#one more dance along the razor's edge

[holocrone]

Band of Brothers | Part 2: Day of Days The Pacific | Part 5: Peleliu Landing

[yourdoorisunlocked]

ᴏɴʟʏ ʜɪᴍ

𝐀/𝐍: A very late oneshot for a cute request I got, I hope it's worth the wait! I'll try to be more consistent with posting, but life is throwing me actual curveballs rn, so patience is appreciated! And my LORD the wattpad-ass songs I keep picking out for these fics are always sending me- 💀✋

Also, Reader is AFAB in this one (since the wife fantasies this man has about Reader are UNTAMEABLE LMAO)

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“How long I’ve waited, darling. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me...” 

. . .

There was something about Alastor that deeply intrigued you.  

He always seemed to carry suave, foreboding darkness dancing upon the edges of unpredictability with a smile as sharp as a razor. 

What others found unnerving, you labeled as charming and ‘eccentric,’ when it came to Alastor. You simply didn’t care about the worse aspects of him, or rather, you accepted them with such ease that it surprised even the most estranged of demons. 

And though he was wary of your intentions, at first, Alastor soon recognized your unusual fascination with him and determination to befriend him as quite flattering, from such an alluring young lady like yourself. So, Alastor decided to humor you and make nice with you, since it was... difficult to have a good friend, especially with his status as an Overlord, to say the least.

Apart from Rosie - who, mind you, was occupied with her Emporium most of the time - he didn't have much else in his afterlife that didn't relate to the hotel. And though this silly endeavor was proving to be quite the source of entertainment, the issue still stood.

Those below Alastor that didn’t turn tail and run at the first sound of radio static would only test his patience, whether that be at the end of Vaggie’s angelic spear or the punchline of a raunchy joke from Angel Dust. 

Suffice it to say, Alastor was grateful for your company, though he’d never admit it, and had grown terribly fond of you. 

Almost attached, one could say. Though one would be skewered and sliced open before they could finish that heinous accusation. 

Sure, Alastor had possibly grown a tender spot for you in his wretched, rotted heart, but who wouldn’t take a bit of an obsession liking to the tangles and locks of your hair that he could only dream of twisting around his red-tipped claws? Or the delicate curl of your lips as you lifted your face into a crooked smile that had burned itself into his memory, making his heart pound erratically within his chest? 

And, ah, there you are, now. Working the coffee machine and putting a polite hand to your mouth as you yawned softly, still in your pajamas with your hair amess and your eyes struggling to stay open as they fluttered, before landing on him. 

“Oh, Alastor! Good morning,” a glimpse of your small, tired smile made his heart jump to his throat as he stepped forward with his hands behind his back. 

“Good morning, my dear! And how was your night?” 

You brightened at the question, your smile growing. Yes. Give him more, give him more of your happiness, your smile-  

“Oh, it was a wonderful dream, Al’! I can’t wait to tell you all about it.” 

He leaned against the counter, preening at how his name rolled so perfectly off your tongue. “By all means, do tell, darling~." 

Alastor was none too ashamed, despite his reputation as a gentleman, that his eyes were solely trained upon your lips the entire time you spoke, his smile growing in size with each glimpse of your tongue that he could manage to catch. 

“Hm... That’s very nice, my dear,” he nodded along absentmindedly as you ranted animatedly, enjoying the brightness behind your eyes while you made yourself breakfast. 

How tempting and sweet was the visage of you, as Alastor’s sweet, doting little wife, making yourselves breakfast and waving him off to his radio tower with your delectable, kissable smile and a cup of black coffee. 

“Oh, and there was a- Al'? Alastor, are you even listening?” 

Alastor smoothly brought himself from his trance “I do believe you were going on about seeing a deer, of some kind? With fur-"

"Softer than anything I've ever felt? I'm surprised you were even able to hear me over your own thinking." You glanced over at him with concern. “You’ve been spacing out like that a lot, recently. Are you alright?” 

“Top of my game, my dear! Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d be worried over me~,” Alastor leaned forward against the counter, laying his chin upon his intertwined claws as he tilted his head up at you, grinning wider at your flustered blush.

“Well-! Of course, I’m worried about you. You’re my friend, after all...” you turned away, missing the way Alastor deflated at that cursed title that he’d seemed to acquire, despite being your closest confidant, your partner-in-crime, your partner, period.

But good things came to those who waited, Alastor supposed.

As the both of you continued to converse, you half-cringing, half-laughing at his onslaught of puns and ‘dad jokes,’ as you jokingly called them, a pair of excited hooves bounded down the hallway, and an excited princess of Hell jumped into the kitchen beside her tired girlfriend, who was still rubbing her drooping eyes. 

“Good morning, guys!” Charlie squealed as she ran across the room, collecting the different points for her plan of Project: Redemption that she had left for you to organize overnight.

“Hey, there,” Vaggie yawned softly as she slumped into the room, and You shook your head with a chuckle. Poor girl must’ve stayed up all night, listening to Charlie’s rants about her plans for the Hazbin Hotel, since its major renovations and redesign, courtesy of Lucifer himself. 

“Well, aren’t you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? What’s got you so worked up, now?” You poured Vaggie a cup of coffee and she took it with an appreciative smile. 

“Well...” Charlie looked to Vaggie, who nodded encouragingly. “My dad’s going to visit the hotel again!” She bounced on her heels, oblivious to how Alastor stiffened beside you, and you inwardly groaned.

Here we go again, you sighed tiredly as you prepared for the radio host’s snark towards the King of Hell. 

Those two had been at each other’s necks since Lucifer had offered his help in advertising the hotel, and the mere mention of the Fallen Angel’s name would set Alastor off on an hour-long rant. 

“Is that so?” Static thickened his voice with malice as his ears swerved backwards, pointed and alert as you followed them with a stifled giggle. Alastor never seemed to notice the more adorable aspects of his demonic nature, being a deer demon. Then again, he probably chose to ignore them, trying to preserve his image more than anything. 

You took a slow sip of coffee as you glanced at his backside. I wonder if he has a tail, too. 

“C’mon, Al’. It’s her dad, you can at least be a little supportive.” 

His eyes widened towards you as you shrugged. “Not you, too!”  

“Hmph! I thought you’d have the sense to at least take my side on this one. Have I not been nothing but devoted to you?" Alastor batted his eyelashes at you, pretending to pout as you snorted.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to move in, right? You still technically have the hotel all to yourself,” you rub his shoulder in an attempt to sooth him, unaware of the surprised glance that Vaggie and Charlie shared. 

“...I suppose you’re right. At least he won't be staying here, in that gaudy apartment of his!" He laughed, referring to the apple tower that Lucifer had built when the hotel was under re-construction.

“Um, ha-ha, about that...” the princess twiddled her fingers with a strained grin, and his smile tensed further. 

“No...” your eyes widened in disbelief. There was no way... She wouldn’t! 

But it’d make sense, wouldn’t it? I mean, the hotel wouldn’t be sporting that super-subtle apple-shaped tower for nothing, right? 

“Ɏꝋᵾ ᵯēⱥꞥ ⱦꝋ ⱦēłł ᵯē, ɏꝋᵾ īꞥꝟīⱦēđ ⱦħⱥⱦ ƀⱥꞩⱦⱥɍđ ꝋꝟēɍ ⱦꝋ ꞨȾȺɎ ĦɆꞦɆ!?-” 

“Alright, alright, take five.” You sighed and looked towards Charlie, who shifted nervously in her spot as Alastor stood off to the side with palpable anger.

“I’m sorry if it’s too soon, and I know you’ve never met my dad before, but I promise, he’s just trying to help the hotel. Just... give him a chance? Please?” 

“It’s fine, I’m fine with it, but I know someone who won’t be,” with a glance towards the self-proclaimed ‘Host of the Hotel,’ you took Charlie’s hands in yours. “I’m glad that you’re reconnecting with your dad, okay? Just... warn us, next time. Specifically, warn him,” you side-eyed where the Radio Demon was scrutinizing the both of you, small voodoo sigils floating around his form with an eerie glow. 

A soft smile graced her features. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was just so excited! Dad’s really trying, you know? And I promise, he really wants to help the hotel."

You turned towards Alastor. “Now, do you think you can settle down? For Charlie?” You avoided the word ‘behave’ for the sake of not being eviscerated on the spot. 

"Hm... Perhaps, but you must promise to stay by my side the entire time," Alastor gripped your shoulder for emphasis, and you rolled your eyes and reached up his collar.

"Alright then... I guess I can manage that."

His eyes trailed up and down your figure, and all his cultivated anger evaporated as you fixed his bowtie, clearly a bit jittery yourself. 

Lucifer may have had the hotel, hell, he could take Alastor’s place, for all he cared. He didn’t even want the blasted position in the first place, not before Lucifer challenged it. But the King of Hell didn’t - couldn’t - have you, and that alone was enough to pacify Alastor, for now. 

He shook away the confusion that came with the sudden bout of possessiveness from the thought of you so much as sharing an interaction with the Fallen Angel and dismissed you to retreat into the shadows until Lucifer arrived.

It was 1:00 P.M. on the dot, and the doors burst open as shimmering crimson light poured into the room, and the King of Hell, the infamous Fallen Angel himself stood before the newly furnished lobby with his arms widely outstretched for his much taller daughter to embrace her. 

“Charlie!” 

“Hi, Dad!” 

As the two Morningstars greeted each other with a tight hug, you almost gushed at how adorably similar they looked, despite the height difference. 

You also noted how Lucifer immediately narrowed his eyes at Alastor, gloved hands clutching his cane in a strangling grip, as if he were restraining himself from giving the radio host a beatdown with it. 

“Bellhop,” Lucifer spat without missing a beat. 

“Deadbeat,” Alastor shot back with a malicious grin.

You groaned and slapped your forehead. I just talked to him about this!

“And just who might this be?” Lucifer raised a dark eyebrow towards you, and you stepped forward – away from Alastor to his dismay – to properly introduce yourself to Charlie’s father. “A first good impression goes a long way,” as your mother liked to say. 

“Hello,” you smiled and gave Lucifer your name, side-eyeing Alastor as he scoffed heatedly at your misplaced politeness. But, in his defense, it truly was! There was no reason to pay any heed to that short-stacked, duck-loving ȼɍēⱦīꞥ!

“Oh! Yes, this is our newest resident at the hotel! She's been a big help, especially around the kitchen!" Charlie squealed with enthusiasm, practically singing your praises in front of her father and you blushed.

“It's nice to meet you," you held out your hand to shake his, and a soft smirk pulled at Lucifer’s pale features as he bent down at the waist at a perfect angle, laying a chaste, feathery kiss against the back of your hand. “Charmed, I’m sure~.” 

The king’s eyes trailed from up your waist before making heated eye contact with you, rising slowly from his bow.

The screech of a record player from behind made you flinch, but you attempted a clumsy curtsy and ignored Alastor’s rising temper, sigils flying about from the display of unearned affection. “Likewise, Your Majesty.” 

“Oh, no need for such formalities. Just Lucifer is fine, my dear."

“Oh, alright then... Lucifer.” The Fallen Angel’s smirk widened into a toothy smile that contrasted yet was quite comparable to Alastor’s terrifying grimace as he took you by the arm and pulled you along into the freshly revamped hotel lobby. 

"Charlie, you didn’t tell me such a doll was staying here! I would’ve visited sooner, you know,” the king laughed, and you chuckled along awkwardly as you glanced back at your crimson-clad friend, who was seething in his place as he watched you walk beside the king's sauntering pace, pure confidence and smugness radiating from Lucifer as Charlie smiled at you apologetically.

Alastor’s pointed ears were pinned backwards, and the raven tips of his hair sharpened as his lips rose slightly above his gums in an enraged sneer. 

“You know, I remodeled most of this place,” Lucifer grinned up at you while you looked around with appreciative eyes, and Alastor trailed closely behind the both of you, along with Charlie who looked up at him with confusion.  

“Is that so? In that case, I really must thank you for giving the kitchen a well-needed upgrade! It’s so much easier to work my way around it, now.” 

"Oho, of course, my dear! Anything for you~," he grinned devilishly up at you, chuckling at the soft blush that tinged your cheeks as the screech of radio static crackled and electrified the air.

Alastor hated it. Despised it. The way you were smiling at Lucifer like that, like you’d been friends for ages, like he’d been the one to bring you on delightful outings, make you laugh yourself sick over whiskey, pull you into spontaneous dances and be a shoulder to lean on whenever you needed it most.

Not like that you'd ever gone to Alastor in such a sorrowful state, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t the first that you’d go to for that kind of thing.

Why were you gushing over Lucifer? Weren’t you closer to Alastor? Didn't you like him better?

Oh, now this just won't do...

"Darling. A word?"

You nearly flinched at Alastor's seemingly cheery, yet short and clipped tone, clearly peeved at something, though you were completely clueless. Maybe Lucifer really pissed him off that much and he needed a breather?

Shaking off your nerves, you nodded politely and missed the way Alastor preened with approval, shooting Lucifer a smug glare as he placed his hand upon the small of your back and pushed you along towards a private spot in the middle of the hallway.

Alastor's ear turned in the direction of the two Morningstars as Charlie and Lucifer retreated down the hallway to his room. Once he was sure they were gone, he snatched your wrist and pulled you inside of a hotel room just left of you.

The door shut behind you both, and you tried not to tremble under Alastor's smoldering gaze while you stared up at him, confused by his sudden fury.

"So, care to explain why that pint-sized excuse of a king was cozying up to you?" The words shot like gunfire from his lips, his insults carrying the weight of bullets as Alastor towered over you while clutching his staff.

"I was only being polite..." you wrung your hands sheepishly as Alastor scoffed down at you, his smile becoming more of a curled snarl.

"And besides, why would you care so much about what Lucifer thinks of me? I'm still your friend." When your hand takes his in its warm grip, Alastor has to resist the urge to melt.

Because I don't want to be 'just your friend,' was what Alastor wanted to say. Because I want your beauty and laughter all to myself, I want you to be mine, you need to be mine-

"Because I-" Alastor took pause, as if the mere notion of caring about you more than he should stole the very breath from his lungs.

His claws reached up to caress your cheek, and you shuddered from the tickle of contact, keeping your gaze focused on him. "Because you're the only person who makes me question myself. The only person who I... who I want to call my own." The words tumbled from his lips, hesitant yet ringing pure truth and adoration for you, and Alastor looked away from you for a moment, unable to meet your gaze, impatient for your answer.

Slowly, scared that he'd disappear into the shadows and that glimmer of vulnerability would fade should you move too fast, you leaned forward into Alastor's touch, nuzzling against his palm.

