#so i had to grit my teeth and settle for the theatrical releases

[andromeda3116]

the only unrealistic or impossible to believe thing in the entire lotr movie series is how frodo and sam maintain their luxurious hobbit curls all the way to mordor

[joel-millerr]

Pushing Each Others Limits

Chapter Four of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10k

Summary: You and the Child share an intimate moment. Mando continues to boss you around, and this time you’ve had enough, choosing to defy him because you’re a brat.

Warnings: oral sex (man receiving), drinking, doing sexual stuff under the influence, dom/sub mentions, angst, slight gambling, a little bit of fluff with the Child, mentions of death/mourning

A/N: also I did a little bit of research on sabacc and then realized it’s a lot more intricate than I thought so watch me make shit up about the game ahahaha

-------

“And why can’t I come with you?”

Mando’s sigh is heavily distorted by the vocoder, and the eye slit in the helmet continues to study you. Hands resting on his hips, he hovers over your body, scolding you like a child. “Because I said so.”

Chuffing out a scoff, your eyes roll dramatically as you press him again, forcing to crane your neck in order to maintain your gaze, “That’s such bullshit, Mando.”

“Too fucking bad.”

Fists white knuckling at your sides, your eyebrows are pulled together tightly, feeling the childlike anger bubbling inside of you. Deep down, you know Mando’s right. It’s becoming increasingly riskier for you to keep roaming the streets, but being stuck in the hangar with Peli is the last thing you want to be doing. You’d much rather be out, no matter how dangerous it might be.

“I am more than capable of handling my own, thank you for very much.” You warn before stomping your way over to the door to the hangar, but before you can even get close enough to the door, your body is yanked backwards, a large hand gripping your arm and whipping you to face the Mandalorian.

“Can you just listen for once?” He growls, broad chest looming over your smaller figure. Your throat goes dry instantly—this being the first time in two days that he’s been this close to you.

Neither of you have spoken about what happened on your first night here, and since then Mando’s been keeping his distance. Once again, he’s keeping you at bay, forcing you to guess what the hell is going on under that bucket of a helmet he wears.

Having a knack for reading people, it’s always been impossible to hide things from you because you were continuously capable of finding out the truth based on body language or facial expressions. Given the fact that Mando’s face is covered by kriffing beskar, you have no way of trying to get a read on him. It’s just a blank space, and no matter how hard your eyes focus on the slightest movement of his body or tilt of his head, you’re stuck guessing what he could be thinking.

So in truth, you’re a little resentful, and hurt. What happened in that alley was more than just a spur of the moment type of thing. You felt it—it had been building up since you both met, and since then the tension had become so disgustingly thick that it was bound to take you both over, but now? It’s like you’re back to square one. Actually no, it’s like he’s purposely ignoring you, as if he doesn’t want anything to do with you, but has no choice since you’re essentially stuck with him.

But despite this gnawing feeling that you’ve worn out your welcome, you’d still rather spend the day with him than with Peli. At least with Mando, the chances of him making small talk are low; an outburst between you and the owner of the hangar is much more likely.

And now you’re stuck in a stare down with Mando. Visor watching you, you stare back in defiance with one eyebrow raised, and your jaw angled. He probably thinks the longer he keeps his gaze on you that you’ll eventually give in to what he wants, but you’re not that submissive. You rarely give into intimidation, and quite honestly, there’s a part of you that enjoys seeing him get this worked up. Wanting to know just how far you can push your luck, you take one step closer until you’re merely inches away from cool chrome durasteel. Your body is burning up, heartrate rising and rising until it’s thumping against your ribcage, and you swear you can see his chest puff out slightly.

The hand on your arm releases and balls up as his side. Quick breaths emit from the vocoder, and you bite down on your lip to stop the smile from creeping up on your lips. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction seeing him get agitated, but your ego is flourishing right now.

Pushing your limits even further, you lean into his body ever so slowly, and whisper breathlessly into the side of his helmet, “Please let me come with you.”

Mando’s shoulders stiffen and his chest heaves, the cuirass brushing against your breasts. You start to think he might be considering letting you come with him, given your shameless efforts seducing him to your will. He stays quiet for far too long, and the air is starting to get thicker, your ability to breathe is becoming too difficult.

Just when you start to think you’re in control of the situation, he presses into you and your forced to take a step back to keep yourself from falling backwards. His broad chest encompasses you once again, demonstrating that any control you had was just him manipulating you into thinking that. “No.” He commands, the syllable ripping through the modulator, and just like that, the argument ends. Not bothering to wait for your rebuttal, he saunters passed you, and disappears through the door of the hangar.

You want to scream; you want to rip your hair out like an immature kid who didn’t get what they wanted, but you stand there dumbfounded. What happened? Were you so naïve as to think that you had any kind of control over the situation? Was he just letting you believe that you have any chance in deciding what the outcome of the argument would be?

Hearing another door swoosh open, your head turns towards the sound to see Peli exiting her office and heading in direction of the ship. Her reaction to seeing you still here is a mix of disappointment and annoyance. You see her roll her eyes and curse under her breath, and even though you can’t make out what she said, you know it wasn’t anything kind.

She saunters over to Crest to begin any last-minute tweaks that it might need, her back facing you. Ideally, today would be the day to squash your quarrel with her, since you’re both stuck with each other for the rest of the day, and having to tip-toe around each other just because neither of you refuse to be the first to bring up what happened all those years ago just seems juvenile.

Taking a deep, almost lung burning breath in an effort to release all the anger concerning Mando, you push down any pride you have and make a beeline towards Peli. You know she can hear your feet hitting the ground as you approach her, and you observe her posture change—she tries to disappear further into the Crest, pretending to be so busy that she could completely ignore you, but you’re too determined to squash your issues to give up now.

“Can I help with anything?” You ask just as get closer to her. Peli’s back stays glued to you, she doesn’t even bother looking in your direction before answering. “No.”

Biting down on your jaw and fighting the urge to roll your own eyes, your lips press into a thin line before prodding her again. “Peli, I don’t want any trouble. I can helpful.”

This seems to get her attention because her back stiffens, head turning slightly in your direction before her words come out like venom. “Even if I wanted help, the last person I’d ask it from is you.”

Her words cause you to recoil, only now realizing just how much resentment and bitterness for you lies deep inside her. The guilt that follows causes your fingers to twitch at your sides, chew the inside of your cheek and stand there awkwardly, not wanting to walk away but also not having anything to ease the anxiety in the air. The only thing you can think of is to try to make conversation about the ship. Taking a few steps back and leaning your shoulder against the side of the Crest, you begin to speak gently, “When Mando and I were on Sorgan, I had noticed the beginning’s a fuel leak, but I wasn’t able to fix it since I didn’t have any handy equipment on me.”

An obnoxious sneer is released from Peli as she begins to march around the Crest, checking off her to-do list on the datapad in her hands. “I don’t see how you would have been able to do that even if you did have the proper tools.”

“I’m a very capable mechanic, Peli.” You snap back, trailing behind her. Growing up surrounded by ships has given you an extensive knowledge into how a ship runs—the intricate mechanics involved in keeping a ship in good condition. Therefore, you knew what you were talking about. If anyone could go toe-to-toe with you when it came to repairing anything, it was Peli.  

Finally pulling her eyes away from the tablet in her hands to look at you, she mumbles, “Don’t you mean a smuggler?” through gritted teeth, practically spitting the words at you.

Your weight shifts to one side, a hand placed firmly on your hip and clamping hard on your jaw to keep yourself from impulsively saying something you might regret later, you take your time trying to find the right words to respond with. “Look, you’re stuck with me all day, because somebody didn’t want to draw more attention to themselves, so we’re going to have to learn to deal with each other just for today. I know I can be civil, but can you?”

Peli throws her arms up, shrugging theatrically before going back to take notes on her datapad. “Just as long as you stay out of my way, I got no problems.”

Realizing there may never be a time to squash your quarrels with her, you retreat inside the Crest for some time alone. Climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, you settle down in one of the passenger chairs. The Child fusses in his pram, and sleepy eyes peer up at you, that gentle, childlike expression seems to make all your troubles disappear in an instant. Your head cocks to the side, admiring and gazing upon this little green creature.

His tiny arms reach out for you and you lean over to pick him up in your arms. He sits on your lap, a petite hand stretching out to touch your face. Your neck leans forward, closing the space between you and the Child. Three fingers caress your cheek, and just as that happens, a rush of emotions overwhelm you. It’s a familiar feeling—like when you reunite with an old friend after years of going your separate ways. All those years apart means nothing because now you’ve found each other. That kind of love—a rare kind of connection, usually found only in soulmates or family. You’ve only ever experienced it as familial—your parents were your soulmates. They meant everything you, and from this little baby in your lap, you feel it in him too. His giant eyes look into you, as if he’s letting you in on a secret—one he’s never felt before and is unable to express to others. It hits the same spot inside of you. That yearning for familial love and acceptance—devoid of judgement, just pure, kind adoration that’s been buried deep inside of you. Flashes of the Mandalorian flood into your mind, coming in quick bursts that almost make your head spin.

A large mammal with a giant horn on its snout. A mudhorn.

A female brunette.

She’s my friend! Cara is my friend!

A room engulfed in flames.

Let me have a warrior’s death…This is the way.

Sadness, love, a consciousness to protect—it’s all consuming. This is a bond between father and child, you now realize. The intensity in which the Child cares for Mando, it’s not only remarkable but heartwarming. In five years, you haven’t even come close to the kind of bond they clearly share, and it’s something you didn’t know you ached for. Actually, you probably knew on some level you craved this kind of undying love but were forced to reject and push down deep inside you.

The touch on your cheek suddenly disappears, and the Child falls backwards, just in time for you to catch his back with your other hand to keep him from falling out of your lap. Whatever he’s just shown you had taken all the force he had in his little body, because his eyes flutter shut, and almost instantly falling asleep in your arms. You don’t know how to show him that you now understand their relationship, but you wonder if on some level, he already knows. There’s clearly something that binds you and him together, something for whatever reason you’re unable to explain, but you somewhat subconsciously know this is the first time the Child has allowed anyone to know this. Gently placing him in his crib and shutting the pram, you slouch back in your seat and wonder if the Mandalorian knows just how much he means to this little gremlin.

Grogu.

--

Somehow you’ve fallen asleep. You don’t remember even closing your eyes but when they bat open, dusk has fallen on Mos Eisley. Looking over to your left haphazardly, the lack of a green baby in the pram shoots panic up and down your spine, causing you to jump to your feet immediately. Your eyesight is still hazy, but your feet are working on autopilot, searching frantically for him in the cockpit. When you see no obvious sign of him, you dash for the ladder. Taking the rungs two at a time, you all but fly down to the hull still hyped up on adrenaline, praying to the Maker that you did not lose Mando’s kid.

Once you reach the hull of the ship, you hear Peli’s voice and a series of noises from her pit droids. Descending down the side ramp, you see them gathered around a table, playing some kind of gambling game; probably sabacc. The little one is perched up on a seat at the table, ogling what the others are doing but not actually taking part in the festivities. Panic begins to subside, and a deep sigh of relief comes from you, your hand clutching your chest.

Noticing your presence, the Child coos and Peli looks up at you for a second before turning her attention back to the game in front of her. “I heard the kid fussing and when I came to check on him, you were asleep so I figured I’d take him so he doesn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, well thank you,” You didn’t know Peli was capable of being that kind, and it warms you to see such a different side to her.

Continuing to stand there awkwardly for a few seconds trying to decide what you should do next, your jaw stiffens, feeling like you’re intruding on their game. Pivoting slowly, you’re about to make for the ship again when Peli calls you over. “You still good at the game?”

Clearing your throat, you take a step towards her before responding, hands twiddling in front of you. “Uh, yeah I used to play all the time with my crew.”

She lets out a chuff of air, no doubt at the fact you said ‘crew’ as if to make fun of you, but you choose to ignore her obvious jest.

“Take a seat,” She says and then points to a chair off to the side of the hangar. You walk over to fetch it and lug it over to the table, choosing to sit down next to the Child. He peers up at you briefly before turning his big black eyes down to the game in front of you both.

“You’ll come in on the next round,” She informs you.

“Okay.”

--

“So,” Peli begins as she observes the cards in her hand. “How did you end up with Mando?”

Your hand rubs the nape of your neck absentmindedly, the other holding the cards in your hand. Your eyes are glued to the cards, but your mind focuses on something entirely different. “He had my tracking fob.”

“And he didn’t turn you in?” She says in surprise.

“Well he did, but turns out it was actually the Empire who had the hit on me so…” You answer.

“Why didn’t he just let the Imps have at you?” Curiosity is at the forefront of her voice, but there’s a hint of a sneer in the way she asks you—like she’s shocked he chose not to let the Empire do whatever they wanted to do to you.

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, unsure of the reason yourself. He’s never actually told you why he didn’t just let the Imps take you, and you’ve been meaning to ask. It just never seemed like there was a right time to bring it up.

“Hmmm,” Peli hums.

It really was something that you wanted to know. Foolishly, you could say it was because you had developed a mutual respect for each other since your capture, but realistically, it probably came down to the fact that he hated the Empire, and didn’t want them to get what they wanted. If the latter were true, it would be hard to disguise the disappointment that would so clearly be plastered on your face whenever he’d choose to tell you. That’s part of the reason why you haven’t asked him yet. Often times, not knowing the truth has saved you from a lot of pain. This was just another one of those times. Never mind the fact that you also don’t know why you two almost fucked in an alley a couple nights ago. Just add that to the list of truths you didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Peli’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “It’s your turn. You drawing, staying or swapping?”

Looking down at the cards in your hand and mentally adding them all up, you stand at 22. That’s almost a guaranteed win unless someone else at the table has a better hand than you do—which you doubt. It’s harder to tell what a droid’s hand might be given the fact that they…don’t have the ability to express anything facially and therefore have the best poker face in the galaxy, but you’ve been keeping count of the cards left in the deck, and you’re almost positive that you have the best hand at the table. Even Peli is starting to look nervous—her leg bounces off the ground, and you catch her furrowing her eyebrows. You have this win in the bag.

“All right, we ready to call it?” Peli asks the table. Her three droids mumble incoherently, and her eyes shift to you for a second to hear your answer. Your head dips forward in accordance and Peli offers a slight nod in approval. “Okay, you womp rats. Let’s do this.”

The droid immediately to her right shows his hand—19. Perfect, you’re one step closer to victory.

“Ha, close but not close enough!” Peli exclaims.

The next pit droid shows their hand—21. Okay, that’s a little too close to your number but it’s not good enough to beat you. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the shit-eating grin that’s slowly sneaking up on your face. Forcing your lips into a thin line, your body threatens to jump up and down in celebration.

The droid to your left shows their cards and once again, its hand isn’t as good as yours. They stand at -20 and now you’re all but shooting out of your seat with excitement.

Peli catches your attention by saying your name. You crane your neck to face her. “Your turn, smuggler.”

You can’t help but roll her eyes at her. It’s not that she’s wrong, but surely she could have thought of something more clever than that. Mouth curling up in a toothy smile, you—almost arrogantly, throw your cards on the table. “BOOM! 22, read ‘em and weep suckers!” The droids beep disappointedly, their little fists slamming down on the table, causing the cards and the miscellaneous pool in the middle to tumble around.

“Take it easy there, Spice-y…” Peli warns, her eyebrows dancing as she looks at you with her own shit-eating smile. Your face contorts in confusion as she slowly places her cards face up on the table.

“SON OF A BITCH!” You yell when you see her score.

Kriffing -23.

“‘Read ‘em and weep suckers’,” She mocks, letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh and wrapping her arms around the rewards in the middle. To be fair, it was all her parts anyway and you have no credits, so you didn’t actually lose anything—except your pride. The kid to your right laughs, his little arms waving up in down, totally unable to control his joy.

“How did—?”

“Kid, I’ve been playing this since before you were born. You don’t think I have some kind of strategy?”

“This is supposed to be a game based on luck,” Emphasizing the word luck because how in the Maker did she manage to win? You counted every card; you were so sure that you had this game in the bag.

“Guess I’m just lucky then.”

Rolling your eyes into the next galaxy and using your fists to push them off your knees to rise to your feet, you only notice then how dark it’s gotten since you woke up from your nap in the cockpit. Mando should be back by now. Eyes drifting off to the door of the hangar, he should be back any second, right? That sudden realization makes you cringe—you shouldn’t be ‘hoping’ for anything from him. You’re just…friends? Acquaintances? Making a mental note to add that to the list of things you’ll probably never know, you sigh to yourself.

“I’m gonna head out for a bit. The kid’s fine with you, right?” You ask Peli, keeping your eyes peeled to the hangar door.

“Didn’t Mando tell you to stay here?”

This time your neck cranes towards her direction, raising an eyebrow at her. “When have I ever done what someone’s told me to do?” You begin to say as your feet make for the door.

