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roseblog-rog · 5 months

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I Guess I Do Belong in the Woman’s Room.

It’s always a scary endeavor: going into a public restroom as a trans person. There’s always that fear of being outed or shunned or screamed at or punished or SOMETHING. So many risks, all for pissing. But I digress, I have no time to worry due to how badly I have to go.

I enter the woman’s room to find a group of five girls doing makeup in the long mirror which spans the whole bathroom, lined with sinks and soap dispensers. The floor is white with recently cleaned tiles, the gray stalls packed together on the opposite side. The walls are a soft shade of pink that almost feels…comforting. Inviting.

Though no other people aside from the group appear to be in here, I move quick. I swiftly and quietly do my business and exit the stall to wash my hands, moving to the opposide side away from the group of girls, who are now giggling and applying their different colored lipstick. They’re all really fucking pretty, and I feel a warm blush creep up onto my face. I pray their laughter has nothing to do with me. That hope is short lived, however, as one of them—the one with red lips—speaks in a deep airy voice once I finish washing my hands.

“Hey girl, your fly is still open.”

Shit. Well that’s embarrassing. I nod and quickly fiddle with my zipper. I must’ve forgotten to zip it up after buttoning my pants with how much I was rushing to leave. Hopefully they didn’t notice my—

The one with pink lips speaks now, her voice being much higher and softer. “I’m sorry…but is that a bulge?”

Fuck. Now all five girls are glancing down at the bulge in my jeans. It looks so much more obvious in this new light. My face goes completely red.

“No! No. I uh…uhm…” I struggle to formulate an excuse, voice on the verge of cracking with how high and feminine I’m trying to make it combined with the tears starting to form my eyes. My worst fears were being realized, and the most embarrassing part is my gock begins twitching from all the attention.

Red chuckes and speaks again. “Hey, don’t worry girl. In case you haven’t noticed you’re not the only one packing here.”

The blunt response startles me, but with the invitation to look I now notice that all five of them also have bulges, though theirs are much harder than mine, which makes me shiver from…something.

“We didn’t mean to startle you.” Purple speaks in a rough, bright voice, elbowing Pink, who looks down in shame. “We were just, well,” she glances back down at my crotch and smirks “curious.”

“Yeah, sorry for the scary question. We get how it can be in public restrooms.” Pink looks incredibly guilty.

“Haha…yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to get so startled.” My voice settles in it’s natural state, which is still fairly feminine, though deep enough to warrant ‘suspicion’. The blush slowly fades from my face, the tears subside and my breath levels. I’m safe.

“Though I have to ask…why were you so afraid? You belong in here just like anyone else.” Blue pipes in with her quiet and monotone voice, raising an eyebrow at me.

I itch to leave, but something about the group is so comforting and intriguing that I endulge their curiosity. “Well…not really. I mean, I’m at a point in my transition where I’m much more feminine……” I trail off.

“But..?” Purple prompts.

“But I’m still so tall and lanky, my voice is deep, my stubble is annoyingly apparent…I guess I don’t feel pretty enough to be in here comfortably.”

The last member of the group, Orange, walks forward towards me at this response, clearly checking me out. I fidget in place as she gets closer. She’s taller than me, just an inch or two, but still noticeable as I slightly tilt my head up to look at her face. She’s beautiful. Her voice is so silky smooth it brings my blush right back onto my face.

“I think you’re pretty.”

I look down at the ground, my blush reaching embarrassing levels of red. I blush way too easily. “Thank you, uh, I think you’re pretty too.” I notice just how much my voice wobbles, whether it be from embarrassment or being so flustered.

Orange lifts her right hand up to my chin, using her pointer finger to gently lift my face back up to meet her gaze. I twitch again, ugh. “I mean it, how could you think you aren’t pretty enough to be here?”

She turns my body to face the mirror, and I really look at myself: my red and freckled face, my long blonde hair, my wide hips, my bulked up arms, my boobs…everything. Orange stands right behind me, softly smiling as she moves her hands down my waist. It feels so fucking good, I’ve always been so sensitive to touch…but…

“W..wait! I barely know you.” I stutter out as I move away from her. My hardening gock betrays my sentiment, but I ignore it.

Orange’s gaze softens. “That’s okay…forgive me for being so forward.” She glances down. “Though it seems like someone wants more.”

My face feels so hot I think I might just die. I can barely even get any words out, just mindless stutters. The only word I manage to speak before my mind completely blanks is “Please.”

Orange’s gaze darkens with a smirk. “Girls! Let’s help her realize just how pretty she is.”

The five of them now crowd around me, moving me so I once again face the mirror. I’m shaking, my now fully erect gock starting to drip as Red lifts my shirt off of me. Pink goes to undo my jean button and zipper while Black pulls them down. Blue undoes my bra while Orange once again begins feeling up my now exposed body. Despite the circumstances it feels so…freeing. So beautiful and—oh FUCK.

Red begins to kiss just above my right breast, leaving a very obvious lipstick mark. The five of them grin so simultaneously it’s almost terrifying. Almost. They all begin feeling me up while kissing me with their multicolored lips. I’m moaning and whimpering so much at this point that one of them exclaims “Looks like someone’s a noisemaker. She’s adorable!” However, my mind is so fuzzy and warm at this point that I can’t even tell who says it.

They’re pressed so closely against my shaking frame that it’s impossible for me to fall to my knees despite my wobbling. I can feel their hot bodies against mine, hear their heavy breathing as we all start to sweat. My skin begins to be covered with red and pink and purple and blue and orange. Little reminders of this wonderful group.

Soon enough one of them pulls my panties down and immediately makes an excited noise at my hard, dripping gock. “Holy shit! You’re gorgeous!” I then feel the now familiar sensation of a mouth being closed around it, a tongue starting to feel around it, and this earns several loud moans. The kisses from the other four girls get rougher and more sensual: sucking and biting and licking all over my quivering frame.

I feel bliss, seeing my naked body being marked and used and sucked by all these women, and I start to feel so beautiful. I notice the clear markings and lip stains…but I also notice my soft skin and nice curves and all the little things I don’t usually stop to look at. I notice how pretty and shiny my gock is, as each girl takes turns sucking on it.

I feel everything. There’s so much stimulus that I start shaking harder and moaning even more. I can barely hold myself up, but one of them is clutching me tightly by the hips to keep me from falling. “I want you to say how pretty you are.” Of course. Who am I to deny her?

“I’m pretty.” I barely get the words out.

“Again. Say it like you mean it.”

I feel myself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, a rare sensation for me with how far my transition is. I’m now completely coated in multicolored lips and bite marks and hickeys and various fluids. It’s…well, it’s pretty.

“I’m pretty!” I shout it this time, staring myself down in the mirror.

“One more time, you’re doing so good.”

“I’m pretty! I’m so fucking pretty!” I lock eyes with myself as I cum into whoever’s mouth is sucking me. I’m breathing so heavily I’m almost afraid for my safety…but these women are here for me. I’m okay.

They help me sit down and crowd closely around me, the scent of our sweat and their makeup becoming much more apparent. It’s all so wonderful and safe and relaxing that my eyes start to shut as they coddle me and play with my hair.

“It’s okay baby, you can rest.”

