopping to stare at the communicator on your wrist that only served as a reminder that he was gone. Stars, don’t get soft now.

It was a week later when his voice rang through the band on your arm. He said your name, and dank farrik, you freaked the fuck out. You shot out of bed, half asleep, afraid that they’d found you—that they’d scoured the universe to find you, to capture you, to torture you for your desertion—

You flailed wildly, picking up your blaster as a reflex and squinting into the darkness of your room. You were alone. “Did I wake you?” His modulated drawl spoke up again. Fuck—it’s just Mando. You clutched your heart painfully, feeling the rapid pulse of its beat throbbing throughout your entire body.

“No,” You replied breathily, trying to calm yourself down. “Where are you?”

Mando groaned on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t a noise of his that you’d ever heard before. It wasn’t strained from arousal, it wasn’t the hungriness you knew he could possess, it was pain. “Outside the city,” He replied, only confirming that something had happened.

“What’s wrong?” You bleated through the comms. “Are you hurt?”

Mando chuckled once, before letting out a colossal groan in agony. Now, you were panicking. It’s not that you thought he was indestructible, but he’d never wavered with his strength, and with all that armour you’d never know how someone could actually strike him where it hurt.

“Do you have any Bacta shots?” He asked, groaning even more. You clambered up immediately, going to check your first aid supplies. You shuffled through them all, throwing gauze and bandaids and surgical tape behind you before letting out a frustrated huff.

“No, I—I don’t have any,” You stuttered, still overcome with the adrenaline you woke up to.

“Sewing kit?” He persisted. You nodded quickly to yourself, before you realised he couldn’t fucking see you.

“Yes, I have one,” You shuffled through the cupboards beneath your work desk quickly, finding the small sewing kit that you rarely used. Weapon repairs didn’t use thread.

“Can you—,” He groaned between words. “Bring it— to the Razor Crest?”

You were already slipping on your sweats and a light jacket, nodding to yourself feverishly, before you managed to stutter out a response. “I’m on the way—be there soon—,”

“Be careful,” Mando forced out. “Sending you my coordinates,”

You followed his coordinates to the outside of the city. You’d never walked around Nevarro after dark much and for absolute good reason. It was grimy and mysterious, with dark alleys and even darker individuals. You had a constant grip on the blaster clipped to your waist as an understandable precaution, grasping it all the way to the outer sections of the city.

When you saw his ship in the distance, you broke into a run. You pumped your arms like you had no other agenda, embracing the adrenaline coursing through your blood and using it to your advantage.

“I’m outside your ship,” You breathed down the comms. His answer was opening up the hatch of the Razor Crest. You jumped in before it reached the floor, looking on the walls to close it right back up again. You stamped the controls and the ramp began to close once more, but you weren’t interested in it—

You were interested in the mound of Beskar on the floor that you recognised as Mando’s chest, shoulder and arm plates. You scanned the darkness of his ship, catching your eye on the subtle light reflection of his chrome helmet.

You rushed forward to see him crumpled on a rickety medical bed, slumped and breathing harshly. “Fuck—Mando,” You let out, approaching him quickly. You placed your hands on his armour-less forearms, but it only made him flinch in pain.

“S’okay, just a stab wound,” He whispered out coarsely.

It’s okay? This fucking idiot.

You looked at him in a panic, knowing that he most certainly wasn’t okay. He was putting on a front, maybe for your sake, or for his. You could tell he was worried; otherwise he wouldn’t have contacted you to meet him on his ship.

“Did you—bring the kit?” He stuttered out. You fumbled with the kit, pulling it from the pocket of your jacket. He only nodded, lying back onto the bed in flinches and staggered movements until only his legs dangled off the end, the rest of him laid down. “Stitches. Needs stitches,”

You stood up straight immediately, spotting a storage box by the cockpit ladder and grabbing it swiftly. You dropped it by the side of the bed, slamming yourself down on top of it and ignoring the shake in your fingers as you flicked your eyes over his body.

He’d taken off all of the Beskar on his chest, leaving on the leg armour. His undershirt was black and thick, but even that didn’t stop you from seeing the unmistakable slick of blood, gushing from beneath a spot on his stomach. Tentatively, you curled your fingers beneath the shirt, pulling it up his chest slowly, exposing the wound—

Stars, it was deep.

It was deep and gushing with red, as every breath Mando took only accelerated his blood loss. You were surprised he hadn’t passed out from the loss yet, let alone still been able to talk and just about move.

“Stars, Mando—I—,” You stuttered out, clutching the sewing kit in your fingers and wondering what the fuck you were meant to do. You weren’t a seamstress, and fuck, you’d never given anyone stitches before.

“I trust you,” The words trickled from beneath his helmet. You only indulged in his confession for a second, before tearing open the sewing kit. You spotted Mando’s first aid kit on the floor by the bed, taking a bundle of gauze and wipes as you fought to stop yourself from shaking.

You wiped down his wound, clenching your jaw as you saw the agonising way he tensed his entire body as you cleaned his flesh, ridding it of all of the blood you could. You picked up a needle then, choosing the biggest and most curved of the bunch, and threading it through with the strongest stuff in the pack. You had no idea if this would hold, but it would have to do until he started to heal, or until he could find a Bacta shot on Nevarro.

“I’m sorry,” You breathed out. “It’s going to hurt, Mando,”

He fucking laughed, spluttering out an agonising groan afterwards. You wanted to kick him, to shout at him to stop fucking doing that. “I know. Just do it,” He let out. You could tell it was through clenched teeth. He was preparing himself for immense pain.

With every groan he let out, you wanted to cry. With every stab of the needle next to the wound, you were sure he was going to slap you; you wouldn’t have blamed him, honestly. You saw the way his entire body was shaking, was going into shock slowly and agonisingly. Yet he stayed awake. You saw the subtle twitch of his fingers with every pull of the thread, with every pent-up breath you let out after another successful stitch was added to the wound.

You alternated with wiping the wound of excess blood and pushing the needle through his skin, making sure to keep it as clean as fucking possible with what you had. God forbid, infection set in afterwards. He would have been better off without you in that sense.

You were sweating profusely by the time you pulled the last stitch through, sealing up the wound as tightly as you could against his painful moans.

“Okay—okay, almost done. Hold on, Mando,” You didn’t let yourself celebrate just yet. You dropped the bloody needle and thread to the floor, picking up the roll of gauze. Stars—you needed him to sit up for you to wrap it around his torso.

Mando knew what you needed before you’d ever said it, as he tilted his helmet in your direction. Stars, you didn’t want him to see you like this. Sweating, on the brink of fucking tears, his blood beneath your fingernails.

“Up?” He let out, but you heard the regained strength in his voice. You nodded at him morbidly, but nevertheless, he did it. It was a fucking struggle; you had to give him your arm and stars, he was fucking strong. He gripped onto your arm and bit through the agony as he hoisted himself up to a sitting position. You didn’t take your eyes off the wound, too afraid that it would suddenly burst, but it held.

His shirt fluttered down his torso, covering the wound when he’d finally made it to sitting. There was no way in hell he’d be able to hold it up himself, not with the core strength it would take him to do it in his exhausted state.

You placed the gauze between his legs, curling your fingers beneath his shirt once more. “I need to take it off,” You gulped. If this was any other occasion, you’d be blushing. Seeing Mando’s hands was one thing, but seeing his chest, the gleam of his sweat, the tan of his skin and the subtle scarring from past battles—you wanted to place your hands all over it.

Fucking hell. He’s wounded. Stop it.

Mando obeyed, helping you slightly to lift the shirt over his helmet. You would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tense; it got caught over his visor, leaving you with the image of him with his shirt stuck over his head, arms up and chest bare. God—it was sort of funny. You’d definitely laugh about it later, if he didn’t fucking pass out before you were done patching him up.

“This is not—,” He groaned. “How I imagined being—half-naked— in front of you,” The softness of his voice, despite the fucking pain, the agony, the panic that he obviously felt, filled you with a warmth that steadied you for the first time since entering his ship.

He was trying to make you feel better. Trying to calm you down, despite him being the one who should be worrying immensely. You ignored the tiny amount of blush that you felt on your cheeks, picking up the gauze and placing it over his wound gently.

You wrapped it around him several times, having to stand up and over him to wrap it behind him. You wrapped it around him four times, before you felt his fingers find your waist. You gasped slightly, but didn’t stop coiling gauze around him up. Only when his head dropped onto your chest did you stop—

You looked down at him, gauze still in your hands, just to savour this image. You were stood in front of him, while he sat beneath you, utterly encased in the protection of your body. His fingers were gripped onto your jacket tightly, feeling the fabric between his fingers and allowing his thumbs to gently fumble around your waist. His head on your chest was new altogether—the helmet was heavier than you’d ever thought it would be, and stars, you had to stop yourself from imagining his face beneath—

Eyes closed, mouth ajar as he took in gentle, calming breaths, feeling the comfort that the sound of your heartbeat offered him beneath your ribs.