A rush of exhilaration and thrill hit you once the door closes behind you. Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong. Mando said you couldn’t go with him—he said nothing about you going off on your own, and besides the city is almost in complete darkness by now so the chances of anyone even paying any attention to you is pretty low. Even more so, you know this place like the back of your hand, and in the event that someone does identify you, it would be all too easy to zigzag your way through the streets and find your way back to the hangar without anything catching up to you. And since it’s your last night here, why shouldn’t you take one last walk around the town? After all, this was your home for many, many years so why wouldn’t you want to take one last nostalgic walk through your past? Especially if you’re trying to have the closure you didn’t allow yourself to have the last time you left Tatooine.

Not having a specific destination in mind, you let your feet guide you aimlessly through the city. Flashes of your youth appear in your mind, and you can see your younger self walking through these exact streets; sometimes with your parents, sometimes with Tye, sometimes just by yourself. As you watch yourself navigate through the roads, laughing and smiling with loved ones, you’re reminded of all the pain that’s happened to you since. Everyone you’ve ever loved is gone—dead or presumed dead. Every single person who’s brought happiness in your life, anyone who’s ever cared for you…gone.

It was right at this moment that you realize, you never had the time to mourn Tye’s death. There wasn’t time for you to process it—to accept it and move on. Instead, you had just forgotten all about it because there were too many other things to focus on, but now as you stroll through the city, the same city you and him would spend 90% of your time in, the realization that he’s gone pierces through you like dozens of vibroblades stabbing you in every corner of your body. An ache you didn’t know was stirring up inside you comes right to the surface, feeling empty and fucking alone once again.

He was your best friend.

He was the only family you had left. Tye was flawed, there’s no denying that, but he was with you right until the very last second. He tried to save your life—more times than you can count. Tye died trying to save your life and this is how you repay him? By fantasizing about the man who basically killed him? It shouldn’t be like this; you shouldn’t be with Mando. He took away the only family you had, and you’re out here wondering how mad he’ll be when he finds out you left the hangar when he told you to stay put?

But… Mando saved your life. He could have let the Imps carry you off but, he didn’t. He came back to rescue you. He told you to stay in the hangar for your own safety. Stars, he’s even out looking for some kind of lead as to why the Empire wants you.

It’s just too much. There are too many things you don’t know, too many conflicting emotions inside you, you’re unable to sift through them all and come to a logical conclusion. As you got older, it became easy to compartmentalize your feelings—locking some away and never allowing yourself the luxury of experiencing those again and for a while, it worked, but now everything’s changed. A Mandalorian came rushing into your life and has changed everything about the way you’ve been living. Nothing about you is the same anymore. The control you had is no longer there, slipping through your fingers like when rain slithers off leaves. Each drop of stability, and restriction is slipping out of your reach and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

You’re not sure when you started heading for the cantina, but you come to your senses just as your figure slides through the door. At the top of the stairs, the cantina is overwhelmed with people from all walks of life. Now that nightfall has stumbled on the city, all cantinas will look like this one—visitors, and locals alike all crammed together, dancing, drinking and gambling. Deciding against your better judgement to find a quiet place to sit alone and drink your thoughts away, you opt to sit at the bar. To make matters even more daring, you sit at the bar with your back to the entrance of the cantina. While others might not even think twice to do that, to you it’s stirring and terrifying all at the same time.

“What can I get ya?” The droid asks, his voice box distorting from how loud he actually has to speak in order for you to hear him.

“Just give me strongest thing you got,” You shout back, making a mental note to find a way to pay them back later.

“Rough day?” A gruff voice prompts.

Straining your neck to your right, a rather good-looking man back stares back at you, elbows resting on the counter. The cantina might be dimly lit, but you can make out some of his features. Floppy, black hair tickles the tops of his eyebrows, making his blue eyes stand out against the dark contrast. A tidy beard cascades across his cheeks and jawline, and for the first time in a while, you see a smile that doesn’t immediately trigger your fight or flight response.

“Uh, yeah,” You reply as the bartender hands you a cup full of a deep red liquid. Not taking a second to think about it, you grab the cup and throw the drink back, the alcohol hitting your tastebuds makes your body shiver involuntarily, but as it makes its way down your throat, the liquid warms your insides, relaxing the tautness in your shoulders. You motion to the bartender for another drink and the kind stranger giggles.

“Must have been a hell of a rough day,”

“Any day on Tatooine is a rough day.” You jest as the droid refills your cup.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s my first time here.”

You nearly choke on your drink, completely taken aback by the statement. “Why the hell are you here, then?”

The man’s head cocks to one side, and eyebrow raising in confusion, but that smile is still plastered on his face. He really does have a kind smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be imposing.” You correct, worried you might have offended him in some way.

“Not at all,” He shrugs. “I had to make a delivery here. I’m heading out at first light.”

“Oh?”

“What about you? What brings you here?”

Despite the alcohol lowering your defenses, you always know to keep your answers short and vague, so as to not draw attention to yourself. “Oh I’m just passing through.”

The brunette lets out a loud laugh, an infectious one that makes you laugh in return. He shakes his head, causing his disheveled hair to brush against his brow bone. The longer you look at him, the more you can feel arousal stirring up in your stomach. He really is attractive, in an easy, non-intimidating way.

Stars, this isn’t why you wanted to go out.

“How vague of you,” He quips.

“Gotta keep them on their toes, right?”

“That I have to agree with.”

Taking the cup in your hand and holding it up in front of you, he proposes a toast. “To keeping them on their toes”. The stranger holds up his own cup and knocks it against yours, albeit a little too aggressively because some of the liquid in your cup flies out of the mug and spills onto your tunic.

“Fuck, Maker I’m so sorry—” He starts to say but your hand comes up to stop him.

“It’s fine,” You assure him. “It’s not my finest shirt anyway.”

“At least let me pay for your drinks. It’s the least I can do since I may have completely ruined your shirt.”

Nodding your head, he calls the droid over and gestures for two more drinks.

--

Three drinks later, and the alcohol is definitely getting to you, now. More so than it did back on Sorgan, given that you’ve had just a fraction of whatever this red stuff is compared to an entire bottle of spotchka. Whatever this droid gave you was some powerful stuff. You’re not completely inebriated, but you’re definitely more relaxed than you were before, the warmth of the alcohol travelling through your system and making you a lot more comfortable and laid-back. To make matter worse, the alcohol has unfortunately made this strange man a lot more attractive and the thought of him touching you is making your cunt ache.

“Look, maybe I’m misreading things, but would you want to head back to my ship?”

It’s a bad idea—like, a really bad idea. You’ve known this man for maybe half an hour and you’re definitely not in the right state of mind to be accepting his offer. Actually, the fact that you’re drunk isn’t the problem. The real problem is that you’re being hunted by the fucking Empire and you have no idea if this guy is trying to find a way to lure you to his ship or if he really is just a kind traveler. Regardless, you shouldn’t say yes.

You really fucking shouldn’t.

Because you haven’t said anything, he begins to backtrack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I take it back.”

Before your brain can control the words spewing out of your mouth, your ears hear you say, “No, you didn’t offend me at all.” Placing a hand over his on the counter and squeezing it in reassurance, the touch sends sparks up your arm and sends it straight to the apex of your thighs. You’re definitely in the wrong state of mind right now, but you’ve gone too far to pull back now and honestly, if Mando won’t fuck you, you’ll just have to find someone else who will. “Lead the way.”

Swallowing the rest of your drink in one big guuuulp, your buddy of the night throws some credits down on the counter and thanks the bartender for the drinks and all but jumps to his feet. He links his hand with yours and begins escorting you out of the cantina.

The cool air feels amazing against your red-hot cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest full of danger, excitement, and arousal. This reminds you of your smuggling days. After a job, still feeling the aftershocks of your dicey run, you’d find someone worth your while and let them fuck you senseless in your ship. It makes you feel like you again. This is what you do—this is the routine you’ve created for yourself. This is familiar.

Giggling like a bunch of teenagers, neither of you are able to hide your eagerness. Not even after a couple blocks walk away from the cantina, he’s pushing you against the nearest wall of a quiet street, trapping you with his body. His breath reeks of alcohol, but in that sweet way that’s even more intoxicating. Your lips part, eyes staring at his own plush lips just a few inches away from you. This wouldn’t be possible with Mando. You could never look at his face; look at his lips and crush them with yours, or feel his tongue brush against yours. No, this will have to do.

A gentle hand comes up and holds your chin in place. He’s not as tall as Mando either, you barely have to strain your neck to look up at him, but this will have to do. Bringing his face close to yours, you think he’s about to kiss you, but his lips pass yours and comes right to your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, his hot breath touching your even hotter skin. His voice sends shivers down your spine—not the way Mando’s voice does but this will have to do.

Your hands come flying up to grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling him back just so you’re inches away from each other’s face again. It would barely take any effort to close the gap and feel his lips against yours. Closing your eyes, you wait for him to make the first move. Despite you two knowing absolutely nothing about the other, he seems to catch on to your body language quickly, because the next thing you know, he’s crushing his lips on yours.

It’s not elegant or gentle, it’s needy and desperate. His teeth clash against yours, causing you both to pull away momentarily to chuckle before dipping back to each other’s mouths—more elegantly this time.

His mouth tastes like alcohol, it fills your nostrils and tastebuds with such aggression, it’s almost attacking them. Pressing his body further into yours, you could feel the outline of his hard cock brushing your thigh, forcing out a moan through your lips. In return, he forces his tongue through your open mouth, flicking your bottom lip and meeting yours. The hand on your cheek disappears, then both of them travel down your neck, grabbing your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze before trailing down your abdomen and settling on your waist, wrapping them around you tightly in an effort to pull you closer to him.

Your mind tries to focus on this moment, on the man touching and kissing you, but you’re unable to shake the feeling you’re being watched. Pulling away from him, your back goes rigid at the sight of the Mandalorian just a few feet away from you two. The stranger from the cantina turns his head and nearly jumps back at the sight.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian growls, his vocoder scratching dangerously low, making your whole body shiver in fear.

“Uh—I—uh—we were—uh—” You manage to choke out, entire physique trembling from head to toe.

His helmet turns to face the stranger you were just making out with and he all but snarls when addressing him. “I suggest you leave.”

Turning to you, his eyes wide shot in absolutely terror, you can assume this is the first time he’s ever seen a Mandalorian, let alone a seething Mandalorian. “Are y-you gon-n-na be okay?” He stutters.

“She’ll be fine.” Mando answers for you.

Unable to get rid of the lump in your throat, you offer him a nod and within seconds, the brunette is gone. You’re left alone with Mando, in a horribly lit street in Mos Eisley—just like you were a couple days ago.

“I told you to stay at the hangar.” He spits out from what you assume is gritted teeth. The helmet gives no insight as to what Mando’s expression could be but somehow the visor burning into you right now is the most frightening and the most arousing thing you can imagine.

“I just wanted some fresh air.”

“The hangar is an open space. It’s full of fresh air.”  

Noticing his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his back as stiff as a board, your little stunt has infuriated him more than you thought it would, and for some sick reason, that turns you on even more.

“Let’s go. Now.” He orders, body whipping around so fast his cape makes a loud whoosh noise as it whisks behind him.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the mental exhaustion from the day, but you’re pretty fucking tired of being bossed around by him. Despite being somewhat intoxicated and feeling your body sway, you straighten out your shoulders, cross your arms against your chest and muster as much strength as you can and say, “No.”

Mando stops in his tracks, the tip of his helmet turning ever so slowly until his head can’t turn any more. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

Before you can fully understand what’s happening, Mando rushes towards you. At first you want to recoil from his sudden movement, but you plant yourself further into the ground, continuing to hold yourself in your stance.

“You don’t scare me.” Whether or not you’re trying to convince him or yourself that, it’s unclear, but the fact that Mando doesn’t pull away indicates that he clearly doesn’t believe you.

“I don’t?” He asks coyly as he cocks his head to the side, knowing damn well what he’s doing.

Moving into your body at a dangerously slow rate, your body mimics his as you feel yourself gradually leaning back. You’re losing balance, and if you don’t find some way to steady yourself, you’ll end up falling back on your bum. Thinking quickly, your left leg flies behind you, enabling you to get your footing in the sand and keep from falling backwards.

“Why does your body language tell me otherwise?” He’s downright taunting you right now. Mando gets off seeing you struggle under his authority.

“Because you’re pushing yourself into me!” You shriek.

“I don’t see you fighting back.”

It’s at this moment you realize, no matter how many men you meet in cantinas, no matter how many of them you spend the night with or even a moment with, no matter how drunk you get yourself in order to enjoy these one night stands, none of that will ever matter because it’ll never compare to how Mando makes you feel. No one in this kriffing galaxy will ever get your heart racing and your blood pounding like he does. No one will be able to drive you fucking crazy the way he does.

The stranger at the bar might have been able to get you wet and aching to be touched—probably not even wanting to be touched by him though. However, it’s nothing compared to the burning pit of desire that’s pooling inside you in Mando’s presence. He’s only touched you once but it wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. You want him, you fucking need him more than you would ever admit.

From the way you see it, you have two options to choose from. You can either yield to Mando’s dominance and follow him back to the Crest, feeling guilty and sorry for yourself or you can challenge him back, establish your own independence and see how far you can defy him. Given that you can be a pretty big fucking brat, you opt for the latter.

Pushing yourself forward while using your left leg and lowering your arms to your sides for extra balance, your breasts graze against his beskar cuirass while your legs shift to stand shoulder-width apart. Having to crane your neck upwards to look straight into the T of his visor, it’s somewhat uncomfortable but you’re trying to prove a point right now, so you’ll deal with the stress on your neck until the point’s been made clear.

Your chest is heaving, heartrate unbelievable fast as you stand so fucking close to each other, neither of you wanting to break the almost suffocating suspense by speaking. No, right now you’re both locked in a fight for dominance, wondering who will be the one to either pull away or close the tiny gap between your bodies. It might be the alcohol, but you’re feeling rather audacious, and you want to continue pushing him, push him passed his limits until he becomes the feral animal you know is clawing inside of him. The adrenaline rush you had kissing that kind stranger from the bar is fucking nothing compared to this. This is making your veins ignite with fire, burning through your entire core and not even the breeze can cut the heat radiating off your skin.

“Stop,” Mando says breathlessly, sounding more like a plea than an order.

“I don’t see you fighting back,” You repeat, drawling out every word so he knows you’re mocking him. The tables have flipped, you’re the one holding the power and it’s fucking invigorating. Having a Mandalorian practically beg you is sending sparks of arousal right to your throbbing cunt, resisting the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pain building up in the apex of your legs.

“You wouldn’t want to see me fight back.” Fuck, this is getting too much.

The baritone of his voice scratches low in the vocoder, sending shocks straight to your belly, while also suggesting he’s pulling back from fully allowing himself to do whatever his body hungers for. But you’re not, in fact you’re just getting started because now you know you’re affecting him, and the liquor in your bloodstream is making you a lot bolder than you normally would be.

“I don’t think you could fight back.” Obviously a lie, you know damn well he can fight back but you’re incessant need to toy with him, to continue to mock him until he absolutely loses his fucking mind is too inviting, you can’t stop yourself.

“Maker, I said stop.” Mando growls, drawing closer towards you to the point you’re leaning back again, invading your space so deliciously. Your sense of smell is engulfed with the aroma of metal and his musk, you’re practically drunk on him alone. Knowing you’ll need to choose your next words wisely; you opt for the ones you know will force him over the edge. Swallowing the gigantic lump in your throat, your gaze deepening into the eye slit of his visor, you speak low and as cunning as you can giving the current circumstance.

“Make me.”

In a swift movement, Mando’s gloved hands come up and grip your biceps, not hard enough to hurt but definitely strong enough for you to understand who’s actually in charge. He holds you tightly as he all but pushes you against the closest wall, the duracrete digging into your shoulder blades. Pressing into you, the beskar holding you in place, you feel the bulge in his pants grinding against your lower stomach. Your pussy is disgustingly wet, panties drenched as they stick to you.

Head pushed against the wall behind you, it’s difficult to properly look into the black slit of his helmet, but you try your hardest to maintain eye contact with him, to show him you’re not backing down without a proper fight…or whatever else might occur. His own chest is heaving, armour flush against your torso, locking you in this intimate moment. Wanting to touch him, one of your hands draws up from your side slowly, not entirely sure where exactly to place it. Flicking your tongue along your lower lip, and using the liquid courage that’s a mix of liquor and arousal, you push your palm between your bodies and grab hold of the growing erection in his pants. The noise that Mando makes is guttural, one of his hands letting go of your bicep to punch into the wall behind you.

“Fuck,” He moans, the helmet coming passed your head to press into the duracrete structure. The very end of the helmet scratches the crook of your neck, and you lean into it, feeling the beskar bring coolness to your hot cheek. Your hand continues to grope him, gently rubbing against his pants causing friction and feeling his cock twitch in your palm.

“We h-have to get back to t-t-the ship,” Mando pleads, still rough and low as he seems to be getting angrier with himself because he’s unable to pull away, and his body moves closer into yours, pushing you hard against the rough surface behind you while his beskar is flush on your chest, making it hard to breathe and difficult for you to continue teasing him. Quick, short breaths are coming consistently through the vocoder, your pussy gushing hearing his sweet groans.

