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lambtotheslaughterr · 2 months

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I Burn : Part One

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.6k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

MASTERLIST | PART TWO

Summary: Reader is reluctantly placed into a rehabilitation faciity for individuals who struggle with their various addictions. She has low expectations of the facility & even lower expectations of herself to improve, especially when she catches the attention of fellow patient Rafe Cameron… her addiction to sex just became that much harder.

The last two weeks had been hell. Literally.

Your parents, disturbed & distraught with you after your latest tryst, were desperate to get you help. But you were convinced they just wanted you out of their sight & the public’s eye. So, two weeks ago, your parents took to driving you two hours into the Virginian woods to leave you in the care of doctors & nurses who would help you with your…problem.

Of course, you were in denial. You were nineteen years old, it was normal for you to enjoy sex & the like. But after the first week of group & one-on-one therapy, you learned to admit that perhaps you did have an issue. But admitting to having an addiction didn’t give you hope that you would get better, or change. Two weeks in & you masturbated daily, starving for a man’s hands, lips, & cock. Any man’s.

You often fantasized about your therapist. His name was Dr. Mooney. You didn’t discriminate. He was in his 40’s, handsome with graying hair & a salt & pepper beard. The glasses he wore only influenced your fantasies. The wedding band on his left ring finger didn’t bother you, he wouldn’t be the first married man you’d been with. But he was also the one who told you that your dismissive nature was problematic, opened your eyes to your addiction.

Currently, you were on your daily mindfulness walk in the woods with the other addicts in your group. Most everyone kept to themselves, yourself included. The topic you were to reflect on had to do with this morning’s group discussion: functioning with your addiction. Dr. Mooney released you four of you with a few questions to ask yourself on your walk.

How did addiction affect your work, school, personal lives? What does overcoming your addiction look like? How does it change your life? The lives of those who have been affected by you? Is it a life you want?

It was your least favorite aspect about being admitted to rehab—not that you had a favorite aspect. But you loathed that all questions you were asked since your admittance required thoughtful answers. You couldn’t just answer yes or no. You were forced to reflect, to give a shit.

Instead, you found yourself having come across a creek near to the facility. You made the small & quick descent to the water, removing your socks & shoes to dip your feet in. It was cold, but not enough to deter you. You sat there, your toes wriggling just beneath the surface. The sensation sent a tingling sensation up your spine. You bit your lip, sighing.

Dr. Mooney would be displeased that instead of asking yourself the discussion questions, you were growing as wet as the creek before you. Frustratingly so. The others were not nearby. You would be quick.

Reaching into the band of your sweat shorts, you grazed your fingers over your throbbing pussy. A low mewl escaped you, full of want. You were already soaking. You lied on your back, the loose rocks digging into your skin, but they only added to the images running rampant in your head.

You pictured Dr. Mooney across the creek, watching you, the reflection of you pleasing yourself in his glasses. His lips were moving, the light breeze of the trees carrying his voice over to you.

Lick your fingers, _____. Suck on them for me.

You did, moaning as you tasted yourself before placing your fingers back over your tender bundle of nerves.

Show me how you want me to fuck you.

A gasp parted your lips as you gingerly stuck two fingers inside yourself, immediately encased in the wet, warmth of your center.

Let me see those tits. I want to see what I’m missing out.

Your other hand was quick to pull down the front of your tank top, your nipples hardening due to the sudden exposure. You rubbed your thumb over your nipple as you fucked yourself with your fingers. The squelching sounds of your desire battled with that of the trickling creek. Then you heard it.

Dr. Mooney’s moans. You often imagined what he sounded like when he fucked his wife, how he would sound better fucking you. His breathy moans were in your ear, decidedly pleased with the feel of you clinging to his cock. The scratchiness of his beard bristled against your neck, causing your body to shudder.

“I want to fuck this cunt.” He wrapped his hand around the wrist in between your legs, making your hand move faster.

“Please.” You begged, a strangled cry caught in your throat.

“What do you want?” There was a hint of a smile in his voice.

“You.”

“But you can’t have me.” He cooed. A wet sensation covered your nipple, you dug the fingers of your free hand into the loose rocks, pushing your chest into the mouth of your therapist.

“I need you.” You huffed, “I need you to make me cum.”

“Tch, tch, tch.” He nuzzled into your neck, his grip on your wrist growing firmer as he sped up. “You’re a naughty girl.”

You whined, clinging to your own fingers as they stroked the flames of your building orgasm.

“You’re close.” He whispered, observant as always. “Show me what I could have.”

You flicked your thumb across your clit & the wave of pleasure crashed over you. A muffled scream sounded as you pressed your lips together to hide your shameful lust. Your cum coated your fingers as you came down. Finally you opened your eyes.

Your chest was heaving as you caught your breath. You glanced around your surroundings. Alone. No Dr. Mooney. You exhaled, annoyed. Getting to your knees, you readjusted your clothing & washed off the evidence of your misdeed in the water. Dr. Mooney would be disappointed if you told him how you spent your mindfulness hour. Perhaps you would say nothing. But the thought of him knowing you were getting off in the woods to the thought of him would give him something to get off to himself. A coy smirk tugged on the corner of your lips.

Putting your socks & shoes back on, you began ascending the small hill before coming back to the trail that led to the facility. You were about to head back towards the building when a figure hidden among the trees just off the trail surprised you. You immediately rolled your eyes.

Renee stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, “You’re filthy.”

“Good thing we have showers in our room.” You countered, uncaring that she saw.

“Dr. Mooney is going to be disappointed.” Those words forced you to scowl.

“Shut up, Renee.” You bit, prepared to stomp away from her, “At least I don’t look disgusting.”

Renee was a cocaine addict. Her ashen skin & the bags under her eyes were only a few physical signs of her withdrawal. She sneered at you.

“Nympho.” She insulted as you passed by her.

“Coke-whore.” You threw back.

Leaving her behind in the woods, you fast walked through the woods. You wanted to shower before yoga, Renee’s words embedding themselves into your skin.

Yoga was futile. Especially with Renee on a mat behind you. You felt her eyes boring into your back the whole session.

Dinner was better, to say the least. You took your plate of grilled cheese & bowl of tomato soup to a table in the corner of the room by the windows. Other patients in the room sat & ate by themselves. There were at least fifteen patients, only three of them in your group. At a table opposite of you, Renee picked at her food, grumbling to another patient sitting near her. You rolled your eyes, focusing on your food.

After dinner it was time for another group session. You wished you could hide away in your room, but Dr. Mooney would only send Nurse Carney to come find you. Group time was a requirement. You didn’t have to talk if you didn’t want to, if you had a difficult day that day especially, but you were always required to attend & at least listen.

As you left the youth wing—where addicts aged 16 to 22 stayed—you tugged at your chapped & peeling lips, nervous. In the discussion room, a room with high ceilings & large windows that overlooked the lawn behind the building, you paused in the doorway. The normal set-up was there, a circle of cushioned chairs in the center of the room, but one thing—or person—stood out.

Their back was to you, but that didn’t matter. You had never seen them before. The only other guy in your group that wasn’t Dr. Mooney was Albert & he had shoulder length curly hair. This guy had a buzzcut. You narrowed your eyes. Slowly, you approached, taking the side that was furthest from him. When you came into eyesight, his eyes flashed to yours. You resented the feeling of euphoria that came over you as his eyes dragged the length of you. The outfit you wore wasn’t the most flattering, but you weren’t prepared for there to be a new kid. A good-looking one.

Trying to ignore his appraisal, you sat in a chair opposite him & to the right of where Dr. Mooney sat. You lowered your eyes, tucking your legs underneath you as you got comfortable in your chair. You were grateful that this facility wasn’t like the one in the movies with rigid uncomfortable seating. These ones were lush, with arms to drape your legs over if it called for it, & cushioned backs that tempted slumber. It was one of the few times you thanked your wealthy parents—for at least putting you in a luxurious facility.

“It’s Friday.” The voice broke you from your mindless thoughts.

You looked up, staring at the guy across from you, “What?”

He pointed at your chest. You glanced down. You furrowed your brows, “Okay…”

“So your shirt is wrong.”

“Great observation.” You deadpanned. The guy chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. You returned the look, though you doubted your stare was as curious as his. Fortunately, you were good at hiding what you were thinking. Or so you thought.

“You alright?” There was no note of concern in his question, but it still threw you.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled, & you couldn’t deny how cute he looked when he smiled. It made your thighs shake.

“You’re looking at me like I killed your dog.”

“Don’t have a dog.” You returned, your voice flat. He hung his head, apparently amused by your response. He nodded, meeting your eyes once more, “Guess every household really only needs one bitch.”

Your mouth hung open. This guy!

A miffed smile appeared on your face as you prepared to rebuttal, but another figure entered the room. Dr. Mooney. You immediately kicked your legs out from under you, straightening your spine. The guy raised his brows, following your line of sight.

“Good evening.” Dr. Mooney greeted as he noticed you before landing his eyes on the guy. “I see you’ve already met each other. Rafe, we met earlier.” Dr. Mooney offered his hand, to which the guy, now Rafe, took it lazily, not even bothering to stand up.

“_____.” Dr. Mooney smiled at you.

“Doctor.” You responded smoothly.

He looked briefly between the two of you before sitting down beside you. You fluttered your eyes closed, inhaling Dr. Mooney’s familiar scent. It was a minty medicinal smell, but light. Not the nauseating kind. There was nothing nauseating about him. You licked your lips, clapping your hands together & pressing them between your thighs. You weren’t as bold to touch yourself, but you liked knowing that your hands were close.

“Others should be here shortly then we’ll do formal introductions.” Dr. Mooney shared as he kicked a leg out to rest on his other. He placed his clipboard that he took notes on on his lap.

“How are you enjoying it so far, Rafe?” Dr. Mooney asked the new kid as he removed a pen from the inside of his jacket.

“Could be worse.” Rafe leaned back in his seat, his eyes shifting to you.

“Well, I’m sure _____ already introduced herself—”

“Hasn’t, actually.” Rafe quipped, offering a half smile.

“Oh?” Dr. Mooney looked to you. You shrugged.

“Well, Rafe this is _____, _____ this is Rafe.”

“So you said.” You responded low, avoiding Rafe’s eyes.

“Rafe will be joining us for the next 12 weeks.” The information made you feel conflicted. Though you were already had sour feelings towards the dude, especially since he called you a bitch within the first minute of meeting you, you couldn’t deny how nice it would be to have another good-looking guy in your group. Albert was cute, but he was gay. You prided yourself on at least curbing your hypersexual tendencies to respect other sexualities.

“Why are you here?” You questioned, finally looking at Rafe. He looked as if he was about to respond but Dr. Mooney brushed the side of his hand against your thigh, only briefly to interject the conversation. Your lungs stopped working.

“That will be discussed when the others get here, _____.”

“Of course.” You breathed out, pressing a hand against the part of your thigh he lightly touched.

You couldn’t be bothered that Rafe watched your hand as you rubbed your thigh there.

Less than five minutes later & the circle was complete. Renee sat to the left of Rafe, throwing you a pointed look. Siena, an opioid addict, sat between Rafe & Dr. Mooney, & Albert, who struggling with his sobriety from alcohol, sat between you & Renne.

“Now that everyone is here,” Dr. Mooney began, sure to smile & greet everyone in the circle, “Rafe, would you like to tell us why you’re here, let us to get to know you.”

Rafe scoffed lightly, seemingly unimpressed, but adhered to Dr. Mooney’s prompt.

“I got kicked out of school. Dad had enough of my bullshit. Put me in here.” He shared so matter-of-factly.

“And why were you kicked out of school?” Dr. Mooney, you knew, already was aware of the answer, having done your first one-on-one session with him before your first ever group session like everyone else in the group. He only asked so everyone could be aware of each other & what they’re here for.

“Beats me.” Rafe smirked, “I went to all my classes so.”

Dr. Mooney pressed his lips together but was not impatient, “That’s not what your parents & I discussed.”

“Isn’t there confidentiality here?” Rafe asked.

“Absolutely. In our one-on-one sessions. But in group, we are transparent. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here, Rafe.” Dr. Mooney gestured to the circle, “You’re not alone. We all struggle with something. It’s why we’re here.”

The only thing about Dr. Mooney that ever bothered you was his use of ‘we’, as if he was also experiencing what you & the others were experiencing. He wasn’t. He was getting paid to help you through it all.

“I’m not ashamed.” Rafe quipped, “But I did nothing wrong, either.”

Dr. Mooney hummed, scribbling on his clipboard. “Alright, Rafe. I won’t push. Not yet. We’ll go in a circle so you can get to know everyone else then we’ll try again.”

You watched as Rafe shook his head, but he settled into his chair quietly. Siena went first.

“Siena, 18. Pill popper. An accident I was in almost two years ago left me nearly paralyzed. Started on morphine, then got switched to oxy & hydro’s. Got to a point where I needed them to function. Then one night I OD’d. Had my stomach pumped, & now I’ve been here for a little over a month.”

“Thank you, Siena.” Dr. Mooney grinned, turning his attention to Renee.

She rolled her eyes, her legs hanging over the arm of her seat, “Renee, 21. I like coke.”

“Is that all?” Dr. Mooney questioned. Renee rolled her eyes, sighing heavily, “It was either here or jail. Good enough?”

Dr. Mooney cocked his head, but moved on to Albert.

Albert mustered a smile, “Albert—not Al not Bert, Albert.” He shared firmly, “I was sober for a year from alcohol but relapsed so I’m back here, hoping to get back to the world & to my boyfriend in no time.”

“And you will.” Dr. Mooney added. Then he angled himself to look at you.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at the wood floor as you shared, “_____. 19. Apparently I have a sex addiction.”

“_____.” Dr. Mooney said your name with a tone you knew well. You cleared your throat, rewording your words, “I do have a sex addiction. I’m here because I slept with my father’s TA. In his office. Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t got caught but that’s how the cookie crumbles, I guess. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. And I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Your fingers don’t do it enough for you?” Renee’s grating voice sounded.

Your eyes flashed to her. She looked so tiny in her chair, being practically swallowed by it.

“Shut it.” You spit.

Renee chuckled darkly, pleased by your reaction.

“Renee, you know not to interrupt or antagonize.” Dr. Mooney reprimanded.

“Oh, but I thought we were supposed to look out for each other here, Dr. Mooney.” Renee responded sarcastically, “And I definitely saw _____ getting it on with her hand in the woods earlier.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks & rage coursed the rivers of your veins.

“That’s not group discussion appropriate, Renee.”

“But isn’t it?” Renee challenged, “I mean, it was your name on her lips.”

“You fucking bitch!” You snarled, rising from your seat & gearing to attack her where she sat so smugly.

“_____!” Dr. Mooney’s clipboard clattered to the floor as he caught you, his arms around your waist as he held you back, “Albert, get Nurse Carney.”

Albert rushed out of the room in search of the head nurse. Renee bit her lip, smiling up at you as Dr. Mooney pulled you away from the group. Just off the room was another one. It was a smaller one with a couch that faced a pair of windows & soft, melodic music that played quietly during all hours. Dr. Mooney closed the door behind the two of you & moved to sit you down on the couch.

“_____, you need to calm down.”

You struggled against his hold, desperate to tear Renee to pieces for revealing your private moment in the woods to the group, let alone the object of your desire.

“She said that on purpose!” You yelled, “Fucking bitch needs to be hit.”

“Violence is never the answer.” Dr. Mooney had let you go at this point but still kept his hands on your upper arms to keep you in place as you imagined pummeling Renee to a pulp.

“You’re not the violent type, _____.” He reminded you but you didn’t care. Your adrenaline was skyrocketing.

“I can be. Just let me show you.” You argued.

The door opened behind Dr. Mooney & Nurse Carney appeared. Her red hair tied into a familiar knot at the top of her head.

“Dr. Mooney.” She got his attention.

“Nurse, I need you to lead discussion for the time being while I sit with _____.”

“Of course.” She smiled, offering you a concerned look. You liked her enough, but you felt embarrassed as she pitied you.

When she left the room, Dr. Mooney sat with you still, “Close your eyes & breathe.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing. But it was difficult when all you wanted to do was punch Renee’s lights out. You figured tomorrow you’d go to boxing instead of yoga.

After a few minutes you had calmed down enough for Dr. Mooney to let you go. You already missed the feeling of his hand on your upper back. When you opened your eyes, you saw he was examining you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Angry.” You replied shortly, “But… calmer.”

“Good, good.” He grinned. He clasped his hands together on his knees as he leaned forward, “What Renee did was inappropriate & I will be discussing that with her, okay?”

You nodded, unable to find your words, fearful that your anger would spike again.

“Stay in here for the remainder of the session.” He stood, tucking his hands into his slack pockets, “Or, if you feel better & more in control, please feel free to rejoin.”

You wouldn’t. But you nodded anyway, “Thank you, Dr. Mooney.”

He gave a closed lip smile, “Of course.”

He turned his back & was about to leave but you stopped him, “Dr. Mooney, about what Renee said…”

“_____, it’s alright.” He faced you, “We’ll discuss it in our one-on-one session in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Just relax & if I don’t see you during session then I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.” You mustered a smile, “Thank you.”

Dr. Mooney left you then.

You collapsed into the couch, stretching out atop it as the melodic sounds of an ocean & piano filled the room. Sighing deeply to yourself, your thoughts strayed to the sensation of Dr. Mooney’s arms around your body. You loathed Renee for getting a reaction out of you, but you were elated to feel his body pressed against yours because of it.

Images of him holding you, naked flesh against naked flesh, flooded your every thought. In this room. He would take you in here. On the couch. You’d rake your nails down his back as he held you. Fucked you.

A soft moan parted your lips.

Your eyes opened to linger on the door to the other room. Dr. Mooney said you were okay to stay in here for the remainder of the session. That gave you nearly an hour.

You removed your pants.

part one to my new rafe cameron mini series! idk yet how many parts it will be but i'm loving it so far! so please comment your thoughts, reblog w reviews, or drop an ask to tell me what you think! i'm thirsty.

as always, thank you for reading!

beau<3

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!fic #non con fic #dark!fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #dark!outer banks #i burn part one

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honeesucker · 1 year

Text

Prelude -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 2,263

Series Content Warnings: Little bit of a slow start... Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

*Not Proofread.

Next Part

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t a fundamentally nervous person. Sure, even as a Pro Hero in the public spotlight under constant scrutiny and dissection by media outlets and fans alike he experienced a normal amount of anxious awareness, but he wasn’t nervous – not like he is now, with his right leg jumping up and down rapidly, rubber-bottom boot creating a soft squeak that filled up the sterile room of the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. It had been just over a month since the incident that gave him nightmares and left him with such severe hearing damage that he was currently unable to perform even basic hero duties for his agency – which is why he is sat where he is now, waiting. Hoping the next steps are what could get him back out into the city on normal duty than having his medical leave extended.

He was losing his mind being left to himself and his thoughts each day, being told by doctors he needed to be still, and take is easy, and he was only losing his patience each subsequent doctor’s appointment that left him no closer to returning to Pro Hero work.

“Tch,” the blonde ground his teeth as the indignant noise stuck in his throat; he swallowed it down with a harsh gulp. His ears were ringing when the two doctors walked in, eyes unfocused as the room and people in front of him blurred in and out of clarity, everything around him sounded like it was underwater, and he hated it.

“Mr. Bakugo,” the doctor continued, Katsuki refocusing his attention on the man’s words, annoyed and thinking that Mr. Bakugo is my old man, not me... “we have some support specialists working with the latest auditory data set we took from you and they are getting closer to having a solution to get your hearing back to where it was before, and keep it there – even possibly making it better if all goes to plan.”

“In the meantime, it is recommended you follow the strict guidelines for allowing your body to heal itself naturally,” the other spoke. “You need to make sure you’re not exceeding the maximum limit for minimal exertion we’ve placed on your physical activity, so you have a better chance of getting back to your pre-incident status.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki sighed out, tired of hearing this same speech each visit. “Don’t overdo it, give my damn body time to heal – I got it.” The two doctors observed Katsuki with cautious eyes, but simply nodded their acceptance of his understanding. It was as good as it was going to get with him.

“Another suggestion,” one of the two added. “We have provided you with an email detailing a program we’d like you to consider – your colleague Red Riot actually participates and could be a good resource for you if you have any questions about it.”

“Please take a look when you have a moment and consider this a strong suggestion for helping you progress further in your treatment,” Katsuki eyed the two, irritated at the vagueness of the conversation, but swallowed down his disagreement and simply nodded.

“Yeah sure,” his chair slid back with a jarring scrape as he stood, moving toward the door to leave, “I’ll read your damn email, but I want progress updates from the support nerds.” He didn’t wait to hear their reply as he pushed through the door and hurried down the hall. He hated hospitals, hated the itch of memory in the back of his mind at the sterilized smell that gave him goosebumps and had him picking up the pace to rush out the side exit before heading to the sidewalk to wait for his friend to come get him after he shot him a text that he was all wrapped up. Another annoying outcome from the accident and the resulting toll on his body – he couldn’t drive himself as it was deemed too unsafe for him.

Bullshit.

“Hey Bakubro!” Katsuki’s eyes snapped toward the boisterous voice, seeing his red-headed friend waving his arm out the passenger window of his car. Katsuki ripped the door open and sunk into the passenger seat, Kirishima avoided asking how this appointment went the second he saw Katsuki’s demeanor. The two men drove in silence on the way to Katsuki’s apartment when the silence was cut.

“Doctors mentioned an email they sent me about this program,” Katsuki tested the water, being unsure what the program his doctors suggested he partake in he wasn’t sure if it was good to bring up with Kirishima at this moment. “They mentioned you’ve taken part in it before... Was curious what it’s all about,” Katsuki wouldn’t add the unspoken because I trust your opinion, but he knew Kirishima knew him and his nuances better than anyone since they’ve been side by side since UA.

“Program...?” Kirishima wracked his brain for a few minutes until it clicked.

The Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program.

A program that matches people with hybrids who have been rescued from inhumane circumstances with a person who needs support in their healing journey, and who is believed will benefit from focusing more on rehabilitating another which has been shown to have equally beneficial results with the healing person themselves. Kirishima had first taken part in the program after he was put on medical leave due to a villain fight that nearly left him dead – his body and his mind took almost a full year to heal, and he nearly gave up entirely. On Pro Hero work, on himself... on life. His doctors had mentioned the program and Kirishima wasn’t sure at first – how would he be able to provide a good home to someone who needed stability and support when he could barely pull himself out of bed? He got matched with a wolf hybrid, TetsuTetsu, who had been rescued from an underground fighting ring, having to kill other hybrids just to be able to get locked in a cage alive for another day. TetsuTetsu was surprisingly positive and open for someone who had gone through what he did, but he still had issues – Kirishima slowly helped break him of his more undesirable reactivity and in return TetsuTetsu gave Kirishima a reason to get up every day, make food, go for walks... talk about things that weighed on him, and before he knew it, he was making strides rebuilding his strength with his new training partner. Kirishima still had TetsuTetsu living with him, and Katsuki had met him several times now, but Kirishima never divulged how their relationship came to be – just alluded to him adopting a hybrid in need.

“Yeah! If it’s the one I’m thinking about it’s a pretty great program,” Kirishima finally spoke. “It’s a rehabilitation program for hybrids who were rescued from bad situations. They place them with a person who they feel would benefit from having something to care for while working on their own journey too.”

“Tch,” Katsuki snorted out, “sounds like a pain in the ass waste of time.”

“It’s how I adopted TetsuTetsu,” Kirishima stated out loud for the first time to his friend. Katsuki noted the stiff body language from his friend, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. “When I was out on leave for that year after...” Kirishima couldn’t finish the thought, the memory still a sore spot. “I was out on leave, and it got bad dude. I really came close to just giving up.” Katsuki had seen his friend in a lot of lights, weak and strong – but Kirishima never revealed what happened after that incident that left him injured when he was on leave for that year. Never thought for a second his life came so close to not having that shitty red hair and sharky smile in it, never thought he’d ever have that brotherhood bond ripped from him. Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in his throat the size of a boulder.

“That bad, huh?” Kirishima just flashed a half-smile, watching his friend shift uncomfortably in the seat.

“Yeah,” Kirishima sighed, “it got pretty bad. I was against the idea at first, not thinking I could take care of someone when I couldn’t do it myself but it’s amazing how your mind overrides itself to keep going for someone else... and having TetsuTetsu around really helped me get back on track to be back where I am now.”

Katsuki had been chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed into a concentrated death stare before he noticed that they were parked in front of his apartment building. “I do like that annoying rockhead,” Katsuki finally said. Kirishima just laughed and gave a gentle punch to his friend’s shoulder.

“Just think about it dude,” Kirishima smiled, seeing the cogs turning in Bakugo’s head. “They provide a link to the rescue sight so you can see some of the hybrids they have in their facility right now – and look into next steps if you end up going that route...” Bakugo had stepped out of the car listening to his friends, and before shutting the door with a quick Later, dude Kirishima added - “it’s worth it Bakugo.”

Slam.

Kirishima just laughed, watching Bakugo enter his building before pulling away to head back home. Intending to text Bakugo later to see where his head is at and see if he wants to talk more in depth about the program.

Bakugo made his way up to his apartment – opening the door and stepping into the genkan to slip out of his boots and into his bright crimson and black Red Riot house slippers – a joke gift from his friend but functional enough that Bakugo didn’t mind replacing his old ones with them. He’d never outwardly admit it but he had a love for sentimentality even when it made him uncomfortable, and Kirishima always had such a shit eating grin on his face when he came over to Bakugo’s house and saw them still being used.

Bakugo’s apartment was wide open, a minimalistic space with deep chocolate colored wood laminate flooring and a traditional shoji style wall, some actual shoji, and some just styled in a more traditional way with wallpaper and wood accents. The whole living room wall facing out toward Musutafu was made up of large windows that lead to a fairly decently sized balcony with a bonfire and patio set, and down a short hallway was the spare room that currently housed his office where he could complete some more of the menial work from home, and a pull-out couch for guests. His bedroom was an equally large, open space but housed a King-sized bed with plush comforters and pillows, a wall dedicated to All Might memorabilia he collected since he was a child and was connected to a luxury bathroom with a deep tub and natural rock wall shower that doubled as a steam room.