The last thought running through my mind is how pretty I am before I fade out of consciousness.

~~~

MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT WOAG!!! Because this is such a momentous occasion and I am so awesome, @xenasaur @lilithtransrights enjoy my cool lil thing.

#(ro)s(e)mut #hornyposting #bottomposting #:3 #transfem #trans #lesbian #transfem lesbian #i am actually the most normal ever #nsft

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doobea · 3 months

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BORN TO MAKE HISTORY ─ RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: After his brother takes a nasty fall and calls out before the new season starts, Rin has to step up as your new figure skating partner.

✰ ✰ ✰જ⁀➴ PLAYLIST. | MASTERLIST

contents: an ice skating au fic (very much yuri on ice inspired), fem!reader, ice skating terms and irl figures thrown around, inaccurate depictions of figure skating, sfw, rin being awkward, sae is a decent brother in here, characters are in their early-mid 20s, talks about ISU grand prix, mentions of mental health (depression, anxiety, burn out, imposter syndrome), heavy narration, rin centric word count: 5.1K a/n: life has been super busy and hectic recently :( kisses to @popponn for beta reading my works as always <3 im forever grateful for you :) more notes towards the end of the fic <3

PREV. RINK | NEXT RINK

“What should we wear?” You’re pacing across the living room, hand tucked under your chin and brows furrowed.

Sae’s leaning to the side on the couch, trying to get a decent view of yesterday’s playback practice run on the rink every time you cross his line of vision. Rin’s also trying to pay attention to the jumps and step sequences too but, whenever his parts are about to come up, you seem to pause in front of the TV.

“I dunno, ask Rin,” Sae shrugs and turns up the volume, hoping that you would catch the hint.

It doesn’t matter though, because you’re shuffling in place and now your attention is honed on your phone, scrolling rapidly through what Rin can only assume are images of various costume designs. He’s seen a few of your professional photos from the previous years during his recent down time, a lot of the designs highlighted your feminine side with bright colors and pastels. It suits you, no surprise there, considering your outgoing personality. Rin, on the other hand, likes to keep it moody and, as his fans would like to call it, “Dark Paradise” core — whatever that means.

Well, it wouldn’t really matter if you did happen to ask for his opinion because, recently, Rin didn’t give two shits about what he wears. If anyone were to peek into his closet, which they would definitely need to fight through him first, they would discover an array of all different shades of black and blue in their deepest forms. Oh, and all he owns is athleisure attire, too. Rin doesn’t bother with all things fancy and tailored ever since going on break, though he has a creeping feeling that he might have to go back to it soon.

“As long as it’s not flashy, I’m fine with whatever.” Rin answers finally, and closes his eyes as he says it, realizing that he’ll either look incredibly out of place with whatever costume idea you’ll have in mind. He can’t quite place why he feels so stressed about it.

“Whatever?” You chirp back with a slight tilt. Rin can almost see the gears turning desperately in your head as your foot taps away in deep thought. “Have we even decided on a theme yet?”

“Considering we literally just started practicing? No.” Rin huffs out. He tips his head, letting his cheek settle comfortably against his palm.

Safe to say, his thighs and feet hurt like hell, laced with heavy exhaustion from yesterday’s session. He probably needs more sleep in more but, with both you and Sae knocking on his bedroom door this morning, he firmly decided in his mind to sneak away after today’s practice to catch up on some hours.

“Your jumps are sloppy,” Sae points out casually.

Rin rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime,” his brother shoots back before replaying the same damn sequence where Rin nearly loses his footing. The video is now playing in slow motion and zoomed in, painfully reminding Rin that he needs to upgrade his skincare routine. Somehow, he’s glad that you’re still covering half of the TV screen, unaware of the near wipe out scene from behind.

A few seconds later and Sae speaks again. “You look stiff here, bend your knees and loosen your arms.”

Rin sighs. “ ‘Kay…”

“We’re still going for ‘love’, right? Or are we not doing that?” Your arms are crossed, fingers drumming away, still deep in thought and tuned out from their own conversation. “What songs do you wanna skate to?”

Before Rin could even provide a half-assed answer to that, Sae interrupts his thoughts with, “Please try and at least look like you’re having fun.”

“…noted,” Rin decides with a sigh. “I’m going back to bed when this is over.” Screw napping after practice, he barely got a full eight hours last night and being berated so bright and early in the morning killed any sort of energy he had prior.

“Nope,” Sae pauses halfway through the video, turning to face him with a stern look. “You’re not going back to bed, because then you won’t wake up in time for practice. Sleeping in will only ruin your current sleep schedule, too.”

Rin wants to retort that he’s not a fucking child anymore, that he doesn’t need Sae to be looking after him. However, there’s the fact that his brother is sorta his manager now and in charge of quite literally everything of Rin's career. Also, it’s kinda hard to come up with a solid comeback when they’re reviewing his rusty movements, lackluster jumps, and every thirty seconds he’s taking a small break to catch his damn breath.

You eventually plop down in the middle of the couch, between both brothers, when you realize that your question isn’t going to be answered simply. After Sae finally gets the chance to thoroughly watch a good chunk of yesterday’s practice sequence, you switch topics. “Just so you know, Rin, have you seen your comment section lately?”

Sae shuffles in his seat and suddenly Rin feels the air in the room thickening. Rin fiddles with his phone in hand, knowing full well that he did post a ‘comeback’ announcement only to then quickly turn his app notifications off, because… of his feelings of self cautiousness? Would that be the right term he’s looking for?

“What did he do?” Sae’s asking you because he knows damn well Rin wouldn’t give him the full details and you’re just so damn open about everything so Rin can’t possibly hide from this one.

But, instead of answering Sae, you cough, loud and awkward, before shooting Rin an apologetic look. “Um, nothing…?”

Alright, well Rin takes it that you’re a god awful liar.

Sae’s now staring directly in Rin’s direction and he’s trying so hard to avoid eye contact right now by pretending that their family portrait wall is the most interesting thing in the room. Of course, that doesn’t work because he can hear Sae tapping away freely on his phone and—

“Did you fucking block me on Instagram?”

Okay, yeah, Rin totally forgot about that, too. To be fair, when someone is going through a depressive episode for over a year, the last thing anyone would want to see on their feed is the success of their older sibling.

“No?”

And, turns out, he’s also an awful liar.

Sae is not happy. He is very, very unhappy.

He’s not usually the emotionally expressive type to most people, so that usually leaves Rin the luxury of experiencing the back end when his brother does decide to let his walls down. And, well, in the past, when he did get pissed off, Sae would normally vent about his coaches and stalkerish fans with a bit of sass to it, but today?

He’s currently grumbling and groaning and Rin’s pretty sure his shirt is on backwards, and bless your soul, but also fuck you, for dragging him into this mess.

After a very short Google Search of what Rin has done, followed by an equally as short lecture on how to be professional on the internet, Rin is grimley reminded by the large number of likes and retweets on Twitter that his announcement might’ve not been the best thing he’s ever posted. He really can’t understand why though, because Rin was deadset sure he was going to lose his career nearly three years ago when he got into a fight with another skater, so why is he getting canceled for announcing something… tamed? Well, he also hasn’t exactly opened his social media apps since then. A strange gnawing feeling comes up whenever he fights off the urge to check.

“You should’ve held off or at least came to me before posting something like this.”

It’s a miracle that there’s nobody else but you three at the local rink right now. It’s been nearly an hour since arrival and Rin has gotten nothing but an earful from Sae. If any family were to walk in, they’d probably immediately walk out by the sheer amount of heavy tension steaming off on the ice.

You’re stuck in your own little corner doing all sorts of warm up jumps and stretching, glancing over every now and then at Rin as your way of saying ‘sorry’ and ‘are you doing, okay’. To which, Rin would glance back with a very stiff shrug.

“What difference would it make?” Rin’s cheeks are a little flushed and there’s a slight hitch to his breath, he had just completed a couple of routine jumps Sae instructed him to do.

“Plenty,” then Sae flashes Rin a quick glimpse of his phone screen.

An array of outrageous news articles and forums come through, many of them pointing out the strange timing and the internal turmoil of sibling rivalry. There’s a couple of them mentioning drugs, two threads from some third-party news site throwing your name to the mud, and then a short Buzzfeed article listing a slideshow of other skaters congratulating Rin for rejoining the sport again.

“People are speculating that you’re only stepping in because I’m down for this season. If you would’ve just waited until everything was put together then everything would’ve been different.”

Rin blinks a little, surprised by the flush coloring his brother's cheeks that’s most certainly not from the cold rink.

Although, in a way it did make sense. If there’s one thing that famous athletes do know about the media is the fact that news outlets love fabricating drama out of nothing. Sae’s a well known gold medalist, no matter what division that medal came from, so his name came out of people’s mouth as frequently as compared to Yuzuru Hanyu or even Yuuri Katsuki, whenever figure skating was mentioned. It made sense for others to grow suspicious when Rin randomly posted that he’s coming off of hiatus without further explanation. Sae most likely hasn’t told anyone that he’s being subbed in.

Rin hesitantly nods, his snarky response dies in his throat and he feels like he’s swallowing needles when faced with the awkward reality. He’s now reluctant to speak, unsure if anything he’d say would make a difference — for better or worse. Knowing himself, probably the latter.

After a few seconds of silence, followed by a few jumps performed by you in the background, Sae runs a hand through his hair, in what Rin believes is a rare nervous gesture, looking away briefly.

“Revival,” his brother finally blurts out. “That’s the theme. You guys fine with that?” Sae’s asking, but there’s a finality to his tone. Rin and you will have to be fine with it. The season starts in a few months, soon Sae would need to prepare choreography for two programs, consult a designer for custom fittings, and take over all things that a coach and manager would do. Somehow, despite being out for this year, Rin thinks Sae might have the hardest job here.

“No objections here.”

Two months and many hours of exhausting training later, you and Rin are standing in the locker room for the first competition as an official pair. It’s the first day of the Japan Figure Skating Championships and, somehow, you look more put together than he is.

“Think this looks good?” You do a 360 spin in front of the wall mirror in your short program outfit. It’s a simple short black, gray dress with mesh sleeves and small rhinestones running down the middle. According to the designer, it’s supposed to represent the night sky.

Rin stands behind you and adjusts his black vest. Gold and white thread accents throughout his patterned shirt compared with plain black trousers. He’s supposed to adjust his cuffs, but his fingers keep fumbling with the last button because his eyes are awkwardly getting lost in your outfit. Luckily, you’re too focused on yourself to take notice.

You eventually lean closer, repeating the question when he takes too long to answer, and he feels your breath against his shoulder. “Everything alright? Are you nervous for today?” Your voice is a little hesitant, full of concern that makes Rin’s stomach slightly jump to his throat.

“Everything’s fine,” Rin sighs as he manages to shove the last button through. It’s not like he’s going to lose this competition, he might be somewhat rusty but he didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix Final just based on his name alone. “It’s just… a little bit weird that we’re the oldest ones here,” he confesses.

“You’re still hung up about that?”

It’s stupid and maybe a bit irrational, he knows that much.

You’ve also already tried to convince Rin otherwise multiple times today, but he couldn’t shake off the humiliating feeling of entering a competition where your competitors are almost half your age. Okay, maybe Rin’s being dramatic, but at least five years younger. From what he can recall, it was usually the other way around whenever he competed in men’s singles tournaments. Having to see and now experience that is something he never really mentally prepared himself for.

From the moment he stepped into the locker room, Rin was basically towering over the rest of the athletes. It’s fine, kinda, all he really needs to focus on right now is landing all of his jumps and catching you. Sae’s a strict teacher, but he doesn’t force weird techniques on others if he knows they can’t handle it.

“Isn’t he, like, totally washed up right now?”

“Shh, don’t say it so loud, Makoto! He’s right there.”

“Oh, shit, let’s go before he…” Rin didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence, not with you scooting right beside him on the bench and shoving your right ear bud into his ear.

He’s learned quickly from the following days that you are not the playlist type of person like most people. Unlike normal and sane folks, you have all of your liked songs in one playlist and you like spending your time shuffling away through the vast hundreds of genres and artists until finding the right one. In your own words, if you were to make a playlist then it would easily be over a few dozen — why do that when all of your favorite songs are in one spot?

That being said, you’re currently blasting a Frank Ocean song before shifting through a couple more songs with the intent of finding both the short program and free skate song. Oh, and for some reason you don’t use the search function at all through your liked playlist. Apparently, it “ruins” the fun.

“This would’ve been a nice song to skate to,” the tune switches to something more upbeat and indie, Rin recognizes the band to be Florence and the Machine from the vocals alone. “Sae complained about the song being too long and I called him a lazy loser shortly after.” You say with a smile but Rin’s eyes drift down only to see your leg bobbing up and down rapidly.

Rin tries to pay no mind as he continues to put on his skates. “A six minute long performance would be too much,” he agrees with Sae’s previous answer.

“Hey, tickets to these sorts of things are expensive nowadays with scalpers everywhere!” You try to reason. “If someone’s spending two hundred dollars on a seat then they can sit through a six minute long skating sequence.”

Rin rolls his eyes as he fiddles with a tangled lace. “I didn’t mean the people in the audience, I meant the skaters.”

“Well, maybe we should learn a thing or two from people who do Disney on Ice?”

“I do not want that to be my fall back career, thank you.” A shiver creeps down his spine at the thought of being forced to skate while wearing a Mickey Mouse costume of all things. Seriously, do people clean those suits?

“Hey, are you…” both of your ears perk at the sound from behind. Rin turns around first, he’s immediately greeted by one of the younger male competitors. The boy looks like he’s still growing into his body, probably not any older than seventeen.

“Yeah, I am,” Rin finishes the obvious question. Maybe the kid’s a fan by how bright his face lights up soon after. “Is there something you need?” Sae’s been drilling him to be a little bit more receptive to fellow competitors and fans alike, in order to fix some of his reputation.

“I’ve been looking at your past performances, lately,” the kid starts with a smile. “Last year, during the Grand Prix Final, you did good!”

“Thanks—”

“Your theme was the same as the previous years, but I guess that’s just something you’re comfortable with, right? The falls that you took, it was because your balance was off. You need to work better on finding your center during jumps if you seriously plan on competing in the senior division again.”

Rin only notices the pain digging in his fists when you reach over, palm encasing over his closed ones. You don’t bother looking his way, but you do say something to the kid. It sounds muffled though, or maybe Rin’s somehow zoning out? He’s not sure.

The loss from the Grand Prix is apparently still at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. People love to pick out that particular part in his performance, acting as if they could pull it off any better. And, for a brief moment, all his past of anger and frustration at the sport suddenly comes rushing back at an overwhelming rate. Rin’s wondering who else wants to criticize him when they meet him again.

“Don’t they teach kids manners these days?” You try to shoot a glare back but, from Rin’s perspective, it just looks like you’re mildly constipated.

It kinda ends up working, because the kid backs off, scurrying away and off to his manager for last minute pep talk. Sae’s currently running late as usual, but it’s not like you two would need any words of encouragement. Rin’s competitive nerves have fizzled out by this point, at least for this event, but he’s now seething with discomfort. He’s certainly positive that you’re feeling the same way.

“I take it back, some of these kids need to be humbled and maybe even bullied.”

Okay, while Rin would agree, he feels like he has to somewhat step up in Sae’s place to make sure you don’t accidentally get kicked out of this competition for sucker punching a kid.

“It’s fine, don’t get too worked up over it. I more or less expected comments like that.”

Rin never expected anything to come easy. Climbing for his spot again in the competitive world can be absolutely ruthless and meeting skaters who are arrogant, condescending, and taunting are just part of the reality. He suspects that everyone else sees him as a washed up skater, never as a real competitor, or a real challenger for the gold medal.

“Still,” you pout, unsatisfied by his logical response, but drop the conversation as Rin tightens his laces. Then, you finally manage to find the song for the short program section after the relentless shuffling.

“It’s fine,” he reassures, and really, it’s kinda-sorta fine. It’s something that he’ll eventually get used to, even if he’s well aware of the heinous rumors floating around. Everything will die down after a week or two since most people can barely hold their attention span nowadays.

“If you’re positive,” you go back to your phone, but not before poking Rin’s sides and redirecting his attention towards the TV screen in the locker room. “Hey, the first pair is competing.”

Pair skating is a lot different from competing in singles. Aside from the obvious involvement of another party, there are more requirements in the short and free skate performances. In the Adult Singles programs, the skater focuses more on their jumps, having a higher emphasis on how many quads they can shove in — or at least that’s how Rin used to work. Quads granted him the majority of the points, it’s something that he can take some pride in compared to his other juniors and seniors.

For pairs, instead of focusing on jumps in the sequences, it’s lifts. There’s two types of lifts, overhead and twists, both are required in the programs. In general, overhead lifts rely on the movement of the person in the air, the control and execution of their rotations around the person carrying them. For twists, the most “exciting” part of the performance by judges’ words, requires an insane amount of coordination and strength since Rin has to propel you into the air by the waist.

Sae had the lovely idea to throw in three overhead lifts, just because he thinks Rin can handle it. Those evening practices at the rink, followed by early morning lifting sessions absolutely killed him, both physically and spiritually. Though, safe to say that he’s just about near his physical peak last year from all the training.

You and Rin both waited patiently in the locker rooms for the first three pair performances, only leaving and heading by the outer rink when you guys queued next. Sae leans against the railing, the brace on his foot now gone and, instead of chunky sneakers, he’s opted back to his expensive loafers. Maybe that’s why he ran late, just in case paparazzi took snapshots of his entire outfit. Go figure.

“I think you guys will have no issue securing gold.” Sae’s voice comes through the haze of Rin’s thoughts, sounding distinctly unimpressed by the current line up. “Even if you guys fumble your lifts, I think the amount of it will carry enough points.”

Erupted cheers soon fill the air and all eyes turn to the rink as the pair’s performance ends. You soon recognize one of the skaters being the teenager from earlier and throw Rin a look.

“We’re going to make sure that he doesn’t get a chance at winning until next year.” You announce, tone casual but eyes flickering something darker than what Rin’s used to.

Sae scoffs and leans against the railing, holding Rin’s Winnie the Pooh tissue box in his arms. “I’m assuming the locker room talk wasn’t all too friendly?”

“Maybe not your usual idea of friendly,” and Rin surges forward, taking your hands into his, when the pair in question struts by and casts both of you a nasty glare. Your grip around his bicep tightens and, while he didn’t care too much about beating a bunch of lukewarm competitors earlier, Rin’s fully certain that he wants nothing more than that gold medal and to clear both of your names from accusations right now.

Piano sounds ring throughout the arena from the speakers, starting with a single word that you’ve both heard countless times during practice. The soft piano notes quickly turn into a somber melody, growing louder with every passing second. The music is beautiful. Haunting, even. Capturing the audience in a trance while Rin prepares you for your first lift.

It’s strange, he thinks. While he’s gotten used to handling you, this is different from every other time. During practices, you’re always carefree and cheerful but, out here, surrounded by cameras and opinions of others that don’t weigh a thing, you’re focused and extremely precise in your form.

Rin thought he knew your routine. Clearly, he’s mistaken.

You skate with conviction, confidence, and accuracy. He can understand why you were originally Sae’s skating partner.

Once you’ve landed back on the ice, keeping up with Rin’s speed, the two of you follow the song’s beat with a smooth series of spins and jumps, each one rotating faster and faster until it feels like the mere audience is just a blurry backdrop in the foreground.

The final lift jump transitions easily into a simple step sequence before finally ending in a death spiral. Rin has a firm grip on your hand as you begin flattening your body low enough, face barely grazing the ice below, as he pivots you around in lull circles.

Judging from the sounds from the audience, Rin didn’t need to stay around to know the results of the performance. The roars, chants, and the standing ovation from them is enough to make out the outcome but, for your sake, he’ll stick it through.

You both glide through the last few seconds of the short program, focusing on nothing but the music and remaining movements. Finally, the music notes fade out and the two of you come to a rest in the middle of the rink, the final position has Rin tipping your body backwards with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, as if you both were reaching for something just out of your grasp.

Thunderous roars ring in his flushed ears and you’re shooting him a look, eyes glassy and lips parting, possibly saying some sort of praise, but Rin can’t seem to focus. He’s too lost in thought, too distracted by the tenderness of the performance, the flashing lights, the way your chest is heaving in rapid waves, and didn’t realize he had been holding in his breath until you pulled him into a tight embrace.

Everything is just about perfect. Every jump, lift, and spin. He can already imagine the gold medal around his neck, and the thought of winning gold at the Grand Prix only makes the rest of his blood course through his veins faster.

Being a professional athlete again is… exhausting.

Rin spends the following day in back to back conferences and being introduced to people. Most of them end up being unremarkable and forgettable. A couple of them are rude and eccentric, with one guy in particular honing down Rin in a corner and bombarding him with questions both surrounding his performance last year and his personal life. You and Sae had to step in to diffuse the situation before Rin blew a hole in his career again.

By the end of the night, Rin debates whether he should switch careers because this shit is absolutely not for him. It’s no surprise to anyone that Rin hates being around people and this night he’s probably escaped to the restroom maybe about five times to catch a breather. And, while Rin is not the type to exactly care about his image, he absolutely does a full body inspection in the full body mirror every time before he steps back out. Each time he revisits a new wrinkle line forms.

And his brother hasn’t told him when it’ll be over.

Rin’s hands twitch after another self-proclaimed journalist finishes up a half-ass interview about his latest goals for this year. He pulls out his phone when they suggest giving out their contact information and Rin just zones out, tapping away gibberish in his notes app and nodding until they finally went away.

He feels like he’s going to vomit and pass out if this goes on any longer.

“You look like you’re about to freak out,” and of course, you have the decency to point that out as he’s made the fruit salad section his little hideaway spot. Turns out people really dislike any sort of fruit dishes at these fancy events.

“I’m not,” Rin muffles back, mouth stuffed with various chunks of honeydew and grapes. Even if it is true, he’ll never admit it, but it also does suck that he's stupidly easy to read. “The food just sucks here, that’s all.” The fruit isn’t that bad. Maybe just the strawberries.

“Whatever you say, partner,” you roll your eyes playfully, almost giggling at the nickname before taking a sip from the glass of champagne in your hands. “If you want, we can sneak out of here and explore the city.” It’s a suggestion but, from the way you’re smiling, Rin picks up that he can’t wiggle his way out of it.

But he tries anyway.

“Do you even know your way around?” He sounds vaguely concerned.

Sure, it’s been approximately two months since you’ve crashed and turned his life a complete 180, but you’re still new to the area and very much new to the country. Rin’s heard you picked up basic phrases from his brother to get around but it’s still nearly not enough to go and explore, especially late at night. And, rightfully so, he doesn’t plan on babysitting while you waltz around half tipsy off your mind after winning first place.

You fake a wound over your chest and gasp, hiccuping soon after. “I have maps on my phone! I already pinned and favorited a bunch of cute stores we can check out.”

Rin doesn’t know why you even bother throwing him into the equation considering it’ll clearly be stores you’ll like.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Sae’s sauntering over, a half empty glass of wine in hand, and his movement is a little sluggish, but he’s probably the only few sobered up person in the room aside from Rin.

“Out,” you reply with a casual shrug, as if Sae’s supposed to be satisfied with the answer.

“Out...” Sae echos before flickering his sudden sharp gaze over to Rin. He feels himself straightening up before he realizes. “You guys still have to make your statements to the press, you know that, right?”

“Can’t we do it after we get back?” You quickly dismiss Sae’s annoyed scrunch with a quick waft of a hand.

Rin really doesn’t want to stand in front of a bunch of drunken and overly zealous journalists right now if he doesn’t have to. The idea of visiting a few late night street vendors might just be his highlight for today.

“Hey,” Sae’s agitated voice snaps him out of his daze. “Are you seriously going out?”

Instead of providing his brother a proper answer, Rin takes a hold of your hands and throws his jacket over your bare shoulders. You were complaining earlier about losing yours, and the last thing he wants is a drunk and cold skating partner in the middle of the streets of Nagano.

2024 — NAGANO: JAPAN FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS

Posted 16 hours ago 278,293 views

Comments 543

[niCOnii] - 10 hours ago All these rin haters from earlier can eat my socks because i knew he would comeback!!! his partner ain’t half bad either tbh View 30 replies [klnen2003] - 9 hours ago GO TO THE VIDEO AT 4:45 and see how Rin looks at Y/N!!! There’s definitely something there, right??? View 12 replies [YOICHISAGI OFFICIAL] - 9 hours ago Can’t wait to see Rin Itoshi and Y/N L/N compete at the Grand Prix this year!! Let’s catch up sometime! View 154 replies [jiroMark8734] - 8 hours ago I dunno… isn’t it weird how they swept everyone else tho? Can’t tell me that they’re both not taking anything lmao [my_skates_my_life] - 7 hours ago Congrats to everyone for winning!! And thank you so much for posting this. LOVE FROM ARGENTINA!! [merhaba234] - 7 hours ago Rin’s always doing the same level type program both in technique and artistic. It’s refreshing to see something new!

TAGLIST - OPEN

@anurst @blissblossom @genneii @wooasecret @chaosinanutshell @kaiserkisser @rroxii @takotakigum @jaynawayna @peachesncats @sseishiross @izumi-astra-123 @sereniteav @pokkomi

a/n: im crawling on the ground,,, if anyone knows me: i love making rin suffer but please know its in a loving way. is his brother hotter? yeah. but does his brother have a sad backstory? yeah probably. either way, i love working w men with sibling complexes and his whole design basically oozes with melodrama. rin!!! you are gonna be in it for a surprise next chapter!! also apologies for the late update everyone hehe i dont have a set schedule for everything ;-; and my mind runs either at 500 miles an hour or 0 miles. as of late, life has gotten in the way of things and maybe i do need to stick with some sort of plan to make myself ... less stressed when creating content :> anyways, i love you guys!!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x female reader #cw: depression #cw: mental health

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spicybunni · 6 months

Text

YANDERE WATER NYMPHS SCENARIO

Hello darlings! I felt inspired from some art lately and decided to write it! Darling gets surrounded by a group of water nymphs💙 (here’s some art I did to visualize the story)

WARNINGS⚠️: Yandere tendencies, group teasing, groping, fem!darling/reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

💙It felt like there was no end to this forest. Only you could just keep walking.

💙The village you stayed at warned you about this place. The forest of haunting creatures and strange events happening. The journey through was taking longer than you expected. They estimated it was a day and a half travel to get through by following the path.

💙Since nobody ventures through the forest that often, the path in question slowly vanished after going a few miles in. You just kept trodding, wanting to get through.

💙Why did you insist on going through the forest? Because on the map it said it would only take two days to get to the great city. Any other way it would have taken four days. But you certainly were paying a price for it.

💙You were traveling all day long, parched for some fresh water to jump into. The blazing Sun was making you sweat through your clothes and warming your face, cheeks reddening.

💙After your tenth break in the shade under some trees you heard the nearby sound of a running creek.

💙‘Thank the heavens!’ You thought, getting on your feet again with newfound determination. If the creek was steady enough you could easily setup camp and plan a new way to get out of this cursed forest.

💙You were about to walk up a small hill that overlooks the creek down below. You heard a few giggles, making you stop all movements. Ducking down beneath the view of the hill, you slowly raise your head to see who is down below.

💙The view almost made you gasp in surprise. It was four half naked women basking in the cool water, gossiping and lightly splashing each other.

💙However, despite their normal appearance, you noticed that their hair colors and parts of their skin were strange. It looked as though the water was a part of them. ‘How strange..’

💙Respecting their privacy and also adhering the warnings the kind village people told you about, you decided you could travel more down the creek to set up camp.

💙But of course, the gods had no such plan for you.

💙Right as you were about lower your head to go down the dirt hill, you somehow made a few dirt clusters tumble down the hill. You seized up immediately hearing them go down but also because all the giggles and chatter stopped.

💙You glance back down to them all looking directly at you. Their eyes were darkened, making you still in movement.

💙In a moment of anxiety you stood up fully on the hill so they could see you meant no harm.

💙“G-Good evening! I’m just passing thro- OH F-“ Was all you were able to say before losing balance and taking a tumble down to them.

💙Before you could hit the dirt or rocks a wave enveloped you to cushion the fall. Then the water formed into one of the ladies holding onto your form. Her eyes glowed turquoise and her cheeks were blushed pink. Her arms held you steady against her. Her hair was dripping water onto your face, making you tremble by her beauty and strength.

💙Suddenly she turns her head to her group, cheerfully announcing “A maiden has tumbled to us ladies…What ever shall we do?…” then you hear those same giggles from the rest of them coming closer to inspect you.

💙 You suddenly realized…these were no ordinary women, these were nymphs!! How did you not see it sooner?!

💙Nervously laughing at your realization you try to back away from the one holding you. She puts no force to hold you but she prolongs her hand holding yours as you back away.

💙“Listen, I -Thank you, yes. Thank you for saving me there but I- I need to get going. I’m supposed to reach the nearby city by tomorrow so Uhm-“

💙They all exchanged glances to one another before laughing at your statement. It was like you were being made fun of but you didn’t know why.

“What neighboring village sweet girl?”

“Yes tell us all about it~”

“There is no neighboring village Maiden, you are in the center of our forest…”

“Why not stay with us fair Maiden? You never know what creeps in the night here..”

💙They came closer to you, making you back against a rock. The depth of the creek was deeper than you expected, coming up to your waist.

💙They surrounded you, their bright teeth smiling down at your blushing face. Their hands reached for your limbs. Grabbing, caressing, stroking, and rubbing your arms and legs. Whispering sweet compliments into your skin and trying to coax you to come deeper into the water with them.

💙Your face was as red as a pomegranate. Their constant fondling was making you beyond flustered. Desire was building in the pit of your stomach. The way they ran their hands through your hair, the way they gently rubbed your legs, and light graze of their finger nails on your back and forearms. You were simply putty in their hands.

💙They were talking about you as you slowly drifted into a blissed out nap.

“Look at her, oh maidens these days get cuter and cuter.”

You feel a hand stroke the side of your face.

“Her body is divine but her face is truly remarkable. One could almost bite her cheeks they’re so red!”

“Now, now. We mustn’t eat nor harm this maiden. I’d say she’s a gift from the gods! Nobody makes it out this far anymore, so let’s take care of this one…Right ladies?”

That’s all you could hear of their conversation before you completely knocked out. Going limp in their arms.

💙Even if you could resist, they would never let you leave, oh no. You are too much fun.

#darling reader #fem!reader #fem!darling #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere water nymph #yandere imagines #tw yandere

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wasabijean · 2 months

Text

‼️ART FOR DONATIONS TO PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS‼️

Hello! A few days ago I began kickstarting my own personal Art for Palestine Campaign on Twitter, and I’m bringing it over to Tumblr as well! By donating to the fundraisers linked below, I will draw you something!

Details on how to help are here!!⬇️⬇️

First, send proof of donation to this google form (I require a screenshot of receipt with name, amount donated and who you donated to.)

After receiving your form, I will then DM you on Tumblr, to let you know your place in queue on trello, and the Estimated time of completion for your art! I will send WIPs if asked.

Here is what to expect based on how much you donate, example drawings are in the google form, or search #my-art tag on my blog.

$1 - traditional full page notebook sketches

$5 - digital messy sketch

$10 - digital clean sketch black & white/monocolor shading

$15 - digital clean sketch with color

$30 - (2 people) digital clean sketch and color

($40 - Three people)

($50 - Four people)

$60 - Clean Rendered Portrait (simple background, bust up)

$100 - Clean Rendered Full body, full background, full color

5. And here is the list of fundraisers participating, please donate to ALL of them, not just one!

Aya & Mohammed - Both torn by the occupation, them and their families are trying to evacuate Gaza. Mohammed is a survivor of IOF imprisonment for 20 days without outside contact.

Farah & her family - A 20-year-old english translator studying at Al Azhar University, Farah is young and has already gone through much. She and her family are trying to cross the border in Rafah.

Mahmoud Mush - A Palestinian graduate with dreams of establishing his Bakery, all his work undone by the bombings. He is determined to rebuild and pursue his dream no matter what.

Dounia Tanani & her family - A Palestinian mother who graduated as a translator and has been left homeless like many others. She and her family are trying to evacuate Gaza and begin a new life to raise her child.

Ahmed Almofty & his family - He is a recent graduate in Gaza with a promising future, and now he has no home or possessions. Ahmed's future relies on rebuilding his families lives.

Sondos Maher & her family - She is a 27 year old mother of three children who runs a family vlogging channel and now is trying to get them out of Gaza.

Nagham & her family - She is a third year medical student in Gaza who hopes to escape to Canada where her Gaza-born brother, Yasmeen, resides. To start her life anew for her and her family, they need to be evacuated!

Issa & family - They are apart of a family of 6, two of which are college students, while their youngest child is 12 years old. They are trying to evacuate and continue their children's education!

Hafez & his daughters - He is a father two young and bright girls, Malak, a 5-year-old with a love for school and his baby Habiba, born during the occupation. Please donate so they stay healthy!

Mostfa and his family – A young Palestinian body builder who has broke many records and set a precedent for his community, he and his family suffers from the occupation and sickness caused by it.

I will add more fundraisers for those who would like to participate, just tell me and I will add on to this via reblog. Palestine will be free, and it starts with helping the people who need freeing.

#fanart #my art #osmosis jones #palestine #artists for palestine #donation art #art commisions #free palestine #ozzy & drix

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sweetyluvs · 9 months

Note

25 with ellie who wears pink cuz ist readers fav color??

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐬

MODERN! ellie williams x fem! reader

tags - just fluff<33

the bright pink color of the matching shirts in the display of Forever 21 caught your attention within milliseconds.

two bright, baby pink shirts with laced flower marks sewn in with hot pink string with the words “i’m hers” with an arrow pointing to each shirt had you foaming at the mouth.

Your feet carried you into the store faster than you’ve ever done anything, your heals announcing your entrance to the employee at the entrance. Her head turned towards you, a grin forming on her lips. “Hello, Ma’am. can I help you?”

“Yes! can i please purchase those two pink shirts on display?” you chirped, smiling back at her— happiness striding through you upon seeing her nod. “of course, what two sizes?”

“one medium in woman’s and one small, please”. the employee ran off to the back and you were left grinning ear to ear thinking about seeing ellie in such a cute shirt— her freckles being brought out perfectly, the embarrassed blush you knew she was going to have would be perfect with the shades of the top. You fiddled with your bracelet, that ellie had made you, while you wait for the employee to come out from the back.

when she did, you were sure she could feel your happiness because her polite employee grin seemed to turn genuine. “Thank you so much! i hope you have a wonderful day!!” you thanked her profusely, excitement running through your veins as you waved bye and rushed out of the store— deciding to take a detour from your shopping time to go home early and surprise your girlfriend.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ellie’s soul practically left her body upon hearing the front door of your shared apartment slam open with such force. The otter pop in her mouth falling from between her lips and to her stomach, leaking through her white wife beater tank top and freezing her.

“what the— ouch! fuck.” she reacted quickly to the sudden cold by flicking the popsicle off her, standing up, she went to see who was at the door— (and she left the otter pop on the floor.)

She slowly approached, light shuffling could be heard, but no signs of life. ellie rose a brow.

“Babe? is that you?” she asked skeptically, popping her head around the walls corner to see who was making all the ruckus.

to her surprise, and her relief, it was you. You were home two hours earlier than you usually are. Ellie sigh a breath of relief, putting a hand to her chest, leaning against the wall.

“you’re home early. someone die?” she teased, dropping her hands to her side. You turned to her, a giant smile taking over your whole face.

Ellie knew she should be happy to see it— but deep down, she was scared. scared of what you’ve brought home this time.

She gulped, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards you. “i know that smile.. bring home another cat?” she bit out, watching as you only smirked at her. “oh, ellie. not this time. i found something better.”

“better than a cat? wow.”

“Turn around.” she rose a brow, lips creasing.

“do i have to—”

“turn around, ellie.” you interrupted, putting a hand up to cover your smile. She did as told, spinning on her heal but keeping her green eyes wide open.

The bags on the table she didn’t get the chance to fully look at began to shuffle. She could hear your new things being taken out and placed on the table.

You shifted, seemingly putting something on before letting out a squeak of excitement that had ellie in fear.

“Okay, els, turn back.”

Ellie inhaled, exhaling as she turned towards you. There you were— your cute smile on your lips, but the most god awful hideous shirt on you ellie had ever seen. The worst part? you held up an identical one.

Ellie’s throat went dry, all sign of life leaving her body the moment her face went pale.

“try it on. I got your size.” you beamed, eyes scanning her before blowing wide. “you stained that top? we just got it.. this is actually perfect. Now you have a replacement.” You tossed the shirt onto her chest, leaning on your hip waiting for her to put it on.

The grin on your face was the only thing keeping the auburn haired girl from running away like she had all the previous times.

Ellie groaned lightly, a huff of air escaping her. curse your adorable smile.

She unfolded the shirt, her biceps showing their muscle as she went to put it on. she was slightly disappointed to say it fit perfectly— ellie was going to protest wearing it, but than she saw the look on your face. You were euphoric.

You hadn’t looked this happy since.. well, the cat. and a few other times…

“oh my gosh, it’s perfect!! now we can wear them together.” you hugged her, smiling so widely she could feel it from where your face was buried in her chest. Ellie felt her cheeks heat up from embarrassment, hugging you back quickly before you pulled back, admiring your work. and the blush on her cheeks you knew would come.

“do you like it?” you asked, eyes gleaming brightly, lips puffed out, smiling wildly up at ellie. Said girls heart stopped, and shattered for a moment upon the look that might cross your face upon hearing her truthful answer— so she.. improvised.

“Yeah, totally, love it. looks great. good choice, babe.” she complimented, bending down to kiss your cheek. You began to talk about how you found it, why you thought of her etc.

You’re lucky ellie loves you so much, because she would have never worn this pink shit for anyone else.

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howaboutcastiel · 1 year

Text

An expansion on The Apostate… (18+)

(Btw I’m definitely using this GIF again)

When Din first took off his helmet, all you could do was stare at each other for a good half an hour. That is, once he finally got the courage to look up at you. He was too shy to meet your eyes for a moment, but then they were glued to you. Seeing you through the visor wasn’t the same as seeing you. Not really. Your color was so much more vivid. He could see the details of your skin. He could see the individual hairs on the top of your head. Din was captivated.

You were captivated, too. He was not what you had expected under there—not at all. You knew from his hands that he had olive skin. You knew from the age in his step that he wasn’t a young man anymore. That was all you ever deciphered, though. The rest had been a mystery. So, you were shocked when the helmet lifted to a strong jawline with patchy brown stubble. Pink, plump lips that were raw from biting were slightly parted. His pearly teeth were gritted. The helmet revealed his wide, pointed nose and his giant brown eyes. Loose brown curls stuck in odd directions once freed, but your attention went back to those eyes.

Deep brown, just barely a shade lighter than black, and bigger than you could have imagined. They were round, soft. They sparkled where the firelight hit them and they looked at you with awe and fear that you couldn’t comprehend. His eyelashes were thick, framing his irises in a rim of black that made him look a little bit less frightened. Wrinkles formed a fan on the outer edges. It was nice to know that, under the helmet, he still smiled a lot.

You reached out to touch him—touch the one part of him that you’d not been allowed to—but Din wasn’t ready yet. He tilted away, just out of reach.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

He shook his head absently. “Don’t be. I just—”

Din’s eyes flashed from the helmet to you and back. He bit at his lip. “It’s a lot of new things for one day.”

It was for you, too. You had no trouble continuing to ogle him until he was finally ready for you to touch him. He cleared his throat and you snapped back to reality. You couldn’t take your eyes off of this new, peculiar face. You imagined it under the helmet through all of your fondness memories of him. Some of them fit better than others.

“Can I go first?” He asked. You tilted your head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

He stuttered. “I just mean that—I want to control how fast we go. I don’t want you to try to touch me first.”

You smiled at him. “Whatever you need.”

Those big brown eyes stayed locked on yours as he took your hand in his. He guided your palm up to his cheek, cupping it against his skin. Din sat like that for a moment, soaking in the warmth from your hand. He shuddered and guided your fingertips to run along his bottom lip. You felt the broken, chewed surface run along your hand. He seemed to be feeling a sensation equally as wild. He was completely bewildered.

After a full minute of running your hands along his face, Din dropped your arm from his hold. He looked at you with a terrified glance for a split second, then pulled your head toward his face. The feeling was awkward at first—it wasn’t like Din had had any practice with kissing—but he quickly fell into a simple, reserved rhythm. He kept kissing you. And kissing you. And kissing you. Then he got impatient with himself. His mouth moved more aggressively. He wedged your lips apart, venturing deeper into your mouth until he was making out with you with feverishness. Your hands came up to hold the sides of his head and he moaned into you. He was kissing you so hard that he couldn’t get enough air. But he couldn’t get enough of you, either.

He’d only ever felt your lips with his hands, and even that had been a new step for him. Now he was kissing you. His lips were on yours—he was kissing you. And he would be damned if he was going to deprive himself any longer. His mouth moved against yours until he was in real danger of fainting. He only pulled back to pant for air.

“My lips will still be here tomorrow,” you joked when you noticed the shame on his face. Even on his tan skin, his face flushed bright pink whenever he was flustered.

“That was long overdue, Mesh’la.” He laid flat against the bed, smiling dumbly at the ceiling as if he was seeing all the stars in the galaxy. His lips were puffed and dark. He ran his tongue absently along his bottom lip.

“I want to feel the rest of you,” he said. “I want to kiss every inch of your skin. I need to know what it feels like against my lips.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I think you should catch your breath first.”

He nodded in agreement, still panting. Din shut his eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

“Come touch me again.”

You ran the pads of your fingers along every inch of his head, starting at his collarbone and slowly moving up. He especially liked when your thumb moved across his cheekbone. He audibly gasped when your fingers grazed the tops of his ears. Din was in utter bliss as you studied his face. You wanted the feeling permanently etched in your mind. The perfect image of him burned into your head.

His breath had steadied by the time you had felt every part of his face. Din kept his eyes on you at first while he bent down to kiss your stomach, but he quickly got lost in the feeling to much to keep them open at all. He kissed your arms, your chest, your neck. He kissed your belly and your thighs and even between your shoulder blades. Din covered as much area as he could before he grew tired of his exploration. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interest—not even close. It was simply that Din couldn’t go on another minute without your lips on his.

It didn’t even escalate to sex. It couldn’t. Somehow, this felt so much more intimate than any of the times that Din had fucked you. He couldn’t spoil this night with frisky feelings. This was too special to him. It was serene and it was spiritual, and he could kiss you for hours and never get tired.

That was to say—he did kiss you for hours and he did get tired. And hungry. And finally being able to eat a meal with you? Not having to go into the other room or turn his back to you and lift his helmet halfway for each bite of food?

Din would happily forgo sex for the night, just to finally be able to break bread with you.

That was it. The whole night was kissing and caressing and eating food. And Din’s big brown eyes couldn’t look away from you for more than a moment. They never stopped looking bewildered, not for the whole night.

And when the two of you finally went to sleep that night—when he got to hold you in his arms and bury his face in your neck—Din slept better than he had since he was a boy.

And when you woke up in the morning, those wide, dark eyes and that big, dumb smile were there to greet you.

You could get used to this.