You smiled to yourself, ignoring the pooled sweat that sat atop your cheeks and above your brow. Wrapping the gauze around him once more, you tucked the end back in and tied it securely, testing to see if it would budge easily. You were satisfied.

“Done,” You spoke, letting all of your panic flood away with that single word, before you slumped yourself down on the storage box next to the bed, after Mando removed his grip from you.

Fuck. You felt dizzy.

You felt utterly spent, overcome by the rapid heartbeat in your ears and the feeling of your blood beneath your skin and flesh. All you could feel was the anxiety that riddled your body, despite knowing that you were done, finished, that Mando would be okay with some rest and a few changes of gauze over the next few weeks.

You looked at your trembling fingers, seeing every little spot of dried blood that had turned to a muddied brown. All you could feel was his writhing body, his pain, his groans—

But that stopped as soon as Mando placed his hand on your cheek.

You looked up at him, flittering your eyes over his helmet and travelling them down to his, now mostly gauze covered, chest. God, that chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just touched his chest freely, but not for the reasons that you’d ever wanted to before. Stars, you never wanted to see him wounded like this again, let alone have to sew up his skin a second time.

“I was right to trust you,” He said softly, circling his thumb rhythmically over your warm cheeks. You let out an abrupt scoff, needing to find comedy in this situation before you utterly exploded into tears and cries.

“Stupid decision. You’re just lucky that I’m good under pressure,” Good under pressure. What a blatant fucking lie, evidently.

“No,” He spoke up. “You’re good in general,”

Stars. If only he knew all that you’d done in your life. He would be a saint in comparison.

You allowed yourself to let go, to feel only the touch of his fingers upon your cheek. Those hands, you loved the roughness, the coarseness, the gentleness of the ridges between his fingers and his palm. It was enough to calm you down tenfold, sucking away the anxiety and the fear that had settled within you over the past week.

“It’s late,” You spoke, sending him a small smile. “I should get back before dawn,”

Mando went stiff, so abruptly that you thought something had happened with his wound. You frowned, reaching out to the gauze, but he kept you in place by swivelling himself round on the bed to face you fully. You gasped when he raised his other hand to your face, holding your head in his hands and staring directly into your goddamn soul.

“You could stay,” He whispered it, allowing his voice to penetrate the entire space around you, filtering through your ears and travelling down your spine, causing you to involuntarily shiver. “Till morning, when it’s safe to go back into town,”

Safe. On Nevarro? That didn’t exist. But he was right—daytime in the city is better than the dark.

You tried not to visibly squirm. This was new, this was... unexpected. When before, Mando had been so quick to turn down staying at your shop, he was suddenly offering you the same on a silver platter. But this was different—both of you knew nothing could happen that evening, not with his wound, not with your exhaustion.

The thought of sleeping on the floor of a ship had never appealed to you before, until you factored in the fact that Mando would be there, too. Whether he stayed on the sad excuse for a bed with his legs dangling off the end, or whether he joined you on the floor, you’d be next to him.

It was an offer that you, unapologetically, weren’t going to say no to. But you also didn’t want to reveal just how much his offer had set you alight. You felt it in the tips of your fingers, electricity shooting its way up your arms and out from your chest, igniting all the senses in your body until your hairs stood on end at the mere thought of being this close to him for a night.

When before, you’d stolen time with him between his jobs, lucky to get a few hours with the hunter a week before he had to leave and you were left with the wondering worries of his safety; now? This was a different level. He’d invited you to stay.

And you said the only answer you could think of—

“Okay,”

Before you had the chance to move, you heard something from behind you—it didn’t sound like a person, it sounded like... gurgling? It made you jump out of your skin, forgetting about the comforting touch of the Mandalorian before you. You saw Mando’s head drop in defeat, but you didn’t know what for.

“Click that button,” He said lowly, pointing to a control pad beside a built-in closet space in the hull. You got up tentatively, standing before the doors of the closet, before pressing the button Mando had gestured to—

What met you were the biggest eyes you’d ever seen. Black, deep, and absolutely adorable. Its ears were something else. Huge, compared to the tiny body it possessed, covered in a potato sack of a robe that was far too big for it.

“Stars...” Was all you managed to let out. “What—what is it?” Your brain was struggling to determine whether or not it was cute or ugly, but when it let out the most adorable of gurgles, you ultimately landed on cute—cute as fuck.

“Baby,” Mando replied, as if it was obvious.

“A baby?” You let out in disbelief. “Mando—why the kriff do you have a baby in your closet?” You turned back to him, acknowledging the way he didn’t even seem bothered about the little green, hairy, monster baby in his ship.

You shot your gaze back to the kid when he blurted out a confused laugh, almost as if he was asking who’s this?

“I need rest,” He replied. “I’ll... explain in the morning,”

The morning. Stars, you’d get to see him in the morning. And you’d get to see... his baby. As much as you wanted to object, to know everything right that second, you were also fighting off your own exhaustion. You couldn’t imagine the physical strain that Mando was feeling, and that was enough to get you to stop with the questioning.

You strolled back to his bedside, picking up his bloodied shirt on the way and folding it up, before placing it on the floor by the medical bed. “You take the bed—,” He began, but you cut him off immediately.

“No way, you’re the one with fourteen new stitches,” You scoffed. You looked around the ship, spotting a bundled blanket by some open floor space on the hull. “I’m fine on the floor,”

“Just—,” He went to protest, but you placed a finger over where you assumed his mouth would be on his helmet.

“Don’t fight with me now, Mando. Not after I’ve given you stitches and met your son,”

Maybe he wanted to object further, but at that moment he simply accepted your word. He laid back on the bed, stretching his long torso out until most of his body was being supported by the rickety mattress. He turned his helmet towards the closet, staring at the kid. “Be good. We have a guest,” You ignored the violent blush of your cheeks at his parenting voice. Stars, why was this sexy? “Can you... shut the door...” Mando’s voice trailed off, as you realised the exhaustion and shock was full taking over his body.

You did as he asked, carrying the blanket you saw earlier while you approached the kid once more. You gave him another once over, not being able to help the small smile that appeared on your lips—god, he was cute. He was green and hairy and had wrinkles, but fuck, he was cute. You couldn’t wait to hear this story.

With the click on the control panel, the door was sealed again once more, keeping the kid safe and sound for the night. You settled yourself on the floor of the hull, spreading out the blanket and lying yourself out on it, before wrapping the excess around you like a sleeping bag. Honestly, you’d slept in worse places, and knowing that Mando was mere meters away from you meant you didn’t give a shit.

“Goodnight, Mando,” You whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear you at all. The sound of subtle snores was already trickling from his modulator.

You knew then, as you settled onto the cold, metal hull of the Razor Crest, that for the first time all week, you weren’t thinking about your past. As you shut your eyes and sleep began to take you, instead of that naïve girl for seven years ago meeting you on the other side—

It was Mando; asking you to stay forever.

[thirstystarkey]

HATE CAN SOUND LIKE LOVE • JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ and Y/N have always fought, since everyone can remember. They both have short tempers and a endless love for surf and chaos. But what happens when they have to pretend to be a couple? Well.. people always said that hate can sound like love sometimes.

Warnings: Mention of underage drinking, drugs, minor violence, some smutty scenarios and a ton of sexual induendos, JJ being a hot idiot and Y/N a wild girl brat

CHAPTER 19

The midsummers party was just around the corner, in fact it was happening in a few hours but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to find within her the strength to get up and get ready, she even thought about faking the flu which didn’t work since her mom knew her best than everyone else in the face of the earth.

A soft knock echoed through the room, the sun was just setting and decorated everything in shades of orange and pink, her mom made her way to her daughter’s bed seeing how unhappy Y/N had been in the last few days broke her heart. Y/N wasn’t the type of girl to stay more than a few days at home without her friends but since JJ got arrested and his father went to pick him up angrily she hadn’t left home nor she had seen her friends pretty much, surfing had the same end.

“Darling.” Her mom called, playing hit her curls. “I know you are sad and don’t want to go but it’s really important that you do. Being outside, seeing your friends who miss you and especially get some fresh air.” She tried to convince Y/N who sat up to look at her mom properly. Her dark circles more prodominant.

“Can’t I just stay home?” Y/N begged without emotion.