Bakugo took his time getting showered, changed into loungewear and set to work through some of his most recent light work assignments, and finally his emails where one caught his eye immediately.

Musutafu Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program, LLC <[email protected]>

To: Bakugo, Katsuki <[email protected]>

Tue, Nov 8 at 10:26 AM

Hello Katsuki Bakugo,

Congratulations! You have been extended a conditional offer of consideration for adoption as a part of the Hybrid Rehabilitation Program per a request from your medical team at the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. Please note that this adoption offer is contingent upon the completion of the necessary online paperwork and tasks, as well as your attendance to the required hybrid informational seminars prior to the adoption process. Additionally, your offer may be contingent on screening results (e.g., background check, reference check), as applicable for the adoption.

In advance of you coming to the facility, please follow the link below to complete required paperwork and tasks as stated above. You will also be redirected to our facilities availability calendar to choose a day to come in and tour the facility, speak with staff and begin the introduction process at your convenience.

Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact the facility and ask to speak to the Managing Director.

Best regards,

The M.H.R.F.P. Team

Bakugo stared at his computer screen for the longest time before deciding to click on the hyperlink that led him to the rescue facilities website. He was on autopilot as he filled out all of the personal information, required questions (both information-gathering and personal) and even wrote in his concerns in a concise manner in a provided box for additional comments before hitting submit and staring as the screen buffered with a loading wheel until it finally read ‘Thank you! A member of our staff will be contacting you shortly to confirm your appointment date!’ He didn’t know why he easily accepted this opportunity despite his growing hesitation, again unsure that he could or should be seeking to take care of something else when he could barely manage to care about himself beyond pushing himself into getting back to his normal Hero work... but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him this was something worth checking out.

“Hell, if shitty Broomhead can do this program then so can I,” he finally said, shutting his laptop and heading toward his bedroom to sleep.

Underneath the plush covers, in the darkness of his room, Bakugo drifted off into a dream of what awaited him upon meeting a hybrid.

1K notes · View notes

decembermidnight · 6 months

Text

Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

191 notes · View notes

michelleleewise · 1 year

Text

In My Shoes

Pairing: Avenger Loki x female reader

Summary- your finally back in your own bodies, but how much have things changed between you...

Warnings-swearing, mentions of injury (not graphic), angst, break up, crying, love making, makeup sex, p in v, unprotected sex, loki slipping into his native tongue, all the fluff.

A/n- aaahhhh!!! Sorry this took an eternity!!! Lol a very very special thank you to @mochie85 for all the support and helping me get through this!! Your amazing!!! 💚💚 aaaaand a new pic below!!! 💚💚

Part Four -- Part Five (final)-

A blue haze sifted through the black, a sharp pounding in your head made you wince as you tried to lift your arms, panic rising in your finding you couldn't move any part of your body. "Y/n....wake up." a soft voice cut through the fog as it slowly began to lift "i..." you mumbled when visions began flashing behind your eyelids. The scepter...Stucker standing over you with that twisted smile....holding Loki against the wall. "Loki!" You yelled, your eyes flying open seeing a white ceiling above you "shh y/n, it's ok." You heard again, looking over seeing Bruce standing next to you.

"W..what...." you trailed off trying to lift your head "try not to move too much, I strapped you down in case you woke up and panicked." He said untying the straps "I kept you sedated for a couple of days, you have a pretty sever concussion." He said helping you sit up, lifting your hand feeling hard plastic around your neck "it's just a neck brace, just in case." He said offering a small smile as he placed pillows behind you. "What happened?" You whispered trying not to make your head hurt worse. "Loki carried you out of the facility, told us you hit your head...hard." Bruce said grabbing a chair. "He also told us what happened between you two." He said crossing his arms making you look down "why didn't you tell anyone?" He asked making you sigh.

"It was embarrassing...like I can't even control my powers enough to switch us back." You said feeling tears well in your eyes "who would want someone on the team who can't even do simple things?" You asked feeling a tear stream down your cheek "well i would for one." Bruce said making you laugh "you know how long it took me to control the other guy?" He asked making you nod "it takes time y/n, you won't master everything overnight." He said as you nodded again "but regardless, you should have told us." He said sternly. "What did they want....with Loki?" You asked wiping your cheeks "they wanted to control him, start another war." He said simply. "They...they had the scepter Bruce! What if..." you were cut off as he raised his hand "the team went back and got it after they dropped you and me off. It's secure now." He said making you release the breath you were holding.

"And...Loki...is he..." you asked fidgeting with your hands "he's fine, a little worse for wear since it was his body they tortured, but he's healing well." Bruce smiled "as for you, it was your mind they controlled, so how are you feeling?" He asked grabbing a clipboard. "Ok...I think?" You said leaning your head back "I wasn't aware of what I was doing for the most of it, like I was a passenger in my own mind." You said seeing him write something down. "Loki told me alot about when he was controlled, so if you start having nightmares or hallucinations come find me immediately." Bruce said as you nodded. "Did you want me to get loki for you? I asked him to give you some space until you woke up." Bruce asked standing up. "Umm...no, not yet." You said looking out the window. "Don't tell him I'm awake yet ok?" You asked looking up at him. "Alright, but your gonna have to deal with him at some point, I thought he was going to blow the tower up when I wouldn't let him in here." Bruce laughed walking towards the door.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit." He said. You nodded as he opened the door, slowly closing it behind him as he left. You gently leaned your head back against the pillow behind you looking out the window. You knew you would have to talk to loki at some point but the pit in your stomach grew the more you thought about it, the events that transpired since the switch weighing heavy on you. You closed your eyes letting the slow beep of the machines lull you back to sleep, hoping that maybe the answers would come to you.

You slowly opened the door to your room, walking in seeing everything organized and put in its place. "Loki..." you laughed shaking your head as you closed the door behind you. It had been three days since you woke up and Bruce decided it was ok to go back to your room, under the express command to do nothing strenuous or he'd make you go back. You walked to the closet grabbing a pair of sweat pants and a shirt you decided a shower was definitely in order. You came out getting dressed feeling like a new person, the smell of antiseptic finally gone you sighed as you flopped down on the couch. You picked up your phone, pulling up Loki's number you took a deep breath before beginning to type a text to him.

You knew he wouldn't answer seeing as him, Thor and bucky had been sent on a mission but the sooner the bandaid was ripped off the better. Looking at the screen, seeing the "we need to talk" text you quickly hit send before you changed your mind, exiting the messages you went to set it down when it dinged with a new message "shit." You sighed looking at it seeing loki had responded. You closed your eyes before opening the app seeing "is everything alright?" Staring at you. You bit your lip trying to decide what to say, you didn't want to do this over the phone. "Yeah, everything's fine, there's just something I need to talk to you about." You typed, hitting send when you saw the three bubbles pop up showing he was typing "what is this about? Have I done something?" He responded.

You took a deep breath deciding to bite the bullet "loki, I just think maybe we shouldn't see eachother anymore." You typed, holding your thumb over the send button you closed your eyes pressing down. You waited a few minutes, seeing it was read you waited but no bubbles appeared so you decided to set the phone down, unable to stop staring at it as if it were a bomb that was about to go off when suddenly it dinged again "may I ask why?" He responded. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stared at your screen he has to be messing with me you thought as you began typing "because loki, I'm not what you need. You need someone strong, and capable and beautiful and I'm none of those things, I am just some silly mortal who cant control her powers. So I just think we should stop now before we let this go any further." You typed, hitting send you saw it was read, but again no bubbles.

You sat watching your phone for what felt like an eternity, the screen going black before the familiar ding sounded again. You took another deep breath unlocking it, your heart sinking at the message that stared at you "as you wish." Those three words were like a slap in the face. He didn't argue, didn't try to convince you you were wrong, he didn't fight for you. Tears welling in your eyes at the realization maybe I really didn't mean anything to him you thought as you quickly typed "ok" before turning your phone off tossing it onto the coffee table. You wiped the stray tears that slid down your cheeks deciding to take a nap you walked to the bedroom climbing in bed when the smell of his cologne wafted up from the pillow next to yours.

You couldn't stop the tears falling as you grabbed the pillow hugging it to your chest. You wanted to run back out and call him, tell him you were kidding, take it back but you knew deep down that yes you loved him more then anything in the world but you would never be good enough for him. He was a prince who needed a princess, a God who needed a goddess, not some lowly insufferable mortal. You tilted your head down inhaling as much of his scent into your lungs as you could as you quietly sobbed into the the pillow. It was better this way, you knew that....so why did it feel like your heart was just ripped from your chest...

You climbed out of bed, wandering to the closet to get dressed seeing the majority of your clothes in a pile on the floor. "Laundry day I guess." You sighed slipping on a tank top and your last pair of leggings you pulled your hair up in a loose bun before shoving all your clothes into your laundry basket when your phone dinged, picking it up seeing a message from Bruce "y/n, your late." You read making you laugh "I know, im on my way." You typed back grabbing your hoodie you slipped it on before quickly heading to the med bay. It had been two weeks since you got back and this check up would decide if you could go back out into the field. You smiled for the first time in the last fourteen days at the prospect of getting back out there, and after everything that happened with Loki you needed the distraction.

You quickly walked out as the elevator opened, navigating the many hallways trying to hurry when you heard a woman giggle making you turn your head seeing the woman you met in the lab leaned against a wall, Loki standing in front of her. You quickly dove behind the wall, peeking down the hallway seeing her run her finger down his bicep "so, what about tonight?" She purred making googly eyes at him. "Madam, I have told you." He started, crossing his arms when she leaned closer to him, whispering something you couldn't hear "y/n?" Bruce's voice snapped you back to reality when Loki's eyes met yours. "Oh, um yeah i..." you stuttered backing up from the wall "are you ready?" Bruce asked looking down the hall at the scene you were watching "yes! I'm ready...let's go." You said, quickly walking towards the med bay when Loki's voice cut through the air "y/n, may I have a moment?" He asked making you sigh. "I'll be waiting." Bruce whispered before walking to his office.

You turned around seeing Loki walk up in front of you, hands in his pockets "w..what did you need Loki?" You asked seeing the woman from the lab snarl at you before walking down the hall. "I was hoping we could talk." He said quietly looking down at his feet. "I don't really have time, besides there really isn't anything to talk about." You said taking a step back towards Bruce's office "y/n, please...I miss you." He said taking another step towards you. "Yeah well, it looks like your doing fine." You scoffed waving down the hall "I have told you I have no interest in her." He snapped, his eyes meeting yours "well you could have fooled me." You scoffed turning around "y/n..." loki started when you turned around glaring at him "loki just...I have to go." You sighed quickly walking to Bruce's office rushing in before he could say anything else.

"Well that was awkward." Bruce said crossing his arms "yeah sorry about that." You said walking over sitting on the exam table "it's fine, don't worry about it." He said grabbing a clipboard "now, let's see if we can release you back into the wild." He said making you laugh "well I hope so." You said as he started his exam. Thirty minutes later you got the all clear to go back to full duty. "Alright, ill let Tony know and y/n..." Bruce said as you slipped your hoodie back on "watch your head." He laughed "very funny" you laughed back jumping down from the table. "Thanks Bruce, for everything." You said walking towards the door "anytime y/n." He said as you peeked into the hallway, relief washing over you seeing Loki gone. Making your way back to your room you decided now was as good a time as any to get your laundry done.

Grabbing your combat suit you tossed it in the basket when Loki's cologne wafted up hitting your senses. Picking it back up you brought it to your nose inhaling remembering he was wearing it when they found you. "Loki..." you sighed hugging the suit to your chest as you slid to the floor, tears welling in your eyes as you rocked back and forth. "I miss you too." You whispered into the fabric, digging your nails into It. It took everything in you not to run to his room and jump into his arms and never let go, but you knew this was for the best. He needed someone on his level and you knew that wasn't you. Remembering all the snide remarks, all the comments about your lack of talent making you throw the suit back into the basket "I never was good enough for him." You growled, getting to your feet you stormed into the bedroom grabbing the pillow off the bed you shoved it into the basket picking it up heading towards the laundry room. You needed to move on and the first step was washing away anything that reminded you of him.

You laid out on the couch, eating your weight in chocolate and watching some sappy rom com you weren't paying attention to when you heard a small knock on your door. Groaning you got up, opening it to see bucky standing there "oh...hey buck whats up?" You asked straightening your hoodie "hey y/n, I was told to tell you Tony needs to talk to you." He said with a nervous laugh. "Oh? About what?" You asked stepping into the hallway "umm a mission..Bruce gave you the all clear so he wants to send you out." Bucky said running a hand through his hair "ok, where is he I'll go talk to him." You said crossing your arms "he's up on the roof, said he'd be waiting for you." He said looking around nervously "right...the roof." You said raising an eyebrow "don't look at me like that, I'm just relaying the message." He said sternly "ok ok sorry, thanks I'll go find him." You said holding your hands up as he walked down the hall.

You walked to the elevator pressing the button "why would he be on the roof?" You asked yourself as the doors slid open, going in pressing the button for the top floor you leaned against the wall, hoping bucky was right and he was going to send you back out, you needed to get away for awhile. Stepping out as the doors opened you walked to the stairwell leading up to the roof, pushing it open you were met with silence "Tony?" You called out, not getting a response as you walked out onto the empty rooftop, the cold night air whipping around you making you shiver when you saw lights shining through the glass panes of the solarium "Tony this isn't funny." You called out again, still not getting a response you walked towards the small glass house grabbing the handle you slowly opened it peeking your head inside seeing the concrete floor replaced by white tiles, rose petals littering the floor as they floated down from the ceiling "what..." you whispered stepping inside you closed the door.

holding your hand out catching a petal in your hand when you heard a familiar voice further in the room. You slowly walked further in, seeing vines of white roses climbing the walls, leaning forwards pressing your nose to one you inhaled deeply closing yours eyes as the fresh scent flooded through you when you heard a small shuffling noise. Continuing down the small hall you walked into the main room, small tables with pots of roses lining the room when you saw Loki, wringing his hands together as he paced back and forth biting his lip. You leaned on the doorway silently watching as he mumbled something under his breath "oh..." he said suddenly, holding his hand out you saw the familiar green glow when a small bed of cushions appeared in the corner. You couldn't help smile as he walked over kneeling down he fluffed the cushions before a bottle of wine and two glasses appeared.

"Y/n, I know I haven't been the best partner to you...I have not supported you as I should have..." you heard him saying to the cushions "but I want to do better, to be better....for you." He continued looking down "these last few weeks have been a torture I can no longer bear, I miss you...I need you..." he said closing his eyes "I have never felt this way about anyone...you are the air in my lungs...the blood that pumps through my heart..." he said placing a hand on his chest. You felt tears welling in your eyes as you listened "since you have been gone the days lack meaning, the world has lost its color, i...I am lost without you..." he said seeing a tear stream down his cheek you took a step closer to him "I love you, with every fiber...every breath in me I love you." He said as you slowly walked up behind him "please my love, give me another chance, allow me to show you what you mean to me." He said as you came to stand behind him "because everyday I spend without you I feel my heart slowly breaking, and I feel as though it may cease." He said as you reached out, gently placing your hand on his shoulder feeling him tense

"loki..." you whispered feeling a tear stream down your cheek as he turned his head looking up at you "h..how long..." he started "I heard all of it." You said walking in front of him kneeling down. He lifted his hands closing his eyes they glowed before a single white rose sat in the palms of his hands "y/n, I could never put into words what you mean to me, but if you give me the chance I wish to show you...everyday how much I love you." He said holding the rose out to you. You looked up into his eyes, his beautiful emeralds red and puffy as a tear steamed down his cheek, reaching up you quickly wiped it away with your thumb cupping his cheek as he closed his eyes leaning into your touch "Loki, what if I'm not enough for you? What if one day you wake up and realize you made a mistake?" You asked, unable to keep your voice from trembling "loving you will never be a mistake." He said sternly looking deep into your eyes "you are the best thing that has or ever will happen to me y/n...please be mine, because I cannot suffer another day of this existence without you." He said placing the rose in your free hand

"on one condition." You said turning the rose in your hand "name it and it is yours." He said watching you intently when your eyes met his "as long as you are mine, and only mine." You said seeing a smile spread across his face "I will never belong to another, I am yours...heart, body and soul...only yours." He said cupping your cheek. "And I am yours Loki...and only yours." You said mirroring his smile as he leaned forward pressing his lips to yours. You leaned up, pressing your chest to his feeling one of his strong arms wrap around your back pulling you closer leaving no space between you as your hands slid up his muscular chest, the soft fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you gripped it tight. Feeling his tongue slide genlty across your bottom lip silently asking permission, parting your lips you tilted your head deepening the kiss, moaning into his mouth feeling his long fingers at the hem of your hoodie.

You pulled back, pressing your forehead to his "I need this off." He panted, pulling on your hoodie. You leaned back slightly your eyes meeting his, a chill running through you seeing his pupils blown wide. You offered a small smile lifting your arms up feeling Loki's hands on your sides, his fingers grazing your skin as he slowly lifted your hoodie up, shivering when his cool touch ghosted over your ribs before lifting it over your head tossing it aside. "So beautiful." He whispered, his eyes roaming your bare chest as his large hands slid around your waist traveling down, cupping your ass before sliding further down gripping your thighs he lifted you up pulling you onto his kneeling lap.

Straddling his spread thighs you wrapped your arms around his neck leaning down placing soft kisses on his neck hearing him sigh "y/n..." he breathed as you sucked hard on his pulse point, your hands slid down his shoulders traveling down his chest you slowly unbuttoned his shirt biting down on his collar bone hearing him hiss "Gods y/n..." he moaned, his hands ghosting across the warm skin of your back leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Loki..." you breathed against his skin, your fingers reaching the last button before slipping under his shirt, your palms gliding up feeling his taut muscles flex under your touch, earning a small gasp as your fingertips grazed his nipples before slowly moving to his shoulders sliding his shirt down his arms. You leaned back taking him in, pride running through you seeing his eyes closed head titled back, his soft lips parted in a silent moan as you slid his shirt off tossing it away with your hoodie.

Reaching up cupping his cheeks you pulled him to you crashing your lips to his, your tongue pressing past his parted lips rocking your hips you felt his hardened length pressing against your clothed core, moaning into his mouth feeling him buck his hips up against you. "I...I need you." You panted against his lips, feeling his hand loop around the small of your back holding you to his chest "now..." you growled, a hand sliding into his hair tugging on the nape hearing him growl when he lifted his free hand, a green mist enveloping you gasping feeling his cock on your bare flesh. He leaned up capturing your lips with his, keeping his arm around you he slowly laid you back on the bed of cushions. You spread your legs wide as he settled between them, a hand sliding down your side kneading your thigh as he rocked his hips against you, his length sliding through your slick folds as he bit your bottom lip "god....Loki...." you moaned feeling his warm lips on your neck, bucking your hips up needing him inside you.

You felt his lips trailing hot kisses down when you laced you fingers in his hair "no..." you panted as he lifted his head, his lust filled eyes meeting yours making you shiver "n...no?" He asked shakely holding himself over you "no...I need..." you breathed, tightening your grip in his hair "I n..need you...to feel you." You said shakely as he crawled back up your body, his face hovering inches from yours "make love to me Loki." You whispered cupping his cheek as he closed his eyes leaning into your touch "y..yes my heart." He whispered, leaning down placing a soft kiss to your lips you felt the head of his cock at your entrance, slowly breaching you. "Mmm god...." you moaned arching your chest up, your hands sliding down his back to his ass, your nails digging into his cheeks pulling him deeper inside you. "faen ... du føler deg så bra.." he moaned, snapping his hips bottoming out making you cry out.

You looked up to the ceiling, seeing more rose petals slowly falling around you, tears welling in your eyes when you felt Loki's fingers under your chin tilting your face to him seeing his eyebrows furrowed "is something wrong love? We can stop..." he said brushing away the tear that slipped out "no...no I'm ok I just..." you trailed off looking into his eyes "I love you so much." You whispered blinking another tear away when he looped his arm under your head, his other hand sliding up and down your thigh "jeg elsker deg så mye." He smiled, pressing his forehead to yours as he slowly pulled out to the tip before gently pushed back in, the veins of his cock rubbing against your walls as he buried himself inside you "f..fuck...Loki..." you moaned, closing yours eyes as he slowly rocked his hips into you "Norns...jeg vil leve inni deg" He panted, lacing his arm under your knee he lifted your leg allowing him to plunge deeper as he thrust harder

"aahhh...l....loki.....fuuu..." you panted, your breath mixing with his as he began to slam into you, his hair fanning your face as he leaned down burying his face in the crook of your neck, his cool tongue sliding across your pulse point to under your ear "I love you...I l...love you y/n." He whispered in your ear before sucking your earlobe between his lips. You felt your walls clench hard around him, the familiar warmth blooming in your stomach as he angled his hips hitting your soft spot "l...loki....im....aahhh I'm gonna..." you stuttered, your mind going blank at the ecstasy running through your system at his touch "come for me...let me feel you." He moaned into your ear thrusting hard into you, his pubic mound rubbing against your clit with every rock of his hips. You dug your nails into his flesh hard, hearing him growl as he snapped his hips into you "loki!" You yelled, clenching hard around him arching up as you came around him.

"Aahh fuck...love i...I'm not going to l...last." he panted, his thrusts become erratic "come Loki...come inside me...please...." you moaned feeling him twitch inside you "y..y/n!" He yelled, digging his nails into your thigh he slammed into you holding himself there, gasping feeling his warm seed hit your cervix. He rocked his hips slowly a few times before stilling, his head resting on your shoulder his warm breath fanning your skin as you wrapped your arms around him. "I missed you...so much." He whispered when you felt something wet hit your shoulder "loki?" You asked seeing him lift his head, his eyes rimmed red "I'm sorry I just..." he trailed off when you cupped his cheeks "no, it's ok...don't be sorry." You smiled up at him "I missed you too, more then you know." You said feeling him slowly pull out of you, a flick of his wrist making a green blanket wrap around you as he settled next to you.

You rolled to your side, your nose touching his as the lights dimmed "I have a confession." He said after a few minutes making you furrow your eyebrows "ok...." you said watching him intently "what I said before...about your abilities..." he said fidgeting with the hem of the blanket "i....I was wrong." He said looking up into your eyes. "The time I spent as you, I...I am apt to admit I had a difficult time reigning in your powers." He said making you smile. "I could not stop reading people's thoughts...i...I could hardly control anything you can do." He admitted scrunching his brow "you my love are a goddess, and I will never underestimate you again." He said pushing your hair back "well thank you Loki, that...that means alot to me." You said scooting closer to him

"and I would like to take you up on your offer...to train with you." You said seeing him smile "it would be my honor." He said wrapping his arm around your shoulder pulling you to his chest squeezing you "im not going anywhere." You laughed hearing him take a deep breath "jeg vil aldri la deg gå igjen my love." He said kissing the top of your head as he gripped your shoulder tighter. "jeg lar deg ikke" you whispered into his chest hearing him laugh "you are full of surprises aren't you my love?" He asked making you smile "maybe..." you said tilting your head kissing his chest. "Get some rest love, tomorrow is going to be a busy day." He said making you look up at him "I wish for you to move into my chambers with me, if that is ok with you?" He asked biting his lip "i...I'd like that." You said seeing him smile. "Atleast I know there will be closet space." You said hearing him laugh again "indeed there is." He said as you laid your head back down on his chest "I love you Loki." You whispered wrapping an arm around his middle "and I love you y/n, so much." He said as you closed your eyes letting sleep take you, dreaming of the man you loved.

Translations-

faen ... du føler deg så bra- fuck....you feel so good

jeg elsker deg så mye- i love you so much

jeg vil leve inni deg- i want to live inside you

jeg vil aldri la deg gå igjen- i will never let you go again

jeg lar deg ikke- i wont let you

@lokistoriesblog @hyperlokilover @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @simplyholl @lokidokieokie @mjsthrillernp @violethaze @dryyoursaltyoceantears @loz-3 @commanding-officer @stupidthoughtsinwriting @high-functioning-lokipath @jaidenhawke @lokiandbuckysdoll @littlespaceyelf @lastlovesong17 @ladyofthestayingpower @homesickloki @glitterylokislut @avoliax @yelkmelk @mayjaysthots @buttercupcookies-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @her-glorious-purpose @nate-ate-hate @chantsdemarins @ladymischief11 @usagishira @princess-asgard @honeyg19 @goblingirlsarah @cabingrlandrandomcrap @silverfire475 @smolvenger @loki-laufeyson-1054-deactivated @marygoddessofmischief @animnerd @texmexdarling @fictive-sl0th @jin0x0 @vbecker10 @eleniblue @lady-rose-moon @pics-and-fanfics @kittiowolf210 @kats72 @asgardianprincess1050 @crimson25

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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

Text

live to rise - chapter two

live to rise series

two: morning will come soon

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: As the Mandalorian makes himself a more permanent addition to the barracks, you get to know the elusive man a little more while grappling with the reality of the arena. [We get to know everyone a little better before things kick up a notch in chapter three :) ]

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, prisoner of war, slavery, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide & war, graphic descriptions of violence & injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, major character deaths, minor character deaths, angst, helmetless Din Djarin, themes of grief and loss, slow burn

Please heed the warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He doesn’t notice until his forty-eighth fight, but there are children in the stands. It’s not their mere presence that simmers his bile.

It’s the glee.

Violence is a wet nurse for Mandalorian children. They witness the raw essence of life turned to food and know the gush of a foe’s blood early in life. But they respect it.

They respect the fight and honor the lives they take. They weigh each kill and hang it from their ribs. They know what it means to be capable of exposing a being’s innards to the sun, what it means to hold a creature as blood froths in its lungs.

These children are reared to crave it. They’ll never feel the touch of violence, he thinks, but they’re fed by it. They play with these lives like it's a game.

The distraction costs Din a chunk of flesh but gains him a rotted tooth on the edge of the gash.

You’re in the barracks when they bring him back that afternoon. You go still and quiet, ducking into the shadows, but, as usual, they don’t bother to check the cells. He saw you, though. You’re inside C-6, and he has a clear view through his window into the cell opposite.

