#[i feel so rusty not having touched this muse for so long ;A; but i love her to bits]
Text
˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪ 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒇 ➸ 𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), oral (f!receiving), shy!reader, unprotected sex, praise kink (kinda), some teasing, dirty talk, etc.
𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: sirius really likes it when the reader wears his clothes.
𝑨/𝑵: hi everyone! i’m very excited for my first post on this blog. please go easy on me as i’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing (also this is completely unedited, so apologies in advance for any mistakes). i’m still deciding how i want to format these posts, so forgive me if it’s a bit of an eyesore. i also accidentally posted this on my main at first, so if you saw that... no you didn’t ;) as always, lowercase is intended. feel free to send me a request if you like. feedback is always appreciated!
𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.1k 𓂃♡₊⭑
·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺
“is that my shirt, dove?”
the low, silken gravel of his tired voice startles you as you sit perched in the little window seat of your shared bedroom, the window thrust open to let the night breeze in.
“hmmm?” you muse, distracted as you slowly paint a top coat on your toenails. you fan them with one hand as you glance behind you. sirius stands in the doorway, lithe figure leaned against the frame as he watches you. his shirtsleeves are rolled up over his forearms, hair skirting his shoulders messily, eyes foggy from a long day at work. a soft smile plays over his lips, quieter than his usual wide, wolfish grin.
he nods towards his shirt draped over your frame, the fabric pooling around your hips to expose the fabric of your panties. “been looking for that all over,” he says simply.
you make a sheepish face, twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish. “‘m sorry,” you mutter, smiling apologetically. you turn towards him, bare legs dangling over the edge of the seat. you are a sight for sore eyes; his gaze trails over your exposed skin, eyes darkening as they trace your figure draped in his shirt. a warmth blooms in your stomach as you watch him watch you. the look is familiar–though it never fails to send your chest aflutter.
“want me to take it off?” you ask, mostly because you’re at the point where it’s getting hard not to squirm beneath his hungry gaze. the silence is deafening, unspoken words bubbling to the surface. you have the sudden feeling that sirius may not be as tired from work as you thought.
“not at all.” there’s that mischievous glint behind his eyes, darkening the clear grey to a stormy shade. you sit another second, skin burning as his eyes rake over you, and then you stand and pad over to your vanity.
sirius should be getting undressed, preparing for bed. he’s too busy watching you. his eyes skirt over the curve of one bare shoulder as you return the little bottle of polish to its rightful place. you swipe a hand through your mussed hair, trying to ignore his attention. he always knows how to get you squirming, the easiest ways to set your cheeks alight with embarrassment. he lives for it, watching his shy girl crumble between his fingers.
it seems he can’t contain himself any longer as he approaches you, fingers sidling up beneath the hem of the shirt. his lips are on you in an instant, pressing gently against that irresistible patch of exposed skin on your shoulder. a sigh falls from your lips and you melt into his touch. you close your eyes. his calloused palms knead over the flesh of your hips, earning a soft groan from you.
he smirks against your skin. “quiet tonight, hmm?” his breath fans along your neck as he kisses up towards your ear. goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver threatening to snake down your spine.
“it’s late,” you mutter. there’s a knowing second of quiet, both of you knowing you’ve fooled around much, much later. you’re flustered, trying to deflect his teasing words. the butterflies fluttering in your stomach have long since morphed into flames, burning like your skin as you wait for his next move.
“you want me to stop?” his whisper is soft, the undertone of huskiness becoming feather light. you shift, eyes meeting his in the reflection of the vanity. his eyes are clear, curious. you know he’d stop at the word, no questions asked. but he knows you better than that, knows the way your legs twist together at the feeling of his hands holding you firmly means you don’t want him to stop. sirius wagers you would beg him not to stop, if he wanted you to.
“no,” you shake your head. there’s that grin again, and his lips are back on you. a sharp breath slices the air as he nips at your skin with his teeth. “sirius–”
his grasp tightens at the gasp of his name. he chuckles quietly, snaking a hand up over your stomach. the rough pad of his hand finds your breast, kneading it in his palm whilst his other hand holds you firm against him. he’s hardening behind you, bulge pressed against your scantily clad frame. his gaze is still trained on you in the mirror, dragging over the lush sight of your flushed face, your lips parted in small pants, the dark look in your eyes. he loves watching you fall apart at his smallest ministrations. more than half of his pleasure comes just from working you up like this, pushing you to the brink without even trying.
“please,” you manage, voice constricted as you writhe against him. the ache between your legs is incessant, throbbing as you watch his salacious expression in the mirror.
“please what, my lovely girl?” he sucks a dark mark into the soft patch of skin behind your ear, earning a cry from you. he rolls your nipple between his fingers. you chew on your bottom lip, hips rocking as best they can despite his hold.
“sirius–”
there it is again, his favorite sound in the world. but he doesn’t give in so easily. you know better.
“words, please, darling,” he mutters. the arm caged around your stomach loosens for a second, his flat-palm tracing down your stomach. he’s approaching the place where you need him most, but he’s not going to give in until he gets what he wants.
you whimper at his teasing, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. “please,” you rasp desperately, “just touch me.”
“ah,” he tuts at you, “but i am touching you…” the jest in his voice goes unnoticed by you, your head swimming as he inches closer and closer to your center. you wonder, in the back of your foggy mind, if he’ll give up without those magic words, if he’ll send you off to bed with soaked panties and a fluttering stomach. surely not…
you contemplate being a brat, refusing to tell him what you want just to see how far you can push it. but you know he’s tired, and the need growing in your center is becoming almost unbearable. you let your pride crumble and you force yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror. “your fingers–your mouth, merlin–” your voice is choked as he smirks and gives in, his middle finger delving into your slick to circle around your engorged clit.
“there’s my obedient girl,” he says approvingly, the praise in his voice like music to your ears. you cry out, voice cracking as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves with expertise. he knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly what drives you crazy. the pad of his finger dips further down, swirling through the mess of juices shining on your lips.
mewling moans tear from your lips as he works you towards the edge. his lips are attached to your neck, abusing your skin to the point of saccharine tenderness. rosy marks bloom over your skin. his hand falls away from your breast to toy with the hem of the shirt, lifting it up in the front just enough so that he can watch himself pleasuring you.
“fuck, take it off, please,” you plead, hips bucking against his hand.
he shakes his head, releasing another patch of bruised skin with a hearty pop. “can’t,” he says, “wanna fuck you in it…” he mutters, voice low. he drags his teeth over your shoulder again, and then his fingers are slipping out of your panties. you whine at the loss of contact, your thighs clenching together automatically at the lack of stimulation.
he pats your bum gently, head nodding in the direction of your bed. “go on, dove,” he says, “lay down f’me…”
you do as he says, your heart thumping in anticipation. your legs are already quivering, weakened from his skilled fingers. he’s taking his time, watching as you sprawl back over the mussed blankets, frame draped in his clothes. he’s never been so enamoured, the sight of you wearing something of his just furthering his claim that you’re his sweet little angel. only, it makes him want to fuck you like you’re his little slut, makes him want to split you open on his cock and make you cry for hours and hours.
you get comfortable, spreading your legs to reveal the soaked-through fabric of your panties. he groans, running a hand through his dark hair before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. the dark fabric is discarded quickly, though he doesn’t bother removing his trousers as he kneels on the bed between your legs.
“sirius…” you breathe, aching for him by now. he’s observing, hands gently massaging the skin of your legs starting at your ankles. you squirm, following his gaze to the fabric plastered to your core. a second passes, and he dips his head between your legs, hands splayed over your thighs to keep your legs apart. a shrill cry comes from you as he licks a long stripe up your center, tongue gently flicking around your clit through your underwear. “please!”
he smiles, against you. “so sweet,” his voice comes as a whisper. you tremble as his eyes meet yours, the stormy grey churning with lust for you. teasing you, he places tiny kitten licks against your center, just enough friction to have your hips rolling up into his mouth. but he’s stronger than you, and he’s got you right where he wants you. he has a knack for turning you into a whining, wriggling mess, drunk on his touch.
“i– fuck, i can’t take it,” you hiss through clenched teeth at his teasing. you watch him through hooded eyes, biting on your bottom lip so hard that it hurts. he catches your eye, swirling the flat of his tongue over your clit. your back arches off of the bed, earning a raised eyebrow from him.
“poor baby,” he says, tongue swiping over his swollen lips. he sits back on his knees, using one hand to flick open the clasp of his belt. “shall i send you off to bed, then? let you get your beauty sleep, hmm?” his eyes flicker with amusement. his other hand rubs soft circles into the silken skin of your inner thigh. you breathe sharply at the needing ache between your legs. you need him inside of you, badly enough you feel as if you could burst into tears.
“no, why would i–” you start, shaking your head. he narrows his gaze at you, a warning. you know what he’ll do if you act like a brat, and although you’d enjoy it you don’t think you have the energy tonight. he pats your thigh softly, then finally, painstakingly drags the zipper of his trousers down.
“be m’good girl then, yeah?” he prompts, moving closer as he palms his bulge through his boxers, then drags the waistband down just enough to let his length spring free. you hum at the sight, licking your lips as he swipes a thumb over the angry red tip, spreading a bead of precum over it. he spits into his hand, pumping the moisture over his cock before positioning himself above you. two of his fingers push the fabric of your panties out of the way, and he drags the cockhead through your folds, coating it in your arousal.
a high-pitched, breathy noise graces his ears as his length drags over your clit. you bring your hand to your face, pushing your sweat-slicked hair off of your forehead. he breathes sharply above you, brows screwing together as he nudges your entrance with his length.
“need you, siri,” you say, pleading. “need you inside me so bad…”
“i know, dove,” his voice is soft as he leans down, peppering kisses over your face. “been dying to stretch you open since i got home.” he pushes into you, a chorus of pleasured sounds destroying the quiet in your bedroom.
you cry out, the feeling of him pushing into you driving you mad. it’s been ages since you last had him inside of you, and there’s a sliver of pain as he bottoms out inside of your dripping cunt. waves of pleasure accompany the sting of the stretch, and your eyes flutter as he rocks slowly into you. he’s watching the way his cock splits you open, low grunts coming from deep in his chest. he shifts, one hand pressing on your lower stomach, thumb swirling over your clit. you cry out, head falling back onto the pillows. the other hand lifts one of your legs, pushing it towards your chest.
“oh my fuck–” you cry out, hands reaching for him, fingertips finding his as they dig into your fleshy thigh. he holds your leg there still, hooking one finger with your own without even thinking. his pace is steady, and his cock is dragging deep against your walls. you’re fluttering around him, doing your best to keep your eyes open and drink in his blissed expression.
“look at you,” he grunts, brows pulled together as he snaps his hips into yours with particular force. “makin’ a mess everywhere, dove…” the fabric of his trousers and exposed patch of pubic hair are both shining with your juices, and you’re sure there’s a damp spot pooled on the sheets beneath you. he’s eyeing your swollen cunt, his thumb massaging a steady pattern into the bundle of nerves. you clench around him involuntarily, your insides so swollen and tender that you imagine you can feel the ridges of his veins pulsing against your walls.
your orgasm approaches unrelentingly. he leans back onto his heels, the angle causing the head of his cock to prod at the spongy flesh of your sweet spot. stars bloom at the edges of your vision, and his name breaks from your lips in a hoarse cry.
“siri, i’m close,” you sob, your voice shaking. you feel his hips snap against yours, skin slapping in the quiet night as he drills you into the mattress. you bunch his shirt up in your free hand, wringing the fabric desperately as you hold onto him with your other hand. the fabric smells of him, like cigarettes and cologne and something woody, and it drives you even closer to the edge. he’s taking over your senses; the sight of him hovering over you, muscles in his abdomen clenching and rippling as he fucks into you is enough to make you scream on its own.
“oh, is m’good girl gonna come for me? gonna make a mess of my cock, are you?” that silken voice drowns out everything else in the world. sirius is the only thing on your mind, his ministrations setting your body aflame. pleasure courses through your veins, spreading through your whole body until it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming until your throat goes hoarse.
you cry for him as you come, your entire body seizing and shivering as he guides you through your release. “that’s it,” he says throatily, “oh, you’re doing so good f’me… look at this sweet little cunt pulling me in…” he’s groaning at the feeling of you tightening around him, closer to his own orgasm by the second. you’re still shaking, riding the waves of one of the longest orgasms of your life, and you’re sure a second one is piggybacking on this one, not far from sending your body into violent tremors.
“siri, it– ah, it’s so sensitive,” you breathe, voice weak. he’s continued his pace both inside of you and on your clit. he’s determined to drain ever ounce of pleasure from your body that he can, his eyes watching your cunt weep around him with pride.
“you can take it, dove,” he soothes, voice soft. “just one more f’me, can you do that? make me happy, love, just one more…”
“one–one more?” you breathe, jerking as he slows his hips, allowing you to feel him inside of you more intensely. your mouth falls open involuntarily, your features crumbling into pure bliss as he nods. his movements grow more erratic as his release approaches now.
“one more,” he repeats, leaning down over you to place a gentle kiss on your lips. his tongue drags over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. the kiss is messy, teeth gnashing and tongues swirling as he fucks you with renewed vigor. the coil in your stomach tightens again, and his movements quicken.
you’re both drenched in sweat, shaking, as his pubic bone drags over your clit. both of his hands are now pinned to the mattress, caging you in on either side of your head. your hands slide over his ribs, up his back, nails biting into the skin as your second orgasm washes over you.
he’s not far behind, hips meeting yours with a force that is almost painful, though you’re far too distracted by the fireworks blooming behind your eyelids. you feel him spill into you, hot seed pouring into your soaked cunt and making your thighs shake. his groans are hoarse, a couple grunted curses and growls of your name joining your chorus of moans in the room. he sits up once you’ve both ridden out your high, heads swimming as he watches his cum spill from between your legs when he pulls out.
“my lovely girl,” he mutters, swiping a finger through the mess between your legs. the mix of your arousal glistens on his finger, the sight making your head spin as he brings his digit to your lips. you open your mouth, tongue darting out to swirl around the pad of his finger. you moan at the tang of your mixed release spreading over your tongue. he chuckles, leaning over to swirl his tongue against yours in a heated kiss. you’re panting when he finally pulls away, nipping at your jawline before he sits up, stretching his arms above his head. the sight of him, shimmering with sweat, scratches adorning his ribs and shoulders, hair curled up around his hairline and ears from the humidity, makes your stomach do flips. you shift, leaning up on your elbows as he pads away from the bed.
“where are you going?” you wonder, frowning at his departure. he’s in the bathroom, the sound of the shower quickly following his footsteps. a second later, he returns to the bedroom.
“gotta get cleaned up, darling,” he says. he tugs on one of your ankles as you lay there, and you oblige despite the fatigue in your limbs. “c’mon, let’s get this off.” he tugs at the hem of the shirt as he directs you into the bathroom.
