#(The map links still all seem to be up and running though--which is great for London story locations in particular.)
Note
Do you know if your annotated Dracula website (the old one) is still accessable through the wayback machine? If so, would you mind sharing a link?
Sorry to have been absent from this blog for so very long that some time has probably elapsed since this was asked, but the good news is that while the old site probably has some accessibility via Wayback, I finally finally finally got it up and running at a new domain. You can check it out here. :)
#Bram Stoker#Dracula#Dracula Daily#The Dracula Project#(Be warned... these annotations are now nearly a decade old and may not be very up to date re: a lot of newer findings.)#(The map links still all seem to be up and running though--which is great for London story locations in particular.)
163 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello,
Is it reasonable to visit Greece and plan to rely on public transportation and taxis? Would we still be able to reach hiking destinations easily? I have a free place to stay in Athens but would really love to be able to explore more of the country and would be very grateful to hear suggestions. Thanks in advance for your help!
Hello! The short answer is that you can rely on them to some decent degree, however I would suggest that you remained a little cautious or alert for whatever situation could need preparation or adjustments. Obviously most places have a large public transportation system and taxis are available in most of them, however Greece culturally relies far less to public transportation compared to privately owned vehicles than states in western and northern Europe, so don't go entirely concern-free thinking it will all definitely run 100% smoothly even in remote places, because there is a chance it might not. Of course I don't want to scare you, I only want to ensure that you go about your plan well prepared for potential adjustments and not with the mentality "surely everything will be perfectly taken care off without a single hiccup" because then you could be caught off guard.
I can suggest a few plans based on the information you gave me:
Attica Love
You told me you will have a free base in Athens, so this can be a great and affordable way to explore a lot of of Attica. Attica is the prefecture / region of which Athens is the metropolis of. Even though Athens is huge, Attica is a quite big region and has more to offer. It has an extended coastline, two lakes (Marathon and Vouliagmeni) and other less known ones, three mountains over 1,000 m - 3,280ft (Parnitha, Penteli and Hymettus) and many more hills that are close to the city and offer nice views, such as Lycabettus and Philopappos hill. The mountains and the hills are great for hiking and have several trails. Needless to say, in this way you combine hiking, nature and city vibes at the lowest possible cost and with the exclusive use of public transportation or taxis or the subway, which is great. Within Athens, there's nothing to worry about. This screenshot gives some info about some basic trails in Attica.
These are just some examples. According to this page, greeka.com, Parnitha has more than 50 trails. Parnitha also is a national park and has wildlife, if you are fortunate enough to spot it. Again, Lycabettus is a hill, not a mountain, that's why the trail is shorter, but it's still great to accompany it with a city break within the same day.
Hiking view of Parnitha from the website xtremegreece. Check the link for more info and also remember you can get in touch with hiking / trekking / mountaineering clubs in Athens to go there in an organized group.
Travel & tour offices
Perhaps you want bigger mountains or the feel of exploring rural Greece far from Athens. I hear that. Based on your mail, I get the impression you don't have a fixed itinerary yet. In Greece this can be a problem because you can very easily get "lost" and don't know what to choose and what the smartest plan to make would be. That is because Greece has many things to see, its landscape is diverse and irregular, navigating it is harder and a little chaotic due to all this, so it has a real-life feel of being complicated and big in ways tourists never imagine by looking the map. Nothing tragic of course, but tourists definitely oversimplify and underprepare when it comes to Greece. So here's an idea. If indeed you have not a fixed plan and you are unsure where to go, you can make a search on the internet with all the travel offices or hiking clubs in Athens and pick up the ones that seem to go to places that interest you. So as soon as you land in Athens, you call or go to those offices and say this: "Hello, I am gonna be in Greece for the so and so amount of time, I want to see such & such landscapes, are you making any such trips during the time of my stay and if so are there available seats for me / my group?". And then you choose the best trip based on the info they give you. Of course the cost rises a bit, but if you get to go in farther places, you would have to pay a lot a taxi or spend more for overnight stays either way so basically sometimes these tour offices offer good packages, that might even end up being cheaper. And if not, they still curate your experience so you have nothing to worry about. They get you where you have to go, they schedule the stays, the drives, the hours, all that stuff, so... I think it's great if you want to go somewhere but don't know where, because they know better. Tip: if you find a trip you are interested in, always make sure to ask how many people are already in, because sometimes if not many people gather, the tour might get cancelled and you don't want to be left hanging. If they have more than 25 people, they make the trips. Of course this is about regular travel groups, we are not talking about super curated, exclusive services only for you or your group, because that's obviously a totally different cost.
2-day tour group in Meteora from Meteora.com
Tips if you are going on your own
The truth is that most travellers navigating Greece on their own prefer to do it with a rented vehicle. It is the optimal way. If that's not an option, I am gonna give you some tips in order to avoid problems. Within cities and towns, you will not have a problem with either taxis or buses (you might get suffocated in a crowded bus in Thessaloniki but other than that you'll go where you want). The city buses also get you to the immediate suburbs. Outside that, you will be needing the intercity buses where you have to figure out their routes well. You start from Athens, you get an intercity bus to the largest city closest to your destination. And then you get a regional bus towards the closest town or village to your destination. Times must be figured out. After that you're on your own. If your destination is a trail or a national park or some other remote landscape or an uninhabited mountain and all that, you will have to either go on foot or fix an arrangement with a local driver and also agree very clearly on the terms of the time and location for the meeting for the return. Find a taxi driver who can communicate well in English and listen to them. If they say "no you shouldn't go from this side, you won't make it till sunset, that trail is too hard for your equipment / outfit, I can't bring the car from that road etc" listen to them. They know the place. Greek rescuing teams have to save annually at least like a dozen tourists being lost or injured in gorges and mountains so keep that in mind, if you are going alone. Listen to the locals. Now such a taxi driver can be found if your last stop is a town but it is not at all certain you'll find one if your last stop is a remote or small village. In such cases, the plan must be changed unless it's safe and doable to go on on foot. Several trails start from the villages, such as the ones in Zagorohoria which are stunning, so there's that. Furthermore, you have to always keep in mind that a taxi driver can't be stand-by for whenever you need to go to the hike place or whatever, so there's always the chance that you'll need to wait a few hours or something.
You can try and find taxi drivers from Athens to get you wherever you want. However, you might need two drivers for going and returning but in any case the cost is going to be A LOT and the communication and arrangement between you must be perfect and crystal clear.
Now, knock wood, something goes wrong and you find yourself in a place you don't know and even the maps can't help you navigate it. Here are some tips for safety:
Stay calm. Greece is a generally safe place. Even if you are inside a national woodland or something, big animals avoid the contact with humans. Poisonous animals are too few and you will 99% not stumble onto one. In the province you are also very safe regarding people. You're gonna be good.
As soon as you are convinced you can't find your way, call 112. It's the free EU emergency number. It will bring you to contact with police, hospitals, firefighters, rescuers etc
If the region seems pretty safe, the ground is steady, you are well equipped, the sun is still up, you are calm but just have trouble finding your way, and you know you are close to the sea, here's the trick: always head to the sea. It will certainly lead you to coastal towns or villages that are usually more cosmopolitan.
About the steady ground thing: if you can't find your way and you are on rocky ground, do not take risks. Stay put and call 112. Greek mountains may not be the Himalayas but they are usually very rocky, with sudden drops and steep paths that cause landslides all the time. Be very careful, don't make experiments. Call 112 and wait calmly.
Obviously have water, hat, glasses, sunscreen, healthy snacks and full battery on the phone. Also a warm jacket and an umbrella if you intend to be on a high altitude.
Avoid hitch-hiking. We do not have a hitch-hiking culture, people will likely not pick you up. A lonely truck driver might XD
ALWAYS have cash on you. Provincial areas still operate largely on cash. If you are gonna be out of town for more than a night, have a minimum of 100 euros cash for whatever may occur.
If you want your excursion to be one day and not stay overnight, I think that's the range you can travel to, starting early in the morning:
Anything beyond that range would be too exhausting or impossible within one day or you would't have the time to get a decent experience of what is available there before you'd have to go back to Athens.
Anyway that's all I guess. I am sure if you get an organized tour or do it on your own and take some basic precautions and are prepared, everything is gonna run smoothly and you're gonna have a great time! I had to scare you a little so that you won't underprepare, because A LOT of tourists do that and it is often what causes mishaps in their experience. They kinda have in mind that Greece is one city with a couple of islands next door and everything is connected with a wide clear super comprehensible straight highway and none of this applies in truth lol.
Hope that helped! Cheers!
Vikos-Aoos gorge. This one needs good planning and at least two days out of Athens.
#greece#europe#travel#travel guide#tour guide#hiking#itinerary#tour plans#athens#attica#sterea hellas#central greece#mainland#ask#greek facts#goats-go-to-hell#tw long#tw long post
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oh yes the white man burden or Woke man burden these days…please ignore the pre colonial Filipino (okay there probably a different term they used) kingdoms. Or the fact they used to terrorized China trade ships
But even their weapons implied they were sophisticated enough to created many detail weapons prior to Spain invasion. I also learn that the Disney Princess Raya sword is based off the Kris
Also about Africa, this post remind me of something
https://www.tumblr.com/ainomica/625234307004432384
Also if you guys want to do pre colonial Africa
Where the kingdoms, the empires, the large scale conflicts. Just like the Americas, Europe, and Asia. Africans were in various stages of technological development
But one simple Google search revealed Yoruba, you know the ones who make up 64% of my African genome
Side note I know it FAR more complicated as the research just Yoruba as the basics and it probably more complex. Like say…using the Italian tribes but you probably just going to say “Roman” for most Italian descent
But they made fortresses, building kingdoms and empires. Yet African Americans want to do our ancestors just wore the most basic drabs and only hunted prior to European colonization
Also the thing they were no black Christians pre Europe…where Christianity started? Oh yeah the MIDDLE EAST. Also is Ethiopia mention in the Bible or another African country thus considered one of the oldest Christians groups in history?
But I think a lot of Africans issues that Americans (ESPECIALLY my community) still have fetishized view of Africa like it the goddamn 60’s. I want break it, but given the people who push this idea call me coon…a long long road
Spain had the Philippines as a colony for 300+ years if they were going to be "civilized ™" Spain probably would have managed it by then, then again Latin America has lagged behind the US and Canada on the HDI so maybe on that front Spain and Portugal had the wrong priorities when they decided to start out with getting everyone baptized and stripping resources instead of stripping resources and setting up infrastructure.
UK had the advantage of not having to answer to the Pope on that end, but the pearly gates will show which one had the right idea I guess.
Colony wise things didn't go as well in Eastern Asia for those two, Netherlands on the other hand did great, but that's me rambling now.
As for Rya and the Dragon, Disney managed to do a pretty good job with that one
As for the Beyonce thing well, most everything I've seen from her that's "Africa" is pretty generic, she's even skipping out on Africa this time round for her "world tour"
26 stadiums on the continent with a capacity of 60,000 or more. Bulk of them are for their football clubs lol, those should be good enough. Those all look to be in relatively stable areas too.
Side note I know it FAR more complicated as the research just Yoruba as the basics and it probably more complex. Like say…using the Italian tribes but you probably just going to say “Roman” for most Italian descent
Map is similar to one that was floating around Red had posted, linguistic map so ya It's gonna be like that because those guys all killed each other too, look at the Franks before France was fully united, "Germanic" tribes in Europe too
I'll have to look into those guys though, see what's going on with them, seems fascinating.
Also the thing they were no black Christians pre Europe…where Christianity started? Oh yeah the MIDDLE EAST. Also is Ethiopia mention in the Bible or another African country thus considered one of the oldest Christians groups in history?