Your right hand fumbles its way to his belt, both hands now frantically trying to undo the zipper of his pants. The helmet dips down, resting it on your shoulder as he watches one of your hands disappear into his trousers, and play with the waistband, toying with him. The scorching heat between your thighs is becoming too much, your cunt throbbing uncontrollably, begging to alleviate some of the tension but right now, this is about Mando. This is for Mando.

When you feel confident enough that he’s fully under your control, your hand pushes through the waistband and cups his erection. Mando curses under his breath, grinding himself against your hold in a feeble attempt to please himself. Maker, his cock is big—you don’t even have to look at it to feel it’s the biggest one you’ve ever felt. If you thought you were turned on before, this new information sends ripples through your entire body, your mouth watering, desperately wanting to taste him. With the little room you have to move, you begin lowering yourself down to the ground, and drop to your knees. The sand cuts into your pants, it’s somewhat uncomfortable, but you push through the discomfort because you’re about to put his cock in your mouth and drive him fucking crazy.

The street is barely lit, which unfortunately means you can barely see what’s in front of you, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing right now matters other than making him feel as good as he made you feel a couple nights ago. You want to show him what he’s been missing, what he’s been denying himself. Lowering his trousers just enough to spring his cock free, it bounces just inches from your lips. Heat continuously building in your belly, you adjust your hand to hold him at the base, and admire him. Your head bobs forward, tongue coming out to lick the precome forming at the tip of his length. A big hand comes down firmly on your shoulder, steadying himself as he continues to curse into the helmet.

“F-fuck, that feels good.”

Letting out a deep breath through your nostrils to calm your nerves and swallowing the lump in your throat, your jaw slacks as much as it can and you take him in your mouth, surrounding him with your warmth. Mando nearly convulses on the spot, feeling his hips buck, pushing more of himself into your mouth. Stars, you’ve never had a dick this big in your mouth and you’re worried you might not be able to take all of him, but you push through it, inching himself more and more passed your lips until you feel him reach the back of your throat. Your body shakes, fighting your gag reflex as he sits there on your tongue, hands bracing themselves on his hips, so you have more control.

“Look at you, taking my whole cock in your mouth. S-such a good girl.”

Mando’s praises practically make you swoon, and once you feel relaxed enough, you ease him out of your mouth and begin bobbing your head up and down the length of his girth, obscene and filthy sounds echoing through the street. You develop a rhythm, bobbing your neck down his cock a few times and then taking him as far as he’ll go, now no longer worried about gagging as you basically fucking choke on him. Tears are forming in the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, you can’t fucking stop because the whimpers coming from Mando are enough to push you over the edge. He grits out admirations like a prayer, the grip on your shoulder so tight it almost hurts, but you’re too entranced at the moment to give a shit about the bruise that’s no doubt forming on your skin.

His cock continues to slide in and out between your lips, feeling every curve, every vein, every fucking inch of him down to the pubic hair that tickles your nose when he rests fully inside your mouth. The tension in your pussy is excruciating, needing some kind of friction to alleviate some of the pressure, so one of the hands on his hips disappear and flies into your own pants, passed your undies, starting to rub tight circles around your clit. The immediate touch down your pants causes you to moan, sending vibrations along the Mandalorian’s length between your lips.

“Stars, you’re so good at this. How do you make it feel so fucking good?” He whispers breathlessly, now fully fucking himself into your mouth. Tears stream down your face at a consistent rate, but everything feels too good to stop. It’s overstimulating, it’s overwhelming but in the best fucking way possible. You on your knees, while Mando grinds his hips more aggressively into you. Feeling your own orgasm slowly building, you wrap your lips around Mando tighter, hallowing your cheeks as you draw him in at a quicker pace.

“Shit, you’re g-gonna ma-ake me c-c-ome,”

Rather than say something, you bob your head even faster, spit dribbling down your lips as you continue to take his cock deep in your mouth, swallowing a mixture of saliva and precome and groaning loudly. Mando recites a series of curses and praises as you feel his body tensing while he gets closer to his own orgasm. The fingers on your clit become erratic, no longer having the same rhythm because you’re too focused on getting Mando to come in your mouth to focus on pleasuring yourself properly.

“Oh—shit, fuck, fuck yes, j-just like t-that. You want me to c-c-come in your pr-r-retty little mouth?” He taunts, chest heaving unlike you’ve ever seen before. The power trip you’re on right now is amazing, and Maker you want him to see you as he comes. Through hooded lids, you peer up at him, the faint shape of his helmet beaming off the moons of Tatooine. You don’t see his eyes but it doesn’t matter, you know he’s looking down at you in awe. It’s a struggle to continue to please him while trying to maintain eye contact with him but you refuse to peel your eyes away from the visor. You want him to see you with your mouth full of his come, you want him to see you suck every bit of his seed out of him, and watch you swallow it like a champ.

Mando’s cock twitches in your mouth and stiffens for a moment, and then he’s coming, really fucking hard and for a second you wonder if you’ll even be able to swallow all of it. As he comes, you hollow your cheeks even more, sucking every last drop of his seed and swallowing it, and then your own orgasm creeps up on you and then smashes into you. It fucking rips you apart from the inside out, white-hot pleasure exploding from every nerve ending, and you cry out with his cock still in your mouth, causing some of his come to trickle down from the corners of your lips.

Once he’s finally done coming, his hand leaves your shoulder to tuck himself back in his pants before hooking both hands under your shoulders to lift you up to eye level. Your breathing is erratic, and your knees burn from the friction of the sand rubbing against the material of your pants. Head lulling back to lean along the wall behind you, your eyes flutter open, completely exhausted. Using one of his fingers, Mando wipes the come dripping down your lips and before he can do anything else, using the very limited strength you have, your hand clasps down on his wrist, taking it into your mouth and sucking whatever seed is on his finger, tasting him and leather in your mouth.

“Stars…” Mando remarks in absolute admiration. The corners of your lips curl into a sheepish smile, the weight of the fatigue fully taking you over. Your head dips in front of you, and rests on Mando’s chest, the instant cooling relief of beskar on your forehead.

“We have to get back to the ship.” He repeats, his baritone gentle but still low and raspy.

“Mmm…” You mumble back, unable to find the words.

“You’ll have to walk back, is that okay? The Crest isn’t far away.”

Head lifting up enough to nod, Mando takes a step back so you can get your bearings. The alcohol and the post-orgasm high make you woozy, but you force yourself to be somewhat conscious, blinking rapidly and rolling your shoulders back in an effort to show him you’ll be all right enough to head back to the hangar. “Lead the way, sir.”

A drawn-out breath emits from the helmet, and he tilts his head to the side like he wants to push you up against the wall once again but ultimately decides not to and turns on his heel to make way for the ship. Your feet are working slower than your brain, because it takes a couple of seconds for them to register that you want to walk. At first they buckle, probably because you’ve been on your knees for the last however many minutes, but eventually you’re able to trail behind him wearily as you both walk in silence to the hangar. Unlike you, there’s absolutely no hint that Mando just got his dick sucked in public. You on the other hand, are slouching when you walk, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs from your orgasm becoming more and more awful the longer you move.

When the hangar door comes into view, there’simmediate relief that swoons you. You want to rest, want to relax as there’s a slight headache now prodding at you—definitely a result from the night’s events. Peli sits around a makeshift fire, her droids also gathered around, no green baby in sight.

“Ah he found you!” She exclaims, gesticulating in your direction before rising to her feet to join you and Mando. “The little one’s inside the ship, by the way.”

“Thank you, Peli.”

“Anytime, Mando. You know I like having you and the kid around.” She admits, a genuine smile appearing on her face. She looks over at you and it’s impossible to hide the shock smeared on her expression.

“Kriff, what the hell happened to you?”

“Sorry?” You ask, brows pulling tightly together.

“You look like hell, that’s what.” She says, quite unfiltered.

Your eyes peer down at the ground, fingers interlacing together, not being able to come up with a good, fake reason as to why you look like a mess. Her gaze jumps between you and Mando, and you think she’s mentally putting the image together in her brain before Mando speaks.

“We should get going. Don’t want to stay longer than we need to.”

This snaps Peli out of her thoughts, nodding as she agrees with the Mandalorian.

“Sure thing. Uh, travel safe you three.”

Mando’s helmet dips forward, before heading up the side ramp of the ship. You stand there for a few more seconds, wanting to give Peli a proper good-bye, but not knowing how to go about that. Your arm comes up behind you to rub the back of your neck, jaw slacking and opening your mouth to say something—to say what, you’re still unsure of.

“Well, I have to admit, it was nice seeing you again kid.” She says sincerely, and for the seconds time today, you see a glimpse of warmth and tenderness in her you’ve never seen before. She isn’t this cold-hearted, confrontational woman you had conjured up in your mind. She’s gentle in her own way. Kind. Sympathetic. It warms you and also saddens you. This is a side of her you could have seen all these years ago, had you allowed yourself and her the opportunity. Instead, you had this pre-conceived idea of who she was, and didn’t allow either of you to have a different perspective of each other. It’s only now that you may never see each other again that you realize how alike you two are.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you too, Peli.”

“Take care of each other,” She leans over and places a gentle hand on your forearm. Looking down to where her hand touches you, you feel a surge of emotions. Not just your own, but hers as well. Regret. Pain. Resolve. Hope. All of these subconscious emotions filling you up, making your head spin.

Turning your body, you head up the ramp to the ship’s hull. Peeping over to the fresher, you really should sanisteam, but the fatigue is too intense. You really just want to sleep in that shitty chair in the cockpit and deal with all your responsibilities when you wake up.

Taking to the ladder is a bit of struggle. You have no strength left, and but are forced to conjure some up just to make it to the top. When you see the floor at the top, you grab onto it and hoist yourself to the top, landing on your knees. For a moment, you actually consider just crawling over to the chair, but that seems a little…excessive, therefore you force yourself to your feet and drag them along the ground as you finally reach the chair. Collapsing into it immediately, this chair has never felt more comfortable in your life and the moan you let out once you feel yourself relaxing in it is downright obscene, but you don’t care. Instantly regretting every time you’ve complained about this chair, because right now it’s your saving grace. You’ll never leave this clump of leather; you swear it to the Maker.

“Where’re we headed, now?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you ask Mando who sits in the pilot’s chair, flicking switches and hearing the Crest’s thrusters come to life.

“Corvus.”

“Mmm? What’s on Corvus?”

“A Jedi.”

A Jedi? You’ve never had the opportunity of meeting a Jedi, but you’ve heard stories—good and bad ones. How they’re to blame for starting the Clone Wars. How they destroyed the Empire and freed the galaxy from tyranny.

You want to ask why you’re heading to meet a Jedi, but you succumb to sleep before you can ask him, the taste of the Mandalorian still lingering on your tongue.

taglist: @1800-fight-me​, @tillytheslytherin​, @ayamenimthiriel​ 💞💞

[godandanime1104]

It’s Nothing Personal

Techno watched as Dream stared at them through the bars of the trap he laid, mask smiling mockingly at them. Tommy was still by his side, half hidden and breath coming quicker than before. Techno grit his teeth at his lack of judgment, angry he’d let them both walk into this so easily.

“Techno, we had a deal.” Dream’s voice was even, never a good sign if you knew you’d done something not to his liking. “You owed me.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.” Techno replied just as evenly, examining the bars and the walls around them for any sign of escape.

“Tommy is nothing to you.” Dream’s voice sent shivers down Tommy’s spine, and he took half a step backwards. “He stole from you and dragged you into a war. He had you help him start a government, Techno. Don’t tell me you’re honestly siding with him.”

“Tommy isn’t the one putting me in a trap under my own house.” Techno refocused his eyes on Dream, fingers twitching for a weapon.

“You’re right.” Dream agreed. “In that case, I’ll make you another deal.”

“We’re not interested, Dream!” Tommy yelped, finding his footing again. Techno lifted his chin a fraction of an inch.

It was true, at least to an extent, that Techno wasn’t interested. This was a false God’s vendetta against a child, and Techno wanted no part in him getting his way.

”I want you to do something for me. If you do, I’ll release you. You’ll be free to live out your days here, or destroying cities, whatever.” Dream waved his hand theatrically, and leaned to press a button.

Two bars slid down, not enough to let them escape, but enough for Dream to put something down and kick it through. They slid back into place as Techno investigated the gift, a brand new crossbow. It had one arrow locked in, ready to be used. Tommy’s face fell into a despair filled look.

“Techno, I want you to kill Tommy, and I want you to do it now.” Dream was utterly calm, not an ounce of emotion seeping into the air. It felt wrong in Techno’s stomach to hold this weapon when the intention behind it was Dream’s and not his own. “That’s a small price to pay for your freedom. A little revenge too.”

“Techno-“ Tommy whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, and stared wide eyed at him in fear. “Please don’t-“

“I just wanted to retire, Dream.” Techno sighed, lifting it to point at their captor. It wouldn’t do any good, but at least he’d get the message.

“Disappointing.” Dream huffed, leaning his weight onto one leg, and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out another button and placed it, pressing it easily.

“What are you-“ Tommy started, but stopped when Techno nudged him the slightest bit in warning.

“I prepared for this, of course. Like you’d ever give into my demands easily.” Dream moved out of view momentarily. “I didn’t want to, but you’ve given me no choice.”

Dream was back, hands tight in the fabric of his third captive. He shoved them to the ground, and Techno’s fingers tightened on the wood and trigger. Philza looked up at him from the floor, half leaning onto the bars.

“Phil-“ Tommy reached for him, but Techno’s hand in his shirt yanked him backwards away from Dream’s reach. This wasn’t good at all, and having Tommy that close to their adversary would only make it worse.

"Dream, you’re threatening me with Philza?” Techno asked, wanting to be clear. Dream drew his sword and placed it against Phil’s neck silently. “So, it’s Tommy’s life or Philza’s?”

“The choice is yours.” Dream’s smugness was clear in every part of him, and Tommy fought the urge to flinch away from him. Blue eyes flickered between the two weapon wielders, knowing at least one of them would kill him today. Who though? That was the question he was scared to ask.

“Techno...” Philza’s voice was tougher than usual, it sounded as though he’d been yelling, and he looked sternly at the crossbow. “Do the right thing, old friend.”

Techno steeled his nerves and lowered the weapon, hand reaching out to shove Tommy to the floor. Tommy scrambled back against the wall, and shook his head wildly.

Techno raised the weapon again, this time pointing it at the child in question.

”Don’t!” Phil called, but Dream merely pressed the blade closer to silence him.

“Techno wait-“ Tommy whimpered, fear etched into every inch of his body. Techno watched him try to find the words to beg for his life, and was briefly reminded of the festival, when he’d done almost the exact same thing to Tommy’s best friend.

It wouldn’t work. Tommy wasn’t his friend, or his brother. He wasn’t Philza. Techno wouldn’t sacrifice his life for someone who’d used him and hid behind him time and time again. It wasn’t even a choice.

“It’s nothing personal.” Techno muttered, unsure why he wanted Tommy to be aware of that.

“Techno don’t you dare!” Philza pushed back against the sword, a small line of blood falling down his chest. “I’ll never forgive you.”

Techno could live with that. He aimed the weapon, his sights clear, and watched Tommy flinch away, squeezing his eyes shut. Techno’s finger slowly began to tighten on the trigger.

He turned just before the arrow shot, aiming and shooting through the bars of the cage. Dream’s mask shattered on impact, the arrow killing him for the moment. His body flew backwards and he slumped against the wall behind him.

Techno lowered the weapon, and felt his stomach drop at the sight. Dream had dragged his sword back in the same moment he’d been shot, and Philza was soaked in red. He dropped the weapon, and Tommy opened his eyes, finally aware, and quickly taking in what had happened.

“Phil!” Tommy scrambled to the bars and reached for his neck to try and stop the bleeding. He failed, of course. Philza was already too far gone.

Techno stood behind him. Stone faced behind his mask, and hands tightly clenched. Tommy didn’t look at him, too afraid to anger him more, and settled on watching Phil’s last moments, trying to comfort him best he could.

It was silent after that. No more noise at all, almost unnaturally so. That is, until Techno kicked the crossbow across the cage and approached the bars. Tommy flinched back, afraid he was in danger, but relaxed when he saw Techno hit the button outside.

The bars slid open for them, and they were free.

Alternate End

[lostlimerence]

Bad Decisions

‘Maybe this is where it ends,’ he says, his voice is soft, tentative. It does nothing to counter the sharp drop in Geralts’ stomach.

Swallowing he tilts his head slightly and takes in the man next to him. Jaskier, one leg pulled up to his chest, the other hanging over the cliff edge. A cigarette sits idly in his right hand, smoke tendrils drift lazily between them spiralling into the night. It’s cliche but he’s beautiful. As he gazes out over the cityscape of Oxenfurt, in black biker leathers much like Geralts’ own. The colour creates a striking contrast against his pale skin, highlights the red of his lips and the blue of his eyes.