~~~~

Idk I just wanted to write it. @romanarose @oscarisaacsspit @rmoonstoner @moonmoonboys @theaussiedragon @joyful-soul-collector @astrolockley @softlyspector @davosmymaster @luvpedropascal @campingwiththecharmings @vermillionsails @missdictatorme I hope it’s okay to tag you all???

I think I made the reader GN but I didn’t proofread

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #Star Wars the mandalorian #Star Wars #Mando #Masterlist

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danaewrites · 20 days

Text

Helmet Over Heels

part iii: harder to hide than i thought

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 4.2k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

the first part of this chapter is very much inspired by Space Song by Beach House. imagining the pretty lights of hyperspace instead of the slope fields i’m working on in calculus has kept me sane, so hopefully you beautiful readers have as much fun with that as i did!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv coming soon!

You slowly stirred to consciousness, face scrunching up at the heat of the sun on your face. Memories flowed back to you in disjointed flashes, slowly piecing together the setting of your current prone, relaxed state.

You’d spent the night mesmerized by the bright lights of hyperspace that lit up the darkness beyond the ship’s windows, fighting the sleep that threatened to lower your eyelids. You tried your best to remain quiet and allow Mando to pilot you through the galaxy in peace, but you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out when the white beams momentarily faded into pastel shades of lilac and chartreuse. His helmet snapped sharply towards you at the sudden noise, tensed shoulders only relaxing once he saw the awed expression on your face.

“You haven’t seen this before?” He sounded surprised, and for a moment you felt embarrassment twist in your stomach at your lack of travel experience. He sighed, baritone turning low and thoughtful. “Come here.” He gestured for you to lean closer to him, directing your attention to a small cluster of dots on the navigation holoscreen.

“We’re passing through the Cresser Nebula. The original star died too recently for the dust to fully disperse,” he explained. “The extra material makes the hyperspace tunnel thinner for a moment– those colors are the new stars forming outside of it in the leftover gas.” He spoke with an unexpected patience, and you wondered whether he’d learned it from attempting to teach Grogu. In your experience, trying to keep the green baby’s focus for longer than a minute was a constant challenge.

You’d hung onto his careful speech, memorizing every detail as he continued his quiet tour of the cosmos. It was the first time you’d ever truly heard about the intricacies of space; your overwhelming focus on surviving Nath’s harsh environment generally took up any extra time you could’ve used to learn about the rest of the galaxy. You didn’t intend to let a single lesson of his go to waste, not when you were finally free to hear them.

You snuck a glance at the reflection of his silver helmet in the arched window, admiring how the lights shimmered across the beskar. You wondered what he was looking at beneath the metal mask: the pretty blur of hyperspace, his blinking console, or maybe the tiny lever where Grogu’s ball rested? There was just so much to watch, from the endlessly flickering radar screen to the breathtaking display of deep space beyond the glass paneling. You didn’t think you’d ever get sick of the view; you’d stay on his ship for the rest of your life if it meant you could enjoy the peace of hyperspace every night. Despite your pondering, his visor gave nothing away, and you forced yourself to pull your eyes away before he caught you staring.

The quiet rhythm of his steady, modulated breaths beside you only added to the calmness that settled into your fatigued bones. Eventually, your exhausted brain must have shuttled you away to dreamland somewhere in the trance of hyperspace. Maybe you had been more tired than you thought, because you certainly didn’t remember bringing a blanket this comfortable back to your seat. You were wrapped in something thick and warm, a soothing contrast to the cool leather beneath your thighs.

A tiny sigh found its way out of your mouth as you pressed your face into the soft fabric, shielding yourself from the daylight before you were forced to face reality once again. Stars, but it was lovely. The faint smell of woodsmoke and vetiver and something mechanical—blaster grease, maybe—enveloped you as you melted into the cloth, overwhelmingly reminded of days spent playing in your family’s workshop back on Odala. You’d forgotten so much of what life was back then, simple and joyful, but this tiny luxury of sensation brought back some of those precious memories.

A quiet inhalation echoed from above you and your eyes snapped open. You jolted up from the cool leather of the passenger seat to see Mando paused mid-step before you, helmet tilted towards where you had snuggled into the blanket. You looked down to see that the blanket was not a blanket at all; it was, in fact, his own deep grey cloak that you were clutching like it was your child. Your face flamed and you quickly relaxed your grip, awkwardly smoothing out the areas where your hands had wrinkled the charcoal fabric.

Had he given you the cloak? You didn’t think you had a habit of sleepwalking, and there was no way he’d have been unaware of you somehow snatching it in the night. Grogu was still wherever he’d been dropped off, so his shenanigans couldn’t have been involved. That left the most logical option– that Mando had been the one to settle the soft fabric against you in the darkness of the cockpit.

You felt your cheeks flush again, this time from acknowledgement of the unexpectedly thoughtful action. You knew that following the temptation of that warm feeling led to nothing but danger. You couldn’t risk messing up the best thing that’d happened to you since you escaped your ruined homeworld, but… it’d been so long since anyone tried to take care of you, even with a gesture that small. Your traitorous heart beat a little faster at the thought.

