#i get the occasional entitled reader but this is something else

[therealjammy]

This should go without saying but I'm saying it now: Any transphobic comments on my work will automatically be deleted. If you don't like my work or my interpretations/portrayals of characters, then stay the fuck off my page and out of my comments and find a better way to spend your time. I write these works for myself, an author who just so happens to be trans, and for others like me and for my crowd of regular readers.

That's all.

[pucksandpower]

Mine

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: Carlos wants everyone to know you’re his and he knows exactly how to make that happen

Warnings: 18+ content heavily implied, manipulation, tampering with birth control, pregnancy

“Who was that?”

You glance up to find Carlos’ gaze fixed on the rearview mirror of his sleek Ferrari, eyebrows furrowed. His usually cheerful brown eyes are clouded with something you can’t quite place.

“Who?” You ask, feigning ignorance though you know he’s referring to the tall, blond man who had lingered just a bit too long by your side during the after-race party.

“The cabrón in the blue suit,” he grinds his teeth. “Never seen him around before.”

“Ah,” you laugh, reaching out to playfully flick at the bridge of his nose, “just someone from the event planning team. Harmless.”

Carlos doesn’t smile back. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and the set of his jaw becomes more pronounced. “He touched your arm.”

“He was just being friendly,” you reason but a hint of defensiveness creeps into your voice.

There’s a pause as Carlos winds the car through the foreign streets. You can feel his frustration.

“You’re being naive,” he finally says. “It’s not just him. Everywhere we go, I see them looking at you. The way Daniel winks at you, how Lewis always finds an excuse to chat, even the staff and the fans. Don’t you see it?”

It’s not like you can deny that. Ever since the two of you went public with your relationship, attention has been inevitable. You’re the envy of many and the object of desire for countless others. But Carlos’ brooding possessiveness is new and you’re not sure how to address it.

“They’re just our friends,” you murmur. “And fans are fans. They’re excited to see you and by extension me too. That’s all.”

He exhales heavily. “It’s not just about them being friends or fans. It’s the entitlement, the audacity they have, thinking they can just ... approach you like that. Like they have any shot with you.”

You roll your eyes even though he won’t see it while focused on the road. “I can handle myself. Besides, I chose you. They’re nothing to me.”

The car pulls up to the entrance of a crowded nightclub, its entrance flashing with neon lights. Carlos stops in front of the valet, swiveling in his seat to face you.

You’re taken aback by the intensity in his eyes.

“Yes,” he says in a husky whisper, “you chose me. And I chose you. But I can’t stand by and watch these pretenders think they have a shot with you.”

You swallow hard, shocked by the raw emotion in his voice. “You can’t control who talks to me or looks at me. I love you and that’s all that matters.”

He leans in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I know,” his lips brush your skin. “But I also know how men think and I won’t stand for them disrespecting you or our relationship.”

“We’re in the public eye. This is something we will always have to deal with. Trust me, trust us.”

His gaze searches yours, dark eyes imploring. “I trust you,” he says. “It’s them I don’t trust.”

You wrap your fingers around his much bigger ones. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Carlos sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I just … I can’t bear the thought of anyone else ever having you.”

Your heart swells. “Mi amor, I’m not going anywhere. The ring on my finger is there because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He pulls you across the console, setting you on his lap as he wraps his arms around you while ignoring the valet waiting right outside the car. “I know. I just ... I need to make sure that everyone else knows too.”

***

Carlos finds himself in a dimly lit pharmacy aisle, heart racing. The overhead fluorescent lights throw ghostly shadows between the narrow rows. He can hear the soft hum of a distant conversation, punctuated by the rustling of paper bags and the occasional beep of the cash register.

But for Carlos, everything feels distant, like he’s viewing the world through a thick veil.

He stops in front of a shelf, his gaze locking onto the birth control pills. Rows upon rows of them, each promising freedom … autonomy.

His mind rushes back to the countless conversations he’s had with you.

“I want to finish school first,” you would always say earnestly. “Kids are a big responsibility. We have all the time in the world for them later.”

But Carlos doesn’t feel like he has time. He has fought with this internal battle for months. The thought of marking you as his, of the world knowing through the unmistakable swell of your belly, appeals to his most primal instincts.

“Can I help you?” A voice interrupts his thoughts.

He turns to see the pharmacist looking at him with a tentative smile. He tries to gather his thoughts, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I, um, need some pills. Sugar pills.”

The pharmacist frowns. “For a placebo effect?”

Carlos nods, trying to seem nonchalant. “Yeah, something like that. My little cousin needs them for her science fair project.”

She hesitates for a moment then reaches behind the counter, pulling out a small box. “We have these. They’re usually used for clinical trials but they should do the trick.”

He pays for the pills and quickly hides them in his pocket. He thinks about how you would react if you ever found out. But the thought of you carrying his child, the undeniable mark of his claim clear for all to see, is too much to resist.

The next morning starts as it always does. You stretch and make your way to the bathroom, your daily routine staring with the familiar sound of the pill package being opened.

Carlos stands at the doorway, watching as you take your daily birth control. He knows he should feel guilty but instead he is consumed by a heady mix of anticipation and possessiveness.

He imagines your body changing, growing round.

“Morning,” you smile up at him.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Morning. How did you sleep?”

You lean into his embrace, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his body against yours. “Like a baby. Must have been the post-race celebrations.”

Carlos chuckles but there’s a tension to it, an undercurrent of something more. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins.

You pull back slightly to look up into his eyes, “Mmmh. About?”

“Us. Our future.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What about it?”

He hesitates, his gaze searching yours. “I want to start a family with you,” the words come tumbling out in a rush. “I know you want to wait but the thought of you carrying my child … our child ... I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I love you," you choose your words carefully. "So much. But I’ve told you how I feel. I’m not ready.”

He lets out a heavy breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. “I know. I just can’t help how I feel.”

“We’ll get there when the time is right,” you press a kiss to his bare chest. “I promise.”

***

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, feeling his eyes linger on you as you change out of your dress. The dimly lit bedroom is filled with the ambient sounds of Mallorca nightlife. From the open balcony door, you can hear the soft crash of waves and distant murmurs of evening revelers.

Carlos chuckles lowly. “Like what?”

“Like you’re planning something,” you eye him suspiciously but your voice is playful

He stands, taking a few purposeful steps towards you. “Maybe I am,” he corners you against the wall. The heat of his body warms your own, even through the layers of clothing.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Planning what?”

He leans down, lips grazing the curve of your ear. “To remind you,” he whispers, “that you’re mine.”

You shiver at his words, the dominant tone sending a thrill down your spine. “Is that so?” You challenge, arching a brow.

His hands slide down your waist, pulling you impossibly close. “Very much so,” he replies, sealing his words with a searing kiss.

As the two of you move to the bed, there’s an urgency, a raw need that wasn’t there before.

Every touch, every kiss, every caress feels even more intense than usual.

“Why are you so ... insistent tonight?” You gasp out through the overwhelming rush of sensations.

Carlos halts momentarily, gazing down at you with hooded eyes. “I want to make sure you never forget,” his voice is rough. “Forget what we have. Forget how deep this goes.”

“I could never forget,” your fingers move with a mind of their own to tangle in his hair.

His lips find yours again. “Promise?”

You nod, getting lost deeper and deeper in the moment. “Promise.”

Hours pass in a blur of passion and whispered confessions. The intensity of Carlos’ actions betrays an underlying need and desperation that are hard for you to place.

As the sun rises above the horizon outside, you find yourself curled up against Carlos’ chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“You were different tonight,” you murmur as your eyes slowly lose their battle against sleep.

Carlos tenses momentarily. “I just wanted to make sure you know," he says lowly. “Know how much I need you. How much I want you.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, studying his face. “I know,” you brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “But what brought this on?”

Carlos hesitates, searching for the right words. “I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to try to come between us,” he admits. “And I need to make sure that never happens.”

Your heart aches at his words and the vulnerability in his eyes. “Nothing is going to come between us,” you lean over to capture his lips tenderly. “We’re much stronger than that.”

Carlos smiles and flips himself on top of you once more. “I’ll make sure of it.”

***

“Ouch!” You exclaim, pulling away as Carlos’ hands brush against your chest. The sudden sensitivity catches you off guard.

Carlos raises an eyebrow, eyes darkening with a mix of concern and something else — something unreadable. “Mi corazón? What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the unexpected pain. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kind of ... off lately.”

He moves closer, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “How so?”

You shrug, “Just more sensitive, I guess. And tired. And don’t even get me started on how my clothes have decided to stop fitting properly.”

Carlos smirks, a hint of smugness playing on his lips. “Maybe you’ve just been enjoying Spanish cuisine a little too much.”

You roll your eyes, swatting him playfully. “Funny. But seriously, it’s weird. I’ve been doing my workouts, eating right, and still ...”

He pulls you close, fingers tracing the smooth curve of your waist. “I like the changes,” his voice is muffled as he presses a soft kiss to your neck.

You shiver, torn between the pleasure of his touch and the lingering feeling that something just isn’t right. “It doesn’t feel like me,” you try to shake off the unease.

Carlos tightens his grip, gaze intensely locked on yours. “Maybe it’s just ... natural changes. You know, as we get older.”

You frown, pulling away slightly. “But I’m in my twenties. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Look, bodies change. I’m sure everything is fine.”

You’re not convinced but you nod, pushing the uneasy feeling to the back of your mind. “Maybe.”

Carlos watches you closely, the smugness returning to his features. “Besides,” he says, voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I kind of like the changes. You look ... fuller.”

You blush. “Thanks, I guess.”

He laughs, pulling you close again. “Always so modest,” he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You melt completely against him, the warmth and familiarity of his touch pushing away the unease, at least for the moment.

But as the days pass, the changes become more pronounced, the nagging feeling that something is wrong growing stronger.

Carlos, on the other hand, seems happier than ever, his possessiveness reaching new heights. He is constantly by your side, his touch lingering, his gaze intense.

“You’re glowing,” he comments one day, eyes tracing your body.

You roll your eyes but hide a smile. “I think you need to get your eyes checked.”

“I’m serious. There’s something … different about you. I like it.”

You frown, trying to make sense of his words. “Different how?”

He thinks for a moment, searching for the right words. “You just seem more radiant. More alive.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “I think you’re seeing things.”

Carlos smirks. “Maybe,” his hands slip under the material of your shirt, caressing your slightly bloated belly. “Or maybe I just know you better than you know yourself.”

***

“I’m what?” Your voice wavers as you clutch the edge of the doctor’s desk in shock, the coolness of the surface grounding you.

The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, looks between you and Carlos. “You’re pregnant,” she repeats gently, handing over the sonogram.

Carlos breaks into a wide grin. “That’s incredible!” He pulls you into a tight embrace, placing kisses all over your face.

But as the news sinks in, panic sets in. Your future plans — graduating with your degree, establishing a career — all seem to crash around you.

You gently extricate yourself from his hold, taking a deep breath. “How is this possible? I’m on birth control! We’re always so careful.”

The doctor tilts her head, looking through her notes. “No birth control method is 100% foolproof,” she says. “It’s rare but it can happen.”

Carlos’ fingers lace through yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

Tears well up in your eyes, the overwhelming emotions threatening to drown you. “I still have a year of school left. I wanted to be established in my own career … this wasn’t part of the plan.”

Carlos cups your face. “Hey,” he murmurs, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. You have me.”

You blink. “Carlos, I want to work. I want a career. I don’t want to be dependent on you.”

He smiles. "You won’t be dependent. You’ll be cared for. Isn’t that what you want?”

You take a step back. “I want to be my own person. I want to make my own choices.”

Carlos’ gaze darkens, the dominant edge returning. “You will be. But you’ll also be mine. That’s what is important now.”

***

You’ve quickly come to love the sensation of your growing belly, cherishing each gentle flutter and kick from the perfect being within, knowing that it’s a bond that only you and Carlos share.

“Good morning, little bean,” you whisper, rubbing the gentle swell of your belly. Every morning, this small act helps you bond with the life growing steadily inside of you.

Carlos enters the room, his hair still tousled from sleep. The morning sunlight casts a warm glow on his chiseled features. “Frijolito is lucky to have a such a beautiful mama,” he murmurs, sidling up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. His hand finds its place on your belly, fingers splayed and feeling for any hint of movement.

“I am huge,” you complain with a mock pout.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss then pulling back to tilt your chin up. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

“You have to say that,” you tease. “I’m carrying your baby.”

“Partly,” he admits, sliding his hand up to cup your face, “but mostly because it’s true. You would put Helen of Troy to shame.”

Weeks pass and your body continues to transform.

There’s a softness, a roundness, that wasn’t there before, and it’s something that Carlos revels in. His hand is constantly on your belly, possessive and protective. Every time another man’s gaze lingers a little too long on you, Carlos’ lips curve into a smirk, silently declaring his ownership.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask one evening as the two of you settle into bed.

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Enjoying what?”

“Having every man that looks at me know that I’m yours,” you poke him playfully on the chest.

“Maybe,” his hand slides down your body. “Is that a problem?”

You sigh, nestling closer to him. “No,” you admit. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”

Carlos grins, pressing a kiss to your belly. “That’s my girl.”

The months fly by and soon the reality of your impending motherhood sets in. There are nursery preparations, birthing classes, and endless discussions about baby names. Through it all, Carlos is by your side, excitement never wavering.

“Can you believe we’re going to be parents?” You marvel one day, looking around the nursery.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Carlos says. “You and our frijolito are my everything.”

Happy tears well up in your eyes. “I love you,” you whisper, burying your face in his chest.

Carlos tightens his grip, resting his chin on top of your head. “Yo también te amo.”

The next race day arrives and as always, Carlos calm and collected. But recently there has been a different kind of energy to him, an intensity that was never there before.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” you clutch his hand.

Carlos smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips and then another on your belly. “I promise,” he says, eyes locking with yours. “I have too much to come home to ever do otherwise.”

***

“It’s time,” you gasp, clutching the bedsheets as another contraction hits.

Carlos lets you grip his hand impossibly tight. “Breathe, mi corazón,” he urges, wiping the sweat off your forehead.

Hours pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Through it all, Carlos is by your side, his touch both comforting and grounding.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a small cry pierces the air. Tears stream down your face as you catch your first glimpse of your son, his tiny face scrunched up in protest.

“He’s absolutely perfect,” Carlos says thickly, tears gathering as he kisses you gently.

You smile weakly, the exhaustion of a long labour weighing you down. “Our little bean,” you whisper, cradling your son close.

Carlos wipes away an escaped tear. “Our frijolito,” his gaze never leaves your son’s face.

As you start feeding your son for the first time, Carlos’ face softens and his eyes fill with awe. “I can’t believe we made something so amazing,” he traces a finger over your son’s tiny hand.

You smile, heart swelling with love. “He’s perfect,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

Carlos leans down to press a soft kiss to your son’s forehead and then another to yours. “You did incredible. Thank you for giving me everything I could ever ask for.”

You smile. “We did this together.”

Carlos nods, his gaze locked onto your son’s face. “I promise you that I will always take care of you both. You will never have to worry about a thing.”

“I know," you whisper as you let contentment and tiredness drift you off to sleep.

As the days pass, Carlos becomes even more possessive and protective, his love for you and your son deepening with each passing moment. He is constantly by your side, reluctant to leave either of you for even a second.

One evening, as the two of you sit on the balcony, watching the sunset while your son dozes away, Carlos turns to you. “I want to give you more.”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “More what?”

Carlos smirks and pulls you close. “More children,” he murmurs, pecking your lips. “I want to fill you with my babies.”

You laugh, “One is enough for now.”

Carlos chuckles but his face is serious. “We’ll see.”

Carlos knows that he will ensure it happens just like he did before.

He’ll keep you bound to him forever.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Congratulations on 5k

Could you do 6 and 16 for Orm if he's not allowed Steve.

.⋆｡Dosage｡⋆.

Orm Marius x plus size reader

You get stuck babysitting the Ocean Master, you should’ve guessed that he would stir up some trouble

Warnings: sex pollen so little bit of dub-con, mention of tranquilisers and death, Batman not being helpful, swearing, no smut but nudity and implied smut

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Follower Celebration

You wondered what you did to warrant this terrible punishment. The lab was silent, your music having been forcefully turned off by your employer an hour before and you were pinned to your seat by the icy blue eyes of your charge. 

Babysitting, that’s what you had been reduced to. It’s not like your three PHDs could be put to better use than making sure Arthur’s brother didn’t wander off and get himself into trouble. You rationalised that you could deal with it fine as long as he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself but evidently the ex King of Atlantis had a serious staring problem and it was so much more distracting than if he had been chatting your ear off.

Sighing heavily, your head dropped between your shoulders and you pulled your glasses off your nose. “Do you really have to stare at me the whole time like some kind of fucking vouyer?” Orm huffed, finally looking away and giving you a chance to observe the Atlantian.

There was no doubt that he was beautiful, with a chilled jaw, perfect skin, fluffy blond hair and a body that would rival Michelangelo’s David but as soon as he opened his mouth, all that beauty melted away. He was arrogant and entitled and for some damn reason he refused to let you work in peace.

“You should be honoured to be in my presence human.” Your eye twitched in annoyance. Breathe Y/N, breathe. You told yourself. You crossed your legs and shot Orm a look that would’ve had Batman shaking in his boots.

“Just- find something else to do and let me work, please.” He raised a dark brow at you but nodded anyway. His muscles rippled beneath the compression shirt he had been given upon his arrival to the tower. You forced yourself to look away and back to your work. “All I need is an hour and then we can find something productive for you to do.”

He hummed noncommittally, which you were perfectly fine with. 