“can you wash my hair?” you ask, yawning as he pulls the shirt over your head.
“‘course i can, dove. now, in we go...”
#sirius black#sirius black x reader#sirius black smut#sirius black x reader smut#sirius black fic#maurauders era#smut#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#slb.works#marauders era#marauders fic#marauders fanfiction#marauders smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Locked in Love
Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader
Word Count: 1,161
Summary: You and Joel are clearly pining for each other but neither of you will act on it so Ellie and Tommy formulate a plan.
Author's Note: This is just because I want to be locked in a dark space with this man so he can have his way with me. I'd never feel safer. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: it's soft and sweet and fun and there's flirty tension and lots of touching...Ellie is a menace in the best way, a curse or three.
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
“Ouch!”
Joel turns his head to the left, listening with his good ear.
“For fucks sake! Son of a…OW!”
His lips twitch with a smile and he moves closer to the old shed.
“Hey darlin’? You ok in there?” he asks.
As he gets closer to the door he starts to hear the rattling of metal against wood and lots of banging.
“Darlin’?” he calls again.
The door is slightly ajar, letting only a small fraction of the light from outside in, so he steps inside.
He catches the briefest glimpse of your ass as you’re bent over a pile of old tools before the door slams shut behind him and he’s bathed in shadowy darkness.
“Oh no,” you mutter. “Did the door just shut?”
“Um…” Joel starts and reaches behind him to test the rusty knob.
A long moment stretches without words while Joel fumbles with the door lock.
“Shit,” he sighs.
“Joel?”
“It’s me darlin’,” he answers. “I heard some noises comin’ from inside and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Thank goodness it’s you.”
Your words rush out in a relieved exhale.
“But I’m pretty sure we’re locked in here now.”
“Seems that way,” he says, giving the knob one more good jiggle.
You try to take a step forward but the darkness makes it much more difficult to see and you walk into an old pile of wood.
“Shit,” you curse with a hiss.
“Don’t move,” he says as he extends his hands out in front of him. “I’m comin’ for you.”
You stay still, waiting for the touch of his hands. You can feel his warmth first though and before his fingers make contact you’re enveloped in his familiar scent of earth and spice.
“There ya are darlin’,” he whispers when his fingers wrap around your arm. “Sure you’re okay?”
“I am now,” you answer, your breathy sigh washing over him.
You instinctively lean into his touch, pressing your shoulder to his chest and clutching his shirt in your hands.
“What are you doin’ in here anyway?” he asks.
You sigh and roll your eyes even if he can’t see the motion in the darkness.
“Ellie asked me to help her build her bookshelf and told me I could probably find an old hammer in here and maybe some other tools.”
He scoffs and shakes his head.
“Well there might be somethin’ in here we can use to open the door at least,” he muses.
His deep voice is close to your ear it sends a warm shiver down your spine.
“Ok,” you whisper but you don’t let go of his shirt and for several moments he stays still, pressing himself closer.
“Guess I should look around,” he says quietly.
When he does finally start to move you move with him, his arm slipping around your waist to secure you to his side.
At first he navigates the dark space well, only bumping into something small but at some point he makes a turn and the next thing you know you’re backed up against the wall.
“Oof,” you mutter, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.
Both of his hands slide to your waist.
“Fuck, darlin.’ Sorry. I didn’t know…”
“It’s okay,” you assure him as your hands move higher to his shoulders.
He murmurs your name in an almost desperate manner before he eases closer, crowding you against the wall.
You drag your fingers downward, reaching his stomach and savoring the feel of the softness beneath your hands.
His grip tightens and he asks, “what are you doin’ darlin’?”
“Making sure I don’t trip or bump into anything else,” you explain.
Your hands don’t stop their roaming and when you glide them back up and find the open buttons of his shirt your fingertips slide under the fabric and caress his warm skin.
His breath accelerates and he dips his head. You lean in and your lips meet his scruffy cheek.
With deliberate purpose you ghost your mouth along his jaw until you find his ear to whisper his name in a plea.
Your back molds to the wall seconds after the sound leaves your lips and he swallows your surprise with his mouth.
Even in the dark he kisses you like he’s memorized the shape of your lips, gently nipping and then soothing the spot with his tongue. His large hand traces the curve of your body before it settles along the back of your neck, his thumb delicately sweeping across your cheek.
“So soft for me,” he murmurs, releasing your lips.
You can feel him staring in the darkness and your hands start to wander again, fingertips grazing lower until you meet his belt buckle.
He drops his head to your neck, breathing against your throat as he rolls his hips.
“Fuck darlin’,” he growls.
Your lips meet again but only to lightly slide together, the anticipation hanging thick in the small space of air between you.
The door to the shed flies open.
Joel operates on instinct and crowds you against the wall, hiding you protectively with his body. As soon as the light from outside floods in you duck your head and tuck it under his chin.
He squints into the brightness and as his eyes adjust he grumbles out a curse.
“Told you it would work.”
At the sound of Ellie’s voice you peek out over Joel’s shoulder with narrowed eyes.
“Did I just hear her say what I think she said?” you ask Joel quietly.
“You did,” he grunts. “Damn kid.”
“Who was she talking to?” you ask next.
Before Joel can answer you hear the heavy footfall of boots followed by Tommy’s distinct laughter.
“Darn right it worked,” Tommy grins and then you hear him and Ellie high five.
Ellie looks pointedly at Joel and then you, giving you both a triumphant smile before sauntering off.
“Should I just leave you two…” Tommy starts, his eyes sparkling as his finger waggles back and forth. “I can lock the door again.”
Without releasing you, Joel takes a threatening step forward and Tommy retreats with hands held up in surrender but his knowing smile still unwavering.
Once Tommy is gone Joel’s eyes turn softly to you. Calloused fingertips brush along your forehead before tracing the outline of your lips.
Your breath hitches under the heat you see in his gaze, the intensity making you acutely aware of every sensation he draws from you.
“I’m not done with you yet. Far from it darlin’.”
Very deliberately he drops his hand from your face, grazing every exposed inch of skin he can find on his way down to the hem of your shirt and slowly, gently slips his fingers beneath.
Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a rush of air.
“Can I touch you?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” The answer bursts out of you in a desperate whisper, as if you’ve been holding it in forever.
@lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814 @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @littleseasiren
#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller imagine#pedro pascal x reader
756 notes
·
View notes
Note
iii: Affectionate - Abrupt
For Noel?? ❤️
You're breathing hard, blinking against the sweat dripping from your brow and catching in your eyelashes, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you carefully track Noel's movements, the two of you slowly circling each other.
You definitely should have done a better warm up before agreeing to spar with xem.
Noel lunges at you, and you dart back, smacking at xir hand and retreating quickly to regain the space between you. Noel watches with an amused look on his face.
"Tired already?" he teases, and you frown.
"I'm rusty," you say, and he laughs.
"Sure, sure," he smirks before lunging after you again.
Xe lands a hard punch against your arm as you twist to shield yourself, letting out a string of curses as you dodge another swipe and try to counter.
He blocks your strike and throws you sideways, but you're able to duck forward and miss his follow-up by the hair of your chin. He keeps on you, though, raining down a quick volley of blows that you endure with your face tucked behind your forearms.
You backpedal until you manage to escape xir reach, taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself as xe keeps pressing in after you. Regaining your composure, when he swings at you this time you sidestep and grab his arm, hauling him forward and using his momentum and weight to throw him to the ground.
He rolls onto his back, quick to try and get back onto his feet, but you don't give him the chance, grappling him back to the ground. The two of you wrestle in the muddy snow for a long, painful few minutes, Noel slamming xir knee against your ribs over and over again in an attempt to throw you off of xem.
But you scramble on top of xem, finally managing to get your legs around xir waist and pin xem to the ground, though he still gets one good hit in across your jaw before you can get control and grab xir wrists.
"Damn," you breathe, blinking down at xem underneath you. Noel is grinning, despite his obvious loss, and you slump forward a bit, tucking your face against his chest.
"Now I know you're tired," xe muses, wrapping xir arms around you once you release xir wrists.
"Let me look at your face," xe says then, and you sit back in xir lap, still wheezing as you try to catch your breath.
Noel inspects your jaw where he caught you, prodding it gently and getting a little hiss of pain out of you. The cloth wraps the two of you wear around your knuckles only does so much when the both of you hit so hard. Noel has a few bruises of his own, and you lightly touch an angry spot you can see on his arm.
He suddenly leans forward then, his other arm hooking around you just as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm and wet and catching you by surprise. You reciprocate, opening your mouth a bit for him, your eyes fluttering closed as you sink down into his lap.
But you feel his arm tighten, feel him tense beneath you, and then he quickly rolls over and flips out onto the ground, knocking the wind out of you and pinning you in place.
"Cheater!" you gasp, and Noel leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your bruised jaw. You can feel xem smiling, feel xir panting breath against your throat, xir face hot and sweaty as xe nudges you playfully.
"I was just using my natural advantage over you," xe hums, still kissing your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses all over as you squirm in indignation.
"Not fair," you huff.
"Hmm. You have the same advantage, you know," he breathes the words into the hollow of your throat, and you shiver. "Should I show you how to use it?"
Your breath catches at the way xir voice drops, and then xe pulls back, slowly standing and hauling you up after xem.
"Or we could go for a few more rounds, I suppose," xe shrugs, tilting xir head and raising xir fists.
"Gods, no," you say, and he laughs.
You step closer, push xir raised fists apart and slip into xir arms. Noel hums as you kiss him, and even though you're definitely tempted to take advantage of this moment and throw him back into the mud, you decide against it.
"How about we use this advantage and take this inside?" you murmur instead, and Noel smiles wide, xir arms tightening around you as your kiss deepens.
"A smart tactic. See, you're already getting good at this," he says, speaking the words into your mouth as you kiss.
You start to push him back towards the house, both of you kissing and tripping and laughing all the while.
#noel is Thee sparring partner#and who doesnt love a flirty little sparring moment#preview for ch3 lmfao#noel lykaon#snippets#ask#anonymous
72 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter 8: The Break In.
FINALLY!!! I'm posting again, Sorry for the long wait life has been pretty wild and musing has been rare.
Madara x reader
I'm looking for 35 notes for this one hopefully that will take enough time for me to work on the next chapter.
Thank you for your continued patience while I work on this.
“Hashirama.”
“M sleeping.” Hashirama grunted, rolling over in his bed trying to ignore the voice. He was trying to sleep.
“Hashirama.” The voice hissed.
“What?” Hashirama sat up so fast, he smacked his head against something solid. “What the-“ There was Madara standing on his ceiling, rubbing his own forehead. “What the absolute fuck Madara?!” He hissed softly. “What are you doing in my room at- at gods it must be close to 3am?”
“I had to talk to you right away.” Madara said letting his chakra stop flowing to his feet and landed on Hashirama’s bed-thankfully not on the man himself. Groaning, Hashirama gestured for him to continue. “I’m having a feeling. Feelings.”
“Really? This is what you woke me up for? Feelings? Don’t you have feelings all the time. Divine, Madara.” Hashirama was going to strangle his friend.
“Hm anger and annoyance mostly.” He said but shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. Feelings for Y/N.”
“Anger and annoyance are feelings Madara, how dumb can you be.” Hashirama said, rubbing his eyes. “Of course you have feelings for Y/N, she will be your wife. She’s a joy to be around, very sweet, and intelligent. Those are all good things.”
“But she has an ex, and he is an asshole. Hashirama I’ve never wanted to pummel someone more… well, other than Tobirama.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? What do I have to be jealous of?” He asked, frowning. “I’m one of, if not the strongest shinobi, leader of a prestigious clan, founder of a great village, and handsome on top of it. There is absolutely nothing he could have that makes him better than me.”
“I’m not even going to comment on the first part of that.” Hashirama said, now trying not to laugh. “He’s her ex, they’ve known each other longer, they were in love, and they’ve probably had sex.” He pointed out, not bothered by Madara’s growl.
“Four years.” Hashirama was shocked to hear this, letting out a long whistle. “They were together for four years. But she said they separated six years ago, surely he’s moved on. He needs to leave her alone.”
“Love doesn’t just disappear like that Madara.” He said, snapping his fingers. “Plus Y/N is quite the catch, anyone would be sour to lose her. You got lucky my friend.”
“THERE’S AN UCHIHA IN THE HOUSE!” Tobirama slammed Hashirama’s door open, kunai in hand.
“Gods damn it!” Both Hashirama and Madara jumped. “What the fuck? Is it drop in on Hashirama at all fuck in the morning.”
“Anija, such language is not necessary-Madara you are a terrible influence.” Tobirama said disappointed. “How did you even get in?”
“Through the window like any self respecting shinobi would.” He pointed out. “I’ve been here twenty minutes, you both are getting rusty. I could have killed Hashirama.”
“Twenty-twenty minutes?! You just watched me sleep for twenty minutes? Divine, you can be such a creep.” Hashirama huffed, shoving Madara. “Out, out of my room and my house. We can talk when normal people are functioning.”
“Fine.” Madara got up, heading back to the open window.
“Through the door, Madara. You can leave through the door.” Hashirama groaned watching the man pulling his leg back in.
“No- let me push him out.” Tobirama rushed towards Madara to push him out the window.
“Children. I’m surrounded by children.” Hashirama groaned. “Hey! I don’t care how, just get out of my room so I can sleep. Now.” He growled, Madara was out the window before Tobirama could get to him, pouting as he left the room. “I’m sleeping in!” Hashirama called out before flopping back. “Gods help me.”
—
Now that they had shared some steamy kisses, she let her touches linger, felt easy kissing his cheek-as much as she wanted to kiss his lips she couldn’t with people watching. She could feel her mother’s eyes on them that morning. Y/n knew her mother didn’t know about their hot and heavy kissing. But her mother could sense something was different, how comfortable they were with each other.
“Lord Madara?” Ume cleared her throat as they all sat at the table eating breakfast. It was normally a quiet meal, so it set Y/N on edge with how her mother sounded.
“Hm, yes?”
“Tell me, if you were getting milk for free would you still purchase the cow?” Ume asked much to Y/N horror. She couldn’t believe her mother had practically came out and asked if they were having sex. At least that was what her mother was getting at. She had heard her mother rave about young women offering themselves to men but never getting the man to marry them. Stating, “why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free”. She was asking if Y/N was putting out before they were married. Before Madara “bought” her.
Madara set his chopsticks down and stared at Ume. Silence was beginning to feel heavy. “There is a lot to that loaded question and I’m unsure what part to answer first. Or if I should even dignify it with an answer.”
“Seems pretty straightforward to me. Yes or no.” Ume pointed out setting her own utensils down.
“Mother.” Y/N hissed. “Is the table really the place for this conversation? We are all trying to enjoy our meal.”
“When would be a better place or time to ask? Hm?” She asked, looking at her daughter sitting next to Madara. “Before or after someone catches you two in bed?”