Once the guards leave, you pick back up mid-sentence into what must have been an already brewing rant.

“—pride. So stupid. The only—punished when you resist—is you.”

The humanoid grumbles something Din can’t quite hear.

“Yeah, well, —bacta, and I don’t, so—” you retort.

When you slip out of the cell, the automatic lock snaps shut with a resounding clunk. Your hands are wound up in the underbelly of your skirts and come back out dry, at least, if not spotless.

Not that Din notices right away. His mouth had gone fuzzy when you hiked up the layers to reveal the length of your calf. He shoves the feeling away and watches as you check carefully around the corners before slipping into the chamber between the barracks and the rest of the facilities.

He shakes it from his fingertips. It’s the post-fight adrenaline, he knows. Mandalorians are no strangers to fucking out their feelings as the world burns around them. He cannot—will not—entertain these thoughts of you, lest he become more of the monster they make him out to be.

And every part of him is too rough for the likes of you. He won’t be responsible for marring you with his too-tight grip and desperate cock. He wouldn’t press his pain into your cunt and learn to breathe again through your cries and moans.

He wanted to preserve you somehow, press you like a flower between the pages of a book. Even his protection would see you crushed by his selfish desire.

So instead, he funnels the feeling into righteous anger and determination, pushing himself in his exercises until his muscles ache and scream for oxygen. He slumps against the wall, not bothering to go to the cot, and dreams fitfully of his son.

He had made the call in his own chambers. The ship had left two hours ago, tracking along the path with no issues—yet.

“Who is this? How did you get this line?” snaps a voice he does not recognize.

“He’ll know. Tell him we’re going forward with operation esk, and the package is on-route.”

“Message received,” cuts in the voice he was waiting for. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the stars light your way,” Din returns, and cuts the line.

Grogu’s fast asleep when Din tucked him into the pod. He slipped the stuffed blurrg under one of the baby’s arms. It’s to be a short journey, but there’s a canteen and a tin of snacks.

The rest of his son’s belongings are carefully packed in the small cargo hold of the StarSpeeder 1000 they’d managed to salvage, complete with an RX pilot. Din didn’t favor leaving the child’s fate to a droid, but it had been thoroughly reprogrammed to override its tourist-geared protocol.

All in all, it’s an innocuous ship with a registered pilot and route. The chain code would suffice under basic examination, and the manifest is set with a handful of false identities.

He may not understand the Force, but he has to draw faith that it will ferry his son safely into the waiting hands of Skywalker at some destination unknown.

Skywalker had sent the coordinates directly to the droid so they couldn’t be tortured from Din.

A wise decision, Din thinks wryly, but they haven’t interrogated him yet.

It makes sour hope bloom—perhaps they think there’s nothing to be gained. In the darker moments, he worries they know there’s nothing to be gained.

As it was, each of the four of them only knew part of the plan. Din had the main strategy. Vizsla, the backup. Kryze, the route. And Fett—the rendevouz. For a man who claimed no ties to the Mandalorians, he was risking everything.

Even the loneliest striil is loyal to someone, he supposes.

He loses count after 60 fights or so. That’s about when he stops hating the idleness of his off days and starts longing for more rest.

It’s not just the physicality. He does seem to be perpetually bruised and bleeding, but that’s not so much different than his bounty-hunting days. He’s loathe to admit that he’s perhaps beginning to feel the effects of aging. To grow old is an honor for Mandalorians. It means you’ve emerged victorious from your battles. He doesn’t feel he can wear that pride, though.

But no, his weariness is from the killing. He tried to see his opponents as quarry, but it was too hard to maintain. Not when he’d see their sallow faces and sunken eyes. Beings with broken tusks and battered limbs. Rebel starbirds. Shock trooper stripes. Prison numbers and slave brands.

Yesterday’s fight had him facing a Miraluka who couldn’t have been much past her girlhood. And she wanted to live; oh, she wanted it so badly he could taste it.

She didn’t know a thing about fighting. Worse yet, their weapons for the day were flails, something even he hadn’t much experience with. He could wield it, but instead, he let it fall to the sands.

What a terrible way to die.

He saw it before it happened. Telegraphed in the arc of the chain, his brain completing the motion before it became real. She swung her arm out hard, trying to strike him in the chest, but he pushed back on his heel and easily dodged. Without something to crush, the momentum carried.

She grappled at the chain, trying to stop it. If only she had dropped it and moved, Din thought. If only, if only.

Instead, it wedged itself in her back, spikes between her ribs. She gasped, wavering for a moment in shock, and dropped to her knees. The crowd moaned a collective “ooh” at the turn of luck.

He knelt in front of her, grasping her shoulders.

“Just finish it,” she said, the trace of a whimper on the end.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Biala.”

“Biala, is there a prayer I can make for you? Any rites for your journey?”

She shook her head and coughed. Blood dribbled, and they both knew.

“I’m so sorry, Biala,” he murmured, cradling her head in his hands.

And then it was over. He laid her body down as the bell rang and rose to his feet. Stomps and cheers from the stands fell muffled around his shoulders, and he sneered into the crowd.

It only made them chant louder.

He’s brought back to the reality of today at your entrance, voices buzzing as trays clattered back and forth.

“Come here, girl,” calls a voice from across the way. Din watches as you pause, his own tray of food waiting in your hands.

The gruff old Devaronian in C-4 is reaching his large hand between the bars of the window.

“One sec,” you tell him, making your way to Din. You go to knock before you spy his shadow between the bars and avert your eyes.

“Good evening,” you say, sliding the tray through the slot against the floor. “Need anything?”

It’s the same old song and dance. “No, thank you,” he says.

“Okay, have a good night,” you tell the door politely.

He doesn’t grab the tray right away. He watches instead as you go back across the hall.

“Whatcha need, old man?” you tease. Vrar is your favorite, mostly because he’s been around for nearly a year, and you’ve had a chance to know him.

But something about his expression gives you pause.

Din feels suddenly intrusive as you step closer and let the warrior touch your cheek, his palm much larger than your face.

He can’t hear what’s said, but something terribly sad comes across you as you close your eyes and shake your head.

“No, you can’t just give up,” you say, loud enough that Din can hear.

His heart sinks. He had wondered how many were lost to hopelessness.

“I’m not giving up,” Vrar tells you. “I’m an old man. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired.”

“No,” you say, a harsh but quiet protest. You want to yell, but the guards will make you leave if they hear you. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

“You can’t change my mind. I just wanted you to know before it happens. To know that I made this choice, that I will be at peace. You’ve been the one spot of kindness in this life.”

Your voice is softer, breaking, crescendoing at the end as it pitches alongside your urgency,“—how much more you need; I’ll trade another year, please.”

“Absolutely not,” Vrar says. “When your time is up, get out and never look back. Look at me.” He waits for your focus. “You can’t save us.”

You break down into tears. Din feels something sharp pricking at his eyes, too. He shuts them and sits down on his cot, food forgotten.

He doesn’t need to look to know you stay at Vrar’s door until the guards make you leave for the night. You sit against it, skirts splayed out around you like the rising sun, and talk to him, listen to his stories, even the ones you’ve heard over and over before. Especially those, as you try to commit them to your memory, to carry him with you.

When you bring Din his breakfast in the morning, your eyes are bloodshot, and lips cracked from biting back your grief. For the first time, you don’t say anything. You rap your knuckles and slide the tray under.

You stay until they come for him. You wait and stand with your hands wrapped around the bars of his window. When they take him to prepare for the arena, you watch down the hall until he’s gone. As he passes Din’s cell, he looks straight in.

Neither man says a word, but their eyes meet, and Din nods. Vrar returns the gesture, satisfied.

When Din looks back, you’re gone.

When you return two hours later, as his own turn in the arena nears, he doesn’t have to see your face to know.

You’re not crying. But you move so quietly, held so tense, as you open the cell and scrub it clean, fitting it with new bedding. It’s the same routine as a deep cycle, but there was just one yesterday, and your sadness, though smothered, is palpable.

They take him up before you’re done. Din lives to fight another day. He scrubs clean of his opponent’s blood in the cold fresher and tugs on the stiff, starched clothes left behind for him. When they take him back to his room, it’s been cleaned, but you’re gone, and there’s a new prisoner in C-4.

You’re quiet again when you bring dinner, and though you do speak this time, it’s void of your usual softness.

“Need anything?” you say, muted tone bristling his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in lieu of an answer.

You look up at the window out of reflex before quickly looking away. He’s not close enough for you to see, anyway. “What?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “for your loss.”

Your eyes close tight, and you cover your mouth for a moment. “I—thank you,” you whisper. Your voice cracks a little, and he feels terrible, like he shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have upset you.

But you hesitate there, outside his door. You swallow hard against the ache. “Thank you,” you repeat, but it’s stronger, now, and laced with the heaviness of recognizing oneself in another.

Which is why, when you pass by the newcomer’s door, and he tells you to smile pretty for him, Din snarls, “Shut your fucking mouth.”

You freeze and look back at his dark door. The man is saying something idiotic, but Din can’t hear it from the pulse throbbing in his ears and his single-minded focus on you.

You shake your head minutely, and he accepts the request to stand down. Before you turn and leave the barracks, you give his door a small, sorrowful smile.

He worries a little about the newcomer. You shouldn’t have to be harassed and accosted like this.

When you had brought breakfast, the man had tried to reach through the bars to grab your face. You had recoiled and dodged his grimy hands but otherwise ignored it.

It turns out he doesn’t need to worry. The next day, the guards take both him and the creep up to the arena.

When Din returns, your relief is unmistakable.

You never ask about the fights, so he doesn’t have to lie to you. He doesn’t have to tell you the truth, either; doesn’t have to tell you how it’s the first one he’s dragged out on purpose. How he broke the man’s hands in his own for daring to try to touch you. How he broke his jaw for talking to you like that.

It’s unlike him, and he hopes he can shrug it off, that the endless killing of beings he knows are fellow prisoners builds a layer of beskar in his bones each day. But Vrar was right.

You’re a spot of light here, like the yellow blossoms that push up between duracrete. He’s not sure how you’ve kept it up this long, not after seeing how deeply you’re cut when “your” fighters die. But he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t lose that. Including keeping lowlife scum away where they can’t contaminate the barrack.

He dreams that night of taking you with him when he leaves and isn’t sure what to do with the thought in the morning.

You paint him, too. Nicolai. The one who made your skin crawl. Even the portrait comes out predatory, and you wish you wouldn’t have to look at it every time until the page is full.

It’s not the first time a resident has made you feel unsafe. Won’t be the last, either, you reckon. Unlike those of you who are serving criminal sentences, the fighters are all prisoners of war. But just because they were an enemy of the Empire does not make them a friend.

Most of them are good. Not all even raised a weapon against the Imperials. Some were support—medics, pilots, suppliers. Some were strangers who stood up to protect a Stormtrooper’s victim in the town square. Some were no one, who had the unfortunate luck of being related to or seen with a known insurgent.

But some, well. Some were grifters playing both sides. Some were mercenaries, assassins, slavers. Some, like Nicolai, were druglords who couldn’t be bought—too busy running their own empires to respect the government.

It’s funny, in that way that makes your stomach bile bite and claw at your throat. Everyone thought you needed to be afraid of the fighters. You have to shut and stow the book, not wanting to smudge Vrar’s portrait any further by thinking of him.

He never liked you being in the servant’s barracks. And for some reason, he never liked your bunkmate. Didn’t like Eli, who had never been anything but kind. Who was maybe your only friend.

“Just something off about him,” Vrar had said. “But you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

You had shaken your head. “I’m one of them,” you insisted.

“Oh, how could I have forgotten,” he deadpanned, “you and your criminal record of… what was it again? Stealing from your own farm to feed hungry children? Being too polite to a trooper?”

“Shut up,” you groaned. “Evading tariffs is considered very serious, I’ll have you know.”

When he was done teasing you, he had sobered right up. “I still don’t like it. Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“No, but I’m sure they wouldn’t trust someone dangerous as a caretaker.”

He hadn’t been so sure, but it’s not like they let just anyone work down here. You had done a stint upstairs for a while, like everyone else, serving drinks in the sponsor’s lounge.

After all, caretaker neglect could (and did) prematurely kill their stock. And it granted access to much more of the complex than most other roles.

When you deliver dinner, the Mandalorian speaks to you again. You try to take it in stride.

“If there’s another like him,” he says, voice like the creak of trees at night, “are you safe? Can you defend yourself?”

It’s not what you expected. You purse your lips, frowning as you weigh your answers. “Harming a caretaker is prohibited,” you say after a moment.

“That’s not what I asked.” It’s firm and compelling in a way you can’t explain. Maybe it's the regality that he can’t contain, a tone leftover from negotiating and persuading or whatever kings do.

“I don’t have to worry about being hurt by a fighter,” you say.

He hums, accepting your answer.

You wonder if he heard the unspoken words you swallowed back.

You eat with them again at Disdraa’s request, though it’s a quieter affair without Vrar’s booming voice. You find you don’t have it in you to joke around.

She takes mercy on you, setting aside her meal to regale the hall with a story from her childhood on Ryloth. It’s not a happy story, exactly, but it ends with hope.

You feel warm for the first time since Vrar’s death. “Thank you,” you murmur through her bars when you stand.

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “For what? I just like to hear myself talk, little bird.”

You make a show of returning the gesture, including the solemn smile she gave.

It wasn’t the story, really. It was the way it reminded you of home. When you would visit the families of the dead and dying. When they would share themselves while sharing their love, how they would leap to comfort despite their own grief.

Even for you, a stranger until that moment, someone they could easily hate for only arriving while someone was leaving.

But that was not the way of things for your people. They allowed you, for however small a time, to be the vessel for their loved one, to gather and hold the memories until you could spill them on your canvas. To stand between their spirit and the void of the forgotten.

To love and be loved, even fleetingly.

Did you wish that just once, that love would stay? That you wouldn’t love knowing it was to be lost? In the dark of night, though you’d never admit it, you ached for it.

next chapter

*title from "Prayer of the Refugee" by Rise Against

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #gladiator!din djarin #fic: live to rise #if you see me messing around with formatting again no u didn't #did I mention this was a slow burn? lol

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yanderes-galore · 4 months

Note

Hello! Happy Fazbear Birthday (again)!

Can I request a fluffy AU Mangle x reader? Maybe the Mangle has escaped and broke into the readers house one night. Imagine how horrifying it would be to hear a drip… drip… drip… sound, waking up and seeing a fluffy AU Mangle staring at you as it hangs off the ceiling, dripping blood in your floor!

Sure! Here's a short story I came up with what you gave me!

Breach

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Mangle Short

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Biting, Blood, Gore/Graphic descriptions, Clingy behavior, Forced companionship.

You aren't sure what woke you up first. All you know is when you turned over in your bed you realized something was wrong. The smell in your room was like if an animal brought in roadkill. You assumed it was outside your window.

That is until you hear the noises. The sounds of breathing and scratching. The sound of dripping liquid spilling onto a floor, carpeted or not. You open your eyes slightly.

Not fully conscious you feel something wet and warm drip onto your blankets. The dripping sound is muffled… you find yourself trying to sit up. It looks like something is dripping from your ceiling.

You look up… and see something you thought would never follow you home.

Your line of work was in the Afton Facility. A base of secret experiments on living mascots. This one… Mangle… was a failed one. You were only ever meant to feed them then leave.

You weren't at work when the breach happened. You had no idea Golden Freddy was so powerful he was able to escape and leave the facility in chaos. You had no idea of the carnage left behind.

You would never have expected Mangle, Toy Foxy 1.0, to break containment and look for you. How did they remember you? How did they get here? How did no one see it leave?

You wonder if they smelled you. It's a possibility… could they also find your file in the electronics? You weren't sure if you were impressed… or downright terrified.

This creature found comfort in your presence. Comfort to the point they made an effort to follow you home. Through bushes and in the shadows… the mess of flesh managed to find your home…

Then they made themselves at home on your ceiling.

You stare silently at the furred fox amalgamation, the white and pink fur stained red. Two eyes stare at you… from two different heads. The fox's snout is in a grin as they stare at you. It looks straight out of your nightmares.

For a long while, they don't do a thing. They seem to be admiring you. The fox is careful not to move much except to swivel their neck around to watch you. You're locked in a staring match.

You can't seem to say anything. Your mouth hangs open in shock. You feel the urge to retch occur when you realize there's a puddle of blood on your lap.

“Hey there, doc…” They growl playfully, both heads leaning closer. “Hope you missed me as much as I missed you, when you were gone things got quite intense!”

The fox still sticks to your ceiling as their long neck allows their main head to meet yours eye to eye. The grin never goes away. You feel paralyzed with fear, they're too damn close.

“I suppose it was a good thing… I never considered that place home.” The fox scoffs, looking away momentarily to see their other head before snapping back to you. “But with you? Anywhere is considered home!”

You don't hide the squeal that comes from your throat as they release from the ceiling and plop onto your bed. The sound is a disturbing splat and you try to roll off your bed. Unfortunately, the skeletal head they have chomps onto your clothes/skin before pulling you back. What's worse is it doesn't let go… even as the other head continues to speak.

“Where's the warm welcome…?” Mangle sighs, turning your head to meet their main one again.

“You aren't getting rid of me… so why not embrace me?”

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf 2 #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere mangle #yandere fluffy au mangle

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 5 months

Text

Hoody

Written for @hinnymicrofic December 2023 - Prompt 27

So - this got quite a lot smuttier than I expected! It isn't the first smut I've written but the first that I have posted here, and warnings do apply.

It is definitely NSFW, there is some fairly graphic sex and a bit of bad language. When it goes in AO3, It’ll be at least M rated. Consider yourself warned!

It also isn’t terribly Micro - though this seems to be a theme with my microfics!

Harry sits in the field hospital tent, stripped to the waist. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and he’s suddenly tired to his bones.

The mediwitch attending to him pokes and prods him with her wand. There’s a nasty slash, right through his robes and down his bicep. It’s deep. Diffindo, he thinks. It takes the witch a while to repair the muscle and close it up. Then there are a few more cuts and grazes, across his knuckles, along his cheekbone. When she’s done with all that, she checks the bruising that wraps around on his abdomen. It stretches over his stomach and obliques on his left hand side, and it’s already darkening rapidly. That one, he’s sure, was Bombarda. He winces as she palpates the soft, tender tissue.

“No internal damage,” she tells him, eventually. “Not much I can do for it I’m afraid.”

She hands him some pain potion, then confirms there’s no broken bones either, so that’s something. Merlin, he hates Skelegro.

“Am I good to go?” he asks. She nods. He puts the shredded, bloodied remains of his shirt and robes back on, thanks his ministering angel, and leaves the tent.

Three weeks, it’s taken. Three weeks to track, infiltrate and dismantle the potions gang. Three weeks of surveillance, disillusionment charms and setting up dummy buys. Three weeks since he’s been home. He misses Ginny and the boys - so much. But it won’t be long now. All he can think about is getting home, getting back to them.

But he isn’t quite done yet, because Robards is lurking outside the tent. Harry isn’t surprised. It’s standard operating procedure - do the debrief ASAP, while everything’s still fresh. He can’t even be pissed off about it, since he’s the one that wrote the standard operating procedures in the first place. At least there’s a mug of coffee for this bit. It’s shit coffee, but it’s hot, and it’s better than nothing.

He walks Robards through the whole thing. They’d got the bastards in the end, but not without one hell of a fight. Intel on the layout of the lab and warehouse facility hadn’t been totally accurate (bloody Dawlish. Harry would be having words), hence the fighting. And the field hospital.

When he’s finished, Robards gives him an appraising look. “Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last month?”

Harry shrugs. He’s been putting off thinking about this, using the excuse of needing to focus on the case. But that isn’t going to wash any more. “When do you need an answer?”

“I can give you to the end of the week. Then I’ll need to offer it to someone else.”

“Noted.” Harry presses his lips together, feeling conflicted. He hopes Ginny will understand why.

They sip their coffee in silence for a moment, then Harry asks Robards whether he has any spare forms for the custody paperwork. Robards takes pity on him. “Ah, get home to your wee lassie. I’ll sort it out for you.”

It’s almost eleven o’clock when he gets home, crunching up the path to the cottage from the apparition point in the dark. Lights on, though - Ginny’s still awake. Warmth spreads through his chest at the thought of seeing her.

He pushes open the door. She’s curled up on the sofa, wearing his old Gryffindor hoody, though it’s miles too big for her. Her legs are bare, hair pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head. She’s conjured a ball of soft yellow light to read by, and it’s hovering just over her shoulder, warming her skin and highlighting the freckles that dust her cheeks. He doesn’t think she’s ever looked better.

As soon as she sees him, she bolts off the sofa and hurls herself at him. “You’re back! Thank Merlin.”

“Yeah.” He breathes in the scent of her, warm and comforting and so familiar. Feels himself relax, letting go of tension he didn’t realise he was carrying. “I missed you. So much.”

She hugs him tighter, and he winces a bit. She feels it, and lets go, looks at him a bit more closely and clocks the blood on his cheek, the damage to his robe. “Oh fuck, Harry! Are you hurt?”

He shrugs. “A bit. But you should see the other guy.” It’s a shit joke, but she laughs anyway. “Seriously, I’m fine. Nothing major,” he reassures her. Not this time, anyway, he adds silently, pretty sure she’s thinking the same.

“Hungry?” she asks. “I could make some toast or something?”

He shakes his head. “I just need a shower. And some sleep.”

She nods, takes his hand and leads him up the stairs. Hands him a towel. He pokes his head into the nursery while she turns the water on for him, watches two little chests slowly rise and fall. It makes his own chest hurt a little. But in a good way.

He takes his time in the shower, scrubbing away dried blood, wondering how much of it is his. He thinks she might join him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she uses the loo and brushes her teeth. When he heads back to their bedroom, hair damp, towel wrapped around his waist, he finds her sitting on the mattress at the foot of the bed, facing the door. Her eyes land on the bruising on his side.

“That looks nasty.”

“Just superficial.”

She’s still wearing his hoody. He wonders what she’s wearing underneath it.

“Well now, Potter. Why don’t you come here and find out?” she suggests, which is when he realises he wondered out loud.

The answer, he soon discovers, as he tugs it up over her head, is a pair of knickers, pink striped cotton, and nothing else. She’s been sleeping like this, she explains. She feels closer to him that way.

“But I’d have made more effort if I knew you were coming home,” she laughs. Just at that moment though, he’s struggling to think of anything sexier, as he takes her hands and pulls her up to meet him craving the contact of her skin against his.

He drops kisses along her collarbone and runs his hands greedily down her back, until his fingertips meet the hem of her knickers, slips them down over her hips, revelling in the way his hands fit so perfectly over the curve of her bum. She sighs with relief, then nudges his chin aside, reaching up to find his lips with hers. Her mouth is soft and open and tastes of mint toothpaste, her tongue dancing against his, their kiss deep and insistent.

Her hands skate down his chest, and his skin feels so much more alive for her touch. She presses herself firmly against him, fingers dropping lower to tug away his towel, and god he’s missed her, missed this, so so much. He’s hard as hell, and she rocks up against him, making him twitch and gasp at the pressure.

He pushes her backwards until her calves make contact with the bed. She falls, sprawling across the blankets, giving him a filthy, lazy smile, eyes dark, daring him to join her. And well, he never could resist a challenge, could he?

He kneels over her, kissing his way up her thighs, feeling her shiver below him. Thinks about taking her over the edge with his mouth, but tonight, he wants to watch her, properly, and lets his fingers settle between her legs. This, he knows how to do, with a practised and familiar ease, and she’s so very ready for him. She breathes in sharply, burying her face into his shoulder as his fingers dance over just the right spot, side to side, with a steady pressure and rhythm. She pushes her head back, eyes closed tight, squirming against him, but he takes his time, bringing her closer and closer. Then he twists his hand so that his thumb is circling her, slipping two fingers inside, finding her slick and hot, and suddenly she’s there, throat and chest flushed red. She bites down a groan in the back of her throat to stop herself crying out, the way she always does since they had the kids, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fascination of watching her come apart like this.

“Please,” she whispers, and he can’t deny either of them any longer. He shifts his weight so that he’s above her and a moment later, sinks deeply into her, feeling her still pulsing all around him. She clings to him as he rocks back and forth inside her, muttering her name over and over into her ear, losing himself in the feel of her until he’s tumbling, uncontrolled into blissful oblivion. Suddenly, he feels the weight of three long weeks apart lifting. Now he feels whole again. Now he’s home.

Afterwards, they lie quietly together. He should be sleepy, but he isn’t. She’s nestled in against his shoulder, his arm curled around behind her, idly stroking the curve of her breast. They chat for a while about her work - the matches she’s covered, the frustrating office politics, an opinion piece on the new management at Puddlemere that he managed to read while he was on stakeout. She tells him that a glossy magazine wants to commission her for a series on the future of European Quidditch, and he tells her (again) how bloody proud he is of her.

“I wanted to tell you straight away.” She looks at him with a small, sad smile. “I hate it when you’re away.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “What if I wasn’t?”

“Wasn’t what?” she asks, her fingers intertwined with his, playing absentmindedly with his wedding ring.

“Away. Again. In the future I mean.”

She rolls away and props herself up on one elbow so she can look at him. She’s frowning - not in anger, just confusion. “What does that mean?”

He takes a moment, because he knows once the words are out, he can’t take them back. It stops being his problem, and starts being theirs, and he still struggles with what feels like burdening her - anyone, really - with his shit. He looks up at the ceiling.

“Robards offered me a job. A new one. A promotion, actually.”

“Okay. What sort of job?”

And so he tells her - how he’s been badgering Robards for months about hiring more people. Came up with a plan for how to do it and everything. How Robards took it to Kingsley, and Kingsley took it to the Wizengamot. “It’s massive, Gin. Too many people to just train on the job like before. There’s going to be this whole new training academy. And… and Robards needs someone to run it.”

“And that would be you?”

“If I say yes.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you want to do it?”