"And... And if I happen to feel the same way? What would you do, then?"

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at the confession, and he took a slow few steps forward to push you up against the wall, his gaze darkened and yearning as his warm breath fanned against your lips.

"I'd tell you to be care of what you wish for, darling~."

Sharp, yellow teeth pricked, and soft, gentle lips sucked and kissed around your collarbones and neck, as Alastor shivered and rumbled ever so softly at the taste of you, the feeling of marking you as his own as you whimpered and shivered beneath him with want.

His shadow flew to the door, turning the lock with a definite click and trapping you inside with the man who'd fantasized of ravaging you since months ago, when a pretty little doe wandered into his office.

You moaned against Alastor, limply allowing one of his hands to hold your wrists above your head as his leg came between yours, and he rose to face you, lines of crimson dripping down the side of his lips.

Alastor's lips hungrily captured yours, and he made no hesitation to slip his long, black tongue beyond your lips and into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans while wetness dripped between your legs, and his own made an obscene stain against Alastor's pants.

You panted as he pulled away, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and kissing just below his jawline as he pressed his throbbing erection against you.

“How long I’ve waited, darling. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me...” 

Alastor's hands ripped at his coat, hastily unbuttoning it from his vest before he pressed against you once more, eager to have you back in his arms.

His eyes darkened down at you as you started pulling at your blouse, desperate to pull him flush against your bare skin as he leaned over you, his slender arms caging you in beneath him.

"Oh, I'm going to devour you, ma chère... Show you just who you belong to..."

He inched closer as the sound of static grew thick in the air, tickling against your arms and making the hairs on the back of your neck rise as pure, carnal desire engulfed the both of you.

"P-Please..."

The doorknob rattled.

Knock, knock.

"Hey, uh- Is everything okay in there?" Charlie's concerned voice sounded through the door, and the both of you instantly froze, Alastor's hands still hovering over the belt buckle of his pants.

"Fuck," an irritated, animalistic growl rumbled from him, and he stood up to his full height as he glanced apologetically down at you, tilting your chin up to face him.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this, darling."

Alastor planted a long, heated kiss against your lips, his tongue savoring every taste of you that he could manage before he brushed out his hair and pulled his coat from the ground and back onto his shoulders.

"Not to worry..." Alastor buttoned up your blouse, his eyes lingering on your cleavage for a few more moments than normally and turned on his heel and plastered his trademark smile back onto his face.

"We'll continue our little show, later."

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Bet ya'll didn't expect that, huh? Caught in 4k smh

Ok, so there is a LOT going on rn and I'm trying my darndest to keep up with a consistent schedule (I say after going radio silent - pun intended - for a goddamn week) BUT I SWEAR THINGS ARE GOING UNDER WAY, chapter one of 'What A Dish, What A Doll' is getting a rewrite, I'm trying to finish more requests and headcanons, and the VOX FIC NEEDS TO BE UPDATED-

it's just a lot lmao, but y'all's patience is super appreciated!!

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid, @slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo

[indiweb]

⠀ 𐚁ྀ PERVERTED THOUGHTS ABOUT THEE ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ryōmen sukuna ⋆ satoru gojō ⋆ suguru getō

⠀" jjk men crushing hard on you as they .. please themselves. "

<– [ BACK ] : HOME [ NEXT ] : MLIST ㅤ→

明示的 ⌇ nsfw. fem!reader. masterbation. dirty talk. crying. begging. perv!characters. ( wc. 1.5k )

SINCERELY , YOURS TRULY Ξ ©INDIWEB, 2024

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⭒

⍟ RYŌMEN SUKUNA

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his fist pumped steadily , eyes shut tightly with the edges of his razor sharp teeth sinking into the fabric of your underwear he’d stolen from your dorm the last time he was there. not that you’d notice , you were always oblivious to everything unless it was spelled out for you. plus , when he was rummaging through the drawer , there seemed to be about a hundred in there. if you were to notice , then that meant pigs were replacing airplanes in the sky.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was the dead of night and there was only one thing running through the man’s mind. you. you in that dangerously short skirt the university made all the women wear. the gym shorts that’s hugged your lower body so dearly he swore he could see your ass straight through the black fabric. the busty blouses you always wore to parties that were thrown off campus , buttons coming undone the more you drunkenly danced with your girlfriends on the floor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his hand was full of his base , fingers practically glued together with how much cum had stained them. sweat beads swirled his temples before trickling down the sides of his face and meeting at the crevice of his exposed collarbone. it didn’t matter that your undergarment was washed , it was the closest thing he had to tasting your sweet juices , so he’d take it. all he could ever do was admire from afar , and he’d be perfectly fine with settling on what he had at hand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" f—fuck , just like that. such a good girl , " he mewled pathetically , unbothered by the fact that his door wasn’t locked , and that anyone could waltz in at any given moment. especially you , whose belonging he’d stolen unprovokingly. though , he was wholeheartedly okay with that. he’d let you watch him all day if need be , that’s how much he wanted you. if seeing his desperate would get you to finally notice him , then so be it. at least you had him on your mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his dick twitched every time a teasing thought swept his mind , whimpers prattling along the edges of his dry lips that hung open so pathetically. he found himself bucking into his grasp , imagining that it was you bouncing along him and not his own embarrassing hands kneading the flesh of his throbbing erection. that you were guiding to his third and final orgasm he tediously dragged on , mouth engulfing one of your breasts whilst his free hand groped the other. it was a down right terrible thing to imagine , but he couldn’t help himself. you’d bewitched him so horrifically he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew his imagination would never truly live up to you , but it’s all he had. the only interaction he ever sought out with you was the fantasy world he’d created in his head , like a demented teenage girl gawking over fictional men. he truly felt pity on his own self , but definitely not enough for him to stop. even if you yelled at him to , he’d never be able to bring himself to get over you. your mere existence drove him crazy , his once pride in his intellect being drowned out by the excitement he got whenever he smelled your signature perfume lingering the halls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀tethered cries fell dryly from his quivering lips , liquids shooting onto his bare lower abdomen for the third time in a row. shuttered body shivers ran goosebumps along his silk skin , tattoos bubbling at the chills. heaved sighs were his only form of speech , hands dropping his heavy base and reaching for the nearest towel that he laid on his bed for the specific occasion. it wasn’t his proudest moment , but he’d be able to live with himself as long as you stayed ignorant of his existence. that was , however , until a gentle knock was hit against his door with a an even softer utterance of his name. " sukuna? " , had his blood running colder than niagara falls.

⍟ SATORU GOJŌ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man was widely known around campus , mainly for being a charmer , of course. he could never stick to an agenda , always up to something knew every week. always up someone every month. he was passed around more than a blunt at a frat party. he didn’t mind it though , he knew he had the looks , the body , the technique. so as long as he was getting something in return , none of it mattered. none of the whispers made it to his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀despite everyone knowing almost everything about him , one thing they didn’t know was that he could never properly get off to any of the girls (or guys) he slept with. they all sounded the same , wanted the same thing ; a quick fuck a dip. and , though he’s never heard your sweet sounds up close , he’d always think back to your classes spent in culinary where you’d moan in delight at how good a dessert tasted. satoru didn’t know when his obsession started, but what he did know was that just the slightest thought of those noises had him creaming his pants on the spot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀anytime he was amidst a lecture , mind wandering off and running free , he’d always somehow resort back to those moments and would have to excuse himself or he’d make an absolute mess in the auditorium seat. which is exactly what he’d done some time ago. he was caught up in some english lesson when his mind went astray and he could feel a fiery knot forming in his abdomen , the man scurrying to his feet faster than anyone could notice him out the door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he sat in the unisex restroom with the door locked , pants loosely pooling at his ankles with his pulsating tip already leaking out heavily. he could feel himself slowly losing his mind , jaw hanging open with incoherent sounds of pleasure chopping through the eerily quiet aroma that set in the room. every time he is hand glided to the top , he’d slide his thumb pad through the slit of his tip , whimpered sobs following closely behind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man had never even talked to you , for crying out loud. let alone be within five feet of you , and yet he found himself letting off to your mere though any time he had a moment to himself. it’s why he always drowned himself in having sex with random classmates , imagining that it was you who’s folds he was sliding into. your neck he was littering in hickeys. your chest he kneaded at so carelessly. and , every time he did so , he’d have to force himself not to spill out right then and there.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his entire body would tense as the cum that’d leak sooner than he planned , silencing his partner with his own mouth so he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore and would be able to only think about you and you alone , no interruptions whatsoever. it was a guilty pleasure , something he surely wasn’t proud of. he couldn’t believe that the girl he’d only ever admired from afar had such an impact on him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his thrusts would get sloppier the more you lingered his mind , ridding him utterly silent before he became a whimpering mess with your name drooling from his mouth. his quivering lip would tug between his teeth , hand reaching for his base as he slid from between the woman , pumping himself until he coated her abdomen in nothing but his sticky white seed. it wasn’t for her , and she knew that the minute she heard him cry out your name. she knew who you were , much like everyone else. so it was going to be one hell of a day when her friends found out the infamous playboy could only get off to the thought of you.

⍟ SUGURU GETŌ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your instagram has to probably be the most public thing about you. you were closed off. reserved. much like the man who had your socials pulled up on his laptop. he never once uttered a word to you , and you’ve never even looked in his direction. yet , he still found himself fisting his dick to you , imagining that he was bullying it into the depths of your cervix with you crying out his name. it was foul play , something you couldn’t waterboard out of him. a vile and inexcusable thing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but , of course , that didn’t stop him from leading into his second orgasm. the most he had to look at were bikini pics from last year , and frat party videos you’d drunkenly taken and still posted to the public eye. his dick twitched just from the sight alone , his pants already tossed into a random pile in his room. his mind wandered freely the more you videos played on loop , his pumps become more thorough with each stroke.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew you had a second account , everyone did. but you’d never let him into it if you didn’t know him. so , he scrounged your main and made do with what was on display for him. his whimpers were calling out to you , balled fist delving into his desktop as he could barely contain himself. his thumb pad would slide through his slit with the intention of it being your mouth , utterly melting into his seat at just the thought of you taking his entire dick and gagging along his walls with his liquids tainting your perfect little mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he couldn’t help himself , never did. the only " play " he got was from imagining a night with you. because while yes , he surely was attractive, being the talk of the school and all. no one cared enough to actually befriend him. so , he stayed to himself and disregarded everyone’s vague whispers that were passed at any given time he walked by them. not like he’d genuinely care anyway , he had more important things to do. more important things to care about. which , obviously , were you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀some would call him crazy for caring about a woman that didn’t even know his name , let alone acknowledge his existence. but that wasn’t the point. he didn’t mind if you knew about him. for all he cared , you could tease and taunt him for being a loner and he’d still admire you because at least then he could say you knew he existed. it was a twisted way of thinking , for sure , but he couldn’t stop. you had such an effect on him that he couldn’t stop. not now , and probably not ever.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀vigorous sweat beads painted his once clear skin , hair strands falling from his man bun all the while he hunched over in his seat. his back trembled with each movement he made , mewling and sobbing at the endurance. his tip leaked faster than a running faucet , white juices littering his fingers that grasped his dick. all he could do was cry and plea for you to let him cum , ushering that he would be good for you. though , he never once thought it’d get so bad. that he’d be so down bad he actually started talking to himself about you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" p—please , i’ll be a good boy. o'fuck! please , y/n! " he sobbed in hysteria , tears streaming down his cheek bones and meeting at his dehydrated bottom lip that hung open. if his desk chair wasn’t covered in his juices enough , it’d surely be drenched by the time he finished his last climax. he wanted it to build up for some time , enjoying the back arching tension that washed over whenever he finally his hit limit and creamed on himself. which is exactly what he did. he couldn’t stop it , not when the sight before him was you tanning at the beach in absolutely nothing , the " nude beach " sign slightly showing in the background. it was just your backside , but still , it was you so his mind jumbled into an entire mess.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⭒

⠀MUCHOS GRACIAS FOR USING ©INDISPACE PROGRAMS

[atopvisenyashill]

what do you think of waymar 😭 george wanted us to dislike him?

no, i don’t think george wants us to dislike him at all! rather, i think waymar is our introduction to the themes george is most fond of - the arrogance of the noble class, the concept of a true knight, and the randomness of death.

our introduction to waymar royce is kind of quintessential spoiled little lordling. his clothes is too fancy, he’s dismissive of the smallfolk who clearly know better than him, he’s got that shiny knighthood but he’s not all that impressive, he doesn’t even have the right type of horse for ranging! he mocks both gareth and will, despite them being more experienced than him, and despite gareth being an “elder” of a sort. for waymar, the idea that gareth could have a better understanding of the situation is unthinkable. when gareth tells the story of frostbite in an attempt to get waymar to turn back, waymar dismissed him wholesale. he leads them, unknowingly, to their doom because he is simply too arrogant to see the sense in what gareth is saying. not only is that entire dismissive attitude prevalent in the story, but someone marching themselves and several innocents straight to their doom over their pride is a HUGE issue throughout the series as well. just as varys says - it is always the innocent, the peasantry, who suffer the most and here, poor gareth and will are forced to pay a price for the foolishness of someone they KNOW is less experienced.

and then the others come.

There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then." He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night's Watch.

The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.

He won’t win this fight. He knows it, the Others know it, and Will knows it. But the fact that Waymar has doomed himself and his men to death doesn’t matter here; what matters is that he doesn’t give up! When faced with a monster from a story book, an impossible nightmare, Waymar picks up his sword and he fights, and for a moment, Will has hope.

That’s why it’s Waymar in the prologue. He’s not an exemplary sort of man, he’s not particularly smart or skilled or kind or even overly cruel or stupid. He is a very normal, common type of man who led a very normal life until this moment. But he still tries.

And so does poor Will! And so does Gared! Will is terrified as he hides in the trees, watching Waymar fight and die, knowing that going to help will just get them both killed. He’s not particularly brave, but I would say he’s smart! Genre savvy even, when he knows the fight is hopeless and makes the decision to keep hidden and fight another day. Gared flees (and it’s interesting that we have the theee main fear responses here - fight, hide, and flee) but he’s so traumatized by what he’s seen that as he’s questioned he can’t give a good, clear answer. And then he’s uselessly, needlessly killed by our shining example of chivalry and honor in Ned Stark, his head kicked like a toy by Theon Greyjoy. As Jon says, he only dies “well” because he’s shell shocked - he is confused and deeply afraid in his last moments.

the three of them - gared, will, and waymar - are the entire series diluted down to one chapter, to three unextraordinary men. but with them lies a lot of the point of the whole story. and waymar specifically, for me, is about all those moments of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. he’s a very normal, very flawed person who reaches down deep in himself and finds something good and brave at the very end.