Link here: I imagine the discussion was much longer and more involved than this passage lets on, but ya. (also that strip of land has been called gaza forever, one place in the area that Israel even historically has never run)
Ethiopia also claims to have the Ark of the Covenant, they've never actually pinpointed where Sheba is but most consider it Ethiopia, but in Africa the only community that's gonna be older is the Egyptians, Coptics, St Mark was their first "Pope" which much like the Roman Catholics and Latin the Copts managed to keep the old language alive which helped immeasurably when it came to translating things. (was looking into the decline of their old religion, by the time Islam came round Christianity had done most of the heavy lifting on ending that one)
But I think a lot of Africans issues that Americans (ESPECIALLY my community) still have fetishized view of Africa like it the goddamn 60’s. I want break it, but given the people who push this idea call me coon…a long long road
Damn Right, and I'm not just talkin about Shaft.
Pan Africa stuff made it easier to advertise to people, don't have to look and make sure something is appropriately Kenyan and what not.
Get a wider audience for movies that way, sadly it's resulted in what we've got going on now and hopefully the internet will get people learning more specifics now.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
E x battlefield 4 wallpaper
I'd love to see End of the Line from Battlefield: Bad Company make a recurrence, complete with Tijuana Serenade opening tune and Radio Surf on at all times. My suggestion has its work already cut out for me though. The winner of the contest will get a limited edition Battlefield 3 lithograph signed by the entire crew at DICE, a great prize for a fan of their work. DICE wants us to submit our idea for a new multiplayer map that for all we know could end up in the game through a later expansion or title update, or perhaps in Battlefield 4. The last bit of Premium content we'll be getting this month is in the form of a community contest. A few can be seen above while DICE has another piece on their original post on the Battlefield Blog (link below), that appears to be of Scrapmetal, the recently added vertical-gameplay factory map from Close Quarters. The video will show off gameplay of Armored Kill before it releases this September while the concept art album will be in downloadable form and is stated to have twenty-four high-res pieces that many of haven't been shown to the public before. (1 Itll result in a more natural posture and expression, and a (Ex: Two. Every 5,000 players who share DICE's Facebook post about the event will increase its length by twelve hours up to a maximum of three days tacked on to this event, which could potentially turn it in to more of a double XP week, or just a really long weekend.Īs of writing this, it's already above 20,000 shares for another two days automatically, but there's still more than enough time to bump that to 30,000 shares before it starts on Saturday.įollowing that weekend on the 29th, both the exclusive Premium video and the concept art album will be made available on Battlelog. full-auto BF4 Increase Headshot Damage - Sunday Mailbox - Battlefield 3 4. Lastly a sense of supremacy over other systems. A resolution bump on the xbox platform would be a win for consumers that bought the game would create more revenue for new adopters and for very little in the way of development. DICE added a bonus to this weekend, however, likely as it seems very late in the month compared to their last double XP event. Bf4 runs at 900p on playstation 4 upwards and is noticeably easier to play. This month's set includes an exclusive gameplay video from Armored Kill, a bunch of cool concept art from all over the game's locations, the next Premium-only double XP weekend, and a community contest to pitch a new multiplayer map concept to DICE.įirst up comes the double XP weekend that hits this Saturday and Sunday, August 25th and 26th. Some of the concept art that will be made available to Premium members looking for a great new wallpaper.Īlthough it may seem a little late by this point as the month draws to a close, DICE unveiled their premium content for August in one fell swoop.
0 notes
Note
Hey, I know you're working on a fic right now, but whenever you get the chance, can you do a fic where Yelena wants to go on the run along with Natasha, but she protests because she doesn't want to drag Yelena into a situation she got herself into, but Yelena tries to convince her otherwise? (And succeeds)
Also, I really hope you're doing better. Make sure to take a few baths as well as make yourself some tea! :D
That could help. I really hope you get better soon.
A/N: Thank you so, so much for the request and the well wishes! 🥺💖💖💖 I am feeling much better now! I'm coughing a little too much and my voice is a little squeaky, but I'm overall tons better than I was 🥰
I decided to write this one as the final part to my ongoing fic "Reunion." I've linked the previous parts of that fic below if any of you want to check it out for context, and I hope you all enjoy this one! 💗
Word Count: 2670
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
The next morning, Natasha awoke to the worst news that she had heard since she found out that the Red Room was still in operation.
She had been very peacefully sleeping with her baby sister, whom of which she was very shocked to discover sleeping actually physically on top of her that morning. Despite the somewhat awkwardness of the situation, Natasha had found her heart melting and everything within her filling with contentment.
However, even though she had been very happy to have her sister so close, Natasha had known that the girl would likely die of embarrassment if she realized that she was in that position. So Natasha had carefully moved her over so that she would not wake up.
As Natasha had been getting out of bed and getting dressed, she had received the phone call. Which brought her to where she was now, discussing the most recent disaster with Mason.
“I’ve gotten word that they’ve been sniffing around some of the old safehouses that they checked while they were on your trail, and I’ve heard that they’re in Norway,” Mason told her. Natasha cursed under her breath, looking out her window in the kitchen area.
“How much time do I have?” Natasha asked, forcing indifference into her tone and even a slight annoyance as she tried to avoid showing the emotions that were coursing just under the surface so strongly that they felt as if they would burst out at any moment.
“Natasha, you need to get out of there now or at least within the day. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before the feds are right on top of you,” Mason explained over the phone, anxiousness lacing his tone. Natasha let out a deep breath, feeling so many different emotions welling up within her all at once as she paced through the kitchen.
Natasha had not been ready to leave this spot in heaven just yet. Granted, the generator was out, the temperature was unforgiving at best, and the place she had here was small and messy, but it was pure bliss because it had the one thing that Natasha could not seem to have anywhere else.
It gave her alone, one-on-one time that she could spend with her sister.
Natasha finally let out a deep breath, already mapping out a mental getaway route as she eyed the area behind the place carefully.
She was hesitant to take the car because she knew that it would be easier for them to see and track her if she was in a vehicle. Antonia had proven that not too long ago with their great chase in Budapest. Of course, the U.S. government was not nearly as skilled as Antonia Dreykov, but Natasha still did not want to take any chances.
However, she knew that there was some water that ran not too far away, and she was immediately thinking of the boat that she had found left unattended there on the waterside. She knew that it was not going to be easy to row it so far away, but she figured that it would likely be one of the fastest and most untraceable options. Especially if they brought K-9 forces with them.
“Okay. Is the Budapest safehouse back in commission?” Natasha asked, dreading the answer but allowing herself to be momentarily optimistic.
“No, I haven’t had time to go over and fix your and your sister’s mess just yet,” he replied, and Natasha resisted the eyeroll at his insinuation that she and Yelena had made that mess. She groaned, her mind racing to think of a safe place that was not too terribly far away. So much for optimism.
“Any chance you have that jet for me yet?” she questioned wryly, already having a strong suspicion of the nature of what the answer would be.
“Working on it,” he replied with a slight chuckle. Natasha shook her head.
“Remind me why I hired you?” Natasha asked with slight exasperation that was mostly lighthearted despite the rising dread and slight fear within her as she realized that Yelena was going to be dragged into this if she was not careful. And the last thing that she wanted was for Yelena to be thrown in the midst of this mess with her and the U.S. government.
“Because you have no friends,” he shot back, but there was enough softness in his tone that she knew he was not being mean. Of course, even if he was, it would not hurt her feelings too much at this point. She was rather hardened right now.
Well, in everything except when it came to her sister.
“Hm. Get a safehouse figured out for me, Mason. I’ve got to get out of here and I’ve got to have time to plan.”
“I thought you were heading back there to plan for breaking the Avengers out?” he questioned, and Natasha huffed, shaking her head.
“I got preoccupied.”
“Wh—”
“Bye,” Natasha hung up the phone, and she let out a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to contain herself.
“You are such a liar.”
Natasha instinctively flinched at the sudden voice, and she turned to look behind her. To her surprise, Yelena was holding the yoghurt container that Natasha had managed to stealthily buy when they went grocery shopping before.
Yelena waved the container in her direction scoldingly before ripping off the top and grabbing a spoon.
Natasha winced a little, already picturing how bad that the yoghurt was going to taste since the generator had been out for a full day. Everything in the fridge had no doubt spoiled.
“I wouldn’t—”
As soon as the spoon went in Yelena’s mouth, Natasha let out a small breath. She caught the small wince on Yelena’s face as she ate her spoonful, and it quickly occurred to Natasha that the blonde was just trying to appear tough.
Natasha huffed, and walked past Yelena, taking the yoghurt out of her hands and depositing it into the garbage can.
“Wh—You are stingy. So stingy,” Yelena declared unhappily, something almost resembling a whine in her voice. Natasha simply started to make her away around the place. She quickly started to take all of the weapons out of their hidden places, taking them to the bedroom as she laid them on the mattress.
Yelena followed along behind her, stepping over to the mattress and examining the guns. Natasha stripped off her clothes and started to pull on Melina’s Black Widow suit to wear underneath some other warmer and more comfortable clothing. She knew that it was going to be hot and uncomfortable during the daytime, but she wanted to take the Black Widow suit to make sure that Ross would not DNA test the fabric and trace it back to Melina. She wanted to keep her family free from this even if Melina had not always been the best mother in the world.
“So… where are we going?” Yelena asked, her voice nonchalant. However, Natasha could hear the presence of something that sounded almost anxious in the undertones of her voices. It broke Natasha’s heart even though she did not entirely understand why Yelena sounded nervous.
“I’m going,” Natasha told her as she started putting on large, baggy sweatpants so she could fit a pistol or two within them hopefully in case things got messy. She could feel Yelena watching her carefully
“Where?” Yelena asked, her tone unreadable. Natasha breathed out as she pulled a nice, thick, white long-sleeved shirt on over the top of the suit.
“I don’t know yet. All I know is that the U.S. government is somewhere here in Norway on their way here, and I’m getting out before they find me,” Natasha explained to her, and Yelena huffed.
“What am I supposed to do? Wait on you to come back?” Yelena questioned, sarcasm lacing her words. However, Natasha could hear the unspoken challenge in Yelena’s voice that was daring Natasha to say the words that she had been dancing around.
Natasha paused in getting dressed, her eyes landing on the vest that her sister had given to her that allowed her to so effectively escape the government before. She sighed deeply.
“You’re going to go home and be safe. I’m going to deal with the consequences of this ongoing mess,” Natasha explained, trying to remain firm despite the fact that she did not want to leave Yelena and this wonderful spot that she had with her sister.
Yelena started to speak, and Natasha pulled on the vest, waiting expectantly for her words. However, as soon as Natasha had shrugged the vest onto her shoulders over the shirt.
“That’s not my home,” Yelena stated finally, sounding rather odd as she spoke. Natasha turned to look at her somewhat quizzically. Yelena’s eyes were oddly vulnerable as Natasha looked into them, and she was swiftly able to spot the odd adoration.
Natasha did not entirely understand it. Of course, the majority of her thoughts were so centered on keeping Yelena safe and sending her off before it was too late that she really could not use much logic at this point.
“Maybe not home, but back to Melina’s in St. Petersburg,” Natasha corrected herself, and Yelena just stared at her as Natasha moved over next to her so that she was looking through the guns laid upon the bed.
“Do me a favor and take some of these back with you,” Natasha gently told her under her breath as she loaded her pistols and put them in her pants’ pockets. Yelena stared at her for a moment more, swallowing as she looked down for a short second before gazing back at the redhead.
“You said I need to go home,” Yelena spoke up, determination evident within her, and Natasha was somewhat cursing Yelena’s stubbornness at this moment as she shook her head.
“I’m sorry I said that, I meant—”
“You’re my home,” Yelena told her bluntly, the words coming out far braver and more boldly than her stiff posture next to Natasha would imply. Natasha raised her head up, her eyes locking with Yelena’s as they stared at each other for a long while.