“I… I don’t know.” He searches again for the right words. “I love what I do right now. I love making a difference. Sometimes I think I’d miss it too much - being out there, catching the bad guys. It’s all I’ve ever done.”

“And the other times?”

He doesn’t reply straight away. Thinks about the slash to his arm, the bruising on his torso, Diffindo and Bombarda and shield charms a split second too late. Thinks about the two small boys asleep down the hall, about Ginny, warm and yielding, lying next to him. “I wonder why the fuck I haven’t bitten Robards’s hand off for it yet.”

He feels her laughter on his shoulder, just a puff of air. “I get it,” she tells him.

And then he realises - actually, she really does. He turns to look at her properly. “You miss playing?”

“Every day,” she nods. “But what I don’t miss is the residential training camps, the overseas exhibition match tours, every bit of my body aching, the constant bludger injuries. I certainly wouldn’t swap being here for the boys to go back to it. And also - I love writing as well. If I had to give it up now, I’d miss that too.” She reaches over and runs her hand down his jaw, fingers in his beard. “Different doesn’t have to mean worse, you know.”

And she’s right, isn’t she? Of course she is. She asks him to tell her more about it, so he does - his plans for recruitment, what the trainees should study, his ideas on how to mix practical and theoretical training.

She laughs at him. “Okay, Hermione, time to lay off the polyjuice.” He pretends to pout, but actually, it’s a fair cop. “You actually sound excited about it, you know,” she observes.

“I… I kinda think I am.”

She smiles encouragingly. “Harry, I’m not going to tell you what to do. We’re a team, and I’ll support you whatever you decide. For what it’s worth though - you’re a great teacher. The new recruits would be lucky to have you. And you being here, every night, with me and the boys, all of us together? Isn’t that what we always wanted?”

He’s quiet again. Then he grins at her. “You wouldn’t mind having me around a bit more?”

She laughs at the absurdity of the question. “I’d love it! Of course I would! We all would.”

“Okay then,” he tells her. “I’ll tell Robards tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, a soft breathy sort of laugh. Draws her back into his arms, knowing it’s all going to be okay. That with them, it always is.

#hinny microfic #hinny #harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #fanfic

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gyllenhaalstories · 7 days

Text

WE'RE NOT COWBOYS — DANNY SHARP

summary: danny likes his banks robberies short and sweet. he avoids collateral damage at all costs... most of the time.

warnings: reader is gender neutral! bank robbery, weapons, injury, blood, some sort of comfort/fluff mix? your guess is as good as mine. 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2515

gif credits: @/stephendorff (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i watched ambulance again and i could not resist writing whatever this is. 💵 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"Why is it taking so fucking long?" A man shouted from God knew where. "Where's Mel? Has anybody seen Mel Gibson?" More men answered 'no sir' in sync.

You sobbed, the pain stung so bad that even crying hurt. You were stuck in a cycle. The more you cried, the more it hurt and the more it made you want to cry.

A tall, bearded man stared down at you. He rubbed his knuckles, soothing the pain he caused himself by punching you in the face. You had taken him by surprise, squealing of fear while he hurried out of the vault with the last of the money and valued goods he stole. He took a better hold of his rifle, he tried to assess if your life was worth wasting a bullet on.

"I swear to God, I'm gonna kill that guy!" The first person spoke again and marked a pause before continuing, he chuckled while he specified his wish. "I won't! Okay? I won't. Not until today's precious cargo is safe and sound."

Nope, you were not worth it. He abandoned you by the bank tellers' desks, shaking like a palm tree in a storm.

"There you fucking are! Thought you got lost, that's not very Braveheart of you." You heard some mumbling you assumed came from the man who punched you. He received more reprimands and threats in exchange for his tardiness. "Do I have to tie you to one of those kiddy leashes so you don't run away? I saw some parents walk their child with that shit last week. Los Angeles, man... It'll drive you crazy!"

You heard instructions being given, the men were wrapping up and leaving the building. All men except for the one who's footsteps echoed louder and louder. You covered your mouth with your free hand, trying to be as quiet as you possibly could in this moment. You closed your eyes too, maybe if you could not see him then he would not see you. Wrong.

"Hi."

You ignored him, rocking yourself back and forth until another wave of pain made you wail.

"Hey, hey, hey. Listen to me. You're okay, you're fine."

You made the mistake of looking up and locked eyes with this man dressed in fancy attire. He looked like a manager with his tailored suit and dress pants, he even got a shiny name tag to go with it. You failed to read what the tag said.

"My name's Daniel," he offered you a smile you could barely decipher with your vision, blurry from the tears. "Everyone calls me Danny."

You did not budge, bloodshot eyes staring at his foggy figure.

"You're hurt." He noticed a drop or two of blood on your brow bone. "Who hurt you? Was it Mel Gibson?"

You nodded frantically, but stopped. It hurt too much.

"That fucker." He said under his breath, but covered it up with another disingenuous smile. "You stay there, okay? I'll be right back. Don't move."

He ordered you to stay immobile and you listened. Where would you go anyway? Maybe he had an army of Mel Gibsons out there. All you knew was that they swarmed in the bank, you froze in place and, because of your reaction (or lack thereof), you failed to follow the other workers and visitors when they were bunched up in a corner of the facility.

Danny speed-walked his way back to where he came from, instructing his men to leave without him. He'd be fine, there was just a small inconvenience he had to deal with.

The next thing you heard was his familiar footsteps hurrying back to you.

"Good job! You listened." His tone was somewhere in the middle of patronizing and comforting, but at this very moment you preferred to cling to his words and to do as he said. "I'll take a look, okay? Let me look at you." He crouched down.

You pulled your hand slowly away from the left side of your face, where you were punched. You flinched when Danny approached you.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. And I'm gonna make sure the guy who did this..." He looked at your wound then back into your eyes. "Pays for it. Got it?"

You nodded, slower this time than before. You figured out what he meant by that and the thought was sinister.

"Oh, poor little thing." He grinned, his facial expression softening when he assessed the gravity of your state. "It's just a black eye. You'll be fine."

You were starting to wonder what being fine meant to him.

"It won't hurt for long, trust me. I've gotten my fair share of those. I'm a little bit of a troublemaker." He winked at you and giggled.

The adrenaline rush started to drop, leaving you shivering.

Danny quickly noticed. He kept an eye on you, noticing how much you flinched and tensed up when he moved, while he took off his jacket and the black cashmere sweater he wore underneath. "Can ya feel that? It's soft. It's cashmere. I love cashmere." He draped the sweater over your body, hoping that it would stop you from shaking like a leaf. "I'll get you something for the pain."

Your mind began an epic race. If this guy was anything like the villains you saw in movies, he'd probably drug you or kill you the second he earned your trust. Oh God. He was earning it already! You were doomed, this was how it ended for you... Sitting on the dusty floor of the bank and being sweet talked towards your demise.

While your mind spiralled endlessly, Danny had searched the place around. He located a vending machine, probably destined for employees for their lunch break. Now, all he needed was a handful of coins. Lucky him, banks were full of coins. He scavenged through messy desks and even messier drawers until he found what he wanted. He headed towards the machine and, while waiting to select his desired item, he made a quick phone call to Castro.

"Mister Sharp, I can't do this right now! No, I'm not watching the soccer game. I'm just busy, the guys are arriving! What am I supposed to do? Okay, got it. I'll go! I'm coming! Yeah, I'll get a car! I'm running! Are you good? You seem stressed again. Stress is bad. I heard tea helped, have you tried to drink tea? Wait, how am I gonna make it back here? Mister Sharp? Do you need flamingos this time?"

You caught no word of that, despite how his employee was shouting through the phone, too busy listening to your own thoughts. Only Danny's silhouette walking towards you pulled you out of this misery.

He pressed a cold can of soda on the corner of your eye. "It will soothe the pain and you won't swell as much. First time getting punched, huh?" You shrugged, he took that as a yes. "I remember my first time... It was with my brother."

You frowned, the phrasing could not have been worse.

"No!" He yelled, clearing everything up. "I mean the first punch. He punched me. We were playing cowboys and he just popped one right in my face. He said it was an accident. I believe him. He became a Marine, maybe that moment inspired him."

You were not in the right state, both physical and psychological, to unpack what you just heard. Instead, you focused on the cold aluminum of the can and how it numbed the stinging pain.

"There's gonna be a car waiting for us soon. I'll take you back home? You can take something for the pain, lay down and sleep it off. It will turn different colours while it heals, but you'll look as pretty as ever in no time."

You swallowed the lump in your throat that was telling you to not trust him. He was a stranger. A dangerous stranger, at that. Your gut feeling rang all sorts of alarms, but still... You wanted to believe him.

"If anyone asks, you can tell them you were clumsy. Hit yourself while opening the cupboards. They'll buy it, people are so gullible."

The flag could not have been more red than that.

Speaking of red, there was a red reflection coming from the windows.

"There he fucking is, took him long enough." Danny sighed with a roll of his eyes. His demeanour changed radically when he aimed his attention back to you. "Think you can stand up? Here, let me help you." He offered you strong hands to pull you up.

Your legs were shaky, your knees barely held you up on your feet but you managed.

"I gotcha." Danny wrapped a solid arm around your waist, silently encouraging you to lean on him while he guided you towards the exit.

You held the soda can tightly, subconsciously preparing yourself to use it as a weapon if needed.

Danny's employee, Castro, held the door open for you. He drowned the both of you in a river of excuses before his boss could even speak a word. "T'was the only set of keys I found, sir! I made it as fast as I can like you told me to! I always listen so well, maybe not about the flamingos though... But you know, maybe one day you'll think of paying me more. I'm kinda like the employee of the month."

"Employees of the month wouldn't forget the first fucking rule! What is it Castro? We don't touch these cars." The two men repeated this last sentence together like a parent lecturing his child.

You looked around. Your gut was telling you to run while they were arguing, to run and save your life.

Danny's grip tightened around your waist, as if he guessed what went through your mind. He discarded of Castro, sending him off to God knew where again. He opened the door of the luxury car for you.

You sat down, let him buckle your seat belt. It oddly felt like you were a hostage he tied up to prevent you from running away. Perhaps because that was exactly what you were.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Where do you live? I'm taking you for a ride. How romantic!"

*~*~*

Danny sang along, badly if you dared to admit it, to the songs on the radio while he drove you back to your place. He parked the car and walked around to the passenger side. He most definitely overcompensated his insanity with chivalry.

You got out of the car and sighed of relief. He was right, people were gullible and you were the best example of it. "Hey, Danny." You handed him his sweater. "Thank you."

"You can keep it. As a souvenir." You sure would remember this terrifying day and you did not need an expensive cashmere sweater to remind you of it.

The two of you walked until you reached the front door. "Can you promise me something?" Danny hooked a finger under your chin and made you look in his direction. "You can keep a secret, can you?"

You nodded.

"Good. You seem like a trustworthy person."

You smiled faintly.

"Got a beautiful smile too." This hint of praise was not manipulative, well not intentionally. "Listen. We're not cowboys. Well... I'm not. I'm not a cowboy. I do things right. Nobody else got hurt today, you know? You shouldn't have gotten hurt." Danny brushed his finger gently over the bruise. "But you gotta promise me to keep this between you and I."

He felt you tense up, a breath getting caught in your throat.

"You have to. I know you can. I told you how to cover it up." It referring to the black eye, to the context and reason behind it, to this day that was taken straight out of some of your worst nightmares. "This is a day just like any other day for you."

You opened your mouth to disagree. All you wanted was to take some money out of your bank account and go about your day. You did not even get to do any of that and you got a nasty bruise as a bonus.

"By keeping this a secret, you're saving a life." He nodded slowly with a grin on his thin lips. "Yours." His eyes darkened and his smile faded. "We're not cowboys," he repeated. "I only wanted the money and I got it." He shrugged it off like it was nothing. "You don't want to become collateral damage, do you?"

You hoped there would be no other day like today.

"And you won't." He swayed between threatening you one second and, on the next, he was reassuring you. "As long as you promise me." Danny's hands, that were resting on your shoulders, dragged down your arms.

He held your hands in his, it stopped you from shaking. What was it about this man that felt so soothing? You had heard him scream at his legion of bad guys. Yet, with you, he was rather calm and composed. Almost caring.

"We got a deal? Ah, fuck, wait." He rolled his eyes, faking to have forgotten something. His other hand disappeared behind his back and, for one second yet again, you regretted not having trusted your gut feeling. You stared at a stack of cash, fresh out of the bank that he robbed not that long ago, that he pulled out from under the back of his belt. "Now. Do we have a deal?" He presented his pinkie finger to you, waiting for you to seal this promise.

You glanced at the money, then at his face. You were met with eyes as blue as the sky behind him. You locked your finger with his and took the money with you. "Deal."

He started to walk away, turning his back at you. You were left with an immense promise to keep, enough money to take your mind off it for a while... And a cashmere sweater that smelled of his cologne. "Danny!" You called out his name.

He turned to face you, too quickly to have time to put on a fake smile. Danny started to second guess if this whole thing... If you were a good idea. But you cut him short.

"Will I see you around?"

The smile that started to spread from ear to ear was anything but fake. "Fuck yeah, you will. On TV. they'll be talking about it on the news. Impressive, huh? I never get tired of that shit." He took a deep breath, his chest swollen with pride. It took him a moment to register the intention behind your question. He arched his brow, amused. "Oh, you want more of this?" He gestured towards himself.

You agreed to meet again.

He told you he'd pick you up in this same car, so you knew what to expect. It was fine when Danny broke the rules. He could break all the rules he wanted. He was not a cowboy, but he sure was an outlaw.

#jake gyllenhaal #danny sharp #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal imagine #danny sharp imagine #danny sharp fanfic

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citrus-moonlight · 5 months

Text

Danger Starts the Sharp Incline

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Demon!Klaue x Fem Scientist Reader Chapters: 1 of 1 Word count: 4.5K Rating: Explicit

Summary: At your scientific organization the study of demon energy output has become no less mundane than it would at any other research facility. That is until you find yourself trapped with the demon who has recently shifted in your thoughts from an idle curiosity to a distraction.

Warnings: Explicit Rating!, No Age Specified, PWP, One Shot, Smut, Let Me Be Clear: This Is Absolute Filth, Monster Fucking, Demon Fucking, Could be viewed as Dubcon, Implied Mind Manipulation, But to be clear reader is Into It, Pet Names, Touch Starved Demon, Oral Sex (Fem Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Big Hands I Know You're the One, Unprotected PIV, Size Kink, Squirting, A Lot of Demon Cum, Like A Lot, Cum Marking, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms (both), Overstimulation, Possessiveness

A/N: Once again, this was supposed to be a quick little smutty thing that ended up getting very, very away from me. This honestly could have been even longer (it was over 5.5k and counting at one point!), but I managed to reign myself in, lol. I almost feel like I have enough for a part two, so who knows, perhaps I'll revisit this AU one day in the future!

This was inspired by the first bit of this absolutely incredible demon/scientist blurb* by @biscuitdragonwithastick, which you should definitely read first (thank you for the ok to go ahead with this!). It fully dug its claws (pun intended?) into my brain and refused let me go. I couldn't stop thinking about a Demon!Klaue AU, and thanks to some lovely encouragement, this is the result!

Please, please mind the tags, my dears, and thank you for reading!

*Demon's name has been changed here to fit the AU

Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics ❤️

Work title is from "All Mine" by Portishead

AO3 Link

Make no mistake You shan't escape Tethered and tied There's nowhere to hide from me All mine You have to be

Klaw’s reaction continues to be noted by the higher-ups, and eventually it’s decided that they want to conduct an experiment, using you.

The next time you’re scheduled on the cleaning rotation they want to take the opportunity to determine if there’s a measurable difference in output and chemical composition - before and after you’ve been in the room with him.

“Just consider what it might mean to the future of energy research”, they’d said. “It could lead to the discovery of a demon-sensitive pheromone additive that boosts energy output across the board.”

Although you flush at the outward acknowledgement of what’s been happening, you can’t deny that it intrigues you.

Especially since you had started dreaming about him.

Since you’d stopped being able to control how wet you got when you observed him.

Since the self-consciousness you’d felt at the sidelong glances of your colleagues had started feeling like something else.

Something like pride.

* * * * * *

Two days later you’re scheduled for the night shift alone, with not much else to do but make the occasional note in the shift log and wait for the alarm that indicates the mare’s collection tank is full. So you wait.

And watch.

For the first time you have a chance to really just look at him, and you’re finding it difficult to pay attention to the instruments that you should be monitoring. Your eyes instead are continually drawn back to the observation window and the thick mop of black curls that falls across his forehead where his horns emerge, sharp features are framed by the scruff of a dark beard, and an intriguing mix of tattoos, brands and scars play across the planes and curves of his body.

Although his muscles aren’t as chiseled as many of the demons you've observed in this facility his shoulders and arms are thick, and you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes follow the dark hair that covers his broad chest and abdomen down to where it meets the wiry hair at the base of his cock.

A slick warmth has been slowly pooling between your thighs since you settled into your chair at the beginning of the shift, but as you watch the bored pumping of his hips fall into a smoother, swaying rhythm, that warmth ignites.

Widening his stance, hooved feet brace on the floor as he pulls out further before thrusting back in, letting you watch his cock slide slowly back into the machine’s opening, burying himself with a jutting roll of his hips, over and over. Almost teasing.

Almost taunting.

This could be you.

It’s only when Klaw drags his hands along the metal “body” of the mare that you notice it: The claws of the first three fingers of his right hand seem to be…gone?

With a flicker of concern you flip a switch on the console, using the camera to zoom in.

Ok, no, they’re not gone per se, but they’re definitely shorter, nearly down to the quick. Was it an accident? Did they break in a fervor as he fucked the contraption?

Frowning at the screen your mind turns over the possibilities, but before you can think to add the peculiarity to your notes your thoughts fizzle away when you glance back up to the observation window and see that he’s watching you.

As soon as your eyes meet his the tease in his movements falls away and he’s bottoming out hard against the opening in a rough, stuttered rhythm as his eyes cloud over, and you know from past observation that he’s nearing the edge.

Your inner muscles clench and the ache that’s been building since you walked in here swells and overlaps with a flaring jealousy when Klaw shudders and growls, filling the receptacle with another thick load of his seed.

You don’t even realize that you stood up until you feel the cool glass of the observation window beneath your palms, your breath fogging the surface as you press yourself against the barrier.

There’s still a slow, uneven cadence to the demon’s thrusts following his climax, but his gaze swiftly sharpens on you again when one of your hands drifts idly across your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the top button of your pants-

-and then you jump when a shrill sound interrupts you, nearly growling at the surge of frustration.

The alarm is piercing and incessant and won’t stop until you enter the demon’s room, so you return to the control panel to activate the sigil that will keep him contained while you clean and recalibrate the machine - tests having shown that a laser projection of the correct wavelength of light is just as effective as a physical binding.

Once you’re through the airlock you quickly set to working through the checklist, unhooking the mechanism that feeds into tanks in the floor and connecting it to a fresh one. You move on to cleaning the unfeeling hole that the demon fucks into day in and day out, your breath going shallow at the jealousy that continues to singe your nerves.

His gaze stays entirely focused on you as you move around, cock swaying heavily in front of broad thighs - still hard, always hard - the still leaking head so dark it’s nearly purple.

The slick between your thighs has only increased since you started to work, fairly certain that you’ve soaked through your panties at this point, and when you have to pass closer to his “cage” he leans forward, nearly pressing himself against the barrier as he follows your path.

Inhaling deeply his cock twitches, more cum dripping from the tip as he ruts at the air, and you can't help but wonder if he’s picking up your frustrated arousal.

“Hurry up.” you chide yourself. “Stop getting distracted. Just finish your shit and get out.”

Kneeling down behind the machine you open the access panel and flip through the menus until you find the one that will complete the calibration, and while you’re focused on watching it cycle you don’t notice the outer door open from the hall into the observation room.

The intern who enters must not see you where you’re kneeling on the floor, and evidently thinking that the trap has been left on in error he flips the switch to deactivate it.

When the light from the beaming sigil goes dark you pop up in alarm, the face of the intern frozen in an almost comedic grimace of horror when he finally registers that you’re staring back at him from the wrong side of the glass.

The man reaches for the switch again but Klaw’s reflexes are faster, and before the trap can be reactivated the demon rushes the door. Slamming his shoulder against it he jams it so thoroughly they'll need to bring in special equipment to get it open again, but at this time of night it'll be hours, if you’re lucky, before a crew gets here.

Then he rounds on you.

With an oddly warm sense of detachment you think that you should feel fear as you watch the slow grin spread across his face, but the only thing you feel is a surge of hot, aching desire.

He rumbles something you don’t understand, though the rough texture of his words is still intoxicating, and before you realize what you’re doing you’re walking towards him, pulling your shirt over your head as you move.

Because right now you find that you want - need - to bare yourself for him, the sensation of it intense that your skin feels like it’s going to scald if you don’t get your clothes off now, and your shoes, pants and underwear quickly join the discarded pile on the floor.

Stopping in front of him you reach back to unclasp your bra, but your arms pause mid-way when Klaw’s hand reaches out, your breath hitching when he hooks a large, clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his.

You’d always assumed that his eyes were black, but this close you realize that they’re actually an impossibly deep blue, a blue that only resides along the penumbra of light and shadow where the last rays of sun reach into the depths of the ocean

You stand mesmerized as his hand dips lower, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh as a claw trails gently down the delicate skin of your neck and chest, and then with a flick of his wrist the last scrap of fabric covering you gives way, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

You’ve barely shrugged off the ruined garment when suddenly you’re being picked up - so, so easily - and placed on a table, swiftly reminded of how much larger and stronger he is than you, and once again dimly aware that you should feel fear, or dread, or some instinct telling you to run.

Not of the shiver of anticipation that leaves your breath hitching in your chest.

Definitely not the wild need blooming in your core as sharp teeth ghost along the place where your blood thrums, his breath hot and his skin hotter.

His mouth continues its path downward, pausing to lick at the soft swell of your breasts, taking a moment to pull and pluck at your nipples with his lips. A pleased growl vibrates against your skin when you lean back onto your hands with a moan, arching into the swirl of his tongue around your pebbled flesh.

It’s not long, though, before he can no longer ignore the way this increases the heated musk between your thighs, leaving behind a wet trail of saliva as his mouth travels down, seeking the place where you’re already dripping for him.

The demon's hands nearly wrap entirely around your thighs yet his touch is almost cautious as he presses you open, mesmerized by the way you unfold for him like the petals of a flower, slick and shining.

HIs eyes are heavy lidded as thick fingers begin to tease through your folds, toying with your clit, surprising you with how softly he rolls it between thumb and forefinger, a grin curving the corner of his mouth when your hips buck into his touch.

Noting your reaction he repeats the motion, gently pinching and rolling the sensitive bud until your mouth drops open and your breath is coming in sharp gasps, his dark eyes staying fixed between your legs as thick fingers coax a warm, honeyed orgasm from you, leaving you keening and startled by the slow intensity of it.

You’ve barely caught your breath when you feel his mouth suddenly envelop your mound, lapping eagerly at your release as you whine and writhe beneath his tongue, overwhelmed at the stimulation.

It’s too much, all of this is too much, but as he continues licking and suckling at your sensitive flesh you find that you’re no longer fighting it, the hum of bliss that hadn’t yet faded already building to a fresh swell, and when his lips capture your clit with a sudden fluttering pressure your body stiffens as your second orgasm flares through you, sharper and brighter than the first.

When he finally releases you he speaks again, but through the haze of afterglow it takes a moment for it to register that this time you think that you understand him, the word seeming to appear within your mind at the same time that you hear it from his glistening lips.

“Sweet.”

With a start you look down at him and he pauses, head tilting, curiosity knitting his heavy brows.

Not moving his eyes from yours, his voice is a low, tentative purr when he speaks again.

“Would your sweet cunt like..more?”

Holy fuck. You can understand him.

Your thoughts spin as the shock works its way through you, the analytical part of your mind attempting to parse what the fuck is happening. Is it the increased time in his proximity? The physical contact? Whatever the mechanism, you can suddenly hear- or perhaps more accurately feel - his words, somewhere deep in your conscience.

A firm nod, then, in answer to his question, a responding pull of his lips into a slow, pleased grin.

Dipping his head Klaw licks a broad, wet stripe up your cleft, and then he’s devouring you, slavering hungrily against your sex, drool mixing with your arousal as his lips and tongue work your aching bundle of nerves until you’re gasping shallow breaths, every muscle strung taught as you hover on the edge once more.

Seeking for an anchor your hands find his curved horns, warm and leathery beneath your scrabbling fingers, and then with a rasping cry you’re coming in long, surging waves, your entire body trembling as your hips chase every flutter of pleasure on the tip of his tongue.

Dimly you think that he must be satisfied now, that you must be satisfied, yet it seems as though with every climax you only hunger more intensely for the next.

Once your hands release his horns and fall limp at your sides Klaw straightens up, and then wrapping his hand around his cock he starts roughly stroking himself.

Almost without thinking your legs fall open, shaky arms pulling your knees back to expose yourself to him, knowing he can see how your soaked cunt still clenches through the last waves of your orgasm, and it’s only a few more strokes before he’s coming with a rough jerk of his hips and you gasp at the heat, thick ropes of cum streaking across your slick folds and the insides of your thighs.

Still breathing hard, the pumping of his fist gradually slows, a hand drifting along the curve of your inner thigh as his focus comes back to you. Gathering some of the sticky mess he left between your legs he drags it through your folds, and then suddenly a thick finger is sliding into you.

Even as you gasp at the intrusion you begin to understand that he had actually done it on purpose: Biting down those claws himself because, it seems, he had been thinking about this.

The realization that it was for you leaves your entire body humming, and as your hips cant up to meet the slow, almost teasing thrusts, there’s only one word that swells and ripens in your mind, uncertain whether it’s your word or his even as it falls from your lips.

“More.”

A knowing glint flashes in his eyes at your soft plea, and almost immediately you feel a second finger slipping against you. Just teasing his fingertips at your entrance at first he lets your juices slick them before pressing into you, both fingers together nearly as thick as a human cock.

You moan as he continues to slide them in and out of you, and just as you begin to sink into the ache of it, you moan low in your throat when suddenly he’s adding a third.