[see-arcane]

On todays Dracula Daily: It's a dire situation but also I'm proud of Jonathan who, while very much scared quickly realized he shouldn't alert his 'host' to the fact that he's well aware he's a prisoner and trying to get Dracula to give away information that could be of use.

It's the same way to deal with a number of predators in the wild. If you start to run, they start to chase you down in earnest. If you stay calm (or at least look like it) and don't raise the alarm, it buys you a little time. Yes, they're still moving in for the kill--but an entertained cat will happily waste time toying with a mouse rather than kill one that proves a nuisance. But even leaving aside the metaphors, it's also a common tactic in domestic and workplace abuse situations.

Jonathan is very aware of how little he can do to resist Dracula on any front, as the Count has been making very very clear.

Dracula has him alone and isolated in a castle on the edge of a cliff. Dracula has locked all the doors. Dracula is wealthy and titled and the Client. Dracula is physically far stronger than Jonathan. Dracula has dropped the first hint that he isn't even human with the reflection issue. Dracula is willing to resort to a violent act on a whim, as shown by the thrown and shattered mirror. Dracula could just as easily shatter Jonathan's bones while indulging in his habit of towing the young man around by the arm or taking him by the hand or throat. Dracula is entirely capable of doing or taking anything he wants from Jonathan.

And where a more classic Manful Man (tm) might start chest pounding and try to bluster his way into rebelling against the Count--smash cut to his giblets strewn around for the wolves--Jonathan is being smart. Jonathan's playing the game Dracula is clearly eager for the young man to play with him, being that Jonathan is exactly the kind of person that would engage the Count; a docile, endearing, frightened, but not oblivious, plaything.

Jonathan is an amusement right now. Once he's dead and/or undead, the game ends. But so long as he keeps dancing on that entertaining razor's edge between his composure cracking and smiling along to Dracula's button-pushing, he's worth keeping alive as-is. Because this setup is delightful for the Count.

The Count knows Jonathan isn't ignorant to his danger. The Count knows he's scaring Jonathan and that he's pretending otherwise to keep Dracula happy. And he'll milk that exact precarious chemistry for all it's worth as he makes his plans for England, enjoying the first bout of proper psychological torment fun he's probably inflicted in centuries. Jonathan wants him to tell stories and play host? Gladly, my friend! Listen all you like, he's happy to chat, have another cigar.

All the information in the world can't save you if you're never leaving that ancient tomb of a castle.

[sky-kiss]

Omgggg we've gone over this, but can we get Raphael offering Tav to shave him when his stubble is starting to get heavy? You can do what we talked about and just completely do with it however you want! More opportunities for face touches is always 😩👌

Does he need to shave?

It’s one of those innocuous questions, seemingly barbed but only genuinely curious. Tav lingers near the edge of the pool in the Devil’s Den, watching as he smooths the razor along his throat. The gesture borders on fluid. She follows the blade's path, entranced. Raphael wastes no movement; each stroke is precise, every motion practiced, nearly a dance. 

Raphael meets her gaze in the mirror, flicking a fine lather of cream into the washing bowl. One of his brows is arched. Explain yourself, mouse. Tav cocks her head to the side, resting her chin on her pulled-up knees. He’s looking for an opening, an opportunity to slip in a well-placed remark; she doesn’t intend to give it to him. The air is warm, oddly intimate, and she’s happy to be.

The devil is bare to the waist, a warm towel slung over his right shoulder. His hair falls so that it should not be a hindrance, but he is nothing if not an exacting master. It’s bound at the nape of his neck in a sloppy tail. She’d call him handsome, but for the first part, it seems an understatement. The second, it feels dangerous to admit. Raphael would never let her hear the end of it, vain beast. 

“A cat may catch a tongue. What manner of creature catches an eye, do you think?” He pauses, razor resting on the edge of the bowl, still meeting her stare. His eyes have a knowing glint, leaving them warmer but no less dangerous. 

“Hard to say: what sort of creature are you?” 

He chuckles lowly, leaving little creases in the shaving cream. “Oh, clever girl. We’re learning; I do love a flatterer.” Raphael considers her, then turns. The cambion drapes the wash rag over his wrist and crosses to her. He flips the razor and extends it to her, scales first. “Come, if you intend to stare, I’ll make use of you.” 

Raphael seats himself on the step. Tav moves to stand between his legs, but he clucks his tongue. One arm snakes out, looping around her waist and pulling her to sit on his knee. It remains there, his hand curved over her hip to hold her steady. He taps her knee. “If you’d be so kind, pet.” 

“And if I cut you?” 

“I will pay the damage back in kind, of course. But I doubt you will. You’ve such talented hands.” It doesn’t steady her nerves. The question comes to her again: does he need to shave? It’s just a glamour. He could magic the hair away just as easily. He grins at her, fingers stroking up her side, over her ribs. “There is a degree of beauty in the mundane, little mouse. You learn to appreciate these…trivialities. Now come, or I’ll think you’re playing for time.” 

Tav tests the weight of the razor. It’s lighter than she expects, but not too dissimilar to a knife. Raphael guides her hand for the first few passes, and corrects the angle of her wrist. He holds the towel to her belly, wet and distractingly warm. It’s one more sensation to add to the dance, lightly scratching, moving in time with her hand. 

He closes his eyes somewhere along the line, a play at displaying trust. He’s not as fine an actor as he thinks. His neck and shoulder muscles remain taut, ready to act if she slips or turns on him. Tav turns his head to one side, then the other. It’s soothing in its own way. She ignores how his fingers feel pressed against her hip or the flex of muscle beneath her. The ghost of his breath on her skin. The smell of him, cherries, musk, sulfur. It will linger on her skin for hours after they’ve parted ways.  

She finishes her taste without drawing blood and cleans him with the rag. Tav tries not to think about how intimate it is, that he’s dragged the same cloth low on her belly, when she’s cleaning a fleck of cream from his lower lip. 

But he knows. Raphael always knows. Sin is his business. He holds out his hand for the razor. She gives it to him, almost numb. 

“You look flush, pet. Is something wrong?” 

“No. Just happy I didn’t cut you.” 

“A shame! I should have quite liked...” He’s purring now, dangerous. The devil brushes his knuckles across her belly, lingering below her breasts. “...To leave my mark on you.” 

[bakedbakermom]

Good Morning

Rated X // 2300 words // Read on A03

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

Summary:

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Notes:

A little smutbiscuit for Kinktober 2023. Prompts: morning sex, frottage, (light) somno. I was 3 or 4 days into writing this fic when the painfully talented @msrafterdark posted this piece and it was like fate and the universe had come together.

He loves her first thing in the morning.

Well, he loves her all the time—volleying theories back and forth across the office over burnt coffee and crappy photocopies, singing along off-key to whatever radio station comes through the static three hours into a road trip from one corner of nowhere to another, lounging on a tiny motel bed with sharp springs and a pile of reports spread out like snow across scratchy blankets. He loves her on his couch sharing a beer after a long day, in her kitchen as they dole out boxes of takeaway (broccoli beef extra spicy for him, kung pao tofu for her, and she always nabs the carrots from his shrimp fried rice), nestled against him with her tiny feet propped up on the coffee table and a bad movie on TV. He loves her when she presses her sweet lips to his and breathes hot into his mouth, when she wraps her smooth white legs around his waist and whimpers “more,” when she clenches around him in the dark as she shatters on a gasp of his name. Oh yes, he definitely loves her then.

But he especially loves her first thing in the morning.

It’s something about how soft she is. Agent Scully is all crisp lines and barbed tongue, the creases of her suits pressed sharp enough to kill a man as she slices through the hallways of the Hoover Building like a red-headed sword of justice, eyes flashing blue steel. Agent Scully can unman the most cantankerous and blustering small-town sheriff with the twitch of one razored brow, can force Death itself at scalpel-point to surrender the most intimate secrets of the grave.

Agent Scully flashes through her days like a machete, too sharp to touch and so blindingly bright it hurts him to look at her sometimes. But Morning Scully. Oh Morning Scully…

Her edges blur in the evening, melting under his words and his mouth and his hands, but it takes until morning for her to grow butter-soft and creamy between the rumpled sheets of their bed—her bed or his, both are theirs, though this particular morning they’re secure behind door 42, the honeyed sunlight of a rare empty Sunday drizzling through the blinds and illuminating the intricate dance of the little dust motes that hang in the air. She sleeps on her side with her back to the window, the light catching her crimson hair in a nimbus that he thinks would inspire a better man to painting or poetry, but reduces him to gibbering wonderment.

He watches her sleep with something like awe. Her lips slack and slightly parted, still plump and red from kissing. Freckles sprinkled like cinnamon across her sleep-pinked cheeks, hair in a delightfully tousled disarray that makes him think of sunset clouds and cotton candy. There’s a little crease between her eyebrows as if she’s dreaming of something unpleasant, and he smoothes it oh so gently with his thumb. He doesn’t want to wake her; he’s not done looking yet. 

The sheets have shifted as they slept, revealing the hourglass curve of her side, the mole cradled just inside the firm crest of her hip. She had whimpered last night as he tongued it, a long detour on his slow journey to the oasis between her thighs. Her body is ripe with secrets to explore, his mental map of her slowly filling in as he traverses every hill and valley. He writes “here be monsters” beneath her ribs where she is too ticklish to touch, “here be angels” on the curve of her breast where the gentle scrape of his teeth makes her breath hitch. He finds heaven in the cradle of her hips, nirvana in the fragrant skin of her neck, paradise in the lush press of her lips.

Morning Scully may be soft, but Morning Mulder is getting decidedly less so by the minute.

She stirs slightly and rolls onto her back, the sheet slipping down the slope of her breast. One rosey nipple emerges into the cool morning air, pebbling quickly into a tantalizing peak, and he can’t resist anymore. He leans over her and circles it gently with his tongue, then pulls it into his mouth. He licks and sucks, feeling her flesh tighten even more, and when he scrapes his teeth against it, her chest jumps beneath him. She sucks in a breath, and her hands come up to card slowly through his hair. “Morning, Mulder,” she murmurs, her words still slurred with sleep.

“Good morning, Scully,” he answers as his mouth slides wetly to her other breast, on which he lavishes the same attention as the first, the slow and thorough consideration of his lips and teeth and tongue. Her breathing quickens, her pulse jumping visibly beneath the soft skin of her throat, and she moans low and long. He runs one hand up her leg, and her thighs part with a contented sigh; his fingers move higher until they brush against the curls of her sex, parting them to reach the hot, slick slit beneath. Morning Scully is always putty in his hands, her limbs loose and heavy, making love to him like something from a dream. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmhmm.” Her hips move in small circles as he plays between her legs, right on the line between soothing and arousing, and a blush blooms across her chest. “Wh-what time’s it?”

“Late.” He kisses his way up her neck, suckles on her earlobe until she whimpers softly. She still hasn’t opened her eyes. “I let you sleep in as long as I could stand it. Sorry.”

“S’okay.” His fingers skim her entrance and she twitches beneath him. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Her face scrunches adorably, and she makes a grumpy whining sound in her throat. “Maybe?”

He smiles into her skin, presses his fingers just barely inside her. “Do you want me to stop while you figure it out?”

Eyes still closed, lower lip between her teeth, she smiles and shakes her head. 

Her body is sleep-warm and limp as he drags her thigh over his hip, opening her to him. His erection presses into the firm flesh of her ass as he strokes her, coaxing her arousal slowly to life. He slides his fingers through the slick folds of her sex, coating them in her wetness; some of it must be from last night, when he had pressed her into the cushions of the creaking leather couch and come inside her with a cry that made the upstairs neighbor bang on the ceiling—and then again, in this bed, as she rode him like a prize pony until they both came apart at the seams. She clenched around him like a vise as they came together, and the way he spasmed inside her only set her off again, until their orgasms seemed to feed off each other in an ouroboros of pleasure that felt endless and left them both gasping, shaking, too exhausted to even roll off the wet spot, let alone clean up properly.

She’s slick halfway down her thighs.

“Fuck, Scully, you’re so wet. You feel so good.” He slides his tongue into her ear and one finger into her slippery, aching heat, and her neck arches off the bed. “You felt good last night, too, especially the second time”—and now he scrapes his teeth along the shell of her ear, slides a second finger alongside the first—“when your pussy was already full of my cum, when I could feel it leaking out of you as I fucked you.”

“Jesus, Mulder,” she gasps, and spreads herself open even more, hooking her leg behind him and shifting a little onto her side. He holds her across her stomach and gathers her partly on top of him; her head falls back on his shoulder so he can tongue the soft column of her throat, nibble the sweet ridge along her collarbone. He ruts against her as his fingers pump slowly in and out, her clit hardening beneath his thumb. One arm is still trapped against the mattress, and he wriggles it free as best he can to fondle her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She moans, squirming against him and pushing her ass deliciously against his hard length, begging for more. A quick shift of her hips, an awkward moment of fumbling, and then his cock is no longer trapped between their bodies but gliding between her slickened labia, and she brings a hand down to press him more tightly against her. He thrusts languidly, trapped between her hot little fingers and her even hotter cunt; he skims across her entrance with each stroke, rubs the head of his cock against her clit, her hips rolling in counterpoint to his sweet, unhurried rhythm. She reaches backward to grab his hair, whimpering, and his newly unoccupied hand busies itself at her other breast, groping and tweaking them in tandem.

“I love making you feel good, Scully.” His voice is velvet and gravel, his cock almost painfully hard against her molten core, and he talks to keep from embarrassing himself by coming before he’s even gotten inside her. “I love making you wet, feeling your clit pulse under my fingers, my tongue.” He licks her from shoulder to ear, leaving a glistening line of saliva along her skin, then sucks on the sensitive little spot where her jaw meets her throat. Soft little oh s spill from her lips as she grinds harder against his cock, and stars crowd his vision. “I love making you come, over and over. The sounds that you make, the way you smell, the way you squeeze me with your tight, wet cunt. ”

“Oh God.” Her whole body shudders and he feels a warm trickle of arousal coat his cock. Her face turns into the pillow, muffling the increasing volume of her moans. Greedy for the sound of her, he cups her jaw to pull her into a long, sloppy kiss, swallowing each whimper as she writhes against him with growing desperation.

“Are you awake yet, Scully?”