“Not asking at all would have been preferable.” Madara stated, resting his chin in his hand. “But since you’re so curious.” He smiled wide-Y/N noticed he did this when he was mad. “Yes. I’m an honorable man, perhaps it’s something you’re unused to dealing with.” He pointed out. “Even when the milk is free, if he likes the cow he will buy it.”
“I’m right here.” Y/N said, slamming her chopsticks on the table. Starting Ume and Madara out of their glaring match. “First of all I am not livestock. Nor am I something to be bought and sold.” She hissed, her e/c eyes glaring at them both. “Mother, How could you ask that? At the table of all places? If you’re so damn curious about my sex life just ask! In private!” She snapped before turning her eyes to Madara. “And you.” Madara was taken off guard to have earned her ire as well. “If he likes the cow, he’ll buy it?!” She mocked. “What bullshit is that? Instead of meeting her bait you could have just answered plainly. Since everyone wants to know so badly- NO we’re not having sex. There. Are we finished?” Y/N didn’t bother to wait, grabbed her bowl and left the room.
“Y/N! Do not speak to me or your future husband like that!” Her mother called out.
“So, you’re allowed to veinly ask about our sex life but divine forbid she snaps back?” Madara asked, not bothered by her reaction. “The symbolism you used is demeaning towards her, of course she would be irate.”
“Don’t talk to me like you know her. I’m her mother, I’ve known her all her life, and raised her myself. You’ve been around her for what, six weeks tops? You didn’t even remember her name” Ume pointed out and Madara was shocked she knew that. Probably a maid told her that embarrassing tidbit. “And you used the same symbolism.”
“Well, I’m working on getting to know her. Clearly she’s grown up to someone you don’t know.” Madara said, by divine this felt like arguing with his father. “I used only the language you appear to understand.” He stood up. “Whether or not we decide to have sex-be it before or after our wedding is not your business. I kindly ask you not to push your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He said leaving the dining room in hopes of finding Y/N. He wasn’t exactly sorry for what he said, but did feel bad. For what he wasn’t entirely sure of.
It didn’t take long to find her- merely standing in one of the gardens. He was sure had he given her time she would have left the compound completely. Probably to Ellie and Evan’s home.
“I-“ Madara didn’t think he’d ever really apologize before. Not for hurting someone’s feelings. “I’m not good at this, but I’m sorry.” He was still beside her. “That we were talking about you without including you. It wasn’t right.” Madara took a look at her and felt a bit guilty for finding her anger attractive. Her cheeks were red, lips thinned, and eyes narrowed. She looked like she was ready for a fight and Madara liked the look. “I don’t think you’re livestock to be bought or sold. No one should be seen in that way … so I’m sorry if my words made you feel that. It was not my intention, but I understand that’s what I did.”
“I think this is the most I’ve heard you say all at one time without being prompted.” Y/N exhaled a deep breath.
“That’s it? That’s all you got from that?” Madara asked, frowning and crossed his arms. He had expected her to accept his apology, not just gloss over it completely.
“Just let me process what you said .” She said softly, her arms were still crossed and she turned from him. As much as he didn’t like this, he wasn’t going to force his presence on her.
“Shall I go?”
“No. You don’t have to.” He was about to walk away before she answered.
“I shall wait then.” Madara nodded and crossed his legs to sit. He could wait, he could be patient and as much as she needed.
She soon followed after him, crossing her legs and sat down. “Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free. My mother told me that all the time as I was growing up. That I had to keep men wanting if I wanted one to marry me.”
“Why, you were already betrothed to me. You didn’t need to do anything to have a man marry you.” Madara asked.
“Mother didn’t think you’d live to adulthood. I honestly don’t think she even wanted to marry me to a shinobi.” Y/N explained with a shrug. “I think she personally hates shinobis, no fault of your own.”
“I can’t fault her for thinking I'd be dead. I lost all four of my siblings. Statistically, it is not good for marriage prospects.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing with his mother in law. He couldn’t say he hated her but they didn’t get along. “I can’t imagine how awful she reacted to your ex.”
“Um.. she actually liked Itsuki.” She said slowly, looking away.
“Really?? I don’t see why she would. As she put it, he was getting the milk for free.” Madara mocked trying to make his voice like Ume’s, crossing his arms once more. God damn itsuki. “What does he have that I don’t?”
“He’s a simple man, who’s family runs a large farm.” She was trying to find a way to explain this.
“And? I can list many things about myself that make me far superior.” Madara huffed.
“Other than running a farm, crops and livestock, he had no other responsibilities. I would be easily available for her company. Likely live in a family home, away from a large population.” Y/N felt a bit bad to list any positives if she had stayed with Itsuki. “Other than me, she has no one. She talks highly of being a lady, of upholding Cayuga clan beliefs. But after fleeing into farmland, it’s all she’s known for the last twenty years. Coming back to a clan oriented village, having to step down as matriarch is not easy for her. I don’t think she realized how this would affect her.”
Madara didn’t really want to feel bad for Ume. But hearing that Y/N was all she had and was losing her to marriage did make him feel a little sympathy.
“But, she did chase him out of our house when she caught us together. He didn’t even have a chance to put clothes on, running from my mother-who was wielding a butcher's knife.”
“Really? Can’t say I’ve ever been in that situation.” Madara chuckled at the idea of it. Picture a young man trying to preserve his dignity while running from a mother with a knife.
“Thank you. And I accept your apology.” Y/N finally said, leaning over to kiss him. Not on the cheek for once, instead pressing her lips to his. “Since we’ve announced we’re not having sex she can’t bitch about kissing.”
Madara couldn’t help but smile. “Come with me to the office today.” He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t want to go without her. And he couldn’t just take the day off.
“And do what? Twiddle my thumbs?” She asked, chuckling. But had already decided on agreeing to go with him. “Of course I’ll go with you. I’m reading through some books and scrolls, I’ll bring those along.”
“Get to know Hashirama, and I suppose Tobirama by default.” Madara grimaced at the mention of the younger man. She’d noticed his annoyance to down right hatred of the man but wasn’t sure why. And she didn’t feel like it was right to ask. At least not yet. “Alright let’s go.” He offered her his hand as he stood. Madara pulled her into a kiss, arms wrapped around her.
“Hm, Madara.” She sighed against his lips, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re going to end up being late.” Y/n smiled but didn’t really pull away.
“They can wait.” He huffed pulling her into another kiss. Y/N merely giggled and let Madara dominate the kiss.
—
“You're late.” Tobirama huffed as Madara entered their shared office.
“Does it matter?” Madara said, grabbing a chair for Y/N to sit at his desk.
“Why is she here?”
“I do have a name, it’s Y/N. Not sure if you remembered.” Y/N pointed out, wondering why Tobirama seemed to dislike her. Was it because she was marrying Madara?
“She’s here because I asked her to join me. I figured instead of doing nothing, like you said, she could see what work I do. Read over Uchiha history and traditions.” Madara added.
“You really think I do nothing during the day?” Y/N understood they didn’t know each other but that was a pretty shitty thing to think of someone. “Are you and Hashirama really related because I swear you two are so different.”
“What else would a woman like you do? You’re not a kunoichi so you’re not training or teaching. You’re not a mother so you’re not tending to children. I know you have a cook in the house. If your household has a cook it’s not a stretch to assume you have maids. So you’re not cooking or cleaning.” Tobirama pointed out.
“And you’re an asshole.”
Madara choked on his own spit at Y/N response. Though, she briefly had gone over what her days are like he wasn’t there to see it. Y/N was not a woman to sit idly, looking pretty. Though she definitely could do just that.
“Hashirama needs to teach you some lessons on manners, I’m sure you’ve been too busy to learn them.” She began her rant. “I like to spend my time reading history, both specifically on the Uchiha clan but also other clans. I will be matriarch to the Uchiha clan- it’s only right that I should know as much as possible since I wasn’t born to it. Plus it’s good to know the clans that have already joined and may come to Konoha. The whole knowing your allies and enemies. I will be an example of the Uchiha clan and I need that example to be of an educated woman. For both the clan and the village I am a part of.” She pointed out lifting up one of the books she had brought with. “Although I really don’t have to explain myself to you, of all people. It’s clear you think little of me, without knowing me. As well as having poor opinions on Uchiha’s as a whole from what I’ve heard. So I have nothing to prove to you, I kindly ask you to refrain from going out of your way to belittle me. You only make yourself look like a pompous asshole.”
Tobirama’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t think of a time anyone verbally fought back against him. Most people were too nervous or scared. But this woman was neither of those things, at least not on the outside.
Madara was equally shocked by her words. He had seen her fire around those she knew, those she was comfortable with. But never in a hostile setting, which really had Madara surprised.
“I-“
“Where’s Hashirama?” Madara asked, not wanting this situation to get worse between the two. As much as he liked Y/N not liking Tobirama, he didn’t want it to be worse than it already was.
“Well! Someone broke into the house last night.” Tobirama huffed.
“Oh my god! Is Hashirama okay? Who would be dumb enough to break into a house with the two of you in it?” Y/N was shocked. Was hashirama hurt? Or perhaps needed the day off after a fight?
“I don’t know, Madara! Who would be dumb enough to break into our house at night, Madara!” Tobirama asked, giving him a glare.
“No! No you did not.” She gasped looking at Madara, who looked unfazed.
“It was an emergency. I needed to speak with Hashirama immediately.” Madara said with a shrug. “What I’m more concerned about, is the fact I was able to easily break in without waking either of you.”
“Is this a man thing? Like breaking into your friend's home? Because this is not the first time I’ve heard of this happening.” Y/N thought back to waking up finding Itsuki’s friends relaxing in his living room in the middle of the night. It gave her quite a fright and had her barricading the doors closed for a while.
“I would never do such a thing, unless it was a real emergency.” Tobirama pointed out. “Regardless, since Madara woke Hashirama so early he decided he was going to take the day off. I tried to bring him in but he pulled the elder brother card on me.”
“Ah yes, scary hashirama.” Madara nodded, having seen it himself during many of their battles.
“Scary Hashirama?” She asked, trying to picture Hashirama as being frightening.
“Yes. He didn’t get the title God of Shinobi by smiling at people.” Tobirama said, turning back to his work.
Y/N rolled her eyes but decided not to comment. She wasn’t going to start something, especially over something so Insignificant. Better to just let it go.
Madara was pleased to see she could back down from a situation if need be. While seeing her stand up for herself was pleasing, he didn’t want her to pick every fight she could. She would be a good example to other Uchiha’s. His father had made a good choice, without even truly knowing at the time.
—-
Lunch was certainly an awkward affair. Tobirama didn’t want to go, at first he was far too busy without Hashirama there to have lunch. And then his excuse was he didn’t want to interrupt their time as a couple- stating he didn’t want to be a third wheel. But Y/N was persistent in getting Tobirama to join them.
“Fine. I'll pick the place then.” He huffed, nearly throwing his things down on his desk.
Madara found watching his fiancé annoying the Senju into submission hilarious. Such a strong warrior brought down by a woman’s nagging. He tried not to think about how her nagging might affect him in the future.
Lunches were typically filled with Hashirama talking about anything and everything under the sun. But with Y/N there and Hashirama not, it fell down mostly to her and Madara talking. Tobirama had a sour look on his face throughout the meal.
“I thought you said you liked this place? Did you get something new?” Y/N asked, a bit worried Tobirama wasn’t enjoying his food. At least the look on his face seemed to say that.
“No? Why do you ask?” Tobirama was confused why she asked.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying it.” She pointed out.
“Darling, that’s just the way his face is.” Madara said, not even looking up from his own plate.
“Madara! That’s not very nice.” Sue elbowed him. “I would apologize but I assume this behavior is normal.”
“Even on a good day, Madara and I don’t get along. It is just how it is.” Tobirama said with a shrug. “Thank you for asking … it’s good- the food is good, this is just awkward.”
“Ah well, yes it is a bit. But I want to get to know Madara’s friends-“
“He’s not my friend.”
“I’m not his friend.” The two men said at the same time. Neither making eye contact.
“Okay? Ah get to know his work colleagues then.” The two clearly had a strange relationship, if it could be called that. “I’ll be part of his life from now on, so I just want to get to know everyone he interacts with.”
“I suppose a wife would want to know those things.” Tobirama said with a shrug. “I Ah apologize for my earlier behavior.”
“Wait, I need to write this down. Today, at almost one o’clock, Tobirama Senju apologized.” Madara said, grinning widely.
“Madara, don’t be mean.”
“I don’t have a problem apologizing to people when I’ve done wrong. It’s just you I don’t like apologizing to.” Tobirama pointed out. “Anyway, before he interrupted me. I’m sorry for my behavior earlier, you’re right I don’t know you and judged you before I gave you a chance.”
“I appreciate the apology and I accept.” Y/N smiled, she didn’t know if interacting with Tobirama would be as easy as it is with Hashirama but she’d be respectful as long as he was.
“I’ll cover lunch today, if everyone is finished?” Madara asked pushing aside his empty plate.
“I’m ready to head back.” Y/N said, leaning in and kissing Madara’s cheek. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Yeah, I’m ready to go back.” Tobirama said, looking between the two. “Thank you but don’t expect a kiss.”
“I would not ever want a kiss from you. Even to save my life.”
“Well, I wouldn’t either.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. The two were very similar despite how much they disliked each other.
82 notes
·
View notes
Note
I noticed you have your ao3 linked but you don’t have any fics posted, may I ask why that is?
Ah, this is a fair question. I’ll give ya a short, easy-to-digest version and the full story, so take your pick.
Short answer: For Reasons™️, I feel better with my old fics anonymous and my Ao3 is linked mainly for my maintained rec list of fics I love, and in case I ever decide to finish + publish one of my backlogged WIPs or a new fic.
Long answer: I’ve got a Mass Effect fic that’s kinda embarrassing because it’s a mess of author’s hubris, poor planning, and rustiness from a years-long writing hiatus. I don’t like deleting/orphaning fics without a damn good reason, so I just keep it off my profile. The others are for a video game fandom I don’t associate with anymore, for my mental well-being. An unfortunate debacle with that community put some mud on my name but luckily I seem to have finally blocked enough people/wandered off far enough to stop getting hate mail related to all that drama. ‘Bout time honestly, it’s been over a year that I haven’t touched that particular media with a ten foot pole because the experience outright ruined it for me—I even deleted my saves once I realized I’d never shake that negative association. Only thing I kept was my OC, and she’s become something totally new given the sweeping changes that come with original fiction. Tells you what kind of people I dealt with though, that they still sent me threatening/insulting messages for months after I walked away. I feel a lot safer eliminating all possible ties, so can’t very well have fics with my name on ‘em.
I’ve since cozied right up in other fandoms, though fanfic has taken a backseat to my novel. It’s a huge fantasy/Western project involving a fuck ton of world-building and plot planning, kinda takes up all my writing energy. I plan to publish when it’s finished, so it’ll be a while before it sees the light of day.