The lab settled into a blissful silence and you were finally, thankfully, able to really plug into the data analysis that you had been putting off. Occasionally, you could see the disgraced prince out of the corner of your eye as he wandered around the lab, his hands clasped behind his back. He could follow directions well, you would give him that.

You didn’t mind the company, now that he was not staring at you like a fucking creep, in fact he was quite comforting considering you spent most days in complete isolation save for when Batman needed yet another project completed. 

Just as you were reaching the final compiling, Orm’s voice rang through the lab as if he were commanding his people. “What the fuck is sex pollen?” Your entire body seized with fear and as you turned your chair to face him, time slowed.

His large hand had turned one of the many labelled specimen jars in the open cabinet at the other end of the lab, the cabinet that you had forgotten to lock when Bruce had barged in earlier. Your eyes widened almost comically as the delicate jar tipped and the neon pink dust gathered to one side. Orm tried to grab the sealed beaker but the glass was already rolling off the shelf.

Your hand was already moving towards the contamination shut down as the container met the solid ground, shattering immediately. 

The pollen exploded outwards, coating everything within 2 metres of the impact point in a bright pink dust. Orm coughed and tried to wipe it from his skin, but the pollen was already soaking in, quickly making its way into his bloodstream. 

The lab doors slammed shut and the industrial strength locks clicked into place. You yanked a medical mask from your workstation and quickly tugged it on as you rushed towards Orm, whose face was now flushed. His chest was already heaving with laboured breaths and as you drew closer, you could see the sweat collecting on his brow.

“Hey, I need you to listen to me very carefully right now.” His gaze snapped to you and you held up your hands to show that you weren’t a threat. “We can fix this, we just have to work together. Understand?” He nodded his head and you sighed in relief.

“I need you to strip off your clothes, the longer you’re in them, the more pollen you’ll ingest. And then I’m putting you in the decontamination shower until I figure out how this is going to fuck with your fishy DNA.” You expected some fight out of the prince but he followed your directions to the letter, his eyes staring intently into your own. 

You were thankful for your mask concealing your face as he pulled off his shirt, exposing the toned muscles of his stomach. You swallowed thickly, heat defiantly pooling between your thighs as his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants and yanked them down. Evidently, Atlantians didn’t wear underwear. He leaned closer to you, his nostrils flaring. 

Orm’s eyelids fluttered as he let out the most erotic groan you had ever heard. “Fuck, why do you smell so fucking good?” You hated to admit it, but your knees buckled at that. Swallowing down the whine that threatened to spill from your lips, you pulled yourself together.

“O-okay now, into the shower.” You nodded your head towards the stall in the corner of the lab but Orm remained still. His breathing was quickening and his pupils were blown, leaving only a sliver of blue around the black. You stepped in that direction but still, he refused to follow.

“Goddamnit.” You muttered and grabbed his muscular shoulder, forcefully yanking him to the stall and quickly shoving him inside before he had a chance to refuse. You locked the door, knowing that there was no possible way for him to drown himself, and started the auto decontamination.

As soon as he lost sight of you, Orm gave a shout of protest and slammed his fists against the door. “No! Come back!” The glass trembled with the force of his blows and if it weren’t for Bruce’s tendency to make everything strong enough to hold Clark back for a minute at least, you would have been scared of it shattering.

You carefully walked backwards to your desk, your eyes locked onto the shower which was now running but it was doing nothing to hinder the man inside. In fact, his efforts to get out doubled as the water hit his overheated skin. “You’re mine!” He screamed and a crack appeared in the glass.

You snatched up the phone that directly connected you to Bruce, pressing it to your ear as you continued to back up. As soon as you heard his gruff voice, you shouted at him. “Orm ingested that sex pollen shit from Ivy, what the fuck do I do?”

There was a pause and for a second you thought the line had dropped. Then he sighed heavily into the receiver. “Fuck. The antidote you developed won’t work on him since he doesn’t have any human DNA and his body won’t burn out the pollen fast enough before his system overheats.” Silence settled between you as the solution dawned on both of you at the same time. “So-“

“So I’ll have to help him through it or he dies.” You finished his thought for him.

“I’m sorry kid.” Then the call cut off. Orm threw his body at the door and another crack appeared. You had a choice here, there was a tranquiliser in the drawer of your desk that could put down Flash, you could wait for the door to shatter and use it against the raging prince. Or…

Your mask dropped to the floor, along with your shirt and pants. His shouts had now devolved into unintelligible growls that only served to make your inner thighs even wetter. By the time you reached the shower, the frosted glass now resembled a spider’s web and you were completely bare.

You hit the override switch to the side of the stall and the screaming stopped. The damaged tracks groaned as the door slowly opened, revealing you to Orm once more. “Take what you need, I only want to help.” 

The air was knocked from your lungs as strong arms grabbed you and pulled you into the shower with him. Cold water washed over your naked body though it did nothing to lessen the fire between you. A moan was forced from your lips as Orm ducked down and buried his nose in the crook of your throat, pressing his hard body to your soft one.

His chest rumbled happily as he inhaled. “I will not be gentle, I cannot. But once this curse has passed, I will treat you like a goddess, a queen.” His tongue licked up the column of your neck until he could rise to his full height once more. “You will experience pleasure like never before, my claim will be laid upon you.”

And you could only nod as his large warm hand gripped your knee tightly, bringing your plump leg up to wrap around his lean hips. “Prepare yourself for your king.”

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[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter i

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, ANGST👈🏻👈🏻, reader has a violent past but we don’t get graphic about it yet, knives (at present we only use her for gardening), age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), mention of masturbation (if i left out any, let me know!)

word count: 3.1k

authors note: i would consider myself a mildly experienced writer but this is my first ever fic! kindness is appreciated but so is constructive criticism. i really hope you enjoy🍓

by the way, a big ol thank you to @macfrog @netherfeildren @5oh5 @swiftispunk @bageldaddy (and others), whose fantastic writing gave me the courage to put this story to paper🫶

series masterlist | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you don’t remember much about the little fruits, from the time that came before. you were only a child then, 8 when it all crumbled to pieces, and those small sweetnesses aren’t things you’re taught to notice when you’re that young. lemons and airplane engines and the neighbor’s dog; these you remember, what with all the ruckus they made, but berries and peaches were far too soft of creations to make an impression. you suppose to anyone who could see your life in full, it would seem ironic in a tragic sort of way that they were all you cared for now.

you like to ponder these things—torture, really—on your way to the garden in the morning. there’s something about the honesty of jackson air, the clarity of it at daybreak, that make such musings, painful as they are, the only bearable passtime. keeping your hands close to your sides inside your jacket, you let your fingertips brush against the knife stored there. maria had offered you gardening tools, things more fit for the work you did now, but you’d refused; this knife was your father’s once (if you were remembering correctly) and you wouldn’t let it rust over on your nightstand. you like to make use of things, things and people if you’re honest, and trimming plants and flowers and little fruits are no less noble uses for it than what you did before jackson.

the crunch of your boots beneath you whispers up as you trudge along. your house isn’t far from the garden, but ages, it feels, from everything else. you’d gone to the tipsy bison, once, within the first few weeks of moving in, convinced you were young and entitled to normalcy after what they’d collected you from on the outside. the scotch burned your throat in a cliche kind of way, and you suppose you enjoyed that part, but the walk alone in the dark on your way home was enough to keep you from the establishment since. you moved back and forth from your garden, the dining hall, and occasionally tommy’s house when you couldn’t bear the loneliness; these pathways you’d carved out for yourself here are few and stubborn, but you love them because they’re yours. the other young men and women your age in town, most of whom have lived the better part of their lives within these walls, don’t think of you enough to find you as strange as you perhaps are, but their not thinking is a comfort to you. the crunch crunch crunch of your boots on the gravel mumbles in agreement.

“speak of the devil.”

tommy is leaning against the glass of the greenhouse wall with noah when he calls it out to you, grounding you in place. you’d made it all the way to the garden in the time it took for that ugly contemplation, but the both of them are smiling with that back and forth glance only boyishness forgives, and now the morning is real. it’s cold enough that numbness has clawed its way up the bridge of your nose, the frost keeping last night’s snow frozen to the ground. it’s these moments, the arrivals to your garden at dawn, when the day comes to you. you like the both of them, noah and tommy. they make you feel like somebody’s sister. you turn up the ends of your mouth. “all bad things i hope.”

“awful, really,” noah chuckles, tugging on the arm of your jacket to pull you inside with tommy behind you, the both of them still smiling in conspiracy.

you begin to slip your arms out of your coat, laying it carefully against a wall, the wet warmth of the greenhouse rushing you immediately. you’d been heating the inside for a few weeks now, trying to maintain a healthy summer crop output despite the freezing soil, and a few of the sturdier vegetables had steadily been peeking their way up. you plucked a full radish from the dirt last week and nearly wept over it. you look back up at tommy and noah, standing shoulder to shoulder now in the aisle between the planter boxes to block your path forward, humming still with whatever tommy-and-noah-elation they’ve concocted. you tilt your head a little and smile.

“are you gonna make me guess? or can you just tell me?”

they confer with a nod and a jostle side to side, tommy turning back to you. “there’s a strawberry.”

your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth as something golden and beautiful unfolds inside of you. “there isn’t,” you counter. noah turns himself sideways so you can walk through the aisle to the end of the left planter box and you rush there (you’re rarely frantic, nowadays, but you allow this sort of thing for your little fruits).

maria had placed you here in the garden as a safeguard. she thought you dangerous (and you were, at least back when you met her), so she put you to work where your hands could do good and be far from people. it helped, you guessed, that the greenhouse is made of glass; she could keep an eye on you this way. and oh, how you’d resisted it, the softness of a gardener’s job. in the end, though, the black and grime of life left as residue on your palms felt like forgiveness, and you’d taken quickly to thinking yourself a botanist.

by the time you arrive at the end of the left planter box, on your knees like a worshiper at a pew, you’re eye level with the little poetry of red and green parting the soil you’d scooped by hand last month. tommy and noah, you feel, are behind you as your shadow casts itself over the soil, and you almost have to pull the thing out just to bear this feeling. there’s a strawberry. and you actually say it out loud, softer than anything but wild, still, and staring at the child of plant and earth you’d nursed to color. noah and tommy drop to your sides, and you notice then that the three of you are crying, and you laugh and laugh over the little thing like madness and sweetness and pride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the euphoria of your strawberry lasts you well into the late afternoon. tommy and noah had left you to bask in the glory of it to continue with construction on a little post office right off the main road, and you worked the morning with your thumbs in the dirt, slicing browning leaves off the budding plants with as much gentleness as you could muster. you look down at your knife, cradled close in the cup of your palm, to finger out the soil packed through the engraving along the handle. a last name meant nothing anymore, what with your loneliness and the end of the world, but still the slopes of it peer up at you; you watched your father make the engraving, you think, though the actual memory of it is lost to time.

by the time you reach the beets at the end of the right planter box, a commotion has stirred outside. men’s voices ring and rumble from the main road, and the bass of it hums under your knees on the ground. a great bark of tommy reaches you clearly, even tucked away as your greenhouse is, and curiosity consumes you enough to resign from your garden for the day. these days you are quiet, and reserved, sometimes frightening because you like how it feels, but still curious, always curious, and so you curl yourself back into your jacket to join whatever audience has congregated by the front gates.

he is beautiful in a holy sort of way, whoever he is. you come upon tommy wrapped up in a great big stranger, a horse and a young girl behind him, and the slopes of his nose bend the waning sunlight off into a ribbon of a beam. jesus, when was the last time you’d looked at someone this way? tommy pulls back from him, glassy eyed and awestruck, looking around at those who’d crowded the scene almost incredulously, but you stare still at his stranger, who is so broad and so timid and so clearly unused to his own timidness that you can’t pull your eyes away. he meets your gaze for a moment, as he sweeps his own across the crowd, and looks at you with about as much detachment as he does the rest of this spectatorship. but oh god, he is so divinely pretty, and so you can forgive his lack of immediate fascination with you.

tommy begins walking his stranger and his stranger’s small companion through the throng, introducing and shaking hands, and as you watch them slowly shuffle towards you, you are struck with the thought that this is tommy’s brother. as he shifts his face along the axis of his shoulders, taking in the town, you see more and more of tommy in the motion of his stranger’s face. you’re sure of it now, as tommy calls your name and shepherds the man in front of you.

“my brother here’as decided to make a grand entrance!” tommy says, slapping a mittened hand across his back. you shake his stranger’s hand and give him your name, hoping your little smile doesn’t give away how awful it felt for him to look this way.

“joel,” he musters (and it really does seem like it takes a mustering), and gives your hand a firm shake before stuffing them back in his pockets. he is disinterested, surely, but afraid, too. it almost hurts you how clear his prevailing apprehension is, and you nearly make to apologize for forcing him to introduce himself. his eyes squint in the golden light cast over jackson.

“i work in the greenhouse, a few blocks from here on the edge of the settlement,” you explain, eyes drifting between joel and his little shadow, who both joel and tommy have yet to introduce. she looks a little feral, and this endears you immediately to her. “welcome in,” you offer, and you do your best to direct this message to her from around joel’s shoulder. her eyes are so big for a thing so ferocious (and you are certain she is) and they widen further at your acknowledgment of her.

“we won’t be here for long,” joel grumbles out and you straighten back up. he says it like you’ve offended him, and you bristle a little. tommy’s beautiful stranger is very guarded, you decide. regardless, the width of him, from left to right, blocks the mountain range behind him, and the patchy scruff along his jaw makes you die a little death.

“alright, well,” you start to back away then, feeling increasingly overwhelmed by his face and his broadness and this little girl who looks and moves like you used to, “you know where to find me,” and you nod a little to tommy before turning and walking away. you lasted all but five seconds in front of him, relishing in how little you were in his shadow cast upon you and loving whatever creature the girl he brought with him was, but all the same he looked too tired and cautious and vicious that it suffocated you. he wouldn’t be here for long, apparently; you’ll likely never see him again. as you step towards your little house, you figure it was worth the meeting, if for nothing else than a face to keep you company in the dark when you’re a woman and alone, and a real image to pair with the descriptions tommy gave of a brother who loved him once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

for a while, it seemed you really wouldn’t see joel again. you watched, through your greenhouse walls, the great expanse of him ride out with the girl, and you were left with the comfort of knowing how gorgeous you found him and that you would never have to speak with him again. you warded off your own psychoanalysis of your relief at his faraway-ness in the face of your immediate physical attraction to him, and sunk your fingers again in the soil.

but then he had returned. what with how consoled you felt at his leaving, he almost had to; fate was funny this way. but you figure, still, you needn’t disturb yourself with him. you imagined he’d keep to himself with how unspeaking he was when you first met him, and other than crossing his path every once in a while, leaving tommy’s house or marching himself along somewhere or other, you were right.

you think of him at night, though. in the morning you wake up with the shame and hilarity of it, of this lusting over a man you neither know nor want to know, but past midnight in your bed you let your fingers slip over yourself thinking of how small he’d made you feel. the wanting of him strikes you somewhere between your shoulder blades, and you blame it entirely on how long it had been since you shared your bed with anyone. strictly physical, strictly physical. you’d learned again to care for yourself these years in jackson, and you’d wrought kinship from tommy and noah without realizing it, but in all you attend mostly to flora, and in this you are protected. yes, joel keeps to himself as you surmised he would, but you avoid him, too; to want him in this way, all hands and hips and somewhere within you, is harmless, you determine, so long as he stays tommy’s stranger. he could never be anything or anyone to you.

it’s six weeks or so of joel’s continued disinterest in you, and your insistent avoidance of him (barring the way you touched yourself at night to his face), before a knock at your door past sunset brings you out of bed. people rarely appear at your doorstep, though you imagine it’s noah dropping off seeds found on patrol, or tommy with a similar sort of package, or even ellie, joel’s little creature, who’d spoken all but five words to you about your garden, but all the same materialized rather often there to see the colors of your little fruits. but when maria blinks back at you when you open the door, any semblance of a greeting dies in the back of your throat.

“can i come in?” maria asks, although she’s already leaning her shoulder towards the gap between your body and the doorway. you step aside to let her through. it occurs to you that maria has never visited you in your home before, not in your five years in jackson, and when she turns back to you, back pressed against your kitchen counter, it’s clear she’s just had the same thought. the way she crosses her arms over her chest, the authority of it and the terror, too, beckons you toward her from your place at the threshold.

“is everything okay?” you sigh out as you prop your hip against the adjacent table top. she is inspecting you, but smiles.

“yeah, yeah.” one of you sniffs. you shift your weight. “i came to see what you thought of joel.”

you almost laugh then, really laugh. “i don’t think anything of joel.”

she rolls this answer around behind her teeth. “mhm,” and then this time with finality, “mhm”.

you inspect her, now. “you don’t want him here.” it isn’t a question.

maria hums. “tommy wants him here.”

“that isn’t what i said.”

she purses her lips a moment. “yeah, i know.”

and you’re making the moment torturous for her, you’re certain, because you know why she’s come to you, why she’s standing in your kitchen like the elected leader she is, while something awful, something almost like alarm, leaks from the back of her neck onto your floorboards. you’d come to jackson a wild thing and she’d tamed you, and now you lived as a dirt woman who sunk her dagger into earth and green and life more permanent than humanity. she is proud of this, you think. and joel came as much of the same, with red hands that opened dripping, and maria needs him watched now the same way she watched you through your garden’s glass. you sigh again.