“Yes,” she pants helplessly against his mouth, his cock gliding between her soaked folds with almost no resistance. Soft, wet sounds fill the room, broken only by her breathy moans, his desperate panting. “More,” she manages to gasp. “God, more.”

His arm tightens around her stomach, and in one smooth move he drags her fully on top of him and scoots until his back is against the headboard. Her thighs fall to either side of his and he spreads her wide, his thick cock still thrusting along her slickened sex. She drops her head back against his shoulder and he growls, “Touch yourself,” into her ear.

A moment of hesitation, a deepening blush in her cheeks, and then she obeys. He watches her hand moving in quick tight circles over her clit, brushing the head of his cock as he slides it up and down the length of her. He slips just barely inside and she cries out, chasing him with her body when he withdraws, teasing her again and again. She gasps his name between casual blasphemies, notes in a symphony of moans and whimpers. “I want you inside me,” she finally begs. Her hand is slick with her own arousal as she wraps it around his cock, pumping him slowly, holding him against her entrance. She arches back to kiss him, plunges her tongue into his mouth, unable to stop the embarrassingly high-pitched whines coming from her throat. “Fuck, Mulder, I need you inside me when I come.”

“I live to serve,” he purrs against her mouth, and thrusts firmly upward, impaling her in one smooth motion. A loud cry pours from her throat—the neighbors are definitely going to complain again—and then she’s riding him for all she’s worth, her hips rolling and the muscles in her thighs clenching as she gallops toward release.

“Yes, oh God, Mulder, yes,” she gasps again and again, breathless and wanton, her tits bouncing in his hands as he pinches her nipples and her fingers making ever-more-frantic circles over her clit. “Close, so close, harder—”

Her words melt into a loud moan as he begins to plunge into her from below, his feet braced against the bed for leverage and his cock bumping against her cervix with every stroke. “Yes, Scully,” he hisses into her ear. “I want to feel it. Fuck me until you come.”

She’s tight and clenching around him, hotter than hell and slicker than sin, and his hand leaves her breast to join her fingers, stroking her clit together. He bites her nape, hard, and with a startled “ Oh! ” she shatters, her inner walls squeezing his cock in strong, rhythmic flutters as she gushes around him.

“Christ, Scully, did you just–?! Oh my god–!” Before she has a chance to answer or even catch her breath, he squeezes her tightly against his body and thrusts hard and fast, unable to hold back any longer. His ass lifts off the bed as he pistons in and out of her, desperate for release, and when she tightens around him again he comes with a roar—someone next door bangs on the wall—spurting hot inside her until his eyes roll back in his head and his vision goes red at the edges.

He comes down to find himself spooned against her, her ass cradled in the bowl of his hips as he softens inside her. They’ve made quite a mess, but his legs are burning like he’s been running for miles, and she’s gone completely limp against him; the last thing he can imagine is getting out of bed.

Still, he tries to be a gentleman.

“Want me to make some coffee? Then maybe a shower?”

She shakes her head against the pillow and pulls his arm tighter around her body. “I think I might be falling back asleep.”

He smiles into her hair. “Want me to wake you up a little later?”

“Absolutely.”

Hope you enjoyed! As always, comments will be printed and pasted into my little self-esteem scrapbook <3

[theelizamanelli]

Tengoku

Reina Iyashi wants a normal, mundane existence until Satoru Gojo takes a special interest in her uncanny ability to bring people back to life (or so Itadori says) and offers her a job as his assistant at Jujutsu High. Tags: 18+, satoru gojo x female oc, boss x assistant, golden retriever x black cat, forced proximity, slow burn, eventual smut, romance, blood and violence, implied/referenced suicide and child death link to all chapters link to ao3

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Chapter Four

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The gray carpet extended through the open concept living room, giving way to a wall of windows overlooking Tokyo. Reina ran her hand along the marble of the kitchen, admiring the stainless steel appliances. She hadn’t realized that Jujutsu High freely provided their employees with such lucrative benefits.

The flat screen television sat untouched in the corner, the plush couch taunting her to lay down. Her day consisted of unpacking her office and chastising Satoru Gojo, the latter she had determined would soon become a regular occurrence. 

Exhaustion had seeped into her bones and threatened to burst from her. Reina was in desperate need of a shower and a long sleep. She would freely admit that though he continued to irritate her, Gojo had relieved a great deal of anxiety. She no longer worried about how she would be able to afford rent or groceries. 

The keys had sat neatly on her office desk when she had returned from her earlier outburst. A note, in what she had assumed was Gojo’s handwriting, with the address and a “Welcome home! (* ^ ω ^)” - met with a sigh and a roll of her eyes.

Carrying the one remaining box through the apartment, Reina had noticed two rooms across the hall from one another. One was noticeably decorated with a masculine aesthetic in mind. The secondary area appeared more neutral therefore she placed her stuff on its desk. 

Unpacking her things neatly, it took her little time to finish the job. Setting out her clothes post shower, she slowly made her way to the attached bathroom.

The hot water cascaded down her back and massaged out knots she hadn’t realized were there. Relishing in the warmth, she spent extra care on the rest of her body. She had neglected parts of her routine over the last few weeks from stress, not realizing to what extent until it took her a few passes with her razor to get the skin smooth. 

Washing out the conditioner from her hair before using a rose scented body wash, she finally stepped out of the shower. Wrapping herself in a towel she proceeded to open the door into the hallway. Embarking on a short journey to the kitchen for a drink.

The idea of dancing naked in the living room in front of the windows sprinted through Reina’s mind before she shook it off. It would be her luck that someone in a building diagonal would have the perfect view into the apartment, effectively ruining all privileges the lonely lodging gave her.

The sound of the refrigerator opening forced Reina to stop in the shadow of the hallway, creeping softly to peer around the corner. She didn’t have her kaiken but the vase sitting on the end table nearest to her would have to do. Slowly slipping it off the table, she held it up in preparation and sprung forward with a cry.

A deep laugh rumbled from the dark kitchen, the light from the fridge illuminated white hair and reflected off familiar glasses.

“What an unexpected greeting, Iyashi. Should I return the favor? I did get quite dirty today.” He chuckled softly as he placed the juice carton back into the fridge.

“What are you doing here?” Reina asked sternly, still holding the vase in the air prepared to strike. 

“This is my apartment.” He said, turning slowly towards her. Gojo’s eyes dropped quickly to the edge of the towel where it barely covered her thighs.

Reina, too angry to pay attention, barked “No, it’s my apartment. It was part of the agreement.” 

“I am away on business a lot, Iyashi. I need someone to take care of the place while I’m not here. Seemed the perfect fit. You need a place to live. I need a roommate.” He picked up his belongings from the counter and began to walk towards Reina.

She quickly lifted the vase higher, implying she intended to hit him if he got any closer.

“You can put the vase down, you’re safe.” He said before attempting to go around her.

“Am I?” She muttered to herself, placing the vase back down on the end table in defeat. 

Gojo pushed the door to his room open, placing his belongings on the desk before walking to his closet. 

Without thought, Reina barged in after him shouting, “Hey, I’m not done talking to you, pretty boy!”

“I’m listening,” mused Gojo as he slid his jacket off and placed it in the bin.

Reina faltered momentarily before continuing, “I told you I’m not your maid. I’m not your slave.”

“I never asked you to be, though the thought of you in that outfit will surely keep me up at night.” He chuckled and pulled his shirt off, leaving his abs on display.

Her slight intake of breath kept her from replying immediately, she couldn’t deny that his back was mesmerizing - distracting at the very least. 

“Well, good, I won’t be mistreated by a narcissist who thinks everyone will bend to his will.” She nodded her head with conviction.

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” Gojo straightened up and turned towards her, hands on his belt as he proceeded to loosen it. “Now, Iyashi, could you please put on something a little less distracting before I get carried away?” 

A blush spread from the back of her neck, kissing her cheeks. She had forgotten that she was still in the towel, standing in his bedroom as he was undressing.

Reina squeaked a curt goodbye and fled the room. 

She had expected to be angrier with him that he hadn’t been honest about her living arrangements but couldn't find it in herself. She was unsure if it was due to how exhausted she was or if she had grown to expect it from Gojo - even though she’d only known him for a few days.

The idea of living with someone had ignited a portion of Reina’s heart that she had forgotten existed - the desire for companionship. She grimaced at the thought of enjoying cohabitating with Gojo, of all people. 

Reina dried her hair and finished her night time routine, falling back onto her bed with a soft plop. She could hear the light footsteps of Gojo from the kitchen back to the bedroom, it paused outside of her door.

“Goodnight, Iyashi! Sweet dreams!” He shouted through the door.

Reina found herself smiling before whispering “Goodnight, Gojo.”

——————————————————————————————————

Managing Gojo’s life proved rather difficult in the weeks to come. Pleadings from all over the country flooded her desk in search of his help. Reina had to weigh them in order of severity and urgency before delivering them. 

He was consistently complimentary of how easily she had acclimated to the job. Though she continued to claim it was rather straightforward, he could have hired anyone. 

The typically lighthearted man continued his studies with his students, in his free time exorcizing the curses within the area. Playing the part of confident and fun loving Gojo-sensei, never taking his hands from his pockets as he finishes off deadly curses within minutes of arrival.

There was a side of Gojo that bubbled to the surface in the moments where she delivered new cases, a quiet and contemplative one. He reviewed the information, treating each with a seriousness she had not yet grown accustomed to.  

It had become abundantly apparent that the world relied on Gojo in a way that one could only assume was devastatingly heavy. 

Yet he carried himself as if he expected no less.

In a few rare moments, Reina found herself feeling both sorry for and proud of Satoru Gojo. 

——————————————————————————————————

Reina ripped open the envelope sitting on her desk to reveal its contents, the compelling recount of a curse that had plagued a family on the outskirts of Tokyo. A father, mother, five year old daughter, and sixteen-month old son. The letter revealed that the little girl had perished by the hands of the curse the day prior, they were begging for their lives.

She was unfortunately overly familiar with death. It was a natural consequence of this line of work and she read letters daily of families that were haunted by monsters. 

This would not be the first or last family to perish at the hands of a curse.

Gojo was out of town on another case rendering him unavailable, there was a part of Reina that felt the familiar twinge of disappointment realizing she would have to draft a condolences letter. 

She grabbed her bag from the desk, the images of a little girl splattered in blood flashed across her vision. She gripped the edge of the chair for balance, gritting her teeth.

Reaching for the two kaikens attached to her thighs - ensuring their location had not changed - Reina headed out the doors and in the opposite direction of the apartment, towards the train station. 

Verifying the address upon arrival, she reached for the door and knocked lightly. A young woman answered, keeping the space between the frame and the wood small. 

With barely an eye visible through the opening the woman whispered, “How can I help you?”

“My name is Reina Iyashi, I’m here to help you with your problem.” she answered softly with a small smile. 

The woman’s eyes widened as she closed the door, the sounds of locks unclasping slipping through the cracks. She pulled the door open wide and Reina noted her pregnant belly.

“Oh, God. Thank you!” The woman cried and wrapped both arms around her. Reina had never been good at accepting public displays of affection. Her body stiffened in her arms and she lightly patted the woman’s side with her free arm. 

“Where does it stay?” She asked quietly, her eyes darting around for any signs of the curse.

The young woman pointed to the top of the hill, the building sitting in its wake appeared overrun and unkempt. “When we moved here they said a woman drowned her two kids in that building and then slit her wrists in the tub. We were warned that a lot of strange things happened in the neighborhood but we thought…” She sniffled. “Well, we thought it was just talk…we never…”

Reina placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, keeping an appropriate distance between them in hopes she wouldn’t hug her again, “You didn’t know. Take solace in the fact that she is safe and not in pain. You did everything you could.”

Without waiting for a response, Reina turned and headed up the hill.

——————————————————————————————————

chapter five

[mothrianna]

Love and War

[fem!human oc x male!dragon oc]

Summary:

A huntress agrees to help the neighborhood drake find a mate for the upcoming breeding season as a part of a deal, but the drake figures that the huntress can serve the same purpose just as well as a dragonness.

(Bathing/Washing, Scenting, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Breeding, Breastfeeding, Pregnancy, Mating, Mating Bites, Soulmates, Mate for Life, Romance, Transformation)

(Brought over from my Ao3)

Ch. 1

“Have you lost your way?” She’d felt the presence before she’d even heard the voice, the hairs of her neck raising on end as the distinct feeling of being watched forced her on guard. She nearly cursed under her breath, realizing at that moment that the wind had shifted. A green mistake to make when hunting something that was just as likely to hunt. 

    Yet, despite the tension in the air upon finally crossing paths with her charge, she knows better than to allow her body language to betray her caution. The first rule of any encounter with any Kin: keep calm and mask your fear. 

    The young huntress had been trained in the ways of the trade, primed for it far before even that. She’s far from green, despite her youth, and far from allowing some common Kin to strike fear into her heart. But still she’s prone to the apprehension when one of the beasts are so fearless and forward to outwardly speak to her. Most try to stay hidden. They stay far from the human villages and shy away from human contact, but on the rare occasion that one decided meet her head on, it was certain that it was either a seasoned individual with power enough to render fear of humans obsolete, or an individual too stupid or crazy to care about danger. 

    So she stilled her nerves and faced the creature head on. 

    Facing her had been a rather imposing male just at the treeline’s edge, his height already seeming more than several heads taller than she. Taller than any man she’d seen. His hide, even under the shade of the dancing treetops had shone from the residual light, his scales a deep, royal shade of violet that she’d rarely seen in nature. Had she not been geared for a fight, she’d dare to say that he’d been beautiful in his coloration, underbelly-scutes being a dark umber bark to pleasantly contrast the deep color. 

    The voice had been obviously male, low and dangerous despite the question coming as a teasing sing-song tone. She was trespassing in his book, she was sure. Which meant that he’d be a little less receptive to negotiation. But she’d rather solve the issue of the rampaging male drake that had been blighting these woods with as little bloodshed as possible. 

“Not at all,” She answered. “It appears that I’m just where I ought to be.”

    The smile that stretched along his maw had been pearl-white and razor-sharp, and there’d been a crooked glint to his eye as he emerged from the tree-line to get a closer look at the little female human. Her gentle scent had been what drew him to her first, soft and familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he’d smelled it before. 

    He couldn’t help but be lightly confused. He was far from one to make assumptions based on looks alone, yet the female before him seemed far too small to even efficiently wield the blade at her side, let alone dispatch him. He found it hard to believe that this would be what the humans would send his way, and wondered if they’d finally resorted to their ancient ways of ritual sacrifice. The thought, though absurd, nearly drove him to chuckle as he considered her; an unknowing lamb to slaughter. 