“No Y/N come on and you need to take a shower and get ready.” Her mom ordered. “Your dress was a expensive, pretty expensive and I don’t have that money to sit dead in a closet so make good use of it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes once sher mom left, not that she was round she wasn’t but at that moment Y/N preferred to be sucked into a black hole than shower and get all fancy for a stupid event but she disinterested want to upset her mom either since she knew all the struggles she dealt with duo to the money.

“Guess I don’t have an option this time.” Y/N said defetead once the warm water hit her body, leaving goosebumps all over her shoulders. It felt nice and Y/N needed some self care.

After the shower she stepped out of the bathroom to find her dress laid out in her bed waiting for her. Her mom thought everything through. It was a beautiful dress that Y/N couldn’t argue, the soft shade of blue was her favorite color and remained her of a calm day at the ocean she so dearly missed.

Y/N stepped into the dress, getting a look at the full body mirror. She smiled at herself patting the full skirt of the dress thinking about JJ, she wanted him to be there, to see her in that dress, she wanted to see him and tell him everything was okay but she knew it wouldn’t happen that night since he had invatition to the midsummers party.

“You look beautiful.” Her mom bursted out once she saw her daughter, coming down the stairs.

“Don’t cry please mom.” Y/N joked.

Even though the midsummers was going well and Y/N was reunited with her friends she still felt uneasy in the kooks land. Sarah apologized to her for her brother maniac idea, that didn’t brought JJ back to her but still helped to ease the pain in her heart and she knew Sarah was nothing like her brother, she was a sweet girl.

“You look so beautiful!” Kiara hugged her for the trillion time that night.

“Thank you Kie, you look absolutely gorgeous too.” She laughed feeling Kiara’s arma crush her.

“How are you dealing with everything?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders watching her friends party from a distance as she and Kiara sat to cool down. “I really miss him you know, I miss him taunting me and I miss being with him.” Y/N confessed.

“You like him don’t you?” Kiara questioned bluntly.

“Kiara!” Y/N slapped her arm.

“C’mon!! You can tell me anything!” Kiara begged.

“Yes. I guess I do.” Y/N said fast. “Wait I do know, I like JJ, I have feelings for him.”

“I knew it!” Kiara screamed catching some people’s attention who were near by. “You’ve always had feelings for each other, I saw it and I was sure way way back.”

“Sure, Sherlock Holmes.” Y/N laughed. “I just wish he was here.”

“Yeah... I miss JJ too.” Kiara agreed. “Come on, lets dance!” She tried to cheer up Y/N by puller her up on her feet again pushing her by the hand to the middle of her friends.

Y/N danced around with Sarah and Kiara for a few minutes before John B appeared, he was there since he was dating Sarah, he had a sly smirk on his face was he pulled Y/N to spin.

“You need to go inside.” He said. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.” John B winked at her.

“No way.” She said covering her mouth. Feeling a rush of adrenaline through her body.

“Yes.” John B laughed. “Come on, go before he gets in trouble!”

Y/N didn’t answer, being go excited to even process a coherent phrase, she ran straight inside where the indoor bar took place. For her surprise she found JJ Maybank there, behind the bar, pretending to work as one of the catering guys. The bar was empty, for her luck.

“What will you desire mademoiselle?” He asked, with a big smile. Seeing her after almost a week apart, they never been so long without each other not even when they “hated” each other.

She ran to him, hugging him tightly. It didn’t felt real at all, so she made sure to really press herself against him, finding a sweet spot to nestle her head where his neck met his shoulder.

“I missed you so much stupid ass mop head.” Y/N whimper into his skin.

“I know I know, I missed you being a brat as usual.” He mocked, hugging her even more, hands moving all along her back. “You have no idea how bad I missed you.” He whispered.

“Don’t disappear again please.” Y/N closed her eyes at the familiar scent of JJ.

“Baby I was arrested, I didn’t disappear.” He joked pulling away. “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.” He assured her grabbing her face, but her loving expression changed to a worried one once she got a better look at his wounded face.

“Did Shoup do that?” Y/N questioned terrified as she brushed one finger through his slightly bruised cheek, scared to hurt him.

“Oh, this? No.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I was my dad, you know, he was that right jab.” JJ said like it wasn’t a big deal but for Y/N it felt like her whole world tremble beneath her feet. “Can really snap it off at times.” He added but Y/N didn’t took it.

“Looks more than a jab to me JJ.” She said serious even though her voice was shaky.

JJ sighed pulling her into an embrace again, he caressed her hair, calming her for a bit before kissing her forehead. “You don’t have to worry about this and a mean it Y/N.”

“But I worry about you.” She said headstrong.

“I forgot how stubborn you are.” JJ teased her.

“Good cause I’ll always be.”

Before JJ had time to answer Rafe and his minions entered the room, surprising them.

“Why don’t you get me something to drink, my friend.” Rafe demanded, making Y/N stomach turn.

“Your bed time already passed, my dear kook friend.” JJ teased stepping in front of Y/N.

“I can kick your ass back to jail so don’t be too funny.” Rafe threatened.

It was all happening again, with a blink of an eye Topper and Kelce already had JJ and Rafe stood in front of him presumptuous.

“Starting to look a lot like your dad.” Rafe commented viciously and Y/N wanted to sink her heel into his eyes.

“And you haven’t change a thing, still like three to one type of fights.” JJ fighted back, spitting in his face.

“Oh, shit.” Rafe laughed darkly wiping his face.

Before they had the change to touch JJ a security guard entered the room, asking if something was wrong and for the first time Y/N thanked the presence of autorithy.

“Yes sir!” JJ said onde he was free. “See I crashed this beautiful party, so the security must suck, you should escort me out if you please.” He raised his wrists in the air making Y/N confused.

“Are you crazy?” She asked him when the security began to escort him out.

In front of everyone to see the disgusting security pushed JJ like he was a stay dog even though JJ warned him not to, that alone made Y/N blood boil inside her with a deep rage ignited by the poor system they lived in. She found it not worth of her respect and although her mom was there witnessing everything and Y/N wasn’t the type of girl to cause a scene she couldn’t help herself watching the boy she adored being treated unfairly after all that happen, so she took manners to her own hands.

“Let him go.” She screamed making everyone look at her. “I invited him.” She said serious as the security guard let JJ go. “So don’t fucking touch him again.” She warned.

JJ watched her talk like that with a one mouth, he didn’t knew if he found it arousing or if he was extremely proud of his girl. Y/N began to walk his way when a rush of adrenaline ran to JJ’s body and he said without thinking:

“Come one pogues unite!” JJ said loudly making Y/N laugh as she ran the rest of the way to his arms. He picked her up, spinning her around in his arms. “Kie!” He pointed at her, making the communist symbol with his wrist.

Soon the group was reunited again, the angry a parents warning them as they ran through the grass away from the midsummers party. Sarah eventually joined them, sick of her parents and her brother.

Y/N got rid of her shoes the moment her feet touched the sand, her dress in her hands raised up to her calves as she and her friends walked down the beach, sitting down in a makeshift circle.

“I didn’t forgot your plan.” JJ winked at her, remembering when she told her friends she’d ran from the midsummers. “I also brought this with me.” He pulled a few blunts out of his pocket.

“I desperately need one.” Y/N laughed taking one from JJ’s hands.

“I got you.” He laughed, lighting the blunt he gave her. Passing the rest to his friends.

The calm waves breaking in the shore in front of them made the atmosphere more serene away from all the kook chaos muffled in the background. They spend the rest of the night like that, playing games and teasing each other as the blunts burned away.

Once everyone left JJ and Y/N alone, discreetly coming up with excuses to leave and give them some much needed privacy, they laid into the sand looking at the clear sky like the first time they kissed.

“I really missed you.” Y/N said again, this time sultry against his ear lobe.

“Yeah you did?” JJ asked, turning on his side to face her. “How much?” He added running one hand throughout her sides slightly pushing her against him.

“You have no idea.” She whined through a small laugh. “This much.” She whispered against his lips, brushing them against his. JJ pulled her close to her by her thigh who surround his waist like a hook.

Every time they kissed it seemed like time stood still for a couple seconds. JJ was on top of her as his fingers ran down her exposed thigh while he kissed her lips desperately trying to cease the hunger he felt deep inside him.

“JJ.” She called through a moan, clawing softly at his back. “I really want you but I don’t wanna do this here.” Y/N admitted pulling away even though she really wanted him at the moment.

“Don’t worry sugar, we don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable doing.” He assured her, kissing her sweetly, playing with a string of hair of hers.

“You’re not mad?” Y/N asked inscure.

“Of course I’m not mad Y/N, why would I be?” JJ said getting off her, laying again next to her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I don’t know, sometimes boys get mad about this stuff.” She said looking at the stars.

“Fuck them, they’re stupid.” JJ kissed her temper. “You don’t own me anything.” He assured nestling into her side.