Since I’m medicated for ADHD now, maybe one of these days I’ll dust off a WIP, polish it into a finished state, and throw it out there. Either way, I’m sure at some point I’ll end up making the time to write something new, as I have plenty of muses to choose from. In the meantime, my public creations are limited to visual art.
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
study, love, + stars for sobi peas
ONE-WORD (MICRO) PROMPTS (948 words)
On the second night, Sivala realises that the stars are brighter on Tatooine.
See, there are some things you forget when you live on a city-world, and the sheer beauty of the galaxy whirling above your head is definitely one of them. On Daiyu, the sky is choked with pollution during the day, and when the lights come on after dark like the many eyes of a waking nightdweller, the stars are blinded by their fluorescence.
Honestly, even if that wasn’t the case, Sivala doesn’t remember the last time she looked up for anything but checking for snipers. It’s— nice.
She says as much to Obi-Wan, seated on the ledge beside her with his legs swinging. His knee brushes hers as he shifts position to study the stars, and the minute touch is enough to have her tensing, something she thought was long-dead heaving one more shuddering breath.
If he notices, he says nothing. Only exhales slowly; sets his poor excuse for a plate aside.
“I’m afraid I’ve… gotten rather used to it.”
“You’ll get used to anything after ten years,” she muses. “Still. It’s a prettier sight than anywhere else I’ve been in a while.”
She doesn’t specify where she’s coming from, nor where she’ll be going once her sojourn here is over. But they have an agreement on that front; he doesn’t ask her about her work, and she doesn’t ask him about what ties him here, to this planet peeled down to its bones. Even if she does sometimes wonder.
“I didn’t take you for an astronomer,” Obi-Wan reflects, something wry about the set of his mouth in the moonlight. “I suppose I never had the time to ask. I never thought to.”
She shrugs. “We had… bigger things to worry about, then.”
“We have big things to worry about now,” he mutters, and his smile doesn’t— doesn’t die, exactly, but it withers, dry as the acres of sand and rock around them.
It’s true. They do have big things to worry about now. Jabiim’s lost to them; the Path functions at half its previous size, limiting itself to only the rumour of a whisper. Darth Vader will never leave her people — and that includes Obi-Wan, now — alone.
But the stars are beautiful on Tatooine, and out in the desert like this — with the twin suns tucked away behind the horizon and nothing but the whisper of the wind filling the air — it feels like they’re the only people on the planet. The only people in the galaxy.
So Sivala exhales. Consciously releases the ache in her chest, just for a little while— and points up at random.
“You remember learning the charts, don’t you? What’s that?”
The look he gives her through his lashes is so sardonic she almost laughs.
“I haven’t been quizzed on star charts in decades, Sivala.”
“Then you’re due a test, I imagine,” she retorts, somewhat primly. “Besides, it’s useful information to have. Just in case.”
Just in case. She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t want to.
When he looks unconvinced, she rolls her shoulders back, resting her full weight on her palms behind her so she can take in the sky. Then she nods to a radiant patch of stars due north, so bright that they wash the planet with cold light.
“For example, I’d say that’s the Ghost Tide Nebula. It’s some rough navigation, if I remember correctly, but from here, it looks… quite lovely.”
There’s a pause. Then a rustle as — not to be outdone — Obi-Wan heaves a sigh, leans back with her, and gestures west.
“Tyrius. That— that star over the outcropping. The one flickering. It’s Tyrius.”
With her eyes, she follows the long line of his arm, shoulder-to-elbow, elbow-to-pointer-finger, until she finds the sun in question. She remembers little and less about the Tyrius system, but it’s easy to spot now she knows what to look for.
Somehow, she can’t quite smother her triumph at persuading him to join her in something so mundane as star-gazing. It dredges up a rusty smile from somewhere half-forgotten inside her, and she’s so unused to the sensation that she bites down on her lip to contain it.
His presence in the Force flickers slightly in response, amused, but all he says is, “And over there, that’s Neri.”
“Is it?” She frowns at the distant blue light and leans closer, which is silly of her, because she already knows it won’t change the view. “I thought that was Nen.”
“I have been looking at this sky for ten years, Sivala.”
“And you’ve got old eyes, Obi-Wan, so I’ll forgive you your follies.”
When she turns her head in this position, his face is a matter of inches from hers, but that’s not what surprises her. It’s the strange expression she finds there; the furrowed brow, the crinkling of crow’s feet. How the not-quite smile plays so cautiously at his lips.
For a moment, they do nothing but consider each other. She could read his thoughts right now, she realises. This is the most unguarded she’s ever seen him, and Sivala’s always been oddly in-tune with the Force when it came to people. She could.
She doesn’t. It’s— it’s not something you do to the people you love. You shouldn’t, anyway.
As though sensing the path her thoughts have taken himself, Obi-Wan leans away, eyes skittering to the side. His aura — slowly warming all evening — fades away almost physically, like a blanket ripped off her shoulders.
“Ah. And— and that’s Andooweel in the east, by the horizon.”
“Quite,” she says, coming back to herself so suddenly it knocks her back into her earlier position, away from him. “Yes.”
Yes. Well then.
#948 words is a micro prompt for me ok pls i dont want to hear it this got away from me#FANK YEW EMILY ILY <3#no one @ me abt this characterisation im still getting the hang of him i think?#my writing#sh: sivala x obi wan#ch: sivala sylwiri#answered#denerims
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
MEET THE MUN!
name — Ghost/Ghosty
pronouns — she/her
preferred comms — Discord (Ask for Discord!) and Tumblr IMs
name of muse —
Main Muse: Strelitzia
Side Muse: Cinderella
experience in RP — A long time. I've been rping since the Myspace days! Then I bounced around a lot. Left Tumblr for a few years and recently came back.
best experiences — I used to be a part of the Kingdom Hearts community back when Tumblr was really thriving (in the early 2010's), when rping in groups rather than independently was a big thing. I roleplayed Vanitas and made some really awesome friends in that group! We called ourselves the KH Crack Crew, lol. We would all talk every day on Skype! Those were good times and sometimes I still think about all of them. We just sort of drifted apart when we started to explore other fandoms, and yeaaaaa.... I still miss my KHCC squad sometimes, though we're all still friends on Facebook!
pet peeves / dealbreakers — Godmodding. I can't stand it. Even if it's something as small as assuming what my character is going to do next. If you want to have the scene go a certain way, there's a way you can write it and if my character does deviate from your original plan, you can take the story elsewhere. That's what can make rp really fun! The only times I'm willing to let it slide is in drabbles, lol.
My other pet peeve is taking what my character does way too personally outside of character. Like, ya'll know this is fake, right? lmao. At the end of the day, we're just writing our silly little characters in our silly little worlds. If it's ruining your day that badly, please go outside and touch some grass.
muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — So I'm actually a huge sucker for romance plots. Romance, fluff, smut, slice of life. Also omegaverse, hehehe. I'm also a huge historical romance nut (think Bridgerton, lol)!
I've sort of moved on from fandom muses and now focus more on OC's (I really only rp on Discord these days, and 9/10 times it's M/M. I do have a F/F historical romance plot that I adore rn tho). Strelly and Cindy are the first muses I've picked up in years, and started rping on Tumblr again. So sometimes I feel rusty playing an established character I didn't make myself. But I'm trying! 〒▽〒
Anyways, give me that romantic nasty shit!! And make it gay as hell!!
plot or memes — Both! I think it's fun to meme and get into a character's mind that you normally wouldn't get a chance to play out. Or just being silly gooses.
But I'm also down for always plotting and making something deep and personal!
long or short replies — Either, or! It depends on the plot, the situation that's happening in the story, or what length my rp partner sends me. I'm pretty good about matching the length of a partner's. Unless I got nothing else to say, then it'll be on the shorter side. Like, if our characters are just chatting and there's no action involved, of course it's going to be short.
best time to write — In the mornings! I do rp replies in between slow periods at work. I work from home, so I can get away with it, lol. Which is why you'll see me online for a good part of the day. It's also when I have the most energy. I'm an early bird and I'm burnt out by the time the evening rolls around.
Sometimes I can write in the evenings, but that's very rare. So I try to knock out as much as I can in the mornings.
I'm rarely RARELY available on the weekends. That's when I'm the busiest~
are you like your muse —
I'd say yes. Although I don't have a green thumb like Strelitzia. I can't keep plants alive for the life of me. I have a lot self doubts like her too, and I struggle to make friends since I'm incredibly shy and struggle to connect with others on a personal level. ಥuಥ Me and Strelly be fighting for our lives out here!
Cinderella though, I resonate with her a lot. I grew up in a household where I was the cleaner and cook, and I just... know exactly how she feels, LOL.
tagged by: No one! Stolen from Litoredeem.
Tagging: Feel free to steal!
1 note
·
View note
Text
@momijiba &&. said... ❛ be enough for yourself first,
the rest of the world
can wait. ❜
❝ ... what are you writing? ❞ is how the wanderer chooses to ANNOUNCE his presence. arms loop gently around the ronin's shoulders — a pressure resting against his back, light as a bundle of downy feathers. he's floating, in typical ren fashion. typical for these precious moments they share alone, at least — some cliché about feeling too happy to touch the ground comes to mind. ( though it feels UNFITTING to describe himself in such saccharine terms ... ) chin rests gently atop kazuha's head, heedless of the fluffy locks tickling his face in the process. the human is soft, and he's dangerously comfortable. the wanderer thinks he would be perfectly content lounging there for an EMBARRASSINGLY long stretch of time — much like a cat, basking in the warmth of an afternoon sun. ❝ more poetry? ❞ he peers down at the page with a slow, lazy blink.
❝ ... ❞ he thinks if kazuha didn't want him to read what he had written, the ronin would STOP HIM. perhaps it's intentional — perhaps he meant for him to see this, because there's a particular undertone to the words that feels distinctly personal. ❝ that's awfully inspirational. ❞ ren quips. his tone is light — a bit teasing, though not necessarily at the human's expense. ❝ it's a little presumptuous to assume ... but you weren't kidding about calling me your muse, were you? ❞ a faint hum. ❝ or are these words of affirmation meant for yourself? ❞
a moment passes in silent contemplation. then, he dips down and presses lips to his temple; a quick, chaste kiss. ❝ i have one for you. ❞ the wanderer murmurs. he shifts how he's floating ever so slightly so he can peer over kazuha's shoulder, instead. a hand extends, thin fingers curling overtop the human's own. ( puppeteering his movements, in a sense. he can't ignore the irony. ) it's a bit of an AWKWARD position, but ren thinks he can make it work. at least enough to scrawl something legible — it's only fair that he returns the favor, isn't it?
beneath the first poem, he writes,
you are my whole world
if i'm enough in your eyes
i'm enough in mine
❝ sorry. ❞ the wanderer relinquishes his grip, returning that arm to its original position — curled loosely ( almost lazily ) around kazuha's shoulders. ❝ i'm a little rusty. ❞ to be honest, he's been writing more essays than poems these days. he hasn't explained why, but in all FAIRNESS the ronin hadn't asked, either. ❝ ... but even at my best, i doubt i could measure up to your expertise ... you've always been better at expressing yourself with WORDS than i am. ❞ he buries his face in the human's hair once more — content to use him as a PILLOW. not to sleep upon, but simply to drink in the natural tranquility kazuha's presence never fails to bring him. ❝ hopefully it's enough to get my point across without offending your poetic sensibilities, hmm? ❞
#momijiba#( he is so so so touchy with kazuha and kazuha specifically and it honestly cracks me up )#( must be engaging in physical contact w/ human at all times he is Soft and Comfy and makes him Feel Nice )
1 note
·
View note
Text
@bbrriisshhttii / @itsshi-luvsya
Long time no see! As you can probably tell by now, here’s your ship! As always I truly appreciate your patience and I hope you enjoy your ship.
~Stray Kids~ Chan
First of all, please forgive any rusty ship-writing skills, I haven’t done a written ship in a hot minute, but all of that aside I ultimately decided to ship you with Chan. This was honestly such an easy decision to make, I may be jumping the gun with this one but what I got from the description you sent me was someone who is honestly the definition of gentle. All in all, I feel like your personality is such a breath of fresh air, and though you’d definitely charm a few of the members I can guarantee that Chan would be the first to fall head over heels before making the huge decision to pursue your heart.
I feel like some of the most beautiful parts of this relationship are the ones that easily slot into place. As cliché as it sounds, love would just come easy for the two of you, both of you can just take comfort in knowing that at the end of the day you didn’t ever have to force things to work. Initially Chan would be quite nervous upon meeting you, he would try to remain as carefree as possible despite tripping over his own words. But all he really needed was a taste of your patience and gentle touch to bring him back down to Earth. It started as kind words spoken across a casual lunch and quickly evolved into him leaning over to place a passionate kiss on your lips, and the rest was history.
Now, I can make a pretty long list of all the reasons as to why I ship you with Chan but I really just want to address one of my favourite aspects of your relationship: The permanent sense of domesticity. This arises very early into your relationship, it would be suitable to say you’re like an old married couple, but just scrap the “old” part. There is so much love and affection, which mainly comes from combining both of your parental qualities. Chan is very mindful of relationships and will always strive to create an environment where love is the driving force. Chan would love to see a little you and a little him running around but if you don’t want children, he will still create some type of family, even if it’s just you, him, a couple of pets and the other members. Don’t worry this isn’t some false “playing house” scenario, he just wants to provide some sense of familial comfort. He is severely dedicated and will always act the part of a proper significant other.
Chan is aware of how cheesy it sounds, but he will never discredit you, for you are his muse. Your creativity is a driving force for him. You just rub off on him in all the right ways. Some days you will attempt to playfully outdo each other, an example of this is when you’d gift him a rough sketch of him working in the studio and he would set to work immediately creating yet another song to compliment his one and only (you).
Now what I’m about to say may seem minor in retrospect to what I’ve said but the physical affection present in your relationship is vital to your thriving love life. Please keep in mind that Chan will probably implode if you showed him the smallest ounce of pda, because even if most of the ship made Chan up to be the manly boyfriend of your dreams he is still probably as lovestruck and gentle as you. So, while he makes sure to support you and validate everything you do, he truly loves when you do the same to him. Hell, some days he will be the one bombarding you with kisses and the occasional cuddles, but that’s not a bad thing, right?
~BTS~ Hoseok
From now on, when I picture Hoseok’s perfect girl, I will picture you. Though your description was short and sweet (like yourself) I gathered a decent picture of who you are as a person. Now it may seem like a stretch considering Hoseok is more often than not depicted as being overly bright and extremely outgoing, but I truly think there is more than what meets the eye when it comes to this man. He has a sense of maturity that leads me to believe that he would actually get along with a shy, ISTJ Virgo. He may just take the lead and start the conversation when you first meet, but following that encounter he would never actually seem overbearing. Hoseok though expressive would take some time to fall in love or at least take your relationship to the next level, it isn’t because he is disinterested, quite the opposite actually, he just wants to take time in experiencing love. He would also want there to be a sense of commitment on both sides, he is the type to take love seriously even if his put-on persona says otherwise.