    “Tell me, little thing. What brings you to my woods?” He asked. He finally takes a step from the trees, allowing her to see him beyond the shade. His imposing claws shimmered like wet ink, black and as long as daggers. He sported a mane of wild scarlet, and bore a crest the same color as his umber scutes just above his eyes. Upon his move, he noticed the slightest movement of her own, hand just meeting the hilt of her blade at her hip. She’d done well not to falter before him, however, her lapse in composure going no further than that. Not even in her eyes did she betray any concern in his nearing proximity. 

    “You’ve been giving the people grief, drake. Either share this forest or make yourself scarce.” 

    He replied with an incredulous chuckle in his throat. “I do not share what I’ve rightfully claimed. These woods are mine. They will always be mine, human.” 

    Her brown eyes fell on him with the promise of a challenge, and he was forced to walk back on his previous assumptions of the woman. Rarely had he been met with a human with such stern conviction. She is confident enough to draw her blades before him, one to each hand. A final warning. Yet, all the look seemed to do for him was send electric anticipation coursing just under his hide. His claws involuntarily flexed under the gaze. The little human wanted to fight, and he would be forced to answer her in full. 

    He darted for the human and she moved in time with his advance, her reaction just a hair faster than he. He’d lunged at her with teeth and claws aimed for whatever of her body he could manage, but she dropped and rolled just out of his reach. He redirected his own momentum, hoping to lunge for her before she managed to right herself, but she’d already been prepared, opting to redirect him with a swift strike with the butt of her blade rather than overtly dodging him. 

    Only after a few more failed attempts of him being redirected with firm strikes, the woman seemingly dancing around him like water, that he began to grow irritated with the realization that not once had she attempted to use her blades. The strength she possessed to be capable of sending him sprawling and warding him away had been impressive, yet the thought of his opponent holding back had struck something deep rooted within him. 

    “Kindness will get you killed, little woman.” 

    “I’ve survived this far.” 

    Her slight arrogance would be met with a growl. “What is this? A hunter too afraid to draw blood?” 

    “I prefer to avoid killing my quarry especially when they can be conversed with. You are capable of sense, therefore some sense can be beaten into you yet.”

    A low growl of warning rumbled in his throat as he glared daggers, and the woman took the short stalemate as a moment to shed her cape, revealing the form hidden underneath. No heavy armor, save for the leather guards on her elbows and knees. His lip curled as if insulted, considering her lack of protection as a mockery of his own strength. 

    Yet, despite his own mild annoyance, he couldn’t help but take note of how shapely the woman seemed in comparison to other female iterations of her kind he’d seen throughout his life. Most women of the village wore garish, cloth-heavy garb that hid their frames, but this woman’s dress had been form fitting, of course to allow free movement. He could see her frame almost intimately, more soft but lean, and this only served to stoke his latent curiosity of females beyond his race even further. 

    He would begin to pace slow circles around the woman, looking for an opening. Yet, he could tell just by her stance that she wouldn’t offer him one so easily. 

    “These humans owe me this wood.” He remarked ruefully. “After all the trouble they’ve caused, my actions are what they deserved.” 

    “Eye for an eye makes the world blind. And it’s only serving to further exacerbate the situation. You’ve stolen their food for the winter, drake.” 

    “They’ll lose more should they decide to test me any further.” 

    “It’s not right and you know it. You’ll not be satisfied until one manages to drive a pitchfork into your chest, will you?” 

    “Let them try.” 

    She threw him a bone, hoping to get to the root of the issue and play the role of mediator before having to resort to violence. “Why all of this, drake? What have they done to slight you? Normally, your kind tries to steer clear of us humans.”

    He would stop just before her, regarded her closely and decided to respond once he realized that the question had been sincere. The little thing sought to make peace between he and the village, a noble pursuit on her behalf. 

    “This stretch of wood is relatively peaceful, barring the meddling humans. The lake and the hills that flank it make it easier to guard from others of my kind. There’s plenty of game, and multiple quiet den sites to choose from. One such as I can ask for no more. Naturally, this equates to an optimal location for nesting and rearing young.” 

    “I see,” the woman answered, already catching on to the tide of the conversation. “The humans interfere with this…” 

    “Their meddling is enough to ward away most potential mates. I do not fear man, but most of my kind do when hatchlings are involved. With them, it’s almost impossible to find a mate willing to settle here.” 

    She immediately understood the irony for what it was, humans pushing back against nature beyond their control only for it to push back even harder. She sighed, seeing something like this dispute happen time and time again. “Silly folks,” She’d groan. “Had they minded their own business…” This would mark the fifth case in a row of territorial disputes that could’ve been easily avoided. 

    “So if you find a mate, you’d have no reason to further attack the humans, yes?” 

    “Only if provoked. But it is unlikely. Most females in the area have learned to steer clear of these woods. This one is likely to go another season without a mate.” 

    “ But- ” She reiterated. “If you did find one, you’d stop attacking the humans.” 

    “Yes.” He finally grumbled. “I’d have no further reason to.” 

    She would stop to think. It wasn’t ideal. Of course the humans truly wanted his hide in turn for what they lost, but she didn’t believe in eye for an eye. She’d already made it abundantly clear that she’d try her best for a solution without bloodshed. If he simply stopped, the aggression would fade. Especially when it was just a small village against a creature like himself.

    So she would finally lower her blades. “Then I shall do my best to assist you.” She promised. 

    “You? Help me?” He laughed. “And however would you do that, little thing?” He wasn’t aware that humans could play matchmaker for kin, amazed by the sheer naivety of her words. If she were smarter, she would’ve never stopped the fight, for there’d been no way he could see her be successful in convincing another of his kind to pair with him. Already, the notion of allowing some small human female act as a speaker for him seemed like a massive mark of unworthiness. What mate would want a male that needs a human to be his voice? 

    But she seemed convinced that she could. “I’ll help you find a mate of course. And convince her to stay. I could possibly talk to the town. They wouldn’t care for it, but there’s little they could do but follow my advice.”

    He would take a step towards her, sensing that her guard was finally lowering itself. “And if they don’t listen?”

    “Then it is beyond me. It will be in your hands. I am called a huntress, but I’m only here to be the bridge between your kind and my own. I pride fairness, you aren’t the villain in this case, and the one thing I hate just as much as senseless slaughter are those who welcome it by being too stupid to follow directions.”

    “And if I break my end of the bargain?” He asked out of curiosity.

    “Then my hand would be forced. You’d make yourself the villain and I would be forced to act.” in her eyes had been a flicker beat of violence: a punctuated threat to avoid the circumstance. As if unafraid to hurl the promise at a being several times her size, and her superior many times over. How could she flash eyes like that at him and expect no consequences? How could he resist the urge to conquer her when she challenged him in ways most wouldn’t even dare to? He was so intrigued that he couldn’t hold back as she turned to get her cape. He lunged for her one last time. This time, like before, she dodged right. So he would swipe his tail where her feet would’ve been. The woman didn’t expect it and fell, allowing him just enough of an opening to pin her to the ground. As a precaution, he knocked both swords from her grasp, far from her reach. 

    “Kindness will get you killed.” He reminded her. 

     She didn't  respond, eyes darting around as she searched for her lost blades. But he'd retake her attention in full, mighty paw pressing into her belly as he applied only a mere fraction of pressure with his weight. She immediately balked, feeling the points of his sharp claws press through her thin blouse. He's certain that she wished for heavier armor now, with the wide eyes she gave him then. 

    But under the closer scrutiny, he was allowed to observe her just that more intimately. Not native to these woods, the dissimilarities between her and the women he'd seen in the human villages outnumbered the similarities. From her warm colored skin and shorter stature, down to her ovular face framed by wild dark hair poorly restrained with a tie. And while he found the natives of the wood far from homely, he couldn’t deny that the woman had been beautiful in contrast. 

    Only once he took her face into his claws, angling her gaze for him and only him did he catch a glimpse at where the true root of her allure had been, sweet eyes giving him such a hard glare that almost totally convinced him. 

    He found her to be quite cute. 

    “I can think of an even more productive way you may be able to help, human.” he mused. She could catch the mischief in his eyes, something that curiously managed to bridge species enough for her to understand the implications. Just as if he were a human male, there’d been a sudden hunger in his eyes as he intently scrutinized her, sizing her up as a meal, though the rumble in his growl made it all too obvious that he wouldn’t be devouring her in the conventional way. She wanted to believe that she’d been imagining it, but granted the context and the curious claw just between her breasts, dipping far enough to hook at the neckline of her blouse, she had no choice but to see the advance for what it was. The smug smirk stretching across his maw didn’t bode well for her. 

Read more here! And if you're into stuff like this, feel free to look at my other works and stay in tune for more!

[philistiniphagottini]

- 🚧

rings bell

one frustrated KTB receiving head from GN!Reader, please!! > < ‼️

Here ya go fam, hope you enjoy~ ;))

cw. smut, oral sex, blow job (male receving), gn! reader

You could taste the desire lingering in the back of your throat the moment the fat head of his drooling cock slid between your parted lips and lay heavy on your tongue. A pleasant tingle raced down your spine, warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach as you wrapped your pretty lips around him and sucked.

A deep groan rumbled in Bakura’s chest; his lidded gaze focused on the sight of his cock bobbing in your mouth. Every little salacious moan that bubbled up your throat made his ears itch, your tongue teasing as the tip flickered over the sensitive slit to lap at the beads of his arousal. His fingers twitched as a loud huff blew past his lips, hips canting forward as the impatience gnawed at his skin. Though he usually quite enjoyed the lashing of your tongue, he needed to blow off steam and his patience with you today was balancing on the razor thin edge of a knife.

A surprised noise stirred in your chest as one of Bakura’s hands shot out to cradle the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair as he grabbed the back of your skull. Every single hair on the nape of your nape stood up in anticipation as he hissed your name through clenched teeth, squirming on the ground below his throne as you restlessly shifted your weight on your knees.

"Take more" Bakura demanded.

As soon as the words left his lips, he was forcing you to take more of his boiling cock into your mouth. You almost gagged around him as your jaw was stretched wider, rivulets of drool dripping down your chin and staining your heated skin. Your nostrils flared as you tried to breathe deeply, the muscles in your jaw relaxing when the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. You dug your fingers into his strong thighs, nails biting at his sun kissed skin and raking over his flesh as he rutted his hips forward, rubbing his swollen length along your tongue.

Your lashes fluttered over your burning cheeks as you were forced to stay still and take his erratic thrusts, desperate little noises and mewls trying to crawl out of your throat as you were used for his pleasure. You stared up at him with eyes as dazed as your mind, your head feeling giddy like he had been left to bake out in the hot, desert sun for an entire day. Your pulse drummed loudly in your ears, heart fluttering wildly in your chest as your wet sex pulsed with arousal, thighs clamping shut to alleviate the dull ache build up in your core. Bakura tutted under his breath at the display, a smirk crawling over his lips at the sight. He nudged his foot between your knees, forcing your legs apart once more as you whined around the cock stuffing your throat.

"None of that, Pet" he said, eyes dancing with mirth. "Wait your turn."

You hummed softly, the tantalising vibrations dancing along his shaft and causing him to groan with pleasure. Wisps of your hair curled around his fingers as he pulled your hair, blunt nails scratching at your scalp and threatening to rip your hair at the roots. The pain rippling at the back of your head only added more fuel to the fire licking at the base of your spine, hot coil in your stomach twisting tighter. A constellation of unshed tears clung to your lashes as you stared up at Bakura with lidded eyes, his dark skin shimmering with beads of sweat that you eagerly wanted to chase with your tongue. He pulled your hair taut as his cock throbbed in your mouth, your throat constricting around the head at a particularly harsh snap of his hips. He fought to keep his eyes uncrossed and rolling into the back of his head from the delicious feeling, the pleasure inside of his gut clawing at his insides like a caged beast trying to escape.

A mocking smirk appeared on his face at the sight of your dishevelled form beneath him, fondness sparking in the depths of his eyes.

"You look so pretty down there for me" he crooned.

He tightened his hold on your hair, hips bucking as his encroaching orgasm finally ensnared him in its web. He swore something foul under his breath, the cant of his hips growing still as he spilled his hot, thick seed down the back of your throat. The bitter taste settled on your tongue as he swallowed, hot, wet orifice stroking him to completion as heat flooded his veins with indescribable rapture. His harsh grip on your head eased as his hand slid down the back of your neck, supporting your head as he pulled his softening cock from between your lips with a wet pop that made your ears burn.

A ragged gasp of air escaped your throat as you greedily sucked down gulps of air, the urge to cough scratching at your throat. Bakura stuck his thumb between your bruised lips, preventing you from closing your mouth as he leaned closer, face hovering only a hair’s breadth away from you.

"Open."

You obliged to his command without hesitation and opened your mouth, allowing him to inspect. He hummed in approval, a sick grin twisting his features. He swiped his fingers over the corner of your lips, wiping away the drool that had gathered.

"Good Pet" he praised.

He pat his thigh, inviting you into his lap with a coy smile. "Up."

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 19: The Bloodied

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: In this time and place, as war descends, it all changes.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Big Epic Battle, return of the Razor Crest 💙, violence, blood, passing allusion to post-traumatic stress, ho so much action, and so much lore bullshitting just go with me here.

A/N: The walker described in this isn’t any specific canon version. Somewhere between an AT-AT and an AT-ST let’s say. I dunno, picture whatever you want. Thanks for reading!

--

The room fills for the final muster. 

It’s a scene similar to the first time you’d been in here, but now you’re witnessing it from the other side. Armoured and armed soldiers file into the chamber, an audience gathering before the conflict begins. 

This time though, rather than hiding in the shadows by the forge, you’re among the congregation, seeing the Armourer up front waiting as everyone files in. You stick to the back, find yourself shuffled along a row to stand uneasily by Fennec Shand. She leans a shoulder against yours, a gesture of staunch reassurance.

We got this.

Your eyes move over the backs of many helmets, scanning until you spot him. The man you miss more than you would breathing air must have been first in here. Front and centre, Din stands with his back to you and just a little side on. From your vantage point, you can make out the edges of the familiar heat sig sensor on his helmet’s right side. You can’t see any of the T visor, so he wouldn’t spot you staring at him unless he turned full to the right.

He must know you’re in here though. Whether he cares or not, you have no clue anymore.

Over the many broad shoulders between the two of you, you can’t tell if Grogu is with him.

Still, you whisper a silent entreaty, ‘please let them both be okay…’

Footsteps and shuffling whittle down to silence. Everyone waits. The striking figure at the front of the procession pushes her shoulders back, runs a gaze across the crowd, and speaks. 