Tag list 💞

@thatsonobx @starkeybaby @this-is-bigger-than--us @tomzfrog @alotbnouf @jj-maybank-stan @jellyfishbeansontoast @rafecamerondeservesbetter @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @tembo-ndoto @poguebx @k-k0129 @kieinred @obxmxybxnk @lcil123 @fandom-phaser @sexualparkour @myrandom-fandomlife @lasnaro @sw-eat-ing @kiarascarreras @jjswhore @milamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @annedub @drizzlethatfalls @tovvaf @drewswannabegirl @whoreforouterbanks @newhopenessie @maybebanks @poguesrforlife @shawnssongs @wastedheartcth @rudyypankow @danicarosaline @sc4rlettm @hufflepeople @punkrainbows @obliviatevamps @trustfundparker @annoylinglyaries @sexytholland @5am-cigarette

[eyeofthedrgn]

I have finally decided on a title for this multi chapter Rowcan fic: A Heavy Battle Symphony. Inspired by two Linkin Park songs (Heavy{feat. Kiiara}, Battle Symphony) that seem to fit the bill of the overall tone of the story. Since it deals with such dark topics and mental health, it just works. I wasn't intending for this to be song inspired, but here we are.

Also, I'm bad at summaries, but here we go:

Set in a modern high school AU. Lorcan was forced to live with his Aunt Maeve and boyfriend James Perrington, both of which are abusive. Once they move to Orynth, Lorcan's life is thrown into disarray when he meets Rowan.

Trigger warnings : language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: just over 2k

Chapter 1 - Numb

Lorcan Salvaterre has had a pretty shitty life for only being 17. He's been to so many different schools, he doesn't remember them all. His mother died long ago, he didn't have a father, and he was then forced to live with his despicable Aunt Maeve when he was five. Lorcan didn't remember his mother anymore, all he knew was the cruelty of his aunt and her boyfriend, James Perrington.

Maeve's job required them to move every few months. Which meant his schooling was rather poor and often overlapped from school to school. He was always the loner and easily overlooked, at least until his growth spurt last year that catapulted him to be six and half feet tall.

He'd never had a friend in his life. No one would ever want to be friends with him in the first place. He always had a scowl on his face, wore black, long black hair, head down, his skin was a beautiful deep olive, his eyes dark as onyx. He was rather strange. And since his growth spurt, his hulking frame kept everyone away.

He never smiled, he rarely talked. To anyone. Not that he had much to say. He had no hobbies, no pleasures. All he was allowed to do in this meaningless life were chores, his homework, and lay in his room staring at the ceiling.

The way Lorcan had grown up was brutal. There were beatings for not finishing chores, misbehaving, or most of the time, just existing. He never got three meals a day, on the very rare occasion, he would get a small dinner, but generally, the only meal was usually lunch at school or when they were traveling. Even then, Maeve would order the smallest meal for the boy, gods forbid she had to spend more money on him than necessary or look bad in front of people.

That also meant that if he needed new clothes or something for school, he had to work extra for it. A lot of the time, he felt like a severely more abused Cinderella. His aunt made him do some of the most tedious chores in payment for his necessities.

The chores he could handle, sometimes they were even relaxing. The beatings on the other hand were less than desirable. Especially when most of the abuse wasn't even a result of Lorcan's supposed incompetency. But every beating was recorded in Lorcan's journal and accompanied by self harm.

Lorcan's mental health was far from healthy. He wished he had the courage to slice his wrists deeper, but if he failed to finish the job, he couldn't imagine how Maeve would react and what she would make Perrington do to him. So, he settled for the scars. 

His wrists and forearms were covered in scars. Every shirt he had was long sleeved to cover his coping habit. He didn't want questions or people staring, he hated being pitied. Honestly, he hated pretty much everything.

---

The new apartment Maeve had rented in Orynth was just like the rest of them. Lorcan's room was the smallest and also used for storage. Not that it mattered to Lorcan he only had a few things anyway, but it did mean that either his aunt or her boyfriend would barge in, whenever they wished, to grab something. Since Lorcan realized they were never going to stop and they always removed the lock from his door, he took to changing in the bathroom.

Lorcan was exhausted. He had spent all day moving every single box Maeve and Perrington had into the new apartment, making sure he put the boxes in the correct rooms. And setting up his room to give himself some semblance of privacy with the way he piled the storage boxes. 

A sleeping bag, a duffel bag full of worn and faded clothes in various shades of black, a few well worn books, a journal that he used to record every beating and every cut, and a fraying backpack full of school supplies were all of Lorcan's belongings. He didn't even have a real bed. Or a pillow.

Almost asleep in his sleeping bag, Maeve barges into his room and starts yelling at him.

"Lorcan! Where in the gods' forsaken apartment are my hair products!"

Lorcan had no idea why she needed them at midnight. "They're in your bathroom." Obviously.

"If they were, I wouldn't be here, you useless piece of shit!" She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, then shoved him into the hall. He knew better than to fight as he stumbled down the hall, he did his best to keep his face neutral, but fuck, that hurt.

Resisting the urge to rub his poor scalp, he stalked to Maeve's bathroom and opened the box labeled MAEVE'S HAIR PRODUCTS. Lorcan sighed when he was greeted with her towels.

"I already looked there, you little welp," she snarled. "Now find my shit!" She stormed out and slammed the door.

Lorcan hung his head and looked around the room. He just wanted to sleep. It wasn't his fucking fault she mislabeled her fucking boxes. Again. Finding the box labeled MAEVE'S TOWELS, he opened it and sighed with relief as he set eyes on her missing items, and set the box on the counter. He informed Maeve of his discovery before heading back to bed.

---

Five hours later, Lorcan woke up, like clockwork. He released a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. Hel, he was tired. Time to start an exhausting day of learning a new school and schedule.

Every morning was the same, up at five, shower, get ready for school, make breakfast that he wasn't allowed to eat. Only the adults were allowed breakfast. He'd get a knee to the gut if he attempted to snatch a strip of bacon or a link of sausage, or even a piece of toast. So, his stomach would growl until he got to eat a pathetic school lunch.

This morning would be slightly different from the rest, though. Maeve would have to take him to school and make sure he was registered. She always acted the caring aunt in public. It disgusted Lorcan. Especially when she would go the extra mile and kiss his cheek.

After Maeve left without a word to Lorcan, he stood in the main hall with his schedule and map in hand. This school was huge. Much bigger than most of the other high schools he had been to. That was to be expected, though. This was Orynth High after all, the biggest high school in the biggest city of Terrasen.

He looked over his schedule. He had no idea how he made it to senior year with all the holes in his education.

Fuck, why was pre-calc first? At least he was good at math.

He looked at the clock at the end of the hall, he still had half an hour before school actually started. Rather than wasting time, he found all of his classrooms in order, twice, and then went to the library to grab the necessary textbooks. 

By the time he left the library, the halls were filling up. Kids all around him were chattering, he was either ignored or kids looked at him with scared eyes and scurried out of his way.

He tugged his hood up and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and made his way to first period.

---

Since it was the start of a new semester, most teachers ignored that Lorcan was new to the school. That was fine, he didn't want the attention anyway. But in his last class of the day, creative writing, they had to split into groups for an assignment. Lorcan hated group assignments. He was partnered with the smallest teenager he had ever seen.

"I'm Elide. You're new here aren't you?"

His nod was barely perceptible.

"It's Lorcan, right?" He nodded again. "Where are you from?" Her eyes were filled with pure curiosity. 

He cleared his throat. "Originally from Doranelle, but I don't remember it. My mother died when I was five. My aunt took me in and we move a lot." He blinked and shook his head in confusion at himself for telling a complete stranger something he hadn't told anyone else before.

How did this petite young woman bewitch him to talk more than he had in weeks? Lorcan felt exposed under her gaze. It felt like she could read him like a book. It was unnerving. 

"That sounds rough. I hope you like it here and I hope we can be friends." She finished with a smile.

Lorcan just turned back to the assignment.

The class passed without much other conversation besides about the assignment they had to do together.

Finally, the bell rang signalling the end of the day.

The first day at this school was done and he was exhausted and hungry. Lorcan was so focused on packing up his supplies into his ratty backpack that he didn't realize Elide was talking to him.

"A group of us are going to the park to hang out, wanna join?" He was zipping up his backpack, not hearing a word she said. "Lorcan?"

"Huh?" He looked up, confused. She giggled. His cheeks heated just slightly.

"Do you want to hang out with my friends and I after school?"

Why would he want to do that? Lorcan did remember saying she hoped they could be friends, but he thought she was just being polite. Now, she was trying to follow through.

But there was only one answer.

"No."