Geralt’s heard this before. He’ll hear it again. It never gets easier. He hadn’t thought he’d hear it tonight though, it’s taken him by surprise.

The musician had been exuberant when he’d opened the door to find Geralt leaning against the jamb with his bike running behind him. He’d grinned and sprinted off to change, keys already in hand. He’d whooped and hollered as they’d rev’d their bikes up the ‘mountain’ (it’s a big hill at best, but the people of Oxenfurt are liberal with artistic licence). Geralt had smirked as he’d not so subtly goaded the bard into a race, weaving around each other, as they’d made their way up to their ledge.

Dismounting, the bard had been as theatrical as ever in his gloating, living up to his stage name as he practically sang his own praises. Geralt had chuckled under his breath as he was subjected, yet again, to a mini lecture on bike manoeuvres (Jaskier has always been a better biker than Geralt, he’s accepted it). He’d cut it short with a laugh at Jaskiers’ mock outrage to the playful shove he’d given him towards the ledge. Then they’d settled as they are now, Geralt with both legs dangling, Jaskier assuming his usual position one leg pressed to Geralts the other bent to his chest.

They’d chatted easily, comfortably as Jaskier had slid a cigarette between his lips lighting it behind a cupped hand. Geralt had grit his teeth and tried (very poorly) not to comment ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that’ he’d said on a sigh. The change had been instant, the snap of tension running up the bards body, the sudden cease in his consistent, gentle chatter. He’d taken a long drag of the cigarette and stared straight ahead as he’d uttered the words, and now here they were.

‘Darling,’ the term makes Geralts heart clench snapping him from his thoughts, how long had he let this silence drag? ‘Don’t look at me like that.’ His body is tense and his throat feels locked but he manages a chocked ‘like what?’ Jaskier looks at him now, depthless blue eyes trained on his own gold ‘Like this means something,’ this man confuses Geralt constantly, he doesn’t understand the switch and he feels a sickly panic grasp him as the bard continues ‘it’s not fair Geralt,‘ I know’ is all Geralt can offer. Jaskiers face is blank, his voice heavy as he pushes on ‘I’m not some fucking bad decision you get to make when you’re angry at Yen’ ‘you’re not...’ Geralt tries ‘I am’ he’s cut off, it has a finality to it that Geralt isn’t sure what to do with.

He continues and Geralts throat feels raw even though Jaskier is the one talking. His head is held high, he’s back-lit by a sea of stars ‘I love it when we run away on our bikes, like we did when we were teens’, he offers a soft smilie at this‘ but I loose myself Geralt this isn’t real. We go back down this mountain you go back to Yen and I go back to whoever I’ve left in my bed that night’ an unfair wave of jealously hits at that, he clamps it down, he has no right. ‘I convince myself this is nothing, just a bit of fun with an old friend but then you do something sweet like worry about my stupid addiction to cigarettes and my heart gets hopeful again’ his smile is sorrowful.

He sags, takes another drag of the cigarette, tilts his head and releases a stream of smoke to the stars. He looks ethereal. It takes Geralt back four years to this same spot, as Jaskier nineteen wide eyed and hopeful confessed his love to a panicked, angry ( and fucking stupid) version of himself. Geralt wants to tell him this is real, but it’s complicated and Geralt doesn’t know how to begin. The thought of not having Jaskier like this kills him and he knows it’s awful and it’s selfish but his mind is swimming in a desperate panic. He needs to say something.

He takes a breath ‘I...’ Jaskier’s finger presses gently to his lips ‘no sweetheart, let’s not go ten rounds on this tonight’ his eyes are glassy as he leans in ‘let’s just pretend until the sun comes up,’ if Geralt were a better man he wouldn’t follow suit. But in truth, Geralt has always been the bigger addict.

Maybe this is where it ends, he thinks.

It never is.

[talltales]

                                    —HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER                                     HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN                                     THEY COME, THEY COME, TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US                                     WE KNOW THEY WON'T WIN                                                            anonymous request!!

NOTICE: violence (murder, mentions of cannibalism), heavy sexual content

               “i just painted my nails.”

blankly, she flicks away the blood trickling down her hand and turns it over to inspect the chipped pink polish peeling off with it. her trigger finger relaxes minutely, but her gun remains aimed at the deathly still men at her feet, staring sightlessly into the cloudless, red sky.

“i didn’t think you were that kind of girl.” the click of the clip being slatted into his own weapon accompanies his droll retort. she glances over her shoulder to find yugyeom leaning against the hood of their car, arms crossed loosely across his chest; dark eyes fixed upon the flow of blood across hot concrete.

before it reaches the tip of her shoes, she sidesteps and moves to rifle through the belongings peeking from their pockets. her gun is slipped into the old leather holster at her hip before she pulls a wallet from the closest man, “i was always that kind of girl. it isn’t my fault you never paid attention.”

she spares her companion a look and then turns back to the worn billfold, tossing the plethora of id cards contained into the summer wind, “looks like he was collecting trophies from his kills.”

“how barbaric.” yugyeom hums, impassive. his nose crinkles, however—offended by the emerging malodor of decay, “they reek. are you ready to go?”

“just a minute.”

the few bills contained within are deposited into her back pocket. discarded identification cards bearing the faces of strangers skitter across the road as she makes work of the other male’s wallet and, for good measure, plucks his half-empty carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“got yours?” he slides off the hood of their old black mustang, slapping a palm against the hot metal before opening the driver side door, “because we need to start making some distance if they’ve got friends.”

“you’re a broken record, you know?”

“i’ll stop repeating myself when you start listening.”

the cool flow of a/c when she gets in is a welcome sensation. there are, after all, few luxuries left in a world that has gone to hell and dragged every survivor with it.

her thumb hovers over the radio dial out of habit, turning it on to catch nothing but muted static.

the radio broadcast had stopped four months ago.

where an endless stream of music and advertisements had once been, there was only white noise; broken only by the occasional snare laid by opportunistic hunters. assuming that there was prey left. at least the ones who would believe the theatric cries for help, transmitting on repeat in the early morning hours.

without the loose guide of societal standards, humanity turned on itself. cannibalized the weak. she hits the off button and releases a heavy breath; sinks into her seat as yugyeom starts the engine. what an ugly place to be—

to be left behind in.

“what is it?” his attention is on the road, intent as he navigates smoothly past the still-warm bodies and the last remnants of their victims, innocent things blowing away in the desert wind, “you’re thinking too much.“

“i know. i’m just wondering how many of those fuckers can possibly be hiding out here. how many people they’ve killed, and for what?” her teeth sink into her lower lip, biting down until the dull ache draws her mind back—to the scent of leather and gunpowder and the droll, knowing look yugyeom gives her, “for useless pieces of plastic? money that can only be spent in camps where they’ll be shot on sight?”

one instinct had survived the dissolution of the world, after all. people knew a wanted man when they saw one.

“you know why.” he hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “i shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“humor me.”

the conversation is an old one, repeated for the sake of soothing what remains of her conscience. stubborn as it is, it comes to life in moments like these; when the adrenaline fades away and she is left with blood caked under her nails and the smell of copper clinging to her skin.

“they kill for the thrill of it.” for her sake, yugyeom answers. the words flow easily, as if he’sreciting a memorized poem; an old story told a time too many. “they enjoy it.”

“i enjoy it.” she confesses, not for the first time. she stretches as the seat allows, arching her back as her fingertips brush the roof; the telltale click of her spine realigning itself brings a fleeting sense of relief. she speaks to the spotted, hazy glass of the sunroof, “i enjoy hunting them and putting them down.”

the blood-red sky is cloudless; speckled only with the brightest starlight breaking through the atmosphere.

“so do i,” he says, and the matter is settled.

again.

—

“so wound up,” she breathes, grazing the curve of his jaw with slow, wet kisses; deft fingers threading through his hair, “i wanted to help,” rolling her hips in a hard grind, she almost chuckles at the way he twitches inside her; the way every muscle in his body seems to tense simultaneously as she darts her tongue out to taste the sweat beading above his collarbone, “but i guess i’m not—should i stop?”

her head spins, body seared by the window beneath her palm and the pressure of the steering wheel digging into the dip of her spine. but it is the ebb and flow of his rhythm that renders her breathless; makes her feel like she’s suffocating the most exquisite way.

she muffles her cries against his throat and centers her attention on the wild skipping of his pulse under her tongue.

yugyeom’s jaw tightens and the next sound that escapes is half-protest, half-groan. she feels the weight of him, pressing into her hips from contrasting directions; his thumbs scoring marks against her skin—his hips canting up to meet hers, languid and deep.

she catches his words after a delayed moment in which her mind stutters to a stop when he brushes a spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“don’t you fucking dare.” it’s quiet, so very quiet, but something in her relishes at the loss of his composure, the rare curse emerging in a growl that tightens the coil inside her. in pursuit of more, she forces herself to stop with him buried as deep as their bodies allow; clenches around him until she can see something in him snap.

it makes it all that much sweeter when he comes apart.

he is, in these moments, the only beautiful sight left in this wretched world.

—

she wears his bruises like trophies, sometimes, lounging in the backseat with her legs folded beneath her and a brush running through her hair.

he watches through the rear-view mirror, as he always does, when she shifts—clad only in a pair of practical briefs and bra. the impression of his hands frame her hips and she takes pleasure in watching his eyes wander before he realizes what he’s doing. because kim yugyeom is always composed, always in control.

except when he isn’t.

and their dalliances are less about attraction than they are about release. she swears on that.

there is a softness to his touch when he isn’t paying attention—in the midnight hours, when their only light is the blue-tinge of headlights cutting through the dark; in the moments before he cuts the engine and his hand slides from the gear-shift to grip hers. “we’re keeping this quick,” he mutters, in a way that is more order than she cares for.

she’s out of the car before he can say anything else, “if they don’t drag it out.”

her sidearm is grasped firmly with her finger hovering over the trigger, her only guide the faint flickering of a campfire in the distance—

the stench of unwashed bodies and smoke.

every step is muffled beneath the howling of the wind and the hush of sand swirling over the earth. hunting is a natural instinct, but stealth is an acquired skill. it is her contribution in their little arrangement, because as graceful as yugyeom is he is impossible to miss.

he follows behind her, well-worn boots crushing the few sprigs of grass that have survived the onslaught of an unforgiving sun. even at this hour, the edge of it lingers on the horizon; an angry crimson-gold.

“you should’ve heard her scream,” comes the distant echoes of laughter from the makeshift camp ahead, beyond the shadow cast by the tents circling the site. they are lit from within by the fire on the other side, revealing silhouettes of figures perched upon folding chairs and the prone half-body beside the fire, “i’d have kept her alive just to hear it again, but a man’s gotta have his dinner.”

it’s an old sight, but it turns her stomach just the same.

her finger itches over the trigger, and she doesn’t have to look back to feel the intent radiating from the man behind her.

two, she holds up the signal and raises her gun while sidestepping into the gap beneath the twin tents. it takes effort to ignore the scavenged woman lying in the dirt; the silver and gold ring on her left hand gleaming in the firelight. someone’s wife.

instead she steels her voice and, assured that yugyeom has his gun trained on the other man, disengages the safety. “on the ground,” it comes out with a hiss; air flowing between teeth gritted so hard she feels it in her jaw.

the sight of the duo scrambling to find her in the darkness is only mildly satisfying. no, the true pleasure only comes when yugyeom fires a warning shot that grazes his target’s cheek, and abject fear takes hold.

“who’s there?” her target. his face is buried in the dirt; amorphous cooked meat beside his head. it takes effort to hold her fire until her boot slams into his spine and the barrel of her gun finds its way into his hair; digs into his scalp.

“you don’t need to concern yourself with that. i’ve got a question for you.”

on the other side of the fire, yugyeom does much the same—nose wrinkling as the man beneath him squirms under his knee; whines incoherently about the gash in his cheek.

“what do you want?”

“you got any buddies out here?” she asks, watching his eyes flicker about wildly, as if searching for an escape. or reinforcements, as the case may be. she secretly hopes for the latter.

“it’s just us,” the man whispers, and she pulls the trigger.

an answering shot rings through the night, and she looks up to see yugyeom wiping blood from his forehead before he walks to the parked pickup truck nearby. he preforms a perfunctory search, pulling a marked map from the glove compartment and a few bills that disappear into the pockets of his jeans.

“quick enough for you?” she questions before she can stop herself, trailing after him with a contemplative look at the container sitting next to the rear tire.

he nods, placid as ever, though she can see the spark of something in his eyes—the promise of another night spent chasing a different sort of satisfaction.

this is, after all, empty work on the best of days.

“the map—“

“for later. to find any stragglers.” she watches as he glances back at the campsite; stares at the blood splattered everywhere. it’s the clenching of his jaw that makes her act upon the persistent urge to act—to reach for the gas container and unscrew the cap.

without a word, she tips it and watches the crystalline liquid soak the ground at her feet. she doesn’t stop until the canister is empty and the site is soaked in the smell of gasoline; each body drenched with it.

he doesn’t stop her.

the only move he makes is toward her, to stand at her side as she fishes a matchbook from her back pocket and strikes it; the flame dances at her fingertip for a moment before she drops it—watches the campfire swell within minutes to a blaze that lights the night sky in shades of gold.

the heat is searing—makes her feel as if she’s burning alive, but for the first time she feels satisfaction with this ugly thing they do.

purification by fire.

only the slide of his fingertips over the back of her hand draws her back; the hesitant way that he laces their fingers together and tugs her back toward the car waiting in the distance. she squeezes, and feels the heaviness in her chest lighten when he returns the gesture.

it has practical purpose; less about affection than it is about comfort.

she swears on that.

“where to next?” for lack of anything better to say, she inquires into the open air, taking her first breath of fresh air.

yugyeom seems to hesitate, and she watches from the corner of her eye as he turns the question over in his mind before he speaks. always thoughtful, always choosing his words carefully.

“i think we’re overdue for a trip home.”

[xpouii]

Tentacletober Day 13

HELLO! This is slightly less late! It’s time for the sequel to DAY 6! You heard me right, It’s Intrulogical time once again! Gather round and read of my wares!

Prompt: In The Kitchen

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Deceit, Patton, Remus

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, SEQUEL TO DAY 6, Intrulogical, light D/s, subspace, aftercare, mild violence, slapping, swearing, full nsfw tags under the cut! Sympathetic Remus

Do not ignore my Warnings. These are the trigger warnings, and I do not take any responsibility if you ignore my warnings and see something you don’t want to.

NSFW Tags: Biting, dirty talk, spanking, rough anal sex, fingering, choking, drooling, hair pulling, scratching, bondage, not the best communication between D and s as it starts out. Full consent is given just not verbally until later into the scene.

           Logan stood in the kitchen, an open book in one hand and a mug in the other, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. He leaned against the counter and checked his watch with a sound of annoyance. Patton would be in shortly, and Logan would humor him by having breakfast—although he’d rather rush right off to his room and deal with scheduling. Honestly, Thomas had a day of theatrics, and Logan had very little interest in anything but the dates and logistics he’d have to deal with as a result. He was pondering future deadlines when Deceit swept into the kitchen, “Logan!”

           Logan turned around, startled, “Yes?”

           Deceit marched up to him and stared him down; it would have been intimidating, but Logan wasn’t much on cowering. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I have a side out of commission. Remus is useless—more so than usual!”

           Logan raised an eyebrow, “I haven’t even spoken to Remus for days, Deceit. It’s been… three days, eighteen hours and-“

           “I don’t give a shit how many seconds, calculator watch!” Deceit spat. “It’s my responsibility to make sure the sides in my care function properly, and thanks to you, we have a stunted Creativity! If Roman is the only one functioning, how do you expect Thomas to nail his rehearsal this afternoon? It’s for a villain role!”

           Logan’s expression didn’t move, but he was unfathomably puzzled, “Deceit, I have no idea what that could possibly have to do with me. I have been doing my job perfectly.”

           “You hurt him!” Deceit hissed.

           “Who?”

           Deceit’s face was unreadable, but Logan relaxed a bit when he looked down, fiddling with his glove; he pulled it off slowly, calmly, and then he slapped Logan across the face, hard and fast. Logan stumbled to the side, catching himself on the counter. He spun around, pressing his hand to the burning red patch on his cheek. His eyes wide in surprise, “Did you just slap me?”

           “No,” Deceit said through clenched teeth. “Now, get your shit together or I will. You will find Remus and you will fix this.”

           Deceit turned with a small flourish and marched out of the kitchen, putting his glove on as Patton passed him, heading into the kitchen, “Morning, Logan!”

           Logan looked dumbfounded at Patton, searching for his words for a moment, “Good… morning, Patton.”

           Patton walked to the fridge, “Feel like a big breakfast?”

           “Actually, no,” Logan said, pouring his cup of coffee. “I’ll be busy today. Please try to keep things calm and in order.”

           “Oh, of course,” Patton said with a frown. “That’s alright. Roman’s always eager to eat my pancakes.”