The heady pressure of him working three fingers into your already stretched hole is overwhelming, and you’re unsure whether you want to throw yourself towards the sensation or resist it, your body arching into him, yet tensing and pulling away at the same time.

But then he’s pressing you down onto the table, his hand nearly spanning the width of your chest to hold you in place as his fingers continue nudging deeper.

“Where are you going, little one? Going to have to take it if you want my cock."

As if to emphasize his words he drags his erection against the inside of your thigh with a grunted sigh, a fresh streak of precum adding to the mess that he’s already left on you.

Because of course you do, and he knows it, has known it since you stopped being able to look away from his hunched form as he fucked into his mechanical mate, a warm curiosity growing into a distracting need.

And you know that he could have taken you at any time, could have forced himself into you as soon as your clothes were a forgotten pile on the floor. But instead, he’s been preparing you to take him properly, making you come until the only thing you know is his mouth and his fingers and you’re soft and trembling and ravenous.

“God yes.” You spread your legs wide again, giving him an obscene view of where his fingers are sinking into you, slick sounds filling the room as they pump faster now.

“There you go.” He croons above you. “Made for this, hmm?"

Any attempt at a response trails into a choked cry when he finds that soft, needy spot deep inside you, a fresh, pulsing heat spreading through your already exhausted body as he takes you apart once more. Still pinned beneath his hand you’re unable to do anything but allow it to wash through you, shaking and whimpering as he continues to drag firm, curling strokes against your clenching walls.

Leaning down Klaw presses his face into your heaving chest, and your nipples tighten and ache as he licks languorously between your breasts, his huffed breath is hot against your skin.

As your senses filter back in your hands slowly begin to move, exploring the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders, trembling fingers tugging and sliding through his hair, and then up and over his horns again.

Letting your eyes slip closed you take in the ridged curve of them, a velvety pleasure blooming in your chest when he inhales sharply, cock throbbing against your thigh when your fingers wrap around the base of them.

Finally pulling his fingers out of you he tugs you up, turning around and repositioning you so that you’re straddling his broad hips as best you can. Strong hands support you, encouraging you to slide your slick folds along his shaft, a giddy sort of panic stuttering in your chest at the sudden awareness of the size of him where he twitches between your thighs.

Desperate whines that may as well be prayers slide from your throat when he lifts you higher and you feel the thick, bulbous head of his cock nudging against your entrance, the only words falling from your lips a whispered litany of “Oh my god oh my god oh my god."

“I’m not your God, little one,” he growls softly, words distorted as if you're hearing them through a sediment of granite and blood. "But you will worship me."

“Yes. Yes..Oh fuck, please.”

Beneath your lilting plea you dimly hear gritted curses and words of encouragement as you circle your hips, your arousal making a slick mess of his cock.

You can't help how eagerly your hips rock down, seeking more, so lost in the sensations that you're unprepared when a hard press of your hips matches his upward thrust, and the thick head of his cock suddenly ruts up into you, and when he slips past the tight ring of muscle the feral sound from deep in your chest nearly matches his.

Panting open mouthed you hold him there before rising up, slowly, slowly, letting him slip out of you before sinking down to take him back in. You feel weightless beneath the obsidian glint in his eyes as he watches you repeat the motion again, and again, his arms helping you move as you start to shake from the effort of riding just the head of his cock.

Even now there’s something warm and urgent drawing your hand lower, and you’re unable to help feeling pleased when his eyes go heavy as his gaze follows your fingers down to where they press against your clit.

“So..needy.” he rumbles. “Better than I imagined.”

“You..imagined?” You pant, attempting to sound coy, but your words are thick with lust as you continue to roll your hips, forcing yourself down further down his length.

Your movements are becoming less controlled now, and when your fingers slip and brush against his shaft you whimper at how fucking big he feels where he's stretching you open, and how much of him is still outside of you.

You can feel every slick ridge and vein beneath your hand, and as you slide it along his length the muscles of his thighs tense and flex beneath you, his breathing going rough as your messy strokes continue.

“Look at you taking my cock,” Klaw grits, the demon’s hips beginning to stutter up in short, sharp thrusts. “Such a good little pet.”

His words trail into a low growl that vibrates through your body as you feel a hard throb beneath your hand, and then heat.

You gasp, continuing to writhe as he spills into you, coating your inner walls with his thick seed, and almost you feel as though you could come again just from the heat of it.

Fuck, you need more of that.

Need it deeper.

Even as the pulsing beneath your fingers slows he doesn't stop moving, finally coming inside of you seeming only to have tipped his need to fevered desire. Holding you in place he thrusts up harder, dislodging your hand, and you can feel his spend leaking out of you, dripping down the insides of your thighs and slicking his still hard cock as he continues to drive deeper, no longer letting you set the pace.

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He taunts, voice still a rough half-whisper after his orgasm. “Could feel it when you watched me. Wanted me to fill your little cunt, hmm?”

“Yes.” You let out a growled sob, jealous anger surging through you. ”That..thing, doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

A flame crackles in Klaw’s eyes at your heated words, and you wonder with a jolt of awareness whether he hasn’t been just as desperate for this as you have, longing for you as he remained trapped in the torment of a cold, unfeeling machine. Driven purely by instinct, chasing his release over and over again but never being truly satisfied.

The sudden realization that you could give that to him floods you with almost as much pleasure as the agony of being filled with his cock.

You’ve barely processed the thought when you suddenly find yourself with your back once again pressed against the cool metal of the table, Klaw only pulling out of you briefly before thrusting back in, harder.

He continues a slow, controlled rhythm, both of you panting hard as you feel yourself softening around him, becoming more pliant as your body relents to every stroke until with a final arching rock of his hips your cunt is completely stretched and full, everything so impossibly tight that you can’t even clench around him.

He's never felt anything quite like you, the achingly tight grip of your pussy leaving him nearly breathless as he holds himself as deep as he can, huffing and grunting like a bull while he watches you writhe and spasm beneath him.

Then he starts to fuck you.

He tries to keep his strokes firm and measured at first, but he can’t hold back anymore and it's not long before his chest is heaving, lips curled in a snarl, and it feels as though you're being split open as he pulls you back onto his cock in time to meet every thrust.

A scarlet thread runs through every cell of your soft animal body, stringing tighter and tighter as pleasure builds to the edge of breaking but then surging higher, a fresh ecstasy building on every peak.

The tightening grip around your waist signals the absolute loss of his control and when you hiss at the sudden piercing bite of his claws he moves his hands to brace on the table instead, his broad body forcing your legs back towards your shoulders as he leans down over you, driving his cock as deep as he can get into your willing heat until he’s grunting and drooling above you.

A divine bliss slides through your veins as you lie beneath him, caught between the trammel of his arms, and as you watch his base instinct take over you begin to understand that only fools could believe that lust is a sin.

And even if it was, even if you were offered perfect grace in this moment, you know with absolute certainty that you would refuse.

An infernal dam is finally swelling to breaking as you surrender to every relentless thrust of his cock, your wailed sobs the only sounds you can make as an impossible pressure ripples through your core, and with a deep throb you suddenly feel a drenching heat as your release washes over his cock and your thighs.

“There you go.” Klaw growls. “Make a mess for me, little one.”

This seems to be his final undoing, and as you continue to soak his cock his thrusting goes ragged until with rough groan he’s coming deep inside you, stilling himself to keep the head of his cock pressed against the deepest part of you, making sure that you feel every hot, throbbing pulse of his cum as it fills you.

Keeping himself seated deep he rocks slow grinding thrusts into the slippery mess he’s made of his you, the lust that’s had no real outlet finally finding satisfaction in the way your clenching cunt is milking his cock, in the gentle swell of your belly as he pumps you full of his seed.

You’re a sweaty, twitching mess beneath him, and as much as you wish you could you’re unable to take all of it, can’t help how it spills out around his cock where you’re stretched and sore, how his cum and yours drips down your swollen sex to pool beneath you on the table.

His hands don't stop moving over your body, cupping your breasts, grasping at you hips, sliding over the ripe swell of you where he can feel you filled with his cock and his cum. Vaguely aware of soft grunts mixed with mumbled praise, you don’t register what he’s saying at first through the haze of euphoria.

“Going to be mine.” he rumbles, between languorous strokes. ”My little queen.”

“Mine.”

* * * * * * *

The room is warm and flickering, silken sheets decadent beneath your fingers, your body thrumming with a heated anticipation that never seems to fade, now.

Rough hands lift your hips as your demon mounts you from behind, a hand placed firmly between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

A panting whine slides from your throat as he spreads you open, the thick head of his cock prodding your entrance, pleased to see you’re still dripping with his seed from the last time he filled you. And he doesn’t like leaving you empty for very long.

“Say it again, little one.” Klaw growls softly, holding himself still. Waiting.

“Yours.”

You sigh, a smile curling around the word as he pushes into you.

“I’m yours.”

A/N: As ever, thank you for reading! This was definitely a bit outside my comfort zone, but I hope you enjoyed this filthy little foray into monster fuckery. 😊

#monster x f reader #demon x f reader #demon!klaue #ulysses klaue x reader #ulysses klaw x reader #x reader #monster fucking #demon fucking #ulysses klaue smut #ulysses klaue #fanfiction

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garadinervi · 9 months

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Brice Marden: These paintings are of themselves, Gagosian, New York, NY, 2022

Contributor: Eliot Weinberger Designer: Graphic Thought Facility

Exhibition: November 13 – December 18, 2021

#graphic design #art #drawing #visual writing #mixed media #exhibition #catalogue #catalog #cover #brice marden #eliot weinberger #graphic thought facility #2020s

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magewolf-the-artist · 1 month

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Ahh, Charles Brook my beloved

1. Me when I first started drawing this doodle dump: Oh golly gee brain, what should we draw first? My brain: Charles on a toddler leash with Susan holding it and looking tired Me: Wowie sounds fun! Yeah this doodle pretty much summarizes their dynamic in the Domestic K-9 AU

2. There's a graphic description of somebody being killed in the next paragraph so feel free to skip over it

To make a long-ish story short, Charles was snooping around the backstage area as his daughter, Lily's, birthday was wrapping up, he found Susan on death's door inside the Banny animatronic and freaks tf out, Bon finds him and they play a terrifying little game of hide and seek, and just as Charles thinks he's fine, WHAM! His faces gets smashed into the floor by Bon, turning his skull into a fine mush and killing him pretty much instantly. Ironically in this AU at least, his death was the most merciful because he at least got the insta-kill treatment rather than suffering through hours or days of agony. I imagine in death, his face kinda sags forward. Kinda like a bag of sand taped to a wood plank.

3. So semi-recently I think, Charles was confirmed to have ADHD, and I saw some doodles by @xzbat-loverzx about one of him stims being clicking a pen and I thought, "Ah yes, perfect". Not really a ton else to this doodle, except I can imagine BSI employees constantly leaving pens and pencils behind whenever they stay at the K-9 Facility

4. This one is my favorite and the one I'm the most excited to explain!

So the first few weeks or so at the K-9 facility was, to put it lightly, a fucking nightmare for Charles (and Rosemary but I'll cover that another time). He was constantly eaten away by guilt, shame, anger, fear, and sadness and generally he was an incoherent, delusional wreck, even on his good days. At some point he managed to get it into his head that he could break out of the facility by body slamming the walls which, A, they are made of solid concrete, and B, even if he did break them, he'd be greeted by an avalanche of dirt. But again, he wasn't really in his right mind at the time

Susan was kind of in a hell of her own during that time considering she'd have to be the one to repair him afterwards. Those episodes are actually the reason the plastic casing on the Boozoo animatronic's upper right arm and the left hand is missing, because at some point they sustained so damage that they just fell off. Susan didn't exactly have a ton of patience for this, and his incoherent babblings whenever she would pull him away would only make her more pissed off. This isn't entire fair to him of course, as he is not at all in his right mind, but in fairness to her, the idiot would slam himself into the walls whenever she took her eyes off of him for even a SECOND, even if it was just to retrieve tools or spare parts from the tool closet.

Eventually what happens is that Susan convinces Bon to hold him down while she goes over to the tool closet and retrieve whatever thing she needs, idk man, I'm not into robotics. When she gets back, Charles is unusually quiet and Bon is trying not to laugh his ass off. Oddly enough, he doesn't take the opportunity to make some snide comment or mock either of them while she works, he stares at the both of them silently.

Once that's done, Susan very begrudgingly thanks him for the help and, with possibly the most shit eating, Cheshire cat, smug as fuck grin, Bon replies, "That's what friends are for." And then she smacks him.

#the walten files #walten files #susan woodings #twf fanart #twf banny #twf bon #charles brook #the walten files fanart #twf boozoo #twf #twf susan #twf charles #Domestic K-9

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lambtotheslaughterr · 29 days

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I Burn : Part Six

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.7k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART FIVE | MASTERLIST | PART SEVEN

Later that night, you decided to hide out in your room. After Rafe’s suggestive thoughts, all you wanted was to be alone. You had ignored Dr. Mooney’s concerned looks as you loaded into the van, & pointedly ignored Rafe’s sat ahead of you in the van. Rafe was wrong. You didn’t feel tugged between two men, you felt like a piece of meat. Whether it was true or not, Rafe had planted the seeds in your mind. Now, you didn’t feel like you could be open towards Dr. Mooney. And that was a major loss as you felt Dr. Mooney was the one man in your life who didn’t sum you up to be a harlot. He cared about you, more than your own father did. But after what Rafe said… You didn’t know who you could trust.

You skipped dinner that night, instead using that time to write in your journal that Dr. Mooney had given you. But you weren’t writing because you were feeling the burn. You wrote about everything that Rafe had told you. How you felt confused, betrayed, troubled. And after filling out a couple pages, you reread what you wrote & that’s when you realized something major. Recovery was working. You were disappointed that a trusted man wanted you, if it were true. You may have felt that brief burning at the beach, but it ultimately died out. You didn’t want Dr. Mooney to want you, not like you had when you first came to the facility. You wanted him to respect you, to be proud of you.

Though the epiphany brought a sense of comfort & a smile to your face—you were getting better—it too brought doubt. About your future here. How could you continue your one-on-one sessions with Dr. Mooney now that you would be reading into every word he said, every action he took towards you. Rafe had gotten into your head & that burned.

You resolved that you would avoid Rafe for the rest of your time here. He had never done anything to help you. He tempted you, pushed you to embrace your addiction rather than fight against it. Rafe didn’t care about you, that much had become obvious to you. In the beginning, you had been drawn to him, regretfully. And he took advantage of it. As you reflected on the last couple weeks: how he got into your head on his first day, his rejection of you at the community garden, cornering you in the hall closet, even following you into the quiet room. Rafe was bored, like everyone else was under that rood. You were only a toy to him. So, fuck him.

As you were sitting at your desk, your back to the door, you heard a gentle rap on the doorframe. You turned in your seat, dreading that it would be object of your endless thoughts, but you were pleasantly surprised that it was Albert.

“Hey.” Albert was holding a plate of food. “You weren’t at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you food.”

“Oh,” you stood up awkwardly, tossing your journal onto the desk, “thanks, Albert.”

You gestured for him to come inside & he did, offering you the plate. You took it but placed it on the nightstand by your bed. Your appetite was still non-existent.

“You alright?” He asked, but you knew he only asked since the answer was obvious.

You shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“What’s going on?” Albert leaned against the opposite wall, his hands in his pockets as he stared concerningly at you.

“I don’t know.” You repeated, avoiding his eyes. Though you didn’t trust Rafe & now Dr. Mooney, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to place your trust in someone else.

“Something happened at the beach.” Albert commented without question. “Didn’t it?”

Your eyes briefly met his before you shook your head, “Just the same old bullshit. You know how it is.”

“Sure.” Albert nodded but he didn’t appear convinced, “But I don’t like Rafe, don’t trust him. And he had to of said something to upset you. You were quiet in the van.”

Damn Albert & his too observant behaviors.

“It’s really not your business.” You soured.

Albert half-scoffed, half-laughed but he wasn’t amused.

“You need a friend.”

“I have friends.” You replied sternly, “Ones that aren’t addicts & life ruiners.”

“Wow.” Albert cocked his head, “Ouch.”

Guilt flooded you immediately. This was Rafe’s doing. Your walls & distrust because of him were now being directed at people who didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, holding your head in your hands, “You’re right. I do need a friend.”

Albert waved away your apology, replacing it with a sympathetic smile, “Talk to me, dude. Anything you say will stay between us.”

“And Siena? You won’t go running to her with the gossip.” Albert & Siena had become attached at the hip in the last couple weeks. In fact, you were surprised she wasn’t in your bedroom with the two of you.

Albert chuckled, “I love Siena. And I love Siena because she couldn’t give a shit about any of the drama surrounding others.”

“That’s not a confirmation that you won’t say anything.” You teased, but there was an undertone of seriousness.

“I won’t say a word.” Albert promised.

So, you told Albert everything. While Dr. Mooney wasn’t allowed to indulge others about your sessions & what the two spoke about, the same couldn’t be said for you. You informed Albert about your struggles, Dr. Mooney’s support, Rafe’s mind-fucking, & finally, about what Rafe had told you about Dr. Mooney at the beach. By the time you were finished, you looked to Albert for comfort, or at least some sense of what you should do.

But Albert’s silence unsettled you.

“What?” You frowned.

Albert looked at you once then sighed, standing up from where he was sat beside you on your bed, “I, uh, heard something the other night.”

“What did you hear?” You questioned.

“These walls,” Albert pointed to the walls of your bedroom, “they aren’t that thick. Voices carry.”

You just watched him as he appeared to struggle to tell you what he was trying to.

“My room is next to Rafe’s. And one night, pretty late actually, just before light’s out, I heard another voice from inside Rafe’s room.”

“Okay…”

Albert stared solemnly at you, “It was Dr. Mooney.”

Dr. Mooney? He was never at the facility that late. Why would he…?

“He was warning Rafe to stay away from you.”

That heart in your stomach feeling returned with a vigor.

“But that doesn’t mean anything…” You tried to pitifully defend your doctor, despite your own negative feelings towards him.

“I didn’t think so either at the time. I thought it was strange that he was confronting a patient in their room, especially that late at night. And honestly, I was siding with him. I mean, I’ve said it myself to Rafe, to stay away from you, so I thought Dr. Mooney was just looking out for your best interests too but…”

When he paused for a lengthy amount of time, you pushed, “But what?”

“But” Albert sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t know. After what you just told me, perhaps Rafe is right. What Dr. Mooney did, or how he did it, was out of character for someone in his position. Seems personal now.”

You swallowed your discomfort. Could it actually be possible that Rafe was telling the truth? The potential made your head swim sickeningly.

“Oh, god.” You held yourself, pressing your face into your arms.

Albert noticed your change in body language, returning to his spot beside you. He placed a hand on your back, rubbing circles there, “Look, I could be wrong! I hope I’m wrong. And Rafe could’ve just twisted the conversation to get in your head.”

“But you heard it yourself, Albert! Rafe even has you questioning…” You sighed in frustration, “Everything has gone to shit.”

Albert offered a small smile, but it did little to make you feel better, “I feel like I just made things worse.”

“No.” You rushed out, “You didn’t. You helped. I just… don’t know what to do now. Do I tell my parents?”

Albert dropped his hand at that, seemingly deep in thought.

“What now?” You asked exasperated.

“You’re just making me remember something.”

“Well, what?!” Albert’s pauses were beginning to get on your nerves. If he was here to ease you, he wasn’t succeeding.

“It was just gossip at the time, there was no proof of it & all speculation, as far as us patients went.” Albert began, “But when I was here the first time, a year ago, there was a rumor that Dr. Mooney was sleeping with one of the patients. She was here one day then gone the next. No good-bye party or anything. Just gone. And then Dr. Mooney was gone, too. ‘On vacation’, they said. But I don’t know. The timing was concerning.”

You frowned.

“We thought that maybe they were just saying he was on vacation while they investigated, but of course we never heard anything else, if there even was an investigation. If it was even true.”

Your head was spinning. You felt nauseous.

“But he came back. And everything was normal. He was his normal self. All the nurses & other doctors still treated him like they had before he left. That’s why it was just gossip. People could’ve just been bored, coming up with their own theories & that’s just the one that stuck.”

You shook your head, “You should go.”

Albert wasn’t helping. When you got back to the facility from the beach, you were already exhausted from the information Rafe fed you, & now Albert was feeding into that more so.

“_____?”

You stood up, “I’m sorry, Albert. I’m tired. I just need to be alone.”

Albert frowned but said nothing, just nodded & stood up, “I really didn’t mean to make things worse.”

You nodded but couldn’t say anything further. Once Albert crossed your threshold, you slammed the door shut. Then you dragged yourself down against the door until your butt met the cool floor.

What the fuck was going on?

Today was a bad day. It was one thing to have to face Albert, Rafe, & Dr. Mooney in group session, but it was another thing to have it observed by Dr. Frazer. He was the head doctor & director of Arrowhead. Whenever he came around, which wasn’t often, everyone felt restless. He had steely eyes, a stiff stance, & hardly spoke a word. Just quietly observed.

That day in group session, you forcefully placed yourself between Siena & Renee, not wanting to sit near any of the men, but that only meant you were forced to look at them. You felt you couldn’t win for as long as you were trapped in the facility.

And today’s group session topic had been brutal. Discussion surrounded how your addiction harmed those closest to you. Renee, as usual, never took the questions seriously, always giving short, brief answers. Albert & Siena were thoughtful in their responses, humbling in nature & self-reflective of their recklessness. But when it came to be your turn, you felt like you would projectile vomit over everyone.

“Um.” You felt your hands shaking, so you hid them between your thighs, “I think the person who has been effected the most by my addiction is my dad.”

You kept your eyes low, unable to look anyone in the eye. Too scared to.

“Because of what I did he was forced to fire his TA. And since then he has been facing a lot of backlash at work.”

Renee gave a soft chuckle but quickly hid it with a forced throat clearing. You ignored her reaction.

“How does that make you feel?” Dr. Mooney questioned. You still hadn’t looked him directly in his eyes. You stared at his shoes.

“Like shit.” You admitted, “I’ve never been really close to my dad, but now he can’t look at me. Treats me like scum.”

Dr. Mooney hummed, “Have you considered that perhaps he feels like he failed you?”

You flashed your eyes to Dr. Mooney’s, “What?”

“Your father. Oftentimes the people closest to us are so angry with themselves for not addressing the addictions they see in their loved ones that they will sometimes project their feelings outwards.”

You shook your head, “No, not him. He doesn’t blame himself, that much I know.”

“It’s something to consider though.”

“No.” You interjected, your voice hard, “It isn’t. My dad sees me for the whore that I am.”

Renee snickered beside you, clearly amused by your antics. Dr. Mooney widened his eyes, briefly flashing them towards Dr. Frazer who sat in a chair similar to your own outside the circle.

“Everyone here does.” You pointed out, gesturing to Renee, “She’s the only one who calls me what I am. Nympho, right.”

“_____.” Dr. Mooney said your name firmly, likely in an attempt to control the conversation being had in front of his boss, but you were having none of it.

“What?” You returned, shaking your head, “You taught us that the first step in recovery is admitting to our problems. I am a whore! I’m saying what it is!”

In that moment, your eyes landed on Rafe who sat beside Dr. Mooney. He was slouched in his seat, his arms crossed in front of his chest. You hated that you couldn’t make out what he was thinking or feeling, but you hated even more that his stare was unwavering as you made a spectacle of yourself.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You pointed at Rafe. Then you turned to Renee, “And you’re a miserable bitch.” Renee laughed out loud at that.

“_____!” Dr. Mooney & Albert said your name in unison, but it didn’t deter you.

“And you two.” You stared at Dr. Mooney & Albert.

“You’re weak.” You said to Albert. The flash of hurt on his face stayed with you but a moment as you focused your attention on the doctor directly across from you, “And you’re a fucking creep.”

Dr. Mooney stood quickly then, dropping his clipboard onto his seat. You mirrored his movement, kicking your chair out from behind you so you could leave, “How’s that for harming those closest to me?”

“_____.” Dr. Mooney’s voice was hard but a harder, deeper voice overpowered his.

“Dr. Mooney.” Everyone stilled as Dr. Frazer spoke. It was only the second time in your stay at Arrowhead that you had heard his voice, “Sit back down.”

Dr. Frazer then turned his eyes onto you. In an instant, your rebellious attitude had been stamped out. Unable to stand all eyes on you, & more so, how you had spit some horrible words at people, one of whom you particularly cared about, you rushed out of the room. You were a coward.

No one came looking for you the rest of the day, not even Dr. Mooney. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. And now, you too didn’t have any friends. Albert had been your only one & you had insulted him in front of your peers. You cried yourself to sleep that night, knowing that the rest of your stay at the facility would be dreadful. But it was all your doing. There was no one to blame but yourself.

The next morning though, before even breakfast, Nurse Carney appeared in your doorway.

“Come with me.”

Nurse Carney was usually all smiles & sunshine trapped within human skin. But there was no smile or bright radiance emanating from her as she looked at you.

“Where are we going?”

But she said nothing.

So, you were forced to follow her through the corridors of the facility until she led you to the main office. At first, you thought she would bringing you to Dr. Mooney’s office, which you were far from looking forward to, however, she only led you past his office to another at the end of the hallway. The plate on the door made your stomach slosh.

Dr. Holden Frazer.

Oh, this couldn’t be good.

Nurse Carney knocked on the door before the same solid voice from the day before sounded from the other side. She opened the door, poking her head in, “I have _____ here for you.”

“Thank you, Nurse Carney. You may return to your duties.”

Nurse Carney nodded, backing up to let you pass. You locked eyes with her once more, but she did not return any sort of kindness in her eyes.

Dr. Frazer’s office was the complete opposite of Dr. Mooney’s. Whereas Dr. Mooney’s office was warm, welcoming, & comforting, Dr. Frazer’s was sterile, barren of any personality, & lacked any color. You felt immediately unease as you entered it.