---

Elide adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she walked to the park to meet her friends. She could see Lorcan walking on the other side of the street away from her. His hood was up, head down, hands in his hoodie pocket, his posture slightly hunched. She thought he could almost pass for a shadow if his black clothes weren't so faded and worn.

She remembered looking into his eyes during class and seeing deep pools of onyx, they would have been gorgeous, but instead, they were dull, and lifeless. He had been so hard to read. Elide had guessed that he didn't have a good home life and they were poor, by the state of his clothes and backpack. She had seen the scars on his wrist when he reached into his bag for an eraser. It broke her heart. Watching him walk away, she noticed how awkwardly his clothes hung off of him. He was definitely too skinny for his frame.

So lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear one of her friends come up behind and loop his arms through hers. Elide yelped and then realized it was her friend, Rowan Whitethorn. He had silver hair and pine green eyes that were always bright.

"I didn't mean to scare you! I called your name, but you were off in your own little world!"

"Sorry. I was thinking about the new kid that you will probably end up having a crush on." Rowan scoffed, Elide just laughed. 

They walked a bit in silence until Rowan made his confession.

"He is hot! He's in my gym class. Tell me everything, my precious Elide! I want to know!" Rowan was so excitable, it was infectious.

"He's in my creative writing class and we were partnered together. He said he's from Doranelle, his mother died when he was five, and his aunt took him in. And apparently, they move a lot." She also told him about the assumptions she made from her observations.

Rowan soaked up every word.

---

Lorcan was doing homework at the kitchen table when Maeve and Perrington came in with take out. It smelled good, Lorcan's stomach rumbled. Damn it. To his surprise, Maeve set down a small Chinese take out box right in the middle of this textbook. He blinked at it, and then up at his aunt, she looked kind for once. "Thank you." It was barely a whisper, but he knew she heard it because she nodded before walking away.

Sometimes he actually thought she loved him..

After his studies and meager dinner, Lorcan laid in his sleeping bag, using an old hoodie that didn't fit anymore as a pillow, trying to sleep. A sigh left his lips and he rolled over.

He couldn't sleep even though he was exhausted, so he pulled a well worn novel from his duffle bag. It was The Hobbit. Lorcan had read it many times. The spine was broken, pages were dog eared, some of the pages weren't even glued in anymore. But he enjoyed the adventure.

Lorcan was halfway through his book, when his window started lightening with the new day. He groaned and his stomach growled.

++++

Rowan couldn't get that new dark haired boy out of his mind. Lorcan Salvaterre. He had soaked up all the information he could from Elide about his new crush. Concentrating on his homework was so hard.

"Ugh." Rowan ran his hand through his hair and smacked his cheeks a couple of times to get himself to snap out of it. He still had homework to finish.

"Rowan, love, would you like some hot chocolate?" His mom leaned into his room. "You seem distracted today."

His mom, Barb, was the sweetest lady and the best mother one could ask for. They talked about everything. And he swore she had eyes everywhere because she always knew everything. Sometimes, Rowan hated that his mom was so observant.

"Yes, please." He got up from his desk and followed his mom to the kitchen. He enjoyed his cocoa with marshmallows. After taking a few sips, he told his mom about the new kid in school. She just smiled knowingly at him.

"Elide says he moves a lot. But I don't know exactly what 'a lot' means. Also, he's probably not into guys." He quirked his lips to the side. 

"You should probably start with actually talking to the boy."

Rowan whined, "Mom!" She just laughed and kissed the top of his head before retreating to the living room, leaving him with his thoughts and empty cup.

_____

Thanks for reading! I'll probably post the next chapter next Thursday or Friday.

[gordvendomewhore]

Hey could do some headcanons for Bif Taylor? It can be about dating or just general stuff about him thank you

hey anon!!! thank you so so much for sending this request in! it was lots of fun to work on this lmao i LOVEEE bif and had to hold myself back from making this TOO long haha

also, i’m SO sorry it’s taken forever to finish this omg, my mini hiatus was not planned at all, but i’m back now!

i did a mix of regular headcanons and dating headcanons so i hope that everything is satisfactory :))

with the dating ones, i tried to make them realistic because well,, yknow relationships aren’t all sunshine and rainbows

but yes!!! i hope you enjoy reading this <333

bif headcanons

bif used to be TINY.

he was pea sized, a child, a BABY, he could snap him like a twig if the wind blew too hard

but yeah he was short lol

derby was taller than him for the majority of their childhood, and 100% used it to tease bif lmao

but in eighth grade, bif grew so much that he was basically,,, unrecognizable.

i like this headcanon a lot, like A LOT, but honestly i also really like imagining that bif was always just naturally tall yknow??

but bif being short as a kid is more close to canon since bif has a voice line referring to his height haha

other than derby, i think that bif is closest with chad and bryce

they all bond quite well over boxing, especially since these three are more dedicated to the sport compared to the other preps (at least in my opinion 😳)

i also think that,,, in a weird way, they’re the most “grounded” preps? like they’re all still stuck up and narcissistic, but to a slightly lesser degree than the others

they’re just,,,chill. you know?

it’s more in their personality and attitude rather than their morals lmao

bif knows basic bartending

as a kid he had tons of time on his hands; all rich kids do, despite having endless amounts of money for any piece of entertainment they could ever desire

but i guess when you have everything you could ever want, it all loses value, yeah?

so yeah, he fucked around in his father’s bar, and learned a few things along the way

it’s not really a useful skill to have, since bif is obviously never going to have a career as a bartender and since he also has servants to make drinks for him

but it’s something that gets him further on derby’s good side

yknow, since bif is basically just derby’s piss bitch

dating headcanons

god pwease forgive me for these shitty HCs

bif is the PERFECT person to share a bed with during winter. he’s nothing but pure muscle mass, so cuddling with bif basically means you get your own personal heater LMAO

but,,,, pray for yourself during summer.

bif is the type of guy who’d pull out the fisticuffs when his s/o were hurt, even if there wasn’t any person who specifically hurt his partner (like if they had just tripped over a rock lol)

now, this can be attractive feature because wow!!1!1! big strong man protecting me and being BUFF!!1!1!!1!

but please, unnecessary violence is not cute and honestly very toxic in real life

examples include: BOTH edward and jacob from twilight, noah flynn from the kissing booth, hardin scott from after, and christian grey from 50 shades of grey

psssst, spoiler alert! all of those fictional love interests are incredibly toxic

(and overall horribly written and underdeveloped but everyone already knows that)

i’m just including this because one, it’s bully and literally EVERYONE fights, and two, because it’s in character for bif, whether or not it’s a conventional trait to have

he would just,,, loom over you

tbh i don’t think bif is the touchy feely type, even though it would be cute sigh

hmm i don’t think ANY of the preps are considering their upbringing and personalities as a whole (maybe with the exception of one or two but i’ll talk about that more another day lol)

so i can’t see bif constantly being all touchy, or initiating physical intimacy with his s/o a lot

but he has those body guard tendencies baybee, so he’ll always be at your side giving you company and sending deadly glares to anyone looking your way 😎

but despite this last point, if your love language has to do with physical affection, he’ll be happy to provide!!

you just gotta understand that,,, it’s not exactly his thing

his love language, along with most likely ALL the preps, is gift giving!

he was raised to believe that giving gifts was the key way of showing your appreciation for someone’s value in your life, so bet your ASS he’s spending money on you

and that’s it!! thank you for reading and im SO sorry this is so long omg i currently don’t have access to a computer so i can’t add a read more!

feel free to send any requests you have 💕💕

[reynesofcastamere]

Jagged Crowns(2/2)[β]

(A/N:As previously discussed, this is not a continuation , but rather a ‘same scenario, different circumstances’ deal. The primary difference between the two is Darksider!Ahsoka. So yes, this one is going to be NSFW *cough* for various reasons. Also, to reiterate:(since I mentioned this in the tags and not everyone has the time/inclination to read those), I have removed the previous limit and my inbox is open for questions, drabbles and prompts. Keep in mind that sometimes asks do get lost and that it is never my intention to deliberately ignore someone. That being said, warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive/manipulative thoughts, possessiveness, bloodplay, powerplay, biting, mentions of exhibitionism kink and...Look, if two people having rough sex directly after battle while there are still dead bodies in the room squicks you out, best to give this a pass. Now, on to the fic! Unbeta’d.)