“I— have you been awake long?” You spoke sheepishly, hoping to distract him from the messy tangles in your hair and the redness left on your cheek from being pressed into the seat all night. You were sure you looked ridiculous, though the Mandalorian appeared perfectly polished as usual. The mud and soot from the previous day’s activities had been scrubbed from his armor, replaced with a subtle shine.

“No.” He dragged his glance away, moving past you to flip a series of switches above the pilot’s seat. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, feeling the Crest settle onto the ground with a muffled thunk. You opened your eyes to find that the sunlit clouds of the atmosphere had disappeared, in its place an arid desert with a bright metropolis of a city on the horizon. The planet’s name was Nevarro; according to the navscreen, it was located in the Outer Rim. You had landed near its titular city, an old trading stop and the location of the Bounty Guild’s main headquarters.

“The kid’s been staying with some old friends here. Sent them a comm that I’d be coming today,” Mando said as he straightened from his position crouched over the controls.

You nodded, tugging your shirt down from where it had risen up over your abdomen when you slept. A frown creased your forehead as you stared at the worn piece of fabric. You hadn’t had the chance to retrieve the rest of your minimal wardrobe before leaving Nath– the swarm of angry citizens around your rental pod had made sure of that. If you were to survive the wide range of galactic temperatures while traveling with Mando, you’d definitely need a few more outfits. You made a mental note to persuade him to make a market detour before leaving the city.

Mando opened the cockpit doors with a pressurized hiss, and you scrambled down the ladder after him. Your eyes wandered over the tidy hull of the ship, surprised at how neatly-kept it was now that you were seeing it in full light. It was bigger than you expected, too. There was enough space for a cramped but functional ��fresher, tucked beside what appeared to be a bedroom. You caught a glimpse of a miniature hammock suspended across a corner of the small room. That must be where Grogu slept, if the little red sheet hanging off the edge was anything to go by. Beneath it, you noticed a set of dark, slightly-wrinkled blankets stretched across a lowered bed frame.

Your eyes widened slightly as you realized that Mando must have slept there sometime after you passed out. It was oddly intimate, seeing proof that even the armored bounty hunter had human needs. At least, you assumed he was human, from his shape and voice. You’d spent longer than you’d willingly admit imagining what he might look under the layered beskar, eventually coming to the conclusion that a pair of green ears would definitely not fit under the helmet. The father and son didn’t appear to share any physical characteristics, and you wondered what their story was. Hopefully, you’d find out some of that information while taking care of Grogu.

Your attention focused back on the rest of the hull, eyes tracing the supplies stacked neatly by the net-lined walls with evident curiosity. Mando gestured to a dark set of doors by the ship’s entrance. “That’s the carbonite freezer. I’d suggest you stay away from those buttons, unless you want to travel like a bounty,” he warned.

You eyed the area with trepidation and nodded. He seemed satisfied with your response, pressing another set of buttons until the boarding ramp lowered. “Behind the cockpit is the galley– it’s not much, but you’re welcome to use it.”

You nodded again, relieved that you wouldn’t have to subsist on flavorless ration packets while traveling. Maybe you’d even have the time to experiment with a few new dishes– a luxury not afforded to you during your hectic hours at the cantina. “What are Grogu’s favorite foods?”

“Anything that hops,” the Mandalorian grumbled, tone quickly filling with exasperation. “He’s not picky when he’s on the ship, but take him outside for a minute and the kid’ll have eaten all the frogs in a damn parsec.”

Your mouth quirked up as you imagined the little green child stuffing his face with whatever unfortunate amphibian dared to go near him. Like father, like son, you supposed. Those hunting skills had to be passed on somehow.

“And you?”

Mando paused his descent onto the ramp, clearly caught off guard by your question.

“What meals do you prefer?” You clarified, mind wandering to all of the dinners you’d saved for him back at the cantina. You could never quite determine which he liked best, since the bowls were always scraped clean no matter what you put in them. You weren’t sure whether that said more about your ability as a chef or the lack of actual food aboard the Crest. “I’m more of a fresh fruit and vegetables person myself, we never got much of those back on Nath,” you admitted.

He coughed, modulated voice rough with surprise. “I— whatever you make is fine.” You remained silent, fixing him with an expectant look. Men.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke, “I liked the spicy orange stew.” At your blank look, he continued. “With the little… bread pockets?”

Your eyebrows raised at that, and you hummed thoughtfully as you remembered the dish he was talking about. “Oh– the napethsh curry!”

That had definitely been one of your finer culinary moments. Your boss had brought in packets of rich, aromatic spice powder that morning for the day’s special– a rare, delicious find. You’d carefully shaken them into a savoury pot of sandgrain with the last of the sweet tubers, alternating between stirring the dish and flipping fried bread puffs on the pan next to it. Your eyes had fluttered shut in pure appreciation when you’d finally tasted your handiwork, and if Mando’s reaction had been at all similar— well, you couldn’t blame him for wanting more.

“Spicy food, huh. I can work with that.” You beamed up at him, visions of fragrant curries dancing in your head as you followed him into the sandy landscape. You’d bet a fair amount of credits that a market on a desert planet like Nevarro would have no lack of spice vendors. If your haggling skills were up to par, Mando might get his wish granted faster than expected.

***

The Crest had landed within a reasonable distance of Nevarro, but when you finally reached the metropolis you felt as if you’d been walking for miles. It would take some time for you to get used to the feeling of intense heat on your skin instead of the bone-chilling Nathian winds.

All your discomfort, however, was quickly forgotten as you entered the city. Terracotta buildings lined the narrow, twisting streets; each structure featured no less than four oval windows and was topped with a dome that curved to a sharply pointed apex. Vibrantly dyed clothes fluttered in the desert wind, carefully draped across thin lines of rope that criss-crossed over the alleyways. You watched as a group of laughing children weaved between the booths of haggling vendors in their pursuit of a hovering disc. It was noisy and cramped and reminded you so much of home that your breath caught in your chest.

You didn’t notice that you’d stopped walking until Mando called your name, breaking the spell the warm environment had put on you. Your gaze snapped up to see the beskar-clad man paused several paces in front of you. Kriff. Had you really been that lost in thought?

“Sorry, I– got distracted,” you offered sheepishly, almost tripping over a loose cobblestone in an effort to catch up. “Where are we headed?”

“There’s a school here, where the old Guild headquarters used to be.” Your armored companion adjusted something on his helmet, scanning the area before he motioned for you to follow him down a less-crowded street. “Don’t know whether the kid likes the lessons or stealing his classmates’ lunches more,” he grumbled under his breath. You gave a small chuckle at that, remembering Grogu’s endless attempts at sneaking a treat from the bar whenever your back was turned.

You stayed close to Mando as he led the way through Nevarro’s crooked streets, gawking at the liveliness that seemed to infect the entire town. People smiled at each other as they passed, shouting multilingual greetings from across the busy pathways. It was so very different from Nath, where the most interaction you’d get in a week outside of your work was a couple of suspicious glares from the old women selling fish on the street corners. You’d felt so isolated there, but here your mood was buoyed by the warm spirit that lit up each face you passed with a genuine expression.

Mando stopped near the doorway of a round, sandy building on the edge of the town square. Despite the darkness of the clover-shaped entrance, you could still see the faint outlines of desks and hear the sound of excited children talking over each other. A tall man draped with a regal–looking cloak leaned against the school’s wall next to an imposing, muscular woman. His face brightened as Mando approached– something rather unusual, considering that most people were terrified that he’d been sent to capture them.

“Karga,” the beskar-clad man in front of you acknowledged with a dip of his helmet.

“Ah, that’s Magistrate Karga to you, Mando!” The dark-skinned man boomed jovially, stepping forward. “Things have changed since your last visit,” he continued. “Nevarro isn’t just a dusty pit stop anymore.” He spread his arm wide, gesturing to the bustling town square, and you privately agreed with his assessment.

Mando gave a short nod, then shifted the conversation to more important matters. “Where’s the kid?”

“He should be finishing school any moment now–” Karga was interrupted by your excited gasp.

“Hi, bug!”

You stepped out from the tall Mandalorian’s shadow, beaming down at the little brown bundle speed-waddling towards you. You crouched down to his height and opened your arms, laughing at his excited babbling. “Yeah, I missed you too.” You were completely sincere, despite the teasing tone of your voice. The kid’s antics brought a lightness to your life that you didn’t know you needed until he came along.

“Mando, you didn’t tell me you brought a friend!” Karga exclaimed, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “And such a lovely one at that,” he continued, bending with a dramatic flourish of a bow. “Now you don’t have to call me Magistrate, just Greef will do,” he winked.

You were pretty sure Mando was rolling his eyes underneath his helmet, if his crossed arms were anything to go by, and you refrained from doing the same. You knew men like Karga back on Nath– charming and flirtatious, but only to the extent that it benefited their ambitions. You were more flattered by the thought that he’d deemed you important enough to impress than by his actual words.

Still, you gave him a good-natured smile and introduced yourself as you bent down to pick up Grogu. “Your city is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you complimented the Magistrate, holding in a laugh at the way his chest puffed up.

“So how’d someone like you wind up with him?” The muscular woman beside him asked with blunt honesty, cocking her head towards the Mandalorian. She crossed her leather-bound arms, clearly interested in your response.

“Oh, I’m Grogu’s–” you paused, looking over at Mando as you tried to think of the right descriptor. You hadn’t exactly discussed job titles in the twelve hours you’d been employed by him, and you didn’t want to accidentally offend him by implying the wrong level of familiarity. And it wasn’t like you could just tell them you’d knocked his shiny butt into a snowbank, beginning a beautiful friendship of riding rainbow Mythosaurs into the sunset and exploding the occasional Tradoshan and/or cantina along the way. Although… the idea was rather tempting, if only to see how Mando would react.

“Caretaker,” the armored man finished for you, and you sent him a grateful look. The muscular woman next to him smirked, appraising you before extending her hand.

“Cara Dune. Ex-Rebel-shocktrooper, current Marshal of Nevarro,” she introduced herself with a wink. You instantly liked her, despite the intimidating aura she exuded. Her frankness appealed to you— it was a welcome reprieve from the icy insincerity Nath’s citizens wrapped their hearts in, tighter than their winter cloaks.

Karga rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Well now, Mando, we have some business to discuss. Marshal Dune will show your friend to the market, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me,” he spoke, gesturing to the tall, sloped capitol at the forefront of the plaza.

Mando remained where he stood, helmet tilting towards you. “Get her to the medcenter first. Have them take care of her face before anything else.” He instructed the Marshal. You winced as the unsightly gash across your cheekbone twinged, a reminder of why you were here in the first place.

“Hmm. What’s in it for me?” She cocked an eyebrow at the armored man. “I’m a busy woman these days, I can’t always be making detours…”

“Dune,” he warned, tone supremely unimpressed.

The dark-haired woman’s smug grin widened. “Yes, sir,” she spoke, raising her arm in a mockery of a salute. “Didn’t realize it was that serious.” She nudged your arm, giving you a knowing once-over as she walked past the beskar-plated man. “Alright, then. Medcenter it is.”

You turned to leave with her, but the cool press of beskar on your forearm paused you in your tracks. You angled your head up to meet Mando’s gaze– or at least, where you assumed his eyes were beneath the beskar– with a questioning look. He tilted his head toward the bustling streets and pressed a handful of credits into your palm.

“Get whatever you need. We won’t be stopping at another market for a few weeks,” he instructed, and you nodded gratefully as you tucked them into a secure pocket of your tunic.

Suddenly, Grogu cooed, grabbing for the remaining credits glistening at the top of the pouch that hung from Mando’s belt. His unexpected movement caused you to stumble forward, just barely catching yourself as he slipped out of your arms. You frantically tried to regain your clutch on the child before he could scamper away, but Mando had already beaten you to it, holding him firmly in place on the cobblestone road.

To your surprise, the armored man crouched down and fixed his son with a rather intimidating head tilt. “Hey. Don’t do that again,” he warned the green toddler, who blinked up at him with guileless eyes. “You’re going to behave for her,” he reminded Grogu sternly. “Or no coloring book.”

That did the trick. Grogu immediately turned to you, lower lip trembling and arms outstretched in repentance. You raised an eyebrow, but allowed him to climb back up into your embrace. Your mouth quirked to the side as you looked back up at Mando.

“You still have the coloring book?” You asked, eyes crinkled with surprise.

The Mandalorian scoffed. “It’s a miracle Karga was able to wrestle it from him before school.”

Your lips curved into a delighted smile, pleased that you’d judged the kid’s artistic interest correctly. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I’m excited to see what he’s made,” you grinned up at the beskar-covered man. Your gaze lingered on him for a moment, watching the desert sun flicker across his helmet as Grogu nestled into your arms.

“Hey! You coming or what?” Both of your heads snapped to where Cara was standing at the end of the road, hands on her hips and a curious look on her face. You stammered out a sheepish apology and raced over, but when the Marshal’s attention was diverted, you couldn’t resist looking back at the silhouette of the armored man. You gave him a tiny wave, holding in a giggle at the way Grogu mimicked your action.

The Mandalorian raised his gloved hand, subtly returning the gesture. You spun back to the street with a hidden smile.

***

As promised, Cara led you to the medcenter, where you waited for a nurse droid to patch your face up with a bacta kit. The building was unlike any you’d ever been in; light shone through stained–glass skylights onto the woven cushions where prospective patients rested, the scent of cinnamon and sanitizing solutions mixing to form an odd but not entirely unpleasant aroma in the air.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Mando?”

“What?” Your confused expression made her lean back on her cushion with a lighthearted scoff.

“Oh, come on. He doesn’t let just anybody stay around his kid. I had to fight off a damn Imperial invasion to get him to trust me,” she muttered, eyeing you. You blinked in surprise, then remembered that she’d been a Shocktrooper before Nevarro. Of course Mando would need someone with those terrifying skills in his line of work.

“So what’d you have to do? Rescue another alien child? Blow up a prison?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, letting Grogu toy with your fingers. The cantina wasn’t a prison, but explosives were definitely involved. You figured you were dancing on the right side of the truth.

Cara shook her head in mock exasperation. “Mandalorians. Always gotta be something with them.” She grinned, all teeth. “Good thing I like demolition.”

You shot her a wry grin, opening your mouth to ask her how she’d wound up on Nevarro. Unfortunately, the droid chose that moment to spray you straight in the eyes with aerosolized sanitizer. You yelped in pain, scrambling to direct its robotic arm to the right location before you wound up needing bacta for more than one spot on your face.

Once you’d finally gotten the droid under control and your treatment grudgingly paid for, you headed out to the market with directions from Cara– all previous questions forgotten in the stinging wake of the sanitizer. You’d parted with a promise to return with stories about your travels with Mando and the kid. Mostly, she wanted to know if there was any exciting conflict in the center of the galaxy that she could jump into. You had a feeling she wouldn’t stay as Nevarro’s Marshal for too long; you recognized the thirst for adventure that gleamed in her eyes all too well.

Your time in the market was far too short, even though you’d spent the better part of a day there. You’d happily wandered through the streets, wonder etched into the lines of your face at the sheer variety of wares hawked at every turn. You’d trained yourself to be frugal, determined to buy only the essentials and save the rest for your future travels, but here even the barest necessities were crafted with care.

Sweet, earthy jasmine soap that surrounded you with a peaceful aroma; impossibly soft textiles that shimmered enticingly in the sun; bittersweet fruit that melted into a soothing wave of liquid in your mouth. Nevarro was a land of plenty indeed, you mused as you pored over a vendor’s towering collection of cheese.

You returned to the school as the sun sunk beneath the horizon, a drowsy green child on one arm and a basket of supplies on the other. You said your goodbyes to Karga and left, Mando’s bounty belt now four pucks heavier. The two of you ambled back to the ship in peaceful silence, Grogu asleep in your arms and the soft glow of the night lanterns glimmering on curved beskar.

Unbeknownst to the bounty hunter, a tiny jar of dried nari peppers rested in your back pocket. It’d taken you ages to choose from the tables of spicy seasonings, but you finally decided on this one despite its exorbitant price. You planned to surprise him with it on some sort of special occasion– maybe a birthday, or a holiday. It had been too long since you’d had cause to celebrate anything, really, and you were determined to seize any little chance you could. Hm. Did either of your new roommates even have birthdays? You’d have to wrest that information out of Mando eventually. But for now, you were content to just walk next to him in the moonlight, city hubbub fading away into the quiet whisper of the sand.

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read on: part iv coming soon!

#baby yoda #friends to lovers #clan of two #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin angst #din djarin fic #best friends to lovers #fem reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #slow burn

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writeawaythepain · 21 days

Text

Oblivious

Tango Tek x (gn!reader)

Anybody else really miss watching Tango’s videos when he left?

Word count: 2.4 k

Prompts:

“I would be nervous too in your shoes. But you’d be telling me that I got this, so I’m telling you: You got this.”

Doing each other's hair.

Summary:

You convince Tango to finally take a break from his new big redstone project by inviting him over for a sleepover. You start to wonder if it was even a good idea, as your normal teasing back-and-forth banter starts to hit a little too close to home when you realize your crush for the redstoner was just getting worse…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“I would be nervous too, in your shoes,” I try to reassure him with a smile. “ But you’d be telling me that I got this, so I’m telling you: You got this.” You look directly into his fiery red eyes.

“….Aaaa- you’re just making me more stressed!!” Tango yells out dipping the nail polish brush back into the bottle. “Why am I even so stressed?!”

“Cause I made your nails fabulous, and if you mess mine up I’ll never forgive you.” You answer simply, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

“You did do my nails fabulously, you did…but I think I’m actually going to go for a more abstract look-'' He flashes you a mischievous smile as he slowly lowers the brush closer to your finger, and nowhere near where your actual nail was. You instantly pull away, gasping in mock offense.

“Don’t you dare-“ You start.

“Wha -at, do you not trust me?!” He says snickering. You eye him suspiciously.

”Not when you say things like that!”

Your plan for making sure Tango took a break from his new big project was going well so far. Sure you felt a little childish when bringing up the idea of a sleepover, but Tango’s enthusiasm dashed most of your concerns instantly…Most, that is, except for your growing concern that you may love your friend in more ways than just platonic….

You usually always push those feelings to the back burner, not wanting to ruin the thing you two already had going, but seeing the way he stuck out his tongue in concentration while still managing to get polish all over your finger wasn’t helping. ”How are you so bad at this?“ You tease, smiling.