‘War is here,’ she says. ‘And we are ready.’

The room fills with the beating of wrists. You and Fennec join in, tapping your comms cuff to your new wrist guard. As the sound fades to quiet again, the honorary battle commander continues.

‘We stand on the frontlines to defend our homelands. Mandalore. Concordia. Every place Mandalorians have come together to build a future. Every place the old, dead empire has tried to take from us.’

You can tell her words are meticulously chosen, because the room swells with an earnest pride and a thrum of determined energy.

‘As the Watch,’ she continues, ‘we’ve nurtured foundlings, raised warriors, and preserved our cultures. We have long held true to the words of the Creed. And it has led us through the dark. Now, we each of us have stood in the Living Waters. By the miracle of liberating Mandalore, we grow brighter. The bonds we forge and the strength we gain from them will continue to lead us.’

‘And it is with this revival that we must learn to reach into new space. We honour the Creed, as it speaks of ourselves and our past.’

She reaches behind her and once again draws out that familiar device. The one containing the texts of the Creed, its originals, its translations. The controlling lore of the people collected here. She places it down on her table.

‘Yet we have come to learn that there is more to our ancient Way than we knew. Now we have learned that the Creed goes further. It speaks of our future. And with the royal Clan Kryze guiding us, we have the way forward to meet it.’

The air pulses like a beating heart. The flames of the forge dance across the ocean of beskar. Everyone holds.

‘Bo-Katan Kryze is our leader, and she is also our guide, it is time we followed her on the path to walk both worlds. Each and every world.’

You’re puzzling over what this reverent monologue could possibly mean – what worlds? – when the woman standing before her people does something that beats the breath from your lungs and sends dizzying electric shocks through your body.

The Armourer, the devout and steadfast leader of almost every person in this room, reaches up and – with a soft hiss that echoes over the hushed crowd – lifts her helmet up, and off. An angular face, large eyes and a wide mouth. She nestles the golden mask under an arm and watches.

It remains deathly quiet for a long, agonising stretch. 

Slowly, just one at a time, and then a few, and then everyone in the place is lifting their hands to their own faces. The air is filled with the sounds of unclasping, pressure releasing. Beskar sings against itself as removed helms are cradled and caressed in gauntleted arms.

You look side to side with eyes wide and mouth agape, in crude contrast to the stoic and steady facial expressions of those around you. The unknown features of people you’ve lived and worked with for weeks are still and focused. Like they knew. Like they were prepared.

Then you’re searching. Over the arms raising and heads shaking out hair and sweat, you strain to see it. The helmet you’d held between your own hands and the man behind it. But he’s obscured. Too far away. You’re just not tall enough. Desperate, you raise onto your toes, craning your neck over the crowd.

‘Here,’ Fennec grabs your wrist and drops to a knee. You gawk for a second but she smacks her thigh with the other hand. ‘Up,’ she mouths.

This is ridiculous but you don’t even pause. You accept her boost, grasp her shoulder and let her hoist you up above the heads of the group. Fortunately everyone is distracted, some unspoken rule that no one looks around rippling across the congregation. They all stay focused front and centre, where the Armourer looks at each and every one of her people in turn.

Not at you yet though. From the very back, toppling a little, shaking violently, you sweep your gaze over to the spot you know him to be standing.

And you see it. You see him.

Dark curls. Damp and sticking to the nape of his neck and around his right ear. 

Huh. He has dark, brown hair. The sight slots into the image you’ve tried to hold in your head all this time. The sketch you’d traced out with your hands. 

Din is holding eyes front as well. All you can see of his face is the slight edge of a sharp jawline and nose. The fuzz of a scruffy beard. Hardly enough. Not enough.

Despite yourself, knowing it to be futile, you will him to look around. Look, I’m here, Din. Please, I’m here.

But you have to drop down before the Armourer, or anyone else, spots you. Giddy and a little nauseous. The grip on your forearm tightens as Fennec stands again. She leans in.

‘See what you needed to see?’ she asks.

You just let out the breath you’d been holding, hold up a trembling hand and stare hard at it. Try to steel yourself.

You hadn’t. Not at all.

A long, high-pitched siren cuts into the reverie that had engulfed the room, sweeps across the people who had just taken a step to change forever.

The Armourer speaks, clear voice projecting to every corner of the room, ‘Go, and bring glory to Mandalore.’

The whole room moves as one, helmets going back on and everyone proceeding to their assignments. Perfect, regimented, united.

Fennec Shand claps a hand to your shoulder and peels off, going to her mission, whatever that may be. Jolted back to reality, reminded of your mission, you cast about for Ari Wren, knowing you have to follow her into whatever comes next – no matter what. You spot her helmet first as it lifts up and over her head, spy just a hint of short cropped blonde hair as the mask locks back into place. She sees you too and strides forward.

‘This way,’ she instructs, fully composed like she hadn’t just uprooted her whole identity. ‘Stick with me.’

You let her guide you, all the while still looking back over your shoulder, just trying to get one more glimpse, one more look, just one.

You don’t see him again.

The first phase of the attack is nothing more than a battle of attrition. The enemy throws waves of ground troops at the Mandalorian defences. You stick with Ari Wren, barely holding onto awareness as pure adrenaline and instinct course through your veins and grant you unimaginable speed and strength. 

‘Stay in step,’ she yells. 

Shoulder blades pressed to the hot metal of her jetpack, you move as she moves. Your footwork is doing double-time to keep up with her rapid twists and lunges, the sword and shield seemingly featherlight in her hands. Each time laser fire comes at you, she’s there – shielding and deflecting.

In turn, you incapacitate anyone that gets under her guard. The close quarters lets you take soldier after soldier by surprise, sending them screaming to the ground clutching at ruined limbs.

The two of you make your way across what’s become the battlefield, move through the acrid air and across the ash-soaked scorched earth. Smoke rising all around, you position yourselves in the anticipated trajectory of their ultimate weapon. It hasn’t emerged over the embankment yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

You remain dimly aware of the rest of the battle – cover fire soaring overhead, the other fighters moving in your forward lines, and a pitched dogfight rending the sky above. But for all the chaos that has erupted since the imp forces descended, the world may as well be you and the Mandalorian yanking you out of the path of an oncoming pulse blast.

But then disaster strikes. It’s your fault. A trooper comes at your duo wielding a bayonet-clad phase rifle, the long nasty blade on its barrel glowing red hot with energy. They lay down attack fire on approach and, as Wren deflects each shot, move in to take a swipe with the sharp, searing edge. Your companion bats it to the side. She brings her own sword around fast, but the enemy manages to parry, twisting side-on.

Seeing an opening, you duck under Wren’s extended arm and take aim at a kidney. But she wasn’t expecting it and you’ve moved under her centre of gravity. You stagger each other and the split second of imbalance is enough for your foe to rend a long slice up Wren’s outer thigh, carving a line along the outside edge of her beskar.

She falls to a knee, then slumps back with an agonised cry. The assailant squares up as you stumble to regain balance. Before you can do anything, he’s drawing his rifle up to your face.

‘N--!’ Your cry is cut off by the soldier in front of you jerking sideways, a violent twist as he drops dead to the ground. Behind him, two more troopers are sprinting toward you, weapons drawn. But again, first one then the other jolts as if struck and falls.

Whirling and twisting, scanning the perimeter, your eyes finally look up and you see it. The long barrel of a sniper rifle and the curved sights of the assassin’s helmet peak over the far ridge.

Fennec Shand.

You stare for a moment until Wren barks your name. It pulls you back and you see you’re being surrounded by a rank of attackers, all sporting savage-looking shock batons. Some are already being taken out by Fennec’s pinpoint cover fire. But if you don’t fucking move soon, you and Wren are doomed.

One of the squad lunges in to attack.

Reaching back, the gaffi stick slung across your shoulders swings free and you connect it with the on-comer’s chest plate, the slugged end caving it in and sending him flying backwards. You spin to slice the barbed spear across another’s throat, blood making a crescent streak across the air.

Fennec hits one in the knee and, as he drops, your weapon rises to meet his face. The helmet shatters and your blood roars.

One after another, you never stop rotating. Cries of pain from your weapon and grunts of shock from the impact of a rifle blast work the group circling you down to the ground.

When it’s clear, you look back to Fennec, hoping she can see your nod of acknowledgement through the scope. She raises an arm to you.

Then you fall to Wren’s side, where she’s gripping her wound and cursing in fury.

‘Wren,’ you start, dropping your weapon and trying to assess the damage. ‘Hang on—'

An ear-splitting siren rips the air apart. Its meaning runs your blood cold. The walker is incoming. Wren tugs at your arm, a ‘help me up’ gesture. But you shake your head, lay your own hands over hers at the top of her thigh where blood spurts from the edge of the armour plate. 

‘No, no,’ you urge her back. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Have… to…’ she grits through her helm. But even the small movement she just made causes red to well between your fingers. 

‘Shit!’ you cry. ‘Gods, Wren. Hang on… Help!’ You look around frantically, yell into the deafening chaos of battle. ‘Help!’

Hells, think clearly, would you? You shake yourself and smack your comms. ‘I need help! Wren is down.’

Within moments, two Mandalorians have landed on either side. One, in medic garb, shoves you aside and begins to tend to her leg. They tap the ground to indicate she needs evac and you hear her grunt in abject frustration. Tries to wave them off.

‘No…’ she moans. ‘Need to…’ She tries to sit up but jolts with a cry of agony. She grips a fist tight before shaking herself and slapping her own comms, muttering into her helmet. You can’t hear who she’s talking to – why is she on a different comms channel?

Another siren has you whirling, then craning your neck up, back. A huge mechanised leg raises over the first fortifications only hundreds of feet in front of you, stomps down with a thundering crash.

You cradle your ears. Terror shoots through you. Whipping around, you look for another jetpacked fighter who could get you up there. Someone, anyone. But they wouldn’t know where to place the charges. How to time it. You sense your plan being blown to hell and panic sets in. This is it – that thing is going to wipe you all out.

Another gargantuan limb brings the monster closer and sends a garrison into full retreat. The horrifying sound of the thermal cannons warming up fills your ears with a sickening buzz. There’s no way to stop it. You look up to the heavens with defeat heavy on your chest. 

That’s where you see it. A pinprick at first, but growing larger. The gorgeous old gunship streaks across the sky, threading the needle through cannon fire and laser blasts. In a sharp nosedive, the Razor Crest is on full burn on its approach to you. It turns to make a low bank and passes over your heads. A figure drops from the hold, in a rapid descent to the field of battle not far from you.

Din hits the ground with a forward roll and releases a salvo of his whistling birds into the waiting war troopers. He’s incapacitated them in a matter of seconds as you sprint toward him. Up and fighting any and everything between the two of you, he makes his way to meet you in the middle. You can’t stop yourself from barrelling into him.

He just plants a hand on your waist and pulls you close, ‘Hang on!’ he yells.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to stifle your cry as his jetpack engages and rockets you both upwards, soaring toward the body of the walking terror. Nothing but empty air below and laser fire raining all around, you bury your face into his neck. Through the haze of fear and adrenaline, you feel him pull you tighter.

The underside streaks toward you. He manoeuvres to ascend up the thing’s body but, just as you come level with it, the rockets on Din’s pack cut out. Suspended in the air, weightless for one terrifying moment, a scream begins to bubble up as you anticipate a precipitous drop. 

But Din fires his whipcord ahead, planting its grapple at the top and swinging your bodies into the side of the massive unit. He twists his weight so he lands squarely against the side, shielding you from impact. Dangling together from the façade of the stalking, swaying machine, he nudges at you.

‘Climb!’ he yells, urging you upwards. 

‘Your jetpack!’ you shout back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got it, just climb now,’ he pushes. You reach up and grab the whipcord. His free hand helps you along, grabbing your legs and heaving upwards to give you purchase. You don’t know how his shoulder isn’t being torn from its joint, but he seems to be holding on. So you grit your teeth, ignore the cord cutting into your hands, and climb.

You hand over hand with the cord and plant your knees into the vertical surface. Push every shred of fear away and focus on what’s in front. Halfway up you glance back and almost scream again. Hundreds of feet below, the monstrosity steps through more barricades, nearing the centre of the fray. But you also see Din, who’s holding fast, looking up, watching you. You turn around and keep climbing. 

The second you reach the top, the whipcord whizzes back. You’re already scrambling toward the pilot hatch when Din’s voice crackles over your comms piece. ‘Just like you planned – you take the personnel, I’ve got the undercarriage.’ 

Gods, so he had been listening. 

Wind whips your face and the roar around you is deafening, but you get to the hatch and pop a thermal charge into the lock. Crawling back and shielding your head, you wait for the ‘croom ’ then leap forward, grip the edge of the opening, and swing yourself inside. The smoke and noise from the explosion has stunned your cabin buddies. They only manage a short shout of alarm before both find their necks snapping at unhappy angles.

You surge onto the portal, jabbing at controls and resetting target maps. The walker groans under the strain of turning 180, but the cockpit’s sights swing around until the advancing forces come into view. You set the target locking system and throw the lever into full drive before sending a quick blaster shot into the control panel. The guns below the cockpit begin a continuous barrage. You watch for a moment as squadrons scatter and tanks implode.

You back away and make for the hatch. Scrambling up onto topside, you hit comms.

‘Din!’ you cry. ‘We gotta go! Din?’

Instead of a reply, the Mandalorian rockets up over the edge and plants his feet metres from you. He strides forward, holding one hand to his helmet, shouting at R5 to bring in the Crest, and reaching his other arm out to you.

You don’t pause, moving in and resuming your grip on his shoulders. He holds for a second, then you’re fighting panic again as you launch upwards. This time though, you manage to keep your eyes trained down. 

You see the walker, marching back into its own lines, sending explosions into troopers and hovercannons. Then, perfectly timed, the detonators Din planted on the underside go off, buckling the legs and sending it tumbling into the central armoured column.

Good.

Then your vision is obscured and your momentum arrested. You start in alarm before making sense of the scene. The Crest has sailed elegantly into your line of ascent and Din has cut the jetpack, landing you both on the aft entry of the old gunship. It’s a heavy impact and the only reason your knees don’t collapse is the strong hold he has on you. You both stumble back into the hold of the ship.

As soon as you’re steadied, he lets go and makes for the cockpit. You give in to a brief moment of uninvited despair when he looks over his shoulder and barks, ‘C’mon!’ Then you’re following.

You allow yourself little beats to revel in being on the Crest again, but not for too long. The janky locker door that never quite shut all the way. The peeling paint on the ladder. The access panel that always flickered and whirred. Gods, you’d missed it so much. 