The Sith are fools. Locking themselves into a cycle of a beast devouring its’ own tail, gorging themselves even as they lose their most vital components. Ahsoka and her Lord are strong, united in purpose and potency, the Dark Side practically leaping to obey their will: As they pull the Emperor off his throne, drag him through the blood and viscera of his loyal protectors, and cleave his decrepit body with their blades until he is so much burnt offal. A fitting sacrifice for his conquerors.  Scarcely are their weapons deactivated and holstered before she is upon him, lips and tongues battling fiercely as they negotiate a haphazard path towards their new place of power. Pieces of armour and clothing are nearly torn off in desperate haste until Ahsoka springs upwards. knees pressed against his thighs as he drops back onto the throne. Her hands slide from his shoulders, along his nape, to trace and tug at the base of his posterior horns, a gratifying purr vibrating deep in his chest.  She pulls back for a moment, just to bask in the image he makes; The terrible beauty of shadow and flame, crowned with sharpened bone. Now a sovereign in truth, not just appearance. Yet even in this moment of triumph, his ghosts will not be silent. Especially the old slime-snake.Their multitudes are known to each other, the recriminations, the reckless urges, the eternally-unsatisfied needs. And while they cannot remove them entirely the voices can at least be silenced for a time.

Ahsoka presses the pad of her left thumb to one of his horn-tips until it bleeds, then brushes it across his lower lip.His tongue darts out to taste her blood, even as she brings the cut digit to her sternum, tracing a rough copy of the symbol that adorns his own. Through their bond she coaxes his metaphysical hands to join hers in wrapping around the venomous shade’s throat. “He doesn’t get to have you anymore.” She snarls in protective fury, her own gaze infernal with the intensity of it as they choke the monster’s whispers down to nothing. One death is not enough. She will kill every trace of Sidious in her Lord, in the galaxy over and over again until nothing is left.  He loves her. For her spirit, her empathy, for being the one who stays when so many others have fallen or abandoned him. She knows this without Maul ever needing to say the words. It is branded in his eyes, on her soul, in every brush of their minds through the Force. She does her best to return the gift of that certainty, the assurance that she is his. There will never be anyone else. Her hips circle and grind against his as his hands sweep down her torso, stopping to squeeze her waist before fingertips hook into the top of her leggings. He eases them down, revealing her by slow degrees until the fabric pools around her calves. She claims his lips in an eager rush, tasting the faint trace of her own blood as she reaches down to press two of his fingertips deep into her soaked channel with her right hand. The other draws him out, anointing his shaft with crimson liquid. They pant in anticipation, trading bites and shuddering, deep moans, pelvises meeting in teasing slides even as their fingers work in frenzied rhythm.  “Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“And who am I?”

“My Empress.”

“Yessssss.....” She removes his digits and impales herself on him, effortless and without shame. Ahsoka arches in sheer pleasure as she sinks down to the hilt, kept upright only by the hands that cage her hips. Her current perspective of the room is tilted and stained with carnage, but it is only too easy to envision the near future; Their own guards silent, still, and longing as their rulers writhe and rut together. She knows he can see it too, how the thought makes her gasp and squirm. When she meets Maul’s gaze again, it is molten with obsession and lust.  They’ve danced with the thrill of being caught before, though never quite like this. There’s little need to hide or wait now that they can fuck where-and-whenever they please, within reason. Ahsoka’s hips circle as her walls contract, keeping him embedded deep within. There’s a slight ridge near the base that’s absolutely maddening when it rubs against her clit, she has to fight not to press frantically against it. She wants this to last, after all. Maul has other ideas, though, one hand crushing her against his front as the other digs into her backside. He’s biting repeatedly at her throat, leaving a messy collar of bruises and leaking cuts behind, growling like a feral beast. She claws at him in turn, hissing and keening. It’s too much and still not enough until- “Come.” She cannot refuse the command, rough and possessive as it is; Dragging him over the edge with her and crying out in sharp ecstasy. But he’s not done, discarding her leggings and boots before turning them. Her spine is pressed against the back of the throne with him kneeling between her thighs, legs firmly wrapped around his hips. He is still hard, twitching and slick from their first climax as he re-enters her slowly. She welcomes the burn of the intrusion, the struggle of her overstimulated nerves adjusting to his girth.

He leads her on with shallow plunges, little nips of his teeth to her lekku. It’s deeply frustrating because he knows what she wants, yet when she tries to direct his mouth elsewhere he traps her wrists in one hand and pins them above her head. “You can do better than this.” Ahsoka points out, wriggling to try and get more friction, more speed, more anything to no avail. “Not until you beg.” Maul purrs, so close that he might as well be kissing her, eyes and tone heavy with promise. One that he, of course, doesn’t follow through on. Her heels press into his lower spine in retaliation, watching his eyelids flicker as his breath sibilates between his teeth. “You really think you can wait that long?” She hums, smiling as his hips buck in instinctive reaction. It is all a game to them. She could break free or stop him at any time, but she doesn’t care to. And he desires her resistance just as much as her submission. “Absolutely.” He asserts in a low growl, claiming her mouth with his. They lose themselves in this for some time: Her attempting to spur on his aggression while he toys with her lekku, neck, and breasts.

Finally, she decides to have some mercy on him. “Master, please.” Ahsoka sobs, sounding half-crazed and hoarse. “Harder.” She arches her body and ripples her core in a desperate plea. “I need you to break me.” It is enough to unleash the primal creature that lurks beneath his skin, and she cries out when he slams into her at last. Maul is all but violating her with each searing, forceful thrust and all she can do is plead for him to keep going.

An exchange of yes, more, please, mine, yours, always falls from their lips, teeth bared in pleasured grimaces. She loses herself in him, vision blinking between his face and his own view of her. Their tangled thoughts are no less scintillating, fragmented and chaotic as they are. But for a moment, there is a clear vision: An Empire free of the corrupt, the grasping, and the fearful. A galaxy at peace, its Emperor and Empress with heirs both of their blood and taken in by choice. It is beautiful, and she knows with every fibre of her being that they can make it a reality before it splinters into a dazzling ring of coloured light and she wails...

He is still pounding into her, triggering aftershocks that are rapidly building towards another climax.The throne is a mess beneath them, essence pooling underneath her backside even as their joining only grows more hurried and violent. Her hands are free again, nails raking his back, breath escaping in faint whines and keens while he growls and pants in off-key rhythm. Her cunt is in absolute agony from being forced to take this savage treatment so soon after release, yet she cannot bring herself to stop or even slow down. So close...He bites directly over where she had left a crude approximation of his markings earlier, and she whites out in pain-laced bliss as he roars. Ahsoka gulps down air when she comes back to herself, feeling warm wetness and hard muscle underneath her fingertips. She doesn’t need to look to know that she’s shredded his back to ribbons again. They’re both going to need bacta patches pretty soon, if only to prevent infection. Getting their clothes back on wouldn’t hurt either. But not just yet. Not while Maul is kissing her so very softly, approval radiating in the Dark Side and his thoughts. Because she loves him, she will give him this, and all of her, forever. (A/N: This...took a bit longer to type than I initially planned. Curse you, writer’s block. Going to try and get the next installation of my main series or the Mando!AU up next, though as usual I make no definite guarantees on that. The muse is veeeeery fickle at times. Cheers, everyone!)

[vannahfanfics]

Limited Edition

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido

Sero lovin’ hours, babes! Behold the fluff!

EDIT: Photo was made by the amazing @deliathedork who showers me in love and beautimous doodles~

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Characters: Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido

“Denki.” Hanta called as he rounded the stair landing to the boys’ side of the third floor. He grimaced in the entryway of the hall, staring pointedly at the door to the room that belonged to one blonde-haired electric generator. When he got no answer, Hanta began walking down the hallway calling his name in increasing volume, “Denki. Deeeeennnkiiiiiiiii!” By the time he reached the door, he was practically screaming. “DENKI KAMINARI!” he shouted in such an unholy screech that Tenya opened his door to glare disapprovingly at him. Finally, Denki threw the door open to give him a wheedling whine, his gaming headset slung around his neck and muted.

“Dude, what?”

“Where’s my shirt?” Hanta asked with an innocent smile. Tenya rolled his eyes and shut the door with just the amount of volume to serve as a warning for Hanta to keep quiet. He continued to smile stupidly at Denki, only thinly veiling the mounting threat of violence building up in him as his friend began to perspire and laugh nervously.

“What shirt?” As if feigning innocence would work on Hanta. Denki gulped loudly as the taller boy leaned into the doorway, towering over him with glittering black eyes and a menacing grin.

“You know, the shirt I let you borrow two weeks ago? My limited-edition ONE OK ROCK concert tee that is my sole most valued possession?” Hanta pressed, continuing to edge into the doorway until Denki was bending at a forty-five-degree angle. Denki laughed in an anxious high pitch, his eyes shifting around and refusing to settle on Hanta’s gradually reddening face.