Yelena’s loving honey greens were caressing her own gaze with their warmth, a clear presence of strength and confidence that Natasha was sure was a mask. Upon closer inspection, there was intense trepidation, admiration, and shyness within them that Natasha suspected were closer to Yelena’s true feelings underneath the surface.
Natasha slowly turned to face her so that they were not shoulder to shoulder any longer. Yelena turned to her carefully, watching her with keen interest as she positioned herself before Natasha so that they were facing one another.
Natasha very hesitantly raised her hand, feeling slight fear and anxiety gripping her as she worried that Yelena would not want her to touch her face. However, as Yelena moved her head closer to try to close the gap between them, Natasha allowed her hand to meet her sister in the middle.
Yelena leaned into the touch, still looking into Natasha’s eyes as she stared at her.
“Because I love you, I need you to leave. I want you with me, but I need you to leave because it’s best for you. I don’t want you involved in this. You deserve better than this,” Natasha explained carefully, searching her eyes. The “you deserve better than me” remained unspoken, but Natasha knew Yelena had understood the implied words just by how her gaze hardened.
Yelena reached her hand up, pausing for just a moment before pushing it the rest of the way so that she was grabbing at Natasha’s shoulder near her neck and pulling her head against her own. The both of them pressed their foreheads against one another, and Natasha treasured how her baby sister’s sweet face felt in her hand’s grasp.
“What if I need to be with you?” Yelena questioned, the words quiet but the manner in which they were uttered remaining as firm as ever. Natasha shook her head.
“No. You need to be safe,” Natasha replied.
“You are safe,” Yelena stated simply, and Natasha felt as if her heart would burst despite the fact that she knew the words were not true even if Yelena believed they were. Natasha knew she was a monster and nothing but a destroyer when it came to people that she loved.
And given that she loved Yelena so much that it physically hurt, it scared her what damage she could do to the girl and in turn herself when her monstrous nature showed through.
“But the people chasing me are not. And you don’t need me to drag you down and into trouble when you have an opportunity at a life now,” Natasha argued, pulling back from her very hesitantly. However, to her pure shock, Yelena remained grasping her neck firmly even still.
“What if that life is not something I want to live?” Yelena asked, sounding as if she wanted to say more as she abruptly paused after the words with her voice hanging in her throat a little. Natasha was terrified to think of what she thought Yelena might would have said. She was scared to dream that Yelena might actually want a life with Natasha in it everyday like she had been the past few days.
Natasha could not let herself entertain such thoughts when she knew Yelena likely did not want to spend every day of the rest of her life with Natasha. Natasha wanted to spend her every last day with Yelena but she did not expect Yelena to feel the same whatsoever. No matter how much closer they had grown the past few days.
“Little one, I can’t let you follow me,” Natasha told her, letting her hand drop from Yelena’s face to cup the side of her neck. Yelena shifted just a tiny bit closer to Natasha, and the redhead felt the strongest urge to just pull her into her arms. It took everything within her to resist it.
“Listen. If you try to stop me, I’ll just find you again,” Yelena firmly disputed, and Natasha swallowed, unfortunately knowing that Yelena’s words were right. Yelena tilted her head a little, eying her oddly with a strange sparkle of strong affection in her gaze that never failed to make Natasha melt at the knowledge that it was directed at her.
“You forget I have the same training as you. And now we have a contact in common that I’m sure could be persuaded to share your whereabouts,” Yelena stated it plainly, and as much as Natasha did not want to agree to it, she knew that Yelena had a logical point. Natasha let out a deep, unhappy sigh, and Yelena smirked a little, pleased with herself in that typical adorable yet annoying manner as she seemed to realize that Natasha was giving in.
“So save yourself time and let’s just both get out of here before your faithful friends show up,” Yelena told her, heading over to Natasha’s closet and picking out a long-sleeved shirt of her own to wear underneath her new vest. Natasha made sure she was facing away from her, not sure if the girl was comfortable facing her and undressing.
Natasha felt her heart swelling despite the fact that she knew it was wrong. She knew she should not be happy that her baby sister was coming with her and endangering herself, but she could not hold back that selfish side of herself that was creeping upon her.
Yelena bumped into her side as she walked past, reaching over and grabbing a gun from the mattress as she looked over at Natasha with a slight grin.
“You ready?” Yelena asked, and Natasha’s eyes softened. She was really doing this. She was really going to run away with her sister.
“Ready as ever.”
Some selfish piece of Natasha wanted to never stop running away with Yelena.
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov#yelena belova#widow sisters#black widow#rick mason#black widow 2021#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#mcu#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#sisters#family#platonic#platonic relationship
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
The King in Yellow, 1949
Much of this story is true. Warnings in the tags.
When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery. Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white. I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King. I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images. I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.) It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.) But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them. Google was no help, and at the time that was that.
I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house. I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.) I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon. Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky. I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant. I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway. Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment. I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.
Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone. Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody. Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.
The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else. If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it. Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.
I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college. I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest. The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link. Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.
The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards. They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???” (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.) When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.
Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches. Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively. Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find. The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.
The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits. Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on. Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano. Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory. Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes. Is she mourning? Is she longing?
Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King! Not on us!” She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.
Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz. The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color. The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips. It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits. The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others. It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.
Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance. Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask. The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask. Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged. As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd. I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint. Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.
By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock. It does not hide her for long. The King steps towards her and extends his hand. Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand. They walk away together hand in hand. The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene. The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.
As I said, that’s what I think I understand. It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd. I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true. It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste. I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent. Naturally, no subscription site has it available. Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it. Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.
When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.) I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night. It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks. I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.
I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco. I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents. I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month. I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other. I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means. I don’t mind the nightmares. In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it. I’m being mindful. I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head. I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.
Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it. My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.
When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness. I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again. I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive. The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze. It sings to me.
I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it. During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 - 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤
𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : Heyy I wanted to request something for Regulus Black with the prompts 5 and 30 if that’s okay😊 thank you in advance 🤍
“I’d do anything for you.”
“I always sleep best when you’re next to me.”
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Phew! This turned out far more angsty than I anticipated, but I hope you all still enjoy it!
Regulus Black was an intoxication, and addiction. Every second you spent with him, were minutes craving him when you were apart. His very soul was beautiful, you had told him once.
Structured cheekbones, piercing yet soft grey eyes, sharp jawline that you trailed your fingers over, long black hair which had been cut short the summer Sirius had left home. It was no wonder that you loved him as much as you did.
"I'll have to go, soon." You murmured quietly to the drowsy boy you were curled up against.
Regulus' arms tightened around your waist a little, letting out a groan of disappointment. These were your stolen moments, your sweet moments that no-one else got to see, hidden away in the Slytherin dormitories, curled up in his tiny four poster bed.
"Stay." He whispered a plea. You turned, looking at his face, placing a hand against his cheek.
"James will kill me if I don't give him his map back tonight. They have some prank planned."
You referred to your brother, a year ahead of the both of you in school. Though he was Head Boy, now, and dating Lily Evans, he still couldn't seem to resist his pranks.
"I better not wake up with red hair again." Regulus murmured against your hair, as messy as your brothers.
You giggled against his chest.
"You were a beautiful red head." You grinned, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, stretching with a yawn, grabbing the map and cloak you had discarded for Regulus' touch.
"Just stay for a while longer." He whispered. "I always sleep best when you're next to me."
He was only vulnerable to you, wearing cold, indifferent mask with everyone else. You occasionally wondered why that was, why he had chosen you of all people to love, when you were so close to the brother that he hated.
He told you that you brought out the good man in him.
You shot him a look, running your fingers through his soft hair, that always smelt faintly of the outdoors and slightly of sweat from hours spent flying around the Quidditch pitch. Regulus always craved to be something better, with everything that he did.
"James may be oblivious sometimes, but even he is going to realise that I'm not just studying after hours in the library soon enough." You grinned.
The relationship between Regulus and yourself had been kept strictly in secret for months, if not years. Sometimes, when you saw each other in the schools halls or the Great Hall, caught one another eyes, you wished that you could wrap your arms around his tired form, link your hands together.
That could never happen.
You were the epitome of everything he was supposed to hate, and he you. You weren't supposed to fall for a Slytherin, and you weren't supposed to fall for someone such as Regulus Black, who, everyone thought, was on the 'wrong path'. He certainly wasn't supposed to fall for a bloodtraitor, one in the family who had stolen away his brother to boot.
"One day, we won't have to sneak around." He spoke hopefully, a shine gleaming in his eyes as he thought of the future. "One day, everyone will know that you're mine."
The two of you liked to live in a world of imagination, of better times that you hoped would one day come. As the world around the two of you grew more unsettled every year, you couldn't see the vision as clearly anymore.
"We'll never have to leave each other. I'll never have to leave." You crooned at him, repeating the words you both knew so well.
His hands, larger than your own, cradled your face.
"Things will be different." He promised.
But he was Regulus Black. And you were you.
"And what of your family?" You spoke quietly, smiling disappearing into a small frown. "How could you tell them?"
He smiled his crooked smile.
"I'd do anything for you, Y/N Potter."
You let yourself smile again, at his proclamation, brushing your lips against his, letting the map fall from your fingers.
Your brother could wait for a little while longer.
For a time more, the two of you could live in your little fantasy.
--------------
His eyes had lost the glimmer in them that you were used to, as he gazed at you, emptily, helplessly. His arm was the only thing bridging the gap between the two of you, as you stood on opposite sides of the cold dungeon corridor.
His dark sleeve had been pulled back, exposing his pale forearm - and the marring that had occurred, the snake tattoo that stared up at you with almost a satisfied look in its eyes.
This is what you get when you play with fire, it seemed to say.
The dark ink and the weight it carried had seeped into your soul, as you stood in the dungeon corridor, staring at it. Your lips trembled, back pressed against the damp stone wall.
"Why?" Tears were welling in your eyes, though they never left the poison engraved into his skin. "Oh Merlin, why?"
You were almost unconsciously moving away from him now, backing away like someone would do when confronted with a rabid animal. You hardly registered that you were shaking.
"Please, Y/N, don't..." His voice cracked, trailing of helplessly.
"Don't what, Reg? Don't leave? Do you expect me to just kiss it better for you, pretend everything is alright?"
Anger pulsed through your body, along with the ache of a shattering heart.
"You promised you'd never leave me. You fucking promised."
Veins stood out in his head, and his hair was wild and messy. He was not your Regulus, he was an empty shell.
You gazed at him, openly in disbelief.
"I never factored in that you would join the fucking Dark Lord!"
You screamed at him, revelling in the way your voice echoed in the dim corridor, as your sentence yelled at him again and again.
"I didn't mean..." He was whispering almost at himself, now. As if realising what he had done.
"Do you even care what that bastard man is doing? He is killing people like me, Regulus! Like me, and James, and Lily, and Sirius. He hates James and Lily's baby before it is even born because of its blood. Is that what you think like? Do you think of dirty blood?"
"Please-"
"What have you even become?" You looked at him in disgust, tears dripping off your cheeks. "You disgust me."
"Y/N, please-"
"No." You whispered, wiping at your face , at the tears, furiously. "Whatever this was, whatever we had - it's done. We're done."
"Y/N-"
"Goodbye, Regulus. I hope you can live with the decisions that you've made." You said coldly, turning on your heel.
That night, in the winter months of 1978, would be the last time you ever saw or heard of Regulus Black, for a long time, until you stared blankly down at the Daily Prophet.
Staring at an obituary.
Regulus Black never could learn to live with the decisions he made. And neither could you.
#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus black imagine#regulus black fanfiction#regulus black fanfic#James potter#sirius black#remus lupin#lily evans#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders era fic#maruaders x reader
324 notes
·
View notes
Text
⤑ made-up love song drabbles
First date: Seokjin’s POV
kim seokjin x reader
warnings; none!
words; 2,196 words
↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here
Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up.
Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years. But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning.
He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course.
Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”
“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.”
She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said.
It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.
Unknown (9:32am)
Hi Y/N,
It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.
Regards, Seokjin
Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed.
He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him.
You (9:43am)
Of course, send the details. I trust your taste!
See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself. Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly…
He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you.
Seokjin (9:50am)
The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.
Seokjin
In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother).
You (9:52am)
I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later!
You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it.
He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely. He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back.
No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to.
It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again.
He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious.
He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form.
Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea…
.
.
Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing.
You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man.
A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately.
“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly.
“Hey,” you greeted back.
“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment.
"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“
He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that."
He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway.
He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.”
As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous.
His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.
Written 2020 - 2021.
Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed.
© floralseokjin 2021
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
Vaping - Elizabeth Olsen x reader x JJ Maybank
Masterlist Link
Summary; introducing your girlfriend to your best friend takes an interesting turn. Much evolves from a couple beers and a vape, JJ finally lets go
Warnings; mentions of nudes, vaping, underaged drinking, mentions of sex, some angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, angst, rejection, unreciprocated feelings
As the two of you kissed, a strong scent hit you, like a ton of breaks causing collateral as it fell from a building, though it smelled specifically of a pungent lemon scent. The pair of you pulled away, and there was a vaping blond stood above you, quirking his brow at the sight. It was no surprise that he had chosen to intervene with your casual date, you knew how he felt about your new relationship.
As the two of you kissed, a strong scent hit you, like a ton of breaks causing collateral as it fell from a building, though it smelled specifically of a pungent lemon scent. The pair of you pulled away, and there was a vaping blond stood above you, quirking his brow at the sight. It was no surprise that he had chosen to intervene with your casual date, you knew how he felt about your new relationship.
He was appalled to hear that you were committed to another, angry, jealous, he could go on about the emotions that were raging on inside of him. Time before you had even knew of Lizzie’s existence, you and JJ had a thing, more specifically, you had broken the pogue on pogue rule. The two of you would go at it with ample lust fuelling your every action, but the stick in the mud was, JJ had actually caught feelings.
When you had cut things off with him, claiming that you wanted to see other people, he was outraged, though he played it off as though it were no big deal. You remained close friends, and hardly noticed how he had been reading your messages to Elizabeth over your shoulder, nor how he frowned every time he heard of someone by that name. It pissed him off, she had his prized jewel, she didn’t have to fight for you like he had tried.
She was gifted your affection on a silver and clean platter, there was no dirty or guilt ridden scrubs that endured the profanity in your relationships, the two of you could be open with your turn of adoration for one another, but when JJ thought that he had you, it had to all be a secret. Even the pogues weren’t permitted an insight of your transactions, even if they had a keen eye for how the pair of you mysteriously tended to wander off together.
Kie, Pope and John B had been supportive when you told them that you had began to like someone, at first they thought it was JJ, which had gotten his hopes substantially up, but then it was revealed there was a girl in the picture. It didn’t matter if she was pretty, or kind, or out of the class laws of OBX, JJ resented her, even though he was a stranger to her and vice versa. But the one thing he liked about this unknown lover of yours had been how she made you happy, that was always his goal.
Without it being the matter that he was supposed to be concerned about, JJ thought hard about his own feelings. Yes, he tended to be a screw up, but he had an inkling that he was more than smitten with you. He was in love with you, and staring down at you with this new partner of yours, gave him great staking pain in his chest. “Why are you here Maybank?” In defends, JJ raised a cartridge of four beers to your view, the cock of your head being an invitation for him to take a seat.
He cleared his throat, as though that would be a primal factor in establishing his dominance, as he turned to your girlfriend. “How are you liking Outer Banks so far?” He handed her a beer, to which Lizzie willingly accepted with a thank you and a too kind to hate smile. “Most tourists think the views are nice.” He prompted to the conversation, watching a riddle spur in the brunette’s eyes.
“Oh, the views are more than fine.” She looked at you, running her green orbs down your form as she shamelessly checked you out in front of the boy. Lizzie cracked the lid from the bottle, weaving it off as she took a gulp from the liquor, draining her extraction of it like a champ. “I’m Elizabeth by the way.” Oh, he knew. A part of him wished that he in fact did not, the impartial knowledge of being aware of your exclusivity status had him crumbling from the inside out.
He had been getting into more fights with the kooks lately, taking his anger out on the prissy teens to establish some kind of reputation, even if that not carry the title of your boyfriend. “We get quite a few storms, like Agatha, she was a right bitch, didn’t hear from y/n for like a week. She was getting it on with Kelce, he’s from the other side of the island.”
“Figure Eight.” She noted, having recalled you mention it before. Your eyes widened, kicking him in the shin as you realised what he was doing. “How long ago was that, I know you said the power went out.” JJ realised what she was trying to do, it was her attempt at creating a time line of actions. She was building up a map of your entanglements with actions, and seeing if you could be held accountable for cheating.
“Just before the two of got together, which links to this funny story....” Oh no, no he wasn’t, was he? “We’d had our fun in the past, me and your girlfriend, and turns out when I heard about you two, we were still fucking.” Snatching the vape from him, you breathed it in, as though you were preparing for Lizzie’s reaction. She simply shrugged, taking the item from you and lulling in the acidic smoke that filled her lungs.
“That’s okay, we didn’t know each other too well then, and it seems there is quite the tight knit on the island.” God were you relieved, and endorsed in the sight of smoke blowing out of her nostrils as she took another swig of the liquidised joint. “I don’t have a problem with it as long as you don’t. What was your name again, I seem to have forgotten.” Forgotten on purpose it was more like, she wanted him out of the picture, he was simply a blockade in his way.
“Me?” He laughed lightly whilst pointing at himself. Yes him, the guy that was being an absolute dick and disrupting your supposed to be peaceful evening. “Oh, I’m JJ. I have no problem with you being here, in fact, I think it’s great. You’re just another hot chick that has caught y/n’s eye, when you go back to wherever the hell you came from, she’ll probably start hooking up with some random; wouldn’t be the first time, doubt it’d be the last.”
“I’m from California.” She stated unimpressed by JJ’s behaviour. You had mentioned him to her, filled her in on all valid details, but you didn’t say that he was this much of a dick. “And I don’t have to worry about that, I have my reasons.”
“Oh, because you trust her so much?” He laughed, taking a heavy slog of beer, hurriedly gulping it down as though it were some kind of coping mechanism. “She’s not trustworthy, she doesn’t give a fuck about any one’s feelings, she uses them for her own pleasure, and then makes things neutral between them.” Was he being over the top? Definitely. Were you astounded by the scene that he was causing? Sure as hell.
“J settle down.” You tried to coax him, but he swiftly stood, tears rimming the inclination of bud pain staked eyes. It was clear that he was not settling down; not in the slightest. He breathed in the vape once more, the lemony scent burning down through his chest for a moment, before he released the cloud out into the air, it swimming above like a wave out of the ocean.
“Don’t J me.” He mimicked you, rifling his destructive hands through his blond locks. “I don’t even know who you are, yet you took everything from me.” Lizzie felt a little bad for your friend, he was clearly experiencing symptoms of emotions towards you, it made her feel guilty for your shared secret.
“I’m moving JJ.” You revealed, his face becoming stoic with wide eyes. Lizzie squeezed your hand as you physically and mentally stood up to your best friend and past friend with benefits, causing him brash surprise that burned through his lungs. “To California.” You finished.
“With her?” He asked astounded, taking a step back as he dropped the glass bottle, allowing it to drop upon the dock, causing both you and Lizzie to jump from the smash. “I can’t believe you.” He breathed from his vape, turning away with a shake of his head.
“J.” You tried to call out for him, but he nevertheless continued on his path away. “Come on, don’t be ridiculous.” Him, being ridiculous? What a stupid annotation, he was allowed to be hurt. Yet it seemed that you wanted him to feel nothing, be a mute to emotions.
“I’m ridiculous?” He huffed, spinning around so that your noses touched, forcing you to throw your head back in shock. “You’re the one that ditched me, for some girl, that doesn’t know that you have a peeve of people not putting their ankle through the loop when they surf because otherwise it just hangs there, and how it makes you absolutely crazy when Kie dresses like a kook. Wait a moment, did you tell her that you were a kook?”
He laughed, noticing how a frown formed upon Lizzie’s face. “That’s truly amusing, lying about your wealth to attract the attention of a pretty girl, when you have a guy that absolutely adores you for who and what you are. He’s pogue and proud, and currently speaking in third person because he’s scared to openly admit that he’s in love with you.”
It was an unexpected reveal, that statement of how he truly felt, it unfortunately was not just a crush. “She didn’t tell me that she was a kook, you just want there to be issues between me and y/n, which there isn’t. So I suggest you continue walking, she is not interested in you, or your fucking feelings. We are dating, and she is moving with me, so grow up and deal with it.”
“Wait-“ your words ended as he continued walking. You knew he would take the news terribly, but you never guessed it would be him walking away, rather than the other way around. You were going to be 43 hours away from your home to spend time with the one that you were coiled in a relationship with. It was not how you wanted things to end, instead you wanted him to breathe his vape into your face and be like normal.
#elizabeth olsen x reader#jj maybank x reader#elizabeth olsen oneshot#outer banks imagine#jj maybank oneshot#crossover imagine#jj maybank angst#Elizabeth Olsen angst#Elizabeth Olsen fanfiction#jj maybank fanfiction
126 notes
·
View notes
Photo
(click on the banner for HQ, Tumblr somehow keeps fucking it up)
31 days and close to 39k words written later, here’s my Suptober20 master post! I can hardly believe that I managed to write everyday for a month, and I once again want to thank all of you for tagging along and being the nicest cheerleaders in the whole damn world. 💜
A special thank you to @winchester-reload for hosting this massive challenge and being the nicest gal around ✨
LINK TO THE SERIE ON AO3 | LINK TO MY TUMBLR TAGGED POSTS
(individual posts under the cut because this is a very long fucking post)
#1 — On the road again
The thrilling quest of gouda cheese — wc ~ 900 — Castiel is in charge of grocery shopping today, which could be a great thing if Dean could stop making him run back to the store multiple time. When his boyfriend decides they’re suddenly in urgent need of a special cheese, Castiel in turn decides he’s had enough.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#2 — Earth
A plastic and cardboard affair — wc ~ 1.2k — In which Castiel suddenly becomes hyperaware of the looming environmental catastrophe ahead and decides to start changing things in the bunker, and Dean... Well, Dean is sleepy, AND HE JUST WANTS TO CUDDLE.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#3 — Demonic
Demonic skills — wc ~ 1.4k — Before Cas, Dean could always count on his abilities in bed to get him out of conversations he didn’t want to have. Now, though, not so much. (also known as “post-coital pillow talk with Cas”).
AO3 | Tumblr post
#4 — Branded
Etched into my bones — wc ~ 500 — Against all the odds, Dean is the one who suggests it. He claims it’s just a mean to an end, but Cas knows better. After all, he’s the one who gets to witness the man behind the hard shell he shows to the world every single day, and he’s grown to love the soft side of Dean Winchester.
(Darkest Roads!verse)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#5 — Daydream
Dr. McHandsy and the curious case of the white lab coat — wc ~ 1.5k — They’re on a case and undercover, and that’s reason #1 why Dean shouldn’t be sitting here drooling over his partner. But really, who thought putting Castiel in a doctor outfit would be a brilliant idea?!