As you enter the cockpit, Din is taking his seat and engaging the controls from R5. You spot Grogu tucked in his pod, which is securely strapped into his flight seat. He looks over at you and waves his arms, burbling in excitement.

The seat on the other side, your seat, sits empty.

Your heart aches at the sight.

As if the ship senses it, the Crest groans and lurches nose down for a moment, forcing you forward. As Din rights its moorings, you flop back into the chair.

‘Get strapped in,’ he yells over his shoulder. He punches at the controls and brings the ship around to witness the skirmish taking place in the sky. The cockpit’s windows afford you a view of the aerial battle, so high up you can see the curvature of this moon and the combat below looking like a crawling insect colony. The fighters up here are intercepting and taking down enemy craft on approach, preventing any from breaking through to attack ground forces.

‘Just in time,’ Din says. ‘The Guild has arrived.’

‘Oh shit,’ you say, pulling the straps around and craning your neck out the window. You spot it. A hefty old transport frigate, Leaf Ghogal’s little army of bounty hunters, plugging a descent toward the edge of the fray, getting ready to drop a mess of bloodthirsty fighters right into the thick of it.

But Din seems unfazed. It puzzles you for a second before he flips the cockpit comms on and speaks to someone on the other end.

‘You’re up,’ he says.

‘Copy that, Mando my man,’ comes a reply – a painfully familiar voice. ‘Our frenemies will be taking a one-way jump to buttfuck nowhere in 3- 2- get goin’ hahaha.' 

Still eyeing the transport a ways off, you have a perfect view of it shuddering for a moment – the hyperdrive straining in the high atmosphere. With a massive shockwave, it shooms into nothingness. The energy fallout from its rapid departure collects the edge of a soaring tiefighter, taking its portside wing and sending it careening to the ground. 

‘Woo! Two fer one!’ The disembodied voice hollers and it hits you. 

‘Wha— Torre? ’ you sputter.

‘Hey dove,’ Torre’s voice echoes around the cockpit. ‘You made it.’

‘What are y-- what is-- what?’ 

‘Making up for my bullshit, hon,’ he says. ‘Or a little of it, at least.’

Din interrupts, like you aren’t in a full tailspin over this little fucking alliance going on right now.

‘Another mercenary outfit inbound,’ he says.

‘On it,’ Torre chirps, the clacking of keys being hit in rapid succession accompanying the transmission. 

You start to say ‘where?’ but Din just points. Another transport carrier trundles just behind where Leaf’s ship was. Your eyes track it as the Crest banks across the range. Huge, fit to carry upwards of two hundred combatants. Worlds, you think. If they land it’ll be a bloodbath.

But Torre’s counting down again and the boat – blip – bends out of existence. Just like that. 

‘That’s cleared,’ Din says.

‘Roger, roger,’ Torre responds.

This is too surreal. ‘Torre,’ you shout. ‘ What-- why are you doing this?’

A long sigh slips from the speakers.

‘Your Mando came and got me,’ he tells you over the comms. ‘Told me about how that fucker Cephlate used me. And how he got to you. Fuck. For that, and for the rest… Well, ‘m sorry.’

A beat of quiet as you absorb that. Then the Crest chimes in with its alert system, alarms blaring around you.

‘And speaking of the Devil,’ Torre says. ‘His craft is inbound.’

‘What?’ you yelp. ‘Cephlate is here?’ 

‘Indeed,’ Torre answers you. ‘Got his private little army in on this shitshow.’

Ice slides up and down your spine and sends cold shards to your extremities. The freeze of a carbonite unit crawls over your skin. Him. Your side aches right where your scar has steadily faded away. But it now throbs as if fresh. Your face, where he’d held onto your chin and threatened you, burns.

The only thing stopping you from succumbing to wild panic is the T visor that’s swung round to stare at you.

‘He’s not gonna touch you,’ Din snarls low. ‘Ever again.’

You lean into your chair, breathing deep into your belly as he turns back to the ship’s controls.

‘What can you do about it?’ Din asks.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve tried hacking in but he knows my tricks. All I can give you is something to aim for.’

A string of data rolls across the Crest’s targeting system, forms into a ship holo. An ugly, heavy-duty gunner-craft. Cannons and railguns weigh the beastly thing down. The holo rotates to reveal a glowing patch on the underside. Small and tucked against the exhaust latchings. You lean forward to get a good look at it. 

‘The stitch that will unravel his shields,’ Torre explains. ‘Aim for that. And he’ll be done.’

‘Okay,’ Din says. ‘I think you’re good then.’

‘Copy that.’

‘You gonna cause trouble?’

Torre’s chuckle rumbles over the speakers. ‘No worries there,’ he says. ‘Old mate Greef here hasn’t taken his pistol’s sights off me for a single second.’

‘I’ve got him, Mando,’ the high magistrate’s voice follows on. ‘We’ll take him back when the fight is over, won’t we IG?’

‘Bye then, dove,’ Torre’s voice sinks into you. ‘I’ll always be sorry.’

The transmission cuts.

Distracted by the insanity of what just happened, you miss Din’s question. He’s fiddling with settings on the HUD and, at your silence, looks back.

‘Huh?’ you ask.

‘I can’t aim for something like that and fly at the same time,’ he says. ‘So which do you want to do?’

‘Which do I--?’ You notice for the first time an addition to the instrument bank next to the flight chair you’re buckled into. A set of ship controls, twins to the ones Din’s got a hard grip on up front. Protruding just within reach. 

‘Had to get another ship mechanic to help install it, ‘m sorry,’ he says, watching you. ‘It was fiddly. The Crest did not want to cooperate. But we did it.’

‘Wh--,' you’re speechless. You reach over and they glide easily outward so you can orient them in front of you. Giving each an experimental twist, you feel the hefty tilt and take in the trigger buttons just by where your forefingers rest. ‘Oh wow… Din. But- I can’t--’

‘You can,’ he says. ‘I know it.’

Aware you can’t waste time on doubt, you heave a deep sigh. Looking at the ship holo, at the tiny opening Torre’s given you, your fingers hover over the triggers. Something inside you makes the choice. 

‘Aim,’ you say. ‘I’ll aim.’

Nodding, he spins back around and flips a switch. The controls under your palms hum with energy and a HUD blinks in front of you. The Crest shudders as its weapons system primes itself.

Hells, how are you going to fucking do this.

‘I’ll draw him onto us, tell me when you’re ready and I’ll give you an opening,’ he says. Without further ado, he pulls his own controls back and the Razor Crest soars. 

How are you going to do this.

The Mandalorian pilots his ship through a mess of crossfire and the occasional spacecraft trailing smoke and plummeting to the earth. The menacing looking ship of the outer-rim warlord comes into view and Din positions the Crest right in front of it, racing ahead and catching the enemy crew’s attention. Pulls serpentine manoeuvrers to dodge the laser fire that begins a bombardment.

How are you—

Static crackles over the comms and the sickly, savage voice of the figure you’ve had nightmares about fills the space. Delighted, arrogant and bloodthirsty. Cephlate waxes lyrical about finally having the opportunity to ‘destroy you Mando, and all you hold dear’.

But you’re barely taking it in, fixated on the targeting system and trying to fathom how you’re going to do this.  

How, how, how—

Spiralling thoughts are interrupted by a feather-soft tendril of energy nudging at the edge of your mind. It swirls against your consciousness and seems to await permission. 

You look over at Grogu, whose eyes are shut tight and hands twitch with power. The sense of connection within you grows brighter, promises aid. Begs entry.

‘Ready?’ Din calls.

‘We have this,’ you shout. Looking at the child, you let him and the Force flood your mind, whip through your senses and snake into your arms and hands, held firm on the controls. They hum harder, some awareness deep in the bowels of the ship slips into you, a quiet there you are, where have you been? You set your shoulders and shout, ‘Now!’

Din hurls a lever back and reefs on the controls. The Crest drops into a free fall. The rear thrusters cut and tip the boat so you’re looking up into the sky. Laser fire passes overhead as does Cephlate’s ship. The glint in the underside, the break in the shield, is plain as day to your heightened senses.

You, Grogu and the Crest lock onto it and your fingers move of their own volition, releasing a single pulse that streaks ahead. Where it hits home, exactly on target, a burst of crackling, festy grey energy widens from the spot, shimmering over the whole ship. The entire shield system drops away in a few heartbeats.

‘No!’ the warlord bellows. ‘You--!'

Din smacks the comms to another channel over the top of his cries. ‘Move in,’ he commands whoever’s on the other side. To you, ‘Keep firing!’

You’re already setting up to unleash an angry broadside along the bottom of the vessel. He hauls the thrusters back on and gives you a perfect bank for the barrage to take out its engine array. When the Crest clears the front of the ship, it wheels around and you can take aim at the top-mounted cannons.

You see several other Mandalorian jets and fighters move in weapons free, your little T-Wing among them. It and the rest send explosions to impact on all sides of the vessel. Your ship makes another turn and you get to pass again – feeling feral, you zero in on the bridge and send the bow of the ship up in flames.  

It’s not long before the monstrous dirigible is listing, tilting away from the centre of the fight, toward the chordal coast where the imps’ forward party had been encamped. It disappears over the rim of the small mountain range bisecting the landscape. Moments later, a spectacular explosion reaches toward the skies.

You watch it as the Crest’s trajectory evens out, sails across the cleared air. You scan the radar, friendly craft soar around you. 

Only the roar of wind and the groan of the ship fill the cockpit. You loosen your grip just slightly on the controls as a wide grin spreads across your face. You glance up at Din, seeing his shoulders steadily drop as he relaxes. You laugh.

‘Well that, felt incredible,’ you say. He starts to turn toward you.

A burst of static covers what he says back. A boisterous voice thunders over the speakers, declaring glorious victory and the imp forces scattering like baby womp rats, the jet-packed Mandalorians running them down with ease.

You listen, fidgeting a little as a weird pang starts to bother your side. 

The comms cuts to reports of mopping up but Din turns it to low, moving dials and flipping the landing gear into standby.

You keep your hands on the gunner grips in case any last-minute moves are needed, but try to sit up a little straighter to stretch out the tightness that is drawing your abdomen into a knot. The tension of the fight setting in, maybe?

Din leans back. ‘Guess we can head in,’ he says, moving to turn to you again. Your heart beats harder, damn near straining against your chest. ‘And maybe we can t—’

‘Ebbe!’

The tiny, panicked shriek from Grogu causes you both to whip around to him. Your concern twists your guts. A strange nervous vibration is working its way up your spine, into your skull and clouding your vision. Your mouth is filling with icy shards and your ears start ringing. 

‘Grogu?’ you say. ‘Baby, wha—’

‘No!’ Din surges from his chair.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Oh Gods, no, no, no!’

That’s when you realise that he’s not lunging at Grogu but toward you. And Grogu is fine, but he’s pointing to your middle with fear-filled eyes.

Din kneels before you and chants your name. ‘Hang on. Please just, hang on, love. Stay, stay with me, hey! Stay with me!’ His confusing demands grow fuzzy and further away as he talks.

You finally look down. The haze and hot tendrils clawing at your eyes make it hard to see, but that’s definitely something sticking out of your stomach. You move a hand to it. It’s hot, and vibrating with a quiet menace. Your fingers come away bloodied. ‘Ohhhh wha…’ You fade out.

--

Prev | Next

Forgive me.

Thank you so much for reading this weird little story.

[lustrous-dawn]

A connection, tight, luminous. Everything seemed to fall into place, fingers laced tightly together as they twirled. The golden light radiating in his chest, growing brighter and brighter, nearly rivaling the moon hanging low in the sky, retreating at his glow. 

He clung to the thread, delighted, almost giddy, their steps merely gliding across the grass, leaving trails of gold in their wake. 

Witnessing him now, Abilene could truly see him for what he was. What he always has been. Bright, filled with so much energy that it was impossible to be anything but compelled by him… overwhelmed by him. It wasn't until they twirled once and dipped low that the light receded as vermillion hair tumbled in front of melted gold eyes brimming with excitement. 

"I haven't lost my touch at all," he gushed with a wide grin, heart racing. Something went right this time. The connection! Yet now it was gone but the warmth lingered, leaving Zhen to yearn for what he felt devoid of. 

"I knew you had it in you," Abby said, returning the grin with a smile of her own. Seeing him in high spirits… It made her feel the same. But she lightly patted his chest, his heart, "Now let me go lover boy before the one who got eyes for gets the wrong impression." 

His lips parted, but shook his head, letting her have it as he released her. "When did you get so-"

"I get it from you. Don't try to deny it, Zhen. You should listen to yourself when you drink a tad too much." 

Zhen had to grace to appear flushed, a hand to his jaw. "Did I say too much?"

"What didn't you say is what you should be asking." 

She gave him a small nudge. As much as she relished the fear skittering behind his eyes, she teased, "I'm only playing with you, bird brain." Then the pair shared a small laugh, all forgiven.

Abby, then, facing him with a warm smile, performed a small curtsy, a soft smile on her lips. "If you ever find something worth dancing for again," she said with fierce hope in her heart, "I hope you will invite me to witness." 

A damper on his joyous mood. A reminder of his soon-to-be performance in mere days.

"Ho-oh will grace the region once more and usher in a new era of prosperity." Feverish prayers in his ears containing desperation and hope. Glimpses of the tower monks filled his mind again, his jaw suddenly tight as his brows knitted together. 

Will it be prosperity? 

His hands tightened into fists at his side. 

Or will it all be for naught? 

Then his jubilant excitement, radiant, reduced to a mere glimmer as he watched his companion cower away, her face of horror. A chill swept through the scene. Zhen felt the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck raise sharply as another presence loomed. 

Fear. If he felt it before, it felt nothing like now. Ominous, threatening to devour should he step out of line.

"Ho-oh." 

Prickles formed along his neck and his skin. He paled as he swirled on his feet, planting himself firmly between the threat and Abilene. He couldn't prevent the fine tremors coursing through his frame as he stood in the face of danger.

Death. The word whispered in his mind as he faced the man standing calmly in front of him, who held himself proudly, bearing an expression that saw all, calculated every move he could make. 

And knew it would be futile to avoid him. 

Zane was not much taller than him, dressed in a vest that matched the night surrounding them but the edges were tipped a fine scarlet color as were his claws extended slightly as if reaching for him. It was the cold burn of power encompassing him that made Zhen shudder and take a step back, Abby in tow but it earned a response from the Yveltal, a brow raised curiously.