“Oh! That one! Hehe! Well… Thing is… I kinda… don’t know where it is,” Denki admitted in a tiny voice. A few terrifying seconds passed as Hanta processed the confession. Denki finally looked up into his eyes, which were probably soulless as Hanta contemplated just how he would like to murder the oblivious boy. “Bro? You good?”

“Good? Good? Yeah, I’m good,” Hanta shrugged as she suddenly backed off, leaving Denki reeling in confusion. His instincts must’ve tipped him off, because he screamed and ducked under Hanta’s arms as he suddenly lunged at him with a feral yowl. “Yeah, I’m good, because I’m about to kill you!” Sobbing apologies, Denki managed to wriggle past him and take off down the hallway towards the stairs. Hanta whirled on his heel, shooting his tape down the hall and only just barely missing Denki’s elbow as he practically dove down the stairs. “Get back here! Atone for your sins!” Hanta yowled as he chased him, thundering down the stairs on all fours. He could hear Denki’s manic blubbering floating up from within the stairwell. Sero had to admit the little shit was fast, because he couldn’t catch up to him.

“Baku-bro! Baku-bro, save me!” Denki screeched as he vaulted himself a good five feet across the room and clambered over the back of the couch into a very startled Katsuki’s lap.

“What the- get off me!” Katsuki huffed and shoved poor Denki to the floor. Denki looked at Hanta over the top of the couch fearfully as he stalked him, eyes blown wide with desire for homicide.

“He’s gonna kill me!”

“You probably deserve it.”

“Whoa, whoa, guys!” Izuku laughed good-naturedly and stood up, waving his hands placatingly at Hanta. “What’s the problem?”

“He lost my fucking tee-shirt!” Hanta fumed and lunged over the back of the couch to try and rip out a few of Denki’s hairs. The boy managed to crawl under the coffee table and slink over to Fumikage, who was watching with his arms crossed. “My favorite shirt! Limited edition ONE OK ROCK! Limited edition!” Hanta screamed like a deranged man as he crawled over the couch and shot his tape at Denki, who was pleading for Fumikage to save him.

“I side with him on this one. Any last words before you meet God?” Fumikage smirked. Denki wailed as Hanta shot tape at him, this time finding his mark. Denki screamed in dismay as Hanta jumped up on the table and slowly dragged him closer, eyes flashing with pure anger.

“Please! I’m sorry! Spare me!” Denki sobbed as he was lugged over the rug by the unhinged Hanta. Just as the boy had captured his prey and was preparing to strike, a sweet voice piped up from the back of the other couch.

“Um, do you mean this shirt?” Hanta and Denki both looked up to see Mina staring owlishly at them, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and the shirt that Hanta was ready to kill Denki over. Hanta’s face instantly flushed a pretty shade of crimson and steam blew out of his ears in nostrils at the sight of the pretty girl wearing his tee shirt. It was pretty much a not-so-secret in their friend group that Hanta had a stupid crush on Mina.

“Um… Yeah, yeah, that’s the one,” Hanta quipped with an equally wide-eyed stare. He unwound his tape from Denki, who slunk away to get cradled in Eijirou’s manly bosom as he patted his head and whispered reassuring words. He hopped down from the table as Mina walked around the couch, sashaying shyly.

“Um, I found it in my laundry last week. I mistook it for one of the girls’, but they said it wasn’t theirs, and when I asked a couple of the boys, they said they had no idea whose it was or where it came from, so it kinda became my new PJ shirt,” she laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of her head. Sero’s dark eyebrows knitted together as he had the sudden suspicion a plot was afoot. She scratched at her cheek thoughtfully. “You can have it back if it’s that special to you though!”

“Um…” Hanta knew there was a specific answer to the question, but she didn’t give him the time to do so. She grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him upstairs to her room, bringing him straight inside and swinging open the closet door. As he saw the shirt fly onto the bed, discarded, Sero’s cheeks burned with the acute awareness that Mina was shirtless behind that flimsy closet door. Focus, Hanta… he told himself as he patiently waited for her to switch shirts. She walked out to pluck it up and carry it over, holding it out to him with a big smile.

“Here you go! Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“Uh, no big deal…” he said dully as he accepted the shirt. She scampered right past him into the hallway to rejoin the group in the common area, and Hanta’s eyes followed her as he left, captivated simply by her being. He absentmindedly brought the shirt up to his face and nearly fainted when he realized it carried her scent like bubble gum and cherries. Nirvana… he thought dimly as he collapsed into the hallway wall.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hanta was mounting the stairs to head to his room later that night after a pretty rowdy session of videogames with Denki (who, after being cornered by Hanta with Eijirou’s help) had all but admitted he had purposely slipped the shirt into Mina’s laundry basket in an attempt to spark something between them. Hanta had been a little irritated with his pitiful effort to wingman for him, but, Hanta had to guess that he was a little grateful. Denki was doing it just because he wanted Hanta to be happy, after all. Hanta had agreed to let bygones be bygones (especially since his shirt was safe and sound) and settled in to play with Denki for a while. Now, he was mounting the final step with the shirt slung over his shoulder. He paused mid-step as he heard Mina’s voice floating down the hall from the direction of Momo’s room. Curious, he inched closer.

“Thanks for the tea, Momo.”

“No problem. A cup of good tea will do wonders for a saddened heart,” Momo responded. Hanta’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. Why was Mina sad?

“I know it’s silly to be sad about it. I just really liked that shirt, you know? It was super comfy.” Hanta didn’t know why that made him happy, but it did. “Besides, it reminded me of Hanta. I knew it was his when I took it…” Hanta felt a shiver propagate from his head to his toes. He didn’t know what to do with that information. She knew? Why would she take it…? He could almost imagine her hugging herself as she sighed, “It just made me feel so warm and safe…” With flushed cheeks, Hanta looked at the tee shirt draped over his shoulder. Quietly, he pulled it off and hung it on the doorknob, being extremely careful not to alert the girls to his presence. Then, he turned on his heel and marched right off to his room.

Sure, his shirt was limited edition and precious to him- but Mina’s smile was one of a kind, and much, much dearer to his heart. He tried not to smile when he heard her delighted exclaim of surprise from within his room, nor when she texted him a picture of herself back in the tee shirt, beaming with a peace sign over her eyes and the simple tag Thanks, Hanta! <3 He stared at the picture for a while, thumb hovering over the screen as he tried to find a good way to respond.

Anything for my best girl! he decided, watching as the bubble appeared on the screen with an audible swoosh! She sent a series of hearts back in response, and he dropped his phone down onto his chest as he put his hands on his face, kicking his feet a little with an excited squeal. He jumped when he heart Tenya pound his fist into the wall next to him.

“Be quiet, or I swear to God, I’m spilling everything to Mina.”

“Does everyone know?!” he cried as he bolt upright in bed, half-amused and half-terrified.

“Of course everyone knows! You smile like an idiot anytime she’s within your line of sight. Now go to bed! Shoto and I are studying in here.” Hanta laughed as he heard the dull thump of Tenya smacking the hot-and-cold boy's pillow into the wall. Hanta flopped back down against his bed, looking at the adorable picture of Mina in his tee shirt again.

Yup. Limited edition, one of a kind.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

[kenzieam]

Destroyed - Chapter One (Chris X OC)

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, language, drama, angst

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@iammarylastar​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​ @jewels2876​​​ @moonbeambucky​​​​ @badassbaker​​​ @everythingisoverrated​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​ @oliviastan17​​

I KNOW I’M MISSING TAGS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT IN

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What happens if Chris survived the bank robbery?

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Five Years Later

The sun beat heavy on his bare shoulders, the skin pulling slightly with the beginnings of a sunburn. Chris tightened the final bolt then straightened, ducking out from under the reach of the truck’s hood, stretching his spine with a groan as he dropped the wrench with a clatter in with its mates then pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands.

He let the sun warm his face for a moment, eyes closed and contemplated; should he get a start on figuring out what was making the Adler’s van run so rough, or go eat lunch?

That was his life now, and he was content with it.

He’d just made up his mind, lunch first, Adler’s van second, when a new sound pierced his thoughts. Dropping his head from the sun’s warmth, he turned to look over his shoulder.

A late seventies Toyota Land Cruiser wheezed towards him. Although old, it was in decent shape, either an older restoration or just plain well cared for, but right now, it needed help. Chris watched as it wound down, seemingly like a wind-up toy petering out, and gasped one last time before stalling a few dozen feet away. All clearance lights, already dimmed, died instantly and Chris, although not a betting man, not since gambling with his life five years ago, would have laid odds on what the Toyota’s problem was.

The driver’s door opened as Chris approached and he felt a sudden jolt of electricity. Not even Erin’s kiss in that bar as they’d learned their cover had affected him like this. A woman stepped out, no… scratch that, an angel appeared.