”I- you shush! I’m trying, ok! You keep squirming-“ He says trying to readjust his positioning by grabbing and tilting your hand slightly.

”I’m not squirming! I’m laughing. At you.” You say still giggling. He huffs, and eventually decides that his technique wasn’t working, and decides to try a new one. He gets up from his cross-legged position on the floor, pulling his knees up and toward himself to form a resting place for your wrist. His grip on your hand tightens a little as he yanks you closer.

”Just shut up and come here-” The rest of your body follows your hand, and you scooch closer to him, shutting up. Tango doesn’t even seem to notice your close proximity, too focused on trying to paint your nails neatly. After a few more beats of flustered (on your part) silence, he looks up beaming. “There, first hand done!”

You blink, your brain still catching up, before you inspect his work. The first finger he did was quite bad- unevenly painted and there was some color accidentally splotched onto your skin. But each nail got progressively better, and all in all… “Well- I’ve had worse. And I like the color!” He’d picked a bright red for you, a shade that reminded you of his bright eyes. You picked your favorite color for his nails, and you now wonder if he did the same.

”Ok- ok! See- I’m learning!” He says before holding out his hand again, “other one?”

You give him your other hand, and are forced to look at his adorably concentrated face again as he paints your other nails. You start talking to distract yourself. “So I assume this is your first time ever doing this?”

”Zed’s painted my nails before- but it was with some kinda poison for one of his science-y experiment-o thingies.” If he had been talking about anyone else you might’ve questioned it, but it was Zedaph, so you weren’t really even surprised. “I’ve never painted someone else’s before- no.” He responds not looking up, still entirely focused.

”Really, I couldn’t tell?” You say sarcasm dripping from your voice as you smile. He looks up at you for a second just to roll his eyes.

“I thought I told you to shush-“ He says, almost scolding if it wasn’t for the smile on his face. He rolls his shoulders, and it seems like being hunched over in concentration was starting to make him sore, so he instead leans back a little, pulling you even closer, and holds your forearm between his knees. Ok- this was getting ridiculous, there was no way your face wasn’t getting a bit red now.

“Do you want me to just detach my hand and give it to you?” You laugh trying to keep your composure.

”No- “ He laughs, seemingly oblivious to your suffering. “-I like you just as you are, all in one piece thanks.” You chuckle, looking anywhere but directly at him until he finally finishes, and releases your hand. ”Done! Now don’t you look absolutely fanta-bulous! The color really suits you-“ He cheers, sending you a wink that makes you wonder if he was doing this on purpose.

The second hand looks even better than the first, and if you were being honest, it really warmed your heart that he tried so hard. “It does look great, the red makes me feel like a model.” You pose in a silly vogue showing off your nails as if in a commercial, and it succeeds in making Tango laugh. He tries a pose of his own, showing off his nails in front of his face and pursing his lips. He looks at you, and winks. You burst out laughing, and he joins in as you both have goofy smiles on your face. When your laughing finally calms down, Tango looks up at you.

”So, what else do you usually do at sleepovers?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

”Well…me and my friends would sometimes play truth or dare, or do each other's hair-“ Tango’s eyes light up.

“Why not both! Though, I don’t think there’s much you can do with this mop on my head-“ He responds pointing at his spikey blonde hair, “I kinda just have to let it do what it wants.”

You squint at it, sizing up his hairdo like it was a challenge. “I think I can figure something out…”

”Go ahead! Be my guest.” He says sitting up and taking off the goggles he had on.

You get up to grab some supplies from the bathroom, before returning and kneeling down behind him, trying to find a longer chunk of hair that you can work with. Satisfied with finding a section near his pointy ears, you start braiding. “Right, you go first. Truth or dare?”

”Well, I can’t really move- so truth? I did not think this through, huh?” He chuckles, and you pull on his hair slightly to keep him still.

”Stop moving!” You say, laughing as well. You think for a second, trying to come up with a good question. “Ok…When you first met me, what was your first impression of me?”

Tango smiles, and flushes slightly as he thinks back on the moment, remembering it fondly. You're too focused to notice. “Well- If I’m being a hundred percent honest. I just thought you looked really cool! But in kinda a like- a slightly intimidating way, you know?” You spare him an odd look.

”Really?” You ask, finishing up the first little braid before gently tilting his head the other way to do the same thing on the other side.

”Yea! Then, I got to know you and realized you're just a big ole softy!” He says chuckling. You roll your eyes and shake your head, but you don’t stop the small smile that spreads across your face.

”Yea, yea, whatever.” You chuckle, focusing back on his hair.

”Your turn now, truth or dare?” Tango asks.

“Truth, I’m still trying to finish this braid-“ He takes a moment to respond, giving you just enough time to finish the second braid, so you tie it to the end of the first one, forming a sort of halo around the back of his head.

”What’s a secret you’ve never told anyone?” He asks. One instantly pops to mind, but you shake your head, dismissing it instantly.

”Actually, nevermind, I'm finished. I switch to my choice to dare.” Tango turns around to face you, almost pouting.

”Wha- You can’t do that!”

”Yes I can, and look!” You pull out a hand mirror you brought and show him what you’ve done to his hair, his frown instantly turns into an excited smile.

”Woah- it’s so cute!” He says, turning his head a little to inspect the braids, grinning.

”You are! And your hair looks nice too.” You say shooting him wink, he laughs but you swear you saw his face get a little pink. He looks off to the side like he’s thinking, and then turns back to you with a toothy smirk.

”Alright, I thought of a dare. Give me your absolutely worst pick up line. Just- the most cheesy, corny, awful pick up line ever.” Your eyebrow raises a little at his request, and you take a moment to think.

”Worst pick up line huh…? That’s hard cause we both know how amazing I am at flirting.” You say sarcastically, just buying yourself some time to think of something clever.

Tango laughs, “Yep, uh huh. Totally. You're like, the flirting master.” He teases back.

Finally a really stupid one comes to mind, “Tango, are you a campfire? Because you’re hot and I totally want s’more-“ You say, barely able to get it out without laughing.

Tango stares at you blankly for a moment, before his face reddens and he bursts out laughing. “That- that’s actually terrible.”

“Hey you asked! I’m starting to think you just like the idea of me flirting with you.” You joke, turning your back to him so he could do your hair. Instead, he decides to lean forward and whisper directly into your ear.

“Maybe I do~” He pulls back and starts laughing, but you're frozen. Your face feels flushed and you try to calm your racing heart. You keep reminding yourself that it was all just a joke, that you needed to calm down or you’d risk making it weird. “Aw, too much?” He asks.

“I- just-” You stutter.

“Well too bad, it’s my payback for you not letting me work on my redstone stuff.” He says gently running his hands through your hair and…you were just now realizing how bad of an idea this all was. You were supposed to be getting over your feelings for the hot tempered blaze, but instead you’ve found yourself falling for him even more.

“Yea well, that’s what I get for being a good friend I guess.” You chuckle, but it comes out a bit strained.

“Friends? Is that all we are?” Tango asks slightly…disappointed?

“Alright Tango enough with the jokes, you keep doing that I might actually fall for you.” You try to keep up your chipper and teasing tone, but your voice wavered towards the end.

Tango stops playing with your hair, and moves in front of you again. He seems nervous, and looks down at his hands a lot. You don’t dare hope, you don’t let yourself think anything, too scared to lose the friendship that you two had, no matter how much you cared for him.

“Maybe…uhh…maybe I might’ve actually been the one, that has done the falling…for…you.” He ends it with a dry chuckle, wringing his hands and struggling to keep eye contact. When you don’t respond right away, he finally looks at you. You search his eyes, searching for any sign that this was all some sort of weird bit.

“Are- are you being for real…or…” You finally ask, still not sure.

“Uh…yea? I mean…I thought I was making it obvious and all but I guess...” For some reason you feel tears well up in your eyes. “...Ah! Oh my gosh, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” You interrupt him, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes.

“No! No it’s fine I’m just- I’m glad! I promise!” You reassure him, a huge smile spreading across your lips. His eyes are still wide with concern, and slight confusion.

“Wait so- I’m confused. Do you also…?” You bob your head up and down, laughing a bit as you try to regain your composure after the roller coaster of emotions that had been the past few minutes.

“Yes, Tango. Obviously, I’ve fallen for you too.” You finally respond, he grins and grabs both your hands in his.

“Well, obviously- neither of us are really good at reading the obvious-” He snickers, gently stroking your hand with his thumb.

You giggle, “Wow, and now someone has spilled about their crush, we’ve checked, like, all the sleepover boxes but-”

“-but sleeping?” Tango asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“No? No one sleeps at sleepovers, come on dude-” You respond and he laughs, “the only thing we haven’t done is watch a movie!”

“Hey well I’m not complaining. As long as I get to do your hair first, since it was um- interrupted.” He smiles, blushing slightly.

“Why not both!” You say mirroring his tone from earlier.

~ ~ ~

This time when he runs his fingers through your hair, you allow yourself to melt into his touch. You're seated on the ground, while Tango sits on the couch. You're situated between both his legs, as he tries, undos, and retries to braid your hair. You realize you don’t really mind if he ever gets it right, you're just glad to finally relax with the knowledge that he loved being near you just as much as you loved being near him.

”Ok…I’m done…I think?” You hear Tango’s voice from behind you. You haven’t really been paying attention to the movie much, instead just enjoying the redstoner's company, so you lean over and grab the hand mirror.

”Aww, I love it.” You giggle a little, “But…maybe don’t quit your day job, hot stuff.” You tilt your head up to see his reaction, and he just rolls his eyes and snickers before leaning down and closer to your face.

”Is it good enough to get a little somethin’ at least? For trying?” He smirks, leaning just a little closer. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you smile and sit up, turning slightly, before gently grabbing his collar, and meeting him in the middle. And you swear, when his lips hit yours, you feel fireworks.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

#Tango x reader #Tango tek x reader #c!Tango x reader #Tango x gn!reader #x gn! reader #x gender neutral reader #Tango x gender neutral reader #hermitcraft x reader #life series x reader #traffic smp x reader #hermitcraft fanfic #traffic series fanfic #life series fanfic #mcyt x reader #x reader #slimewrites

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dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 10

Shape Without Form

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings and tags: fluff; implications of stimulant use as a coping mechanism; Echo ships it; Riyo would jump that cyborg's bones right TF now if he would stop moving long enough

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo makes several discoveries.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

ur-fav-cyborg: The king is in the castle.

Riyo stared at the message, trying to decrypt what in the gods’ green galaxy Echo was trying to say. Then it hit her. King—Rex—of course. Smiling, she typed a response.

cerulean-senator: You know, this is an encrypted channel. You don’t need to speak in code.

The response came immediately.

ur-fav-cyborg: Can’t be too careful. Encryptions can be sliced. I would know.

cerulean-senator: Fair enough. How did the royal excursion go?

ur-fav-cyborg: He’s holding court now. Care to join? I can start a holocall.

Riyo frowned. Somehow, calling in seemed intrusive in a way that simply being physically present did not.

cerulean-senator: I’ll sit this one out, but I’m looking forward to a full report afterwards. Will you have time to comm me tonight?

ur-fav-cyborg: For you, always.

She smiled, feeling a warm glow rise to her cheeks. Maybe she was being foolish. She’d only met Echo a few times, but there was something about his gentle eyes and quiet demeanor that drew her to him. Beyond that, she admired his bravery and selflessness; after all, he had had the opportunity to walk away from the fight and start a new life with Omega and the rest of the Batch. Instead, he’d chosen to stay with Rex and save as many brothers as he could.

His dedication to his brothers reminded her of Fox, and once again, she found herself grappling with the thorny question that had plagued her since her first immediate attraction to Echo. How could she move on so quickly? It had only been a little over a year since she had lost Fox—a year of silent grief and misery which she was forced to hide from the galaxy. Meeting Echo had felt like glimpsing the sunlight after months of darkness. Would Fox have wanted her to continue on in that shadow realm?

No.

The knowledge was so certain, it was as though he was in the room with her, speaking the word aloud. Fox had cared deeply about her. He would never have expected her to spend her entire life mourning him. He would want her to find happiness.

She could envision finding that happiness with Echo. The temptation to spend more time with him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming. She wanted to know everything about him: what was his favorite food? His favorite color? Did he prefer showers or baths? Tookas or massifs? Had he ever been to Pantora? What was his favorite holonovel? Did he even like holonovels? What was it like to raise a young child? Would he ever want children of his own? Just how far up did those prosthetic legs go? Was he even interested in a physical relationship, for that matter?

She had so many questions, and she couldn’t wait to find out the answers.

Cerra refueled the freighter and restocked its supplies of rations and gear while Gregor and Fireball loaded it with their preferred weapons and ammunition. The ship’s medkit had fortunately not been used much, but she refilled its dwindling supply of stims. By the time they were finished, Rex had long since disappeared into the barracks, and Echo offered to take first watch, thank the kriffing Maker. Cerra had been running on nothing but caf, stims, and stubbornness for the past three days, and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep after her unsettling dream, so she had simply worked through the nights, but now she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Wake me up for second watch,” she told Echo as she headed to the barracks. Fireball and Gregor needed to rest up for their mission, and there was no way any of the team would consider waking Rex.

She changed quickly into one of Fives’s old black tops and a pair of baggy sweatpants that may or may not have belonged to her, then she moved quietly to Gregor’s bunk.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” she whispered.

He didn’t reply, but he scooted back against the wall to make room for her and stretched his arm out for her to use as a pillow. She crawled under the blankets and snuggled close to him, burying her face against his chest as he wrapped her securely in his arms.

“You’re the best,” she sighed.

He kissed her forehead, and she passed out instantaneously. She felt like she’d barely closed her eyes when Echo nudged her awake. If she had dreamt at all, she didn’t remember it. Gregor was sprawled halfway over her, snoring softly. She extricated herself from his embrace carefully, wiggling free of his arms before slipping her leg out from beneath his thigh. He slept through it all, dead to the galaxy.

In the dim light of the barracks, Echo watched her maneuvers with an amused smile. She shrugged, and he shook his head, crossing to his own bunk. She crept out of the barracks and closed the door silently behind her.

The watch was uneventful. She passed the time by taking inventory of their supplies again, starting a list of items to barter, scavenge, or steal. They were going to need a better ship for Balmorra; that much was certain. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to start putting out feelers among her contacts, though it would be helpful to know exactly what the plan was before she committed to a deal.

They were also running low on caf beans, which frankly constituted an emergency. She would need to schedule time to make a grocery run with Gregor soon. He had insisted on accompanying her every time she bought food ever since the incident months previously that she had begun to think of as The Great Ration Bar Debacle. According to Gregor, she had the palate of a philistine and a child, and she was not to be trusted to make intelligent choices regarding foodstuffs. Takeout: yes. Groceries: no. Besides, since Gregor did all the cooking, he was the only one who knew what ingredients to buy.

Gregor and Fireball were up before dawn, not that it mattered on Level 1313. The sunlight never reached this deep in Coruscant’s underbelly. Cerra had their caf ready to go in travel mugs, as usual, and she walked with them out to the freighter.

“Be safe,” she said. “And keep an eye on the kid.”

“You do know I’m a battle-hardened veteran,” Fireball pointed out.

“I know,” Cerra said. “That’s why I want you to keep an eye on him.”

Gregor giggled and pulled her into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles vigorously into the top of her head.

“Unhand me, miscreant,” she grunted, flailing her arms to try to break away.

He let her go, then pulled her into a hug. His bulky armor was uncomfortably hard, but she leaned into it anyway.

“Keep the lights on for us,” he said.

“Always,” she replied.

And then they were gone, and Cerra trudged back into the garage to finish out her watch. For once, she was caught up on her recurring tasks and didn’t have any special assignments, so she pulled out the armor chestplate she’d been modifying and began fiddling with it again. She pulled the faulty connectors to see if she could recondition them, but they seemed to have been damaged beyond repair. They were a specialized part, but perhaps she could retrofit the armor to work with something standard. She wished she’d had a chance to salvage a few connectors while she was on Karthon, but it had been a little challenging to go digging for parts with some scughole scrapper taking potshots at her.

She rummaged through Trace’s stockpile of connectors and pulled out a few options that might work. She lost track of time as she tested the parts. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the barracks door open.

“Any luck?” Echo asked from close beside her.

Cerra flinched and dropped the connector, which bounced off the workbench and skittered across the garage floor.

“Not so far,” she said with a sigh.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“That’s all right. None of them were working anyway.”

Echo examined the array of connectors on the table, then reached into the pouch on his belt. He withdrew a handful of parts and dropped them onto the tabletop.

“What about these?” he offered.

Cerra stared. “Where did you get those?”

“From the armory in the Venator on Karthon,” he said. “I got distracted by the ambush and forgot about them until now.”

Cerra picked one up and inspected it closely. “These are perfect! Thanks, Echo.”

He ducked his head and mumbled something about caf. Cerra began reconnecting the control module as Echo wandered to the kitchenette. It didn’t take long, and soon she let out a victorious whoop as the HUD unit in the helmet synced up.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Echo, I could kiss you right now. I’ve been tinkering with this for weeks with no luck. I can’t believe it’s finally working.”

“Glad I could help,” he said. “Sometimes all you need is the right piece for a major breakthrough.”

“That’s way too philosophical for this early in the morning,” she grinned.

“And I thought I was being subtle,” he said with an answering smile. “Caf?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“How do you take it?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “I don’t drink it for the flavor.”

“I know that’s not true,” Echo replied. “Gregor knows exactly how you like it.”

Does he? Cerra frowned, pondering. It was true that Gregor’s caf always tasted better, but she’d assumed that was just because everything he cooked was delicious, so it made sense that he would make the best caf out of the group.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“Whenever you take your first drink of a cup he makes for you, you get this blissed out expression. I’ve never seen you do it when you taste anyone else’s caf, even your own.”

“Huh,” she said, stumped. “I guess you’d have to ask Gregor, then.”

Echo regarded her with speculation. Cerra shrugged and turned back to continue working on the cuirass. Soon, he rejoined her and set a steaming cup on the table. He waited expectantly, so she picked it up and took a cautious sip. It was… fine. It tasted like caf.

“It’s good,” she said. “Thanks.”

His expression turned smug, as if he knew something she didn’t, but he turned to inspect the cuirass. “Have you already tried on the full kit?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said affirmatively. “I ran into some issues with the pauldron fit.”

He nodded. “I had to modify the arm holes of my cuirass to accommodate the lost muscle mass. The pauldrons kept hitting it whenever I moved my arms.”