“what do you want me to do, maria? anything i’d say to tommy would be infinitely more effective from you.”

maria nods. “i don’t want you to say anything to tommy. i can live with joel in jackson. but he’s insisting on patrol, and i don’t know who else to put with him.”

your jaw seizes, and the heat of anger spreads itself along your neck and around your ears. you remember when you’d pleaded so kindly, crouching to make yourself smaller, hands collapsed together, begging to be useful, to be put outside, to protect jackson like it was yours. maria was as honest with you then as she is now, and she’d cited your instability (the reality of which is neither here nor there) to keep you off the rounds. you’d told tommy maria envisioned your actions before jackson as far more unforgivable than they were, though you knew that was a lie before you opened your mouth to say it. “patrol?”

she looks so solemnly at you you think you might die right there between your kitchen and the staircase. “yeah. i want you to be his patrol partner. i’m not looking to send him out there with a gun strapped to his back with one of the other gu-”

“and why does it have to be me?” and you’re really angry, now. for your unyielding quiet in this jackson existence you’d sewn together and the little strawberry you’d grown from nothing, still, still, you were at most and at least a violence. “why can’t you assign someone else?”

maria has this answer constructed already, it seems, for how fast she releases it, “because you’ll kill him.”

“noah would, if he had to. and leila. i can think of at least fi-”

“i’m not saying you would kill him. i’m saying you could.”

and suddenly you were again a wasp or spider, poisonous and unthinking, and the weight of the killing you did before jackson, which you had halfway successfully ignored to piece yourself into something good, perched its chin on the crown of your head. your father’s knife, laying up next to your bed after what was now years of tending to vegetables and stalks and leaves, howled with laughter, and it carried down the stairs to you like wind in summer, leadened and screaming and satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i hope you enjoyed this first part! like i said in my authors note, this is my first time writing a piece like this and certainly my first time posting it, so kindness is much appreciated, as is constructive criticism. part 2 coming (hopefully) soon🍓

update: chapter ii!!

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

YOU LITERALLY SAVED MY LIFE

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing(s): Dark!JJ x Reader, Sarah x Reader, Rafe x Reader

Warnings: domestic abuse, physical abuse, strangling, gaslighting, alcohol, mentions of blood, toxic relationship, controlling behavior, trauma, rape, 18+

Summary: Y/n trusted JJ, who initially seemed to be the love of her life, but ultimately became the source of her deepest fears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 2 - Humiliated

Weeks passed, and he apologized for causing you to miss your best friend's birthday, but there was no acknowledgment of the injuries he had inflicted.

He then continued, insisting that some guys were coming over for poker and he needed his "lucky charm" there to serve drinks.

His tone grew ominous as he warned that if you didn't dress the part and comply, what happened last time might repeat itself—a threat laced with a chilling promise of violence.

-

Fear gripped you as you realized the extent of his control and the danger of defying him. He grabbed a shopping bag from the wardrobe and hurled it at you, insisting that you wear its contents tonight, with a stern warning: "I don't want to hear any complaints."

The bag hit you with a thud, its weight symbolic of the suffocating control he exerted over every aspect of your life.

You reluctantly took the outfit out of the bag, your heart sinking as you revealed a costume that was shockingly revealing, clearly not meant to be worn in front of others.

Dread washed over you, realizing that JJ expected you to wear this in front of his friends, a humiliating display that would strip away whatever dignity you had left. As you held the costume up, its provocative design mocked your discomfort.

The neckline plunged dangerously low, the hemline scandalously high. It felt like a costume meant to objectify, not to celebrate. Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined the leering gazes, the crude comments you might endure.

JJ's insistence echoed in your mind: "I don't want to hear any complaints." His words were a command, a reminder of the consequences if you dared to defy him.

When the boys arrived for the game, JJ proudly announced, "We have our very own waitress joining us tonight." His voice was laced with a smug satisfaction that sent a shiver down your spine. The men's eyes immediately fixated on you, their gazes predatory and full of crude desire.

"Damn, JJ, you really know how to pick 'em," one of them leered, his tone thick with innuendo.

Another chimed in, "I'll take a drink... and a lap dance," eliciting boisterous laughter from the others.

You felt exposed and objectified as they made lewd comments about your appearance, their words dripping with misogyny and entitlement. JJ stood by, his grin widening with each degrading remark, reveling in your discomfort.

As you moved around the room, trying to ignore their advances, their hands occasionally brushed against you, sending a jolt of revulsion through your body. It was a nightmarish blur of suggestive remarks, lingering touches, and the sickening realization that you were nothing more than an object for their amusement.

As the game progressed, JJ's mood darkened with every losing hand. He grew increasingly frustrated, his temper simmering just beneath the surface. "Get me another drink," he barked at you, his tone sharp and demanding. When you moved too slowly for his liking, his hand slapped your ass leaving a red mark behind. 

JJ's losing streak continued. His frustration turned to outright anger, the tension in the room growing thicker with each lost hand. Finally, the game reached its brutal conclusion: JJ lost. He owed more money than he could afford, and his friends were not willing to let it slide.

"You gotta pay up, man," one of them said, his voice demanding and unyielding.

JJ's eyes flicked to you, a dark idea forming in his mind. "I don't have the cash right now, but I can offer something else," he said, a sinister edge to his voice.

The room fell silent as the men exchanged glances, understanding dawning on their faces. "What are you talking about?" one of them asked, though the predatory gleam in his eyes showed he already knew.

JJ looked at you, a cruel smile curling his lips. "How about you entertain them for a while?" he suggested, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart plummeted, a sickening realization washing over you. The men began to murmur in approval, their gazes turning even more predatory. JJ's betrayal was complete, his desperation and cruelty pushing him to offer you up as payment.

You stood frozen, a wave of dread crashing over you as the men advanced, their intentions clear. They closed in around you, their hands reaching out, grasping, pulling you into their circle. Their words were a cacophony of lewd suggestions and vile laughter, each one more demeaning than the last.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's see what you can do," one of them sneered, his hand roughly grabbing your arm.

Another man whispered something filthy in your ear, his breath hot and rancid against your skin. "You're gonna have to work off JJ's debt," he chuckled, his hand sliding down your back, making you shiver with revulsion.

JJ watched from the sidelines, a twisted smirk on his face as you were pulled into their midst.

As JJ walked away, his cruel laughter echoing in your ears, the reality of your situation sank in deeper. He had left you there, defenseless and at the mercy of these men.

The cold, hard truth hit you like a sledgehammer: JJ didn't care about you. He never had. You were just a pawn in his twisted game, a tool to be used and discarded.

One of the guys pushed you down to your knees, his grip on your shoulders firm and unyielding. "On your knees, sweetheart," he ordered, his voice dripping with condescension. You felt the cold, hard floor beneath you, the sense of helplessness overwhelming. You fought the urge to scream, knowing it would only amuse them more.

The men's hands were all over you now, their touch invasive and demeaning. You could hear JJ in the background, talking on the phone as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"Yeah, we're just having a little fun," he said casually, the sound of his voice making your skin crawl. One of the guys unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He pulled down his boxers, and his cock sprang free.

He stroked it a few times, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory gleam. "Open your mouth," he ordered. You shook your head, refusing to comply, but the others grabbed your hair and forced your jaw open, their grips painful and relentless.

The man moved closer, his intentions clear and disgusting. You tried to pull away, but they held you in place, their laughter and taunts echoing around you. You felt utterly trapped, the sense of violation and helplessness overwhelming.

His cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around him, which he loved. He fucked himself into your mouth at an unforgiving pace, leaving drool running down your chin.

The room filled with their crude comments and laughter as he continued to thrust into your mouth, your eyes watering from the lack of air and the force of his movements. You could hear JJ in the background, his voice mixing with the others as he encouraged their actions, further cementing his betrayal.

"That's right, take it all," one of them jeered, his hand tightening in your hair.

Another chimed in, "She looks so good like this, doesn't she?"

JJ's voice cut through the din, cold and detached. "See? She's good for something after all."

The man in front of you thrust harder, making you choke and gag. The sensation was unbearable, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming you as tears streamed down your face. The taste and smell were revolting, but there was no escape, no way to break free from their grasp.

As he continued, the others watched with sick fascination, their eyes gleaming with perverse delight. You could feel their hands on your body, groping and squeezing, adding to the humiliation and degradation. Each second felt like an eternity, the nightmare stretching on without end.

After he had unloaded himself in your mouth, he pulled you off and roughly picked you up, placing you on the table, pushing the poker chips out of the way.

You felt the hard surface beneath you as your heart pounded with fear and humiliation. He looked at JJ with a twisted grin and asked, "Can I get her wet?" JJ, lounging back with a drink in his hand, shrugged nonchalantly. 

"You can use her any way you want." The words sent a shiver of dread through you. The man flipped your skirt up and tore your panties away with a vicious yank, exposing you to the leering eyes of everyone in the room. You tried to close your legs, but the men held you down, their grips like iron. "Look at that, boys," one of them said, his voice dripping with lust. 

"She's dripping wet and all ours tonight." The man who had you on the table leaned in, his breath hot and rancid against your skin. He spread your legs apart, ignoring your struggles and pleas.

"Let's see how tight she is," he said with a cruel chuckle, running his fingers along your most private areas, the sensation making your skin crawl. He didn't wait for you to respond; his fingers invaded you, exploring with a roughness that brought tears to your eyes.

The others watched with twisted enjoyment, their laughter and crude comments filling the room. Your body trembled with a mix of fear, shame, and pain, your mind screaming for this nightmare to end. JJ looked on, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped his drink. 

"Enjoy her, boys. She’s feel so good.” The man's fingers were soon replaced by something far worse. He positioned himself between your legs, his weight pressing you into the table, making it hard to breathe.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered in your ear, his voice laced with sadistic glee. "I'll make sure you feel every inch." The violation was excruciating, every thrust a reminder of your helplessness. The men around you egged him on, their words a barrage of filth that assaulted your ears. Your cries were drowned out by their laughter, your pleas for mercy ignored.

As he continued to use you, your mind struggled to dissociate from the horror, to find some corner of peace amidst the chaos. But the pain and humiliation were relentless, dragging you back to the cold, harsh reality of your situation.

In that moment, surrounded by predators you felt betrayed by the one person who should have protected you.

[olderthannetfic]

Nearly 75% of fic on AO3 has less than 5 reader comments. Can we please acknowledge that lack of engagement in a positive fashion is the norm in fandom and that writers are expected to work for nothing in return yet readers are allowed to be entitled?

The source of my number

https://www.tumblr.com/transholmes/738776926733336576/and-even-those-numbers-on-the-lower-end-are

--

Hahahahaha.

Oh, anon.

Okay, first of all, I just posted a bunch of graphs showing exactly this, so not only am I well aware of it, but you also clearly don't read my tumblr much and are just here because some friend of yours is upset that I responded negatively to them about their dumb bookmarking opinions.

Second and more importantly...

No, no one is expected to do anything.

That's crazypants influencer talk where you think your hobbies are jobs that you have no choice about doing.

I suppose I do expect fans to have something at least marginally worthwhile to say—or else I'll block them for being whiny little bitches who make my day dumber as well as less amusing.

But mostly, what I expect is that people will do hobbies because they are fun. If I ever decide that writing fic is too boring, I will stop.

I write because it's fun.

I write original work for money too, and if you want to read that, you're going to have to pay Amazon your cold, hard cash. But I still do it because I enjoy the actual act of writing... at least a lot of the time.

What I see in the bookmark boo-hooing is a bunch of people who haven't noticed the last eighty thousand rounds of this same dumb wank and who not only expect to get the last word but expect that somehow I'm going to signal boost it on my tumblr as that... a tumblr known for contentious debates and nobody ever getting the last word till everyone's exhausted and never wants to hear about paper plates or beans again.

I also see that some of the thinnest-skinned people have fic patreons.

Now, I chose not to bring this up before because it sounds a bit below the belt in that "And thus you're morally impure and thus I can ignore your argument" way... But it's a consistent pattern in these conversations over time, and I do think it's relevant. The biggest sensitive babies are always the ones most afraid of bad reviews but also low engagement, and I think it's because they're caught in some half-pro, half-not limbo where they want the best of both worlds but keep getting the worst of both.

If you behave like a professional who is owed compensation, you can expect a more professional style of response to your work.

And what does the pro world look like? Radio silence. The occasional harsh review. Nobody caring why you wanted to write X or why you couldn't finish Y on time.

If you're here to socialize, you should look for a beta or a couple of good friends who like your blorbos and your style of fic, and then you can squee together about what you've written. It may not come in the form of visible AO3 comments. It may be in private chat.

In some cases, it may just be friends you can talk to about your writing but who aren't actually going to read it. I have plenty of friends who read different things than what I write.

That's what socializing and hobbies look like, dude.

It's fine to point out that many writers do get discouraged by low comment counts and then stop, so if I, as a reader in a fandom, want more, it behooves me to befriend writers and make them feel good.

But at the same time, writers get discouraged or move on to the next fandom all the time for all kinds of reasons. If the critical mass and the zeitgeist aren't there, then they aren't.

Do your hobbies for reasons internal to you.

If the main point is external validation, get into BDSM and find someone excited to indulge your praise kink. It will work a lot better than chasing fame via art.

[samicakes-exe]

Hi, I loved the hatefucking jtk fic and I was wondering if you could do a part 2 where maybe he is jealous about something happening between the reader and someone else and he "reminds" the reader who she belongs to; or maybe into a crazy discussion jeff throatfuck the reader ( I'm sorry for being a lewd bitch and my lack in fantasy but your writing is so well done and is my first time requesting someone so feel free to consider or not my request :3 ) take care <3

AHHH! I am so happy that I am ur first request! and I hope that I make you proud hun! Also Dont apologize for being a lewd bitch! Lewd bitches are welcomed here!!! am very excited to make the Jeff fic into a little series! so without further ado here is the fic! going to start these specific type of fics with the title!

OKAY SO I MAY HAVE STORED THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY- um so imma just release it without editing it sooooo sorry to the jeff fuckers i’ll get better food to you soon pls 🧎‍♀️

words:

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? <3

(throat-fucking version!)

warning: Jealous toxic toxic Jeff. Roughness, dub-con???? probs dub-con im so sorry (maybe non-con i dunno i wanna make sure!!), a little bit of angst, tears, Public like you could get caught, throat-fucking, Jeff pushes your head. Afab reader, use of feminine pet names, only Jeff getting off. V toxic, Jeff is sweet at the end???, light aftercare, arguing/fighting, Barely edited rip

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕝𝕚𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕒 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨:

Jeff is a man of many words (mostly insults) BUT my boy shuts up when his feelings are hurt.

You two's relationship is complicated.

Not quite boyfriend and girlfriend but also not only fuck buddies.

He feels entitled to you.

Sooo seeing you flirt with any other guy in the house sends him over the edge.

He wont confront you out right since he doesn't want anyone else in the house knowing he stands you.

So usually he grabs you when the others are busy- taking you off to a secret corner to have some fun

or HE WILL IGNORE YOU FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!

honestly it's a 50/50 chance

Tonight wasn't any different to the small hang outs the creeps occasionally do:

Tim and Brian managed to get their hands on some cases of beer.

BEN is playing music from his "perfected" party playlist

and everyone is having a good time!

except Jeff :(

He's watching you closely from across the living room, his grip on the red solo cup was tight.

You were in the corner with EJ, talking about whatever.

It didn't matter to him.

The lingering touches of Jack's arms.

How you stared up at him, batting your eyes.

How your giggles lasted a little while longer

You couldnt stop smiling

He hated it

He watched EJ slipped away and went over to grab another beer So Jeff made his way to you.

You weren't aware of him until he had his hand wrapped around your arm and roughly pulling you away.

★★★

𝕆𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥!!!

The crowd was thinning out leaving red solo cups littering the floor. The music still pumped from a small speaker resting up on a bookshelf. There was BEN and LJ still hanging around near the drinks. A couple of other creeps spread out between you and Jeff.

He's kept an eye on you the entire night but now paying closer attention, You were curled up in the corner of the living room with Eyeless Jack close by chatting among yourselves with the same cheap beer in hand.

It put a sour taste in Jeff's mouth.

It was clockwork with every assumed joke, you giggled and playfully touched his arm and it lingered there before falling to your side. Jeff's jaw clenched, teeth pressing against teeth tightly.

Another joke and you were touching him again. This time on his upper arm, a smile stretched wide across your face as you nodded your excited agreement to whatever he said. Jeff couldn't hear over the music playing but the pit in his stomach grew with how long the touch was. He counted the seconds with how tense his jaw gotten by the time your hand dropped back to your side, it was clicking.

Jeff put the cup to his lips and swallowed the last bit of beer, swishing around in his mouth beforehand.

The solo cup ended up being tossed on the couch with a collection of others.

He couldn't pull his eyes away from you for long, watching how innocently you were batting your eyes up at EJ, leaning ever so closer when he spoke.

Whenever Eyeless Jack pulled away however, excusing himself to grab another lukewarm beer. A small pout pulled at the ends of your lips watching him now leave and talk with both LJ and BEN.

At the moment with the rest of the creeps distracted, Jeff strolled up to you and without a word he pulled you by the arm to the hallway.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, keeping his voice hushed.

"What do you mean what I'm doing?" You asked mimicking the same tone as he was.

"Trying to fuck Jack." He said pointedly.

"Trying to... fuck.. Jack" You repeated it slowly, blinking blankly each time. "I can't have friends now?"

"Y/N Fuck off with that friends bullshit."

"Jeff we're not together." You reminded him. He was slowly starting to get on your nerves now, he always worked you up like this no matter what.

Jeff's squeezed his jaw tight, you were right and how he fucking hated it.

"Knees."

"Excuse me?"

"On your knees now, Y/N"

"As if Jeff... You know you're a real piece of wor-" You were cut off by him shoving you down, your knees buried in the itchy carpet.

"Shut up." He ordered, he wound your hair in his fist pulling it back to force eye contact. "We might not be together but I'm the only one that fucks you, got it?"