Behind the desk. Dr. Frazer sat upright in his chair, his eyes watching you as you stood before him shamefully. He then gestured for you to sit in one of the two chairs before his desk. Your defiance had been eradicated since yesterday, so you slowly took a seat. The chair itself as cold & uninviting as the office around it.

“Your mother is on her way here.”

Your jaw dropped. Oh, fuck.

Dr. Frazer showed no reaction to your own, “After yesterday, she was called & informed about your outburst. So, she is coming in today for an appointment with myself to discuss your future here.”

You pressed your lips together, “You’re kicking me out?”

“That is up to her.” Dr. Frazer responded coldly.

“And my father?”

Dr. Frazer remained stoic, “Busy.”

Of course. Of course he wouldn’t want to come. He was already ashamed of you. He didn’t need you to humiliate him further.

You swallowed, “I’m sorry about yester—”

“Apologies do not suffice here, Miss _____.” Dr. Frazer cut you off, “Your behaviour yesterday was unacceptable. You attacked patients & your attending doctor.”

You hung your head, feeling heat bloom along your spine.

“I know…”

Silence hung in the air for a beat before Dr. Frazer spoke again.

“She will be here within in the hour. I suggest you make yourself presentable & be on your best behaviour if you want to continue your treatment here.”

You raised your head to meet his eyes behind your lashes.

“Dismissed.”

Surprised at his aloofness, you slowly raised yourself out of the seat. Though corporal punishment was no longer allowed in such facilities & care centers, you sure felt like you just had the whipping of your life.

Exiting Dr. Frazer’s office, you found your way back to your room, ignoring any curious eyes or whispers as you passed by other patients. In the common area, you spotted Albert & Siena lounging on the couch. Albert met your eyes briefly before shaking his head at you & looking away. He was no longer your friend, & you didn’t blame him.

In your room, you got dressed & applied what little make-up you were allowed to bring to the center. You feared facing your mother & that disappointed look in her eyes, but you were grateful your father wouldn’t be joining her. It wasn’t like you were hoping to see him any time soon either after what he suggested was happening between you & Dr. Mooney the last time he was here.

After you finished getting ready, you decided to remain hidden in your room until Nurse Carney or another employee came looking for you. You were restless as you waited, watching the hour pass by. Your mother was surely there at that point & yet no one had come for you. You wondered if their meeting was to be one-on-one, & you would know your fate afterwards.

It was only when another forty-five minutes passed after your mother’s expected arrival that a knock came on your door.

“Come in.” You announced, though your voice was small.

It was an assistant nurse who informed you that your mother was waiting for you in the lobby. Following the nurse, you were relieved that there were no familiar faces in the common area. Once in the lobby, you spotted your mother as she spoke heatedly on her cell phone. The nurse left you as you waited off to the side for you mother to get off the phone. She was likely speaking to your father, updating him on how you were no longer allowed treatment at Arrowhead.

However, once she got off the phone & spotted you, she grinned & approached you before embracing you.

“Oh, honey.” She smelled like rose water. You buried your face into her blazer as she held you. Tears unexpectedly wetted the collar of her jacket.

“Mom, I’m sorry.” You lifted your head to look at her, “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby.” She cupped your cheek before glancing around, “C’mon darling. We’re going out for lunch.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Your mother frowned then, “Not here. There’s a lot we must talk about.”

Your mother was not a fan of Dr. Frazer; she made that abundantly clear as she drove the two of you to a nearby brunch spot.

“What a cold man.” She had commented, “And how dare he suggest your removal because of a little outburst. Ya know, Steve Summers put his nephew up at Arrowhead, it’s how we learned about it, & that boy was a handful. The stories Steve told your father & I about how much trouble he caused at that facility, yet they kept him. And that doctor, if you can even call him that, has the audacity to want to have you removed? Over my dead body.”

Your mother’s protectiveness made you smile for the first time in a long time. Now you wish you had been preset in their meeting to see her give Dr. Frazer the same no bullshit attitude he dished.

“So, I’m staying?”

“Of course!” Your mother shook her head, “It’s the best treatment center within 100 miles & I’ll be damned if we put somewhere less than that.”

You felt conflicted at staying, but at least you wouldn’t embarrass your father further.

Speaking of your dad, “How’d dad take it?”

Your mother sighed, pursing her lips, “I haven’t told him. Won’t tell him.”

This was shocking, & out of character. A million questions lied at the tip of your tongue, but your mother pulled into the restaurant. Once the two of you were seated, you were finally able to ask the first of many.

“Why aren’t you telling dad?” You asked, uninterested in the food menu before you.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Your mother informed you. Her behaviour changed then, her poise transitioning from confident to worrisome.

“Your father is going to trial in a couple weeks.”

“What?!” She shushed you at your surprised reaction.

“Honey, lower your voice.”

Lowering your voice, you repeated the shock, “Trial for what?”

She sighed, dropping her own menu on the table, “John is suing him.”

Your heart sped up. His TA was suing him?

“For wrongful termination.” Your mother shared further.

You sputtered, “What? That’s fucking stupid.”

“Language.” She reprimanded but ultimately nodded, “But I agree. Unfortunately, John knows what he’s doing. He’ll lose but he doesn’t care.”

“If he’s going to lose then why is it going to trial?”

Your mother peered at you then, her eyes sorrowful, “To get the attention of the university. When a case goes to trial any faculty involved must be suspended until the trial closes.”

“He’s doing it to punish him…” Your voice softened.

“Yes.” Your mother nodded, “He doesn’t care about winning any money otherwise he would’ve settled out of court. What he wants is to ruin your father’s name.”

You collapsed against your seat, tears lining your vision, “This is all my fault.”

“Oh, honey…” But she didn’t argue against your claim.

“If I hadn’t…” You licked your dry lips, “Then dad would be fine.”

The two of you sat in silence for some time while your mother ordered for the both of you. But once the food came, you hardly touched your plate as your mother picked at hers.

“Fortunately,” your mother began, “it will be a closed trial. But…”

You stared at her, “But what?”

“Because your father fired John for, you know, your name & condition will be revealed.”

“They can do that?”

“You’re not a minor, honey. And having placed you into a recovery center, it shows that your father is aware of your… problems. He could be held accountable.”

“Wait, so, John could win?”

“It’s very unlikely.” Your mother reminded you, “Your father has a good set of lawyers defending his case.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said.” The cracks in your mother’s tough exterior was beginning to show. She wasn’t telling you the full truth, that your father may actually lose the case, thus ultimately his career & reputation.

“I can’t believe this happening.” And it was all your fault. If only you hadn’t approached John, just left him alone. Then none of this would be happening.

“It’ll be okay. But that’s why I won’t be telling your father about yesterday. He already has enough going on.”

“Yeah, I get it.” You whispered, shameful.

Your mother got the check & once the two of you were in the car on the way back to the facility, you finally answered the question you knew she was avoiding thinking about.

“What if he loses, Mom?”

Your mother gripped your hand, shaking it in a reassuring manner. She smiled at you, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes, “He won’t.”

But you weren’t so sure.

After your mom dropped you off out front, Nurse Carney was waiting for you. She led you back inside. It was midday, lunch time. You had hardly eaten at the restaurant, but your appetite had disappeared with the information surrounding your father’s upcoming trial. Nurse Carney checked you in at the desk then dismissed you to head back to your common area. But your heart was racing, your head was full of noise. You needed to talk to someone. Now.

Ignoring her, you instead went in the opposite direction of the youth wing & towards the doctor’s offices.

“_____!” Nurse Carney hollered behind you. You sped up in your walk as you heard her exit the front office to follow after you.

You had just made it to your destination, knocking rapidly on the door when Nurse Carney appeared next to you.

“You are not following protocol.”

“Fuck your protocol.” You rushed out, your breathing coming in shallowly.

Then the door before you swung open & Dr. Mooney stood in surprise as his eyes glanced between you & Nurse Carney.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Mooney, I’ll take her back to her room.”

But Dr. Mooney frowned, looking at you, “Are you okay?”

“No.” Tears skipped down your cheeks, “I really need you.”

He took you in for a moment longer before nodding once, “It’s okay, Nurse Carney. I’ll see her back myself.”

It was obvious that Nurse Carney didn’t agree but she wouldn’t argue.

Dr. Mooney closed the door behind you as you stepped inside to stand in the middle of his office. Sobs racked your body as you finally broke down.

“_____, what’s going on?”

But you couldn’t talk. Not yet. Instead, you broke another protocol.

You couldn’t think about Rafe’s intrusive words or Albert’s year old gossip. What you needed right then was the only person who had consistently shown care towards you in the last couple months. Spinning around, you hugged Dr. Mooney. You latched your arms together around his back & pressed your face into his chest. You didn’t care about the no contact policy. Because right then you didn’t view yourself as a patient or Dr. Mooney as your care provider. What you needed was the only friend you had in this hell hole.

Dr. Mooney never returned the hug, but neither removed you. He let you cry against him. And for that you were thankful. However, after a few minutes & you had calmed down, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders & placed some distance between the two of you. He angled his head to meet your bleary eyes.

“Talk to me.”

You shook your head, “I can’t do this alone.”

He frowned but nodded, “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. I promise.”

And you knew it to be true. Dr. Mooney would never let you down, & that’s exactly what you needed.

a much longer part to i burn! i wanted to give you all a pretty lengthy update as i won't be able to update either of my rafe series for maybe another week as i will be going on vacation! so, always, please share your thoughts w me via comments, reblogs w reviews, or talking to me in the ask box. i love all the love ya'll send my way!

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honeesucker · 1 year

Text

Three -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 4,670

*Not proofread.

Previous | Next

Bakugo watched as the Director turned to see where he was motioning toward, watching as your form disappears down the hallway until you and the staff member turned a final corner at the end, completely leaving view. She stood silent for a moment, worrying Bakugo as her eyes were trained on the now empty hallway. Her silence stretched on and made Bakugo’s skin itch, until she turned to him with such a thoughtful look it stunned him.

“The puppy hybrid?” She questioned him, and he confirmed with a nod.

“Yes,” he stated simply, “she’s fond of Red Riot and his hybrid TetsuTetsu and I enjoyed her company during the event tonight – though I didn’t catch her name,” and as he trailed off the Director’s mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

“She doesn’t have one she has ever cared to share,” she mused. “Mostly she just accepts when people call her ‘Puppy’ or whatever else, honestly.” The sigh the Director let go at whatever thought was in her head left Bakugo curious, but he wanted to tread carefully. “I’m not opposed to this idea; she did just get sent back to us about six months ago which has been easy enough to navigate though she has gotten returned to us a total of seven times in the last five years since her initial rescue,” Bakugo waited for the Director to go on, watching with bated breath as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “She is well-mannered and easy to handle but she has been through some tremendously heinous things before her rescue five years ago, and it appears something happens in the homes she's adopted into where a precipice gets reached that cause the adopters to return her... we’ve been trying to uncover more of what may be causing this issue but haven’t been successful,” the Director’s voice trailed off into a whisper as she mouthed something to herself, Bakugo not able to pick up on the words. Her eyes seemed far away as she put her hand to her chin, massaging the skin thoughtfully before continuing. “I agree her being around TetsuTetsu would be a positive to have in a new home as they became quite close while he was here with her, she also did take a liking to Red Riot, and she seems to have gotten comfortable around you quickly. Yes, I wouldn’t be opposed to this at all but given her background you’re going to need to be more prepared – I would like for you to meet with her rehabilitation counselor, Hana, to go over her background and ensure you’re ready to take on this responsibility. I won’t tell you no, Mr. Bakugo, but I want you to have the full picture beyond this day so you can make an informed decision for yourself – and of course per our policy the hybrid will have the final say.”

Bakugo only nodded along to the Director’s speech, agreeing to meet with your counselor, he wanted to know more about you and be the best he could be for you. His thoughts were at war with himself wondering if what he would learn would somehow change his mind in taking you on, and the competitive drive to be your last home – to not fold like the weak extras before him who returned you.

Fucking cowards.

Bakugo was led by the Director to a different wing of the facility where he was going to have an initial meeting with Hana - your rehabilitation counselor - to discuss your past, habits, temperament and his prospective adoption of you. He waited on a small, uncomfortable chair outside of Hana's office as she had an existing appointment already. Five minutes turned to ten, turned to twenty before Bakugo's leg ceased to bounce with the opening of the office door.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Bakugo,” Hana was a stout woman in her mid-thirties, Bakugo assessed, with shoulder-length mousy brown hair and equally kind brown eyes. Her smile crinkled her eyes, and puffed her cheeks in an endearing way that reminded him of how some grandmothers were drawn in his favorite manga's – always smiling, radiating kindness. He was instantly put at ease.

“No problem,” he responded, his tone of voice always coming off slightly confrontational no matter how he tried to soften it, “I appreciate you seeing me on short notice.”

“Please come in,” Hana motioned for Bakugo to enter, and he did. Her office was brightly lit by the large windows taking up a full wall, with a view of one of the many expansive and breathtaking gardens that seemed to surround the facility itself, like the one he spent time with you in the center. Bakugo was motioned to a seat, and he gladly fell into the plush chair across from Hana, who had a thick file on her desk with your photo pinned to it. “So, I understand you’re interested in our little Puppy,” Hana began, staring Bakugo down but in the least confrontational way.

“Yes,” Bakugo cleared his throat, words almost getting stuck with his nerves. “I’ve been able to spend some time with her, and I have regular contact with Red Riot and TetsuTetsu who she’s friends with – I feel like the benefits outweigh anything else...” Bakugo’s voice trailed off as she noted Hana thumbing through your file, red eye straining to see whatever was in there he could before he realized it was being presented to him. He took it, admiring the adorable photo of you on the front of the folder, before he thumbed it open and was stopped in his tracks.

Bakugo could hear Hana speaking but his ears flooded with white noise, her voice sounded faraway as he eyed the photos that appeared to be dated from your initial rescue.

So many of the photos documented your face and body, sunken cheeks, deep, dark circles and matted hair, blood dried and flaking on your skin and in your hair and fur. Tail matted and bloodied, nothing like the plush little cloud that followed you now. He thumbed through more photos as the bruises and lacerations across your body worsened, evidence of your malnutrition and abuse painted on your body and in your eyes.

Your eyes.

They looked so empty, so far away, compared to the glistening little jewels he could get lost in now. The way the light shimmered from within you through them, compared to the photos he was looking at, astounded him. A small scribble in red ink, in the margin of your first physical check-up stopped his heart.

Bait hybrid.

He could see the wounds across your body transform to fit the picture now the closer he examined them. How so many of them showcased the outline of different sized jaws, deep-set wounds from teeth that tore into you. Bruises that bled out into the shape of hands. In a few of the photos you had bruises consistent with being bound by the wrists and ankles, even a close-up of a deep burn around your throat where a rope would have once been. He read over the extensive notes, one of which being a transcription from a recording:

2:03 A.M. Entered the suspect villa through the front and rear entrances, encountered hostile human guards as well as trained fighting hybrids – all wolves – taken down alive and handed over to the OPS Team.

2:07 A.M. Descended into the basement area and found a hybrid chained to a wall with a rope tightly pulled around the neck. Appears to be a puppy hybrid, unmoving, possibly deceased?

2:09 A.M. Confirmed puppy hybrid alive. Signs of serious abuse, suspect bait hybrid within a larger hybrid fighting ring, released the puppy hybrid from the bindings, examined and took photos for records.

2:13 A.M. Puppy hybrid attacked one of the OPS Team, confirmed attempted head touch, possible sensitive area as demeanor has changed once the area is avoided.

2:34 A.M. Have confirmed residence cleared of all human and hybrid residents. All humans detained by OPS Team for arrest and conviction, all aggressive wolf hybrids detained by OPS Team for evaluation by hybrid specialists to assess for rehabilitation. Puppy hybrid sent with the Musutafu Rehabilitation Rep for assessment and consideration for foster program.

Bakugo had continued to read through your file, through the different times you were adopted and sent back – your interviews upon re-arrival regarding what happened in the homes was a topic you avoided speaking on. There were notes that you always ended up biting someone in the household but would never delve into the details of what triggered the event. Bakugo read in the interviews with the adopters that the incidents all happened when they would go to pet you, they had mentioned being able to have physical contact with you before, so they weren’t sure what had changed when it came to petting your head.

When Bakugo finally shut the file, he found Hana’s kind eyes regarding him carefully. He swallowed hard, the lump of anxiety lodged in his throat after seeing and reading the details of your past, it was all weighing heavily on him. You didn’t act like someone should after having gone through so much. He’s surprised even in your earlier interviews with Hana no notes were made mentioning any anger – why weren’t you raging at everything those bastards did to you? It almost appeared like you simply accepted it.

Accepted that life was filled with things like that.

“As you can see, Mr. Bakugo, our little puppy has been run through quite the gamut,” Hana started, accepting the file back from Bakugo’s shaking hand. “Her temperament is quite agreeable given the circumstances, but she does have habits that have caused issues in her previous homes,” Hana paused to regard Bakugo some more and continued. “Given what I have read regarding your situation and the needs for your foster pair based off what the Director has observed I agree with her assessment that you would be a good fit for our puppy – even more so with your ties to two others who would greatly help her transition back into a home. I would only ask that you give me weekly updates on her progress as she encounters new things in your home, that she still meets with me on a monthly basis until it is decided it is no longer needed, and I would appreciate you setting up some visits with Red Riot for her to spend time with TetsuTetsu – those two were thick as thieves when they were both homed here.”

Bakugo only nodded along, agreeing to any and every caveat needed to move the process forward with you. For someone so independent, so brash and unforgiving of himself and others, who prided himself on only needing to rely on himself, his instincts when it came to you were screaming at him to protect you. To show you a life beyond the scope of what you’ve been subjected to. To be the last home you would ever have, ever need, ever want. Something about your looks initially caught his eye – how precious, and tiny, you looked curled up in Kirishima’s arms, how easily he could imagine holding you the very same way. Something in him was inexplicably pulling him to you, and he only hoped you enjoyed talking with him enough to consider coming home with him.

Bakugo left the facility with high hopes, but an equally heavy heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Three weeks had passed. Three long, insufferable weeks but Bakugo busied himself with all the required classes on hybrid rehabilitation and ownership; he even went to all his own therapies and treatments without so much as a grumble. Today was one of the days he was returning to the hybrid center to see you, under the guise of attending the center’s bi-annual adoption introduction event as a Pro Hero endorsement liaison – an event where the community members interested in adopting a hybrid can come and meet those up for adoption in a friendly and open environment, not unlike a picnic or field day.

He was dressed up in his hero gear, gauntlets heavy against his chest as he stood with his arms crossed. He was already briefed by the center Director, who stated that while you weren’t officially up for adoption at this time you would be attending the event in the interest of giving him more time with you in an informal setting, and as a test of your social abilities with strangers. Presently, Bakugo had been here since the first hour of the event set-up. He has seen a variety of citizens and Pro Heros alike come through and spend time alongside the adoptable hybrids, eating, chatting, playing games and listening to different informative chats with the staff as they set up spread out around the park on the center grounds they currently set up on. He hadn’t yet caught a glimpse of you but there’s no certainty you were brought down with the rest of the adoptable hybrids first thing this morning. The day was about halfway through as he waited impatiently, Bakugo assessed by the Sun’s position, red eyes scanning the area around him cautiously – he didn’t anticipate any trouble but given that the Director asked him to be here on an official capacity first, he knew there had to be a reason.

Bakugo began to walk around, his arms now at his sides, though still buzzing with ready energy. His demeanor relaxed, although you couldn’t tell from his features with his mouth set in a hard line and his eyes narrowed and sharp. He took in the sight of happy hybrids interacting with people unafraid of what the interaction would bring, could see how their eyes sparkled and crinkled with laughter as they ran around. His heart was filling up with such a light feeling seeing how happy everyone was to interact, and his hopes only lifted at the thought of at least one of the hybrids here finding a good match, and forever home. He wondered how it felt for them, to still have such hope and trust in others after what they each had gone through. He was staring fondly at some hybrids and humans playing a game of hacky sack when the back of his neck prickled with an odd feeling. His eyes darted around swiftly, taking in everyone as he tried to identify the cause of this uneasy feeling, his damaged hearing causing everything that he was once zoned in on to become muffled white noise – the high-pitched ringing becoming worse as the panic rose in his chest. The edges of Bakugo’s vision blurred as he tried to take in steady gulps of air, spinning around to see more of the area around him. That’s when he caught it – caught sight of you.

Or rather, you while stood in an uncomfortable lean away from a man who deemed it appropriate to hover so closely over you. Bakugo’s blood boiled as his palms popped and sizzled, his quirk threatening to activate, but he simply clenched his fists and stalked over to where you were, and for such a large and imposing man Bakugo certainly didn’t lack stealth as he quietly approached you both.

“You really are something special, a delectable little cutie,” this absolute piece of trash extra had the nerve to learn in and smell the hair on your head. “You know you're exactly what I’ve been looking for! The shelters and breeders in my area just don’t have any cute female hybrid companions,” the whiney tone of the off-putting man caused Bakugo’s anger to flare but he wanted to see where this was going and where you’d take it before he made a move he’d regret. “Society has moved into acceptance of human-hybrid relationships, but they just don’t offer any that are cute enough to fuc-! Aughgk!” Bakugo’s hand wrapped around the man and cut off his sentence with a gurgled choke the same moment you had turned on the man and sunk your canines into his forearm. The man’s hands came up to scramble and tried to pull Bakugo’s grip off his throat but to no avail, his arm where your teeth were still buried wiggled weakly to get you to let go.

“Release, Puppy,” Bakugo’s voice wasn’t harsh as it was directed toward you, but his tone left no room for disobedience and you let go, flattening yourself against the nearest tree to where you were stood. “Y’know, it’s people like you that make things harder for hybrids, scum like you make things unsafe for those who’ve already been through enough,” Bakugo’s anger was boiling to the surface, but it wasn’t a moment after he tightened his grip on the guys throat that security for the event came and gently touched the Pro’s shoulder, stating they would handle it from there. Bakugo relented only when he saw you still standing frozen in place, hiding against the tree a few feet away from the scene. Bakugo gave the pathetic man one last toothy, evil grin which caused the man to cower before he turned to you, kneeling on one knee to not look so imposing in all his Pro gear.

“Hey Puppy,” to anyone who knew Bakugo, they wouldn’t recognize the man who softened just as he did. Kneeled in front of you with a breeze-soft tone, cooing and holding his hand out for you to take; even when he rescued women and children he was as hard as ever, a regular criticism he was met with from the tabloids, and his own agency. “You were ready to fight, huh pup?” Bakugo’s voice held a humorous lilt, and your ears perked toward him as your eyes finally met his. “You did a real good job there, Puppy, didn’t need my help at all huh?” Your ears twitched like they wanted to flatten against your head, given your crestfallen expression, but they didn’t budge – cute little fluffy triangles Bakugo desperately found himself wanting to reach for if he didn’t already know your past triggers.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled out, slowly taking the hand Bakugo still had extended and when his fingers closed around yours, he pulled you gently to him. “I didn’t mean to bite,” your voice was small, and you began to shake in his arms, and he only pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and wrapping his arms tightly around you until the shaking subsided.

“It’s okay Puppy,” Bakugo assured you, “it’s okay to bite someone when they’re trying to hurt you. Standing up for yourself is okay.” Bakugo could feel you relax completely in his arms as he finally looked around him, seeing the Director, Hana and a couple other staff standing back from the two of you by about ten feet.

“I was told not to bite though,” you mumbled again, sighing as you rested your head against Bakugo’s arms.

“Listen to me Puppy,” Bakugo argued, “biting someone is okay when you have a reason – like defending yourself or someone else.”

“Have a reason...” you murmured more to yourself, but Bakugo caught it, just giving you a reassuring pat on your shoulder before standing with you in his arms, your nose nuzzling against the column of Bakugo’s throat sending an involuntary shiver down his spine as the cold touch ignited something within him.

“Mr. Bakugo, can you and our little Puppy come with me? The police who arrested the man want statements,” The Director spoke softly as she watched you, remaining silent as she lead you both back into the building.

“You up for that, Puppy?” Bakugo watched as you gave a small nod, still nosing at his throat and taking in small, rapid breaths. “What’cha doing there, hm?” Bakugo raised his eyebrows as he heard you whisper, ‘smell different’, and just continued with whatever it was you were doing rubbing against him, and he had to admit a certain comfort came from your cold nose against his warm skin. No more than an hour had passed with you and Bakugo giving your individual statements, he was waiting on a lounge sofa situated in one of the common rooms while you were in a closed office with the officers. Bakugo’s anxiety was back in full force with his leg bouncing a mile a minute, his heart beating furiously against his chest wall and his palms were sweaty and ready to set off, the acrid smell of blackened sugar giving hint to the quirk activation. Bakugo hadn’t realized he was disassociating until he felt a light pressure on his lap. His eyes refocused and brought him back to reality when he noticed you were sitting on his lap, straddling his legs as you laid your body against his, your arms wrapped tightly around him as far as you could go. “What’cha doin’, Puppy?” Bakugo grumbled, heart still hammering in his chest.

“TetsuTetsu used to hug me tight tight tight when I would have a bad dream,” you stated simply, “and you smelled like you needed to be hugged tight tight tight, too.” You just laid your head against his chest over his heart and Bakugo soon found his heartrate slowing down, even though he was certain you were too light to apply what he knew to be deep pressure therapy, his cheeks burned with a cherry tinge and his heart swelled at the sight. Though you lacked enough weight to successfully do what you were trying to do, your proximity to him calmed him all the same.

“S’good, Puppy,” Bakugo mumbled out softly and you beamed up at him as you tilted your head against his chest to meet his gaze, your fluffy tail thumping away happily behind you. “Did such a good job f’me.” Without thinking Bakugo had reached up of his own accord, and rough palm went soft against the silky top of your head, ears splitting away where his hand patted the crown of your head.

Snap!

A soft, almost indiscernible sound was heard, but even Bakugo picked it up as he zeroed in on you in his lap. Your body had frozen in its place, you weren’t even breathing as he took in the sight of you.