           “Mhm,” Logan muttered noncommittally as he left the kitchen.

             Remus jumped when there was a brisk knock on his door, certainly not the way Deceit knocked, and nobody else tended to come to his room on purpose. He walked to the door and opened it, stumbling back when Logan barged in, “Remus, I had a… confrontation with Deceit in the kitchen this morning.”

           Remus folded his arms, “I didn’t say you could come in.”

           Logan turned around, putting his coffee cup on Remus’ messy desk and adjusting his glasses. “You’re… angry with me as well?”

           Remus rolled his eyes, “I don’t get angry. I’m far too whimsical. What do you want, Logan?”

           “I was hoping you could tell me why Deceit assaulted me, and why he seemed convinced that I’d wronged you in some way. If it was my following you around, you didn’t seem angry about that afterward. I’m not a good judge of emotions but I’m fairly certain-“

           “You’re so stupid,” Remus said. “I just want to… strangle you.”

           Logan straightened, “We could-“

           “NO!” Remus shouted, and covered his mouth, looking almost sheepish for a moment. “No. I don’t want to fool around with you anymore.”

           “Really?” Logan asked, genuinely confused. “But isn’t that your whole… modus operandi? Fooling around? Casual copulation? Demented debauchery?”

           “That’s enough of the alliteration,” Remus said, shuddering. “You know what it does to me. That isn’t fair. You don’t play by the rules!”

           “Rules! I always play by the rules!” Logan countered. “It’s my modus operandi, rules and order and-“

           “You didn’t with me,” Remus said, turning away to hide the complex emotions on his face. “You didn’t follow the rules.”

           Logan was shocked, and he thought back to their time together; he’d followed orders fairly well, but then he remembered, “Aftercare… wait really? That is what got me slapped?”

           “I thought you said he assaulted you,” Remus said.

           “Slapping is assault,” Logan said. “Remus I have no interest in emotional complications. If that’s what you wanted-“

           “It isn’t emotional,” Remus said. “It’s common courtesy. It wasn’t just for you, you know. I needed the aftercare too! You were selfish and I’m not going to play with you anymore, so get out of here before I find my Morningstar.”

           Logan glanced at the door, then took off his glasses. This was very much a now or never moment, and he knew it. He needed to decide exactly what he wanted out of this relationship, and now he knew what he owed Remus in return. “I’m not leaving, Remus. You don’t have the power to make me.”

           Remus was surprised, and it was true, he had a hard time getting angry and an even harder time staying that way, but Logan had stirred something dark and heated in him, and he grit his teeth. “Get out!”

           Logan leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, picking up his coffee and taking a casual sip, “No.”

           Remus stalked forward and slapped the coffee cup sideways; Logan hissed lightly as a few errant drops hit his arm, and his cock twitched in his pants. Remus stared him down, “I’m not the side you should mess with, Logan.” He said, “Object permanence or not, this is my room, and I can make you feel anything I want for as long as I want.”

           Logan gave a haughty little smirk, “Prove it.”

           Remus grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the desk, knocking the wind out of him. Logan arched up and moaned as Remus squeezed, his hands moving to grip Remus’ wrist. He wasn’t trying to escape, though. He was holding Remus in place. “Is this what you wanted?” the creative side growled. “You wanted to make me angry? You wanted me to prove what I can do?”

           Logan’s eyes closed and he licked his lips, squirming on the desk. Remus hauled him to his feet and he saw stars when he was spun and bent roughly over the desk, the edge digging into his ribs. He grunted and moved his hands to adjust his position, but Remus grabbed them, pulling them behind his back and securing them with his tentacles. Logan moaned at the feeling of their slick on his skin, and the stab of sweet humiliation as Remus ripped his clothes away, leaving him exposed. Remus’ hand was cool on his hot skin, and Logan took in a hissing breath as the other side ran his fingertips over the slope of Logan’s ass, then reached between his legs and grabbed his hard cock, “You really do want this, don’t you?”

           Logan moaned against the desk, but another tentacle wrapped around his throat and squeezed; Logan choked softly, and his head spun. Remus held onto Logan’s hips, digging his nails into the soft skin, “Don’t move,” he growled.

           Logan gave a little nod, and Remus’ hands withdrew, although the tentacles did not. When they returned, Remus’ fingertips teased at Logan’s hole. He whimpered and tried to look over his shoulder, but Remus’ free hand slammed him back down against the desk and held him there, grabbing a handful of his hair. Logan closed his eyes and let himself relax, listening to the loud thrumming of his own heartbeat. Once he’d settled, Remus pressed a slick finger into him, and Logan groaned as he was breached. It was different than the tentacles, more solid and inflexible, and while one finger wasn’t much, the second one added noticeable pressure. Logan bit his bottom lip and pushed himself back, impatient.

           Remus’ fingers withdrew and a brutal slap landed on Logan’s ass, causing the man to crumple against the desk. The slap to his face suddenly paled in comparison, and Remus spoke again, “Don’t. Fucking. Move. You follow my rules, or you leave.”

           Logan whined, “Y-yes… I won’t move. I’m-“

           “Shut up,” Remus said. But his fingers pushed back into Logan, and he stroked his free hand down Logan’s back.

           Logan went quiet again, letting Remus prep him without further input, although he did whimper when Remus pulled his fingers away again. Mercifully the loss was quickly remedied by a new feeling as the head of his cock lined up with Logan’s entrance. Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be patient, trying to still the unmitigated pounding of his heart, but when Remus pressed into him, his mouth fell open in a shameless moan that shocked them both.

           Remus smirked, “Slut.”

           Logan opened his mouth to say something, but Remus bottomed out, pressing him into the desk and his words fell from his mouth as another unintelligible sound. Remus had found Logan’s off button, and he smiled at the thought, pulling out to slam into him again, setting a rough pace right away. Logan mewled and muttered and when the tentacle around his throat squeezed off his words he drooled and squirmed, standing up on his toes to try and open himself up more. Remus laughed and released his throat, letting him cough and gag as the tentacle retreated, and Remus reached up to scratch deep marks into Logan’s back, claiming him, reveling in their decadent self-indulgence.

           Logan’s shoulders were sore and his wrists were tingling from the tentacles’ merciless restraint, and everytime Remus thrust forward the air left him in a loud shouting moan that became steadily more high-pitched as Logan sank into the sensation. The rough collision of their bodies, the delicious assault on his prostate, the way Remus marked his back. Logan lost himself in it, his head spinning despite his lungs’ full access to oxygen. He was too out of it to push back into Remus’ thrusts, but he did hold his position carefully, his hot breath and drool sticking his face to torn vellum sketches of weaponry and gore. Remus leaned over and growled in Logan’s ear, “Having fun, Moonbeam?”

           “Yes,” Logan panted. “Please, please more.”

           Remus chuckled, but his voice was set on edge as well, tinged with pleasure and effort. “So polite, so greedy. You really are a slut for me aren’t you Logan?”

           Logan whimpered, “Yes, fuck, yes I’m a… I’m your slut, Remus… please.”

           “Please what, Moonbeam?”

           “F-fuck me harder,” Logan panted. “It’s… it’s not enough.”

           “We haven’t quieted down that noisy brain of yours yet, have we?” Remus said. “Don’t worry. I’m going to melt it for you.”

           Logan opened his mouth to reply but Remus grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, making him arch up. He slammed into Logan harder, the sound of their connection louder than Remus’ own shaky breathing. Logan gasped, “Ohhhh fuck yes yes yes please! Yes please!” His words devolved into babbling as Remus moved one hand around to touch his cock, teasing it with his fingertips.

           “That’s right,” Remus purred. “Let go, little robot. Let go for me.”

           Logan sobbed as his mind did just that, spiraling out into a white haze that quieted him, although he still breathed, still writhed under Remus’ attention, and his cock was begging for more contact. His eyes were dull and unfocused and Remus let him drop back to the desk as he chased his own pleasure, leaning in and biting into Logan’s shoulder, drawing both blood and the logical side’s orgasm out with his sharp teeth. Logan let out another sob, and his body clenched around Remus, but he didn’t try to speak beyond that, sank into something like subspace again, the same mindbending depths that he’d reached before, but this time he wasn’t fighting it away. Remus’s mouth fell open in a low, indulgent moan as he came, holding himself deep inside of Logan as the sensation slowly faded. He released his tentacles’ hold on Logan’s arms and stroked his dark hair. Logan reached back, but this time instead of interrupting, he laced their fingers together with a faraway, faded sound of pleasure.

           Remus smiled and pulled out of Logan, shushing the other side when he murmured a complaint, “I’m here.” He picked up Logan and carried him to the bed, standing back to look over the beautiful mess he’d made—again. Logan reached out and Remus crawled into bed beside him, “Bath or magic, Moonbeam?”

           Logan buried his face in Remus’ neck, “Not moving.”

           Remus chuckled and cleaned them up with magic, wrapping his arms—and tentacles around Logan. The logical side murmured affection against Remus’ neck, but none of it was real words, and Remus hummed, “I should tell on you more often.”

           Logan smiled, but that was all he could muster as he floated in the unbelievably comfortable subspace Remus had put him in. Aftercare wasn’t so bad after all, and he was far too out of it to worry about deciphering any emotions.

             “Oh, hi Deceit. Pancakes?”

           The snake looked over at Patton and raised an eyebrow, “All alone this morning, Patton?”

           Patton gave a smile that was a little sad and shrugged, “Thomas had a rehearsal today so Roman and Virgil are pretty busy. Logan said he’d be busy all day too, probably with logistics and schedules. So um… yeah, it’s just me. But! You’re welcome to join me. I’m not like… having a me day or anything.”

           “Perish the thought,” Deceit said, sitting at the kitchen table. “I’d love some pancakes, Patton.

           “Great!” Patton said, fussing at the stove. “I was a little lonely. What do you have planned for the day?”

Deceit smiled to himself, “Actually, Patton, I believe I’ve already finished my work for the day.”

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon Chapter 5

A/N -  A story about Ivar and an angel. My editing is less than perfect tonight, sorry. Thank you so much for reading and for the lovely messages this week.

Warnings - If anyone treats you like Ivar acts in this chapter, please call the police. Also, I think, next chapter, they either need to kill each other or get it on.  

The following evening the hall was empty except for the family who sat at the head table. Everyone was in their place but the youngest Lothbrok who was yet to appear. Lofn’s eyes continued to flick over to the empty wooden chair that sat next at the end of the table.

The tone was somewhat jovial. Jugs of ale had been shared as they waited for the platters of food to be brought out and placed down the centre of the long table. Beaming from the head seat, Aslaug continued to smile at Lofn, obviously, still relishing in the glory of receiving a true gift from the gods.

The loud clearing of a throat at the entrance to the hall drew everyone’s attention to Ivar standing, leaning on his crutch. A pale and uneasy looking Margrethe waited behind. Obnoxiously preening, Ivar made his way toward the table, grinning at no one in particular and without looking up, Margrethe followed close behind. Pulling back his chair, Ivar stood at the end of the table, scanning each person, his eyes lingering on Lofn for just an instant.

“Good evening family.”

He spoke in a loud, formal tone as if addressing a full hall of people. Ubbe shot Hvitserk a questioning glance only to have it answered with rolled eyes and a quick shrug of the shoulders. Sigurd took a drink from his cup, his eyes never leaving Margrethe’s downcast face. The guarded smile on Aslaug’s face conveyed her uncertainty with the grandeur of her beloved son and Lofn stared at Ivar, pointedly. With pressed lips and dull eyes, she was already sick of his theatrics, realizing she still had the meal to endure.

Dropping down into his chair, he flicked his head toward Margrethe who quickly dragged a chair over from a nearby table. Sitting cautiously beside Ivar, she looked down at her clutched hands, resting on her lap. Holding his hand out to Margrethe, Ivar’s smile grew syrupy sweet but faltered when she did not notice causing him to jerk his waiting hand and snap his fingers to draw her attention. Glancing up, she jolted forward, taking his hand; her eyes were wide, and her bottom lip was pinched white between her teeth. She looked terrified. Bringing their held hands down to rest on the arm of his chair, Ivar’s honeyed grin returned as he sat smugly, surveying those around the table.

Frowning, a look of concern crossed Ubbe’s face as he again glanced at Hvitserk before looking to Sigurd searching for an explanation.

“Anyway…” Sigurd said, bringing the attention back to his end of the table. “Lofn, are you feeling strong? You will be ready for the journey in two weeks time?”

“I am not in pain. My mobility is still a bit tight flying on the down-beat, but I will be ready,” Lofn nodded gently, grateful for the diversion.

Sighing loudly, Ivar rolled his eyes, again, becoming the focus of attention. With a pensive face, Aslaug continued to eye her youngest from across the table.

“I have quite an appetite this evening. Where is our meal?” Ivar said loudly, dramatically scanning the room. “Margrethe?” he spoke not looking over to her, “be a dove and feed me some berries.”

Fluttering her lids, confusion flashed across her face.

“Now!” Ivar barked, his chin motioned toward the plate of fruit on the table. Pulling her hand from his, she picked up a bunch of blackberries, lifting the dangling bunch toward his face. He snapped his head in her direction. “Not like that. One at a time, you fool.”

Swallowing, she mumbled a shaky apology and began plucking the berries from the stem placing them on the plate in front of him. Opening his mouth expectantly, she slowly grabbed two from the plate, carefully bringing them to his mouth and popping them inside, one at a time. Smiling, he chewed obnoxiously, the skin of the berries darkening his teeth.

Hvitserk looked baffled. Sigurd looked utterly disgusted and Ubbe was out of patience. Lofn bit the inside of her cheek in hopes it would steady her amusement and prevent her from laughing outwardly right in his idiotic face. Shifting on the bench, she lifted her wings to adjust, ruffling them lightly before settling them back behind her shoulders. She could not stop herself from leering sideways at him but he continued to look everywhere and at everyone but her.

“Lofn?” he spoke loudly, clearing his throat, looking up toward the rafters of the hall. “I did not realize you would be joining us for a family supper. Were you out today, flapping around?”

An exasperated scoff at the other end of the table turned all heads back to Sigurd.

‘Ivar,” Sigurd sneered. “You know exactly where she was today. You loitered in the hall for hours this afternoon.” Aslaug reached forward, placing her hand on Sigurd’s arm. Whipping his arm back from his mother’s touch, he looked straight at Lofn. “Walked past your door likely a dozen times.”

Ivar clenched his teeth and Sigurd sunk into his chair with chuffed expression, finishing off his cup of ale in one long drink.

Narrowing his eyes, Ivar glanced at Lofn. “What were you doing in there for half the day? I heard voices. Who was with you?” He blinked rapidly, his aloofness becoming brittle.

“I cannot imagine you would care who I was with. Were you not with your thrall?” Lofn dipped her head toward Margrethe. “You two look so in love.”

Ivar’s expression dropped and Margrethe's eyes flashed wide. Every person at the table could see the poor girl was holding her breath.

“Mother,” Ivar whined. “I think we have a right to know who our guest is conniving with under our roof. Do we not?” he lifted his chin arrogantly.

“It is not our place to question a messenger from the Gods.” Aslaug eyed him sternly.

“Sure, mother,” he breathed, slumping against one armrest of his chair.

Lofn turned to address Aslaug, “I was sending a message home. I was speaking with a raven at the window.”

Aslaug smiled, her nostrils still flared. “Please Lofn, no one is questioning you, dear.”

Ivar snorted loudly. “Why would Odin need a message from you? Is he not omnipresent? He needs what? An update? Ridiculous,” he grabbed Margrethe’s hand, causing her to startle, and pulled it to his face, kissing her knuckles; her already pale face was now void entirely of colour.

Lofn’s head snapped toward him. “I am warning you not to speak so casually about the All Father.”

Rolling his eyes, he took another drink from his cup. “Or what? What will you do about it?”

“Easy,” Ubbe chinned in, shooting Ivar a look of warning.

“Ivar!” Aslaug scolded. “It is an honour having Lofn here with us. A true honour. She will help avenge Ragnar.”

“Yes, mother,” his tone was sarcastic. “She will be invaluable when we battle the Saxons.” He brought his cup to his lips. “As long as they are not equipped with burlaps sacks,” he chuckled into his drink.

“Brave words for a man who cannot stand to fight.” Lofn quipped, picking up her cup and lifting it in the air toward him. “What do the legends say about those who wage war on their bellies? Oh, that’s right, there are none.” Smirking, she turned holding her drink up to those around the table. “Skol.” Chugging the remaining ale in her cup, everyone watched with eyes frozen wide and rigid in their seats.

Ivar slammed his cup down on the table causing mead to splash and plates to bounce with a clatter. Leaning forward, he glared furiously at her, his hands planted on the table in front of him.

Scowling, Lofn stared right into his eyes, and leaned in his direction, “I hope….”

In a flash, Ivar’s hand shot forward, grabbing her by the throat, his lips were pulled back in a snarl and his fingers squeezing. Her eyes flashed wide as her mouth fell open and her hands flew up, clasping onto his wrists. Soundlessly, she struggled to take a breath.