"Fuck you." You spat.

"Already did doll, so has every other guy in the house apparently."

You rolled your eyes but stayed on your knees. The bickering starting a warmth between your thighs which made you stay put right where you were. You watched him look around over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before his free hand went to his dress pants and fumbled around with the zipper.

You couldnt help but to giggle under your breath which made him yank your hair back.

"Shut up." Despite being a whisper his tone was harsh. With enough effort he finally pulled his hardening cock out of his jeans. "And open that pretty little mouth for me."

You stared up at him with your mouth shut tight and a cocky smile that pulled on your lips. You innocently bat your eyelashes up at him, watching his eyes narrowed.

"I'll make you." He threatened, his grip on your hair got tighter, the nails of his ever so slightly digging into your scalp.

You stayed staring up at him with your mouth tightly shut.

"I warned you." He muttered, a hand of his going and plugging your nose tightly.

Your eyes flew opened and you tried to keep your mouth shut for the longest time but you felt a deep burn build up to your lungs. Holding it in was making the burn climb up your throat. Finally you gave in, opening your mouth and taking the first greedy breath in.

"Good girl." Jeff chimed, and he quickly pushed his cock into your open mouth, pushing about halfway in. "Was that so hard?"

You looked up at him with your eyes narrowed and he reqarded your mean stare with another shallow thrust of his hips. He leaned his head back and moaned softly, forcing your mouth deeper on his cock.

You placed both hands on his thighs while gagging around his cock, eyes watering up when he hit the back of your throat with one deep push of his hips.

He looked back down at you, seeing how red your face has gotten only spurred him on, He quickened his thrusts into your mouth leaving you sitting and drooling all over his cock.

"God Doll." He moaned, pushing your head to meet with his thrusts. "I forgive you~ I forgive you~" He whispered cocky sorrys while he filled your throat.

He watched you drool on his cock, face red and a couple of tears cutting a cold line in them. You dug your nails into his thighs while you held on.

He wasn't going to last long, not that he cared.

"Oh fuck!" He whined out softly, now struggling to keep his voice low. He fucked your mouth faster, holding onto your head with both hands as he was nearing his release. He whispered out many intelligible praises and curses. "Cumming!" He grunted out.

With one final thrust deep in your throat he finally came, letting out soft moans as he gently pumped your mouth to make sure you had every last drop. Soon he pulled out, looking down at you. A cocky smile against his carved one.

"Was i to rough on you doll?" He asked, shoving himself back into his pants and zipping up before leaning down and offering you a hand.

You took it and he pulled you up. "No.. Could warn me next time." You laughed.

"Where's the fun in that?"

[elliesmainhoe]

You deserve more

Ellie Williams x fem!reader (modern!au)

Summary: after you caught your boyfriend making out with another girl at a bar, you call Ellie for a ride home.

Content: cheating, slight angst, fluff fluff fluff and more fluff, gay panic, a bit of internalised homophobia, comfort, pining, confessions, kissing.❤️

My Masterlist

God. This shit was not helping your mental state. Tears streaming down red cheeks, blood shot eyes and puffy lips as you walked down the road trying desperately to get away from that bar.

Ankles throbbing in pain as your heels fell into a rhythmic shuffle on the slippery pavement, dodging puddles occasionally due to the current downpour of rain. Sobs crept up your throat begging to be released but you swallowed them down. Men like him don't deserve your tears, men don't deserve tears at all, stuck up entitled dicks.

The image of your (now ex) boyfriend of 4 months sloppily making out with a beautiful, gorgeous girl infuriated you in so many ways. One of those being that you were jealous, not of her, but of him. The intrusive thought of kissing that beautiful blonde in a green dress creeping into your mind but leaving just as quickly as it came. Another is that it was Ingrained in your head as much as the blonde in the green dress was beautiful and perfect all from just the quick glance you saw of her, the thought of someone else sharing a kiss with you slipped into your mind.

Shaking your head to rid those unnecessary thoughts as cars flew past you on the road causing you to stumble slightly, your thin square toe heels giving up beneath you, your body collapsing on to the wet cold concrete. A whimper left your lips at the harsh impact as a stab of pain ran up your ankle into your legs.

You don't know why you did this to yourself, having come to the conclusion that heels were invented for sadists by masochists and were a torture device that slowly eliminated any ankle support you posses, years ago.

But here you are sitting on the dirty floor by the side of a road you couldn't name, unable to get up, drenched tangled hair, running makeup and snotty nose. Grabbing your phone you gazed at the screen.

"Shit"

A large crack split your screen in half, nervousness now increasing and your hands shake as you press the on button.

The light flickers on and a verbal sigh leaves your lips, a small smile grazes your lips at the photos of you and Ellie in a photo booth showing off cheesy grins and back to back, you swipe to your contacts and your fingers hover over the contact.

'Ells ❤️💪⭐🧟🚀🦕🦖👨‍🚀🔭'

The contact name remained the same from the day you first met, the coffee shop where she spilt her hot chocolate all over your new flowy white dress and patchwork jacket. One thing lead to another and she offered to pay for a new dress, which lead to a trip to the mall, and then the park and then a new Mexican resteraunt that opened downtown and the rest was history.

You have been best friends for three years, knowing eachother a little too much for comfort. Ellie always knew if something you did wouldn't work out or not, it was slightly unnerving but you tried not dwell on it too much.

Ellie always said that dating that 'ass hat' was a bad idea, and to be honest, I knew that too. But my feelings were getting too much and the adoration couldn't be applied to Ellie in a platonic way anymore, so I had to find someone else to love. The hurt of not feeling comfortable with any pretty girl let alone the hottest woman who had ever walked the earth (who just happened to be your best friend) fucking sucked.

Ellie was so perfect, her beautiful fucking smile, her soft eyes, her plush lips, her gorgeous hands, her laugh, her humour. She was your everything. She was so unapologetically herself, so open about her sexuality, her up bringing, you envied her.

You were the peak idea of femininity and you hated it, always dating the athletic boys, clad in pink and dresses, always wearing makeup, you were quiet, smart and pretty. You never liked the boys you dated, always analysing them and picking a half decent boy to date just so you wouldn't rouse suspision.

A loud van drove past music blasting as your head came back to your current situation, your fingers trembled as the cold of the wind had began getting you and you clicked on her name and keyboard smash of emojis.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

"hey, what's up?" A gravely voice traveled out your phone speaker, sleep evident in her voice. "did I wake you I'm, uh, I'm sorry." You say trying to seem as normal as you could, although the hoarse voice and sniffs said otherwise.

"Oh what did that fucker do now, do you want me to beat him up? You know I will if you give me the word" she says seemingly more awake."I uh, don't want to talk about it right now Ells, can you come pick me up, I slipped and rolled my ankle. Can't get home. I don't know the road I'm on but it's opposite the salons parking lot." You sniff as you look around your surroundings trying to find a landmark so Ellie could come find you.

"Got it. I'll be there in ten, stay safe till I get there, yeah?" "yeah, see you in a bit Ells"

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

And as promised when the time finally went from 1:43 to 1:53, a red pickup truck pulled up and Ellie got out the driver's side picking you up from the floor clad in a grey hoodie and matching sweats, hair pulled up messily and concern etched upon her features. God, she was so beautiful.

She opened the passenger door, not yet saying a word and put you down on the seat, leaning over to buckle you up, seemingly forgetting it was just your leg you couldn't move not your arms. Hot air drifted out of the trucks dashboard and you closed your eyes letting the warmth consume your being, and eventually your shaking body slowly eased.

The rumble of the old trucks engine brought you back to reality, eyes zeroing onto Ellie's face, worry obvious on her face but you could tell she was holding back, trying not to impose.

"I found AssHat making out with this blonde chick at the bar on fourth street" you say bluntly and emotionlessly. Your ability to cry had now been used up and tears could no longer physically form.

"what the actual fuck, he was so lucky he even got a chance with you and he wasted it just like that! You're so hot, way to hot for him and he wasted that. Ungrateful shitbag... On a serious note though... You good? " She says looking into the rearview mirror at your expressionless face.

Shrugging "I don't know Ells. I'm so confused, I don't know what I feel, I'm sad but I'm not sad. I fucking hate it. Jus' wanna go home" she hummed in acknowledgement.

"you wanna stay over tonight, pretty girl?, got loads of junk food you can binge eat and theres a few films I've been meaning to watch with you, could make you feel a bit better." "I'd really like that Ells, thanks" you say, a smile gracing your face at the nickname making Ellie smile back at you.

"never a problem for you, gorgeous"

----------

Thirty minutes into a shitty horror film about a haunted house and some creepy ass poltergeists that Ellie seemed far to enamoured with, a small smile graced your face when you looked at her, Ellie made everything better, just her presence made anything and everything clear for you.

Ellie felt your gaze burn into the side of her face, but she didn't move to look at you. She had been thinking about what to say to you. It was weird... You just got cheated on and yeah you seem a little down, but right now you seem quite contempt, bundled up under a cocoon of blankets on her cheap second hand leather couch and gazing at her. You were so beautiful, inside and out.

She couldn't understand men. Why would they let such a beautiful, stunning, funny, amazing girl like you down. Ellie always thought about your shitty ex boyfriends, scoffing as she recalled horror stories you told her about. She would treat you so much better, she'd show you off to everyone, be so affectionate, cheer you up when you're upset, cook you breakfast in the morning, buy you flowers unprompted.

Fuck it.

"Hey Y/N..." She whispers still looking at the TV screen, scared to meet your eyes... your mesmerising eyes. She received a soft hum in response, telling her to continue.

"we've been friends for years now and I can't imagine my life without you. I know I seem like I have my shit together, but without you I would be so hopeless, so lost. You're such a wonderful person and so so beautiful, and you deserve someone who values that just as much as I do. And whatever boy ends up being that for you, who wins your heart, is so so so fucking lucky."

She finally looks at you, your eyes wide and watering, a small meek smile painted on your lips, you were suddenly so close to her, you bite down on your lip softly preparing yourself for what you want to say.

"oh Ellie... I don't want a boy, he can't have my heart. I want you Ellie, in every way possible, I want you to brush your hands through my hair, I want to steal your hoodies, I want to kiss you and hug you and love you. Your all I've ever wanted" you said, you were both so close now, centimeters away from eachother.

Ellie tilted her head and softly attached her lips with yours her hand going towards the back of your head pulling you in closer, you could feel her smile through the kiss, her lips were so soft and you could taste the vanilla ice-cream that still lingered on her lips. The kiss was soft, gentle and every once in a while you would break apart, Ellie mumbled words like "pretty, baby, mine", whether it was mumbled when they left her mouth or became incoherent when they reached your hazy mine is unknown.

Her hands softly combed through your hair, detangling and plaiting, your hand rested on her cheek rubbing circles on her skin. A sudden laugh startled you as you looked up at the blushing brunette you were now straddling.

"God that was so fucking cheesy" she laughed, and you joined in.

"well at least we're self aware" you said back a stupid smile on your face.

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

Omg. My first fic ever and I don't think I like it 💀. But anything for Ellie(the love of my life). Anyways I hope you enjoyed the very basic fic you just read, constructive criticism and requests are appreciated.

PROOF READ

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Four

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 6822 Rating: General Summary: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected... Content Warnings:  None! Author's Note: This was fun to write. Middle pic is one I took in a panel at SWC last year, just to set the scene. Din was down bad from minute one and honestly it's very cute to see him so flustered 🥺!! Also adorable how similar their experiences/reactions to the convention were! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I can't wait to post the next chapter, hopefully coming on Sunday :) Thanks again @suresnips for being my beta! I appreciate your help so, so much ♡

4. Curiosity Killed The Cat (Din's POV)

To an observer with no background knowledge of Star Wars or its fandom, it would appear that most of The Mandalorian panel's attendees were merely a little bored. However, someone more familiar with the Star Wars world may have realised that the audience had been expecting something more profound. Maybe they had been hoping for some character analysis of the titular character or to participate in a larger discussion on how the show slotted into the wider Star Wars galaxy during this talk. After all, the panel was entitled: ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’

Instead, anyone who had sought out this panel surely would have found themselves bitterly disappointed, as the host had reduced The Mandalorian to nothing more than its violent action scenes. The host appeared to have a fixation on the fighting which occasionally took place in the show, at the expense of all other elements. 

Perhaps that was the reason why the audience, on the whole, looked so incredibly bored. Even one attendee, wearing an almost unbelievably realistic cosplay, seemed more entertained by the seams of his gloves than anything the panel had to say about the show he was surely such a huge fan of. His helmet was bowed towards the floor as his leg bounced up and down repeatedly, a sure sign of his restlessness and his keenness for this panel to be over so he could continue his day at the convention.

To outside observers – whether they knew everything about Star Wars or nothing at all – the man dressed in full Mandalorian armour was possibly one of the biggest fans of the show. After all, he had replicated Mando's costume in painstaking detail; it must have taken an unbelievable amount of effort and hours, borne out of the intense love for The Mandalorian that he surely had.

But Din Djarin was not a cosplayer… his armour was not a costume.

The suit that he wore had not been crafted due to his undying love for Star Wars, it had been cast in Beskar, according to ancient traditions, at a forge by the golden-haired woman who served as The Armorer for his tribe.

It felt strange to Din for him to sit there and be spoken about as if he was not present. Of course, to everyone else in the room, the notion of Mando being in the room with them seemed as likely to happen as it was for pigs everywhere to spontaneously begin flying. To all other attendees, Din had just cosplayed as his favourite character. Everyone else in the room did not have the faintest idea that they were in fact in the presence of the man behind the character they all loved. While the assembled group enjoyed Mando enough that they had made their way to the far corner of the enormous convention hall for this panel, they didn’t know that sitting amongst them was the man who portrayed the Star Wars character that they loved so much. Nor that the armour that they had seen so many times on their screens was right there, beside them. Close enough to touch, if they wanted to.

The thought of being amongst so many super fans almost dissuaded Din from attending this panel, which had caught his eye. After deciding to attend the convention the previous evening, Din had used his laptop to search through the events for the day as he lounged on the couch in his cottage, Grogu playing on the rug beside him. This particular panel had instantly stuck out to him, above all others that were advertised. Din had always harboured a curiosity about what The Mandalorian meant to people. But it was perhaps a more selfish interest that had motivated him to seek out this panel in particular: Din wanted to know whether the fans had any idea about his identity.

Din had intended to sneak in and hover at the back and watch the panel from there before exiting as discreetly as he entered. But things had not gone according to that plan at all. Din had never attended an event as enormous as this and had no idea how it worked – he felt out of his depth. It was a feeling he was unused to and uncomfortable with, as Din always liked to be in control and have a plan. 

Ironically, it was the very show which was being discussed that had first put cracks into his careful, considered nature. Relinquishing some of that control in signing up to be The Mandalorian had been difficult for Din, as he was required to be on set for a strict filming schedule in a brand new country. The stability and money that had been offered was something Din had struggled to refuse, especially given the fact he now had an extra mouth to feed.

But as Din sat there in the room where the panel was being held, he knew that coming here had all been one gigantic, terrible mistake. It was a stupid, nonsensical idea. It had been nothing more than a rush of blood to the head, Din just hoped he would be able to leave again having remained undetected. There was an old saying that Din had heard many times: ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ Now, Din felt as though he finally understood that phrase. 

Din was furious with himself that he had put himself in the position to hear such harsh words about the show after he had tried so hard to keep himself away from all of the attention portraying a lead role in a Star Wars show brought. For a man who was usually so calculating and meticulous in his actions, this had surely been the most foolish decision that Din had made in a long while.

Even worse than Din's decision to attend this panel, he mused, was his decision to attend the convention wearing his armour. Being surrounded by superfans made Din keenly aware that if any one of their gaze were to linger long enough, perhaps they would realise that his armour was not merely a highly impressive cosplay. So in a bid to distract himself and calm his racing heart, he began fiddling with the stitching of the tips of his mustard-coloured gloves. It was a sign of the acute anxiety that he was currently enduring, but to anyone watching, his fidgeting probably indicated sheer boredom. 

Din mentally kicked himself for the ridiculous decision to attend the convention wearing his armour. The choice had made the entire event even more anxiety-inducing than it needed to be. Din lamented the fact that he could have come here with Grogu and simply blended in with the thousands of other families bringing their children to the convention for a fun-filled day. True, it would have still been an overwhelming experience and Grogu may have struggled with the crowds, but at least then, Din wouldn’t have had to constantly fear his identity being exposed when someone realised that his armour was a little too screen-realistic to be a simple cosplay. 

Indeed, it was the skill and dedication of other fans that had initially eased Din’s fears of detection when he had walked into the crowded hall and began moving with the sea of people to an unknown destination up ahead. Even if he wanted to choose his path, there was no way to; Din was lost amongst the endless sea of people. As he travelled down the main hall, his mouth felt dry underneath the helmet and his heart thundered in his chest as he had no idea where he was going. But once he had made it to the side and stopped briefly to orient himself, Din realised just how many fans there were cosplaying as Mando.

Din had been stunned by the many amazing cosplays he had seen. After collecting his nerves, he slowly began to move down the hall and gave a polite nod of the head to any other Mando cosplayers he passed. Most returned the gesture, in shared acknowledgement of each other’s craftsmanship. Progress had been slow, though, as Din was constantly asked for photos. Even worse were those that did not ask, but merely threw themselves at him. Some even touched Din without asking first, a gesture which made him flinch. It annoyed Din, just because he was dressed in cosplay did not mean he gave consent to be touched whenever others pleased.

Despite the host of incredible cosplays he had passed, Din knew that none of them truly lived up to his armour, his was a cut above the rest. There was no way to perfectly replicate real Beskar, no matter the incredible lengths that some of the cosplayers had gone to. He just hoped that no one would question it too deeply.