A small, broken rubber band was lying on the lounge sofa just beside you both, your breathing going from zero to a hundred as you began to take in panicked gulps of air. Bakugo looked up and saw one of your ears, normally cute little sharp triangles above your head, but now one was lying flopped against your head, folded over although he could see irritation and fur loss where the rubber band had been, presumably for a very long time. You went to scramble out of his lap, but Bakugo grabbed you and anchored you down against him, you were panicking and even tried to bite his forearms where you could reach but your little fangs couldn’t penetrate his Pro Hero costume, the gear made for battle and hits much stronger than your little bite force quotient*.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorryI’msorrym’sorrysorry,” your eyes were glazed over, far-away and deep in a memory as you shook in his arms, fighting to get out of his grip with an admirable strength even though it didn’t compare to the little force he was exerting to keep you in place. Bakugo could see the Director and Hana, who had still been standing nearby dealing with the police officers from earlier, frozen and watching the scene, Hana was stopped by the Director before she had a chance to intervene – the Director watched on with an intent gaze. Bakugo held you with one arm, holding you against him as he used his other hand to reach up and head toward the ear still standing up tall – you snapped and bit onto the guard that usually seated itself beneath his gauntlets, fangs trying hard to tear flesh enough to get him to release you, you shook your head gently but it didn’t do much to stop Bakugo as he touched your other ear and soon heard a similar snap with the small plastic ring, now broken, falling to the floor. You were growling now, not releasing his wrist guard as you glared at him, but he could see it in your eyes: fear.

“Puppy,” Bakugo warned, tone deep and steady. “Release.” You gave an indignant snort through your nose, the gentle puff of air hitting Bakugo’s face as he held you in front of him, a quirk to the corner of his lips giving away his amusement at your fight. His eyes soon narrowed, sharp and deadly, and soon you found yourself slowly unlocking your jaw as he pulled his arm away from you. With all the fight drained out of you at his command, Bakugo watched as your eyes began to well up with tears, which clumped your lashes and fell down your cheeks in fat streaks, your nose moistening as you sniffled and relaxed against the iron grip still holding you in place against him. Bakugo released his grip on you, and you just fell forward against him, sniffling and letting the tears fall unhindered. Bakugo’s arms wrapped around you loosely as he brought both his hands up around the back of your head, fingers normally clenched in fists or pointed at villains and firing off deadly explosions now gently rubbing the soft fur of your ears as he got a closer look at what irritation he caught sight of earlier and what he saw made his stomach turn. “Why did you have rubber bands on your ears, Pup?” His tone was so marshmallow-y soft it melted away what remained of your fight or flight and left you just feeling surrounded in the best of ways. Made you feel like you hadn’t felt quite enough before...

Safe.

“They said floppy ears were for filthy, cheap mutts, and they had spent too much money on me,” your voice got small as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, tiny fang drawing a pinprick of blood. “They sent me to go get them cropped because Master would pull my ears too hard whenever he saw them, but I didn’t wanna go-” a choked sob cut off your sentence, but you drew in a breath as Bakugo carded his fingers through your hair, occasionally reaching back up to gently rub your ears between his fingers. “I didn’t wanna go again because the first time they put me to sleep I woke up hurting so bad, so instead I went to the market and took rubber bands from the flower bouquets and wrapped my ears with bandages to look like I went... the other hybrids who got their ears cropped were in so much pain I didn’t wanna be in any more pain, I’m sorry I bit you I didn’t mean to I-” your rambling cut off as Bakugo pulled you tightly against his chest, face smushed against hard muscle as he just applied all-over pressure and soon you found yourself relaxing in his lap.

“Nothing about you is filthy, or cheap, or wrong.” Bakugo stated simply.

You didn’t anticipate the reaction you had when you heard those words, but the second they left the blonde’s mouth you were sobbing against his chest, fisting his hero costume and shaking as he simply let you sit with all you were feeling. Bakugo had continued to look up and check in with the Director and Hana; Hana, who Bakugo noted, was recording the pair with her phone – probably for records and research purposes. Bakugo didn’t mind one bit if it helped you in the end to be understood more. The Director was watching the whole scene unfold, taken back by the days' events already and hardly expecting what came of it – but she knew it more certainly than she did the weeks before when Bakugo first mentioned his interest in you.

You two were meant for each other.

*Bite force quotient (BFQ) is a numerical value commonly used to represent the bite force of an animal, while also taking factors like the animal's size into account.

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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 2 months

Text

A Fair Price To Pay

@febuwhump prompt: "Who did this to you" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Tortured for Information

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Omega, Hemlock Post Season 2: Escape from Tantiss. If you've read my fic 'A Cosy Bed', you know what's in store for Crosshair. Enjoy. Word Count: ~9675 Read Here On AO3

Content Warning: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence/Injuries Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Crosshair is determined to get Omega out of Tantiss, even if their freedom comes at a price.

Along the way, she saves him too.

*now with added epilogue! check the reblogs!*

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Hemlock walked slowly around the table, inspecting the restraints that his assistant tightened to hold the tall clone in place. Yes, CT-9904 was weakened from his long incarceration, but this time they weren’t taking any chances.

“I am truly impressed by your fortitude and ingenuity,” he said, in that soft-spoken tone that somehow imparted so much more fear than those leaders who raised their voices. “I thought it remarkable, but a fluke, that you escaped the first time and attempted to transmit a message to your… ‘brothers’… to warn them about – well. You know.

“But to defy me again, and hide the girl from me?”

He stopped at the head of the table, leaning into the periphery of Crosshair’s vision. Crosshair couldn’t turn his head – he was fastened too tightly to do more than twitch in defiance. He kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the ceiling, trying to refute the weakness in his body, the faint tremor that set up in his muscles in response to fatigue and fear.

“I would like you to tell me where she is.” A soft plea, but insistent. “This facility is a big place, and she may come to harm if she is unattended. So please, Crosshair. Could you tell me where Omega is?”

Hemlock’s request sounded so reasonable.

Crosshair blinked and said nothing. Bit the sides of his tongue to keep from talking. Stared at the ceiling. At the ceiling. Not at the vents. Lifting Omega up, hiding her in a vent. Hissing at her to stay silent, not to be found.

Stare at the ceiling, don’t answer.

Don’t answer.

Hemlock sighed. “It disappoints me that you are unwilling to co-operate.” He gestured to his assistant, and a needle bit into the skin of Crosshair’s neck. Don’t look. Don’t give them the satisfaction of looking.

“What can I do that might compel you to tell me the girl’s whereabouts? There is nothing I can offer you. You have proven, repeatedly, that you cannot be trusted to submit to incarceration without resistance.” A soft huff of laughter. “Perhaps I should be unsurprised. The Kaminoan reports always indicated that your batch of ‘enhanced’ clones were unreliable.”

A warm, numb feeling began to spread through Crosshair’s body. His mind worked sluggishly. What had they dosed him with? He wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t betray the kid. It was the least he could do. Try and protect her. It’s what Hunter would want.

Sensation dropped away. There was no table. No restraints. His body was cushioned on air.

Hemlock was still talking.

“If I cannot offer reward for co-operation, I must threaten punishment. Thus far, you have been remarkably resistant to our… usual methods of data extraction.”

Data extraction. Torture. Crosshair’s jaw worked. Was he trying to talk? He shouldn’t do that. Didn’t want to. That’s what they wanted. They wanted him to talk. Tell them about Omega, hiding in the vent. Waiting for him to come back.

That’s right. He’d promised her he would come back, once he’d found a way out. He’d better go find her.

Tried to move his legs, but they wouldn’t function. That was odd. He pictured rolling to his side, standing up, off the table. Staggering forwards. Wondered why his body wouldn’t obey.

“The sedative should have taken effect by now.”

Sedative. That would do it. The numbness.

Why would they sedate him?

Hemlock wore a small smile as he leaned directly into the path of Crosshair’s vision. He blinked, the doctor’s face swimming in and out of focus.

“What can I take from you?” Hemlock asked softly, almost to himself. “What do you treasure? What do you hold on to in the belief that it sets you apart from all the other multitudes of clones in the galaxy?”

A medical droid hovered into view. This wasn’t right. Crosshair was still conscious. If they had sedated him, consciousness should fade. Instead he was awake, thoughts wildly roaming and unable to take action as his mind had become uncoupled from his body.

Crosshair was just barely aware of a touch to his face – Hemlock, tracing a finger down the fine line of his tattooed eye socket.

“I think,” said the doctor with a humourless smile, “I shall take your sight.”

The droid unfolded its appendages, positioning the fine, sharp tools just above Crosshair’s right eye.

“Do tell me, Crosshair, if you want me to stop. We can desist at any time. I just need to know where you have hidden Omega.”

Crosshair didn’t know if he could make his mouth work anyway, in this drug-induced dream-haze. At least he wouldn’t be able to give the girl up by accident.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Hemlock’s voice was more distant now, the doctor retreating to give the medical droid space to work.

“The sedative has robbed you of motor function. It has not dulled your pain receptors.”

Crosshair had been conscious for surgery before, in the labs of Kamino; pain numbed but mind sharp, responding to each instruction to focus, read this, can you see that, whilst the surgeons grafted synthetic muscle to his enhanced eyes to give him unprecedented control over his superior eyesight. Back then he had been silent, answering only when spoken to, bitterly determined to see the ordeal through with iron willpower.

Now, mind numbed but pain sharp, Crosshair found his voice. Moreso than the pain, panic ate at his nerves; strapped down, unable to flee, the right side of his world going dim.

Even when tears choked him, he didn’t give up Omega.

The sedative was still leaden in his body when he was returned to his cell, laid into the barren cot with a tasteless meal placed on the floor beside.

Hemlock was a shadowed figure just beyond the doorway as the droid assistant retreated.

“If I do not find Omega by the end of the next day,” came the doctor’s soft, even voice, “I will return for your other eye. If you wish to disclose her whereabouts, you have only to alert the guards.”

The door shut with a clang, the finality of a tombstone settling into place. Crosshair tested his sluggish limbs. He could move in an uncoordinated way, like swimming through heavy atmosphere. He dragged himself to the edge of the cot, all but falling to the floor, right hand coming up to claw at his hollow eye socket. A sob welled up but he swallowed it, forcing silence to his lips instead. On the floor he curled, foetal, arms cradling and protecting his head, one remaining eye squeezed shut to block out the reality of his loss.

If he kept his eye shut, he could pretend that’s all it was. Just like having his eyes closed.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Perhaps he finally slept from exhaustion.

A scratching sound nearby permeated his consciousness, slowly dragging his mind back from the numb vortex of despair his thoughts circled. A sound not in his cell. A sound in the walls.

Carefully he rolled to his side, pushing up to sit cross-legged with his back to the noise. His right shoulder hunched high, defensive, shielding his broken face. With his left arm he reached across his body, pulling the food tray to him, then without turning shuffled backwards until he was leaned against the wall.

Once he was there he sagged against the supporting expanse of steel, drained even by that small amount of movement. Fatigue coursed through him with quivering intensity, invading his thoughts and muscles with equal ferocity, but he forced himself to gather the bread roll from the tray and slowly start picking it to pieces.

Once the roll was in shreds he tucked his hands behind the small of his back, posting the fragments of bread through the vent.

Omega’s fingertips brushed against his and he stilled, almost ready to weep at the contact. He tilted his head back against the cool steel, closing his eyes. Closing one eye, trying not to feel how his eyelid stretched in pain over the empty place his right eye used to be. He briefly squeezed her fingers in return.

“Eat up, kid,” he whispered, voice no more than an exhaled breath. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Have you got something to eat too?”

Crosshair cracked open his left eye, peering uncertainly at the tray. “Yeah. There’s stew.”

“Can’t pass that through a grate,” came Omega’s voice with forced cheer, and tears stung his lids at the way she could find levity even in the darkest situations.

When he finished passing the bread he reached out and lifted the bowl to his lips, sipping at the stew. His hands shook so much that the ceramic bashed against his teeth, the vibration sending a fresh jolt of pain to his empty eye-socket, and he hissed in displeasure.

“Crosshair?” Omega’s voice was small and concerned. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”

He took a breath. Summoned up some deep reserve of determination and stilled his quaking.

“I’m fine,” he said, and there was enough acid in his tone that he sounded almost like his old self. Then, “We’re getting out of here. Tonight.”

He heard a shuffling as she shifted her position within the walls. “What do I need to do, Crosshair? Tell me, and I’ll be ready.”

“Get back to the loose vent panel as the base switches over to night-cycle,” he said, trying to inject more confidence than he felt into his words. “I’ll meet you there.”

Tech had taught him all about their enhanced physiology. Had taught all of them, lecturing his brothers for hours on end to ensure they understood their enhancements so that they could best utilise them.

All clone troopers possessed an element of rapid healing, allowing them to shrug off injuries that would stall a nat-born, or recover more quickly from even more grievous wounds. And Experimental Unit 99 was enhanced even further than that, their growth and repair times even faster.

Crosshair wasn’t sure Hemlock knew that. Didn’t think he’d accounted for how quickly his body would break down the torture drugs which had been a feature of his long incarceration. He’d certainly never given them reason to suspect that he recovered faster than normal from the toxins they flooded his system with.

Too busy laying there in despair for them to think the drugs had worn off any quicker.

He would make use of that unintentional obfuscation now. They would expect him to still be staggered by the sedative.

All his short life, he’d been underestimated. Now, as before, he would turn it to his advantage.

“Guard.” He injected a tremulous note of feebleness into his voice. “Guard.”

An armoured solder appeared at the door of his cell. Not clone armour. The TK troopers.

“What do you want, prisoner?”

“Hemlock,” he stuttered. It wasn’t so hard to pretend, lances of pain stabbing through his head from behind his right orbit. “O…me…ga…”

A quick conference outside the door. The sound of retreating footsteps. The door opened, and the one remaining guard entered.

“On your feet,” came the command as he was grabbed roughly by his arm, “ready for the Doctor.”

Crosshair let himself be dragged upright, sagging his weight away from the TK soldier. Feigning weakness long enough for the man to off-balance to catch him.

One rapid, smooth move to sweep the knife from the sheath at the trooper’s belt. A single upward stroke of his arm, ending with the blade embedded under the rim of the helmet. A quiet gurgle and now it was the TK trooper’s turn to sag, Crosshair catching him and staggering under the weight.

He eased the dying man to the floor soundlessly, glancing at the door. Had he been too loud? Would someone investigate?

Hunter would know. Hunter would hear someone coming, sense them, long before they arrived.

Crosshair didn’t have Hunter. Only his own, un-enhanced senses, dulled by pain, and vision that swam in and out and faded disconcertingly where his peripheral sight used to be on the right.

He quashed the rising panic. With trembling hands he set to releasing the catches on the dead man’s armour, fasting it to his own body with the rote instinct of years performing the same actions, no matter how shell-shocked he felt. Knife at his belt. Pistol at one hip, blaster in hands.

Pulled on the helmet, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the close warmth of another man’s gear pressing around his injured face. Activated the HUD. Wished he knew how to compensate for his missing eye.

Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet. Both hands clutched the blaster, trying to still the tremors that ran through him. The armour felt unbearably heavy, and he wondered how he ever used to carry this weight, let alone move agile and evasive across battlefields.

He looked down at the youth whose lifeblood pooled darkly on the ground, eyes glassy and unseeing in death. There was nowhere to hide the body, and even a cursory glance would show it wasn’t Crosshair, so no point trying to disguise it in the small cot. He forced his body straight, falling into the memory of rigid protocol to step out of the cell, just another guard, another obedient soldier–

Two more guards, at the end of the corridor. Their visors trained on him as he walked slowly, so slowly, towards them. Too slow? No. Slow enough to be relaxed. Like a guard who thought nothing was wrong.

“The Doctor will be here shortly,” one of them told him.

Did they expect a response? His voice would give him away, knowing that his soft, sibilant tone would never pass for the voice of the young conscripted trooper. A slight incline of his head, acknowledging he had heard. Would it be enough?

The guards parted, and one keyed the door open for him.

Past the first hurdle. Now to find Omega.

The stolen helmet was oppressive, tight and humid. His breath was harsh in the close space and sweat beaded on skin which flushed hot and cold, clammy and uncomfortable. With each step the headgear rubbed against swollen right side of his face, bruising stretched tight over his angular cheekbones, and he was certain that someone would notice he didn’t walk with the confidence of a soldier who owned this armour.

Where had he spotted the loose vent; the one he had boosted Omega up to when stray chance had brought them together in an empty corridor the day before? His attention drifted and he pressed a hand to the helmet, trying to steady his pounding head. Perhaps the sedative wasn’t fully out of his system. Too late to worry now. There was no going back.

They would make it out today, or he would die. That’s all there was to it.

He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, letting the blaster in his right hand drop limply to his side. A wave of nausea coursed through him, the meagre meal he had consumed threatening to reappear. Desperate, he glanced around. Not alone. Two guards, escorting prisoners the opposite direction.

No choice. His stomach convulsed, vomit and bile burning up his throat and into his mouth. Unthinking, he dropped the blaster and wrenched the helmet off, lunch spewing forth as he collapsed to his hands and knees. Dimly he was aware of clamouring voices as he dry-heaved, clawing his fingers against the slick puddle of vomit inches from his face.

“That’s one of the prisoners!”

Still dazed, he felt himself picked up and slammed against the wall. What was left of his vision swam, agony lancing through his head at the impact, a hot poker of pain rocketing from the base of his skull to the aching emptiness of his right eye socket. A fist found his gut, robbing him of breath he had barely recovered, before some deep-seated need to survive burned through the numbness and he thought to fight back.

Another blow to the stomach and he doubled over. His hand groped for the pistol at his hip. Once he could have done this in a heartbeat – release the cover, draw the pistol, fire. Old training guided his muscles but new weakness hobbled him; one, two, three attempts to free the pistol.

Someone grabbed his throat, squeezing, dragging him upright. The guard. Fingers pressed into his windpipe, hard enough to bruise. Crosshair couldn’t swallow the mewl of fear as he writhed in the unforgiving grip.

Then the pistol was free, blast bolt ricocheting from the floor, and the sound of live fire was drowned by a ragged cheer from the chain of prisoners who surged towards where Crosshair struggled with the guards.

Crosshair shakily brought the pistol to bear, firing again, but the guard released his throat and knocked his hand aside. The shot went wide and Crosshair grunted as the guard tackled him, pinning him to the wall.

The second guard was readying his own blaster, backing away from the cluster of prisoners he had lost control of, trying to angle over his partner’s shoulder at Crosshair. Crosshair tilted his head back, gasping as another blow found his narrow ribs, tuning out the pain as he focused on the second guard.

He raised the pistol. His arm was shaking. Stars danced across his vision, going dark as his grip on consciousness faded.

Three shots. The third hit. The guard fell.

Noise swelled. The body was swarmed by his fellow prisoners before it hit the floor. Summoning a desperate reserve of strength, Crosshair shoved at his assailant. The guard stepped back for just a moment, then lunged.

Pain exploded in his face as the guard’s fist connected with his cheekbone. For a moment Crosshair sagged, the oblivion of unconsciousness pulling tantalisingly at his senses. But before he met that relief he was wrenched back to full awareness, a raw scream torn from his throat, as two fingers hooked into the bottom of his orbital socket and pulled.

Crosshair howled as he dropped to his knees, forced down by pressure which might have been the barest touch or might have been the weight of a neutron star; it didn’t matter, his body would do nothing but obey the grip inside his broken eye-socket. Somewhere within the excruciating blossom of pain, newly repaired skin from the surgical extraction tore.

Then the weight of his attacker was lifted from his body and still he howled, and the pistol was prised from his fingers and there were hands on his shoulders and someone was shaking him.

“He’s dead. He’s dead. Pull yourself together. You looked like you were going somewhere.”

Clawing at his face, blood pulsing lazily down his cheek, Crosshair gazed up in desperation. Prisoner’s garb. A familiar face. The hollow cheeks and shaved head of an underweight reg.

“Echo?” he groaned, reaching out with his left hand, fastening trembling fingers round the other’s arm.

A shake of the head. “Sorry, brother.” The reg was crouched in front of him, tearing strips from his sleeved tunic and wadding them up to press to Crosshair’s face. The sniper hissed and recoiled, the fresh damage to his eye socket settling into an intense, pulsing nexus of hurt.

“Is he alright?” asked another voice.

“Don’t think so.”

“I’m fine,” ground out Crosshair, pushing away at the ministering hands, staggering to his feet. He glanced around, searching, but one reg was holding out the pistol, and another had the stolen helmet.

His thoughts were sluggish, swirling in a disparate haze of pain and fatigue, but through it all one goal cut clearly.

“I have to go,” he muttered, gesturing for the pistol. It was placed in his palm, his arm sagging tiredly by his side. Then the reg holding the helmet stepped in front of him, reverently offering the protective headgear.

“Is there anything we can do?” one of them asked, and a murmur of assent rippled through the group.

Crosshair eased the helmet back on, panting shallowly through his mouth. Adrenaline demanded his body continue, even as his mind wanted to shut down.

“A distraction,” he muttered, voice distorted by the vocoder. What he wouldn’t give to have Wrecker and his explosions by his side.

A reassuring hand clasped his shoulder.

“Leave it to us.”

The loose vent. Crosshair came to a halt, pressing one hand to the side of his helmet, pretending to receive a com as another group of guards marched past. At the far end of the corridor a maintenance droid whirred away in silent industry.

He positioned himself opposite the vent, but had to turn his head to check both approaches were clear. The right side of his vision was a haze of red and black.

“Omega,” he hissed, low and urgent.

He saw the gleam of her eyes in the dark, checked the corridor once more. Then he stepped under the vent, lifting his arms up to her.

The girl pushed the vent from inside, sliding it out until it swung free on the one screw that held it. Then she reversed her position, shuffling out legs first and wriggling until her body dangled down the wall, holding on with the lip of the vent under her armpits.

“Drop,” he instructed, and she did. He reached out to catch her.

Almost missed.

One hand lodged securely under her armpit. The other was wide, and Omega squeaked in alarm as the uneven brake tilted her descent sidewards. Crosshair flung his other arm around her chest, pulling her tight and breaking her speed against his body, staggering as her weight hit him.

“Quiet,” he choked out as a fresh shockwave of pain lit up his nerves. He wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or to himself. The pressure inside his skull was so intense he felt sure it would fracture.

“Crosshair?” came her quiet voice, and the single word of his name was saturated with concern.

Crosshair lowered her the rest of the way to the floor, shuddering breath into his lungs. He looked up at the open vent. He’d meant to catch her and keep her aloft so she could replace it.

“We need to move,” he gasped, fingers closing vice-like round her shoulder as she turned to face him. He drew her to his left side “Stay close to me.”

A hum as the power cycled, and the lights of the corridor dimmed. The base was switched to night cycle. Distantly, the maintenance droid continued to rumble.

Crosshair fumbled to retrieve the blaster he had stowed to catch her. He didn’t mean to lean so much on her slim frame. Wasn’t certain he could walk without the support.

“Where are we going?” Omega asked, starting forwards with halting steps at the pressure of his hand. “What’s the escape plan?”

“Get to the hanger level,” said Crosshair, hoping that the vocoder would blur the exhaustion in his voice. “We’ll find a shuttle.”

Omega’s small hand curled over his, squeezing. “There’s no way we can reach the hangers undetected,” she said hesitantly.

He didn’t know how to assuage her fear.

“Keep going,” he muttered, pushing her forwards.

Luck was on their side, at first.

Crosshair’s disguise held. The armour may have been an ill fit for his six-four frame, but it was the armour of a TK trooper, and nobody expected TK troopers to be an identical height the way clones were. Omega, in her medical assistant’s garb, simply looked like she was being escorted between assignments by Crosshair’s firm grip.

Crosshair’s stamina didn’t hold. Every step was a supreme effort of willpower, calling his attention back from the soft edges of the void to try and stay upright. His earlier nausea had given way to a gnawing enervation, his thoughts spacing out in absent drifts as he struggled to keep a continuous thread of consciousness.

His footsteps became heavy, dragging along the floor, and he stumbled. He caught his weight against Omega’s frame, felt her arms go round his waist to support him. Across the hall, heads turned to look at them.

“Report, soldier,” barked a captain, peeling away from his unit. “What’s the matter?”

Crosshair dragged his head up, trying to train his attention on the man. An enemy. Someone planning to stop their escape.

Achingly, shakingly, he began to raise his arm with the blaster.

Omega stepped firmly in front of him, arms out defensively. “This soldier is sick,” she said, her voice firm and uncompromising. A blaster was pointed her way, but she didn’t waver. “I am taking this patient for treatment.”

“And who are you?” came the dispassionate question. “Identify yourself.”

“Um,” began Omega, and the hesitation was enough to end them. The captain tensed, raising his weapon aggressively.

“Identify yourself!”

Pain zeroed in on Crosshair’s mind, forcing out all higher thought. There was nothing left, nothing but the need to survive.

He raised his arm. Raked a ragged line of fire through the captain, through his squad. Wavered on his feet as the men yelled and dived, trying to evade his haphazard attack.

One of the blaster bolts had taken down the captain at least. The others in the squad scrambled for defensive positions, nursing wounds, readying weapons. A bolt of blaster fire zipped into the dark space where his peripheral vision once was.

“Crosshair!”

Omega was clinging to his arm, dragging him, stumbling, into cover. She grabbed the pistol from his holster, peeking out to spy their enemies.

Deep-trained discipline kicked in. Crosshair crouched over Omega, shielding her body with his own. Sighted down the weapon. Watched his first shots go wide. Compensated. Still missed.

His sight was shot. Depth perception gone. Injury and exhaustion worked on his body to rob his hands of their steadiness.

Everything that had made him what he was; taken from him.

Crashing to his knees, head lolling, the blaster fell limply from his hands. He clutched at the right side of the visor, the reality of his lost sight hitting home. Unbidden, a wail of despair was dragged from him; back arched, head thrown back, a desperate keening sound ripped from his lungs and garbled through the helmet’s vocoder into an electronic howl which gave pause to the firefight, TK soldiers looking about in confusion.

Omega emerged from their meagre cover and levelled the pistol. Her expression went hard, eyes glinting in determination.

Every shot found its mark. With every shot she claimed a life, until the corridor echoed with sudden stillness after the fight.