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of your relationship is the fact that it would be a learning curve for the both of you, you will actually take some time to create a sense of harmony in your relationship, but when you do the bond, you share would be unbreakable. The differences that are discovered actually add a little something to the connection that the two of you have. Take this as an example- while you are more forthcoming with your affections Hoseok is the type to respectfully hold back on too much pda, even if he does love you to the moon and back. All in all, he has a unique way in showing love, which would definitely make your relationship a hell of a lot more interesting.
Hoseok has a similar affinity for your creativity as Chan, but Hoseok sees it in a completely different way. He likes your creativity because you are the happiest whenever you are creative, he absolutely adores your uncensored happiness and innocence. He won’t ever expect you to gift him with something creative in return, he is more giving and is more than willing to do anything within his power to enhance your creative talents, whether it be something as small as buying you pencils or actually dancing with you. I just have to say it now, he would by no means be teaching you how to dance because he has so much faith in you and loves to see everything that you are capable of.
Hoseok is kind of like that kid who doesn’t admit how much he loves affection but will ask for a hug or a loving kiss all the damn time. He is also another person who’s love language is quality time, even if you both just sit in silence and watch a movie (which is quite rare because you always have the best conversations ever). Another thing that is just way too wholesome to not mention is the fact that he would always, and I mean always like to go on a vacation with you even if it was only for a few days. He just thinks that the best moments with you are the ones where you are both too excited to speak, the ones where you just have too much energy coursing through your body so when you can speak it’s just loud and excited shouting. And then when he thinks you couldn’t possibly get any cuter you look up at him with gleaming eyes, so he does the only thing he could ever think of and leans in and kisses your cheek.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Everything Weird About Deltarune!
Spoiler Warning for Undertale and Both Chapters of Deltarune! Really! I Literally Go Through Everything I Can Remember About Them!
This is a long post so get comfortable. Also note that my brain doesn't process thoughts into words very well so some of these might not be worded in the best way. :)
Deltarune. The first teaser chapter was released on October 31, 2018, and it came out of nowhere. We've all gone through this, but I'll try and go through every single painstaking detail I can remember. Feel free to reblog and add/correct things.
The weirdness begins right off the bat. The title is an anagram of UNDERTALE. We all know Toby likes to use anagrams when he wants to indirectly tell us when things are related, so it's no surprise that when you go to download DELTARUNE, it warns you that the game is designed for people who have played UNDERTALE. You think, "Cool, so it's a sequel? Or maybe a prequel? A different perspective of UNDERTALE perhaps?" You were wrong; so terribly, terribly wrong! I'll elaborate on this later.
Before you download the application, the terms of service that you must agree to beforehand reads simply and plainly, "You accept everything that will happen from now on." This detail was kinda brushed off in the beginning, because, hey, it's Toby Fox. He does weird stuff all the time. But even in the first chapter, it's apparent that the concept of choice, or more accurately, the lack of it, is a very present theme in the game. I would like to remind you that Toby has announced that there will be one ending in the game. One. I'll elaborate on this later.
The program (as in, what the game is called in your files) is named SURVEY PROGRAM. Why not just call it Deltarune like it is when you download chapter two?
The game launches you, without a title screen, without any setting adjustment options, straight into a reference to the theme of the entire franchise: the lack of choice. A strange formless voice guides you through "making a vessel", with what we know now as a fountain in the background. You have the option to make some very disturbing choices in this character creator, such as making its favorite flavor "pain" or expressing your feelings about it with options such as "fear" and "disgust." You name your "creation," tell the formless voice your name (which is different from your vessel's name) and watch as said formless voice muses over your name at an agonizing pace. It thanks you for your time and tells you that your wonderful creation, (cue music cutout and background removal) will now be discarded. "No one can choose who they are in this world." The screen slowly turns white as the voice says, "Your... name... is..."
It gets weirder. The next scene appears from the whiteness and showcases Toriel calling "Kris" out of bed. Kris' area of the room is very bare in contrast to the other side, which we later discover is Asriel's.
It's Toriel. Why is Toriel here?
Kris is kind of an anagram of Frisk (the protagonist of UNDERTALE) but without the F. I highly doubt this is a coincidence.
Speaking with Noelle is the only reason you can proceed (see what i did there?) while finding a partner in the classroom. This means you can't go through the 1st chapter without knowing who she is. Is it because of the Snowgrave route?
Ralsei is just suspicious to me. There's no way he was just waiting in that castle his whole life alone without some mental toil. So either he's insane or he wasn't alone the whole time. What happened? Is it related to how he can close his eyes and see what Susie is going through when she's apart from the party? Was he just watching everything? Is he related to the formless voice?
Susie's icon is the only one without color in the Dark World.
Jevil's fight is more difficult than Sans'.
Your actions have little consequence in the first chapter. If you choose to go genocide, the only difference in the ending is being run out of the kingdom, and this doesn't carry over to the next chapter. Again, lack of choice, people.
If at the end of chapter one, you walk around town, it's mentioned (notably by Noelle) that you're usually not this talkative. If you go to the hospital and speak with the receptionist, they mention that you used to play the piano in the corner. If you decide to attempt to play the said piano, an out-of-key bash can be heard and the receptionist comments on how you used to play beautifully. If you try this in chapter two, the result is the same. All this is confirmation that Kris is acting noticeably weird.
When you leave the Dark World and walk around town, you can find Sans. He "pretends" to recognize you, and if you tell him you recognize him, he tells you it's funny, considering that you two have never met before. He winks. I'm pretty sure he knows that the player is there.
The mention of Papyrus in both games, but the purposeful lack of him. Like he's avoiding you.
If you go upstairs while inside Asgore's flower shop, there are flowers in glass cases resembling his SOUL collection in UNDERTALE. There's a red flower.
You can't enter the church.
The clock in the storage closet shows a different time than all the others in the school.
If you go all the way south in town and into the woods, the music stops and you come across a rusty, double door is in a hill covered in crass. It's locked. If you go this way in chapter two, however, you watch a cutscene where you and susie happen to find Monster Kid from UNDERTALE (or someone resembling them) and an owl kid in front of the door. The owl kid is pressuring Monster Kid to (presumably) break inside, telling them that they don't want to be a wimp like Kris. Does this imply that Kris is connected to this strange door somehow?
The ending. You know what I'm talking about.
Did Kris actually rip out the SOUL (I say "the" because I'm not entirely sure it's Kris') and knife because they wanted to eat the pie? Did they only eat the pie because Toriel caught them?
Why did they look at the player? Are they sick of being controlled? Is that why they freaked out after the Spamton fight? (later)
Anyway, now we're at chapter two.
DELTARUNE Chapter Two was released on September 17th, 2021. 17. Entry Number 17. Sound familiar?
Asriel's part of the room is different from the last chapter. I don't think this means anything sinister, but I think it means Kris notices different things about the room as the story progresses. My theory is that it will become more sinister in each chapter.
Ralsei getting super excited to see Susie and Kris after a day. As in he has separation anxiety and it breaks my heart. not anything suspicious but it makes me sad so it's on the list.
Kris and Susie's rooms. Ralsei REALLY doesn't want them to leave. Seriously get this boy a therapist. Or a stuffed animal. SOMETHING.
Kris having to gather everything from the storage closet so that people appear in the Dark World????? Why??????????????? They had to do the same thing for the computer lab too.
The golden door. I don't trust it.
How/why the heck did Noelle and Berdley go into the Computer Lab Dark World? I don't see either of them just walking into pulsing void doors without Susie.
Apparently the knight has been gone for a bit and can corrupt people's minds? The king in the first chapter doesn't seem like he can be redeemed but Queen just seems,,, not bad, but a little crazy. I wonder what happened.
Then again, name ONE person in this franchise without trauma.
Spamton.
Horror doesn't bother me. Spamton? Spamton bothers me.
SPAMTON. ENOUGH SAID.
A Kromer is a type of hat invented in the '70s. Nobody named Mike is associated with it, that I can find.
SPAMPTON. HOW DO I EVEN DESCRIBE IT.
HIS SONG IS THE ONLY ONE WITH WORDS.
The way he asks Kris is they want to be a heart on a chain their whole life. Like, dude, no wonder they were screaming after the fight.
WHERE DID THE YELLOW HEART COME FROM. YELLOW MEANS JUSTICE. WHY DOES JUSTICE APPLY.
Kris screaming after the fight and the player not being able to hear it. Don't you dare tell me that's just how the game is designed. There are sound effects characters make throughout the game. None that I can think of apply to Kris, apart from when they rip their soul out.
Ralsei brushing off the Spamton fight. Either that's his coping mechanism or he was trying to shut Susie and Kris up to protect them from... something. I'll touch on that in a minute.
According to Queen, DETERMINATION is a key factor in creating a fountain.
Also according to Queen, Kris, Noelle, and Susie all have DETERMINATION SOULS.
Ralsei freaking out about Berdley making a fountain implies that he may also have DETERMINATION. Why I'm bringing all this up will make sense soon.
How was Noelle able to cast Snowgrave... a spell that she, according to her, didn't know?
The Snowgrave route is so twisted.
You manipulate Noelle into killing Berdley and then, when you get back to the computer lab and investigate his corpse, the text box says that he doesn't seem to be awake. As if you're in denial?
Burgerpants recognizes you. Not Kris. As in the player.
The ending. I don't think I need to describe it. Kris is very methodical without the SOUL. (I say "the" because, again, I'm not 100% convinced it's theirs.) I'm saying this about how they left clues that someone broke into the This proves that they are NOT a mindless, vengeful husk.
HOW DID THEY MAKE THE FOUNTAIN WITHOUT THE SOUL INSIDE OF THEM. DID THEY FEED THE SOUL TO IT AFTERWARDS? IS THAT WHAT THAT WAS?
Another point I would like to make is my theory that Ralsei knows much more than he would have us believe. I might put this into a different post because I have yet to gather my points into a coherent bullet point list, so keep an eye out for that.
Anyway apart from Toriel and Susie being VERY heavy sleepers, I think I've gone through everything. I have a few theories.
1. Kris is possessed by the player and figured out that they could make a fountain from Queen and related to Spamton freaking out about freedom. They then decided to make a fountain going by the logic that "this would tick the player off." This is one of my top theories that assumes that the SOUL is theirs.
And 2. Kris is possessed by both the player and the knight. I think the formless voice at the very beginning of the game is the knight, and they somehow needed the player to possess someone with DETERMINATION. If so, then why Kris? We know from Queen that Noelle and Susie, and maybe even Berdley also have DETERMINATION. The most plausible thing I can think of is the fact that human souls are stronger than monster ones.
I do think that the popular theory (about the one that suggests that the Dark Word is nothing but a figment of a child's imagination, and the events that occur in said Dark World are simply children playing with toys) has been thoroughly dashed due to Berdley's murder in the genocide route of the second chapter. Unless he's not dead. Regardless, how the events (or lack thereof) that occur in the second chapter play through the next will be interesting, especially considering Toby's announcement about how there will be one ending to the game. So either Berdley isn't dead, or he will be.
Aaaand I think that's it! Sorry for the long post; let me know your thoughts and if I missed anything!
#deltarune#deltarune chapter 2#deltarune theory#deltarune theories#deltarune chapter two theory#deltarune chapter two theories#snowgrave#pipis route#deltarune snowgrave#video games#indie game#deltarune spoilers#ralsei#kris#susie#undertale#sans
423 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maybe It’s A Sign
Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit 18+
Word Count: 9.3k+
Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming
Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.
A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)
Read it on AO3
The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.
You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.
Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.
His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.
He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.
All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.
"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.
"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."
That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.
"Don't you have a book or something?"
You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."
"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.
You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.
"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.
Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."
He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.
Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.
"When's your birthday?"
Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."
Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."
He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."
"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.
"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.
You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.
"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"
You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."
You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."
"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.
"I wouldn't know," you say.
Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."
A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.
"What about you?" he asks.
"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."
You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.
"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.
"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."
You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.
As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.
You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.
You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.
You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.
“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.
“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.
You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.
The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.
A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.
“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.
“I’ll take a coke too.”
“I’ll be right back, folks.”
You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.
The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”
Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”
“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.
You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.
You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.
Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.
He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.
Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.
“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.
“Plan?”
“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.
Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.
“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.
“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.
She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”
“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.
You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.
You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.
He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.
You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.
“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”
He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.
You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”
He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.
Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.
You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.
“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.
Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.
Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.
“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.
Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.
You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.
Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.
Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.
You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.
You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”
You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”
A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”
That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”
“She was not,” Mando argues.
You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.
“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”
“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”
Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.
You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?
Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.
Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.
“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.
You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”
“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.
What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.
You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.
After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.
You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.
The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.
The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.
“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.
“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”
Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.
It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.
You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.
“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.
He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”
You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”
He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”
Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.
You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.
“Alright then, what do I call you?”
You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.
“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.
Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”
That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.
“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.
“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”
You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.
Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.
Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”
You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.
“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.
Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.
You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.
Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.
You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.
As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.
He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.
You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”
You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.
“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.
You mumble back to him.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.
“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.
“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.
Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.
You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.
After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”
"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.
You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.
The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.
Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.
You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.
You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.
You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.
Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.
Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.
You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.
Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.
“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.
You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”
His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”
You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.
“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.
Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”
You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?
He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”
A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.
You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”
He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”
You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.
Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.
“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.
Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.
Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.
Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.
“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.
He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.
Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.
Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.
You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.
“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”
He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.
“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.
“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.
Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.
“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.
Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”
He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.
His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”
He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.
Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.
Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”
This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”
It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.
He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.
You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”
Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.
As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.
Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.
You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.
You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.
“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”
Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.
“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”
You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”
You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.
His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.
Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.
He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.
You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.
“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.
“Din,” you say.
His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”
His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.
Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.
“What’s so funny?” Din asks.
“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”
Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”
You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.
Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”
“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.
“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.
You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.
Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.
You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”
“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.
Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”
#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#modern!au#modern!din#din djarin fic#pedro pascal x reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian fanfiction#mandocrasis fic
645 notes
·
View notes
Text
Double edged scalpel ch. 8
Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7
Summary: Fluff? Smut?? Stuff???
---
It was still early morning, if the bright light and faint chirping coming from out the window were anything to go by. Cassandra had been awake for a while, her body not needing nearly as much sleep as humans did.
She looked down to where Nicole's face was pressed on top of her chest, cheek slightly squished against the skin. Sleep had turned her features into soft lines, unlike her usual nonchalant façade that she wore like a crown. Though the dark circles under closed eyes were still present and, Cassandra mused, probably a permanent facial feature at this point.
The brunette couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips. She couldn't remember the last time someone had been in Nicole's position, so willing to let themselves be embraced by the shadows of the castle and wear the title of her "lover" with such grace. She wasn't even sure someone had been there before.
Though as endearing as the sight was, Cassandra was starting to get bored. Nicole's position half on top of her meant she couldn't really move without waking her up. How much sleep do humans need again? Eight hours? She was pretty sure it'd been eight hours. Besides, what harm would it do to stay and cuddle for a while, not that anyone other than the small redhead in her arms would ever be allowed to know about her apparent love for such things.