“Ivar, no!” screamed Aslaug, shooting out of her chair. Hvitserk and Ubbe, already ahead, rounded the table and grabbed Ivar by his arm and shoulders. With wild eyes, Ivar’s face was locked in rage, his breath rushed in and out of his flared nostrils and spittle shot through his gritted teeth. With dark eyes, his gaze held on her open, gaping mouth, wide and unable to scream. He looked crazed, mesmerized, as the colour in her pale face turned red, and the veins in her clutched neck puffed with her blood. Snarling, his lips pulled back further showing his long, sharp teeth.

Squinting at him, she slowly closed her mouth, her expression easing and the faintest hint of a distorted smile lifted her lips. Starling, Ivar blinked, his hand loosening its grip as he saw a glimmer of mischief flash in her dark, narrowed eyes. Releasing his hand, he grunted, slamming himself back in his chair, and Hvitserk reached down to hold him in place.

Bringing her hands to her throat, she hacked violently, keeping her watering eyes on Ivar as Aslaug knelt beside her, rubbing her back and sweeping aside her long black hair. Filling a cup with water, Ubbe crouched between Ivar and Lofn, offering her the drink.

Taking the cup, she sipped but instantly spurted the water out onto the table and coughed roughly; the contracted muscles in her bruised throat unable to swallow. Wincing as she cleared her throat, she continued to stare at a dazed-looking Ivar, who sat perfectly still, panting, working to catch his breath.

“Well done, Ivar,” her gravelly voice, rasped out. “Show them who you are.” Bringing her finger up, she tapped her temple. “This is only the start, my love.”

@flowers-in-your-hayr  @naaladareia @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke@tephi101 @youbloodymadgenius @yanii-the-hippie @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @readsalot73 @geekandbooknerd

[futzzzy]

“I cant make you love me..”

I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. Here in the dark, in these final hours. I will lay down my heart and ill feel the power but you won’t.”

Genre/Warning: Angst, Abuse, Smut, Domestic Violence, Unprotected Sex, Oral, Profanity.

Pairing: Fem! Reader/ Hoseok

Word Count: 4623

Recommend Song: Tank – I can’t make you love me

POV: First

Character Ethnicity: Unspecified

Authors Note: This is Fiction and does not characterize Jung Ho-seok.

1

  My bare feet drag across the frigid tile floors, as if they know as well as I know that I don’t want to be in the same vicinity as him. My mind is racing as fast as my heart is throbbing the shorter the distance gets between me and our shared bed. I want to break down right here on this floor, sob dramatically and ask, “why me?” or something else theatrical that would make me feel better, but I’m exhausted from dealing with the emotions that continuously overwhelm me. Maybe I’m telling myself I feel this way so that the tears threatening my waterline don’t escape their barrage. How could he be fast asleep anyway. As if what happened didn’t happen. As if he’s not afraid of the possibilities or consequences to his actions.

  I sink into our mattress on my designated side of the bed.

A lot farther to the edge than either of us are accustomed to. Placing one of my pillows beneath the back of my head and creating a barrier between us with the other. I don’t want to look in his direction. I don’t want to smell his aroma. I used to like how the smell of these sheets swallowed me, his natural scent was like what honey is to bees for me, the sweetest reward at the end of a long day. Those hints of vanilla infused with our amber blossom fabric softer being my good morning and the only comfort that I knew in our lonely bed when he worked late nights. My gut sinks and my airway stings when it invades my nostrils this time.

  There were nights where I would cuddle into his slender frame and he would caress me and grip my waist so tight it stung after a while. Now I want nothing more than for one of us to disappear, maybe both of us. I’m afraid to close my eyes or even look him in his, when did my sunshine get replaced for this cloud of rain. When did he become so intimidating?

  “You’re seeing him again tonight? Are you going to get married next? Be a big happy family with a yorkie and white picket fence? Tuh! Do you even hear yourself” “What we have is real” he mocks. “What the FUCK do you call what me and you have then?”

  I sigh and fold my arms in on each other.

  “Hoseok what me and you HAD was an arrangement that we made forever ago and it hasn’t grown any more than that. In the last five years you never did half the things he’s done in the 6 months he’s known me. “

  He scoffed and looked at me in disgust with the corners of his lips turned down forming his mug into a crescent shaped pout.

  “He brought me my favorite pastry for breakfast three times this week. When’s the last time you even thought abou-“He cut me off.

“DO NOT compare me to him! And now you’re having breakfast together. When did that shit start?”

  My irises meet my brain, deeply rolling my eyes at his pettiness and obvious selective listening. “You’re not entitled to me. I told you I’ve been meeting him for months now.”

  He takes a step closer with his hands intertwined in front of him and eyes trailing the ceiling like the answers to his questions were up there. Releasing a loud sigh through gritted teeth he descends his gaze towards me. 

  “You don’t get it y/n. Throughout our relatio- arrangement we’ve both “met” up with people but you’ve never been stupid enough to take it this far”

  The tips of my ear’s heat up at his insult. 

  “What’s this far Hoseok, Hm? Far enough to find someone who actually claims me outside of a bedroom? Far enough to not be around every time you need a good fuck? Far enough that I can’t feed your man child ego whenever you want me to?

In a breath he closes the gap between us; pressing his chest into mine, practically backing me against the wall. Now so close the warm draft from his nostrils is tickling my cupids bow. I squint my eyes and peer up at him. 

“Or Is it that you’re afraid”

I take a step back and point my manicured fingernail into his chest tapping each word between his pecs.

“I found someone FAR.. better.. than.. yo-“

  Out of instinct my eyes blinked shut before his palm descended across my cheek, fumbling the words that were on the tip of my tongue. When I opened them back up, I felt like my eyes needed to adjust to the light in the room all over again, as if I had just left a dark theater and forgotten it was daytime outside. My knees wobbled as I pressed my palm into my burning cheek; Nothing short of a newborn giraffe trying to learn to walk for the first time. I felt weak. I was weak emotionally, physically everything about me, abruptly became weak.

  2

Sniffling faintly in this pitch-black room where not even the moon wants to visit me. I replay the events repeatedly in my head. I won’t even bother wiping my tears, its not like anyone can see them anyway. I shimmy and get comfortable on my side, planting my face flush against my algid tear stained pillow to allow the congested phlegm formulating in my nostrils to settle; as I bite back the sounds of sorrow that are beginning to choke and suffocate me. Strangled by my own tears with a growing agonizing lump in my esophagus all to avoid waking Hoseok from his slumber.

   I can’t be here.

  I pluck my phone from the bedside charger not willing to risk unplugging it from behind the timbered nightstand. Languidly rising to my feet. I snag my empty gym bag hanging on the bathroom doorknob and sail to the dresser using my phone light on its lowest brightness setting to dimly guide my path. Pulling the drawers out strategically slow I collect a few T-shirts to pair with the three identical black cotton leggings I tossed in prior.

  “grrrm-“Chills race down my spine and my forearms coat in goose bumps at the sound of the mattress squeaking as he mumbles in the bed just feet behind me. I freeze and gnaw on the side of my bottom lip anxiously and swiftly press my phone against my belly hoping to mask its shine in the pit of my stomach. When I don’t hear anymore sound beyond his shallow exhales, I continue my mission of packing. I can’t even think clearly anymore, with the tune of my own heartbeat in my ears encouraging me, I hoist my bag of partial belongings up over my shoulder and begin the journey towards the door.

3

I’m counting down the steps before I’m unconfined to this room when a petite icy callus covered hand restrains my wrist and nearly yanks me off my feet, thwarting my goal of freedom. I shriek and my own grip becomes weak allowing my bag to descend my arm in defeat.

  He walks me backwards towards the bed then clicks on his lamp light. I refuse to turn around and face him. If he’s angry I know what he’s capable of. Now I remember when I said I wanted one of us to “disappear”, but I wasn’t sure who. Its me.

He groans full of exhaustion and then his raspy voice speaks.

“You’re going to leave me?”

Why does he sound so delicate? I question. Calmly rotating on my feet in newfound curiosity I attempt to release his grasp on me, it falls short and he holds my wrist hostage. I still scrunch my brows and fidget in his palm to let him know it hurt initially.

  There’s an awkward silence like he expected me to answer him but I didn’t have the words. I mean; I did but I wasn’t brave enough to mutter them. 

“I’m sorry... If you want to leave you ha- “He interrupted my thoughts.

 “-have every right to do that but if you’re willing to give me a chance to plead my case. I just want to do what I should’ve done before.”

  I didn’t expect to be in this position, I mean literally he’ s sitting on the mattress back slumped pitifully and I’m standing above him, with high shoulders making me feel extremely big and him small. Here he is willingly submissive in a way I’ve never seen him before. Suddenly my cowardliness is replaced with cockiness and I wrench myself from his touch. He looks defeated like I did moments ago.

  “So, speak” I sound more gallant than I intended to but I’m proud of myself, nonetheless.

He holds his head down in remorse probably embarrassment too.

“I thought I lost you for good when I caught the way your face beamed when you mentioned his name, it fueled my jealousy and I let it ignite my actions “

He coughs the drowsiness out of his chest then continues

“I know I fucked up and you’re worth much more than I’ve ever shown”

I’m not saying anything or even motioning that I’m listening to him but I am, to every single syllable

His hands and head rise in unison, he glowers into my eyes and his hands take purchase on my bare lower hips, unintentionally sliding my short cut silk night gown up my exterior scrunching it just below my mound. He doesn’t seem to notice that he partially exposed me, so I ignore it. Instinct tells me to jerk away from contact, but he seems determined to touch me.

  “Baby I can’t let you- “this time he pauses and chokes back tears. Pressing the side of his face against my stomach. I plant my hands on top of his head and ruffle his hair in inconsistent circles “Please don’t go. I promise you it won’t happen again just allow me to show and prove it to you”

  4

I realize I haven’t said much and I don’t need to. Somewhere in him there’s still the man I fell in love with & this one action doesn’t define him. Before I can fully process my thoughts, my body is descending towards his and I’m straddling his thighs, holding his blood shot face between my thumbs and kissing his tears away.

  His hands instinctively guide their way lower, one settling on my ass cheek holding a firm grip the opposite palm delicately settled on the small of my back guiding me further into him.

  Migrating my hands down to his chest I feel his palpitating heartbeat against my palms and clutch his wrinkled navy shirt between my nimble fingers. Relocating my moist tear stained lips against his plush cracked ones. My lips taste like the salt of his cries and his like sleep but we kiss passionately. Not waiting for permission his tongue invades the cave of my mouth in exploration for my tongue. When he finds it, they battle and intertwine with nothing but DNA between them. The tongue war is futile with him claiming supremacy he sucks my tongue into his mouth getting his fair share of me and I respond moaning my satisfaction against his taste buds. Guiding my curious hands higher I grip his dark velvety hair, tugging on any strand that’s not bold enough to slip between my fingers.

He vibrates sound into my inviting mouth groaning loudly while moving both of his hands to my ass following the motions of my swaying hips. Grinding helplessly on his covered hardening member. My hips are hypnotized as they move in perfectly timed indistinguishable loops begging for friction to meet my starving clit. He notices my desperation and grips under my thighs prompting me to wrap my legs around his slim waist. Swiftly he lifts me up and spins around placing my frame back on the mattress in between short delicious kisses. He grasps my calves and pins my legs back. The forced position sending shock waves to my core, causing my pelvic bone to instantly become sore but I’m so far gone that anything feels right as long as he’s doing it. He drives his hips to meet mine, humping me like a teenage boy at a house party. The motions he’s making are incredibly adolescent but they fuel my fire. Turning me on even more as the friction provides just enough to hold on to and want more of. He demonstrates forthcoming strokes on me fully clothed before supporting my body up the width of the bed making room for himself then he grips my fleshy thighs splaying them apart. Dipping between my legs, never abandoning eye contact with me. He sticks his sopping wet tongue out and kitten licks at the seat of my panties. The milk of my excitement and the result of his sobbing moments ago, his slime covered tongue presses at my clit with just the lace of my undergarments being a barrier. The need for more overwhelms me and I impatiently yank my panties to the side catching him by surprise. He smirks at my scrunched brows and jaded eyes that warn him I’m not for any antics when my core is aching this awful in anticipation. “That bad?” He says confidently. I blink my eyes into a roll and plunge my head flat against the duvet staring up at the ceiling as he begins to attack my exposed core. He suckles my entire pussy into his mouth like a toothless person gnawing a peach he engulfed me eagerly. He’s not focused on the one spot I need him the most yet so I gather his long locks between my fingers and drive his head deeper forcing him to latch onto my clit, he closes his mouth smaller, popping my clit between his wet lips. Then he sticks his delicate rose toned tongue out and rides it between my sticky inner labia spreading the puffy lips apart then he introduces his tongue to my hard-needy clit. I can feel my nectar coating his chin when he pulls away to repeat his gestures. The stickiness on his face, cold compared to the fresh balmy milk my body is producing adequately. I moan into the atmosphere releasing his hair to push my own out of my face. Tangling it above my head somewhere as I instinctively look where his head is buried between my thighs. I pull the straps of my gown down my shoulder and release my breast. Teasing my taunt nipples, twirling one between my fingers, pinching and releasing the other, then twisting each one separately as if they were Jewish dreidels. My vacant walls are collapsing on themselves, wringing around nothing but self-made secretion, the combination of stimulation is getting me close but I don’t want to come like this.

  “H-Hoseok please come fuck me”

  He reluctantly pulls away from my pussy. Swishing his mouth around and spitting the juices he collected back onto my clit. The glob falls short and splatters on the prickly peach fuzz I haven’t found the time to wax. He uses his finger to help the misguided puddle down to my entrance and allows the wetness to encase his single digit as it enters me, I throw my head back harshly and tremble in satisfaction. “Hose-ok pleaseee” I childishly whine. “You’re gonna make me cum”

  He disregards my gripes with a sly grin and commences twirling his elongated middle finger inside of me diving deeper into my abyss with each twist then motioning his digit up and down like he was flicking through channels inside of me. He doesn’t mind my whining but I squirm frantically away from his touch and he hesitantly retracts from my slippery ridged walls. Sitting up on his knees he swiftly lifts his damp sticky shirt over his head and pulls down his briefs, shimmying them across his thighs and kicking them behind him somewhere. He locks eyes with me and lays between my legs, smooching the sides of my parted lips and craning his neck down slightly to kiss on a single nipple. He readjusts himself lower and gradually twirls the tip of his tongue around the areola then comes from below the nipple and flicks at it briskly. He suctions it delicately, switching in between placid nibbles and light sucking. I bite my lip as he kisses between my breast attacking the opposite boob more aggressively than the other. Taking it between his teeth and vibrating his bottom jaw subtly, tugging at it between his assaulting grinders then he frees the impishly tormented nipple and kisses it. Curling his core, he reaches between us and pumps himself into his palm then taps the head of his dick against my sensitive clit before pressing into my waiting core. The blushed tip slides in gathering lubrication that coaxes the slight amount of foreskin around it inside. He submerges too deep too soon and it practically burns. Abnormally clumsy and amateur for him. When he notices me wincing at the pain of him stretching me too rapidly, he pulls himself out completely sitting back on his knees and grabs hold to the base of his dick with one hand using the other to hold his hovering form above me. He dips himself in and out of me like a sausage to gooey cheese fondue. Coating himself and repeating; Giving me more length with each snap of his hips.

When he feels I’m prepped properly he relaxes and dives in again gluing my knees to my chest, thrusting patiently. Giving each stroke purpose as he dips his hips downward, driving deeper and allowing me to feel every inch of him.

  “Tell me you won’t leave” he says in a soft susurration.

 I groan in response and that doesn’t please him.

“Say it.. please baby”

With perspiration accumulating on his forehead, he stares anxiously into my amplified pupils searching for contentment in an answer so I choke one out.

“I won’t-ah I won’t leave”

Looking satisfied he resumes giving me adequate strokes. He aggressively picks up his speed and I clutch the bedding beneath me, wailing a war cry of his name. 

“Ooo my gaw- ffffu” I weep as my fingers cramp from how hard I’m crumpling the comforter between them.

I can’t create complete sentences as he fucks so much air into my pulsating orifice from his sloppy strokes that my pussy begins to make bubbles of clear cream tinted foam, causing embarrassing queefs to accompany the squishing sounds of my lactating walls.