“That’s what I found, too. I made the whole cuirass narrower and reshaped it to fit around the chest, but the pauldrons are still catching.”

“If you want to try it on again, I can help you map out the cuts,” he offered.

“I would appreciate the help,” she said gratefully. “You mentioned something about other mods, too?”

“Let’s get the fit right before we start adding things on,” he said. “Whipcord launchers and flamethrowers are nice to have, but if the armor doesn’t fulfill its base function, there’s not much point to it. All it does is add a lot of unnecessary weight.”

They worked together in companionable silence, punctuated by occasional discussions about the technical side of clone trooper armor. Echo’s commlink chimed a few times, and he always typed out a quick response to whomever was sending him messages before returning to the work at hand. By the time Rex joined them, Echo had thoroughly marked up the plastoid in preparation for the next step, and Cerra began removing it and stacking it neatly on the workbench.

“Hey, Cap,” Cerra greeted Rex. “Fresh caf in the pot. Sleep okay?”

He nodded and ground the heel of his hand into his eyes as he stumbled toward the caf maker. In a rasping voice, he said, “Looks like you two have been productive this morning.”

“We’re making progress,” Echo said.

“Good,” Rex replied. “Always makes me nervous when she goes out there without armor.”

“You know I survived a whole-ass war without armor, right?” Cerra asked.

“And how did that work out for you?” Rex asked drily.

“No need to be a smartass,” she retorted.

“What happened?” Echo asked.

“Nothing,” she said sharply.

“Durasteel shrapnel,” Rex replied, prompting an irritated glare from Cerra. “Right in the thigh. Nearly bled the kark out.”

“And thousands of other people died in that battle,” she said. “Their armor wasn’t much help when they got vaporized or sucked out into space. It was sheer, stupid luck that I made it out.”

“I’m confused,” Echo said. “I thought you wanted this armor?”

“Oh, she does,” Rex said. “She just doesn’t know how to back down from a fight.”

“And Rex can’t go five minutes without starting one,” Cerra said, disgruntled.

“How long have you two known each other?” Echo asked.

“Forever,” Cerra and Rex said in unison.

Jinx, you owe me a Coke, she thought reflexively, and from the way Echo’s eyes snapped to hers, she knew he’d thought it, too.

“Cerra and I were assigned to General Skywalker’s command at the same time,” Rex said. “She was just as much of a pain in my ass back then.”

“Echo,” Cerra said with a vindictive gleam in her eye, “did Rex give you the ‘experience outranks everything’ speech when you met him?”

“He called me a shiny and told me to call him ‘Captain’ or ‘sir,’” Echo said.

“Sounds about right,” she said. “Of course, by the time he was lecturing me about experience, I’d been serving as long as he’d been alive.”

“As a desk jockey,” Rex snorted.

“Still counts, youngling,” she teased.

“He was probably just nervous because you were the first girl he’d ever met,” Echo said.

Cerra laughed as Rex gave them both a disgusted look. “Remind me why I asked you two to join me, again?”

“Because we both listed sedition on our resumés,” Cerra replied.

“No, it’s because I hoped you could annoy the Empire as much as you annoy me,” Rex retorted.

“You love it,” she said.

“Hmph.” Rex disappeared into his cup of caf for a long moment as Cerra finished removing her armor.

Echo had an odd expression on his face, and he looked back and forth between Rex and Cerra a few times before he seemed to make a decision. “Can I ask something?”

“Shoot,” Cerra said.

“How was Fives after Lola Sayu?”

Cerra felt like he’d punched all the air out of her lungs. She had no idea how to respond, or what could have prompted him to ask the question. She looked to Rex, who lowered his cup slowly.

“He… was angry,” Rex said slowly. “He said the Jedi had a double standard in how the clones were treated.”

“What kind of double standard?” Echo asked.

Rex hesitated, so Cerra answered. “They ordered him to leave you behind, to keep moving. But when the Jedi died, they somehow found time to give him a kriffing funeral. Just for the Jedi, of course. Not for the clones who died to protect all of them.”

Her voice grated with suppressed rage. Rex cleared his throat, patently uncomfortable with Cerra’s open criticism of the Jedi. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stop talking before she went too far.

“After that,” Rex said, “Fives was even more dedicated to protecting his brothers. He felt he couldn’t count on anyone else to do it.”

The group lapsed into silence, and Cerra found that the conversation wasn’t as painful or awkward as she had expected it to be.

“I asked him, once, if the burden he took on was too heavy,” Cerra said. “Do you know what he told me?”

“Given that it was Fives, I imagine he made a joke,” Echo said.

“He said he was used to it from wearing those massive pauldrons,” she said. “Then he asked if I wanted to sit on them while he ate me out.”

Echo choked. “That sounds like Fives.”

“Gross,” Rex complained. “Nobody wants to hear about what kind of depravity you two reprobates got up to during your leave time.”

“Who says we were on leave?” Cerra smirked. “Besides, you’re no-one to talk. I know what you were doing with—”

“No need to get into that now,” Rex interrupted hastily.

“Wait, who was it?” Echo asked.

“Nobody,” Rex said firmly as Cerra cackled with evil delight. “Now, about Balmorra.”

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #star wars #the bad batch #clone wars #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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edosianorchids901 · 3 months

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Where You Go, I Go

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "a fool's quest"

On some level, Crowley was always waiting for Aziraphale to contact him. It might be months, years, or even decades between their encounters, but that didn’t matter. While he went about his job and exploring Earth and trying new forms of alcohol, he still waited.

The instant he got the message this time, he happily dropped his boring assignment to inspire gambling and rushed off to meet Aziraphale at a little tavern on the outskirts of Florence. It was a decent tavern, with good wine, but not nearly as high class as Aziraphale’s usual choice of establishment. That alone made Crowley curious.

He got even more curious when he spotted Aziraphale. The angel seemed to be in disguise. Still his usual colors, mostly beige of various shades and a bit of blue. But it wasn’t nearly as fancy as his usual outfits.

“What’s this about?” Crowley asked as he approached. “You look like you’ve gotten a role in a play as a… a… wealthy farmer?”

“Shh! No one can know that I’m not a farmer.” Aziraphale looked around, and Crowley shook his head. “I’m undercover.”

It was all Crowley could do not to laugh as he sat down. He put on his best serious expression and sniffed the wine. It was an expensive vintage, at least for this part of town. “Really?”

“Mhm. Quite successfully so far, although I’m afraid I did have to use a few teensy-weensy little miracles to convince people that I wasn’t a French spy.”

“Shoulda just tried speaking French at them,” Crowley said in his most serious tone. “That definitely woulda convinced them.”

Aziraphale pouted at him. “Crowley, you’re very rude.”

“Yup.” After a gulp of the wine, Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “So. I’m guessing you’re not here on one of your language learning kicks.” Aziraphale cycled through those every few centuries, although he had a fondness for various versions of French. He was terrible at it, and at every language he tried to learn the hard way. “What’re you up to?”

“Well. Do you remember that book I talked about?”

Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale didn’t seem to understand why he was staring. “No. Can’t say I remember one specific book out of the sea of them.”

“Oh. I suppose there is that.” Widening his eyes theatrically, Aziraphale learned forward. “Everyone said it was a fool’s quest, but I’ve found it.”

“It?”

Aziraphale went off on an extended ramble that ranged from Rome to Constantinople to Baghdad, and finally to Florence. Crowley listened, trying not to be impatient. He always enjoyed being with Aziraphale, even if it involved listening to an incredibly boring story about a book being copied about a million times.

But when Aziraphale detoured onto talking about book binding, Crowley finally intervened. “Angel. What does this have to do with you pretending to be a farmer?”

“Oh! I suppose I should explain.” Aziraphale chuckled, glanced around surreptitiously again, and spread his hands wide. “I’ve tracked down what, as far as I can tell, is the last copy of the book. I remember reading a few of the stories when they were being written, and they were wonderful. But I thought they’d all been destroyed at one point or another.”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley still wasn’t getting it. Then it clicked. “Ohh, hang on. Does the book happen to be in the private collection of some guy or other who own farms?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Yes! Isn’t it clever?”

Crowley never thought Aziraphale was foolish for his quests to find books that seemed to have all been destroyed. Copies of stuff turned up all the time. This, though? This was foolish.

“I can think of about a billion ways it could go wrong,” he said, unimpressed.

“Goodness, yes. I can too.” The bright smile on Aziraphale’s face never failed, which was incredibly suspicious. “But I know a way we can avoid that!”

“What?” Crowley barely got the word out before it clicked. “Wait, no. Nonono, I am not joining you on your bloody quest to pretend to be a farmer so you can steal a book from someone. That’s ridiculous, Aziraphale, even for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stealing the book! You would.” Aziraphale pouted at him, eyes big and pleading. “And you wouldn’t be pretending to be a farmer, obviously. You’d have to a member of the household staff or something.”

“No.”

The pout intensified. “Please?”

And there it was. Just as Crowley was always waiting for Aziraphale, he was always waiting for that, too. A chance to help. To be needed.

He sighed, resigned, and Aziraphale clapped his hands with delight. “Oh, good. I knew you’d agree. It’ll be awfully fun.”

Crowley highly doubted that it would be particularly fun. Heists were a lot less fun to do than they were to hear about in stories, since actually doing it involved the possibility of being stabbed or something. But it did involve spending a lot of time with Aziraphale, and that made it worthwhile.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale

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chickenfics · 1 year

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the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 7k

Content warning: brief discussions of homophobia, shitty parenting

A/N: She/her pronouns used for reader, and she is described as being able to ride a bike but no other descriptions are given. Y/N used sparingly.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters!

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Chapter 1: Tango in the Night

"Hi, I'm looking for… uhm…" you took a shallow breath, eyes wandering across rosy skin dusted with freckles and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

You'd been searching for a movie for the past ten minutes, aware of every sound you made, every little shuffle of clothes or breath you took -- the need to cough for no reason at all suddenly squeezing at your throat. You had planned on asking the nearest employee if the store even had it to save yourself the struggle of scouring the shelves, but when you walked into Family Video a mere fifteen minutes before their closing time, you were greeted with… a girl.

Not that you hadn’t expected a girl to work at a video store, it was just… she was a really pretty girl. Really pretty, and she'd smiled this gorgeous big smile as soon as you'd walked inside, and just like that your head had gone empty. Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why couldn’t you act like a regular person? It shouldn’t have been that hard.

But, after ten minutes of searching -- and with the store now closing in five -- you found yourself standing in front of said pretty girl and trying to form words.

“I’m looking for ‘Innerspace.’ It, uh, just came out on tape a few weeks ago so you might not have it yet, I just figured I’d check.”

Your mouth fell closed like a tomb and you blinked at the girl across the counter. ‘Robin,’ your eyes flickered down to her nametag -- just her name tag, you tried to remind yourself. She was wearing a plaid button-up, the colors of leaves and moss and dirt, and she had a brown tie tucked beneath her collar. Oh god--

“Oh, right. Yeah,” she nodded, eyes wide as she stared back at you. Her voice was raspy and low and had you digging your nails into your palms. “Yeah, um, new releases usually go straight to the back for filing, but, uhm, we might have gotten it. I can’t remember off the top of my head, so let me just… you said it’s called ‘Innerspace’?”

“Yeah,” you felt your face heating and wrung your slightly clammy fingers together beneath the counter, mercifully hidden from view.

“Ok, let me just--”

“I can go look,” a voice cut through the store, and both of you turned towards a man in a matching green vest who was leaning against the far counter with his arms crossed. You hadn’t even realized he was there.

“You keep, uh, entertaining our customer, yeah, Robs?” he added, pushing off to head for a doorway at the back of the room.

“Uh, y-yeah. Sure,” the girl -- Robin -- replied, staring after him for a second before turning back around. It was hard to think under all her shades of rosy pink and blue and brown. Her hair reminded you of a mouse. You tried not to wonder if it was as soft as it looked.

God, it looked soft.

Just like her cheeks, or the skin of her nose as she wrinkled it in a small wince before smiling at you.

“Uhmm, we sell tapes,” she gestured to a small display of cassettes. “Some of these are new, too. I mean, I know you’re looking for a movie, but,” she made another desperate little flourish that had you grinning like a fool.

“No, no, it’s good,” you quickly assured. Then, somehow, “Uh… do you have any recommendations?”

She opened her mouth, eyes searching yours for a moment before jumping into motion. Leaning over the counter, she dragged the display sideways so she could rifle through the tapes. You found yourself leaning closer.

“Y-Yeah, I mean… okay, this one just came out a few months ago. Have you heard of Fleetwood Mac? I mean -- I mean, of course you have,” her brow furrowed, a line indenting the skin between her eyebrows. “They’re Fleetwood Mac, obviously, but… h-have you?”

With the question, the wrinkle smoothed out again as she raised her brow to look at you. You nodded, and you knew there was a smile on your face by the one that spread across hers. She was encouraged enough to keep going.

“I, uh, don’t really know if you like their stuff, but they just released this new album, Tango in the Night,” Robin groaned softly, her smile growing. “It's so good. And I mean, Stevie Nicks is, like, so…” she faltered a little, hesitantly glancing up at you before her smile grew a bit smaller, a bit softer.

“Sorry, I’m rambling aren't I? I do that sometimes. It’s probably, like, a condition or something--”

You laughed brightly, clapping a hand over your mouth when you realized you’d interrupted her, but she was watching you through her eyelashes and grinning.

“No, it’s… it’s good. I like it,” you added, not sure if you were referencing the tape or her rambling. “I like Fleetwood Mac. And Stevie Nicks is--” super hot “--Great. She’s great.”

“Oh,” Robin said, released in a little breath, almost a sigh. “Okay, well--”

“Hey,” the other worker popped his head out of the back room, offering Robin, and then you, a vaguely apologetic look coupled with a shrug. “Yeah, we don’t have it yet. Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Really,” you waved. “Thanks for checking.”

“Hey, sure thing. That's what I’m here for,” he smiled, grabbing the front of his vest. “But it’s, uh, no problem, about the movie. We can just take your number and call you when it comes in. Right, Robin?”

“R… Right!” she jumped up a little, head whipping around to look at him before turning back to you. “I mean, if you want to, that is. You totally don’t, if it’s something you’re, like, not comfortable with, or… I mean, we’re, like, an official establishment, so we won’t sell your information to the government, or anything, haha…” she finished with a laugh that conveyed how quickly she was losing confidence.

“Sure,” you offered, trying to give her as encouraging of a smile as you could without rocking your own confidence. In the end, you had to glance at your feet under the beaming grin she gave in reply.

“Great! Cool-e-o. Um, let me just,” ducking down, she rifled beneath the counter before reappearing with a flourish. Your smile felt like it was at risk of tearing your face as you took in the way her tie had gone crooked and her hair all feathery.

Slapping a notepad onto the countertop, she gave you an eager grin before pulling a pen out of the breast pocket of her vest. You paused, momentarily forgetting your phone number in the most panic-filled two seconds of your life before giving it to her, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. You watched Robin jot down your number with nimble fingers and endearingly bubbly penmanship.

“I like your rings,” you shyly stated, nodding to the silver jewelry that decorated her pale fingers. A simple silver band on her pointer, a wider piece on her middle, and a band with a pale blue gemstone on her ring.

“Th… Thanks,” she whispered, glancing up at you, her mouth slightly ajar as she seemed to hold her breath. Then she jotted down the last two digits of your phone number and sat the pen down.

“Oh, and, uh… I’ll take this, too, if that’s okay,” you slid the cassette across the counter. Robin’s eyes widened.

It would take you nearly five minutes outside the now-closed Family Video to catch your breath. With your back pressed against the hard brick of the building, you felt a laugh bubble up your throat, rippling out into the evening air. With a small bag containing ‘Tango in the Night,’ you stepped onto your bike and thought about how sometimes not being normal paid off.

________________________________________________________________

“Holy shit, holy shit -- holy shit, Steve.”

“Quit freaking out on me, Buckley,” Steve warned, worried that the girl was actually going to pass out with how fast she was pacing through the rom-com aisle, her hands held out on either side of her, gesturing with every “holy shit” she uttered.

“Okay, okay,” Robin shook her head, pressing her voice into something that vaguely resembled composure. “That wasn’t, like, anything, right? It was just a totally normal customer-employee exchange.”

“Robin,” Steve deadpanned. “That girl was full-on flirting with you.”

“Shut up,” Robin rasped, voice squeaking at a frequency that probably would have had the neighborhood dogs howling. “She was not, she was… Oh my god, she was. She definitely was…”

“Uh, yup,” Steve confirmed, brow lowered even though he was trying not to freak out himself. Robin didn’t have the best luck with dating, and Steve had just witnessed the biggest win she’d had in… ever. She’d even gotten the girl’s number.

“Okay, but,” she continued, and Steve bit back a groan. “What if she was actually into you and was just flirting with me to get to you?”

“What-- that is literally not a thing people do, you dumbass. She was flirting with you.”

“Ahh! I don’t--” Robin groaned, hands reaching up to grab at her hair.

“I mean, seriously, Rob. She bought the tape you were gushing about. She gave you her goodman number, for Christ’s sake--”

“Yeah, because she wants fucking ‘Innerspace’ when it comes in. That’s all.”

“Look, I love you, but you’re being an actual idiot right now. She was totally checking you out. I saw it with my own two eyes,” he made a peace sign and waved it at his face. “And trust me, I know what it looks like when a girl is checking someone out.”

“Gross,” Robin winced, face screwing up miserably as she tried not to have a full-on crisis. “But still, even if she was, there’s no way I stand a chance. Like, there’s actually no way…”

“Well,” Steve began, the corner of his mouth bunching into a knowing smirk. “I guess we’ll find out once you call her to let her know that we’ve got, uh…” he turned away, looking out into the store as he reached around his back and pulled ‘Innerspace’ from the waistband of his jeans.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Robin shoved him. “What the hell is wrong with you, dingus?”

“Hey, don’t yell at me, I’m just being a good wingman! A pretty damn good one, too, considering you wouldn't have even gotten her number without me jumpstarting your brain."

Robin pushed her tongue into her cheek before running it over her teeth. She rolled her eyes, then smiled begrudgingly.

“Do you actually think she was flirting with me?”

“Yes!” he said it before she’d even gotten the full question out.

Robin took a breath, and then she brought the front of her vest up to cover her face and squealed softly into the fabric -- half excited, half panicked -- before throwing the material back down. Her hair was a frizzy curtain in front of her face and she was definitely a bit red.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Steve tossed a rag at her. “Because we’ve got a store to close and I still have to drive your flustered ass home.”