He’s gonna kill Sam.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#6 — Mask
A study in scotch and pampering — wc ~ 1.3k — If anyone had told Dean Winchester years from now that he’d be content letting his husband paint his face with foreign matter (not that kind of foreign matter, you kinky bastards) that smells like coconut and feels like whipped cream, he would’ve had the biggest laugh out of it. Nowadays, though, if that’s what it takes to get Cas to talk, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#7 — Domestic
The shirt in the dispute (and other laundry feuds) — wc ~ 2.1k — It all starts off with a sordid affair of mixed laundry, and somehow it’s World War III in the Men of Letter’s bunker (or the one where Castiel messes a batch of laundry up, and Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt bites the dust)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#8 — Heartless
Ohio and the open secret — wc ~ 1.5k — Dean desperately tried to get Sam to pass on this case, hoping to finally get some alone time with his boyfriend for the first time in a while, but his giant moose of a brother decided to tag along anyway. Now they’re stuck in the same bedroom in Ohio, and Castiel is about to lose it, so Dean takes the matter into his own hands.
(it doesn’t go as planned)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#9 — Electric
Ocean waves — wc ~ 1.2k — It’s been 5 years now, and somehow they figured out their shit. A house on a the shore, a ring on their fingers, and despite everything Dean still wakes up to find Cas wrapped up in a panic attack on random nights, doubts and anxiety eating him alive. But they aren’t alone in the panic anymore.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#10 — Sweet Rides
Home is wherever I’m with you — wc ~ 600 — Until a few years ago, Dean didn’t have any home. He grew up in shitty motel rooms and inside the Impala, on the road and in-between schools. As he finally allow himself to fall into Castiel’s arms, he reflects on all the places he can call home, now.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#11 — Rock & Roll
Sharp Edges — wc ~ 1.6k — Castiel told him he loved him right before getting swallowed up by the Empty. Sam asked him to talk to someone, anyone really,, but words won’t come out, and how is he supposed to tell anyone how it feels to lose everything? So he writes. Letters on napkins, motel notepads, paperback books. He writes as he goes through every steps of grief, until finally there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#12 — Rewind
Leading me, going home — wc ~ 900 — Dean and Castiel reflects on their past and what they would say to their past self if they had the opportunity to rewind. (also known as “Castiel uses too many Harry Potter quotes, which gets Dean to prevent him from ever binging the movies again”)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#13 — Ladies
The promise in the cocktails — wc ~ 800 — When a joke involving colorful cocktails designed to put his brother into misery turns into a promise for more steamy nights with Cas, Dean thinks he might have won the lottery (and God bless strawberry daiquiris).
AO3 | Tumblr post
#14 — Fun & Games
A fever and the whipped boyfriend — wc ~ 1k — Being in love with a being as old as the Earth is all fun and games until said ex-angel gets sick for the first time of his entire (overwhelmingly long) life and turns into an actual, honest to god, gigantic baby. Lucky for Cas, Dean turns into perfect boyfriend mode.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#15 — Third Eye
The blonde-haired witch and the little push — wc ~ 2.8k — It’s not the first time Dean’s ever had to listen to someone referring to Castiel as “his boyfriend”, but it sure as hell is the first time he has to sit through a diner listening to a witch referring to Cas as his husband without even batting an eyelash, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Which would be fine if it didn’t cause actual shivers to run down his spine.
(or the one where a friendly witch gives Dean the little push he needs)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#16 — Switch it up!
The spices in the suit — wc ~ 1.7k — Dean doesn’t know when he started taking advices from Sam when it comes to his love life, but after tonight he thinks he might be more mindful of Sam’s wiseness in the future. Especially if it gets him all the way to the backseat of the Impala with a former angel in his lap.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#17 — Autumn invading
Storms never come to stay — wc ~ 1.6k — Dean finds Cas in the wood behind their house, hours after they had a fight. They’ve been together for a long time now, yet fears still run deep.
(Darkest Roads!verse)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#18 — Dark & Stormy Night
The wayward gang and the questionable cocktail — wc ~ 1.9k — Castiel comes back to the bunker after a day on the road to find the wayward gang scattered over the map table for what appears to be a cocktail night. Sam wanted piña colada, but Dean Winchester bartender extraordinaire decided to go for something darker and stormier...
AO3 | Tumblr post
#19 — Pour one out
As days fade (and night grows) — wc ~ 1.9k — Castiel wakes up alone and cold, and decides that he’s had enough of Dean shutting him out. They’ve lost Jack, but it doesn’t mean they have to lose themselves too.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#20 — Home
The fire in my bones — wc ~ 1.1k — It’s not a secret that Dean Winchester isn’t particularly good with words, but when he fucks up and unintentionally hurts Cas, he knows he has to do better.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#21 — Fear
If I let you go, would you hold on? — wc ~ 1.6k — Castiel gets hurt on a hunt trying to protect Dean, and Dean is tired of having to wake up everyday not knowing if they’ll both be alive the next morning or if one of them is going to sacrifice himself to save the other. Finally, he makes a choice that will set he course of their future together.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#22 — “I cursed the gloom that set upon us, but I know that I love you so...”
Just a little rain — wc ~ 800 — Leave it to Led Zeppelin and Dean’s slow dancing skills to soothe the pain of letting your kid leave to tour the world.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#23 — Favorite
You feel like the sun on my face — wc ~ 700 — Dean awakes to Castiel sliding into bed after he just came back from a hunt, and somehow it’s kind of the best feeling in the world.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#24 — Family business
Wherever we are is where I wanna be — wc ~ 1.4k — It took them a few months, but once Dean and Castiel decide to move across the country and into a home of their own, everything falls into places.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#25 — Villain
The blue tie in the bathtub — wc ~ 1.2k — Dean has been a pain in the ass all day, so Castiel decides to drag him into the bathtub and tie his hand up the shower rail before teaching him a lesson.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#26 — Walk of shame
And I would walk 500 miles — wc ~ 1.3k — The one where they think they’re being subtle, but they’re actually being really loud (and Sam happens to have functioning eyes, too.)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#27 — Banquet
Drunk on love — wc ~ 800 — Dean’s analogies are usually spot on, but maybe he’s had a bit too much whisky to be clever tonight (or maybe the fact that Castiel’s mouth is currently glued to his throat is preventing him to think clearly, who knows?)
AO3 | Tumblr post
#28 — Hellscape
Adventures in Christmas shopping — wc ~ 500 — Castiel wants to go Christmas shopping, and Dean being a very whipped thoughtful boyfriend decides to tag along. It doesn’t go well.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#29 — Fragile
Anytime you reach for me — wc ~ 700 — A look into what sex used to mean to Dean before Cas, and how his world has been turned upside down ever since he got in bed with a former angel of the lord.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#30 — Dress-up
Entertainment in soapy water — wc ~ 800 — Castiel just went down the garage to see what Dean is up to, but when he catches a flash of red right above the waistband of Dean’s shorts, it seems like his boyfriend might have dressed up just for him to see.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#31 — Carry On
Scar tissue — wc ~ 1.6k — There are arguably a few things that Dean dislikes more than anything else in the world, but nothing compares to what it feels like to wake up in an empty bed in the middle of the night, and the insane bolt of fear laced with anxiety than runs through Dean’s chest when he realizes he’s got no idea where Castiel is.
AO3 | Tumblr post
#suptober20#masterpost#jus writes#I've just spent the entire afternoon preparing this#so help me god if the links don't work I might have to kill someone @ tumblr#destiel ficlet#deancas ficlet#destiel#deancas#writer of destiel#dean/cas
288 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mischief Managed
TW: Smut
*******
Mischief Managed
I solemnly swear I am up to no good.
Hermione always valued law and order. She was Head Girl after all, it was her job to enforce the rules. She knew them well, she understood them, and she believed in their importance… most of the time.
I solemnly swear I am up to no good.
She resisted the appeal of rebellion for years, always staying in line and trying to keep her friends there too. But Ron must be rubbing off on her, because the allure was back, and she suddenly found comfort in the mantra of the Marauders Map.
I solemnly swear I am up to no good.
She paced quickly down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, repeating the words that validated her choice to break school rules. The fact that the map only worked with the promise of mischief reassured her that sometimes rules were meant to be broken.
Hermione wasn't technically supposed to leave school grounds, but McGonagall granted her special permission this time. As far as McGonagall knew, she was visiting with her parents, who had returned from Australia for the week. Last time she got special permission to leave, she said she had to attend a funeral for a great-uncle. And the time before that, she was— allegedly— in her cousin's wedding. Hermione could only imagine the repercussions if McGonagall ever found out all of those had been shameless lies.
She reached her destination, and knocked loudly on the door. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed when he approached. She probably looked like she was angry at him— Which would have been an easy mistake to make. For Hermione, anger and attraction had always been closely linked, and Ron was finally beginning to understand the differences between the expression she wore when she wanted to punch him, and the one she made when she wanted to shag him. There is something about a man that didn't back down from a screaming match— Ron was never afraid to stand up to her. He challenged her.
"Hello?" he asked when the door cracked open.
"Hello," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Fancy seeing you here."
He was smiling now. "We're closed."
She couldn't help but crack a grin upon seeing him smile. "I know."
"And," he continued, "we're not supposed to let customers in after hours."
Hermione shrugged playfully. "You've never been one for following rules."
With his signature lopsided smile, Ron opened the door to let her into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was true— Ron had never been keen on rules, and it was one of the many ways he challenged her.
"I suppose you're here for a different kind of service, then?" he asked, eyebrows raised imploringly.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around so her back was to him. Then he gently slipped off her jacket to hang it up. Even though it was just a jacket, the effortless way he hooked his fingers into the collar and slid it down her arms made her shudder. It was the same easy way he would unhook her bra, or guide her knickers down her thighs. It seemed almost like he was ignoring another rule— one that said undressing someone should be a big deal.
The way he did it was entirely non-sexual, like he was simply opening a door, or pouring her a glass of wine. The casual manner in which he could take her clothes off drove her absolutely insane. Whether he was intentionally evading the eroticism of the act or not, all it did was inject sexual tension into every other mundane thing he did.
After he hung up her jacket, he placed his hand on her lower back to lead her to the lounge in the back room. That simple act made her mouth water.
There was an alcohol cabinet in the lounge, and the way he poured her a glass of red wine made her breath hitch.
And when he handed her the glass, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, all it was to Hermione was foreplay.
He could tease her by turning off a light, opening a drawer, or reading a book. It wasn't fair.
"So," he said, letting his hand linger for a moment behind her ear. "You must have missed me."
Hermione cleared her throat, trying to keep her expression neutral. "A little bit."
Thankfully, Ron removed his hand— if he had kept it there longer, it might have left a burn mark. He smiled that goofy grin, took a sip of wine, and interlaced his fingers with hers to guide her to a sofa in the corner of the room.
She winced— it was another broken rule— red wine on a white sofa. But she couldn't help but admire the way he expertly balanced his glass as he sank into the couch without so much as a drop spilled. She was about to sit next to him, but he placed a hand in front of her to stop her, and shook his head.
Hermione smiled— all while groaning internally— when he nodded toward his lap. She bit her lip, balanced the wine in her hand, and sat down facing him, one leg on either side of his.
His calm, nonchalant expression broke for a moment, and she could see a flash of desire in his eyes. It took just a few seconds for him to scan her body. His gaze lingered on her breasts, before moving to her thigh, where his hand was resting. He let his hand slide up her thigh, ever so minutely, so that his fingertips slipped underneath her skirt. Then, just as suddenly, his expression turned neutral again and he met her gaze.
His eye contact burned right through her, taunting her even more than his hand on her thigh. She quickly buried another sip of her wine.
"How's school?" he asked, inching his fingers further under the hem of her skirt. His expression was still frustratingly neutral.
"I hate not having you there." She reached a hand toward his face, gently brushing her fingers across the stubble of his chin. He was a little scruffier than she remembered, and she realized she had no idea what a few days unshaven would feel like against her neck, or her breast, or her inner thigh.