After a few minutes of walking around the main hall, Din had decided he needed some respite from the endless photo requests and eyes that Din felt watching his every move. Din found a quiet corner of the hall with some near deserted toilets and headed for them. He sealed himself into the stall and removed his helmet, grimacing at the way his hair clung to his forehead thanks to how much he had perspired due to his nerves. The helmet was climate-controlled, so the heat of the building should not have been an issue. It could not legislate for Din's emotions, though.

Each time Din moved to leave, he found that the anxiety he had felt while walking through the hall reared its ugly head. He kept telling himself that he only needed a few more minutes to regain his composure. That was until Din checked his watch and realised it was not long until the panel began.

So Din had unintentionally spent most of the time before the panel hiding away in the toilet stall in an attempt to repair his shattered nerves. At that point, it would have been so easy for Din to leave. But he knew that the curious part of his mind would never forgive him if he did not at least check out the panel. It was perhaps the best opportunity he was going to get to discover what people thought of the show, whether they liked the character and, most importantly, whether they had any theories on who The Mandalorian was.

Yet, now he was actually sitting there in the panel, he cursed not only himself for not leaving earlier, but Din also cursed Peli Motto for giving him such a stupid idea to attend this convention in the first place.

Many times throughout the panel – which was headed by a man called Jeff who wore a backwards baseball cap, despite looking as though he should have grown out of such a fashion choice several decades ago – Din had considered getting up and walking out. He had arrived pretty late as it was, only a minute or two before it began, as he hoped to sneak in and take an unassuming spot at the back. But the seats had all been filled back there, and an overly enthusiastic volunteer had guided him to a spare aisle seat about fifteen rows back from the front. 

Luckily, almost everyone had been too wrapped up in watching Jeff and his cronies fumble around with technology to pay him much mind, except for the people on his row who were in awe of his ‘cosplay.’ It would have been so easy for Din to just up and leave since he was on the end of the aisle. But he was fearful that it would have drawn too much attention to him. Thus far, he had pretty much gone undetected. Jeff had not bothered to look at the audience too clearly to notice the incredibly realistic Mandalorian that was currently in the room with him. Which was unsurprising, given how self-centred the man appeared to be. The panel really ought to have been retitled ‘The Jeff Show.’

Most of the panel had been pretty inoffensive, if a little dull. Din silently objected to the way that Jeff had reduced the show down to only its violent components, rather than engaging with it on a deeper level. At times, Jeff was so close to understanding what the action scenes demonstrated about Mando’s character and the wider politics of the galaxy. But then he would just make another crass comment about how good Mando was at killing and all progress would grind to a halt.

But then Jeff opened up the floor and invited the audience to step forward to the mic so he could hear comments from the fans. Din leaned forward in his seat, excited to finally fulfil the purpose of attending this panel and hear what others thought of the show that he had poured so much of his heart and soul into. But if Din was expecting to hear positive feedback, he was about to be bitterly disappointed.

Frustratingly, most speakers took their opportunity to address the audience to do nothing more than complain about never seeing Mando’s face or knowing his name. It was no surprise to Din that people felt that way, even if he was a little disappointed that people were so fixated on those two elements. Din knew it had been a concern at the beginning of the show, during early production meetings. But thanks to some input from Din himself, the character of Mando now felt more fleshed-out than he had when Din had joined the project.

Plus, Din felt as though viewers could understand enough about the character and his intentions without needing to know his name or see his face. It was a belief that was being challenged by the attitudes of the attendees of this panel. But Din was not too upset. After all, he was more concerned with whether any fans had any viable theories about his identity. Mercifully, none of them appeared to have picked up on any rumours. When the show's creators told him that no one suspected that Din Djarin was The Mandalorian, it appeared they had been telling the truth.

Fortunately, despite the name of the panel, there had been no speculation on Mando's true identity thus far. Despite the panel's title hinting that the man behind the Mandalorian would be discussed, that had so far not transpired. Things appeared to be looking up for Din; not only had there been no speculation as to his identity, but none of the audience had noticed the incredibly realistic cosplay that was sitting amongst them.

That was until a young man with brown hair, dressed in a Mando t-shirt and jeans stood up and moved towards the mic. His comments started positively enough, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the show and all,” The man confessed, and Din smiled slightly underneath the helmet. However, he continued: “But I just feel like we don’t know that much about Mando. It’s as if we, as an audience, are being held back from connecting with him fully because of some diva’s selfish demands to keep his identity hidden!” The man exclaimed.

Din felt his blood run cold. He swallowed thickly, feeling bile rise in his throat. He should have known that this was a bad idea, that coming here was a mistake. But the man was not quite finished, yet:

“Seriously, the guy who plays him must be such an asshole. Imagine having to work with that guy!” He ended his tirade, to a smattering of laughter and applause from the room.

The accusations that he had thrown Din’s way, about him being an asshole or a diva – a charge that in particular made no sense, as surely a diva would want their name and face to be plastered everywhere – had been like a punch to the gut. And Din had endured many of them throughout his life to understand exactly how painful they could be.

Far from the kind words he had been expecting, instead, Din had been forced to listen to various people slander both the show and him as a person. Din’s heart ached as he heard the charges being levelled against him; it was one thing to criticise the show but to call his character into question caused a whole other level of pain. If they only knew why he had to keep his identity a secret, they would never throw such cruel accusations his way. 

Din wasn’t naive. He knew that by signing up for a Star Wars show, his life would change forever. It was not a decision that he had taken lightly. Especially given that his way of life was opposed to everything the mega-corporation that now owned Star Wars stood for. But it presented an opportunity to not only secure a consistent income and better life for himself and his son but also to showcase his culture to the world. It was an opportunity that Din really could not turn down. However, just because Din was prepared for his life to change in some ways did not mean that he could ever be prepared to be attacked on such a personal level.

At that moment, Din almost tossed aside his priority to remain hidden and not draw attention to himself as he debated walking out of the panel. After hearing such personal attacks against his character, Din was so close to just upping and leaving that room. He had heard enough. If there was even one more vaguely harsh word tossed Din’s way, it might have tipped him over the edge.

Despite the tough exterior that Din Djarin projected to the rest of the world, he was at his core, a fairly sensitive man. He knew that the things that he had already heard about himself would take him a long time to come to terms with. He couldn’t bear to hear any further unkindness.

Din planted his feet firmly on the floor and began to lean forward, preparing himself to leave. It seemed that in a war between his mind and body, his body had won… his subconscious was going to make him stand up and storm out of that room, against all rational thought.

In all of his anguish, Din had missed the girl who had stormed forward to the microphone, dodging limbs and hurdling bags, to stand before the room.

But then she began speaking and her presence became impossible to ignore any longer; her voice was shaky with nerves but there was absolute conviction and certainty behind every word.

And Din was frozen to the spot, utterly transfixed. Suddenly all thoughts of leaving exited his mind.

“I think tying Mando’s identity to his name and face is a pretty narrow way of viewing how we can understand who someone truly is inside and what exactly motivates them. I mean, I think I’ve connected to his character pretty well without ever seeing his face or knowing his real name. That’s because Mando has proved time and time again what kind of man he is,” The girl argued and Din found himself instantly relaxing and leaning back in his seat. “The way he has risked his life multiple times to rid the galaxy of threats and evil shows that he is committed to securing a brighter future, even if he is not around to see it. This man is willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Sure, we don’t know his name or face or a lot about his origins, but I think to us, that should prove that he has nothing but noble intentions. That human side of the man beneath all of the armour allows us to connect to him on a far deeper level than just seeing a face and learning a name ever could,” She finished and Din shut his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Unbeknownst to her, the kind words she spoke had soothed Din's soul. She had begun to heal the wounds that were opened by the previous speakers' harsh words.

Din noticed how nervous the girl seemed and the way she fiddled with her hands as she stood at the microphone. He marvelled at the way she had been up like a shot to defend the character, though. Plus, judging by how eloquently she spoke, Din assumed she was used to this. 

Din sat there and listened with a small smile on his face, shaking his head slightly in awe as she launched into a passionate defence of the character. Unlike all previous speakers, the girl understood just as Din did, that seeing someone’s true intentions and the qualities they possessed mattered more than knowing their name or what they looked like.

Suddenly, Din began to feel a lot lighter. People did care, people did love and appreciate the show and they understood Mando as a character. He was pleased by that fact. Din knew he would stay now. Even if the next speakers reverted to being less than complimentary, the girl had bolstered his confidence and soothed his bruised ego enough to stick around.

Din expected that the girl would retreat to her seat after giving her opinion. The awful man who ran the panel certainly seemed to think that was the case as he met her passionate speech with empty platitudes, which Din thought bordered on the patronising. 

However, what she did next caused Din’s jaw to drop beneath his helmet. The girl did not return to her seat. Instead, she spoke up and continued to defend not only the character of Mando but also the man behind him.

Din listened in awe as she started speaking up to defend the man who was, unbeknownst to her, sitting only a few feet away.

“Also, I know no one outside this room will probably ever hear what had been said at this panel, but I think attacking the character of the man who portrays Mando, simply because he wants privacy, is unfair. I think we should always talk about people, online and publicly, as though they can read or hear what we say,” She argued and Din almost snorted at that assertion.. if only she knew that he was right here. “We don’t know why he won’t say who he is, but I trust that he has his reasons. Even then, he doesn’t need to have a good reason. Everyone is entitled to their privacy for the simple fact of wanting to be private,” The girl appealed to her fellow fans. Din felt tears pool in his eyes at her beautiful sentiment. Until she came along, he had been about to leave, with his last memories of the panel, believing that everyone hated him and thought he made the show worse. Now, though, he was listening to a passionate, eloquent defence of his character.

The girl finished off her speech with a comment about the show. She explained how Mando respected everyone that he encountered in the galaxy and left the places he visited better than he found them. She implored her fellow fans to take the same lessons from the show, rather than focus on the violent, action scenes. When she was finished, Din wanted to stand up and applaud her, before rushing up to her and thanking her from the bottom of his heart.

It was clear that she understood exactly what The Mandalorian was truly about. The show was, at its core, about respecting others and learning to peacefully coexist. Mando was fighting for a better galaxy, a kinder galaxy and once people understood that, they would understand how important it was to respect the actor behind the Mandalorian.

Din had an overwhelming urge to make his way over to this stranger, to thank her from the bottom of his heart for standing up for Mando so passionately. He knew, given his cosplay, that he could easily pass as an enthusiastic fan. 

Then Din remembered who he was and settled on the upsetting reality that he couldn’t take such a reckless action.

If he spoke, she might recognise that the voice beneath the helmet was the very same one that she had no doubt seen on screen so many times. It was too great a risk and, much as Din would have loved to thank her, it now seemed as though their paths would diverge without her ever knowing how truly thankful Din was for her words and how much they had done to boost his confidence. Ultimately, although it was sad, Din knew that it was how things had to be. The risk was too great.

Although for the short time remaining that Din would remain in her orbit, Din was determined to commit every inch of her to memory, so that he would never forget the woman who had unknowingly done so much to him. Din was determined to impress her on his memory on the off-chance that their paths would one day cross in a scenario where he might be able to get to know her. After all, Din was a man, and he was not immune to the fact that she was a beautiful woman, perhaps several years younger than him. But her beauty was not just skin-deep; it was to be found in the way she spoke so eloquently. How she addressed the room with such maturity and wisdom. To Din, it appeared as though she had lived several lifetimes.

Now she had sat back in her seat, Din could only appreciate the back of her profile, though he had noticed the cute slope of her nose and her plush lips as she made her way back to her seat. Din focused on her hair. It looked so soft that he wondered how it would feel against his skin as he nuzzled into her scalp and pressed a soft kiss of gratitude there.

The T-visor had its perks, as no one else in the room was any the wiser to how intently Din had affixed his gaze to her, much like Mando did when tracking a bounty. Din found that, even if he had wanted to, he could not look away from her. He watched quietly as her friend whispered excitedly to her. She was only a couple of rows in front of him and was almost close enough to reach out and touch. 

Perhaps that was how Din could make her feel his appreciation in a low-risk way, through a simple touch. He wondered whether he could put his hand on her shoulder on the way out and convey his thanks with a nod of his helmet the way Mando would. But that was another fantasy that would not come to pass, as Din knew that when this panel was reaching its conclusion, he had to make straight for the doors before he got swamped by any of the enthusiastic fans in here. He had seen the way throughout the panel that the number of people who had spotted his incredible ‘costume’ had increased. Din knew he was drawing many eyes.

Despite the overwhelming urge inside him to thank the girl, Din knew that he had to keep moving through the convention centre. Cutting a dedicated path, scything his way through the crowd like the methodic warrior he was.

So, when Jeff started wrapping up the panel, Din sprang straight to his feet and strode towards the doors, before a single soul could say anything. There were a few excited faces and murmured gasps as he strode purposefully towards the exit, but fortunately, no one was quick enough to stand up and thwart his quick exit. 

Bizarrely, even though he was unused to being around so many people and had initially found the experience overwhelming, Din found that after the panel, he felt far more comfortable in the larger, crowded spaces at the convention. In a small room, there was no privacy. Anyone and everyone could look at him, their steely, judgmental eyes burrowing into him. They know… he had been constantly thinking to himself throughout the panel. But of course, no one was any the wiser to his true identity. Even if the panel's attendees thought that the costume was realistic, the idea of the real Mandalorian attending a convention dressed as himself was too far-fetched to be real. Even the most imaginative fanfic writer could not come up with such a ridiculous plot.

So, Din found himself physically relaxing as he made his way back to the main hallway. His shoulders were less tense, his jaw unclenched. After he left the panel, Din had not intended to linger much longer. But as he found himself wandering around, stopping for more and more photos with eager fans who were so blown away by his ‘cosplay,' Din discovered that he began to almost enjoy the attention.

There were so many children here too. Some were not much older than Grogu. Din wished he had brought Grogu with him, but he knew that the convention would not have been a welcome environment for his precious son, especially given his nervous disposition. But Din knew with absolute certainty that Grogu was having a pleasant afternoon, he was being looked after by an elderly man named Kuiil, who was a babysitter that the studio had initially put him in touch with. Kuiil was always dependable and happy to help Din out whenever he needed him to take care of Grogu, no matter how little notice Din gave.

Din was gradually growing in confidence as he strode through the main hall of the convention centre. Now, when fans asked for photos or even launched themselves at him without asking first, Din found that he was less nervous. To every request, Din just nodded. When people thanked him, although they didn’t always – Din occasionally wished he could speak to remind them to mind their manners – Din made the same gesture. A simple nod said so much, without saying anything at all.

Din would never speak while wearing his armour. To most, it perhaps came across as an incredible amount of dedication to cosplaying the character – Mando, after all, was a man of few words. But the reality was that Din knew his voice could blow his cover. 

Ordinarily, Din rarely feared his voice would give him away as The Mandalorian, as his Mando voice was distorted somewhat by the helmet, so the difference was sufficient enough for Din to feel confident that no one would realise he was Mando. But surrounded by superfans at this convention, in the very helmet that would distort his voice to make him unmistakably sound the same as Mando, Din deemed it far too great a risk to take. 

After stopping for photos and fistbumps with enthusiastic fans of all ages, Din was finally ready to make his exit, much later than he believed he would have initially. Ultimately, Din was glad he had attended the panel and not rushed off earlier in the day when he had felt so overwhelmed that he had been driven to hide in the toilet. Although the panel had not been an entirely positive experience, it had been worth it just because of her.

And to think, Din was so hurt after the comments some fans had made about him at the panel that he would have missed out on feeling all the love and appreciation for Mando, had it not been for that girl who took a stand and raised her voice in defence of him. Her words had allowed DIn to feel lighter, freer and as though he wanted to open himself up to the love the fans were prepared to show him. 

The day at the convention had been an amazing, eye-opening experience. One that was far out of Din’s comfort zone, something that he never would have believed he could do for himself. But now he realised that he had also stayed far longer than he had been expecting. Din wanted to get back to his son. Grogu was usually settled and happy for the first few hours, but Din knew that it would soon begin to veer into the territory where a meltdown may be more likely.

Plus, Din had finally had enough for the day. He was accustomed to wearing his armour for long periods – it was like a second skin, after all – but he hadn’t sat down, nor removed his helmet for hours. Despite his increased confidence, the fear of being discovered lingered. The fear that his ‘costume’ would be sussed out set him constantly on edge and was draining him far more than a heavy suit of armour could. 

So Din began making his way to the exit through the expansive main hallway. He almost made it through without stopping, until he noticed a massive banner with a photograph of himself on it. Din stopped for a second, looking up at it as he remembered the day that photo had been taken. It had been a nerve-wracking experience for him, he was certainly not a model, but they had needed some promo shots. So Din found himself there, posing awkwardly in front of a professional photographer who was barking orders at him and wondering when arms and hands had become such awkward, cumbersome things. Din would rather have spent an entire day throwing himself into walls without a single break before repeating the experience and had informed The Mandalorian's creative team as much. So future photoshoots were completed with a body double wearing a copy of Din’s armour. The photo on display was one of the few that was him, though.

Din stood there for a few moments, smiling proudly at it underneath his helmet before a small voice caused Din to stop reminiscing over the gigantic poster and abruptly turn on the spot to face the direction of the voice.

“Excuse me, could we take a photo with you, please?” A timid voice said. In response, Din felt every hair stand on end as he instantly recognised the person who the voice belonged to.

It was the girl from the panel, staring at him with absolute admiration and adoration. He stood open-mouthed and gawked at her for a few seconds, stunned to be in her presence once again. But then her beautiful features changed. She frowned slightly and then Din realised he had been standing there, frozen, as he stared at her in disbelief. She had taken his silence and inaction as a dismissal and almost retreated before Din snapped out of his trance and nodded quickly. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she had been at the panel, how much her words had meant to him. But everything happened so fast.