He turned around, and Robin stared after him with her brow furrowed in contemplative annoyance.

“I’m not flustered--”

“Are you shitting me?”

________________________________________________________________

You listened to the album as soon as you got home. Leaning your bike against the baby blue siding of your parent’s house, you raced into the kitchen to make a quick dinner before taking it to your room, the little plastic Family Video bag looped around your wrist.

Your tape player was old. It had belonged to your mom before she passed it down to you, all worn and well-loved, decorated with a few band stickers that had long since faded to a pale, washed-up color. Even so, when you popped the deck and carefully put the cassette inside, that old, faded player turned colorful with life as the first few beats of ‘Big Love’ started playing.

The echoey vocals of Linsday Buckingham hummed through the speakers as he sang “looking out for love," and your lips curled into a smile, sitting cross-legged on your bed as your mind filled with images of blue eyes and tawny freckles. How could you not think of her when she was the one who had recommended the tape? You tried to convince yourself that was the only reason. You knew it was the biggest lie you’d ever told.

Leaning back against the headboard, you ate your dinner through a smile. When the next song whirred on, you reached over to your nightstand to grab the case, flipping it around to scan down the list of songs. You set your dish aside and laid back as Stevie Nicks’s voice filled your room with ‘Seven Wonders’.

“So it’s hard to find

Someone with that kind of intensity

You touched my hand, I played it cool…”

Bringing your hands up to your forehead, you let them rest there, the coolness of your fingers not doing much to quell the heat that had started swimming in your head. You tried to consider the possibility that maybe the girl -- Robin, you tried her name out in your thoughts -- had been as nervous as you had for the same reason. You remembered the way she’d blushed when your hands had touched, or the way she'd laughed nervously as her eyes, so fucking blue, had scanned your face. Had she looked at your lips? Did it mean anything if she had?

“So long ago

It’s a certain time, it’s a certain place

You touched my hand and you smiled

All the way back you held out your hand

But I hope, and if I pray

Ooh, it might work out someday…”

Groaning softly, you dragged a pillow over your face, deciding that if your cold hands wouldn’t put you out, you’d just have to smother yourself.

There was no way… was there? Like, no actual way that Robin liked… well -- would ever like you. Right? Most girls were overly friendly with one another; you’d figured that out a long time ago, after mixing up so many signals that you’d realized the way you liked girls was different from the way they liked you. That the way you felt about girls was… abnormal. At least, it had seemed that way, when you looked around.

But… you couldn’t be the only one. You knew you weren’t the only one. You’d grown up, since then, and you'd heard about people like you on the news and in school. You’d seen what happened to the boys that acted differently than the rest of their classmates -- you'd heard what they were called. You’d seen other girls being called “dykes,” had seen girls ostracized from their friend groups out of the fear she’d spread herself around like some kind of disease.

And sure, you’d seen how bad it could be, but that also meant that there were others out there who understood. That had to mean that there were happy endings for people like you -- it was just… happy endings felt so far away from the things that actually happened. It felt like something out of a storybook rather than something that could happen right here in Hawkins. Right here, where a pretty girl had watched you through her eyelashes and blushed when you complimented her…

Was there a chance that Robin hadn’t just seen you as a friendly customer?

“No. No way,” you said it aloud, your words breaking through Stevie Nicks’ vocals.

She was probably dating her co-worker. He was hot, right? He seemed charming, he’d called her “Robs” so they were obviously close. The sudden thought of Robin being with the man in the store made your chest tighten. You groaned again, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face into your sheets, trying to cover yourself up, trying to be swallowed whole because it had to be easier than thinking about Robin’s lips against his when you wanted them against yours.

The tape whirred and clicked, and the next song started like it'd been sent to mock you.

“Come on, baby

We better make a start

You better make it soon before you break my heart”

Well, at least she had a good taste in music. Yet another thing about her that was already driving you crazy, and you’d barely spoken to her for five minutes. You didn’t even know her last name -- and you only even knew her first because she’d been wearing a fucking name tag.

Suddenly you sat up, pillow flying off of your head as you realized that--

“Holy shit. She’s going to call me…”

She had your number. She was going to call you when the movie came in. You’d have an excuse to talk to her again. Hell, she’d have an excuse to talk to you again, if she wanted it. If not, she could always get her co-worker slash potential boyfriend to do it instead. Either way, she had your number, and that meant there was a chance. A slim one, but a chance.

“Holy fucking shit,” you said it again, breathless as you grinned so hard your face ached, and fell back into your pillows.

Maybe a happy ending wasn't such a reach after all.

________________________________________________________________

Over the next week, you listened to ‘Tango in the Night’ at least five more times. It was a good album, and you would have enjoyed it even without the added connection to the pretty girl who worked in the video store that you definitely weren't crushing on, no way. And every day, you waited for a call from her. Whenever you weren’t home, you found yourself worrying that you’d miss it -- hoping and praying that she’d call when you weren’t on one of your shifts.

You worked at a diner that sat just along the edge of downtown Hawkins called Tiffany’s Kitchen. The owner, Tiffany -- who was also your boss -- was a sweet, tiny lady, thrice divorced, who had only recently opened the diner after Benny’s Burgers shut down in ‘83. She was new to the business, but everyone loved her -- employees included, of which there weren’t many. You, two of her children, both in their thirties, and another kid your age, both of you fresh out of high school with no college plans in sight.

After graduating last year, your parents had encouraged you to apply to colleges around the state, but you hadn’t gotten into any of them. You didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to leave Hawkins -- every kid your age wanted to leave Hawkins -- you just… weren’t sure what you wanted to do with your life. You didn’t know who you were yet, and college was something that you had no clue where to even start with.

Anyway, you were more than content working at Tiffany’s, making enough money that your parents weren’t completely horrified by your decision to stay in Hawkins -- and at home. You could contribute to the bills, and for right now that was the most important thing to them. For now. But rather than try and figure out what to do with your future as your parents so frequently encouraged, instead you were thinking about the girl from Family Video who you’d talked to a whole one time and who probably didn’t even remember that you existed. It was easier than thinking about college or a career, and it was infinitely more pleasant than thinking about the future. So you passed your days with daydreams of blue eyes and a pretty smile, and a Fleetwood Mac song behind every moment of bussing tables and taking orders.

It wasn’t until the following Friday that anything happened.

You were sitting in your room after your shift, trying to pass the post-dinner time without falling asleep too early, when you heard your father's voice calling over the sound of your tape player.

“Hey, Doc! Someone’s on the phone for you!”

You just managed to crank the volume down before flying off of your bed, smiling at both his nickname for you -- which had come about thanks to the many Saturday mornings you'd spent watching Bugs Bunny with him when you were little, laying out on the carpet in your pajamas -- as well as the jolt of excitement that had just shot through you like lightning. And panic. Excitement and panic.

“Yeah,” you yelled, coming to a sliding stop by the phone as your socks struggled to grip the hardwood floor. You grabbed onto the wall for support, then looked over at your dad.

“Someone from some video place? Said you left your number…”

“Yep! Thanks, dad,” you grinned through his confusion, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions. He didn’t, wordlessly passing you the receiver, and suddenly you wondered if you might pass out.

“Hi,” your voice was breathless, both hands coming up to hold the yellow phone as you watched your dad round the corner to the living room, out of sight.

“Uh, h-hi. This is Robin -- from Family Video,” she quickly added. Her voice sounded even raspier through the crackle of the receiver. You were definitely about to fall over. “Uhm, y-you asked us to call when we got ‘Innerspace’-- or, I mean, we said we’d call you when we got it. Kind of the same thing, but, you know… anyway, it just came in.”

“Awesome,” you smiled even though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Thank you again. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, pshhh, of course. Yeah, of course. No big deal. I mean, that's what we're here for, right? Haha… uhm…”

You wanted to say something, anything to get her to not hang up, but the silence that followed her voice was heavy with an almost anticipative breath, like Robin was working something out.

“Um,” she started again, her voice growing soft. “I, uh, didn’t get your name…”

“Oh my god, you didn’t -- sorry about that. I'm Y/N.”

She repeated your name slowly, as if making sure that it would stick in her memory. You felt a shiver run down your back, your stomach fluttering.

“Nice to meet you,” she softly replied.

“Nice to meet you, too.” You turned sideways, leaning up against the wall and hugging an arm to your chest, cheek pressing against the receiver as you smiled.

“Um, okay -- look, I know this is probably, like, completely weird and strange, and, I don’t know, maybe even kind of creepy -- and you totally don’t have to say yes, or say anything, for that matter, but… Steve and I are going to see a movie tomorrow. The drive-in just opened back up again and it’s been forever since we’ve, like, actually watched a movie. Which is crazy because we work in a place that sells them, haha….”

You could practically hear her wince of pain, but you didn’t want to interrupt considering she hadn’t even asked you a question yet.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come? Like I said, no pressure! But, uh… we’d love -- I’d… it’d be cool, you know, if you wanted to.”

At that very moment, you were doomed. Your brain had disappeared somewhere through the ceiling and out into the evening Hawkins sky.

“I’d love to,” you were saying before you even had the chance to think about what that meant.

You’d met her once -- what if this was some sort of ploy to murder you and dump your body in Lover's Lake or something? What if once she actually hung out with you she thought you were weird? What if she was expecting this to be some sort of double date?

None of it mattered, though; not a single concern your brain could come up with. Literally nothing in the world would have convinced you to say no.

“Great,” Robin breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, cool. Uhm… so, we could, like, pick you up at your house -- or you could meet us at FV and we could take you from there. We’ll be working all day so we’re gonna head out from here, anyway.”

“I can meet you there, no problem,” you replied. You heard her exhale a breath that was unsteady enough to be a laugh but hadn't quite managed to go all the way. “Uhm… who’s Steve? -- if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, no, not at all. Steve’s just my co-worker--” you heard a distant shout. “Okay, okay, he’s also my very best friend in the world -- happy?” she ducked away to call the last part. You gathered that Steve must have been listening.

“Sorry,” you could hear her smile. “He’s the dingus that checked for your tape the other week. Stupid hair, even stupider smile. Dresses like a middle-aged dad who wants to divorce his wife but doesn’t have the balls to actually go through with it…”

You burst out laughing, quickly ducking your head down and throwing a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. You could hear Robin laughing, too, even as she yelled at someone on her side of the line.

“I can’t drive, so he’s my chauffeur.”

“Cool,” you smiled. “Sounds like fun. Is… is there a time I should meet you, or…”

“Oh! Yes, uh… Steve?!”

You heard a distant “Seven-thirty” before Robin turned back to the phone and said, “Does seven-thirty work?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” your chest felt tight all of the sudden. “I guess I’ll see you then?”

“Yes. Yep. Uh… see you then,” Robin’s slightly spastic voice replied, chipper and adorable, and that feeling in your chest grew to an almost painful degree.

“O-Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” she replied, her voice timid, followed by the click of the receiver. A busy single blared in your ears as you stared across the kitchen.

“Hey honey,” your mom began, peering her head around the wall that separated you from the living room. “Who was that?”

“Just a, um… friend,” you replied. “Friends, actually. They invited me to go see a movie with them tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she smiled, big and a bit forced. “Kids from school?”

“Yeah,” you lied. Well, half a lie. Steve and Robin had to have gone to the same school as you, considering Hawkins only had one, but that wasn’t exactly how you knew them. Your mom didn’t need to know that, though.

“Uh…” you set the phone back on the hook and slowly started backing towards the stairs. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Yell if you need anything.”

“O… kay,” your mom called as you bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and nearly wiping out as you whipped around the railing and down the hall.

By the time you reached your room, you were out of breath, but it only took you about three seconds before you burst into giggles, making the softest noises of excitement you could manage as you threw your hands over your face and shook your head.

“Holy shit. Holy shit!” you whispered, grinning wide enough to make your cheeks hurt.

You felt like your body was exploding in the best way possible -- like all your cells were vibrating at a frequency that made your head spin. You felt like you could have run for miles and still kept going

It was practically impossible to get to sleep that night. You lay awake, staring at your ceiling as your brain ran through every scenario that could possibly happen, both good and bad.

Little did you know, across town Robin was staring up at her ceiling, too.

________________________________________________________________

“So I’ve been thinking--”

“Jesus Christ, Robin, it’s literally eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah, and? That means I only have eleven hours to make sure I don’t make a complete fool of myself.”

“Off to a great start,” Steve sarcastically replied. “Look, can your relationship crisis at least wait until we get to work,” he gestured to the car they were sitting in.

“But that’s the whole point, Steve. We’re not even in a relationship yet, so I need to make sure everything goes perfectly otherwise she’ll think I’m a total loser or something and she’ll never speak to me again, and then I’ll have blown my latest and most promising chance at a happy relationship since that time I accidentally got gum in Sadie Elenburger’s hair in fifth grade.”

“Alright, slow down,” Steve interrupted, raising his eyebrows. “First of all, that’s kind of sad. Second, just… you know, be yourself--” Robin groaned “--And as long as you don’t chew gum, you’ll be golden.”

“Steve. This is not a joke.”

“No, I know,” he seriously replied, wondering how she was already so tense this early in the morning. “This shit’s gotta be bad for your blood pressure.”

“It is,” she affirmed, pulling down the sun visor and flicking open the mirror. She’d put a little extra makeup on today -- which for Robin just meant eyeliner and some faint glitter in the corners -- and rubbed anxiously at the skin beneath her eyes. “Ugh! I look like a fucking raccoon.”

“You look fine,” he tried to reassure her. “Nice! You look nice.”

She groaned again, sliding her hands down her face before slamming the visor back up.

“Oh! And another thing I thought of--” Steve sighed “--You’re taking us, right, and then there’s her and me, so… how are we all going to sit inside your car without making it super awkward?”

“What?” he squeezed his eyes shut as long as he could safely manage before looking back at the road, wishing they would suddenly get abducted by aliens or encounter Bigfoot so this conversation could be over. Probably would have been less stressful for Robin, actually.

Robin, who turned sideways in her seat to shoot him a frantically annoyed look because apparently he should have been reading her mind.

“You’re driving, so if we both sit in the back it’ll be, like, mega weird -- like we’re being fucking chaperoned, or something--”

“Isn’t that what’s happening?”

“But if I sit in the front, that’s, like, rude, right? Because then she’s back there all by herself. But if I let her sit in the front, she’ll probably feel uncomfortable because it’ll just be you and her up there, and then I won’t be able to talk to her anyway, and then she’ll fall in love with you instead of me.”

“Woah woah, hey,” Steve hunched his shoulders defensively. “Why would she feel uncomfortable with me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, Steve,” she impatiently replied. “It’s just, you know, most girls don’t like being thrown into a tiny little death box with some random dude they've literally only spoken to once.”

“And now you’re insulting my car.”

“Focus, Steve! This isn’t about you, this is about me and the very real possibility that I am going to absolutely blow this date and die alone.”

Steve froze, turning slowly to stare at her.

“D…Date. You just called it a date…”

Robin stared back at him blankly before smacking herself on the forehead. Which didn’t stop Steve from grinning.

“Look, just relax, okay,” he offered, voice softening. “We’ll just… I don’t know, we’ll think of someone to invite last minute. That way they can sit up with me and you can sit back with your girlfriend.”

“Seriously, don’t even joke about that,” Robin said, but there was a reluctant, albeit pained, smile working its way onto her face. “I think I’d actually explode if that ever really happened.”

“Well,” Steve smiled at her. “Let’s just get you through this date, yeah? And you can’t fucking do that if you give yourself a stroke by ten in the morning and I have to rush you to the hospital to be revived.”

Robin snorted, one side of her mouth curling into that smirk that she used whenever she was still trying to act annoyed with him.

“At least wait until the movie so she can be the one giving you mouth-to-mouth instead of me.”

“Ew, gross,” her face screwed up, but they were both laughing now. However, by the time they arrived at Family Video, Robin was back on her panicked mission to invite another one of their friends along.

Throughout the duration of the morning, Steve insisted that Dustin was absolutely not coming. They considered inviting Max before Steve remembered that she and her mom were visiting family this weekend. Lucas was a brief option before Steve shut that one down, too making a new rule that they had to think of someone over seventeen to come along.

That left…

“Eddie,” they both said, much to the confusion of the woman they had been in the process of checking out.

“No. No way,” Steve insisted while Robin rang the lady up and gave her a smile and a clipped “have a nice day” before turning back around.

“Please, Steve,” she begged. “You wanted someone over seventeen… he’s definitely over sevent--”

“I know, I know, I just… he’s Eddie.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And?... are you sure you want to risk him scaring your new girlfriend away.”

Robin groaned at the title, raking her hands over her forehead and back through her hair.

“Well, it’s better than you awkwardly third-wheeling. Please,” she drew the word out, and Steve couldn’t stand more than a few seconds of her puppy eyes.

“Oh fuck me -- fine,” he surrendered, throwing a hand up. “But you owe me one.”

“Right, yes. I owe you one. Hell, I owe you a million. Thank you thank you thank you!” she was practically bursting with a wired mix of nerves and excitement.

Little did she know, across town, you were having the same problem…

________________________________________________________________

You’d woken early and spent the better half of the morning cleaning your room. If you didn’t do something, you’d just sit there; and if you just sat there, you’d come up with a million different reasons why this was a bad idea. So you blasted Fleetwood Mac and busied yourself with rearranging. You changed your sheets and tried not to dwell on your personal flaws that Robin could potentially find annoying. You vacuumed your floor and wondered if she’d ask you about the tape.

You had just considered going through and rearranging your closet when you realized that you’d have to figure out what you were wearing tonight, and then you’d promptly flopped yourself onto your freshly made bed and tried not to scream. You’d be lucky if you made it to seven-thirty. Then, if you managed that, you’d be lucky if you made it to see the sun rise on a new day.

It hadn’t crossed your mind that maybe you were being dramatic.

When you emerged from your room for the first time that day, it was already lunchtime.

“Well, look who finally decided to get up,” your dad said from his spot at the kitchen table, eyes never leaving his paper. A half-empty cup of coffee left a stain on the wood.

“Been up for a while, actually,” you murmured. “Just cleaning my room.”

“Cleaning?” he asked, disbelieving. “D’you hear that, mom? She’s cleaning.”

“Mmm,” your mom hummed, turning around from the stove to glance at you.

“Should get her to do the spare room, next. You’ve got all that extra junk in there.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dryly replied, your tone pinched but even enough to not get yourself into trouble. “Yeah, I’ll get to it at some point.”