"Stressed?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. His fingers were slightly— she might have imagined it— stroking her thigh, but he maintained his curious gaze on her eyes.
Hermione nodded. "That's why I'm here," she said, letting her hand move from his stubble to his hair, which was longer and messier than the last time she saw him.
He removed his hand from under her skirt. She frowned, as the space on her thigh now felt cold and empty. It was only for a moment, to swiftly take her wine glass from her hand and place it on the coffee table. Then he pulled her a little closer to him and leaned back against the couch. His hand found it's home back underneath her skirt, and she tangled her fingers further into his hair. She leaned forward to place a kiss against his head, fully aware that the v-neck shirt she had strategically worn hung wide open for him.
Maybe she could tease him as much as he was teasing her. She shifted forward on her hips, sliding her leg against his hand, so that his fingers brushed the tip of her knickers. He responded by clenching her shirt into a fist at her lower back. Her lips moved down to the side of his head, and she slipped the tip of his ear between her teeth. A muffled groan escaped his throat, his stubble brushed against her neck, and his fingers dug into her thigh.
She released his ear from her grasp to move her mouth to his neck, biting down and sucking his skin into her mouth. He took in a sharp breath, and she paused, waiting for his signal to continue.
"You can bite harder," he said, tilting his head aside to give her better access. So she did. "Leave a mark," he added, and the thought of it— of marking him— just made her want him more. It was like writing her name on her homework, the only way to get full credit.
She could tell he wanted her too when his fingers slid to her knickers, and he dipped his thumbs underneath the fabric. He ran them along the edges, toward her center, until they met one another in the middle. She automatically leaned back slightly to allow him access, and he rightfully interpreted her shift in posture as permission to slip his thumbs down to her clit and caress her.
She moaned and bit his neck harder, and he responded with more pressure from his fingers.
"Do you care about these knickers?" he asked her.
She didn't care— just like her loose blouse, her knickers were a strategic choice. Their transparency made them fragile enough to rip, and assured that her warm, wet response to his touch wouldn't go unnoticed.
She shook her head without removing her mouth from his neck. He firmly gripped the fragile lace and ripped them apart. She lifted her hips so he could tear them fully off, and he discarded them on the floor below the sofa.
Her hips sank back down to his lap, his fingers edged back to her center, and he slipped his thumbs between her lips to spread them apart, giving himself the access he needed to stroke her.
She detached from his neck so she could press herself more firmly into his hand, and smiled at the mark she had left. She lifted onto her knees so her breasts hung dangerously close to his face.
"No bra," he mumbled, starting to trail kisses from her collarbone to her chest. "I love that." Another strategic choice. It didn't take much to push her blouse out of the way so he could cover her breast with his mouth. She felt his tongue run across her nipple, bit her lip, and let out a soft moan.
He increased the pressure of his fingers. One hand continued stroking her, while the other gently spread her, exposing more sensitive skin for him to touch. When her thighs clenched and buckled from the pressure, it was his expertly placed fingers that overrode them, their caresses simply suggesting that she open her legs wider for him. So she did, letting herself get lost in the moment. Then she felt one finger slip inside her, and her breath caught in her throat while her hands gripped his scruffy hair. One finger became two, and her breathing grew louder, a breathy whine escaping with every exhale. She knew he liked that sound. The vibration of his appreciative hum was rattling against her breast, his thumbs confidently massaging her most sensitive places, and she felt his teeth caress her nipple.
Then he released her from his mouth and buried his face into her chest. His hands kept moving on her, in her, and his unshaven chin against her breasts caused her whole body to quiver. "You're so fucking wet" came his muffled voice, and she could almost feel the corners of his mouth turning up into a satisfied smile. "Can't wait to fuck you...Hear you come…"
As a general rule, Hermione didn't love dirty talk. But when it was Ron...
She pressed into his hand while her fingers tugged at his hair. He increased the pressure of his strokes again, and she shut her mouth tight to muffle her growing moans.
"Let it out, Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "We're alone, you can be loud. Scream for me."
Ron was definitely an exception to the rule.
She obliged, letting the sound of her pleasure escape her lips. Ron pressed his lips against the front of her neck, letting a kiss linger there, and he kept his hands moving determinedly, teasingly.
The tension was about to peak, and she felt herself involuntarily clench down on his hand.
"That's right—" he said against the front of her neck, centering his thumb directly on the mound of nerves, pressing, and driving her mad. It was almost like he had studied her body, learned the rules, and knew exactly how to please her.
She felt heat rising between her legs, her breath deepening, and almost let out a moan of satisfaction—
But he swiftly removed his hand from between her legs, seconds before she would have unraveled completely. She groaned, now simply in frustration— he was an expert at pleasing her, and knowing exactly when to pull back to drive her mad. She should have expected this— they could go on all night. Half of her hoped they would.
"I'm not ready to be done with you," he said mischievously, before shifting her off of his lap and onto her back. He climbed on top of her, but just before she captured his lips with hers, he ducked away, landing on her neck.
"Tease," she sighed, while he chuckled. His hand slid up her shirt and cupped her breast, while he kissed his way to her ear.
"Takes one to know one," he whispered, and his hand progressed down her stomach, shortly followed by his head, lifting her skirt up when he got there. He kissed her inner thigh, and trailed his lips to her center. Finding her clit, he ran his tongue across her and it didn't take long for her to feel the build up again.
This time she wrapped a leg around his head to hold him in place, just in case he decided to tease her again. He smiled against her and stopped the motion of his tongue. When she loosened the grip of her leg, he slowly nodded, and resumed. She tried it one another time, pressing her leg into his head, forcing his lips against her, and he paused. She could tell he was smirking even though his face was obscured by her bunched up skirt.
"I hate you," she said, in a tone that implied the opposite.
He removed his lips from her for a brief, tantalizing moment, and locked eyes with her. "I love you."
He might have reached up and literally turned the corners of her mouth up in a smile, it was that automatic. She both loved, and despised, how effectively his words could make her melt.
She let her head relax against the couch cushion and her knees opened wide. He dove right back in, covering her with his tongue, and now that she understood the rules of his little game, she submitted.
Her breath picked up again and the muscles in her legs spasmed as she quickly approached her edge again, but she made every effort not to show it by muffling her voice into the couch cushion, steadying her breath, forcing her legs to relax…
But he didn't buy it. This time, he slowed his tongue and steadied his mouth on her milliseconds before she screamed his name, and broke contact right before she reached her hand to his head to try to keep him in place. What would have been a sound of satisfaction came out as a frustrated groan. With that same infuriating smirk he kissed his way back up to her neck, all while undoing the buttons on his jeans and pulling his erection free.
He pressed his tip against her opening, raising his eyebrows for permission. She nodded and wrapped her legs around his waist as he pushed in.
They'd gotten quite comfortable being with each other this way. This was a far cry from the clumsy, self-conscious Ron of last summer. There were no awkward position shifts, mumbled apologies, nervous fumbles— this was a Ron who knew what she liked. He knew exactly where to touch her, how fast to thrust, how to angle her hips against her to make her bite her lip, close her eyes, and come undone. She was quite proud of how quickly he had learned the rules of her body.
But of course, it was his mischievous side that made him a Weasley, and breaking the rules was his ultimate motivation for learning them. It was his style as a quidditch keeper, a chess player, a prefect, and as it turns out, a lover.
So this time she didn't get her hopes up. She let him snake his arm around her lower back, lift her hips, press his thumb to her clit while she clutched blindly at the couch cushions, exhaling his name with every breath. He continued to pump into her with finesse, his own breath pace was picking up, and a rosy color creeping up his neck. He must have felt her tightening around him as she approached climax again, because he slowed his pace, removed his hand from her, and withdrew. He exhaled a stiff, cooling breath like it had taken incredible self-restraint to pull away.
"Turn around?" he said.
Was it a question? A command? As a rule, she didn't love being told what to do, but when it was Ron...
He didn't have to say it twice. She flipped over, balancing on her forearms while he gripped her hips and pulled her back to her knees. He held her steady and pressed himself into her for the second time, and her name escaped his lips as a moan when he started to pump.
Yes, Ron was an exception to the rule.
His fingers wandered underneath her, found her center, and began to stroke her, keeping pace with his thrusts. Like no time had passed, she was approaching the cliff again— it always happened more quickly the longer he teased her. Her legs buckled, she felt herself clenching down on his cock, and dug her fingers into the couch cushion.
He picked up his pace and pumped into her faster and harder until the couch was shifting with each thrust. She could sense that he was almost over the edge, and she was right there with him. She buried her face into the throw pillow to muffle the high pitched scream of his name, just as he pressed himself powerfully into her and let himself unravel, moaning expletives that that would have offended her if she heard them from anyone else.
He collapsed onto her, his fingers in her hair, but she still felt light under his weight, floating on the euphoria of their joint orgasm.
Well damn. Dirty talk, telling her what to do, swearing, and teasing her— none of that was in the rulebook. Leave it to Ron to make the wrong things feel so right.
They recovered, and Hermione turned back around to face him. He lowered his body back to hers, and captured her lips in a kiss. This time, when he tried to pull away, she pressed her hand to the back of his head to keep them connected. He didn't tease or resist, but melted into her and deepened the kiss, breaking the rules of his own game.
Mischief Managed.
#ROMIONE#romione smut#hp fanfic#hpromione#hp ficlet#hp fandom#ronweasley#ron and hermione#Hermione Granger#ron x hermione#romione fanfic
177 notes
·
View notes
Text
Common Ground
Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)
gif by @themandaloriandaily
Rating: Explicit
Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex
Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK
Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga
A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2
This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.
The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.
However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.
You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.
There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.
Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.
Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.
But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.
Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...
“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.
“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.
“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”
“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”
“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”
“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.
“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.
He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”
There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”
A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”
“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”
“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.
Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.
“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.
Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.
As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.
Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.
Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.
You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.
Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.
You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”
“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”
Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.
“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?
You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.
“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.
Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.
Oh my… Now that’s sexy.
The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.
“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.
Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.
“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.
“You can carry it from now on.”
What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?
Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.
But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.
Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.
“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.
“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”
------------------------------------------
You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.
The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.
He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.
But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.
You wish they would fear you like that.
Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.
“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.
“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.
You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.
“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.
“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”
The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?
“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.
Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”
Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-
“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.
Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”
Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”
At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.
Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.
Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.
“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.
You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.
Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.
“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.
“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.
“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.
After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”
You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.
“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.
“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”
This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.
“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.
You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.
Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.
“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”
There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.
“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.
“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.
“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.
“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.
Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”
He waves back. “You as well, girl.”
A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.
----------------
It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.
Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.
As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.
It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...
Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.
Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.
It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.
Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.
“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.
You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.
The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.
The blast misses by a few inches.
The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.
You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.
Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.
As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.
Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.
He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.
“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”
A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.
“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.
He saved your ass. Again.
You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.
But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.
“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.
Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.
It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.
Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.
Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.
He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”
Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.
“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”
“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”
“...Is that all you’re going to address.”
“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”
Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.
“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.
----------------
The walk back to the Crest is short.
You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?
The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.
“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.
“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.
You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.
“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.
“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.
Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.
You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”
He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.
Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.
“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.
“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”
“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”
“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”
His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.
“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.
“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.
“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.
‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.
“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”
Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.
His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”
You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.
Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.
“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.
“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.
“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.
“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”
You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.
Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.
“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.
“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.
The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.
This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.
Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”
That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.
“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.
He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-
There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.
It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.
“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”
Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.
Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.
Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando
He stops.
“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.
“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.
“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”
“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”
You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.
His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”
You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.
A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.
He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.
Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.
“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.
It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-
“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words
The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.
He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.
Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.
This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.
His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.
But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.
‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.
“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”
You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”
He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.
“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”
You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.
“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.
“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”
And so you do.
------------------------------------------
It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...
The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.
“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”
Wear them proudly.
And so you do.