Zane's tone remained razor sharp, his azure gaze unflinching, demanding respect from the Ho-oh, "You surprise me. I believe you had no spine along with the lack of power but I see I am wrong." 

"What do you want?" Zhen managed to bite out, his throat dry. 

"There is much I want from you, Vermillion Bird of Johto. You who have harmed what is mine." His voice came frigid. Upon seeing the confusion entering Zhen's gaze, his tone became lethal, "Do not feign ignorance with me. Think, imbecile. Remember your greatest failing. Remember who was there." 

"I didn't-"

"But you did. I am being civil for the sake of this…" Zane's tone became disgusted. Party? Charade? His eyes caught sight of the guards stationed rigidly nearby. He wasn't a fool to commit a faux pas. "Ball. But you will fix the damage you have wrought on my charge. Even if I must clip your wings and drag your useless body to him.

"But not now." His attention appeared to be elsewhere. Zhen swore he saw Zane's lips kick up. In response to what he didn't want to know, a chill formed. "I will collect my dues from you when you have a drop of power in that body of yours. For now, another demands my attention. Maybe a bit of entertainment…"

[cap-ironman]

Cap/Iron Man Remix 2023 Masterlist and Creator Reveals

Here it is: the final masterlist and the creator reveals for Captain America/Iron Man Remix 2023! Below you'll find all 17 remixes created, with 6 written for Remix Exchange, 7 for Remix Relay, and 4 created for Remix Madness. If you haven't checked out the works during the reveal period, please take a look at all of the wonderful remixes and leave some love for all the creators!

Sweet CHAIN

1. Unintended Consequences by Neverever (616, T, 3600 words)

Tony is sent back in time to fix a time anomaly, but in fixing the anomaly, he ruins Steve's life.

2. Time Is Right (The Remix) by navaan (616, G, 2418 words)

A time agent needs help with fixing something - and for some reason he needs Tony Stark for the job.

3. Looking Up (the fixed fates remix) by Lets_call_me_Lily (Marvel Noir, T, 2109 words)

Tony Stark, adventurer extraordinaire, treasure hunting expert, beloved of thrill-seekers everywhere, finds himself grudgingly fixing up a zeppelin. Luckily he's got some decent company. Unluckily, that decent company's not gonna last long.

4. crash (landing into you remix) by wingheads (Marvel Noir, T, Art)

tony had a lot of fun working with steve even though he doesn't get along well with the brass. he didn't know the hurt would be just as much.

5. Crash Landing (The Mile High Club Remix) by wynnesome (616, E, 6219 words)

Steve wants to join the mile high club, so he and Tony take Tony's new jet prototype for a private test flight. An alien craft crashes their private party. Steve goes down -- and not in the sexy way. Tony smiles, the grin that lets him feel lazy and but also razor-edged at the same time. "Official test flight's tomorrow, but what if I said I'm in the mood for a joyride today?" Surprise colors Steve's face a deepening sunset pink. He licks his lips, shining them up. "You mean..." Some time back, he'd confided in Tony that the idea of "the mile high club" was probably silly, but still sounded sexy. "We will absolutely make that happen," Tony had told him, rock-solid certain. "Right time and place. That is a promise." "Unless you're not in the mood?" Tony's just toying. He knows the answer. Steve's posture hasn't changed, but it's telling in the way Steve's almost visibly thrumming now, and those sky-soft jeans are showing it in stretch lines that frame the hard truth happening behind Steve's button fly. "Yeah," Steve says. "I'm in the mood."

6. Waiting and hoping by hkandi (MCU, G, 2668 words)

Steve, Tony, and Natasha are flying back after a successful mission, and the two men take a step beyond dancing around feelings. But then aliens show up, and it all goes sideways, or does it?

7. Flying with Love (It's Always Aliens Remix) by Neverever (Avengers Assemble, T, 1380 words)

When Tony and Steve go flying and run into aliens, Steve has unpleasant memories. At least Tony is there for him.

REMIX EXCHANGE

★ Blame It on My Star Sign (The Blue Heart Remix) by ralsbecket (MCU/Fantastic Four (Movies 2004-2007), T, 6457 words)

Fending off Doombots whenever Victor von Dickhead felt the need to throw a wrench in their plans was never exactly his definition of a perfect date with Steve.

Remix of Heart of Blue by geekymoviemom

★ Careless Whisper [A Shortcut to Happiness Remix] by Missy_dee811 (Ultimates, T, 2418 words)

Seconds later, the driver pulled up. He double parked across the street and waited, unhurried. It was just Steve who was uneasy. And just as he turned to see if Tony and the owner were still chatting, he felt a hand glide up the small of his back. Feeling more than hearing Tony’s lips move as he spoke. “Come home with me, darling.”

Remix of A Shortcut to Happiness by Fluffypanda

★ The End Never Came by geekymoviemom (MCU, T, 4664 words)

As Steve keeps watch over Tony as he sleeps, he is informed that he has a message, one that Tony recorded when he was adrift in space, expecting to die.

Remix of Before The End by navaan

★ My Dream, Your Nightmare (Again in the Dark Remix) by navaan (616, E, 1414 words)

Tony wakes to an empty bed and remembers a time when he was betraying Steve, because the world was threatened to be destroyed by incursions.

Remix of Dreams and Nightmares by Missy_dee811

★ out of the mouth of babes (a childish remix) by Fluffypanda (MCU, T, 3745 words)

Tony doesn't know how to deal with a child-sized Steve that seems to think they're friends.

Remix of Kid Steve by Neverever

★ Unexpected Heat (Pole Dancing Man Making It Rain Remix) by Neverever (Marvel Adventures: Avengers, T, 1667 words)

Tony worries about Steve during their mission at a local strip club, but he finds he should have other concerns instead.

Remix of Make It Rain Emerald Bills for Me by ralsbecket

REMIX MADNESS

★ Reaching Inside An Armored Heart by MayBiTheWay (Avengers Assemble, G, 3881 words)

Realistically, asking Tony Stark out on a date was a big deal, Steve knew he needed to do some convincing, but not in a million years he’d think Tony’s answer would be this certain, this final. But he was not about to give up on this, on Tony. It's just that there have been more pressing things to deal with at first, like return of the Skull or MODOK...

Remix of An Armored Heart by ishipallthings

★ watching seabirds fly (Nightcap Remix) by ishipallthings (MCU, not rated, 1060 words)

A beach wedding had sounded romantic. (In which Steve and Tony sneak away for a moment by the beach on their wedding day, and deals are made).

Remix of Nightcap by Neverever

★ Your Mouth Gives Me Bad Ideas (Kidnapping Day Remix) by ishipallthings (MCU, T, 3445 words)

The first time Steve kisses Tony, it’s in the cockpit of the Quinjet, right in the middle of Tony insisting that no, I’m fine Rogers, I don’t need to go lie down, and someone needs to fly this contraption properly. He knows it’s a bad idea before it even happens—he kisses Tony anyway. (Or: 5 times Steve kissed Tony even though it was a terrible idea, and 1 time it wasn't a bad idea at all)

Remix of Kidnapping Day by navaan

★ Consequences Of Living With Tony Stark (Consequences Of Living With Steve Rogers Remix) by tinystark616 (MCU, M, 1162 words)

Living with Tony Stark is not at all how Steve thought it would be. It is, in fact, much better. The only problem is that Steve is in love with him, and decides to keep his feelings to himself, afraid of ruining their friendship. That is, until he catches Tony touching himself and moaning his name.

Remix of Consequences Of Living With Steve Rogers by MayBiTheWay

Don't forget to leave kudos and comments on the works you've enjoyed! You can either browse through the individual links above, or go through the Remix collections on AO3:

★ 2023 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Exchange

★ 2023 Captain America/Iron Man Relay Remix

★ 2023 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Madness

And with that, we've wrapped up Captain America/Iron Man Remix 2023! Thank you to all of our participants, and we hope everyone had fun!

Participants, feel free to share and crosspost your work! If you're posting your work onto Tumblr, please use the #capimremix tag among the first five tags of your post so we can spot it and reblog it to the community Tumblr.

[fellpurpose]

“My fell teacher!”

Selena struck a pose seldom seen. With her hand splayed over her visage, arms crossed over her body, and her leg lifted in teetering balance, her one unobscured eye pierce through the corridor. Finally, I’ve found him. Let’s do this. She played up a convincing smile.

“I challenge you to a duel of the fates! Come, test your malevolent powers against my chosen steel, the fierce Skywalker Saber, its blade tainted by the blood of many a powerful foe! Lo, my prowess has been forged in the fires of Mustafar, from which no soul returns unscathed! Let my blade seek its vengeance, piercing through your defenses in a morbid imperial march! Come at thee, Odin Dark, scion of darkness, whet my razor-edge!”

behold! a fiery-haired challenger approaches, brimming with hubris and folly! such eagerness in the face of foolish exploits....

"ha! not a bad start." he brandishes a hand, more than eager to play along. "but your words resound like the wails of lost souls, seeking purpose in a futile quest. you DARE to brandish the skywalker saber, yet FAIL to grasp its true power! the fires of mustafar may have tempered your blade, but they have also seared away your reason. do you truly believe that a mere weapon, no matter how storied its history, can stand against the darkness that RAGES through my veins? your steel may thirst for vengeance, but it is nothing compared to the SOUL-SHATTERING ABYSS that resides within me. count thy blessings, for i still regard thee as a friend rather than a veritable adversary. were you a true foe, i would unleash untold DEVASATION upon you with but a whisper, shattering your feeble defenses and rendering your saber asunder."

odin chuckles darkly.

"but if this is your wish...then COME, MISGUIDED SOUL! witness the true might of the obsidian darkness. let us dance this dance of fate, but know that your steps lead only to hellish oblivion."

[tasavvur-e-jaana]

an ertswhile academic

//

a titanium sapphire laser dancing to her tunes, emitting photons in various hues of maroons, donning a white coat, glasses, and tied in a bun, was a young physicist who dreamed of CERN.

freezing labs, cold whiffs of liquid nitrogen and helium, did nothing but enhance her enthusiasm. her razor sharp focus, like the collimated light, the semiconductor samples lit up when tickled just right.

of course not a genuis, nor a prodigy, she knew, those spots were reserved for a limited few. to be on Nature's front page was never the dream, wished to get in that journal with a dedicated team.

months flew by, results nowhere nigh, maybe it's not for me, she mused with a sigh, what if she was delusioned? not meant to be, not intelligent enough to be a part of the community.

Smaug of self doubt began to seep in, losing her edge, to abyss deep within trudged along the way, late nights now a burden, the labour of love seemed more and more forbidden.

one gloomy morning time gave a reality check, samples didn't work, she turned a shipwreck. wordlessly hung her coat, handed the lab keys, head hung in shame, the building she leaves.

letting down her heros, Oppenheimer and Feynman, not with a bang, but a whimper and panic, thus ends the tale of an ertswhile academic.

//

[teleportationmagic]

Most days Acier spends her time in the library.

The simmiering sheen on the banners that sweep through the space glitter back at her, a pale purple. Her family's colour. She'd always been partial to blue herself, but there was something to be said about rebellion.

Well. It had been rebellion at sixteen. Now that she was fully grown, it was disdain, maybe. Selfishness, if she was any less valuable a member of House Silva. How funny for them, that they had two heads of house, one which came from the outside and yet fit in perfectly, their own eldest daughter contenting herself in matters of war. They'd make a better set if they switched.

And yet. Here they were. She wonder how her husband is doing, handling his duties along with the children. She wonders how Nozel is faring, as a new magic knight. She wonders if Nebra and Solid have taken her death well.

She doesn't wonder about Noelle. Her heart throbs, at all once, and she puts it out of her mind. Unproductive and useless, she doesn't have the time for it.

The library is full of texts, none of them novel. Most of them have pages that have become blurry around the edges, from where Acier had rushed through them barely skimming. Grimgar was fully intact, thankfully. As were the pictures of her children's faces.

When she tires of it (or gets so much more tired of it, that staring at the tauntingly familiar texts goes from uncomfortable to untolerable,) she marched out to the courtyard and casts. Opposite castle Silva is a dark brick-stones spire of it's own - likely Spade's, considering the occupant and the decoration, though she's never bothered to ask - and above the both is a writhing mass of leeches.

She tries to ignore them. Her steel comes to her easy as always, sharp and pointed, an exercise in razor perfection. There's no more satisfaction in it, not for a long time, not since she came her and stopped being able to improve, but the motions are repetitive and rhythmic and soothing in their own way.

On some level she expects Vanica. This is as good as an invitation, after all, practising in full view of that eyesore. But she lets it come as a suprise, when her back is peirced.

She flips and turns, driving her own lance into her. They stand for a moment, taste of iron in the air, before the pull back.

She smiles. She always smiles. Acier can't - it would be irritating if she knew just ho much she valued to novelty of this fight - but Vanica always smiles enough for the two of them.

"Steel Magic; Dance of a Thousand Sparks"

The world lights up aroudn them, light reflecting off flecks of steel. She wants to make Vanica eat them.

She cackles, and responds with a barrage of her own, each parried against the legnth of her's. It's not a hard fight to win - in their past fight, Vanica had been far too depdant on Megicula and now stripped of her favour there was very little variety in her fight.

She wins. Predictably, her hand halfway through Vanica's chest, she wins. The soft flesh of her sticks to her hand as she pulls away.

"I won. Leave."

"I will. Just look here for a second?" And she does. She should have stayed her course, but let noone accuse her of cowardice.

Lips land against her, tasting overfermented. She destroys half her face for the insult, a cackling noise echoing around them both.

"Oh come on," She croons it from her place aginst the floor.

"Leave." Acier feels like pure ice. Or she should. Something moves in her, more than it should.

It's been a very very long time.

"Oh come on." She's pieces back together, bit by bit. Nothing changes here. "Aren't you bored, Acier?"

The kiss had done something fundamental to them, she was sure of that. "Not bored enough."

"So you will be!" She cuts her off before Acier can continue, another step into her personal space. "That's good to hear. Because I'm not bored at all - not so long as you keep beating me!"

A shudder shakes down her spine. Because that was the thing with Vanica - even when you won, you lost. "I will drag you back there, Vanica."

She grins, wide and manical. "Will you?"

She does. Forced to bear the disrespect, she does. The steel is marred, frayed, and she spends some time repairing the barrier before returning home.

After the library, she spends the most time on her bed. She can hear the siren song of apathy, and despite knowing she should be more insulated against it, sometimes...

Sometimes she wants to sleep forever. Most of the time, that disturbs her the most. Right now? She longs for it. Unconsciousness drowns her.