Din felt his heart rate quicken as the girl moved to stand next to him. Her arms hung by her side somewhat awkwardly, just like Din’s had in the photo on the poster that he had just been admiring. She was too nervous - or perhaps polite - to sling one around his shoulder or waist. Din wouldn’t have minded though, there was something imperceptible about her that made Din want to be drawn into her orbit. She had a magnetic presence.

Din barely remembered to turn and look up at the girl’s friend who was taking the photo, his ordinarily calm and composed mind had been catapulted off its axis by her presence. The girl went to step away, but Din raised a hand just in front of her body to stop her from moving off.

“Wait, let me… pose properly,” Din choked out, forgetting his vow of silence in a moment of recklessness. He held his breath for a few seconds, but if she recognised his voice, she did not acknowledge it. Din released a shaky breath, trying not to be frustrated with himself. After all, Din had only good intentions. Out of everyone he had taken photos with today, she deserved the best out of them all. 

“Oh, thank you!” The girl laughed and smiled appreciatively as she took her place back by Din’s side.

Din placed one hand on his belt and leaned in towards her, hoping that the picture turned out to her satisfaction. They stood there side by side, almost close enough to touch. At that moment, Din wanted nothing more than to remove his helmet and bare his face to the alluring woman who had publicly spoken so eloquently in his defence and been equally polite in their more private encounter. But even if he had wanted to, they were out of time. Their few seconds together were over. 

“Thank you! Your cosplay is amazing, by the way! It looks so realistic!” She said with a shy smile as she stepped away. “I think there’s a cosplay competition at the Twin Suns stage this afternoon, you should seriously consider entering. I’m sure you’d win!” The girl said encouragingly.

Din nodded stiffly, struck by her manners and how genuinely excited and encouraging towards others she seemed to be. Both traits mattered deeply to Din. But there were also nerves behind his suddenly restricted motions as he once again feared his cover being blown. Din supposed that it would be unsurprising if it was the same girl from the panel who had shown such a passion for the character was finally the one to connect the dots.

Despite the momentary panic caused by her comment about how realistic his costume was, Din was still amazed by how sweet she had been. The way her eyes shone with genuine excitement as she approached him and yet, she managed to maintain that respect for him that other attendees did not. So many people rushed up to Din when he was in this costume, without even stopping to ask his permission for a photo, let alone take a second to look at him or politely thank him. The fact she had thanked him and complimented him and even spoken encouraging words about his cosplay proved to Din that she was one of the politest attendees. 

Din had a few more seconds to appreciate being in the girl’s presence as the friend she was with stepped up to have a picture with him. The girl’s friend seemed more confident than her in the way she posed, she seemed to know exactly what to do. But Din was paying her no mind. Instead, he glanced at the details of her face he could see from behind the phone – complete with Mando case – that she was using to take the photo. Din noticed the spark in her eyes, the way they lit up when she looked at him. She probably didn’t realise just how much Din could see in the helmet and that he was staring directly at her, noticing the look of awe she wore on her face.

“Thank you,” The girl’s friend said with a polite nod and the two walked off.

Din stood for a moment, watching them as they went. They flicked through the photos, jumping up and down excitedly as they looked at one. They were just out of earshot, but Din could tell how excited they both seemed by the pictures they had taken together. He smiled beneath his helmet. Knowing that he could bring such joy to others was a phenomenon he had lived in blissful ignorance of for most of the time since he had been cast as The Mandalorian, the only exception being when he had visited that children’s hospital a few months previously.

Today had opened Din Djarin’s eyes to the impact he was having out there, on so many different people. It was a debt that he owed to her, a debt that he knew he would, regrettably, never be able to repay.

Perhaps, in another reality, Din would have run after her, stopped her and confessed how appreciative he was of her kindness. He would have told her that he wanted to get to know her and asked her on a date if she was single. Maybe she would have been momentarily taken aback, given the bizarre circumstances of him wearing a full suit of armour and running up to her at a convention like that. But hopefully, she would have given him a chance.

They would have gotten to know each other, and gradually fallen in love over the next few months. Perhaps, if things went well, they would have lived a long and happy life together. It felt so real, for one fleeting moment, that Din could almost see their future together.

But that was ridiculous. In this reality, Din watched from behind his helmet as the outline of the girl he felt himself so drawn to grew smaller and smaller before eventually being swallowed up by the crowd.

She disappeared into the distance. Out of view, and out of Din’s life.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

SW Request Guidelines

This list is not cemented or exhaustive in any capacity, and will be occasionally updated, so please be sure to keep an eye on this post in my #frostfics masterlist and/or check before you make a request if you'd like some inspiration.

**Remember above all else, friends: 'this is War of Stars and Shit's Whack Anyways'. I more believe in having *fun* with the source material above strict adherence to it. If someone requested something that did not strictly adhere to whatever the current canon is, that's their choice. We all have our favorite aspects of Star Wars and they will not always align with another person's.**

UPDATED: 7/11/24

What I WILL Do

Headcanon requests

Drabbles

One shots

Short series (IF I am inspired by the request)

When it comes to X Readers: I can comfortably write in 1st, 2nd, or 3rd Person POVs. My default is 2nd and 3rd person, for the most part! (Readers can also have nicknames, if that is your preference!)

Want to request a non-x reader? I can do that too, don't be shy!

Tropes including but not limited to: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Enemies-to-Lovers/Idiots-to-Lovers, One Bed/Escape Pod, Fix-its, Soulmate, and Domestic.

Popular occupations or specified reader-types like Medic, Mechanic, Bounty Hunter, Jedi, etc.

As much or as little Clones-using-Mando'a as you'd like. Familial terms only? Sure! You wanna go for Oops! All Pet Names? You got it. You're allergic to Clones using Mando'a? Cool beans, buddy, I can do that and correct any slip-ups! (I know not everyone subscribed to that fanon trope like I did and/or for the same reasons I did.)

Platonic or romantic relationships

Implied smut/Mature on occasion! [Will range from 13+ to 18+ age rating depending on my comfort and familiarity with the requested character.]

I have more familiarity in writing AFAB/Female and Gender Neutral x Readers. I often write the general, physical description of Reader in a very vague, more "poetic" manner unless otherwise specified in the request. [Should be noted I am very unfamiliar with writing AMAB/Male x Readers so I'm afraid I'm likely not the one who will be best to ask.]

We're LGBT+ friendly; I'm a bi woman in my twenties for goodness sake. 🩷💜💙

Most SW characters, really. If you have a particular character in mind that isn't in my main niches of interest, I can probably swing it. There'll be better luck if you request something from one of my favorite eras (The Clone Wars, The Bad Batch, The Mandalorian). Please keep in mind that the less I know of a character, the longer it'll take me to complete. 

Like a particular fanon trope [ex: Gray Jedi] and want to see my take on it? Sweet, glad you trust me! I'll certainly do my best depending on what's requested.

We're AU and canon-divergent friendly here! You ordered the "No Order 66 AU with Domestic!Clone Boyfriend" with an order of "Somehow, ____ Lived." on the side? Coming right up!

Is it well past time for everything to Just Stop™ for your fave? We can magically give them a little break.

I will postpone or delete a request if you're impatient with me. I'm doing this for free, for FUN, on my own time with no set schedule. I have ADHD tendencies (and chronic health conditions) and sometimes the inspiration is just not there. Do not be an entitled little snot or you'll get put in timeout.

What I Will NOT Do

Whitewash the Clones. We believe in evidence of Temuera Morrison's physical characteristics in our Clone husbands/boyfriends here.

Art requests: Most of the fan art I'm posting in the #frostsfanart tag is done on whim, vibes and impulse; and it's a miracle some of those have gotten popular.

Sidenote: There is a *chance* you'll get an art response to an ask if I feel I can pull it off, or, if you give me an idea. [An acceptable example would be asking me if I've ever done a helmet doodle for XYZ before.]

Explicit smut as of now. Nothing against it, but I had a more conservative upbringing; I currently struggle with writing that material without unnecessary guilt.

Your OC x Canon. Don't want to butcher your brain-child by mischaracterizing them by accident. Not running that risk; doubt this would be a thing that would be requested but I'm just covering my bases.

I am not personally comfortable with Clonecest or Clone-shipping. They are brothers and refer to each other as such in-canon. I understand people will do as they please, but I do not support this material. Respect my boundaries.

Will absolutely NEVER do requests involving incest, dub-con/non-con, or general bigotry (homophobia, racism, etc). You will be fed to the Rishi Moon eels instead of Cutup. I'll free Echo and put you in his place on Skako Minor before anyone notices I'm there. Get lost, please.

I am not comfortable with the Rex/Ahsoka business or Master x Padawan romance. Platonic takes on Master x Padawan!Reader dynamic is acceptable. Characters need to be of-age for romances. Ahsoka was only 17 at the end of Clone Wars, for stars' sake.

I Will Love You If You Let Me

Talk about my Clone OCs!!

As the Clone Wars is my favorite era in this Galaxy Far, Far Away, I have a LOT of Clone OCs. I keep track of them in an Excel spreadsheet, so chances are a "throwaway" name that's not found in any Star Wars series is one of my boys.

Chances are good that I throw one or two in a fic as a cameo, as well! Some of them are more fleshed out than others with proper canon, while others have none at all.

Talk about my own fics from time to time!

I promise, there's no need to be shy!

I reread my own work often enough, and I'd love to have you stop by my ask box (on or off anon) with any questions you might have about what you've read! I'll gladly elaborate on why I wrote a scene like that or the particular headcanon(s) I've worked into the fabric of the story.

You're more than welcome to drop by and gush about things too. Authors truly do love to hear back from the people who've taken the time to read what we've written. 🩷

[robinreadscomics]

godzilla: kingdom of monsters #1-12 (2011-12)

due to me being super into a) kaiju movies & b) comics, it was pretty clear to me that i was gonna need to catch up on idw's godzilla stuff, so i decided to finally kick that into gear. i know most of their output has been (as is fairly typical for idw) in the form of largely self-contained miniseries, but the amount that they've put out so far seemed fairly manageable, so rather than jumping onboard in the middle somewhere, i decided to start from the beginning with kingdom of monsters.

i... kind of wish i hadn't, tbh.

social commentary has been an aspect of the godzilla series since its inception, but i can't say that a single one of its film versions (even the infamous 1998 roland emmerich blunder) has ever handled this aspect of the franchise's identity worse than these comics.

before i even get into what these comics' idea of biting social commentary is, you know how basically every version of godzilla before or since has grappled in some way, shape, or form with the horrors of nuclear warfare? yeah, the way this comic handles it is by having japan literally try to nuke godzilla? and it acts as though they just have nukes, y'know, lying around. as if they were not only not a nuclear-armed country, but a country that is fiercely opposed to the notion of nuclear weapons? so that's... something!

as the comic goes on, it becomes increasingly america-centric, which... yeah, it's not really shocking. and as we've seen in the legendary pictures movies, there's really no reason you can't do that and still have it feel an awful lot like a godzilla story? but that's... not what's happening here. at all.

so, there is basically one human character who has a consistent speaking role in the story, and that's this sneering soldier guy who spends his whole first issue just loudly rolling his eyes about how "lazy & entitled" everyone else in his generation is. he's just a fucking boomer trapped in a millennial's body. sigh.

don't worry, though! he gets plenty of character development! he goes from sneering with contempt at pop culture to sneering with contempt at how desperate people get when supplies start dwindling. see! character development!

the other human characters with more than occasional lines of dialogue are just... extremely clever & subtle caricatures of celebrities & public figures. like, i'm sure a lot of readers had to exert some real effort to figure out who "girly yaya" and the cast of "jerseyified" could possibly be referring to. it's just so subtle & clever!

also, both of the aforementioned characters are killed off, the former with a crass (and very contrived) pun to make light of it, and the latter in one of those ridiculous prepper fantasies about coddled leftists needing a big, strong gun-toting alpha male to save them but him turning his back on them because of all the "disrespect" he's been subjected to. fucking OOF.

the only things i liked about these comics were the occasional gorgeous full-page spreads of kaiju fights. like, the art & layout of a lot of these pages is genuinely pretty fucking fantastic, but there's comparatively so little of it, and so little personality shown by the kaiju themselves, that it just doesn't come close to making up for how genuinely unpleasant the vast majority of the comic is to read.

d-rank

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

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doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

-

-

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

[apompkwrites]

reader impact || first meeting

series masterlist characters: xiao, albedo genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: have i read a few genshin impact x game character reader stories and impulsively decided to make one too? maybe. you can't prove anything. i don't know if this will be a series but we'll see :D

xiao's playthrough -

xiao, named as alatus on his streaming platform, has made himself known as a gaming streamer with an awkward personality and blunt words.

he's the type of streamer who wouldn't have a set type of game and would, instead, play whatever his viewers recommended.

valorant? sure, he'll try it out.

hitman? why not?

animal crossing? it's a complete 180 from the other games, but sure.

when one of his viewers recommended genshin impact, he was quick to say yes and search for the game.

once the game finishes downloading, he quickly begins the game.

once the opening cutscene passes, he compliments the overall aesthetic of the game, pointing out the smaller details such as the footprints made by his character and the sound their clothes make when they move.

as always, his expressions are quite monotone to a point where it seems nothing draws his attention towards the game.

one of his mods, however, knows xiao well enough to where he knows which character he would like.

they convince xiao that the game is worth sticking with towards the second half of chapter 1, act 1.

he doesn't understand but he trusts his mods so he promises to continue.

it takes a few hours, especially because of the grinding, but a few streams later he's finally made it.

after fighting a one-sided argument with cloud retainer, he immediately begins his trek to the wangshu inn. and yes, trek, he enjoys walking/gliding through the world of teyvat rather than fast traveling everywhere.

he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the inn, resting his hands in his lap as the cutscene begins.

"to the blind, everything may not be as it appears..."

xiao is normally stoic during games, even ones with scenes made to fluster the player and catch them off guard.

but not this time.

once xiao's character is faced with yours, he just stops. his chat is spamming messages, asking if he's okay and if he's actually emoting for once.

he just stares at your character for a good five minutes.

and trust me, at least half of his viewers clipped that.

"... who are they?"

that was his only question after those minutes of silence. never before had he been attached to a character within the first few minutes of meeting them. his mind is racing and all he can think about is how amazing your character design is and how nice your voice is and how cool your character is and--

oh right, he's streaming right now...

anyway, the more your conversation goes on, the more he loves your character.

you're just so sassy and snappy but he loves you either way.

once you turn away with your back towards the camera, he just stares.

he stares at the intricate tattoo on your exposed arm and the mask hanging off of your belt.

and then you're gone.

his face drops so quickly and his viewers are very quick to point it out. he grimaces once paimon starts talking and he's very tempted to just speed through her dialogue.

he just wants to see you again.

once he hears from verr goldet that you've never smiled (at least around her), he immediately turns to the camera and says, "we better make them smile in this game."

once he finds out about your favorite food, he's already asking his viewers if he's able to get the recipe for it.

the next time he gets to talk to you, his face just lights up once he sees your character standing on the balcony.

however, once his characters tell you about rex lapis's death, his heart sinks when he hears how sad your voice becomes, even if your tone is still as harsh as before.

he gets all sad again when the quest ends and he has to wait to unlock the next archon quest.

he ends the game there and decides to spend the last few minutes talking to his viewers.

"i'll stream genshin again soon."

his viewers all know it's only because he met you.

albedo's playthrough -

albedo often does art streams and the occasional science-y stream.

if he does games, he mainly uses them to admire the art/mechanics of the gameplay.

genshin impact was one of those games he decided to play on his own solely because of the beautiful scenary.

(and the opportunity to draw more characters).

he's definitely the player that cares about elemental reactions above all else. pretty much every character he uses is built for elemental damage instead of physical.

most of his genshin streams are him walking around teyvat and pointing out the scenary.

he was definitely excited for the dragonspine event because that meant a better view of teyvat!

what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the reveal of a new character: you.

he isn't too into looking at the updates for genshin on his own, so he didn't find out about who you were until his stream asked about it.

he decided to react to the newest updates live since his chat seemed excited to hear his input.

once he pulled up the latest update details, he spent a few minutes talking about the new subzero mechanic.

but once he scrolled down to the characters... OH BOY

he's able to keep his composure but he definitely spends longer talking about you.

he almost gasped when he saw you were the chief alchemist of mondstadt.

combine that with the fact that you rely on elemental damage instead of physical...

your honor, he's fallen hard.

he'll put a countdown on stream to when your character and event drops, even on his non-genshin streams.

speaking of those streams, on the week just before your event, his streams will all be based around you and the information he's seen on you.

his art streams will consist of you and how he thinks your attacks will work just based on the description (he purposely avoided all pictures of your attacks for this stream).

his science-y streams would probably be based on your element.

once your event drops, that's the only thing he'll stream until it's over.

your assistant used to be his favorite character to play as but they just never clicked. it's not like he hates your assistant, it's just he didn't immediately fall in love with them.

his party definitely has your assistant in it, though.

he would have normally taken his time to look around dragonspine and admire the new scenery, but he couldn't help but speed through it until he finally gets to see you onscreen.

once the cutscene officially introduces you in front of a canvas, he's internally panicking.

you like art too?! and science?! how perfect can you be?!?!?!

he will genuinely feel bad when he scares the hilichurls because he knows that that's what you were sketching.

"who are you? why did you alarm them?"