She hesitated for a second, the memory of Nicole jolting awake not too long ago making its way to the forefront of her mind. She would have to be more careful than Bela had been, opting for the gentlest way she could muster, fingers gingerly trailing down her cheek.
Cassandra frowned when the redhead flinched slightly at the touch, but soon let out a content hum upon hearing her name whispered by the brunette. Nicole didn't even bother opening her eyes. Instead, she nuzzled into Cassandra's neck and tightened her grip around her waist ever so slightly.
"Mmornin'," she said as if she actually had any intention of getting up.
"Slept well?" The brunette asked, shifting to lay on her side and starting to play with the long auburn locks sprawled on the pillows.
The reply she got was little more than a hum as her half asleep lover shifted and readjusted her position. Nicole's hand started to gingerly trace her spine upwards, then down again, on her waist and then stilled for a moment. She finally opened her eyes and looked somewhere past the brunette locks blocking her view. The arm on Cassandra's waist was removed and stretched towards the nightstand for a few seconds only to fall back on the bed accompanied by a soft groan.
"Can you pass me my phone…" Curse you, short arms.
To her dismay, Cassandra started to laugh at her struggle, earning herself a sleepy glare. She did oblige though, turning slightly and picking up the small object from the nightstand. With the phone finally in hand, Nicole unlocked it and let out another groan at the hour.
"It's so fucking early."
"It's 8 a.m." Cassandra raised an eyebrow when the redhead simply tossed the small object on the bed, probably never to be found again given it's sheer size, and turned back in her arms with an almost childish whine.
Nicole really wasn't a woman of many words in the morning.
"Why'd you wake me up so early?"
"I was bored," Cassandra answered simply.
Of course.
After another small groan, Cassandra decided to change tactics. Her hand moved from red hair down Nicole's bare back. She felt her breath hitch when she got to her hip, slender fingers going in ever so soft circles over the skin and the fabric of her underwear.
That seemed to wake the redhead up at least slightly. Her lips started to lazily move across collarbones, leaving a trail of kisses and an occasional nip. Then up her neck, hand now tangled in dark hair and giving it a light tug to tilt Cassandra's head and get better access to the spot right under her ear. She left a light bite there and the brunette let out a small moan, hand now fully gripping Nicole's hip and pulling her closer.
Cassandra's thigh, now placed between her legs just right, was hard to ignore but Nicole was a woman on a mission. She shifted her weight, now fully straddling the brunette and continued her trail of kisses along her jaw until she finally reached soft lips. Cassandra moaned in their kiss when Nicole's fingers came to rest around her neck, giving it a faint squeeze. She slipped her tongue past slightly parted lips and her other hand started to slowly trail lower.
The sense of satisfaction she got from Cassandra's impatient whine was hard to describe. Revenge for getting woken up so early.
"Just touch me already," Cassandra broke their kiss momentarily, and the redhead decided to be at least a little lenient.
She shifted her hips, giving way for her hand to wander beyond black lacy underwear. One finger started to circle her already wet entrance ever so lightly, causing Cassandra to buck her hips impatiently.
"Nico- ah!"
Her complaint was cut short by two of Nicole's fingers entering her. Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, stifling a moan.
The rhythm of her fingers was slow at first, enough to elicit a few more groans from the brunete, but her pace steadily increased. It wasn't long before Cassandra was grabbing at the sheets, not trusting her claws on Nicole's back anymore, and trying to clench her thighs together.
Nicole kissed along her neck as she came, the pace of her fingers slowing until Cassandra relaxed under her. Then, she pulled her hand away and sat back down on the soft sheets, taking in the view of her lover trying to catch her breath. When golden eyes finally fluttered open and looked up at her, Nicole grinned.
"Thought you didn't need to breathe."
"Do not get cocky with me." To her credit, Cassandra tried to glare, but her eyes were soft and lips turned into a small smile.
Sweet revenge. Although, Nicole mused, if Cassandra woke her up this early again she'd make her beg.
"I think we should start getting ready."
They still had a few hours to spare, but being early never hurt anyone. Cassandra seemed to have other plans though, as she placed a hand around Nicole's throat and pushed her down into the pillows.
It was Cassandra's turn to straddle her hips, her much taller frame giving the impression that she was a predator ready to sink its teeth into a meal. Paired with the devilish glint in her eyes when she leaned down to whisper against Nicole's lips, it was all too hot.
"And not return the favor? Who do you take me for hmm?"
So much for revenge.
---
Arranging tools next to the autopsy table has always been oddly relaxing. Repetition and the soft clinking of metal against metal when the scalpels were placed in their place. The leather gloves as she slid them on her hands. The apron that was waiting to be put on. All a comforting routine.
With some time to spare, she went to stand behind Cassandra, who was scribbling something in one of the many notebooks she had around. Many, Nicole had learned, as opposed to just one that magically appeared everywhere. She looked over her shoulders to see what she was writing and frowned.
She had one of the textbooks from Nicole in front of her and seemed to be correcting old notes from god knows how many years ago. Notes in german.
"Do you… speak german?" Nicole inquired. She wasn't necessarily surprised but it was weird it had never come up.
The brunette only let out an mhm and finished scratching out something, replacing it with the information from the book. In english. "And french, italian, hungarian, and some russian. My russian's really rusty though, been a long time since it was in use around here."
Okay. Impressive. Nicole supposed that being immortal does come with benefits such as infinite time to learn different languages. Cassandra let out a chuckle at her surprised look.
Then she checked the hour and snapped the notebook shut. Showtime.
Clank
They both froze.
Their eyes darted to the door, left slightly ajar.
Clank
"You… heard that right?" Nicole's question was so low, it would've probably gone unheard if not for sensitive vampiric ears.
"Loud and clear. Stay here."
And she should have really. Cassandra was strong and could take care of herself. Whatever was making noise was probably a bored prisoner wanting to quicken their demise.
But the sinking feeling in her gut gave her no peace. Whether it was worry for Cassandra, the fear that crept up her spine at being left alone, or a mix of both was anyone's guess.
She grabbed one of the scalpels from the tray.
It gave her a false sense of security as she slipped through the door and down the dark corridor connecting the study to the cells.
One of the perks of being small? You can hide almost anywhere. And this was no exception. The shadows hid her well while she stepped for the first time past old cells. Some run down, some full of devices not unlike the ones in the room she had just exited.
She could hear a growl up ahead and came to the realization that it belonged to Cassandra. She was frustrated at something and Nicole wondered if being there was really a good idea. Most likely not. But she came all the way there, might as well see what got the brunette so upset.
She started walking towards the sound of heels against stone and was about to call out Cassandra's name when a shadow caught her eye. She froze.
From where she was, still enveloped by darkness, she saw something peeking around a corner at her lover, but it's back almost completely turned to her. Someone, she realized as she strained her eyes to take in more details. A man, no taller than Cassandra, ragged clothing and something shiny in hand.
Panic took over when she realized that shine came from the reflective barrel of a gun, half in position and ready to shoot. Shoot at Cassandra.
She sprung forward, stealth be damned with how loud her boots sounded against the stone underfoot. The sound alerted Cassandra, who turned in her direction wide eyed. It also alerted the man, who spinned on his heels and let out a choked scream that seemed to ring in her ears.
The sound died in his throat when the scalpel was plunged in his neck, through the trachea and whatever other veins and arteries the blade found in its path. He leaned back against the wall, disgusting gurgling sounds making their way past bloody lips.
"Nicole!" Cassandra was by her side in the span of a second. She wanted to turn to her but instead she stumbled forward, almost crashing into her arms.
Something was wrong.
Adrenaline was finally starting to leave her body and instead searing pain was making its way in her muscles. Her head was starting to spin but she managed to look down only to see a crimson stain on her abdomen. An ugly contrast with her white uniform, really.
Her ears were ringing, but she faintly registered Cassandra let a long string of curses spill past her lips.
Then she was picked up, the wound in her abdomen sending jolts of pain with every hasty movement. She couldn’t help crying out when Cassandra presumably reached the dungeon steps and started ascending.
Staying awake was becoming an increasingly hard task. No matter how much she tried to keep her eyes open, it resulted fruitless as black splotches were starting to obscure her vision.
She finally let her lids shut, her head slumping against Cassandra's shoulder as nothingness started to envelop her foggy mind.
#cassandra dimitrescu#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden#unhinged maiden™ my beloved#fanfic#double edged scalpel
161 notes
·
View notes
Text
New Muses (in the making)
I’m not sure how strong the feeling for these muses will be but I do hope to have fun with these. Some I am going into new territory and others I will be familiar with and want to delve into them.
First: Princess Peach
So I wanna do something a bit more different than how Peach is typically depicted here. I do intend to keep the pretty, fashion and girly Peach but add a touch of kick ass to it. Like Totally Spies or Kim Possible flare into her. She knows what looks good on her dress and what she can use to bludgeon someone to death with. Some of you might be thinking this being similar to the Nintendo Power Comic of Peach, which is accurate and the best Peach, but I also love the Mario Strikers Peach. So basically I want to make her into a bad bitch.
Next is Team RWBY! After so long of contemplation and debating, and questioning myself on whether I love this series or not.... Yeah I’m doing this. Not entirely sure how much I will divert from canon. There is JPDE which is my favorite fan-made game. I can’t recommend it enough for anyone a fan of RWBY and visual novels. Might even get around to finally giving my OCs a RWBY AU, as I am still working on a team for the final member. Will I include others in the RWBY cast? Not entirely sure.
Soul Eater! Thanks to a certain ask I might actually delve into anime characters. So far, Maka and Soul are good candidates. Lastly, I am currently reading the manga and I will develop more connections to characters. But I always did love the world of Soul Eater and such, it’s kinda like those animes that I grew so close to that are my personal favorites despite not being as big as some others. I am just so rusty.
Possible new ones:
Sora, Kairi and Aqua from Kingdom Hearts. Just not entirely sure how strong I feel about it.
More might come. Thinking of Undertale or Deltarune, maybe more Mario stuff. Who knows.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
the shapes in the silence (12)
warnings: dissociation, fighting, mild blood & injury, panic, another hopefully less bad cliffhanger
-
Puff woke up to a gentle hand down his back ridges, his hoard chattering above him, and an odd, high pitched note on the edge of his hearing.
His ears twitched in agitation at the noise, but his hoard took priority, so he took a moment to stretch before finally tuning into the conversation.
The three of them were arguing about another one of their screen viewings, trying to decide which one of their little stories to play. Each of them seemed to treasure very specific titles with passionate reverence, but for Puff couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. The screen was always too bright for his eyes to focus on for long, and the sounds often too loud.
As such, when the decision was left up to him, he simply stared at them blankly for a moment before settling back into a curled up shape to continue dozing.
There was a pause in the chatter (making the strange noise seem all the louder) and then they continued speaking in much more muted tones, indicating discomfort and uncertainty. Puff felt a twinge of discontent run through him and sighed grumpily.
This was the problem with a human-shaped hoard. They were so difficult to maintain.
Not that Puff would trade his hoard for all the shining things in the world. Each of them on their own were more valuable than any number of treasures combined. Every dragon probably felt that way about their hoard, but in his case it was true.
He let his eyes slit open, peering at the nearest of his collection.
Roman, who carried the smell of pigments and an appreciation for the finer things himself, was like a golden gauntlet. Ornate but handcrafted, painstaking care in every detail, and dripping with rubies.
Logan, who needed his hands occupied just as well as his mind, was like an illuminated manuscript. Pages draped in silver leaf edging, needing such a delicate touch to keep the ink from wearing away.
Patton, who watched them all with keen eyes and a warm gaze, was like a polished wooden music box. Inside, rose-colored clockwork met precisely placed metal prongs, together producing the notes to a nostalgic tune.
They were so precious, all of them, but never more than when they were shining their brightest with joy and contentment.
Puff was having a hard time making them happy, lately. Without Not-Puff, it was much harder to figure out which actions would keep his hoard from becoming dull with misery. His tail thrashed irritably as he once again felt the absence in himself.
Despite his constant presence as a part of their shared being, Not-Puff was assuredly not part of the hoard. He was like a rusty, chipped butterfly knife. All double edges and caked dirt from lack of care. Barely even worth looking at.
Still, Not-Puff was better at understanding which choices would make the hoard happy, which meant he was useful to have around. Puff mentally prodded at the barrier aiding in keeping the other half of him tucked quietly away, but there was no response. As the days passed, he’d only stirred when one of the hoard did something dangerous-stupid that went against all of their shared protective instincts, and even then, only barely.
It made Puff think that he didn’t plan on coming back.
It wasn’t like Not-Puff was a dragon, so maybe he simply didn’t care as much about the hoard. And even if he was gone for good, what did Puff care? That just meant more room for him in the empty, echoing space of their mind.
… Whatever.
Puff rolled over and got to his feet, stretching his wings out until they threatened to cramp. How irritating, thoughts like this keeping him up when all he wanted to do was take a nap.
If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well investigate the source of the noise.
He leapt easily to the floor, his hoard having already picked a glow story to watch in subdued silence. Patton called out a parting caution, and then Puff was off, trotting over to the stairs.
He passed Not-Puff’s room with barely a glance down the darkened hall. It was empty, obviously, though most of his hoard didn’t seem to realize. Logan and Patton often stood at the threshold, knocking and trying to coax Not-Puff out with sweet foods or concerned words, and while Roman generally avoided it, Puff had caught him staring more than once.
No matter what they tried or didn’t try, it remained locked up, silent and dark inside. Just like its former resident.
Puff could still get in, though he refrained from using the small flap-like door when others were watching. It wouldn’t do to make his hoard feel excluded, after all.
His dagger, the obsidian one with the gilded edges and honeyed words, could get inside, too.
His dagger-- Puff couldn’t quite recall the false name he used-- spent a lot of his time locked in that room, which was a bit foolish of him. It couldn’t be pleasant. Even Puff could feel the stagnant, fearful aura that lingered there, and dragons weren’t known for being affected by such things.
Not-Puff had complex, many-edged feelings towards their dagger, but it didn’t really matter, because Not-Puff had complex feelings about all of the hoard. He was a strange one like that.
In any case, it didn’t stop Puff from occasionally tromping off to go curl up in his dagger’s lap, letting the silly creature talk at him. He always talked when Puff came to bask with him, trying to coax Not-Puff out with lies and threats and even apologies that made his voice crack.
None of it ever worked.
He wasn’t in Not-Puff’s room now, though. Puff felt around curiously, and found his dagger was out in the real world, playing pretend.
He did that more and more often these days, dressing up to masquerade as Not-Puff for their Thomas. It was a strange practice. Puff much preferred his dagger as himself, all shining scales and black velvet.
Thomas was the crown of their little hoard, of course. It only made sense.