 “Yesss give it to me.. ri- right there” I hold my mouth agate and sob louder. He takes the opportunity to spit into my inviting portal. The frothy translucent blob falls onto my tongue and descends toward my tonsils while I catch my breath causing me to accidentally swallow it, to him I’m sure it looks like I eagerly swallowed his saliva. He looks proud of me and draws himself out of me entirely. Only to lean down and like he wanted back what he voluntarily gave me; he begins lapping his precum out of my cunt claiming his leakage all over again. Sopping up our juicy blend before spitting it back into my stretched opening. He sits back again and taps my thigh, demanding me to flip over. When I don’t move fast enough, he smacks the curve of my ass and clutches my hip maneuvering me on to my stomach. I prop up on all fours and arch my back how he likes it. At once he spreads my ass cheeks apart and begins cleaning the cream that compiled there from when he was fucking me into oblivion.  I squeal in pleasure at the wondrous feeling of his hungry tongue polishing my wrinkled anus clean. Biting into my lip, my eyelids force shut and my neck refuses to carry the weight of my head anymore, delving my face into the mattress further, I smother myself. Attentively listening to the pleased humming sounds vibrating from his throat. When he was satisfied with his job, he crouched onto his knees and entered me again. Pushing my disheveled hair to the side he grasps the back of my neck and rams into me harder. My panties begin to slide to their original position and he uses his hanging hand to snag them, yanking so hard the lace snaps leaving limp strings around my hips. By now I can tell he’s close because he can’t hold back his moans any longer and he doesn’t pull completely out before rummaging back in anymore, he’s pumping his entire length inside of me relentlessly.

Taking the opportunity in-between calling out the creator and moaning Hoseoks name I slip my gown over my head and bore my bare chest. The cold air hitting my solid nipples is a awkward contrast to the heat hes making my body feel. He rotates his hips in circles, massaging my ass cheeks apart for more access.

“umf, harder please, fuck me harder Hoseok”

Gripping the meat of my ass, scrunching my stretch marks into zebra print he obliges, forcing into me harder.

  “Say you love me” his shaky voice bellows while wiping the sweat from the sticky hairs that bonded themselves to his forehead.

I comply immediately. “I love you I love you so much Hoseok, please cummm in me”

Vice gripping my walls around his buried shaft. As if he was possessed, he stills inside of me. With his twitching dick becoming even harder he throbs his seeds into my pussy, plugging the thick discharge inside of me with his width. Piling all of his weight on top of me he collapses on my back, forcing me to lay flat on my stomach. His steamy exhales danced on my nape as he kissed his gratitude into my neck. When he finally catches his breath, he sits up and forces my legs together in a planking position. Taking his semi hard dick between my mushed pussy lips. Though over sensitive for him he wants to give me my release before he goes soft. He rocks into me, smacking my ass cheeks like bongos, fucking his warm gooey semen into me making a mess below my mound.

“Cum for me y/n.. cum all over my dick”

As my eyes roll painfully and I scream his name in a trance I begin thrashing like a fish on land, cumming in ecstasy. He presses his palms into my back holding me down while I ride out my orgasm. When my muscles finally relax, he sighs in fatigue and like a rag that had been sitting in bath water too long, he pulls his flaccid dick out from between my folds. Plopping his tired limps beside. I lift a leg over his sticky body too hot and messy to cuddle, and he holds onto my sore thigh, closing his tired eyes. As our breathes calm and heartbeats stabilize, we drift into dreamland.   

5

I wake up before Hoseok with the sun cavorting on the surface of my skin, unpleasantly radiating its shine and heat directly into my bare face. I peer over at him fast asleep noticing we became untangled in our hibernation. As not to wake him I roll my naked dry cum stained body out of bed and start my morning routine in the bathroom, showering the expired evidence of love making down the drain, brushing the morning breath from my tongue and teeth. Forty odd minutes later I emerge from the restroom to a still resting Hoseok. I decide to let him sleep a bit longer since. Tip toeing into the kitchen and closing the door carefully behind me I begin the Keurig. Pulling out a pan to start a bacon, cheddar cheese and green onion omelet, a cutting board to dice strawberries, and a clean coffee mug from the wooden cabinet. I’m smearing strawberry jam onto a slice of buttered toast when a groggy Hoseok appears in the hallway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, pouting the distance to me, planting his parched morning kisses on my lips.

“Good morning love”

“Good morning baby, did you sleep good?”

He nods his response and hugs my waist, closely pressing my body to his. We share a few more gentle intimate kisses before he struts his lazy limbs to the living room, flopping onto the couch. Within a few minutes I bring him his breakfast and start wiping down the counters while he hastily finishes his meal and scurries to get dressed for work. He breezes past me with a quick goodbye peck and snatches his keys from the steel rack beside the door, before I can blink the door shuts behind him. Alone, I prance over to the living room in my house robe and collect the dish with only a few bites left on it, taking the plate to the kitchen to be cleaned in waiting steamy dish water.

  6

I use his fork to send the scraps of his breakfast into the trash bin, bringing the jelly and grease stained dish over to the sink and rubbing the soap suds into it, smudging the reminisces of breakfast into it before rinsing it clean in the opposite sink. After placing it onto the drying rack. I go to the living room to grab the mug I had forgotten initially that previously homed bitter black coffee, on my way back to the mugs destination I glance out of the window at him just a few floors below, pulling out of his parking spot in the direction of his employer. Exhaling heavily from the suppressed breath I had been holding since I cried myself awake last night. I roll on the balls of my feet with the empty coffee mug in hand and bring it to the kitchen counter placing it down on the marble and begin digging into the drawer just below where the ceramic mug sits, pulling out a thin stack of pink sticky notes and an ink pen I begin to write.

“Hoseok I need to do what’s best for me, I know you’ll understand”

Nervous he won’t comprehend my sincere tone I add a heart in the top right corner for good measure. Pealing the used paper from its stack I trace my finger over the sticky layer, tacking it onto the dry erase grocery list board on the fridge, smearing the word milk beneath my small goodbye note.

  -        Z

(Possible Pt2)

READ: If you post my content in any form; (video, translation, inspiration etc.) without PROPER credit, I’ll consider that plagiarism. All I ask is that you link or tag my Tumblr.

Example: * Written by: Futzzzy @ Tumblr.com*

Re-posted by: (your user name)

[benjaminzanzibar]

WTW Chapter 5 - Holy Granola!

Unable to escape his shame, Dalton sat against the cold concrete wall, unwilling to move. He had hoped that no one noticed what had just transpired, a wish that would immediately be shot down by a pair of white tennis shoes approaching from behind a nearby crate.

"Hey. Are you alright?" A quiet feminine voice whispered from beyond the darkness of his self-appointed prison. He moved his hands away from his face and looked upward, his cheeks tinted with the rosy inflammation of sorrow. He locked eyes with a young girl; she couldn't have been more than twenty-one. Her long pigtails, black as night, hung from underneath a knit jester's cap comfortably hugging her head. Thick eyebrows tilted over soft hazel windows, displaying a deep concern from an empathetic heart sheltered by a well-worn, oversized hoodie. Dalton struggled to make cohesive sounds come out of his mouth as his body continued trembling.

"Hi" was all he could muster.

"Hi!" Her face lit up instantaneously with the toothiest smile Dalton had ever seen. Her chubby cheeks shifted upward, pinching her eyes shut while her face beamed with delight. "Can I sit with you for a minute?" Her voice, carrying a slight lisp, enthusiastically increased in both tone and volume.

"I- I think so?" Dalton wasn't sure if he actually wanted company at the moment, but her warmth was a welcome addition to this, the coldest hour of his day. With that, she opted to join him on the floor, scooting up next to him.

"Just so you know-" she started. "I saw what happened. Those guys have been terrible ever since they came over."

"Came over?"

"From Japan. We have a training facility there because the Old Japan promotion can't keep talent." Her expression soured a bit through the exposition. "You know, it's a revolving door over there."

"I'm actually not familiar with the, uh... the Japanese wrestling...  scene," Dalton admitted.

"What? So you've never seen Tanaka's run with the belt? Not even his awesome feud with Kai Shimada? The Kai Shimada?!?"

"No, I don't think so... sorry." Dalton shook his head, apologizing as he gritted his teeth in slight embarrassment. She immediately and theatrically flailed her body in defiance of Dalton's ignorance.

"OH. MY. GOD! Their entire feud was a parallel to the Old Japan dojo management deal. You must remember that fiasco?!" Dalton's eyes betrayed him through a display of confusion. "Get the heck outta here!" She smashed his shoulder with her fist. "It was A-MAZ-ING!" Her head leaned back, exasperated that her cheers went unechoed.

"To be honest with you, I've never really been a big fan of professional wrestling." Her head perked up,  eyes popping with outrage as he confessed, "The whole scene is pretty new to me, actually."

Her eyes darted down to the staff badge still hanging around his neck before commenting, "But... don't you work here?"

Dalton nodded with a worried countenance. "Could you do me a favor, though, and please not tell anybody? I'm already having trouble getting a passable level of respect and the last thing I need is for any of the talent to find out."

The girl's face contorted in obvious confusion. "But I am one of the talent." Her words jolted through his ears, rattling his brain in bewilderment. He had assumed she must be a friend or family to one of the staff. Apparently not.

"Wait. You're not like... somebody's kid?"

"Well, I think I can be both?"

He stuttered in confusion. "Well, no. I mean yeah, but- You're a wrestler? And you're so young?"

"Excuse me! I'm nineteen, so I'm not a kid anymore, you know!" Her lisp grew heavier as her exasperation increased.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just kind of surprised."

"It's okay." Her tone softened as she released a quiet sigh. "I just worked real hard to get here and everyone teases me 'cause of my age." Dalton wasn't sure how to respond until something struck him. Flabbergasted, he went for a conversational reset.

"Oh! I'm such a moron! We've been talking this whole time and I just realized I haven't even introduced myself! I'm-"

"Dalton. I know." She grinned warmly as her eyes bolted from his face down to his employee badge and back again. "I'm Jestica. Jestica Rodriguez. Nice to meet you... several minutes ago." Her toothy smile made a reappearance as her hand outstretched, nearly jabbing him in the side. Suddenly, Dalton's phone chirped with a text notification.

"Ha! First day in WTW and you already have a fan!"

"Sorry. One second." Dalton lightly chuckled as he twisted to get his hand into his front pocket, fumbling for his phone. Thanks to the distractions of his youthful companion, his eyes were dry enough to be able to read the device.

From: Monterey Richmond Pre-show meeting @ the booth in 10 Sent- 7:01 pm

Dalton recounted the message audibly. "Apparently we have a meeting at the booth in ten minutes. I assume he's talking about the production booth by the entrance stage, right?"

"Holy granola! Is it seven already?!" Jestica sprang to her feet as she dipped into her hoodie pouch, retrieving her phone to confirm the time. "Sorry! I didn't know it was so late. I gotta pick something up, but I'll see you there, ok?"

"Sure. Yeah. I'll see you there." Dalton watched her shoot off down the hallway while he slowly ascended to a standing position. As he settled, back against the wall, he eyed his surroundings. A slurry of paperwork still scattered across the concrete floor, stretching up and down the hall. While taking it all in, a heavy sigh escaped Dalton's tired lips. "Fuck it."

He turned and started down the opposite direction that Jestica had departed, walking with a defeated stride. Shoulders slumped and posture bent, he wondered what else would go wrong.

"Hey, you!"

[secretlystephaniebrown]

innominate

Hey-yo Deprivation is back, with more Wash whump! @zalia suggested that Locus knowing Wash's real name could definitely be a fun thing to incorperate into this series, and I definitely agreed!

Warnings for: Violence, captivity, trauma, abuse, the normal warnings for this verse.

From the beginning

Also on Ao3

Wash doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Here in this cell, or here as Locus’s captive or even here on this planet. He knows the exact number of days he was in the canyon with the others, can probably even calculate the hours if he tried. But he’s still not sure how long he was kept unconscious to be transported here, and since being shoved in this cell he has even less of an idea of how long it’s been.

The room he’s in is a simple small concrete square. There’s a place for him to relieve himself in the corner and a faucet, meant for a hose rather than for a person, for him to drink from but that’s it. There’s not even a blanket or a thin mattress in the corner, there’s no form of entertainment. Just a few cameras, blinking in the corners, letting Wash know that they’re watching him. Always watching.

Wash hasn’t been fed. They’re starving him down, Wash figures, keeping him weak. Felix’s vague threat of making him kill Tucker haunts him, and the back of his neck twinges, reminding him that they did… something to him when he first woke up. What, Wash doesn’t know, but it can’t be good.

The door opens, and Wash scrambles to his feet, shifting until he’s ready to fight. He might be out of armor and dizzy with hunger, but he can make them work for it. Whatever “it” is.

Locus stands there, tilting his head to look at him, while Felix lurks behind. Both of them are in full armor, even if they’re not armed as far as wash can tell.

“You must be hungry, Wash,” Felix taunts. “I mean, you haven’t eaten in… how long has it been?”

Wash grits his teeth and says nothing, refusing to answer to the bait. Felix wants to get him to admit he doesn’t know how long it’s been. Wash refuses to give him the satisfaction. Felix moves past Locus into the cell, circling Wash at a distance. Wash tries to track him with his eyes, but he doesn’t turn, not wanting to leave his back exposed to Locus. He moves backwards instead until his back is to the wall.

Locus pulls out a ration bar, and extends it towards Wash. “Today,” Locus intones, staring right at Wash. “Your training begins.”

Wash considers not moving, but he needs to eat. Reluctantly, he takes several steps forward, towards Locus, when Felix strikes with a hard kick to the back of his knees, sending Wash to the ground, hard. Wash catches himself with his hands and tries to get back up, but Felix settles his foot in the center of Wash’s back and settles his weight there. Wash exhales sharply as the air is forced out of his chest, and winces, knowing he’ll bruise there, where Felix’s boot digs into his skin.

“Hands and knees, Wash,” Felix says. “Prove you know who’s the boss here.”

Wash sets his jaw as Felix removes his foot. “I won’t,” he snaps. “Fuck you.”

Felix sighs loudly and theatrically. “Well, you know what to do when we come back.” He and Locus leave then, the door slamming shut behind them. Wash gets to his feet and grabs the doorknob, hoping they haven’t locked it yet. He screams as electricity courses through him, sending him flat on his back.

They were ready for that, it seemed. Wash swallows and goes to the tap to get himself some water to try to take the edge off the hunger pangs.

But when he turns the knob, nothing comes out.

Wash doesn’t give a reaction, knowing they’re watching through the cameras, and that Felix is probably still laughing at him for trying the door. Instead, he goes and lies down, trying to think of ways to escape.

He has to cooperate, he realizes. He needs to keep his strength up to escape. Even if they don’t want him dead, he needs to be able to fight. Even if it means giving them what they want.

They come back a while later. Felix tilts his helmet at Wash, expecting. Wash flushes, hating that he’s so exposed while they’re in armor, but reluctantly gets on his hands and knees to approach. When he gets there Felix steps behind him and grabs his hands, cuffing them together behind his back. Wash tries to struggle, but he’s secured before he can do anything. Felix grabs his hair and yanks him onto his knees, laughing at the little grunt of pain Wash can’t stop from making.

Locus holds out the ration bar again, and Wash grits his teeth, realizing where this is going. With his hands cuffed, he’s going to have to let Locus feed him.

He considers refusing again, but then they’ll just leave him here until he’s desperate enough that he will. And he needs to keep his strength up. And maybe they’ll let their guard down if they think he’s already breaking.

Gritting his teeth, Wash leans forward and takes a bite. Felix laughs behind him, and Wash flushes, but keeps going. The bar is bland but filling, which is the point, Wash supposes. Soon, the entire bar is gone, and Wash feels like he can think straight again, sitting back on his heels slightly, testing the cuffs.

Suddenly, unarmored fingers run through his hair comfortingly. Wash relaxes for a second before he tenses up, looking over his shoulder at Felix, whose glove is off as he pets Wash like he’s some sort of dog.

“Good job, David,” Locus murmurs, distracting Wash from the fingers in his hair.

Wash reels back. “What?” How could he possibly—

Locus turns out and walks away. Felix leaves after him a moment later because he stops to remove the handcuffs from Wash while he’s still dumbstruck on his knees.

They know his name.

His hand goes to the back of his neck again and he thinks about how he liked for a second feeling Felix’s hands in his air, and he wants to throw up.

Okay. So maybe they know what they’re doing here.  

“Your friends don’t know your name, do they?” Felix asks Wash, nudging him with his foot. Wash spits blood onto the concrete. His nose is broken, and there’s blood dripping into his eye from where his forehead had split open when Felix had shoved his face against the wall. He knows what Felix wants him to do—he’s only a few inches over the red line, if he moved backwards, he could be back into permitted territory, but Wash is feeling stubborn today.

Wash glares up at Felix. “That’s not my name,” he snarls. Because it’s not. David was a kid who didn’t know what he was getting into, who’d never heard of Freelancer or Simulation Troopers, and certainly had never been kidnapped by two evil mercenaries who got their kicks from torturing him and training him to stay inside color coded lines.

Felix pulls back his foot and kicks Wash in the ribs hard. Wash lets out a yell and tries to roll away. His ribs are still sensitive from last week, when Locus had broken them. A round with the healing unit had healed most of the damage, but they were still sensitive. “Wash, we’ve told you. No talking.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s like you want to be punished.”

Wash doesn’t say anything, just pants through his teeth. Blood drips onto the concrete floor.  

“Good boy,” Felix says, and even with the helmet on, Wash can tell he’s smirking. He crouches down at Wash’s level, and idly grabs Wash’s broken nose to set it. Wash lets out another shout, trying to thrash away. “Does it make you upset, Wash?” Felix asks mockingly. “Knowing your enemies know your name while your friends don’t?” He leans over Wash’s ear and whispers. “Not that we’ll be your enemies for long, right Wash?”