NOW HE FEELS EVEN WORSE

even when you tell him you've finished sketching, he wants to make it up to you :((

if he were able to, he would've lured more hilichurls to let you sketch more.

some people in his chat would probably spam him to skip your dialogue because it's so wordy, but that's the exact reason why he listens to it all.

he likes listening to your character ramble on, especially because you have a soothing voice.

anytime your character does their idle animation where you give life to something, he will always let it play. even if your dialogue is finished before the animation, he would not progress until it's completed.

once your character asks for help, he would immediately agree before you finished your sentence.

man just wants to spend more time with you.

he likes staring at the tattoo on your neck whenever the camera is close to you. he just thinks it's really pretty on you.

once your other nonplayable assistant begins talking, he'll skip through the dialogue. he doesn't care if it goes more in depth into this world's alchemy, he just wants to hear it from you.

"hmm, looks like the potion's ready. i'll try a little first."

"please don't..."

he doesn't want you to try it just in case it hurts you :(

anytime he is allowed to walk freely with you around, he'd definitely put his traveler character next to you for a few minutes and just let you two stare at each other.

someone asks him why he spends a few minutes doodling on his desk when you talk.

he shows them the notebook that he had been writing notes in. it's filled with little doodles of you and some more information you give on the world of alchemy.

for future streams the involve you, he'd set up another camera to show the notes and doodles he's making about you.

sometimes he'll spend a few minutes on a single section where the camera is focused on you just to recreate the picture in the notebook.

he absolutely loves whoever planned out the camera angles because of how cute you look in every one of them.

he definitely gets a bad vibe from rosaria when she hints at the fact that you may be using alchemy against him.

he will defend you and alchemy to his grave!

that one scene where you create a flower in front of you is one he will always treasure.

he makes sure someone clipped that moment just so he can draw that, make it a print, and put it on his wall.

since most of his viewers most likely consist of artists, he will encourage them to draw you and send him fanart. he will put them all on a wall and dedicate every picture that goes there to you.

"if i one day lose control... destroy mondstadt... as well as everything around it..."

"huh?"

"will you be there to stop me?"

"wait... no."

if people were only listening to that portion, they would still be able to hear the pout on his face.

he'll end the game there but change his stream into an impromptu art stream.

he will only be drawing you in nice situations to distract himself from the fact that there is something going on with you.

"hm? what do you mean something's wrong with (name)? i have no idea what you're talking about."

poor boy's in denial...

[dear-ao3]

lets talk about x reader rpfs

ah yes. x reader rpfs (real person fics). a sizable part of fandom that gets constantly shit on by people who don't read x reader rpfs.

the fact is, pretty much every fandom has a subsection of x reader rpfs and fic writers. they seem to be most commonly posted on tumblr and wattpad, but i do run into the occasional one on ao3 every now and then.

so why do people write and share x reader rpfs?

well, why do you write and share character x character fics? why do you write and share character x oc fics? usually because 1. you want to, 2. you find it interesting, 3. you enjoy it, 4. because it makes you happy, and 5. because you want to share your work with your friends and the rest of the fandom. its the same reasons.

x reader rpfs are also sometimes a comfort to people or help them through certain things (much like character x character fanfic) specifically because its read as a reader insert.

so why do people take issue with it?

most of the arguments I've seen range from "it's weird to ship yourself with people" to "well, what would they think about that?" and pretty much everything in between.

first and fore mostly: if you dont like something, dont read it.

secondly, like all other fanfiction: it only becomes weird when people send the fanfiction to the individual themselves. that is breaking the invisible boundary and crossing the unspoken rule of fanfiction. do not do this. if a celebrity or individual with fan works written about them wants to come into our space and read our works, then that's on them. but do not try to actively engage them in fanfiction about them. that crosses the line.

x reader rpfs, 99% of the time are not meant to hurt anyone, and are not meant to be "weird." there will always be that 1% that is, as with every kind of fanfiction. that's just the nature of a fanspace.

but you have absolutely no excuse to shit on people for partaking in and expressing themselves through x reader rpfs. do not leave comments on peoples fics about how you think its weird or not right for them to write. do not send them anons about how they should not be writing x reader rpfs. its not your business what someone else writes. you are of course entitled to your own opinions, but you do not need to express them, especially if they are going to have a negative effect on someone.

if its not hurting you dont engage with it and if you dont like it dont read it.

do not ruin someones fandom experience because you feel the need to share your unwanted opinion.

please note: this applies to all genres of rpfs and x reader fics, x reader rpf is just the one that i see getting shit on the most

also dont shit on x reader rpfs in the notes. if you feel the need to then you missed the whole point of this post.

[jimblejamblewritings]

the flip side | part 4.

Summary: (Y/N) has always been one of the stronger Alphas. Which is saying something when the Avengers is a team overrun with Alphas. A mission gone wrong changes her entire world and when everyone starts treating her different, she doesn’t know if she can cope. Change hurts and (Y/N)’s not sure it’s a pain she cant bear.

Warnings: THIS IS THE DARKER VERSION! IF YOU WANT THE LESS DARK/ANGSTY VERSION CHECK OUT CHANGES HURT

Warnings for the Series: strong language, angst, fluff, assault, a/b/o dynamics, sexual content (18+ readers only)

Pairing: Stucky x black!reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

The team was in the living room. Since you were an Omega now, you hadn’t given permission to enter your nesting space and the only people who could freely stroll in were Wanda and Bruce. You hated even thinking of that. You were only entitled to privacy under the law specifically in your nesting space— the only perk was that you had a duplex in arguably the best house in the city so at least your space was big. No one knew your nesting habits.

They didn’t know if it would be just your bed or the entire duplex which meant that as long as you didn’t tell them, you could at least make your entire apartment a safe haven. That was the first thing you would do when you got the chance, mark the entire duplex as your nest. Even with a claim, Bucky and Steve would have to request permission once you did that to enter. If not, you were allowed to take it to court— the one power Omegas had.

The team thought it might be better anyway to not overwhelm your space with their scent. They couldn’t if they wanted to, Steve and Bucky seemed to growl whenever anyone got near your floor. Until you were claimed, they didn’t want anyone near your nesting area. What they weren’t prepared for was the smell that flooded out the elevator and steamrolled over them. Now that you stood in front of them, everything they prepared to say was gone because all they could focus on was that fact that you didn’t just smell like new you but clearly Steve and Bucky had laid out an intention to claim.

Bruce recovered first. “I explained everything to them and the attempt to find the reversal.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

They all looked like they wanted to say more but you felt like you couldn’t deal with more so you deflected and asked what the movie was for the night. Getting the hint, Wanda said that you could pick it. When you found out Peter was going to be there, you decided to let the kid pick since he couldn’t always be there for these nights.

Sam and Bruce watched the battle in your head when you entered the movie room. You were fighting instincts to bury yourself deep in a beanbag as if it was a little nest. You also didn’t want to curl up next to Steve or Bucky. No one missed how you were in clothes from your laundry hamper. The old Alpha scent now lingered in the air— you weren’t ready to give it up just yet. Steve and Bucky tried not to let the hurt show that there was still some resistance and rejection. Was it that hard to accept it?

“(Y/N),” Steve said, making Sam sit up a bit. “Come sit with us.”

You scratched at the back of your head. Sam looked around to see that no one else seemed to even question Steve’s words. He was ready to say something when you all heard the laughter of Roseanne, Pepper, Maria, and Sharon down the hall. It was never clear when they would join you guys for movie nights. The invitation was openly extended to SHIELD employees you worked closely with but most people never showed up— everyone saying it seemed more like Avenger team bonding and they wouldn’t want to intrude. But occasionally the others would show.

Maria and Sharon didn’t know. Your two Alphas were very much aware of the fact that you wanted to wait to make the formal change. They thought it was best anyway. If it was done abruptly then people might want you off the team, thinking that you had been lying about your status this whole time. Bruce needed to write a detailed report for them to turn in. Steve called you again.

“Sit.”

You scrambled to Steve who pulled you in tightly and tried to bury your smell beneath his. For the most part it worked. His scent, your old Alpha clothes. Your new smell could probably be assumed to be some random hookup that someone in the room had just come from being with. Sharon’s jaw set tight when they entered the room. She stood there for a minute, tapping her foot. Normally if she showed up for movie night, you would make a huge fuss as you moved from Steve to cuddle with Sam instead and she would take your spot. You stared straight ahead, pretending to be uninterested so you could avoid a standoff that you would lose.

“Isn’t this when you move?” she spat.

“Back off, Sharon.” Steve warned.

The woman scoffed. “What, she can’t fight her own battle now?”

Bucky could already sense where this was going and pulled you away from Steve. He didn’t just move you but pulled you all the way over his lap and to the other side of him so he would be in between you and Sharon. He scratched at his chin nonchalantly and laid his Brooklyn accent on extra thick.

“I’m trying to watch a movie not watch you two have a pissing contest until someone submits. Keep your scent to your fucking self tonight, thanks.”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if she fucking moved in the first place,” Sharon grumbled.

Bucky glared at Steve until the man made himself comfortable and held Sharon properly. They still had appearances to keep up for your sake. You stiffened up as Peter scrolled the movie selections when Sharon took a big sniff. She looked at the blond holding her.

“You reek, did you even take a shower? I can still smell that Omega all over you… Smells good, where’d you find this one?”

Steve growled and Sharon laughed. “Alright, fine, no sharing this time.”

That statement made you cough, causing Sharon to look over. “Do you two share Omegas often?”

“Is there a problem with that? You never question Nat with Bruce and Bucky.”

“Well, Bruce is mine,” Natasha tried to diffuse the situation. “Claim an Omega and no one would judge whoring them out.”

That made everyone but you laugh. Peter found a movie and quickly pressed play before anyone could say anything else. Bucky tried to make you relax, rubbing small circles on your back but he knew that Sharon’s statement got to you. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Alphas slept around.

It was hypocritical because they slutshamed Betas and that Omegas that did the same were absolutely disgusting but it was fine for them. The other two dynamics never left with someone else’s smell on them so people wouldn’t think they were hooking up all over the place. Alphas? They wore it with pride. You never did. You kept to the same two Betas and two Omegas since you had moved to New York years ago. Every time you made a fuss about going out and finding someone when ruts came around, it was the same people although no one knew that.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

You shook your head. Reluctantly, he let you go. You pretended to get more snacks, thankful that the kitchen was on a level lower than the movie room. After a few moments, Bucky and Steve went under the guise of getting more food for everyone. You jumped when you heard footsteps but quickly relaxed when the smell of Steve hit you first and then Bucky. Both men frowned and you pulled away from Steve’s touch.

“Hey, doll.”

“Sharon and Nat,” you said simply.

“Don’t have any sort of clai—”

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t think that. You share Omegas with them. They feel like they do have a claim.”

Both of them sat at the island, sandwiching you in. Bucky turned your head so you would look at him.

“They don’t. I knew Nat before I ever met you, Sharon was just there in DC. They’re comfortable, people we know, that’s it. It doesn’t mean anything and they both know that. Stevie and I would’ve bonded with them if it did.” He looked past you for a moment, laughing. “Hell, we haven’t even bonded with each other.”

Steve chuckled behind you, stopping as you shook your head.

“I don’t want to be Bruce,” you whispered.

Both Alphas took sharp inhales through their nose. It wasn’t them being with other teammates before you that was the problem. You didn’t want to be shared with Nat and Sharon. Bruce never complained about Bucky being there or another dynamic if Nat chose. As long as he wasn’t in heat, Bruce didn’t say anything about other people in their bedroom. But it didn’t matter if he didn’t like it anyway— Nat was the Alpha and if she gave the command then he probably wouldn’t be able to refuse her.

You didn’t want that. You barely wanted two people, Steve and Bucky were just the exception since they had always been equal— two halves of a whole— in your eyes. Nat might have been your friend but she was rough especially during ruts, you had heard from Bruce. Sharon? Sharon would be looking to hurt you and you knew it.

You wanted what Wanda and Vision had, even Clint was too controlling of Laura when it came to deciding a lot of things. You liked how Vision kept himself for Wanda only and how Wanda was never shared with others. You had always been in control of your own body and now not only was that not true but you couldn’t even control if others were entitled to it. Steve moved to stand next to Bucky, both of them grabbing your hands.

“I swear we won’t go to other people and I swear we won’t share you with anyone. Alright, you’re going to be our Omega only. Got that?”

“Steve asked you a question,” Bucky said, adding a bit of his Alpha tone.

“Yes… Alpha.” You added after both of them raised an eyebrow.

Neither supersoldier realized that you calling them by that dynamic for the first time since everyone knew the truth would affect them so much. Ruts and heats lasted about three days, usually the second or third being the highest point of both. They didn’t expect the rut to kick back up so soon, figuring they had the rest of the day before having to leave tomorrow. Both of them took long sniffs of the air. Your scent was even sweeter— they figured that your heat must have been coming.

It would have been so easy to just take you against the kitchen island. Steve was the first to test the waters. The kitchen was no place to claim an Omega and Sharon would smell it for sure if they did. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t help subdue him enough to take a walk outside until he calmed down enough for bed. You let him pull your hand towards his crotch.

He undid his belt and moved your hand to the inside of his pants. Bucky grabbed your other hand and did the same. The pheromones that rolled off of them were subduing you a little bit. Something in your mind was telling you to do whatever the supersoldiers wanted you to do. The old Alpha in you screamed at that. Was this what Omegas felt all the time? A little whiff and all of a sudden they couldn’t have a mind of their own?

“Get on your knees, Omega,” Bucky commanded. “We just need to use your mouth real quick.”

You paused when the Alpha in you screamed at the fact that he just told you they needed your mouth. Sometimes you forgot that even to their partners, Omegas were nothing but bodies if an Alpha was in a rut. Steve gently pushed you to the kitchen floor.

“We’re clean. We got tested this morning, that’s what Buck and I were doing while you and Sam were out. Don’t worry, we’d never give you something. Just open up for us… There we go. Good girl.”

You fought yourself from mewling at the praise. The more everyone treated you like an Omega without so much as a soft transition, the more that your old Alpha cells fought. It wasn’t easy but they weren’t going to die off without causing hell first. But right now, as you were making two Alphas that intended to claim you feel good, your Omega cells were telling the Alpha ones to sit back and shut up.

Steve and Bucky were swapping you between the two of them, getting more aggressive with each pass. You would gag every so often— they filled your entire mouth. Steve felt himself needing to cum first. He thrusted in your mouth a few times before pulling out, spilling all over your face and chest. He passed you back to Bucky before tucking himself back into his pants. Bucky wasn’t too far behind and it didn’t take long for him to finish in the same way Steve did. They both groaned at seeing you still on the floor and covered in their release. Steve smiled and helped you stand up.

“Go wash up, doll, we’ll tell everyone you started feeling bad. Buck and I are going out to calm down some more. We’ll see you later.”

Your eyes closed under his touch. The Omega cells won this round of whatever fight was happening inside your body.

“Did you guys do laundry yesterday? I want to mark my nest tomorrow.”

Bucky laughed. “All your favorite stuff is in the top drawer of the dresser.”

You nodded and headed to your room, taking the stairs since you didn’t exactly look decent. Now that they were gone, you actually missed the two men. Everyone else accepted your new dynamic so easily, maybe you could as well. It was getting hard anyway to keep up the Alpha appearance you had been doing all last month anyway. It was hard dealing with the clashing Alpha and Omega thoughts. The Alpha instincts weren’t ready to give up or relent and the Omega instincts were simply not strong enough to make them submit. You still weren’t sure.

But the one thing you were sure about was that you wanted out of your clothes and into clothes that belong to your supersoldiers. You finished the glass of water and left your room to go take some of their clothes. You rifled through stuff finding what you wanted. Your initial plan was just to get pajamas but the endorphins were still running high and the Omega cells said to get enough to make a nice nesting pile. Steve had a tendency to dress in a mixture of his old 40’s style and a present-day substitute teacher. Bucky was a lot more modern… except almost all of his long sleeve shirts only had one sleeve.

You eventually found some things you liked. Scooping up the small pile of clothes, you returned to your room content with your new stash. The clothes dropped from your hand as you entered your room. You knew Sharon’s smell even with her back turned. Hiding your face, you started up the stairs of your duplex.

“Can I help you?” you asked, still not looking at her.

“Yeah, what the hell was that about earlier?”

“Oh, fuck off, Sharon. They’re my friends too. Now, get the fuck out.”

You took your sweet time in the shower. You were shaking at the notion that Sharon had been downstairs in your space uninvited. The Alpha part of you was shaking from anger that she would dare and the Omega instincts were shaking from fear at an unclaimed Alpha being in a space you didn’t grant them access to. You also knew that you hadn’t marked your space yet so she was technically allowed to be there. That made you stressed. The only thing that calmed you down was changing into Steve’s sweater and Bucky’s shorts. You froze when Sharon was still in your room. She looked at the pile of clothes now on the floor.

“Get out.” You scooped up the clothes and dumped them on the couch, needing her to leave.

Sharon was still there when you turned around. Her nose was in the air, trying to figure out what she couldn’t identify. The sniffing stopped and her eyes narrowed at you. Her scent from her being there for so long was now all over the room and upsetting you. It only became more unbearable as she walked up to you.

“First the Avengers and now you want to take Steve too?”

“Sharon, please, you know the decision was Fury’s and not mine. And Steve is a grown man, you’ve had plenty of chances to bond with him. Have you ever thought that he just doesn’t want you?”

You regretted the words the minute you said it. Your old Alpha cells would never forget Sharon and couldn’t help but be hostile to her. You almost shrunk as she completely invaded your personal space.

“Or you could pull your head out of your ass and leave Bucky and Steve alone when they already have… What’s that smell?”

“Get out.” You panicked.  

“You sm—”

“Get out.” You pushed her. “Get the fuck out! I didn’t give you permission to be here!”