The odd tone grew in intensity, and Puff shook off his distractions, ears flattening against his skull. He could curl up with his hoard later, once this irritating buzzing was-- as Roman would say-- vanquished.
He passed the doors in the hall one after another, listening carefully at each one. After such a thorough inspection, the answer became clear.
Puff studied the portal-like entrance to the imagination, head tilting back and forth as he listened carefully to the noise. Not-Puff’s fear of this realm had kept Puff from wandering into it alone up until now, but the painful buzzing was definitely coming from it.
It was Not-Puff’s own fault for not being around to stop him, he decided, and stepped through.
-
As Puff trotted down cobblestone paths and dirt roads after the sound, it only seemed to grow more and more intense, enough so that he had to stop a few times to shake his head agitatedly, trying to get rid of the ringing headache.
At least those irritating shadow projections Not-Puff spawned weren’t present. The woven thread around his neck seemed to do well enough preventing them, which was good, because Puff wasn’t in the mood to go scampering around avoiding the trifling things. Not when there were noises to attend to.
“So it worked, after all.”
The strange, lilting voice made him spin around, wings flaring defensively.
Up in the twisting boughs of an old oak, the stranger cocked their head, bird-like. “I wasn’t sure it would,” they continued. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”
They tossed a hollow stone in their hand, the strange noise emanating from it. The scales along their cloak rattled with every movement, and Puff’s hackles rose in response. He remembered them. The Witch that tried to turn him against his own hoard.
“Now, don’t be rude. I’ve skinned beasts much larger than you with barely a snap of the fingers, you know.” They slid down to the ground, and Puff skittered back a few steps. “Halt.”
The compulsion took root firmly in him, keeping his feet glued to the ground. He hissed viciously, furious that their magic had such a hold on him. They sauntered closer and dropped to a squat.
“So my thrall does affect you… perhaps before was a one-off? I suppose it’s still interesting enough that you somehow keep your mind.” The eyes of their mask were dark and hollow, sending a chill down Puff’s spine even as he continued to growl viciously. “Quiet, now. Keep your mouth shut.”
His teeth clacked together painfully as his mouth snapped shut, leaving an impotent glare as his only form of defense.
“Perfect,” they said, and plucked him up from the ground, calming his struggles with another pulse of magic and a hand down his spine. “His Royal Irritation has been rearing for fight after fight lately, so it’ll be nice to finally have some leverage on my side.”
A chill spread through him.
“How long do you think it will take for him to find you?” they mused, tone light and mocking as they continued to run their hand along his spine possessively. “Days? Weeks? I certainly hope I’ll have enough time to prepare for company.”
Puff felt as though the metal cuff around his leg had grown suddenly heavy. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't take them nearly as long as he might hope, not when his hoard had grown so used to having him constantly nearby. Not when there was a tracker to lead them right into the Witch’s trap.
“Don’t fret, little dragon,” they crooned, tapping a finger between his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for the fun.”
Unable to do anything else, he obeyed.
-
When he woke, it was on the floor of an ornate birdcage, with magic thick in the air.
He uncurled, limbs weak, and pushed himself up to see that not one, but three of his hoard were before him, standing there in the grand hall of an ancient castle, facing off with the Witch.
The sight sent a thrum of alarm through him. The three of them didn’t enter the Imagination together often, and the effects of their combined presence made the place feel more real, more lasting.
Seeing the way they were back to back, surrounded by vicious constructed monsters, that wasn’t a good thing. That was a very, very bad thing indeed.
Even from his position next to the Witch’s throne, he could make out the cut on Roman’s forehead that continued to drip blood into his eyes, the way Logan leaned his weight heavily on one foot as though injured, the exhausted shaking of Patton’s frame as he tossed away a monster at Roman’s back.
More than that, he could feel the strain of his mental connection to his hoard, the urge to keep them from harm nearly all-consuming. They were his, and he would not stand idly by while they suffered.
For the first time in weeks, there was a stirring inside of Puff, like a billowing of air on banked coals. A white-hot glow, expanding with nowhere to go.
A gloved hand flicked the bars of the cage, bringing all his furious attention to the Witch. Their invisible gaze rested intently on him, making his scales prickle.
“Enjoying the show, small one?”
If looks could kill, this battle would be long over. The Witch laughed lowly at him.
“You look at me so fiercely, but this wouldn’t have been possible without you, you know?” They turned their gaze back to the battle with a darkly satisfied tint to their voice. “All three of them, right here in the palm of my hand for the sake of such a tiny, helpless creature. I’d almost think there’s something genuinely special about you. Too bad you probably won’t survive the heartbreak when I kill them.”
The snarl Puff let out seemed too small, too weak to even begin to express the amount of vitriol inside of him. The Witch didn’t even glance at him before rising to their feet to join the battle themself. His body trembled oddly.
He was afraid, he realized with a startle. He was more afraid than he’d ever been before.
That internal stir rose up again at the emotion, but it still felt as though a wall of thick mental fog separated Puff from it, like reaching through a haze. Bracing himself, he pushed past it anyways, dizzy with the effort.
For the first time since they’d been separated, Not-Puff was reaching back. Puff hesitated for the barest of moments.
If they did this. There would be consequences.
If they didn’t do this…
Nothing could be worse than losing them, one of them answered, and the other agreed. Which one was which didn’t really matter, in the end.
He took the anger and the fear that bubbled up inside of him and let them grow, welling up into one singular drive to protect. And, as the empty space around him seemed to vanish, he realized that he was growing, too.
The bracelet was the first thing to go, the connecting thread snapping at the pressure of his changing form. The tracer cuff followed easily, metal crumpling, and then the bars of the birdcage bent until they snapped, and then he was free of every restraint at last.
Virgil half-expected to come back to a human shape at that very moment, but Puff was still more than present in their mind, and as much as he loved their humans, there was clearly a superior option to better keep them all safe.
He flickered up like the flame tongues of a rising bonfire, or a bolt of energy connecting the earth and heavens, until he was big enough that his wings spread and met the adjacent walls of the throne chamber.
Every eye in the room was upon him, and when he growled, it was like the rolling crashes of a thunderstorm. Some of the monsters cowered away from that alone, turning tail and fleeing.
The Witch looked up at him and cackled, exuberant where they should be terrified.
“I knew there was something there, something different! You may have changed shape, little dragon, but my thrall isn’t so weak as to be influenced by size. You’ve only made your hoard’s end that much easier for me!”
Virgil could see the three of them behind the Witch, crowded together and staring up at him with equal parts apprehension and hope. His hoard wouldn’t be hurt a single moment longer. Not by the Dragon Witch, and certainly not by him.
The Witch lifted their arm and snapped their finger at him.
“Stop all that noise, little dragon,” they commanded, and the compulsive magic washed over him and rolled right off.
Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward, and his growl rose in volume, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
There was a heady feeling of satisfaction at the way the Witch stumbled back, the mask barely hiding their shock. “I said stop, right now.”
The magic passed, easier and easier to ignore. The Witch would never control this body again, no matter what form it took.
With a howl of wordless anger, they vanished from sight, and all the monsters that remained turned to him with aggression writ in every line of their bodies. An unfamiliar sensation welled up in his chest, waiting to be released.
Might as well see what this familiar-unfamiliar form could manage.
Working off Puff’s instincts, Virgil opened his mouth and let something click in the back of his throat before exhaling what looked like thick, rolling smoke. It filled the air, clumping together dense and heavy, and Virgil blinked, recognizing the form of it.
Huh. Storm clouds.
In the next moment, lightning sparked, shooting down and lancing straight through every attacking creature. Virgil darted a few steps closer, somewhat alarmed that friendly fire might hit the others, but even as they hunched down in surprise, any electricity that neared them seemed to simply veer away.
Of course it did, the more draconic part of him crowed smugly. No magic of his would hurt his hoard.
He went to his humans anyhow, moving slow so as to not startle them. He was the oversized one, now.
He needn’t have worried. As soon as he lowered his head into range, Patton lunged forward, wrapping his snout in the best hug he could manage. He was clearly sniffing back tears. “Oh, kiddo, we were so worried!”
Roman was attempting to casually lean on his sword, but there was clear relief in his gaze, too. “We should have known better than to believe the Dragon Witch would get the better of you, huh, Puff?”
Virgil huffed a cloud of colorless vapor into Roman’s face. Affectionately.
“We should celebrate our reunion later, once we’re safely out of here,” Logan pointed out over Roman’s faux-indignant complaints.
Despite his own words, Logan took a moment to reach out, gently placing a hand on the side of Virgil’s head as though to reassure himself that he was real. Virgil leaned into the touch slightly, an odd pleased chur bubbling up from his chest.
As his eyes slitted nearly shut in happiness, he caught movement from the corner of his vision.
The Witch, holding one hand aloft and casting something that made his skin prickle, aiming not at him, but at the other Sides.
Quicker than he could think, his body was moving, curling around his precious people with only a second to brace himself before the attack struck him solidly in the back.
It seemed a simple strike at first, barely breaking skin, and he regained his footing as the others rose to his defense with a ferocity that made his chest feel strangely pressurized. Between the three of them, the Witch was more than outmatched, and they were finally forced to flee.
It was only then that Virgil noticed the feeling of rot and fever spreading along his skin.
He stumbled, and then lay down heavily as his energy dipped well below what was sustainable. The others fluttered around him like moths, trying to figure out what was wrong.
Virgil let out a sigh, almost too exhausted to be panicked. He’d really thought for a moment that he’d pull it off, that he could deal with the backlash of the huge, energy-draining form on his own in private and maintain this fragile balance. So much for that.
On his next exhale, there was a flash-crack as the transformation came crashing back down on him, leaving him snapped back into the form he’d abandoned. Anxiety.
Around him, there was a stunned silence to replace the earlier clamor. He forced himself to blink his eyes open, resisting the urge to squint and see them more clearly. He didn’t really want to see what kinds of expressions they were wearing.
Whatever the Witch had cursed him with was still active, burning him up from the inside-out like the awful fever Thomas had gotten when he was ten. If the others weren’t going to take the opportunity to discorporate him, the poisoned injury would manage just fine on its own. And he’d just gotten back, too.
At least the others weren’t in danger anymore. Hopefully, Thomas would be okay until he reformed.
… Who was he kidding? Thomas had managed fine all these days with him gone. He would probably be better off without Anxiety, just like everyone had always said.
Still, he was leaving the others without being punished for the deception he’d been subjecting them all to for so long. He was leaving them without any real answers at all.
“Sorry,” he managed to grit out, barely able to think past the blood rushing in his ears. It seemed to break the fragile silence, because the others all began speaking at once, creating an indecipherable tangle of noise.
Soundlessly, Virgil passed out.
#sanders sides#ts virgil#ts roman#ts patton#ts logan#tsits#tiny dragon virgil#the shapes in the silence#writing#my writing#i have been informed that this is not a better cliffhanger#oops.#:)#g/t
440 notes
·
View notes
Text
Their Doll 11
Silent scream
B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader
series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.
Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing
Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up
Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing
A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.
"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"
My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.
So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.
A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.
Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.
However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.
As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.
"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.
...
Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.
My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.
Hang on a second-
Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.
He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.
They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.
...
My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.
Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.
They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.
Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.
My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.
Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.
I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.
"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.
I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.
The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.
"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.
I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.
"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.
"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.
"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.
"The very same." The general smirked.
"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.
"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.
"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.
"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.
"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"
"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.
"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."
"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.
...
That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.
"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.
But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.
"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.
#smut#image#images#chris evans#chris evans smut#seb stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan#winter soldier smut#winter soldier#winter solider fanfiction#captain america smut#captain america fanfiction#captain america#bucky Barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky Barnes fanfic#bucky Barnes image#buck Barnes x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x you#steve rogers image#steve rogers x reader#steve x bucky#steve roger fanfic#steve rogers#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fanfic#marvel fanfic#marvel smut
213 notes
·
View notes
Text
Under Pastel Skies - 8
Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 3,734
Warnings: none
A/N: If this chapter had a name it would be “me, you, and steve’. Also I know how infuriating they are, so oblivious and dumb but isn’t it the point of pining ;) Thanks for your patience!
Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.
Bucky’s cab pulled over to the curb in front of his building. He tugged on the lapels of his coat, pulling it tighter around him, and braced himself for the blast of cold air waiting for him on the other side.
He hated the cold, hated winter. It reminded him of the day he lost his arm, alone on that godforsaken mountain until Steve found him. But he could deal with the cold if it meant he’d find you on the other side of that door.
He knew you were home, you had texted him about an hour ago telling him that you had a surprise for him. It had made him smile. He’d hurried home, desperate to see you even though he’d seen you that morning.
He had it bad.
He’d been restless since the gala, unable to sleep without dreaming of you, your velvet dress in a heap on his bedroom floor, your scent lingering on his bed sheets. He would wake up bathed in sweat, on the edge of coming.
He would deal with it with an ice cold shower.
Bucky had accepted the fact that his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as they once were. He had always thought you were strong, full of life and a little awkward, but lately he’d been wanting to kiss you, touch you, feel your warmth against him.
He wanted it so badly it hurt.
He wouldn’t say he loved you. He certainly felt something for you but love was something foreign to him. Sometimes he wondered if his feelings were even real. He’d gone from living an extremely solitary life to spending every single day with you. It could have easily been a product of his loneliness and your soft spoken demeanour.
He had stopped counting the number of times he’d almost kissed you on the lips. The urge was always there, eating away at him, but he always caught himself at the last moment, his lips landing on your forehead, your cheek or your temple instead.
“I’m home,” he shouted, closing the door behind him. He bent to untie his shoes and kicked them off while he unzipped his coat. “What’s the big surprise? Is it something we can eat?”
He hung his coat next to yours on the hook and walked down the short corridor that led to the kitchen. As he walked, he became suspicious of the silence that hung in the air. Slowly he peeked into the kitchen and found you in the company of someone he thought he’d never see again.
“Steve?”
“Not edible, sorry, Buck.”
Bucky’s face broke out into an instant smile, ear to ear and ecstatic. “Fuckin’ hell, Rogers, you look like a yeti.”
Steve barked out a laugh as he stepped forward and hugged him. He wrapped both his arms around Bucky, almost lifting him off the ground despite knowing how uncomfortable hugs made him feel. Chuckling, Bucky returned his hug with one arm; the only kind of hug he could give.
“I’m happy to see you.” Steve pulled back and held him at arm's length.
Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder at you who were standing behind the kitchen counter, grinning at them. “Is that my surprise?” You nodded. “Ugh, I was kind of hoping for pizza honestly.”
“Asshole.”
“I’m joking, man.”
Steve returned to his seat and Bucky followed. You grabbed a mug from the cupboard and fixed Bucky a cup of coffee. He gave you a grateful smile.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with this punk on your own,” Bucky told you. “Did he give you a hard time?”
“Nah,” you said. “He was pretty sheepish. Also, I almost gave him a heart attack.”