Long auburn hair, faint strands of blond catching the sun; thick and wavy and just perfect for Chris to card his hands through. Sunglasses of probably the same vintage as the Cruiser were pushed up into that glorious mane to reveal a set of cat-shaped eyes in the most unique and breath-taking shade of lilac-grey Chris had ever seen. Faint wrinkles of worry marred the smooth heart-shaped face and then she was looking right at him and Chris felt like he’d been kicked in the guts.

“Hey- , uh. Car trouble?” He stuttered, feeling his face start to flame.

The faintest of smiles. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like your alternator.” Chris scrambled for steady ground; known terrain when the earth was practically shaking beneath his feet.

“I thought so,” she murmured, sounding resigned. She met his eyes and Chris felt a fresh jolt. “Do you think it took my battery out with it?”

A lopsided grin, the majority of people he helped had no idea what an alternator even was, let alone knew how it worked.  

“I’ll check that, if you got it here fast enough, it should be okay.”

She bit her lip for a moment. “How long will it take? I have to get to work.”

“Not long, I can have it done by this afternoon if I’ve got the part laying around.”

The woman flinched slightly. “I work late, I won’t be able to come back until tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. You said you had to work? I can take you-“ Chris was babbling and he knew it, forced himself to shut up. “I mean, if you’d like.”

The faint smile again, a hint of pink in her cheeks. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being thrown off his axis right now. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Chris was inexplicably terrified of losing contact with this woman and if he’d had more time to think about it, it probably would have bothered him, this sudden attachment. “I’m just heading out to lunch; I can give you a ride. Where are you going?”

Her eyes met his, that strange lilac-grey seeming to pierce into his soul. After a heartbeat, something flickered in her gaze, something Chris would swear was fear. “No, thank you.” Her voice was firm now, insistent and Chris felt an unexpected and unexplained pang of disappointment. She reached into her purse and pulled out a flip phone.

Chris stood rooted to the spot, frozen, until the woman raised her head. “Would you like me to sign anything first?” Her voice was tentative again, as if she worried she’d angered him.

Chris swallowed hard, hating that she was slipping between his fingers and at the same time, absolutely stunned that it mattered so much to him already. What the fuck is wrong with you, King? “Yeah, follow me. I’ll make out a work order.” He turned and strode into the shop, heart hammering a frantic tattoo in his chest. Reaching the counter, he grabbed the necessary paperwork and a pen. “Uh, name?”

The woman had reached the other side of the counter and now shifted her weight, almost uneasily, as if she was leery even of giving Chris her name. “Raen.” She finally answered, pronouncing it like ‘Rain’. “R A E N Casteel.”

“And a number to reach you at?”

Another pause, as if weighing her options. Chris had studied body language and received more than enough training in the F.B.I. to read this woman’s behaviour. She had been hurt by someone in the past, badly, and was either running from it still or was just permanently marked, forever cautious around strangers, especially men. His heart ached with a sudden desire to pull her close and crush away all her bad memories, show her that not all love and all men meant pain; and track down the ratfuck that had made her this way to begin with. Finally, she offered a number, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Okay,” Chris scrawled the number, mind racing as he tried to organize his thoughts. He’d never been so thrown by someone in his life, not since her. In the space of only a few minutes, he’d gone from content and hungry, his biggest decision of the day being when and what to eat, to being absolutely swept up in a mysterious woman, ready to fight for her and kiss away her sorrow. But no.

He couldn’t.

He’d fallen hard for a woman before, and it had nearly killed him. He could not do that again.

“Alright.” He cleared his throat, forcing a casual tone. “I’ll look at it and give you a call and an estimate.”

“Thank you. If I don’t answer, please leave a message.”

“Sure.”

The woman gave him one last hesitant smile, then dropped the keys on the counter, turned and almost fled the shop, the door banging closed behind her. Chris watched her hurry away and disappear around the corner.

Jesus wept.

He wanted to help her, and not just by fixing her vehicle.

As soon as his doctors discharged him from the hospital, as soon as it wasn’t abject agony to move anymore (because Chris had gone cold-turkey on all hard drugs after), he’d left the F.B.I., taking all the compensation and bonuses offered to him for his service and sacrifice. Breaking the lease on his apartment, he’d loaded his truck (not the monster he’d driven as Undercover Chris, but his own) and pointed it east, intent on leaving L.A. and California and the west coast entirely, not stopping until the icy dread that ran rampant through his veins finally ebbed and he could draw a deep breath again.

Staying in L.A. meant memories, it meant driving past old haunts and neighborhoods, remembering his shitty past and even shittier career as a Special Agent; one that had started promisingly enough, especially for a delinquent kid who had more in common with the thugs he chased than the agents who hunted them, but had cratered hard when he’d accepted his last assignment.

Deep cover, a chance to advance and take out an asshole at the same time. Dangerous, but definitely worth it; and then he’d met her.

Erin Bell, his awakening and his ruin. His rise and his downfall. In her he’d found a partner, a fellow survivor of a hellish childhood and for a time, he’d been in love. Blinded by the light, as the song went.

He’d let himself believe he could have it all, that he and Erin could give the middle finger to Silas’ gang, to the F.B.I., Sheriff’s Office and the whole fucking world and just run off together with a shit-ton of stolen money.

How wrong he’d been. At the last moment, his conscience had finally intervened, and he remembered the fright and tears in that blonde teller’s eyes as Silas had screamed at her, the abject terror in her innocent face. As he’d watched Silas drop the duffels, spewing tell-tale purple clouds and storm back into the bank, the haze had lifted from his mind and even Erin’s horrified, pleading stare hadn’t been enough to bring it back.

No one gets a fuckin’ scratch. He’d vowed, but he’d been the naïve one then.

“F.B.I.!” His words hadn’t had the desired effect, Silas hadn’t fl0undered in shock or dropped to his knees in acquiescence; it was like he’d known and, looking back, he probably had, trading Arturo for Chris at the last moment, the psycho had at least suspected someone was a mole and Chris had been the one to break cover.

The memory of the burn from the bullets was something that still woke Chris up from a dead sleep, multiple points of agony in his torso, a line of fire on his scalp. That last bullet Silas gave him, aimed as the kill shot to his skull as he lay gasping and already dying on the grimy industrial carpet of the bank; had, depending on your viewpoint, either saved or doomed Chris, missing his brain and splitting a line on his scalp instead. Silas hadn’t noticed as he’d stalked out and Chris carried that scar to this day, visible at all times because although he hated thinking about his past, he’d kept the shorn head and facial hair.

If asked, he couldn’t explain why, but maybe it really was to remember, even though he hated to. Seeing Undercover Chris, with a buzz cut and goatee everyday in the mirror was his penance. He couldn’t, he didn’t deserve to go back to the neatly-groomed man he’d been before, hair longer and fluffy and worthy of a woman running their fingers through it; he wasn’t that man anymore, for better or worse.

He’d driven until his truck had made the choice for him, quitting in this mid-sized town in New York state, lasting long enough for him to limp it into this very mechanic’s shop. A chance comment from the owner, that he needed a new mechanic, had been the catalyst for Chris to stay, at least for awhile.

As a kid, knowing through bitter experience that his own mother was an unreliable source, Chris had kept himself alive with his hands. More specifically, using his hands to fix and tinker. A few hours working on the neighbor’s broken lawnmower earned him enough to eat for a week, the car he’d traded a day’s worth of small engine work for and spent two months of weekends working on before selling to the plumber down the street helped him make it when his mother finally OD’d and he’d needed to keep himself afloat, keep the nosy housewives on the block from calling CPS and reporting a child left alone. Not that they’d have been overly concerned for Chris’ wellbeing, his mother had supported her drug habit by spreading her legs for anyone with cash or drugs, and most if not all of these women’s husbands had partaken at one time or another, meaning Chris was practically guaranteed abandonment when the real object of their fury and indignation was gone, and only her son was left to blame.

That history had been his fuel for a time, spurring him to apply for the F.B.I., encouraging and driving his ambitions to make something of himself, to be more than the fatherless son of a crack-whore.

And, for a time, he had been. He’d been more. Chosen for the assignment, entrusted with the delicate task, but he’d fucked it up, as it was in his genes to do and it still burned sometimes to think about it.

And now, working at the shop had kept him busy, tired him out enough that sometimes he was even too exhausted for the nightmares. So, when the old man had announced his retirement two years later, Chris had offered to buy the place.

For almost three years now he’d been here, running his own business, continuing and building on the shop’s reputation in town, paying Karma back with steady and honest work.

But was Raen another Erin? Another flash fire that would only leave him staggering and burned, another paradigm shift in his already jagged and torn existence?

He’d worked so hard to rebuild his life, was he ready to risk it all again?