Wash tries to punch him, but Felix just grabs his pinkie and pulls it back to the point where it’s about to break and Wash cries out again. It’s not even a complicated hold, but in Wash’s current state he can’t fight back enough to break out of it. He’s pathetic, and they both know it.  

“You’re really misbehaving today, aren’t you?” Felix muses, finally releasing Wash’s hand. Wash cradles it close to his chest, his breathing ragged. “Get back where you belong, Wash. Or I’ll ask Locus how many times I should cut you.” Wash doesn’t flinch away from the knife pressed against his cheek, but he can feel his heart speed up. He’s already got three still-healing gashes on his legs from the last time Wash had pissed Locus off enough to let Felix play.

Slowly, Wash forces himself to inch back into the hallway. He’d been looking for a way out. But Felix had been ready for him in the room behind the red line. Somehow, he’d known that was the one Wash was going to try.  

He doesn’t think about what Felix said as he crawls backwards, away from Felix. He doesn’t think about how he’s heard Locus and Felix use his name than anyone in years. That he’s never heard Tucker or Caboose or Carolina say his name, because he’s never told them. The only person alive who knows his name is supposed to be the Counselor, not his captors.

When he gets into the hallway, Locus is waiting for him. Wash tries to struggle when Locus grabs the back of his neck and starts hauling him towards the cell, but he’s exhausted and hungry and injured, so he finds himself just hanging there limply after a few token struggles.

Locus physically throws him into the cell and Wash tries to stand, only for Locus’s fist to send him back down hard.

“This ends when you learn your place, Washington,” Locus says, with as little emotion as someone giving a weather report. He reaches holds out something in his hand that Wash hasn’t seen before. Pills. Two innocent looking white pills, stark against the grey of his glove. “You have been misbehaving today, Washington. This is your chance to prove to me that you can do better.”

The fear in Wash’s stomach is heavy. No. Not drugs. If they drug him, there goes any chance of escape. There goes everything. It will be like before Recovery, after Epsilon, he can’t—

Locus must have seen the intended refusal on his face, because before Wash can blink, Locus has knocked him flat on his back and pried his jaw open. The pills are tasteless on his tongue, but Wash still tries to spit them out before Locus slams his palm over Wash’s mouth.

“A pity,” Locus muses. “You will learn eventually, I suppose.”

Wash tries to tell him to go fuck himself, but there’s already something distant about the way Locus looks above him, a heaviness sinking into his bones that Wash knows should worry him but all he can think of is that it would be so much easier if he just did what Locus said. Then maybe everything wouldn’t hurt.

Wash goes limp and Locus lets him sit up.

“Too strong,” Locus muses, yanking at Wash’s hair in a way that’s clearly meant to be painful, but Wash can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t feel it; his nerves feel dead. “We will have to adjust the dose.”

“We have time,” Felix says, and when did he get here? “It’ll be easier now that he can’t fight back as much.”

“He will learn,” Locus says, moving towards Felix. Wash tries to follow, pulled by something he can’t place. Locus notices, and then a scarred palm is pressed against Wash’s cheek. “Good boy, David,” Locus says softly. “You’re doing better.”

Wash leans against the comforting touch for as long as he’s allowed, grateful for the contact, even though a part of him says that he shouldn’t be, that he should be recoiling from Locus, that this is wrong.

But Wash doesn’t move.

“Come here, David.” Wash immediately moves towards Locus, something warm settling in his stomach at the name. Locus only calls him that when he’s pleased with him.

“You did well today,” Locus tells him, and Wash lets out a contented sigh as Locus runs his fingers through his hair.

“He didn’t recognize them at all, did he?” Felix laughs from his seat in the corner, where he’s running a coin over and between his fingers. “He went right for Caboose’s throat.”

Wash nuzzles Locus’s palm and wonders who Caboose is. His brain just is overwhelmed with images of dark, dangerous blue and… a helmet?

He loses that thought as Locus gestures for him to follow. Wash lets out a whine as he realizes where they’re going; the hospital.

“One last upgrade,” Locus tells him. “Then you’re ready for your new armor.”

Wash has been wearing the plain black armor that the pirates wear into the field. He knows what armor Locus intends for him to wear though, and reluctantly follows Locus into the room where the medic is waiting.

“I swear he looks more pathetic every time you bring him in here,” the medic says, sounding bored. “Get him on the table, I’ve got everything ready.”

Wash gets on the table, and holds still as the medic straps him in place. He shifts slightly when the medic pokes at his implant site, but forces himself to not make a noise.

“Last time, David,” Felix promises. A calm settles in Wash’s bones at that. He can be good. He can keep earning the name. He holds perfectly still and bites his tongue so hard that he tastes blood as the medic begins to drill into his implants again.

But he doesn’t scream. Not once.

“How are you feeling today, Washington?” Grey asks him, reaching across the table separating them and taking his hand. Wash feels himself relaxing minutely at the contact as always.

“Okay,” he says, hoarse. He’s still getting used to the sound of his own voice, and he doesn’t feel comfortable in this chair. All of his instincts, honed by Locus and Felix, tell him he should be on the floor. Chairs are for people, not weapons or pets or whatever he is. Was. Because he’s a person.

“Today I need you to tell me more about what happened when you were good, okay?” Grey asks, pulling Wash out of those thoughts.

“Why?” Wash blurts out. “Doesn’t—doesn’t the other stuff—”

“We need to know how to make you feel safe, Wash,” she says kindly. “And this is easier to talk about, isn’t it?”

Wash hesitates, and nods. It is easier than remembering punishments and the pain, much easier to think about than what Locus would do to him, if he saw Wash here, talking and sitting in a chair and not attacking the enemy.

“Alright,” she says. “So let’s start with food.”

Wash talks about the food for a while, stuttering a lot and tripping over himself the whole time. But Grey is patient and works with him through it, giving him water to drink and offering to call Tucker to help him eat if he needs. Wash shakes his head minutely. He doesn’t want Tucker to hear this.

“And, and sometimes,” Wash forces himself to say, his mouth going dry. “They’d—they’d call me—”

A wave of fear crashes over him suddenly and he clutches at his head, whimpering. All of his scars seem to flare up in pain and Wash’s hands slide down until they’re covering his implants, curling in on himself.

“Wash?” Grey says, and Wash forces his eyes open to look at her. She’s kneeling in front of him, hands on his face. “Wash, you don’t have to tell me. Do you want me to call Tucker?”

Wash shakes his head, even though he wants to say yes, call Tucker, bring Tucker or Grif or both of them here, let them deal with this. But he needs to do this himself. “They called me my name,” he whispers. He can’t say it, he doesn’t have it in him, but he can tell her this much. “My—my old name. They knew it.”

Grey’s eyes widen. “Oh my,” she whispers.

“They knew,” Wash says faintly. “They knew.”

Grey rubs his shoulders. “I think we’re done for the day Wash,” she says softly.

“It’s not—I don’t—I’m not him. But they used that name and I liked it but it’s not me and—”

Grey presses a finger to his lips softly. “Then we won’t use it if you don’t want us to, if you tell us. It’s your choice Wash. Remember that, okay? It’s your choice here. It always is.”

Wash looks down at her, still kneeling on the carpet of her office, hands on his shoulders, looking up at him and smiling, and Wash feels himself start to shake.

“Can you call them?” Wash whispers. “I—I can’t.” He doesn’t say what it is he can’t do, because it feels like it’s just an all-encompassing everything.

“Certainly,” Grey says. “Do you have a preference?”

Wash shakes his head, sliding right out of the seat onto the floor as she gets up and walks across the room to get her helmet.

He feels more solid on the ground. Wash takes deep breaths and tries to ground himself, tries to calm down and stop seeing Locus behind his eyes before the others come and find him about to have a panic attack because he can’t say his old name out loud.

“They’re the enemy, David. Kill them.”

[renaroo]

Day 17 Smile: An Endangered Species

Disclaimer: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and related properties are owned by IDW/Viacom/Mirage Studios. Warnings: Canon-typical violence Rating: K+ Pairings: AprilxKarai Synopsis: Only with some teamwork are the girls of the Hamato Clan really able to bring an end to an unexpected sewer intruder. But even under those circumstances, April couldn’t have predicted the rare sight she found with Karai that day. KaraixApril. Sapphic September: Smile

A/N: Another hand on 2k12 TMNT and AprilxKarai~

Karai had very particular habits. The kind that could easily work on the nerves of jumpier, less well prepared ninja. And what would certainly frighten the kind of unexpected kunoichi who played with fans instead of swords.

Among those habits included sticking to the shadows and crawling around the edges of the periphery when it was obvious that someone wanted to travel alone — or at the very least was working to travel without Karai specifically.

These sorts of habits were precisely what Karai had come to rely upon during her tumultuous stay with the Hamato Clan, the family she never knew and the brothers and father that she had never desired before. Keeping to the shadows, keeping hidden, helped Karai stray away from conversations and questions she was not ready to have. With bonds she was not ready to nurture. And with people she had spent a not insignificant amount of time attempting to murder.

But among those complications, none seemed stranger and more aggravating to Karai’s sensibilities than April O’Neil, or the fellow teen’s absolute refusal to give Karai that second chance that Master Splinter — Hamato Yoshi — was so adamant that Karai be allowed to have.

In a way, Karai felt this made April by far the most intelligent of the subterranean family. She hadn’t done enough to deserve the level of trust they tried so desperately to hand over to her.

In another way, Karai wanted to just strangle the perfect little starchild for being a nut Karai simply did not have the power to crack.

So instead, she settled for following. Creepily. Stalkerishly. In the shadows, like a complete villain despite reformation.

With a deep sigh, Karai realized that perhaps old habits were not ideal to slip back into and was prepared to step out of the shadows and reveal herself when April tensed up and spun around toward Karai. The redhead’s tessens extended and her stance rigidly set for battle.

It was enough to make the more trained ninja roll her eyes before stepping forward. “Drop the theatrics,” Karai advised.

“Karai,” April sniffed before straightening up and crossing her arms. Her chin raised slightly as she looked down her nose at Karai. “I should have guessed it was you. I could hear you from a mile away.”

“You heard me from four feet away, Red,” Karai corrected her, stopping short and putting a hand on her hip. “And that was only because I breathed heavily on purpose. I was getting bored of testing your skills. You failed.”

“Maybe I was testing your stealth and was aware ever since we left the lair that you were following me and only turned around because you finally proved to be so loud that I couldn’t take it anymore!” April countered, pursing her lips defiantly.

Raising her brow, Karai waited for April’s facade to break first.

To her surprise, the freckled girl maintained stubbornly. Even with the most boldfaced and ridiculous lie.”

Rolling her eyes, Karai stepped forward toward April again, disarming the girl with surprise. “Whatever, you don’t want to admit you’re failing ninjitsu training it’s between you and my… between you and Master Splinter. I’m just here for the actually interesting bits.”

“I’m not failing ninjitsu—“ April began to argue impatiently just before Karai snatched the tracker that April had firmly stuck to her belt loop. “Hey! Karai! Give that back!”

“Ninja drop out,” Karai taunted, opening the tracker and looking at the red alarm silently going off on the map. “What’s this all about?”

Through some small miracle, April managed to swipe the tracker back and give Karai a look of complete ire before glancing down to the tracker. “It’s the alarm system signal I was going to check on. Donatello and I spent weeks placing alarm systems in the mile radius around the lair so that we’d have a good chance of catching any intruders.”

“Sounds nerdy,” Karai joked. “And boring. It took you weeks?”

“It covers a lot of sewer,” April admitted. “Too much, honestly. Because that that’s what got us alarms constantly going off for regular sewer rats and roaches all the time. They were too sensitive and just too far out.” She stopped and squinted as a shiver went down her body. “Then there was this whole mold problem when the lights on the alarms kept going off that taught me things about Mikey’s diet I will never be able to unlearn now.”

“So why didn’t you take them all down if it’s such a hassle?” Karai asked. “Obviously it did nothing to stop myself and the Foot… back when I was with the Foot and not a member of the Hamato clan. Obviously.”

It was April’s turn to raise a suspicious eyebrow. “Mhmm,” she hummed in return. “Yeah, well, Don and I did go around and pick up most of the alarms, starting with the faulty ones that went off all the time, then the less active ones. I thought we’d gotten all of them, but this sensor just started going off a little while ago so I figured I’d go ahead and snag it myself while the boys were all out.” She then looked expectantly at Karai. “I can do that, because I’m not a ninja drop out and can take care of myself.”

“Well, that’s not true. Because I failed you. Which is obviously why I’m joining you now,” Karai said, snatching the device again and leading the walk down the sewer tunnel. “That and the lair is excruciatingly dull at the moment. I don’t know if I can handle one more soap opera for the sake of my…. Master Splinter.”

When Karai glanced to her side, she found April looking at her with a fairly unfamiliar look. It was unnerving in its lack of snark.

“What?” she demanded in irritation.

“You can call Master Splinter father, you know,” April answered softly. “He’s a father to all of us in a lot of ways but… I mean for you… it’s a different level.”

“Yeah,” Karai gritted out before glaring April’s way. “Know what else it is? Complicated. I’m calling him Master Splinter. That’s an improvement enough for now.”

April looked unconvinced but she allowed silence to lapse between them.

After a few moments, Karai stopped at the sight of a flashing, silent light on the left wall of the tunnel. Then she glanced over to April. “That it?”

“Yeah,” April answered, stepping forward to begin her nerd thing to deactivate the alarm. “Weird, though. I wonder what set it off — usually the culprit leaves at least a trace.”

“Does it matter?” Karai asked. “One annoyance or another, it’s just a distraction at the end of the day.”

With an aggravated groan, April turned enough to look at Karai over her shoulder. “You know, not everything between us has to be complete sass—“ Her green eyes widened to the size of saucers and she let out a shaky gasp as she looked over Karai’s head. “Karai! Behind you!”

Karai furrowed her brows before turning around, hand on the hilt of her katana to be drawn, when she froze in place. Her jaw dropped and eyes widened as she found herself staring at a large, black, scaly mutant snake with bright red eyes and a thick red hood that extended just behind its head to reveal the tattoos of the Foot emblem.

But despite herself, what Karai saw was a pristine look back into a mirror she had long since convinced herself she shattered.

“No,” Karai shuddered.

The hissing serpent mutant began to launch forward toward her, and Karai was still without even a drawn sword.

But the same teeth which sought purchase in Karai’s skin were stopped with a metallic CHING as April stood between them, her tessens each entrapping the snake’s fangs.

“April,” Karai gasped.

“I used to watch Animal Planet all the time,” April gritted out as she fought the snake, circling with its fangs still stuck in her war fans. “The experts always said… if you control a snake’s head, you control everything else!”

Sure enough, the snake followed each jerk of April’s hands, hissing and snarling as it tried to pull back. But before it could, April quickly used her own momentum to flip herself over, and with that, flipped the Foot assassin with her, slamming its back against the sewer brick.

Finally able to gather her wits, Karai quickly unsheathed her katana and raced forward, leaping onto the exposed belly of the assassin and holding her blades against its throat. The snake looked at her wide eyed.

“Slither back to your master and tell him that no mind games will work on me again, I am free of him, and I am free of what he made me,” Karai ordered. For additional motivation, she pressed her blades against his scales even more. “And do it very quickly. For you wore our patience thin.”

With that, Karai jumped to the side and April released her grip on the snake’s fangs to stand beside her. The mutant hesitated, as if considering to attempt to complete its mission anyway, but then quickly thought better, slithering away at an alarming speed and slipping into the darkness.

The two women of the Hamato Clan watched, on guard, until they were both certain that there was nothing else lurking for them.

“Looks like you failed ninjitsu,” April spoke up first.

Karai, confused, looked at April sternly. “What?”

“Obviously this was a practical test for your skills and you didn’t notice the giant snake monster in the shadows following us,” April continued, sliding her fans closed as she rotated her wrists. “So you flunked ninjitsu. Sorry.”

Silence fell between them as April finally looked back at Karai, reading her face for an expression. Karai was so befuddled she could hardly offer one before she could no longer help herself.

She burst out laughing, gut busting laughter as she doubled over her stomach, a face splitting grin on her face as she couldn’t contain it.

“Hey,” April laughed with her. “You’re laughing! And smiling! At me! And here I thought Karai Smiles were on the endangered species list. Never knew all I had to do for one was be a little twerp.”

“Not a twerp,” Karai laughed, wiping her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. “Just… just you. I just need to be… liked by you.”

April seemed caught off guard for a moment but then a satisfied smile crossed her face and she reached toward Karai with an open hand. “Well, I have to say that you’re well on your way.”

“That’s enough for now,” Karai agreed, accepting her hand and gripping it tightly. “More than enough. Thank you… April.”

Once April helped Karai stand back up, they put away their respective weapons and began to return home without the sensor.

It seemed to have been well placed after all.