She didn’t wait. Immediately she grabbed Crosshair’s arm, looping it across her shoulders and dragging him to his feet.

“Come on,” she implored, half plea, half command. “We have to make it to the lift.”

Crosshair allowed himself to be pulled along, unable to resist. Something in the back of his mind needled him as he let her take his weight, barely able to hold himself upright.

“I’m… slowing you down,” he managed, trying feebly to shake free of her support.

“I’m not leaving here without you, Crosshair.”

Deep inside, her words were a balm to his injured soul. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. He swallowed thickly against the pulsating agony in his head and tried to keep up.

They reached the lift, Omega keying in the code to summon the capsule that would carry them up to the hanger level. Crosshair slouched against the wall, breathing heavily. It was all he could do to stay upright.

When the doors parted Omega led him through, her small hands in his, before she took charge of that control panel too. Sinking to the floor, Crosshair tilted his head back and let his mind swim in and out of consciousness. Not far now. Not far.

“An alert has been triggered,” came Omega’s voice, soft and distraught. “Reporting our escape. They’ll be waiting for us when the lift stops.”

Crosshair knew he should care about that. He waved a hand dismissively.

“I can handle it.”

He sensed – didn’t see, his eye was closed – her crouch next to him.

“You’re injured, Crosshair.”

He shook his head, but she was gently releasing the seal from the helmet and lifting it from his head. He didn’t have the strength to stop her.

The helmet clattered to the floor as she gasped, hands going to her mouth in shock. Bitterly, Crosshair rolled his head to one side. Tried to hide the right side of his face from her.

“Crosshair.” Her voice choked on tears. “Who did this to you?”

He knew how it must look. His right eye socket, empty. Bruising purpling the hollow lids, stretched across bone. Fine-line tattoo lost under a crust of dried blood.

“It doesn’t matter,” he managed through gritted teeth. He peered at her out of the slit of his left eye, dark brown iris glinting in the low light. “Are you okay?”

She threw herself at his chest, arms wrapping round him in a tight embrace. He grunted at the contact but raised his left arm weakly, folding it over her back and stroking her hair.

“Hey now, kid,” he murmured, words faint. “Don’t get soft on me. We’ve still got a fight ahead of us.”

She stayed pressed against him, and he felt her warm tears on his collar. Didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

The lift jolted to a halt, throwing them about and drawing a protesting hiss of pain from Crosshair. Omega raised her head, dashing her arm across her damp eyes, and looked about.

“There’s a new alert,” she said, scrambling up to inspect the panel. “It says there’s a fire! The lift has been deactivated. What do we do now?”

A thin-lipped, humourless smile pressed across Crosshair’s face. “A distraction,” he said aloud, wry satisfaction in his voice.

He dragged himself up, staggered as he lifted Omega onto his shoulder and directed her to open the emergency hatch in the ceiling. He barely managed to stay upright as she climbed up, and had sagged back to his knees when she reached down through the hatch for him.

“Come on, Crosshair.” Her voice was filled with stubborn determination. “You can do this.”

It was like she didn’t give him a choice. Her child’s voice cut through the throbbing pain in his head and he found himself obeying, passing up the blaster and helmet first, then letting her take hold of his hands and haul him up. He didn’t have the strength to assist. Even with her help he lay panting and spent on the roof of the lift, staring up at the dark chasm of the elevator shaft in unthinking exhaustion.

Omega shook his shoulder gently but insistently. “We have to keep going,” she said, easing him up to a sitting position. Wordlessly, she offered the helmet.

He glanced at her, bruised face meeting her gaze with a silent nod of thanks before he took the headgear and pulled it back on, hiding the extent of his injuries.

Omega slung the blaster over her back, leaving him with the pistol and the knife. Without discussion they moved to the service ladder, Omega clambering on first before turning to check Crosshair was following her.

“Stay with me,” she instructed, and he nodded.

Crosshair settled into the leaden rhythm of the climb, holding his body close to the ladder. He didn’t trust the strength of his grip so each step he laboriously hooked an elbow round the rungs, clinging on through dogged determination, resting and panting for breath with every excruciating foot he climbed.

The hot-cold nausea was back, setting up a tremble of weakness in his muscles. He choked, gagging, his stomach convulsing once more as he retched fruitlessly inside the helmet. His bottom foot slipped and he fell, catching himself on his right elbow, left hand linked around right wrist as he dangled helplessly against the rungs.

“Crosshair, keep climbing!” pleaded Omega, wrapping her own limbs around the ladder securely as she watched him, waiting for him to continue. He shook his head, arm slipping slowly through his own grip.

“Crosshair!”

Omega lunged as he lost his grip. Snagged the grapple from the TK trooper utility belt he wore, hauling it up even as he dropped. She gasped and snatched her hands back before her fingers could be trapped, the hooked grapple head clanging tightly to the ladder rungs. The ratchet on the cable jerked and caught, Crosshair grunting in pain as he swung into the wall at the end of the line.

“Keep climbing,” he said, voice ragged and broken, waving at her to continue.

Instead she climbed down to him, positioning herself under him, pulling him back to the ladder and helping him hook his arms and legs back around the rungs.

“We can do this,” came her voice, small but determined. “I’ve got you, Crosshair.”

This time he climbed ahead of her, and every time he sagged he felt Omega’s body curl close and protective against him. Her hands tightened on the rungs as she kept him pinned against the ladder, her cheek pressed against the small of his back. Despite the tremor in her own tiring muscles she held on, letting him catch his breath before urging him to continue.

They were still climbing when the power was restored, the ladder rumbling beneath them as the lift began to rise towards them. Crosshair glanced down, then quickly pulled Omega against him and released the ladder, letting them drop to the roof of the lift as it rushed up to meet them.

Omega’s blonde hair was tousled by the rushing wind of their ascent, and Crosshair swayed on his feet as he held her tightly to his body. He turned his face down to her, studied the hardened look on her face through the blurred edges of his vision. His arm squeezed tight around her shoulders, drawing on her strength as he embraced her to replenish his own flagging reserves.

The lift slowed, then stopped.

“Hanger level,” said Omega softly.

Below them, through the open hatch on the roof of the lift, came the hiss of a door seal releasing.

Crosshair dropped to one knee, slamming the hatch closed.

“Through the service tunnel,” he ordered, shoving Omega ahead of him. “It’ll take us above the hanger.”

Muffled voices. “The lift is empty.”

“What? They must be there. We had confirmation they were in this elevator.”

“Stay on guard! They have to be somewhere.”

They crawled into the narrow vent, Omega fitting easily, Crosshair struggling to drag his armoured shoulders along the tight channel. Plastoid scraped against durasteel with a grating whine, echoing along the duct, and he knew the sound would give their position away.

“Keep going,” he hissed, stopping to release scraps of armour and shed them inside the tunnel. It wouldn’t be much use now anyway. Once they reached the hanger, the opposition they faced would be so overwhelming that the armour wouldn’t save him from blaster-fire coming his way.

Pauldrons and pack discarded, he carried on after Omega. Blood drips spattered the inside of his visor. He didn’t have time to stop and wipe them clean. Had to keep moving. Almost out.

Almost out.

So tired.

Almost out.

Omega had stopped over a grille, pointing down into the hanger below.

“There’s TK troopers everywhere,” she whispered, shuffling to give him space to look.

He barely glanced at the scene. Trying to focus on the distant squads of soldiers set his head aching. Between the lost half of his vision and the smears inside his visor, so much was obscured.

“There,” he slurred, “that line of fighters.”

Omega scanned the hanger and saw the row of fighter ships, cockpits canopies open and ready to welcome their pilots.

“Do you know how to fly them?” she asked.

“Yes. Tech made me memorise-”

“-the specs of every ship,” she finished, a small smile curling her lips. “He did the same with me.”

Crosshair’s chest constricted at the memory of his brother. Choked back the wave of grief that threatened to drown him.

“We go along the line, sending them off on autopilot,” he said. “They won’t know which one to follow.”

“Which ship are we taking?”

“We need something with hyperspace capability.” He pointed to a slightly larger shuttle. “That one.”

They resumed their crawl along the duct, trying to ignore the shouts of the search parties below. Omega stopped when they reached a vent almost directly above the row of ships, threading one slim hand through the grating and starting to unscrew it from the outside.

Crosshair readied the grapple, then folded his body into an awkward seat and stole what rest he could whilst Omega worked. Everything was starting to sound very distant. His mind floated on a cushion of adrenaline, comfortably numb as his consciousness divorced itself from the pain wracking his body.

Then Omega was shaking him awake.

“Ready?” she asked. He blinked groggily inside the helmet, wincing at the way his bruised eyelids pulled on the tormented right side.

“Yeah,” he muttered unconvincingly, shifting into position.

Omega released the final screw and caught the grate before it dropped, lifting it back into the duct and stowing it behind her. She spidered herself over the hole, letting Crosshair and the grapple cable lower down first, before shimmying onto the cable herself.

Crosshair dropped quickly to the floor, knowing speed was as essential as silence to their descent going unnoticed. He misjudged his footing at the bottom, rolling his ankle with a muttered curse. Quickly detaching the cable from the utility belt, he hobbled to the protecting shadow of the nearest ship and watched in desperate anxiety as Omega shinned her way down the cable.

The girl dropped to the floor and scurried to his side, peering up at the fighter. “I should be able to activate the autopilot on a timer so they all start moving at once,” she told him.

“I’ll keep the patrols off your back,” he replied, taking the blaster from her and passing her the pistol instead.

Omega hesitated, about to turn away, then straightened to face him. “Crosshair,” she said with an uncertain waver. “We’re leaving together.”

Crosshair shook his head. “If you get the chance to go, take it. Tell Hunter-”

“Tell him yourself!” she snapped, voice rising angrily. “I’m not going without you!”

He clamped a hand across her mouth to quiet her, hissing a warning. She struggled and he released her, crouching down so he was on eye level with her.

“Omega,” he said, tiredness in his voice stilling her protest more effectively than his hand had. He blinked inside his helmet, trying to clear his vision, trying to fix the image of her determined, trusting face in his mind.

She pressed into him, arms folding round his half-armoured body in an embrace that spoke all of the words they didn’t have time to say. Crosshair cupped one hand to the back of her head, trying for a soothing hum that broke as his voice quavered in exhaustion.

Then he let go, shoving her gently towards the ships.

“Get on with it,” he hissed, and turned away to avoid the hurt in her eyes. The recrimination at the sacrifice they both knew he planned.

Because it would be worth it. His life for hers. Returning her to his brothers was all that mattered.

His head swam as he steadied the blaster in both hands.

Escape, or die trying.

Help the girl escape.

Die trying.

The floor wobbled and gave way beneath his feet as he crossed the hanger. He fell with it, crashing to the spongy surface with a thud. Blaster in his right hand. Left splayed against the ground, testing it. Firm. No give. Still, his head strobed in and out, attention bowing and flexing as the world pulsed indistinctly around him.

He might be hallucinating. He suspected that now.

Dragged himself to his knees. Levered back to his feet.

Raised the blaster. Tried to focus.

Everything seemed so fuzzy, so distant. The HUD told him how far to his target, but it must be reading wrong. Surely he was closer than that. Was he? Leaden legs carried him forwards without conscious thought. The inside of his visor was smeared with his own blood, further restricting what remained of his sight.

The helmet was stifling. His own breath was hot and harsh, the noise of it filling his ears. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t see.

Needed to concentrate. Needed to be able to see.

Uncertain, trembling, he reached up and pulled the helmet off. Winced as it dragged past the tender swelling of his face.

Or maybe he cried out. That would explain why the TK troops suddenly turned to his direction.

“There he is!”

“All units, respond.”

“I don’t see the girl.”

“Don’t let him escape!”

The helmet fell to the floor with a clang. This was better, he thought dully. He could breathe easier. See better, without the distracting smears of red across his vision.

Heavy footsteps. Lots of them. Armoured figures surrounding him, weapons ready.

“On your knees, prisoner!”

Crosshair turned his ruined face, surveyed his captors. Dragged in a wet breath through his open mouth.

A blow landed on his back, staggering him. He dropped to one knee, a broken whimper escaping him.

“Drop your weapon!”

Shakingly, he raised his hands. The blaster swung loosely from his right.

Heard someone step towards him. Couldn’t see them in the blind spot left by his missing eye.

The roar of an engine awakening. A chorus of engines. Shouts of surprise, and the TK troopers turned.

“Siths hells…”

Crosshair didn’t look. Couldn’t afford to look. Had to take advantage of Omega activating the line of fighter ships.

Spun the blaster, bringing it to bear. Finger closed around the trigger.

Opened fire.

Howls of pain, blaster bolts burning through armour. He didn’t know how many he hit. Didn’t know where he hit. Arms, legs, it didn’t matter. Gone was the ability to pinpoint each enemy, one shot, one kill. This would have to do, a haphazard spray of fire and a prayer that they would escape.

A fresh burst of adrenaline drove him to his feet, subsuming the emptiness that clawed at his willpower as he began to move towards the shuttle. He was lightheaded, stumbling as he staggered forwards with the blaster swinging between targets. Didn’t care if his shots hit. Couldn’t have aimed if he tried. It was enough that his continued fire forced the troopers to dodge out of his way, clearing a path for his exhausted body to follow.

His vision blacked out and in again. He realised he was on the floor, slumped on his front. When did he get there? He didn’t remember falling. Aligned his arms underneath his body. Pushed up. Struggled to get his legs to work.

“Order confirmed. Prioritise the girl. Stop her escaping!”

Crosshair raised his head. Blinked away the blurriness. Watched one of the gunships lift from the ground, turning slowly.

They were going to shoot Omega down.

Kept turning. Cannons pointed towards him.

Oh.

It was Omega.

Just in time he let his weight drop, belly pressing to the floor once more. The gunship’s cannons spoke, shells rocketing over his head and detonating against a stack of crates, starting a chain reaction as stored ammo and munitions were consumed in a rapid inferno. A blast of heat seared his back, baking even through the protective armour, and he slowly began to crawl forwards on his stomach to escape the blaze.

The ramp of the gunship lowered, exposing the troop transport hold within.

What was she doing? She was supposed to flee. Take the ship and go. Why was the ship hovering in place, entry ramp open invitingly?

Not leaving without you.

Her words constricted the broken fragments of his heart, filling him with purpose.

Not leaving without you.

He staggered to his feet, lurching forwards. One step. Then another. Another. Towards the gunship. Towards the light that spilled from the hold.

Towards freedom.

Close enough now to see her frightened face through the canopy, barely tall enough to see over the controls.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Another step. Towards Omega.

Towards salvation.

Her expression crumpled in panic. Mouth opened in a warning shout that didn’t reach his ears.

His smile faded to confusion.

Pain erupted in the exposed joint of his shoulder, protecting pauldron discarded to fit through the vent.

A blade twisted. A howl as bone sprung free of the socket.

Whirling, staggering, Crosshair faced down the soldier in his blind spot, snuck up where he could no longer see.

The knife, dripping with his blood.

The soldier lunged again, knife digging into the seam of his collar bone, so close to main arteries.

Pupil dilated with shock. Crosshair’s hand flew to his neck, pressing against the gout of blood threatening to spurt as the soldier dragged the knife back. Gripping the hilt, he kept it embedded in the wound.

The soldier struggled against Crosshair’s grip. Crosshair dropped the blaster. Tugged the knife from his belt.

So tired. Too tired to find the will to fight.

Dislocated shoulder refusing to bring the knife to bear.

He imagined a hand closing over his. Hunter’s grip, strong and sure.

Closed his one eye. Darkness, so comforting.

Drove the knife home.

A high voice, calling his name. “Crosshair!”

Hands pulled at his armour, tugging him forwards. He opened his eyes.

Omega, hauling him towards the ramp of the gunship.

Crosshair’s mind whipped back to wakefulness, the urgency of their situation crashing over him. He finally forced his legs to work, stumbling forwards under Omega’s guidance until they were both in the ship and she released him, running back to the cockpit.

Crosshair’s hands grasped for a gun he didn’t have, and he turned dazedly back to the hanger. TK troopers were recovering, emerging from cover and launching volleys of blaster-fire towards their ship. He dived to the side, a blast bolt grazing his hip and drawing another guttural cry of pain from him. His left arm wrapped across his body and he gripped his right elbow, holding his loosely swinging arm against his chest as he staggered after Omega.

“This isn’t the ship I pointed out,” he gasped in frustration, collapsing heavily against the wall.

Omega’s hands flew over the console, activating the ignition sequence. “I know,” she said. “This one had more defensive capabilities.”

“It has cannons!” he hissed. “That’s offensive!”

“Wrecker always says that offence is the best form of defence,” countered Omega. She gripped the steering column and the ship lurched forwards, towards the strip of night sky showing beyond the under-hang of the mountain. Already, fighter jets swarmed outside, anticipating their escape.

The front of his chest was growing warm and damp. The knife still embedded in his shoulder was slowing the blood loss but couldn’t stem it completely, and the stab wound that had dislocated his right shoulder flowed freely. The whole right side of his body was a mess, so much pain clouding his senses that it was hard to distinguish one injury from the next.

His breathing was shallow, rapid, skin cold and clammy. He released his grip on his own arm to steady himself against Omega’s pilot chair instead, leaning heavily against it as he tried to focus on the rushing darkness outside the cockpit.

“Can you do this?” he asked, the words laboured and indistinct. Omega glanced at him in worry, then fixed her gaze straight ahead.

“Don’t worry, Crosshair. I’ll get us out of here.”

The ship lurched as she dived, evading the fighters which raked fire towards their fleeing ship. Crosshair all but fell into the co-pilot’s seat, answering the impact with an agonised growl before forcing the restraints across his protesting body to strap in safely. He was no good to Omega passed out on the floor of the cockpit.

Omega snuck another look at him, her brown eyes pointedly following the red stain cascading down the stolen armour. Rivulets of blood trickled down his right hand, hanging limply at his side, dripping to the floor with alarming alacrity.

She gunned the engines, the ship roaring as it picked up speed. She shot through the waiting cloud of enemy ships, then killed the thrusters and hauled hard on the controls. The ship swung back round in a tight reversal, and now that the fighters were clustered in front of them she opened fire, front lasers tearing into the delicate fighters and sending them, flaming, into death spirals.

Crosshair grunted, the sound little more than a breath. “The Tech turn,” he whispered, a smile ghosting across his lips.

Omega gave a shaky laugh. “He says it’s not called that,” she told him, angling the ship up and sending them shooting towards the edge of the atmosphere.

“He’s the only one of us who could pull it off.” Crosshair’s voice faded in and out, eyes closed. His right hand twitched, fingers convulsing, as though he would reach out to her. “I guess he taught you well.”

“Stay with me, Crosshair.” Omega’s voice cut through the tiredness of his mind, calling him back from the edge of consciousness. She sounded like she was crying. “We’re nearly there.”

That’s right. Once they made the hyperspace jump they’d be safe.

“There’ll be a blockade,” he managed. Opened his eye. Watched her punching co-ordinates into the hyperspace drive.

Dragged his left arm from his lap. Wrapped his hand feebly round the co-pilot’s controls.

“You can’t do that yet. We’ll burn up if you ignite the hyperdrive now.”

Omega grit her teeth, snuffling against tears.

“We’ll make the jump as soon as we break atmo.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing. It seemed to be harder than he remembered. His chest, lungs, throat, didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

He trusted Omega.

Trusted she would get them out.

A sudden, high-pitched whine as the hyperdrive engine came up to speed.

The ship was rocked by vibrations as blaster fire from the blockade raked the shields.

A blinding white-blue light pierced his closed eyelid, painting his world in a haze of dark and light.

They made the jump to hyperspace.

Crosshair surfaced slowly from unconsciousness, groping about with his other senses without opening his eyes. The right side of his face still throbbed but it was a numb pulse now, pain deadened beyond layers of exhaustion and sedatives. Around him the ship was quiet, computers and engines humming idly. There was a strong smell of disinfectant.

He tried to command his left arm, found it would move. Lifted his hand to his face, pressing it over his left eye before cracking it open, breathing a gasp of relief as he saw his own palm. His sight. He still had his sight.

“Crosshair!”

His name was spoken low and urgently, but with undeniable enthusiasm. He dropped his hand and blinked the rest of the world into focus, a blonde-haired face swimming into view.

“What happened?” he croaked, wincing against the dryness in his throat.

Omega pressed a canteen to his lips and he drank greedily, the water slaking a thirst he hadn’t realised was so intense. Then she was helping him sit up, hands gentle on his aching body.

He realised he was still in the co-pilot’s chair, semi-reclined. Outside the starscape was still, pinpoints of light against the black curtain of space. They weren’t moving.

“What happened?” he repeated, and this time his voice was a little stronger.

The girl immediately set to checking his wounds. He realised most of his upper right body was swathed in bandages, and the cold of space hit him as he realised she had cut his clothes away to treat the wounds. He was covered by a thin blanket which had slid down as he sat upright, and he grabbed it now and pulled it anxiously up to cover his body.

“You passed out after we made the hyperspace jump,” she told him quietly, not looking at him as she worked. She adjusted the tension on the sling that held his right arm, then smoothed down the edge of a bandage that was peeling away on his shoulder. “Hypovolemic shock,” she added, as though it made a difference. “You shouldn’t try to stand just yet.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, lying against the light-headedness he still felt.

She huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Sure.”

He let her continue her checks, until she came to his face. Her slim hands tried to rest on his cheeks but he batted them away, turning his face from her. Turning so that she was in the blind spot of his bandaged right-hand side.

“Please let me check your wounds, Crosshair,” she said in a small voice. She dropped one hand to his chest, resting it over his hand which trembled, knotted inside the blanket.

“I don’t want you to,” he said softly, trying not to sound sullen. He kept his gaze averted, sorrow etching his face.

“We need to-”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

She stopped, mouth set in an unhappy line.

“Please, Omega,” he said, and the uncharacteristic plea softened her expression. She nodded, going to sit back in the pilot’s chair.

“So where are we?” he asked after a moment, drawing her from her thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, a soft waver of worry in her voice. “I’ve sent a signal to the rest of the Batch. I’m hoping they’ll pick it up, but without Tech-”

“Echo will get the signal,” Crosshair interrupted her without thinking. “He’s good at things like that.”

A meek, watery smile wobbled onto her face. “Yeah. They’ll find us.”

Now Crosshair tilted his face to her, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure of his bruises as he returned her smile. It even crinkled at the corners of his left eye, a glint of his old fire and flint flashing in his gaze.

“That was some good flying,” he told her honestly. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, a shy grin coming to her face.

“It was pretty cool,” she agreed, a shaky laugh shuddering up through her small body. Then, “Thanks for getting me out, Crosshair.”

“You got yourself out, kid,” he said, a low admission of approval.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He touched his hand to his bandaged arm, his neck, his cheek.

“I wouldn’t be here without you either, so consider us even.”

They lapsed into silence. Crosshair reclined back into the co-pilot’s chair once more, letting the padded seat take the weight of his aching body. His head span and he closed his eye against nausea, hoping Omega wouldn’t notice his pallor.

He kept his eye closed as he listened to her shuffle, approximated that she was imitating his position. His thoughts abstracted, snatches of memories surfacing and then flitting away as he continued to hover between sleep and wakefulness.

Eventually the com beeped.

A familiar voice.

“Havoc Five, come in.”

Crosshair started, flinching awake with a cry as the movement strained his injuries. Omega was scrambling for the com, leaning over the console with a delighted gasp.

“Hunter!”

“Omega!” The relief in Hunter’s voice was tangible as a cheer set up from the background.

“Omega! Where are you?” That was Wrecker’s voice, booming with enthusiasm. Omega laughed giddily, sitting up and tapping at the controls.

“I don’t know where we are. I’m sending our co-ordinates now,” she said, quickly relaying the data.

“Received,” came Echo’s confirmation. “I’ve got your position, Omega. Hang tight, and we’ll rendezvous with you.”

“Omega.” It was Hunter again. “You said ‘we’. Did a group of you escape?”

Omega glanced at Crosshair. He was sitting up now, shaking his head slowly.

She reached out and covered the com. “They have to know,” she whispered imploringly.

Crosshair looked away. “I haven’t seen Hunter since-”

“I know.” She reached out and laid a hand gently over his. Then she turned to the com again.

“Crosshair is with me.”

“CROSSHAIR?” His name was echoed in triplicate.

“He’s injured, so he can’t talk right now,” she said quickly, saving him from the demands of conversation. “Hurry,” she added. “Please hurry.”

“We’re on our way, Omega,” said Hunter, and the com blinked off.

Crosshair sagged back, staring unseeingly out the window. The young girl stayed at the controls a moment more, before hopping down and coming over to his chair.

Before he could protest Omega had climbed up into his lap, tucking her head under his jaw, one small hand stroking the back of his neck soothingly.

He couldn’t summon the energy to fight her.

Found he didn’t want to.

“They’re going to be pleased to see you, Crosshair,” she whispered into his chest, fingers tracing repetitive lines on his skin. “Just like I was.”

Despite the way his right side throbbed, he relaxed into the comfort of her weight on his left. He brought his uninjured arm up and closed it round her, pulling her tight against him as he rested his left cheek on her soft hair.

No, he didn’t want to see his brothers. No, he didn’t want her to check his wounds, face the reality of his loss.

But laying here like this, listening to her soft breathing, he found his doubts fading.

It didn’t seem so bad when he thought of it as a trade-off.

A price paid.

His eye. Her freedom.

His little sister.

Not leaving here without you.

It would take time for his injuries to heal. But she had already mended something in him that had been broken.

He would go through it a thousand times over if it kept her free.

He closed his eye, trying not to remember the darkness at the side of his vision.

A price paid.

A fair price.

This time, as he drifted just above the threshold of sleep, he was at peace.

*check the reblogs for the epilogue!*

#the bad batch #tbb fanfic #the bad batch season 3 #tbb s3 #season 3 predictions #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #crosshair and omega #omega and crosshair #hemlock #royce hemlock #tantiss #mount tantiss #escape from mount tantiss #febuwhump #febuwhumpday15 #“who did this to you”#badthingshappenbingo #tortured for information

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