You went to push her again when she grabbed your hands. She was snarling and despite your initial growl back, you gave up quicker than ever. Sharon’s eyes flitted to the pile of Steve’s clothes on the couch and then the two marks on your neck. Your reaction gave everything away. It wasn’t a game— Sharon wasn’t sure how but it was completely real. She took a long sniff and you were hopeless as you gave up and let her.

“You’re the fucking Omega he won’t share?” She started laughing. “Oh, Buck too? Are you going to let them claim you, submit and bend over for them? You always were a weak Alpha. This is a better look on you, being someone’s little Omega bitch—”  

Sharon was in stunned silence at the fact that you had just hit her. You were visibly shaking now. It wasn’t your intention to hit her, the Alpha memory overrode any good consciousness you had. The accusation drove you mad. It would have been fine if you were still the Alpha you were supposed to be.

“Don’t you dare touch me like that again, Omega,” Sharon spat. “You’re lucky I don’t do something to you right now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Can you please leave?”

Sharon stormed out of your room, the door slamming shut behind her. In pure fear, you grabbed a large box and placed Steve and Bucky’s clothes in it. The box was pushed right next to the front door and you began rearranging the room. Hastily, you took your perfume and sprayed it along the entire duplex, both floors. It wasn’t the best but in your defense you never built a nest before. However, you did outline that the entire apartment was your safe zone. The two couches were pushed together to make a nest on the bottom level and your bed was obviously the one on the top floor.

“FRIDAY, this is all my space.” You made a vague gesture to everything.

“Understood (Y/N).”  

With a tentative nod, you went upstairs. The invading of Sharon’s stench downstairs coupled with the incident that just happened was too much to deal with. You passed out on your bed and tried to forget everything.

Steve and Bucky came back, ready to absolutely shower you in kisses. You did so well for them and they wanted to let you know. When their ruts were over, they were going to make you feel good. One thing neither man ever agreed with was Alphas that didn’t make their Omegas feel good outside of duties during heat. Omegas were below them but they were still partners. Bucky turned the doorknob only for the door not to open.

“Is she out?” he asked Steve, who just shrugged. “FRIDAY, is (Y/N) in her room?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

“She must’ve fallen asleep. Open the door.”

“I’m afraid I can’t anymore, Sergeant. (Y/N) has marked the entirety of the duplex as her nest.”

Both men laughed. Bucky turned to Steve. “She got so excited she started early. Let’s just let her sleep.”

“Sounds good. FRIDAY, let us know when she wakes up and is headed for breakfast.”

“Certainly, Captain.”  

The two men went back to their room. Smiles graced their faces as your scent permeated the air. The first thing Steve did was go to the closet to see if you had taken a lot— content to find a few empty hangers.

~~

You tentatively walked downstairs for breakfast, dressed to workout. The plan was to get a quick meal and then workout before Sharon liked to enter the gym. The rest of the team was down— minus Clint and Vision but with the addition of Peter and Thor. While everyone accepted the new dynamic with absolutely no qualms, the new scent was something they still needed time to adjust to. They took tiny sniffs since they were sure that Bucky and Steve would kill them if it even seemed like they wanted to make a claim. Peter was the only safe one since he was a child to all of you no matter how super he might have been.  

Naturally, the seat in between Steve and Bucky was empty. Until you three actually bonded, everyone expected that you would want to be in close proximity to each other as much as possible. You dug into your bowl of cereal that they had fixed for you the minute FRIDAY told them that you were awake, stealing bacon off of Steve’s plate. He playfully glared at you but did nothing as you ate it right in his face.

The rest of the team wouldn’t verbally say it but they thought this might have been the best thing for the three of you, even Nat. You had gone around unclaimed for so long, uptight and stubborn. They had been waiting for one of you to pull your head from your ass because it was clear that the only people that could really handle the three of you were, in fact, the three of you.

You tensed up when the elevator dinged and Sharon’s presence was known. She took the seat right across from you and said nothing. She just stared at you while you kept your head down and focused on your bowl of cereal. Sharon finally cleared her throat.

“An Omega hit me last night,” she said like she was asking about the weather.

Tony just grabbed another piece of toast. “Can the poor thing walk? Your punishments are always so harsh, and you all say I’m sadistic.”

“Don’t know, I haven’t punished them yet.”

That made the others stop eating. Sharon was never known to not punish an Omega right away. Alpha females were always quick to show their dominance. They had to be. Patriarchy had men, even lower dynamics, lipping off at them. The team figured that it must have been an Omega woman if Sharon was content with eating breakfast first before punishing them.

“Are you doing it or letting the court?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I’m doing it or maybe I’ll ask Steve and Buck to.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow. “Why? You never ask other Alphas to do a punishment for you.”

Sharon shrugged. “Since you seem hellbent on bonding with (Y/N), I’m giving you the opportunity to punish her for hitting me even though she is unclaimed and I don’t have to be this courteous.”

The room got quiet. You couldn’t even take a bite of food, just clutched your spoon tightly. Steve’s jaw clenched while Bucky looked at you. You stared at a spot on the table and cursed Sharon out in your head. You should have known she wouldn’t keep silent. You were hoping that maybe she would drop it or resolved yourself to her holding it over your head and using it as blackmail. You should have known she would tell everyone. Sharon gave a smile.

“No, you don’t want to? I’ll do it myself then. Come on, Omega.”

Steve growled as he grabbed your wrist and aggressively yanked you from the table. Bucky sandwiched you in, making sure Sharon was behind him instead of behind you. Your first punishment wasn’t going to be at the hands of an Alpha that wasn’t them. The two men’s grumbling could be heard the whole way to the stairs.

You were practically being dragged up the stairs by Steve. To say you were nervous was an understatement. Most Alphas went with the standard spanking, usually twenty-five as the lowest bar, more sadistic ones took to extreme ones. You had once heard that a poor Omega had to go to the hospital because they weren’t healing well enough on their own after a punishment.

You couldn’t remember ever going over thirty or using something other than your hand when it came to punishing Omegas. You were pretty lenient but you also never had an Omega really disrespect you so there had never been a chance.  

You were trying to talk and say what happened but neither man heard over their own complaining. Steve marched you all the way to your door.

“Open your door, (Y/N).”

“Ste—”

“We can do this in our room or yours, we’re trying to be nice and let you choose.”

“Or we could go back downstairs,” Sharon said. “I prefer more public punishments, it keeps Omegas in line.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat and quickly told FRIDAY to let them in. Because you weren’t claimed and Sharon was the Alpha offended, technically this punishment didn’t have to be done in private. You weren’t entitled to the comfort of your space or the protection of your Alpha. She was doing it to toy with you but Sharon was also extending you a courtesy that you weren’t going to take for granted.

Sitting down on the bed, Bucky yanked your leggings off of you and pushed you down over Steve’s lap. A mix of emotions radiated off of him. His jaw ticked as he asked Sharon, who had sat down in the chair across from your bed, how much. The law only stated that claimed Omegas could be punished by their Alphas instead of the Alpha they offended but the punishment rules were still set by the person they attacked.

“Twenty-five,” she said, making you breathe out in relief. “Each.”

“Wait, e—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your response before the first smack hit your bottom. The sound echoed in the emptiness of your bedroom since you didn’t have much in it. Steve was counting for you in between grumbles that he couldn’t believe he had to do this. You weren’t sure how Omegas dealt with it.

You had asked Bruce and Wanda about it once and they said it wasn’t so bad but right now you were only on eleven and it was moving past stinging territory and starting to burn. Your eyes were starting to water. You were on spanking twelve and needed to get to twenty-five.    

“Wait, wait.”

You tried to block your butt with your hands but they were quickly pushed away.  

“Halfway done.” He continued. “You shouldn’t have hit her, you know it’s against the law.”

Sharon tutted with fake pity. “You have two Alphas, two punishments. Next time, think before you act.”

You gasped as Steve moved you to Bucky. He growled when Sharon stopped him.

“Metal hand.”

Like Steve, Bucky was just as pissed that he had to do this. You already couldn’t handle Steve, barely making your way through the twenty-five spankings. But Bucky was too much. You almost wished that Sharon decided to give you the punishment herself.  

“Bucky,” you gasped through the next smack, tears running at this point. “Sharon wa—”

“Just had to go and fucking rile her up and hit her. Can’t be such a headass anymore, got that Omega… Ow, what the hell?!”

It was too much, the Alpha memory taking over the minute he called you by the dynamic. Bucky let go of you and you scrambled off of him, only to get caught by Steve grabbing you. Bucky looked at where heat marks in the shape of your hands were on his thighs. Before you could do what you did to the other man, Steve grabbed your wrists in one hand and held them away from him.

“You had ten left,” Sharon commented.

“Shar—”

“You’re going to finish your punishment, Omega, and we’re going to be done with this whole thing. Now, stop before you get more added,” Steve commanded in the Alpha tone.

You bit your tongue as Bucky continued. This was what you were afraid of, losing all agency. You couldn’t even find the words to try and refuse the command. Your Omega cells told the Alpha ones to not fight back and let you accept the command and therefore accept whatever was done to you. The last ten spankings seemed to drag on forever. Steve let go of his hold on your wrists while Bucky grabbed the waistband of your leggings and pulled them back over you.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, Alpha.” You spit the presentation out with so much venom, your Alpha cells finally fighting back, but no one seemed to notice.

Bucky looked at Sharon. “Satisfied?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go finish breakfast.”

You walked ahead of all three of them, lost in your thoughts. Every movement added to the stinging sensation of your bottom. The minute Bruce fixed you, you were going to fight Sharon. And then you were going to punch Steve and Bucky in the face. How dare they punish you like that? And with so many spankings at that. You weren’t actually some puny Omega. You blinked as the elevator door opened.

There was a time when you laughed with other Alphas about an Omega complaining that forty was too much and should be considered the start of more sadistic/corporal punishment instead of sixty. Bruce once got sixty and so did Wanda. Their powers meant that they had a much higher tolerance so even intense punishments were actually considered basic for them. You weren’t sure if Sharon was doing fifty to really hurt you or because she thought that you had a higher tolerance like them. Your powers meant nothing in this instance— you were heat tolerant not pain tolerant.

The only thing that could’ve made it worse was if Steve and Bucky hadn’t been using their hands. Knowing what you knew now, being on the receiving end, you wanted to apologize to every Omega that you ever punished and especially to the Omega you made fun of for complaining about forty. And when Bruce made you an Alpha again, you weren’t ever going to punish an Omega past ten spankings. Ten was enough. No spanking above that number and no other punishments either.

The team watched you all sit back down like nothing had happened. Your cereal had gotten a bit soggy in the brief time that you were gone. Sam watched with scrutiny as you tentatively sat down and your face scrunched up when you pushed the bowl away and just grabbed some grapes from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.

“What the fuck did you two do to her?”

“Sharon wanted fifty—”

“Fifty?!” He cut Steve off.  

Vision spoke up. “That isn’t that bad. Wanda’s taken worse.”

“(Y/N) isn’t Wanda.”

“No, Vis is right,” Tony added. “If an Omega full on slapped me in the face, I wouldn’t let it be less than sixty.”

Bruce looked around in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? (Y/N) was an Alpha months ago.”

“Well, she’s not now. We have rules. It isn’t that hard to follow them.”

Your heart hurt at hearing Tony say that and see everyone else agree. Only Bruce and Sam saw this as a problem. They were the only ones that recognized you were naturally an Alpha no matter what sort of unnatural thing happened to you. All it took was one whiff of your Omega scent by everyone else for the team to act as if you’ve always been at the bottom of the presentation hierarchy.  

“I hope you play this conversation back and hear how much you sound like an asshole.” Sam turned to you. “(Y/N), why did you hit Sharon?”

He knew that you wouldn’t do so without a reason. Even when you were an Alpha, when it came to Sharon you just tried to stay out of her way. You had to work with her so why would you try to actively create a hostile environment? You were fine with antagonizing her through words. But as long as you both were at SHIELD then you tried to refrain from physical altercation. Sharon scoffed.

“Who cares? She hit me, she’s unclaimed, and she wasn’t defending an Alpha. So, she would’ve been punished anyway. It’s what happens to Omegas and she doesn’t get special trea—”

“Steve? Bucky?” Sam started.

Bucky looked at you. “When you hit Sharon, did you refuse a command and she tried to make you do it anyway?”

“No. But she was in my room.”

“Did you mark your nest before or after Sharon walked in?”

“After,” you answered with gritted teeth.  

“Were you defending an Alpha? Even a Beta?”

“Buck—”

“Then she deserved it,” he said, nonchalantly. “Omegas know better th—”

“I’m not used to being an Omega!” You yelled.

You were pissed off enough that even the Omega cells inside you were cowering at the Alpha ones that were still there. None of it felt fair. Sam was right. You weren’t Wanda or Bruce. You didn’t know this life and no one gave you a rulebook for it. Everything you knew was how to be an Alpha. And now the two Alphas who intended to claim you were showing you that they thought the same as everyone else.

Frustration and anger were the only two emotions bubbling inside you. It was enough to make the old, Alpha version of your scent to roll off. You didn’t know how long it would last so you took the opportunity while you had it. Slamming your fist on the table, you made direct eye contact with Sharon.

“Tell them what you told me.”

The other woman just smirked at you. “Do you think I’ll feel bad just because you got worked up enough? I meant it, you always were a weak Alpha and should’ve been an Omega from the start. Being someone’s little bitch is a better look on you.”

You turned to the two supersoldiers.

“The Alpha I was defending was my old self. Nothing I did was wrong. The Omega you want to claim belongs to me so you two can back off. Stay the fuck away from her and don’t even think about entering her space. Sam, Wanda, let’s go somewhere. I don’t want to be in the tower right now.”

Vision cleared his throat. “In your current state, I don’t want my Omega with an unclaimed Al—”

Vision stopped talking when your palms glowed red. It was unexpected for you to press your own hand to your neck, right over where Steve and Bucky had been scenting. Of course, you couldn’t actually burn yourself. It didn’t hurt but it left a mark and got rid of the supersoldiers’ scent.

“There. Now she’s leaving with a claimed Alpha and a claimed Omega. Wanda, let’s go.”

She looked at Vision who was too stunned to refuse again. Sam gladly left with you and the other woman. You didn’t care where you guys went, you just cared that it wasn’t at the tower. When Wanda suggested minigolf, you quickly agreed. As you sat down at the fourth round, Sam looked at your neck.

“Can I?”

“Go ahead.”

He took a sniff. “I can smell both versions of you. How long will it last, the Alpha one I mean?”

“A week at best, I’m surprised it even made a burn this strong. It’s kind of hard to use your own power on yourself.”

Wanda finished her turn and went to hug you while Sam went to play. “It’ll be fun to have another Omega on the team that’s a girl. Bruce is no fun.”

You laughed. “Was I no fun as an Alpha?”

“Nooo, you just left me every time you were in a rut.”

“Ah, ah. Vis did that.”

“He wouldn’t have a problem with it if you were claimed. But now we can hang out all the time.”

While you were enjoying yourself, Steve and Bucky could do nothing but pace in their room. Steve eventually stopped pacing first, thinking he might walk through the floor if he did. He flopped onto the bed as both of them talked about earlier events. They should have paid more attention. You weren’t blocking them to try to worm your way out of punishment.

It was because you became overwhelmed. There was still Alpha in you, those old cells took a while to die off. And you would always have your memories. They should have taken it slower and they knew that they messed up. Finding out an Alpha was in your space without permission made them pissed beyond belief. So did knowing that you now viewed them as those awful Alphas you always talked about.

They were starting to wonder if they even deserved to be your Alphas when they couldn’t pick up on the distress of their own Omega. As it got late into the night, they started getting worried. You, Sam, and Wanda hadn’t come home yet. They only felt relief as they heard giggling on their floor. Sam’s door closed but the laughter didn’t stop. You pushed Wanda and she just kept laughing as you pulled a disgusted face.

“Ew. Go finish your heat first before you even think about sleeping over.”

“What? You don’t want to be around me. I don’t care that you just started.”

“Wands. You talk in your sleep, I don’t want to hear you when you start dreaming about Vis.”

She paused. “I talk in my sleep?”

That made you laugh hysterically. You let her go to her floor with a promise to sleep over as soon as her heat was over. You needed a cold bath anyway. Sam had suggested going home when you said your lower abdomen was starting to hurt. It would be the first heat you had without the suppressant. When you got inside, the cold bath became less appealing. You went for a shower instead and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.

Hanging out on the duplex’s main level, you sat in your couches turned nest and put on a movie. The ice pack and bowl of ice cream was honestly good enough. It only became uncomfortable when a love scene came on. The ice pack was abandoned as you slipped a hand in your shorts to try and get some relief before the heat got really bad.

Almost immediately you felt the pain subside. Laughing to yourself, you realized that you were currently your own Alpha and could make yourself feel better. You started to move your fingers with a bit more vigor. The doorbell rang, making you pause what you were doing. No one ever bothered to ring your doorbell. Reluctantly, you pulled your hand out of your underwear and strolled over to your door.

“What do you want?” You asked with venom.

“Can we please come in, Doll?” Steve asked, gently. He and Bucky were staring at your neck, the place where you got rid of their scent.

“I don’t want you in my space,” you said plainly.

“Okay, But can we just talk? We di— Are you in heat?”

The scent hit them like a truck. Bucky immediately became concerned.

“Are you okay? Do you need help, is the room too ho—”

“I’m fine. You two can leave.”

“(Y/N), please…” Steve froze when you stepped back. He looked down to realize he had instinctively taken a step forward, a step into your space. Quickly, he retreated back to the doorway.

“I don’t want to bond. You can go back to Sharon and Nat.” You closed the door before either man could respond.

(Part 5)...