#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin x you#reader insert#fanfic#smut fic#mando x you#the mandalorian/reader#din djarin/you#din djarin/reader#the mandalorian fanfic#smut#din djarin#star wars#star wars fic#fanfiction
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away PART FIVE
#AU August
#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away
The next few legs of Link's journey (with Marla and Tonbo in tow) I'm gonna summarize a little more broadly, less because this AU is already taking up half of AU August and more because my ideas for this next bit are slightly less nailed down.
One of the major ideas I have for the countries on the western part of the continent is that they don't fully recognize Hylia as a goddess per se, and in Labrynna and Holodrum in particular they talk about the Old Goddesses (Nayru, Din and Farore) pretty much interchangeably with figures resembling the Oracles of the same names, even calling them the Oracles instead of the Three Goddesses.
Termina recognizes the Goddesses but also more prominently talks about the Four Giants and the Moon and the shape-shifting Furious God (kind of treating the events of Majora's Mask loosely like mythology)
(I don’t have art for that yet lol)
And of course, everyone respects the Great Fairies, but HOW varies a bit even from town to town.
[Image description: A painted statue of a blonde fairy in a purple and white dress, with blue, red and green along the hem of the skirt. Her hands are held in greeting. End ID.]
And so Link and company are traveling from town to town and kind of keep... Helping people. It's a little bit of a series of accidents at first, being in the right places at the right time, rescuing a lost kid here and fighting a monster there, doing a favor for the Maku Tree (who here lives sort of on the border between Holodrum and Labrynna) which would be a greater magnitude of video game quest than some of the others lol
[Image description: A collection of sketches. One is of a young woman with long hair and a flowing dress seated atop an hourglass, with a small lyre in her lap. She is labeled “The Statue of Nayru in Lynna City Square.” Another two are of Zora with very long head tails and thin fins; one has barbels similar to a catfish. A note nearby reads “Labrynna Zora draw from river fish and ‘longe’, lol” Another is of a rounded reptilian creature with a large eye and a big toothy grin which is labeled ‘A Tokay.’ The last is of a human with long hair and is labeled “Round eared humans are more common on the Western half of the continent. End ID.]
[Image Description: Another series of sketches. One is of a Goron with curly shoulder hair and a curly topknot, beard and mustache. Even his eyebrows curl at the edges. He is labeled “Rolling Ridge ‘Wooly’ Gorons. Another is of a Gerudo woman with a slightly pointed ear smiling and talking to an owlike Rito. Next to the Gerudo is the note that “Holodrum features some of the largest Gerudo communities outside of Gerudo City” and next to the Rito is the note that “Rito are just everywhere.” The last is of two Zora with nearly nonexistent headtails and thin fins. It is noted, “Holodrum and Labrynna’s ‘river’ Zora pull from river fish and ‘short,’ lol- basically the goal is to make them ‘feel’ the most like the OG enemy Zora.” End ID.]
(Note: I haven’t drawn a map but I’m kind of thinking that Rolling Ridge is enough on the border of Labrynna and Holodrum that there’s some confusion about the actual borders and the Gorons probably ignore them to some degree. The Gerudo having a notable presence in Holodrum kind of just makes sense. I’ll talk more about the AU version of the Gerudo in a different post.)
But it feels good, getting praised and thanked for handling it your own way, and sometimes Link doesn't even HAVE to use his sword to do it.
The problem is that when people are telling stories about a young blonde Hylian with a sword that swept in and saved your village or talked down an angry herd of lynels (the lynels in this AU are their own post but think of like how lions and horses have their own social structures)
Well, if there's a wrong person to get wind of you, he will.
It's in Holodrum's capitol city of Horon that Link sees the shadow along the ground and looks up to see Hera, Astramorus's loftwing, soaring over the city's streets. And he pulls his hood over his eyes and says "don't look but that's my father's bird up there."
Marla, obviously, looks.
[image Identification: Tonbo, Marla and Link stand in the middle of a diverse crowd. Marla and Tonbo are looking up but Marla is tilting her head at Tonbo. She has one arm around Link protectively, while Link has pulled a hood mostly over his face and is looking back at her. Marla says, “Say Tonbo you were talking about maybe visiting that UNDERGROUND CITY, right?” End ID.]
So they travel down to Subrosia (I know that in the game you needed portals but we're ignoring that because part of the point of this AU is that you don't NECESSARILY need magic to get most places)
Because if you're hiding from a man on a loftwing going underground isn't the least logical thing you could be doing, right?
Subrosia is populated by the mogmas from Skyward Sword as well as the little jawa-like people from Oracle of Seasons because it seems like as good a place for them to show up as any, don’t you think?
[Image Description: an elderly mogma with glasses and a moustache- a mole or rodentlike creature with long arms and a fat tail that it rests its weight on- is discussing something with two small figures in concealing robes, pointing into a bag one of them is holding up for inspection. End ID.]
Also if Link fights a classic lava boss in this AU he does it here, lol
Link is actually pretty torn up in himself through the whole stay, though; it's hard to appreciate a tour through even the most amazing of underground vistas when you've realized that your abuser is still after you, and is probably never going to give up, and he says as much to his companions once they've calmed things down.
[Image Description: Link, Tonbo, and Marla are sitting by a fireplace across an old mogma lady holding a mug of something hot. The mogma asks Link "... Well, he was going to take you to meet the Hyrulean royal family before you left, correct?" Link says "yeah." She reasons, "maybe you should beat him there and tell them all the reasons why you don't want anything to do with him. It seems like your best chance." Link looks into the fire, his mouth tense.)
And that's why they go back topside to figure out how to get across Gerudo Desert and to Hyrule.
Bonus: Grammamogma’s initial concept sketch
[Image description: the old mogma lady from the previous image. She is wearing a shawl, tiny glasses and a shirt with poofy sleeves. She has an enormous bun in her hair and long ratlike ears. She is sitting on her tail like a pillow.]
22 notes
·
View notes
Note
probably a strange question but: how did you develop your style when it comes to poetry? I really appreciate how you write and how it's vague and specific at the same time? don't know how to express what I mean exactly, but it's like phrases that you feel more than you really understand them sometimes, and that don't look like they should make sense at a glance but when you really read them they do. maybe you'll know what quality I mean 🙈 I feel like I'm way too literal when I write and I want to be a little more abstract in a say less, convey more kind of a way?
hey anon, thank you! not a strange question at all - it’s actually a very good question, and one that i was asking until recently as well (and to be honest am still asking!). i totally know what you mean.
i guess the shortest answer i can give you is that i think ‘poetic feeling’ is best felt full-on, but expressed to the side. it’s also something that genuinely does get easier the more you try to do it, i.e., is a skill that can be sharpened; to start with, everything feels like nonsense, or not quite right, and i felt like a bit of a fake initially, but as i did it more and more i had more and more tiny breakthroughs and gained confidence (which is a genuinely such a large part of any creative endeavour), and this can happen surprisingly fast and snowball; i switched up my style in maybe 1-3 months, just trying a little bit - maybe 15 lines - every couple of days or so. and i didn’t put pressure on myself, deciding if i hated it i’d delete it and reminding myself that no one had to see. i find writing short poems also really helps with practising: they can help you focus more intensely on each choice.
it’s also not a solo thing, or at least doesn’t have to be - i use random word generators, to different degrees depending on the poem, and also it’s surprising how much even just picking words off wikipedia can help, especially with themed poetry. recently i wrote a poem about the medieval period, and threw in words that came to me with terms from wiki pages about the medieval period (history, art, medicine, etc), to make noun phrases like ‘kaleidoscopic altar vision noise’, ‘law texture’, etc etc. the thing that’s helped me most, though, is reading other poems which i think have this quality, which tends especially to be image-heavy poetry: will stone’s translation of trakl completely changed the direction of my poetry, and lorca, rilke and seferis have also been invaluable. i also find authors that do weird things with syntax interesting, like e. e. cummings and j. h. prynne, but don’t go quite as far as them. i have a list of favourite poems which might help, and which i re-read regularly ❤️
something else i enjoy doing is practising reading and misremembering, which sounds like cheating but is actually an excellent way of generating new material. i remember reading (i think it’s this article) alexandra cook’s 'creative memory and visual image in chaucer’s house of fame' and it was a breakthrough for me. from memory (ironic - wish i still had access so i could properly quote from it/check stuff) it talked about how one dimension to medieval creativity was misremembering - that new ideas and originality came from the gap between what the work actually was and how another writer remembered it. trying to deliberately misremember is a lot of fun; a poem is then borne out of an interesting intersection of skill and contingency, which gives it an energy, i think.
on a kind of separate but related note, the classical ars memoriae, or ‘art of memory’, might be quite an interesting thing to play with in relation to writing poetry. what it is, for anyone that’s not familiar with it, is basically the notion that the way to remember things is by having some kind of system in your head - like spatialising the material (so you think about the room you first encountered it in and all the details to help you better remember it), imagining it in a sequence, breaking it up into sets - there are absolutely loads of ways. if this seems weird or alien, we still use mind maps all the time, which is a great example! to deliberately twist, literalise and tbh actually invert the art of memory stuff (i know this is a bit abstract eek), i’ve been thinking recently that it might be fun to distort ideas (themes, an image you like, a line you like) by running them through various ancient memory systems, because i think medieval thought had a point that these systems subtly distort things even as and precisely because their function is get us to remember them accurately (paradoxically, we bend them to our chosen way of thinking/remembering stuff, which alters the material). using ways of memorising we wouldn’t normally use, and forcing them to interact with material much more literally, can yield quite interesting results. in any case, it introduces different ‘head spaces’ which can be quite useful to take in a very loose way when trying to ‘think to the side’: here’s a starting list. to give quite a crude and simplified example, let’s say i’m obsessed with homer’s wine dark sea and want to write something based on it, but also different and original. what if i try to think of ‘wine dark sea’ as sequential (thinking of material in a sequence being one way of remembering things listed on the above wikipedia link)? i’m honestly not sure what that means, and i can’t envision that. it doesn’t even make sense, and is a deliberate perversion of what memorising things in a sequence would actually look like - ‘wine dark sea’ would be one chain in a sequence if the sequence was, e.g., ‘favourite quotes’. ‘wine dark sea’ itself can’t be a sequence; this would turn ‘wine dark sea’ into something logical, mathematical even. but then the phrase ‘mathematical wine dark sea’ is interesting and unexpected. and you can then play with that or variations of it - ‘wine sea: dark, mathematical’ would make a great opening line, and ‘wine sea mathematics’ and ‘wine dark mathematics’ are really interesting phrases (you know actually i quite like this - might go and write a poem about it now... lol).
that last bit is very speculative and i’m kind of thinking out loud, so feel free to ignore haha. i wrote a post on writing poetry a couple of years ago, too, which might have a couple of useful tidbits. i hope some of this is helpful!!
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
who is he pt 4
BESTIES!!!!! it’s been tooooooo long ive just had no motivation 🤪 but today we had parade rehearsal and they didn't really need me so i had time to write this, sorry its been so long!!! i hope everyones doing well and staying safe
part 1 part 2 part 3
“Is link your boyfriend?” Scout asked as his mother cut his waffles.
“No, he isn’t. We’re just friends.”
“Why do we spend so much time with him?” In the following weeks of the zoo excursion, the trio had done countless things with one another.
“Just cause.” Amelia quickly said, starting to get nervous, hoping her son wouldn't ask to elaborate.
“Okay.” Scout shrugged, dropping the subject. Eliciting a sigh of relief from his mother. “Is he coming to my softball game tonight?”
“Yeah, I think he is.”
“Oh.”
“Do you not want him to?”
“Well, he works for baseball players, and they’re all really good; what if he thinks I’m a bad player?”
“Oh babe, he won’t think that at all. I’m sure he’ll be very impressed.” It took a lot of begging for Amelia to allow Scout to play softball, but the more she watched her son played, the prouder she was of him. He was a good player for a kid his age.