Bucky burst out laughing as Steve’s face and neck flushed red. You told Bucky the story of how you and Steve met outside his apartment building. Bucky doubled over laughing when you made a pretty spot-on impression of Steve’s confused face. Steve rolled his eyes at your theatrics, a smile on his lips.
“In my defense, no stranger has ever screamed my name like that.”
“Oh, if the alley behind the church could talk, it’d call you a fucking liar, Steve.”
“First, shut up!” Steve jokingly pushed Bucky off his seat. “Second, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” That sobered you both up faster than a cold shower. Steve caught a furtive sideways glance between you and Bucky. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” you replied with a smile. “I’m his, uh-” you trailed off and looked to Bucky for help but he was unable to speak. “I’m his roommate.”
“Oooh! Okay.”
Was that relief on Steve’s face? Bucky’s stare hardened. A muscle in his jaw jumped when Steve engaged you in a conversation. He asked you how long you’d been living with Bucky and if you liked the apartment. His tone was conversational but Bucky knew him like the back of his hand, he knew Steve was flirting with you.
“Are you staying for dinner?” you asked Steve. Bucky’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. You picked up the laminated meal plan from on the counter. “Creamed spinach and baked eggs.”
“Sounds great,” Steve agreed.
“You don’t like spinach,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.
“I’m not twelve anymore,” Steve countered with an arched brow. It made you laugh. “Besides I haven’t eaten a homemade meal in... wow, probably years.” Steve turned to you. “I don’t know if Bucky told you but I’m a landscape photographer. I live in the wild most of the year. It’s kinda like travelling by foot on an endless backpacking trip. It’s amazing but the food is disgusting.”
“Yikes!” You grimaced in sympathy. “Well, Bucky’s an amazing chef. I keep telling him we should open a restaurant together.”
You walked over to Steve and mock-whispered in his ear. “If we ask nicely, he’ll probably make us some garlic bread.”
That made Bucky smile. His first instinct was to answer with his usual ‘I’d do anything for you, angel’ but he couldn’t say that in front of Steve so he bit his tongue. He saw the disappointment in your eyes, as if you were expecting that usual answer too.
“I should go upstairs,” you said. “I have a painting to finish. Have fun, boys.”
Steve watched you go, then he shook his head and heaved out a sigh. He waited until he was sure you were out of earshot before he turned to Bucky.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” he said. “So, are you two...”
“We’re friends,” Bucky said.
Steve nodded. “Is she single?”
“As far as I know.”
Bucky’s jaw was clenched hard, the tendons in his neck looked like they were about to snap. He loved Steve like a brother but, goddammit, he wanted him to leave and never return. He balled his hand into a fist, feeling a visceral urge to punch something.
Yet, Steve seemed completely oblivious to Bucky’s turmoil. After living in the wild for several years, he was having trouble picking up on social cues.
“Do you think I should ask her out? I’m a bit rusty.” He ran his hand through his long hair, tugging at the strands. “I should get a trim first, right?”
“And a fucking shower,” Bucky grumbled to himself.
Steve didn’t hear him, he was too busy glaring at his hair in the big mirror on the wall.
Bucky tried to push away that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was becoming harder to pretend this was all innocent. Not when he had to physically restrain himself from punching his oldest friend in the teeth. Steve was allowed to ask you out, Bucky had no right to be jealous.
And yet...
“How long are you stayin’?” he asked, eyeing Steve’s backpack. It wasn’t unusual for him to take Steve in when he was between assignments, but things were different now.
“A few weeks. Is it going to be a problem?”
“Listen, if it were just me, I’d let you stay,” Bucky replied. “But I’m not alone anymore. She doesn’t know you, you’re basically a stranger, and you’re already thinking of hitting on her. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. This is her home.”
Steve blushed. “No, of course. I understand. I would never-”
“All I’m sayin’ is, she has the final say,” Bucky cut him off. “If she lets you stay, you can take the kids’ room.”
“You sure? It’s right next to her room. I could take the room upstairs, the one above the living room.”
“No, you can’t,” Bucky sighed. “It’s her painting studio.”
Steve stared at him with a suspicious frown. “Are you sure there’s nothing between you and her?”
“Yup, she’s just a friend.”
He tried not to fidget as he forced himself to hold Steve’s gaze. He kept his head high and acted as composed as he could even though his heart was jackhammering in his chest.
“Okay,” Steve drawled out, not entirely convinced. “If you say so.”
As Bucky expected, you allowed Steve to take the guest room, the one with the bunk-bed, though Steve told you that it wouldn’t be a problem. It also meant that he would be sharing your bathroom, and while it didn’t seem to bother you, it made Bucky really uncomfortable.
That evening, he sat down with you and Steve at the dinner table. He made sure Steve was seated at one end of the table, thinking that if you didn’t have him in front of you, you’d interact less. Bucky’s plan backfired pretty quickly. Steve had so many ‘I-lived-in-the-wild-for-ages’ stories that he monopolized the discussion –and your attention.
Bucky spent most of the night lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming, and only smiled when he caught your gaze. He snapped out of his haze when he noticed that he was alone at the dinner table. You and Steve were washing the dishes, talking and laughing.
He felt a pang of envy at the sight before him; it was supposed to be him and it scared him that someone could take you away from him. Then it hit him. He wasn’t special, you were kind and sweet with everyone. It was what had attracted him to you in the first place; your kindness, your fortitude and loyalty.
He couldn’t blame Steve for falling for you, too.
“Guys, I’m going to bed,” he said, standing on the landing between the two rooms.
You turned around mid-laugh and smiled warmly at him. “Good night, Bucky.”
“Sweet dreams, angel.” It slipped out. He didn’t even realize what he’d said, but Steve did.
Steve cocked a brow at his best friend’s retreating figure before he hung his head and let out a brief chuckle.
Over the next few days, Bucky’s mood didn’t improve. He was holding back, unable to reach out to you the way he used to. Steve was always there. Always.
In the morning Steve would come back from a run, sweaty and hungry, and wearing a shirt that was two sizes too small for him. He really laid it on thick, even by his standards, but you didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, you would often go out with Steve when Bucky was working on his new book. He took you to art shows, introduced you to important people and you visited art supply stores together, which annoyed Bucky more than he thought possible.
He felt stuck in a Garfunkel and Oates song, praying for Steve to go away.
I could've wished a thousand wishes for Steve to disappear.
Worst of all, Bucky was snappy with you. Especially after he inadvertently overheard you and Natasha talking about Steve. You painted a vivid picture of Steve’s ass. Figuratively of course, though Bucky couldn’t be certain that you didn’t have hundreds of notebooks filled with drawings of Steve’s ass.
“Hey, stranger.”
He looked up when you walked into his study carrying a tray with his breakfast –coffee and two slices of toasted white bread with butter and jam. You left the tray on a pile of papers and closed the door behind you.
“I was wondering about you, since you didn’t show up for breakfast.” You stood behind him and worked your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and let you massage his scalp, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”
Bucky was so relaxed that his filter was non-existent. “Yeah, Steve’s bothering me. He stole my angel.”
“He can’t steal a mythical creature.”
“You’re my angel,” he half-moaned when you applied pressure to his scalp.
“I haven’t been feeling like your angel lately,” you said, giving him another squeeze before you let go of his head. You took a seat on the armchair close to his desk. “You’re... I don’t know. You’re moody and irritated, and I don’t know how to help you. I know you don’t like surprises, and Steve showing up out of nowhere and staying here was a pretty huge surprise. It’s difficult to cope with change but I think you’re acting a little weird. I swear, Bucky, sometimes you look at Steve like you want to kill him. Is it because we spend time without you?”
Bucky straightened up in his seat and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, I guess. You two are having fun and I’m stuck here, alone.”
“You feel left out.”
“A bit,” he replied earnestly. “But if you like him, you should go for it. He’s a good-looking guy, he’s nice. He’s also a dumbass but that’s part of his charm.”
You laughed. “What? Why are you telling me this?”
“I heard you and Natasha,” Bucky explained, blushing. “You said, and I quote: ‘he's got an ass you can bounce quarters off of.’”
You burst out laughing. “Oh, Bucky.”
“What? I’m just sayin’ if that’s what you wanna do... I’ll give you a bunch of quarters.”
“No, thanks,” you laughed. “I’m good. I keep my quarters for something else.”
Bucky speared you with a suspicious look. “So you don’t think his ass is like a juicy peach.” He blinked. “Also a direct quote.”
“Oh, no, I stand by what I said. His ass is so-” you lifted your hands and made a squeezing motion “-tight.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” he rushed to say. “It’s not that impressive. Anyone can do squats. I do squats.”
“Fishing for compliments?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. You looked at him with a fond smile. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He reached for a slice of bread and bit into it, focusing his attention on his laptop screen. You got to your feet and walked to the door.
“Oh, um, by the way, how much of that conversation did you hear?” you asked, leaning against the half-open door.
“Not much, I left after the juicy peach thing.”
You hummed while nodding, your eyes cast down. When you looked up at him, a glint of something mischievous shone in your eyes. “You should have stayed a little longer,” you said enigmatically, your eyes roaming shamelessly over his body.
You raised your eyebrows and closed the door behind you, leaving Bucky speechless and confused. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” he shouted, hoping you could hear him through the closed door. “Angel? Come back!”
Needless to say he didn’t write much after that.
Bucky made a conscious effort to stop being an asshat. A week later, he was in a better mood, and only glared at Steve twice –the first time when Steve put his hand on your knee and the second when he made a vaguely flirtatious remark.
You let Steve and Bucky handle the dirty dishes, and Bucky was sure you did it on purpose. Your little smug smile said as much. Steve didn’t seem happy, he had never liked household chores and probably only did the dishes to spend time with you.
Bucky remembered Steve’s childhood bedroom; shades always down, his bed perpetually unmade, and a monster pile of clean and dirty clothes on his desk chair. He remembered Sarah’s exasperated sigh whenever she entered her son’s bedroom. It made him laugh.
Bucky had always been a neat person, something his mom always took pride in. ‘Look at my son who does his own laundry and sets the table without being asked. Look how well I raised him!’ After his accident, cleaning became an obsession, a way of controlling something that was uncontrollable.
“Did you get Sam’s text?” Steve asked, tossing the now-wet towel on the counter. “Emergency brunch tomorrow at 10.”
“Yeah, I know. Sam has a loose understanding of the word ‘emergency’. Last time he wanted to know if he could pull off a goatee. Not exactly an emergency.”
“Mhh,” Steve replied, thinking. “Are you coming?”
“Hell yeah,” Bucky chucked, “I wanna know what this new emergency is.”
Steve cast him a sideways glance while leaning his back against the kitchen counter. He mulled over something as he watched his friend clean the sink.
“So, um,” Steve started awkwardly. “I have a date tomorrow.”
Bucky’s hand faltered a bit. “Ah? With who?”
Steve looked toward your bedroom door and let out a very loud sigh. “A real-life angel, Buck.”
Bucky let go of the sponge and straightened up abruptly. He glared at Steve, hoping he’d heard him wrong. “What did you just say?”
“I have a date tomorrow night so you’ll have the place to yourself.” Steve smiled to his friend, blissfully unbothered. “I think I’ve been invading your personal space. You always look upset so I thought this would be a great idea. And I’ve been alone for so long, I need... relief you know.”
“Awesome,” Bucky replied, gritting his teeth.
“Great, I’m glad you see it that way,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “See you tomorrow, Buck.”
He watched Steve walk to his bedroom and close the door behind him. Something inside him cracked, and he felt the overwhelming urge to throw something, watch it break into tiny pieces.
He took a deep breath and went in search of you instead. He found you upstairs in your studio, kneeling in front of a canvas, the handle of a pair of pliers in your mouth. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge his presence, and Bucky grinned when you let out a little shocked gasp.
“Did you have fun washing the dishes with Steve?” you teased, taking the pliers out of your mouth.
“I think we need a dishwasher.” He walked into the room and squatted down on his haunches next to you. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’m removing the staples on the stretcher bars so I can roll up the canvas and put it in a tube,” you said. “This way they’re protected and I can carry them pretty easily. I have a meeting with a gallerist tomorrow. Apparently Steve knows her well. He mentioned my name and she wants to see my work.”
“That’s amazing, angel,” Bucky exclaimed. “How can I help?”
“I’m almost done. I just need to finish this one. Can you grab that sheet of plastic on the desk? We’ll wrap it in it and then we’ll use a piece of canvas for extra protection.”
He followed your instructions and made sure not to ruin your hard work. Once the canvas was in the tube, you placed it against the wall next to two similar tubes. Then you cleaned up and put away your tools.
“I don’t know if Steve told you but-”
“Yes, I know,” Bucky cut you off. “The date. It’s great. Honestly.”
“Yeah.” You lowered your gaze and studied your shaking hands, unable to meet his eyes. “Listen, I was thinki-”
“I really need some time to myself anyway,” he talked over you. “So it’s great, y’know? We all get what we want.”
“I guess,” you replied. “It’s getting late, I should go to bed.”
“Getting up bright and early tomorrow, uh?” The jovial tone in his voice sounded forced, even to his ears. You nodded mechanically. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
You both stood unmoving, staring at each other. Your eyes were asking for something, pleading with him, but he was too lost to understand. He was lost in his own feelings, remembering something Sam had said a while ago.
There’s an entire world between like and love.
And it was true.
Like was doing the dishes with you. It was laughing and screaming while you chased each other around the living room, using fairy lights as lassos. Like was booping your nose when you watched him cook dinner. It was speaking gibberish after watching a foreign film.
Love was that sweet agony that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. It was letting you hold his hand and play with his fingers even though his nose felt itchy. Love was seeing you wrap his bow tie around your wrist like a bracelet. It was walking around a deserted planetarium with you.
Love was the colour of your favourite lipstick; Carter Red.
“Thanks for your help,” you said, interrupting his train of thought.
“My pleasure.” He tried to smile but it hurt.
Everything made sense now. His crankiness and irritability, his sudden aversion to his oldest friend, the one who had saved his life. The one who had asked you out on a date –or so it seemed.
“Sweet dreams...” he paused, considering, then used your name instead of your usual pet name.
He had no right to call you ‘angel’ anymore. Steve had asked you out first, he had asked Bucky multiple times if he was okay with that, and Bucky’s answers had always been a gritted ‘yes’.
The truth was, his epiphany didn’t change anything. He wouldn’t have asked you out because there was too much at stake: your friendship, your livelihood, your career, the well-being of your family. He couldn’t put you in an uncomfortable position, couldn’t ruin your hard work.
And he was terrified of these feelings. They were too new, too raw.
You pinched your lips together and nodded, avoiding his eyes. He clenched his jaw hard, hating the resigned look on your face. Why did you look so defeated? Without saying anything, you walked past him and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Part 9
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagines#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes fanfiction#marvel imagine#bucky barnes imagine#redgillanwrites#redgillan
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
merylaura
Mery Laura
scrumptiouswombatpuppy
Naamloos
lavendertoonz
LavenderToonz' Art
i-wants-stuff-blog
I want you