_______________________________________
“Mom? What are you doing here?” Link asked as he opened his apartment door.
“I came to visit you since you never come to see us.” His mother brought him into a hug as she walked further in.
“A little notice would’ve been nice.” The man sighed, picking up the mini cooler that was on the counter and his sunglasses.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Maureen realized her son was getting prepared to leave. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Uh, yeah, I am.”
“There’s no baseball game today, though.” Maureen had checked before she came to assure her son would have time to spend with her.
“Yeah, I’m just going out; I’ll be back in maybe two hours? Just entertain yourself, and the guest room should be clean if you want to stay in there.” Link pointed across the hall.
“Okay, thanks.” Maureen sadly smiled, slightly offended at her sons' offish behavior.
________________________________________
“You look like your gonna throw up.” Link chuckled as he sat down next to Amelia handing her a water from the cooler.
“I’m just terrified he’s gonna hit his head in just the wrong space and immediately die.” Amelia quickly ranted as she watched her son step up to the base; this was her usual freak-out routine when her son would be playing.
“He’s gonna be just fine, Mia.” Amelia quickly diverted her attention to the man; he hadn’t used the nickname in 5 years. “Sorry I-“
“Shh.” Amelia shushed him as their son hit the ball and start bolting for the next base, standing up when he fell face-first as he tried to reach the base. “Crap.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He grabbed her arm, seating her, when he got up and kept running. “He’s okay.”
“Okay.” Amelia shifted awkwardly, putting her hand on her chest to try and control her breathing. “I hate this.”
“Look at how happy he is, though.” Link loved his son, even if the boy didn’t know he was his father. But that fact broke his heart; to the little boy, he was just a friend.
“He’s getting suspicious.”
“Hmm?” Link hummed, shoving some peanuts in his mouth.
“He asked if we were dating; I said no, obviously.” For some reason, this stung the man. “But he’s smart; he’s gonna realize eventually, so maybe we should talk about telling him.”
“And you're okay with this?” Link asked hopefully.
“He’s gonna find out eventually.” Amelia sighed, picking at her nail. “I mean, I don’t really have a choice; I’ve already messed up too much. Depriving both of you of a relationship from each other.”
“I don’t blame you, not anymore.” Link whispered. “You were protecting him, and yourself. I mean, I’m upset I missed so much, but I get it.” Amelia looked at the man and genuinely smiled.
“Thank you.” The woman whispered with tears in her eyes.
_______________________________________
“Mom, did you see that?” Scout cheered as he ran into his mother’s arms. “I made a home run!”
“I know, I’m so so so proud of you.” Amelia laughed as she spun the boy around.
“You did really great, bud.” Link smiled, patting the boy's back.
“Thanks, Link.” Scout smiled brightly.
“I’ll have to take you to a Mariners game sometime.” Link smiled, thinking about bringing his son to a game and introducing him to the players. “If it’s okay with your mom, of course.”
“We can work something out.” Amelia reluctantly smiled.
“Can we get donuts?” Scout asked, jumping on the balls of his feet.
“Sure.” Amelia laughed at her sons' excitement over donuts, reminding her of how her ex-boyfriend used to act.
“Can Link come?” Scout asked.
“If he wants to.” Amelia smiled at the man, who eagerly nodded.
“I’d love to; donuts are my absolute favorite.” Link smiled, knowing that his son loved his favorite snack as much as he did. “You know they have a Gotham Donuts in Seattle now?”
“I didn’t,” Amelia said, taken aback, thinking back to the New York fiasco, and how she was falling in love with the man.
“Let’s go!!!!” Scout said, starting to get impatient, pulling his mother’s arm.
“Alright, alright.”
________________________________________
“They don’t taste exactly like the ones in New York, but they’re still my favorite.” Link said after he shoved a whole donut in his mouth.
“Everything pastry wise is better in New York. Especially, bagels,” Amelia remarked.
“Yeah, my mom won’t let us ever get bagels. Only when we’re in New York.” Scout laughed, making Link smile. The man recalled one morning when he brought home breakfast bagels for the two, and she refused to eat them.
“She’s very dramatic, huh?” Link smirked, making eye contact with the woman.
“Hey! Am not!” Amelia playfully defended.
“You are, though, mommy.” Scout agreed with the man.
“Alright, I guess just a little bit.” Amelia caved, running the boy's hair through his fingers, noticing the boy's eyes start to droop the longer they sat. “You getting tired, bud?”
“Mmmhmm.” The boy nodded, snuggling into his mother’s side.
“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” Amelia helped scout out of the booth. “Thanks so much, Link.”
“Yeah, of course.” He’d been trying to keep his tears at bay as he watched the interaction between the two. “Great job today!”
“Thanks.” Scout waved as the two walked off.
________________________________________
When Link arrived back at his apartment, he found dinner in the microwave, and his mother fast asleep in the spare bedroom. The bedroom that should be Scout’s. He remembered the night the couple crashed at his apartment, and he took her into the room, and they mapped out how the nursery would be set up. The orthopedic surgeon shook the thought of his head and went into his room, quickly finding his bed and falling asleep.
“Link.” His mother’s soft voice jutting him out of sleep.
“What?” Link asked, somewhat shocked to of been woken up, almost forgetting his mother was even there.
“You left your phone in the kitchen, and someone called Meredith keeps calling.” Maureen raised her eyebrow, trying to determine if this was a possible love interest.
Link took the ringing phone from his mother while trying to contain his eye roll. “What’s up?”
“Don’t freak out.” Meredith’s shaky voice rang in his ears.
“What? What happened?” Link sat up abruptly in his bed, his mother perking up at her sons' nervousness.
“There was a car crash.” Before she could continue, he jumped up from his bed and started to get dressed, trying to calm his shakiness. “Scout is fine. Maggie is with him, and he just has a tiny laceration on his forehead, which is being patched up as we speak?”
“And Amelia?” The man's heart dropped at the hesitation, suddenly regretting everything that had not happened between the two, especially not fighting to be in her and her sons' life.
“She was unconscious when they brought her in; Koracick is bringing her up to CT. He’s the best.” Link could sense the woman’s pain with saying that; he knew she’d prefer her late husband. The one who Amelia would talk so fondly of, and aspire to be.
“And the other person?” The man asked, heading to the door, his mom following him and confiscated his keys. He was about to yell at her until he realized how shaky his hands were; it was probably too dangerous to drive himself.
“Tox screen came back; he was definitely intoxicated. He should be fine, though.” Before he knew what he was doing, he abruptly hung up, regretting that he even asked. Once the pair got to the parking lot, everything seemed to be in slow motion. He remembered his mom asking for directions, and standing outside of the hospital, unable to find the strength to walk in.
#amelia shepherd#amelink#atticus lincoln#baby amelink#greys anatomy#greysanatomy#greys fanfic#greys anatomy fanfic#scout lincoln#Maureen Lincoln#maggie pierce#meredith grey#tw car crash
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guardian!Zelda AU - part 6
Part 1...Part 5, Part 6 - The Stable
Longer than usual!
***
Ahead, he could see a structure. One that was still amazingly in use. It was like a big, colorful tent with what looked like a giant horse head on top.
Although he'd seen several people on the road, he'd never seen more than two together at once. He hadn't heard the sound of another person's voice in nearly a week. His eyes widened and he kneed the horse to a quicker pace.
The guardian at his side picked up speed too.
Oh, wait. That wouldn't do.
He pulled the horse to a halt and turned to the guardian with a frown. It offered him a questioning gong in response.
He gave it a pointed look. He wasn't absolutely sure (since he was new around here), but it seemed like a guardian marching up to a bunch of people was a recipe for disaster. Maybe he was wrong and everyone knew about this guardian anomaly and how it was helpful instead of ready to kill everyone. But he doubted it.
It gonged at him again.
"Do you know those people?" he asked.
It froze. Then it twisted its head back and forth in a smooth shake.
He raised his eyebrows.
The guardian shuffled its feet, its eye lowering to the ground between them.
He offered it a sad smile and reached out to rub the side of its head. "They might have supplies. I'll check it out. You stay back." He was running low on arrows. And maybe he could make some food that he wouldn't have to eat raw or seared over an open flame. He desperately needed a real pair of boots. And if he could find clothes that fit, he would feel infinitely more confident in himself.
The guardian still didn't look happy. Anxious? Excluded and lonely? It was hard to tell.
"We'll meet up again tonight." He leaned over the horse's side to duck down into its line of sight. "I'll get you a present?" He had no idea what he'd get for it, or if there would even be anything worth having.
The guardian stared at him. Then it shifted back and dragged a claw through the dirt road, making a sketch of a crescent moon. Link blinked at it, startled. The guardian could communicate? He hadn't known that. Had it been holding out on him? Or, well, maybe this wasn't all that much of a conversation.
He nodded slowly. "Tonight," he agreed.
The guardian hesitated, and then stepped back, slowly retreating off the road and towards a nearby hill. It would probably be able to keep an eye on him. He needed to make sure he didn't get into trouble, or it would barge into the tent and tear down a wall.
He also had to not look too excited approaching the tent.
The place was a stable where he could board the horse. He wondered if they would believe him if he tried to claim the guardian was a horse. Probably not. They gave him a saddle and bridle, and he named the horse "Gong" so that the guardian could say its name. The stable master didn't get the joke and gave him a weird look. Link got the horse some food and a good brushing and her mane done all pretty, and by the time he was done taking care of her, the stable hand was frustrated with how little gossip he had to offer. It wasn't really his fault. He only had a couple weeks worth of memories, and those mostly involved a machine that he couldn't talk about. To give her something, he told her where he found some mushrooms the other day, but she frowned at him and walked away. He felt bad about that.
A merchant was thankfully selling arrows, but not clothes. He wanted Link to buy a bunch of butterflies and sell him some beetles, and Link got away as quickly as he could. He felt bad about that too.
There was a man who told him about a tower up ahead and about a fairy fountain he could reach. Before Link could ask questions, he handed Link 500 rupees to give the fairy for him. Link had never seen so much money. He didn't understand why the man couldn't go to the fairy fountain himself, but he didn't ask.
There was a man who told him about drawings on a far cliff side, which Link marked on his map even though it was too far away to visit anytime soon and he had no idea why he would care. The man didn't like hearing that. Someone else gave him directions across the great bridge to the nearby tower and onward to Rito Village, a place where it sounded like even more people lived!
The thought was actually a little anxiety provoking. He wasn’t doing great with these few people.
He calmed himself by cooking up a bunch of meals in the cooking pot. He managed to find a comb for his hair and a washcloth for his face and armpits.
There was a shrine nearby that he knocked out easily.
And then he had a couple hours to kill before the sun set. He should probably go talk to the people more. It sounded like a long way to the next village. But he didn't know what to say. His shoulders rose up around his ears the longer he thought about it.
Maybe he wouldn't talk to anyone.
He found some flowers and wildberries nearby and braided up another flower crown with dark greenery and bursts of maroon and white. He threaded more through the horse's hair, and then made a crown for himself. It looked really out of place with his worn old shirt.
When the sun set and darkness fell, he took out his horse and headed up the mountain to find the guardian. It perked at the sight of him, rushing up out of the shadows and then pulling itself short when it was only a few feet away. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he smiled up at it. It showed him a pile of mushrooms and herbs it had gathered, and he secured the flower crown over its head.
When it was too dark to be seen and it looked as if most of the people at the stable had gone to sleep, they snuck to the Great Tabantha Bridge and hurried across.
#
Part 7
49 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
wuchinfan
You Who Came From The Galaxy
anthonyjosafiend
Abscess On Your Soul
pddlgm
PDDLGM
BLOG OVERFLOW
sheepwasfound
sheepwasfound
heartartandinsanity
The Art of Kendal