You pulled some leftovers out of the fridge, heating them as quickly as possible before turning to head back up to your room.

“See you later, I guess,” your dad called after your retreat, and you stilled for long enough to convince yourself that the whole situation wasn’t worth the guilt he had you feeling before booking it up the stairs.

It would be easier to be around them if they didn’t criticize you all the time. Or complain about you to your face. It would be easier to spend time with them if they actually made you want to. You found your thoughts drifting back to Robin and her soft eyes, her eager smile -- that genuine way she had about her. Even though she seemed nervous, she wasn’t afraid to be herself. You liked that.

And suddenly you didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Excitement at getting out, getting away from your life with someone like Robin, replaced your previous apprehensions about whether or not she would like you or the possibility that you’d make a fool of yourself. Because really, your parents were living lives that they would have said they were happy or content with, but they were really just as miserable as everyone. You didn’t want your life to pass you by so quickly that you woke up one day with a husband and a kid you didn’t even know you were pushing away, and a cookie-cutter life. You wanted to feel things.

Robin had already made you feel things and you barely knew her.

So whatever happened tonight, you were ready for it. The notion of it was exciting.

You hastily ate your food and then stood in front of your closet like it was an amphitheater. Raking through rows of shirts and sweaters and pants and skirts, you tried to put the jigsaw pieces into something that resembled a respectable outfit. It took you nearly an hour of trying things on and immediately ripping them off before you circled back to something that resembled what you’d been wearing that day you’d gone into Family Video; they were clothes you wore often enough to be comfortable in, but also nice enough to give you a necessary boost of confidence.

Now that you were dressed, you checked your wristwatch. A disappointing ‘two-thirty’ greeted you, meaning that you still had a little over four hours before you could even think about leaving. You flopped down onto your bed and began flipping through a book, trying to ignore the way your eyelids felt heavy and your head seemed to sink right into the pillow.

A few hours later, you realized you’d fallen asleep when you were jolted awake at the sound of your mother calling you for dinner. Flying up out of bed, you quickly looked at your watch. It was only five-fifteen -- you had plenty of time. Descending the stairs, you greeted your parents with a tired smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

“Well,” your dad insisted. “Where are you going, all dressed up?”

Immediately feeling self-conscious -- and fighting that emotion with everything in you -- you glanced down and then back up at him with a dismissive shrug. You liked the way you looked; an off-hand comment from your dad wouldn’t change that. Or, so you tried to tell yourself.

“She’s going to the movies with some friends, remember,” your mom told him, offering you a plate and a smile. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you managed, taking your plate to sit down at the table.

“You could borrow some of my makeup if you wanted,” she sat down next to you.

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

“You’re not meeting a boy, are you?” your dad asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip from his cup.

“No,” you replied, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth, wishing that this conversation wasn’t happening.

“Good. No boys, remember.”

He thought he was being funny. Jesus. You hid your grimace behind your cup and nodded.

“Yeah, ‘course, dad. No boys.”

If your father knew what you were really doing, he’d likely beg for you to spend more time with boys. Because, as often as your parents -- and other adults in general -- made jokes about how you should stay away from boys as long as you could, no one actually expected you to. It was all some grand inside joke that adults seemed to have; just because they were so unhappy with their own relationships, they thought it gave them the right to comment on what they believed your future one would be like.

Because, in their eyes, you would marry a man by the time you were twenty-five and settle down, have a few kids, complain about your husband to all of your girl friends, and then retire. End of story. So, when they told you to “stay away from boys” as if it were the funniest joke in the world, they really didn’t mean a word of it. Why they said it, you couldn’t figure out. All you knew was that it made your stomach hurt.

Because tonight, you hadn’t gotten all dressed up to see a boy.

“I should finish getting ready,” you said after you helped your mother clear the dishes away. “I’ll need to leave in an hour or so.”

Bounding back up the stairs, you took a few deep breaths and tried not to completely freak out. You felt like you’d been slightly panicking for the past several hours, but now that seven-thirty was getting closer and closer, you could feel your anxiety cranking up to a ten. In the bathroom, you brushed your teeth, then used some mouthwash for good measure.

You grabbed at your face, smoothing over your eyebrows and adjusting your shirt across your shoulders, momentarily wondering if it revealed too much skin around your collar before reminding yourself that it wasn’t like you were in nothing but your underwear, and Robin wouldn’t freak out because you were wearing a slightly low-cut shirt. It wasn’t even low-cut.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you said to the mirror, dragging your hands down your face, trying not to nit-pick the imperfections you were finding there.

“Shut up,” you said to your brain. “Adds character. Yeah, sure.”

With a shake of your head, you spent another minute or so of nervous grooming before you locked eyes with your own reflection and tried to give yourself a final, desperate boost of confidence.

“Don’t fuck this up,” is what you settled on, and then you were waving goodbye to your parents with the promise of being home by midnight.

________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @alonezz (you’re a saint for waiting so long, I hope you enjoy it <3)

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin x reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley #st #stranger things #ST fanfic #steve harrington #steve and robin #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction

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kremechihihi · 1 year

Text

My Yoyo Design(s)!!!!

While messing around w/ the Yoyo doodle from my last blog post, I found that adjusting the hue by 25% to the right gets you his jsrf palette. Coincidence or not, I ran with that logic and thought of creating a new Yoyo design with what I got from sliding the hue adjustor all the way to the right : purple and blue.

But before running with purple jacket blue hair Yoyo just like dat, I wanted to try n analyze his canon looks n take note of the constants in both desoigns which are : red ractangular shades, baggy clothing, hanging belt, hooded upper wear, dark-colored bottom wear, bigger (compared to others) round yellow hued skates, and ofc his smug ass grin.

More importantly, his character color palette utilizes red, orange, yellow, green, and blue only which made this redesign thing a little challenging,,,

,,,and challenging it was 😵‍💫 i wanted to try pushing a 7 hue palette on him to sort of break from his usual scheme and make the look more ‘new’ buut obviously it didn’t work out. so i stuck with the usual 5 hue limit and wowers it works!!!

As for the design itself i wanted to go for a layered look. Gave him a cargo vest cus i thought it’d look sick on em + gives off the same tactical look his “bullet sling” looking sash from his future design does. Instead of a hanging belt, I went with a hanging suspender (?) similar to what tripp pants have. Double layer ripped jeans for a way to add color to the usual dark bottom wear, also to have (lime) green stand out in his overall look similarly with his canon designs. As for the skates…they’re not exactly skates. He’s wearing sneakers but with this chunky round skates sole that’s removable so he can wear/show off his counterfeit sneaker collection while being able to skate around town. For the sake of this design, I wanted the sneakers and soles to have a similar yellowish hue to counter the usual yellow skates with black/navy grey design. Similar to future, his hair is exposed but it’s messy and unkempt like what i assume his og hair is. Lastly, the shades are all-red and sport-like in shape.

In the end, I am satisfied with how he looks but I still wanted to make a Yoyo design based on my own tastes and color scheme. So here’s anotha wan!!!!!!!!

Originally just an alt color palette, I turned it into its own design cus why not.

This time I’m following the idea that instead of a hue adjustment, his hair is the color of the previous design’s jacket which is turquoise! 5 hue rule applies here too.

Kept the same idea for the shoes, but now his socks can be seen. His hair roots are grown out (though i personally think it’s just bleached). He’s got a headband keeping his bangs away, orange fingerless arm warmers, and lime ish olive green cargo pants. Jacket is now royal blue going indigo cus i’ve always thought it’s his favorite color n i really just wanted to see it as a main color in his design from just his og skate wheels color. Instead of a belt, the open rings in his jacket have three ribbons hanging made to look like an arrow, in reference to the arrow designs on his og skates as well. Aaand lastly the shades, kinda wanted to stick with all red again but what if red frames and white/transparent lens 🧐 an inversion of his og sunglasses. It’s asymmetrical in shape to form a silly eye expression.

Anyway that iz all, designing these were an inch resting experience. Considering doing other character redesigns as well but not anytime soon, i got other stuff going on.

#jet set radio #jsr #jsr yoyo #yoyo jsr #character redesign #redesign #if sega wont do blue hair yoyo in the new jsr ion wannit!!

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c-t-r-l14 · 5 months

Text

See You Again

“I said I’m ‘bout to go to war,

And I don’t know if I’ma see you again.”

————————-🧡————————————

Synopsis: You find yourself wide awake, thinking about Dontis.

—————————-🧡—————————————-

“The sky was a shade of purple yesterday”.

A knot formed in your chest, and your whole body felt hollow. Heat bloomed throughout your entire being, and beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you typed.

“Yes, but the clouds rolled into orange hues.”

The overwhelming feeling of dread formed in the pit of your stomach, and you swayed slightly where you stood. You sucked in a deep, shaky breath and your whole body began to shake. You never would’ve guessed how two seemingly harmless sentences had such a profound effect on you. But, it made sense. Those words were the harbinger of war, and your beloved Dontis was in the very heart of the battlefield. With war, comes pain, and with pain, comes death, and it was a very likely possibility that Dontis could end up as a casualty. And, although this was something you’ve already realized, this stark, and very possible reality hasn’t hit you yet.

Feeling strangely detached from your own body, you started to get ready for bed.

……..

By the time you’ve emerged from the shower, night had fallen. The moon was out—its white radiance illuminating the midnight blue sky. There weren’t many stars peeking overhead that night, but the beautiful lights of the city that lived underneath the vast sky made up for it. You sighed inwardly, feeling hollow yet again. He would’ve loved this.

You remembered the first time you stayed in New Orleans with him. It was such an unfamiliar place—the city was bustling—full of rich culture, and people from many backgrounds, humans and supernatural beings alike. It was there where you finally saw what Dontis was trying to tell you when you two first met. There IS a place where everyone could live in harmony—without threat or fear. Without needing to hide. And that place was New Orleans. You remembered how Dontis beamed with absolute delight as he planned out what exactly you guys were going to do there, figuring out ways on how to make your stay so memorable, “that you’d never want to leave”—or however he put it. And if it were anyone else, they would’ve been smiling from ear to ear, eager to help with the planning, trying to find what days to go sightseeing at what time, and at what place; but all you could really think about was the recent revelations you’ve come to know, and how you’ve spent so many years of your life living a lie. Your hands were stained with the blood of so many people just to get this far—to finally catch the incubus who made your father go “missing.” And now the same incubus that you worked so hard to find stood before you, happily ranting about how exquisite Cafe du Monde’s cuisine was, and how you two should totally stop there for lunch tomorrow when he takes you on a tour around the city.

You let out a loud, hearty laugh—one that came from the very pit from your stomach, one so strong that it bounced from the back of your throat and reverberated against the buildings and streets. You couldn’t find the irony any more hilarious.

“What is so funny?” Dontis inquired, a bit confused as to why you were laughing seemingly out of nowhere.

“It’s just really crazy how just a little while ago, I had you tied up and chained in my basement. I never would’ve guessed that our lives—our relationship would go from that, to you planning on taking me on a grand tour around the city,” you chuckled, wiping a tear from your eye.

Dontis smiled—a smile that you grew fond of. A smile you’ve come to love.

“Ah, yes. Life could be crazy and unpredictable. But it could also be beautiful and exciting. Filled with anticipation and a bit of wonder. It’s for us to enjoy, if we allow ourselves to do that.”

You stared deeply into his eyes—his irises as gray as storm clouds, flecks of gold and brown peeking its way through the grey colored ocean that was his eyes. Soft and sweet. Warm and inviting. Loving and kind. And that was the first time you truly got to admire how gorgeous Dontis was. Your lips stretched into a toothy grin.

“Well,” You said, running your hand into your hair, “I’m glad you’re here to show me just how great life can be.”

And on this night, the moon was out, its white radiance on display for all to see.

The sky tinted in the shade of midnight blue.

Not a single star peeking overhead. The streets lined with city lights, and a bustling city that lived under the vast sky.

And it was a night just like this one, where you found love.

Your eyes began to sting and you crossed your arms, your nails digging into your skin to prevent yourself from falling into pieces. The reality struck you so hard that it almost knocked you over. Dontis may never come back, and that reality was too much to bear. And although you’ve made the decision to stay behind, you found yourself wishing that you went with him. You spent so many years of your life using your skills to hurt people, and it all amounted to nothing. But, this could’ve been your chance to actually put those skills to good use—to help and protect the ones you love instead of hurting and killing people for them. But it was all too late now. You let out a loud, forceful sob—one that came from the very pit of your stomach, one that clawed its way out of your throat, and made your chest tighten and burn. You sunk to the bed, your nails digging deeper and deeper into your skin. You had no idea what you’d do without him. He was the only person you actually gave a damn about. He was the only person you had ever truly loved. Being alone again in this world was a reality that you couldn’t handle. It was a reality that you weren’t willing to accept.

You laid in bed, although, you weren’t getting any sleep tonight.

Because Dontis had gone to war, and he had taken your heart with him.

———————————🧡——————————-

A/N: I remember listening to the audio where Dontis was saying goodbye to listener, and honestly his whole interaction with them just killed me inside. Dontis was the whole reason why listener was able to settle down in the first place—and he gave them the opportunity to actually live a life that didn’t have anything to do with violence and death. So, to see that the one person who taught you how to live your life now going off to risk their own, with a very big possibility of not coming back—just made me feel for them so bad.

I’m trying to get better at writing dialogue for these characters, so if there is any improvement that needs to be made, don’t hesitate to let me know!

That you so much for reading, ya’ll! 🧡

Masterlist

#sakuverse #zsakuva #dontis x reader #dontis zsakuva #hunter listener x Dontis #zsakuva x reader #zsakuva dontis

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soufcakmistress · 11 months

Text

Charleston Blues

Part IV

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

“I took it upon myself to personally bring you this small token of our appreciation and a warm welcome to Charleston from the CNWL and me as well. I hope you’ll be able to make a home here.” Mrs. Warner had her best curls pieced and placed perfectly on her heart shaped face. She showed every tooth in her mouth shoving the massive home baked apple crisp into Erik’s chest.

“My freezer box is full to overflowing with desserts but thank you anyway! And you said your name was…”

“Warner. Stella Warner. My husband is also a business owner; he owns his own barbershop on the peninsula. Mr. Stevens, how you liking the south? The climate seems to be agreeing with you.”

He walks to the back where a small break room lies with a table and two chairs and a refrigerator, with Mrs. Warner following like a yearning puppy. “Hotter than what I’m used to, but it’s beautiful. Everybody has shown such hospitality. Including you, little lady.” Erik winked at Mrs. Warner and she fought not to swoon and sway.

“Well, I have to get a move on now. The club will be convening soon and I have to get my kids situated. Surely you understand right?” Stella blinked her brown eyes right in his face, curious and mischievous. “You don’t have to leave so soon Stella..”

Erik swaggered to the front and told Jerry to flip the sign on the door and go take a break. He came back in there with her coy eyes flittering every which way and Erik fought to pull at his dick in his pants. “She’s ripe for the taking, as long as you’re up for what could come next.” Erik’s God encouraged Erik’s fervor for the female form—this would be his first dip into the abyss since he was chosen by Badoru.

Erik brushed off his God’s warning and pounced on the willing prey. Erik hadn’t made it back two steps in the break room before Stella jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Damn. You even finer up close.” Her tongue moseyed into his mouth and one thing led to another that afternoon...

Chantilly straightened her hat on her head and licked her teeth for any lingering lipstick as she walked into the clubhouse. Black women of all shades flittered about as the meeting was about to begin. It was impeccably decorated with a homey touch too. The cream walls had several framed portraits of past events and fundraisers held by the club, on-site and off.

“Cousin! I so glad you came!!!” Frieda popped out from a back room, and embraced Tilly with so much tenderness. Tilly knew that she meant well, and after all that Frieda did for her, this was the least that she could do.

“For you, I will do anything. Some familiar faces in here. Jacqueline Shackleford, Mary Boozer, even Edith Jenkins. Y’all don’t leave no stone unturned huh?”

Frieda rolled her eyes, shuffling the stack of papers in her hands. “Give it a chance. Who knows? You might end up enjoying yourself. Just try. For me.” Tilly squeezed Frieda’s shoulder and acquiesced. Frieda moseyed to the front where the rest of the officers began to congregate, while Tilly browsed the food table. “Mmm, this cake looks just as dry. They definitely need my help, gracious.”

Tilly picked up a few finger sandwiches and found a seat, while some other women turned up the radio by the opened window. “The pastor’s vehicle was found on Johns Island. He was sighted walking along Sullivan Avenue but has not been sighted ever since. Theodore Dunne has been the lead pastor of his church for over 15 years working in ministry with a special interest in children. If you have any idea about his possible whereabouts, please call the tipline. And in other news of the Lowcountry, more and more colored people are becoming business owners and trailblazing into areas of Charleston with a different demographic…”

Several women gasped and clutched their pearls at the pastor’s disappearance. Tilly feigned like she was aghast but inside, she rumbled with laughter. Little did they know, Theodore Dunne would never be seen again. “Ladies, ladies—simmer down now. We’re about to begin.” The sickly sweet drawl of her former arch enemy Melissa nearly turned her stomach. Of course, she would be the president—her bossiness and penchant for getting in people’s business was legendary on Johns island.

“Welcome ladies to our midweek meeting for the Club for Negro Women of the Lowcountry for the greater Charleston area. I see a whole lot of new faces, and I’m so happy to have y’all with us.” Melissa scanned her eyes among the faces and let them linger a second too long on Tilly. Tilly couldn’t read her expression but she would make sure to personally greet her before the meeting concluded.

Tilly sipped her tea in silence as she listened intently at the agenda at hand. Roll was called and all of the newcomers were met with a warm welcome after a quick introduction and any possible legacy ties. Idella Morrow, the chapter Vice President, thanked several committees for their efforts for the Spring Fling for the high schoolers on the peninsula. All efforts now needed to be put toward the Cotillion at the end of the year. All of the women seemed so engrossed and engaged, Tilly could sense the sisterhood in the room. Several women began to interject with their suggestions and contributions to the cause.

“My sister does hair out of her home, she could do some of the young ladies’ hair.”

“I’m a seamstress, please send the girls and boys to me for their gowns and suits.”

“We should fry some fish after the men’s softball games to raise money for the households unable to cover those costs right now, y’all know we right there on the water.”

“You’re just as valuable to this community as these women are. Show what you can do. Be comfortable with being uncomfortable.”

Timidly Chantilly raised her hand in a fit of courage from her mother. “Ladies, I am a professional pastry chef. I actually have a bakery opening in the very near future off of Meeting Street. I would be honored to to assist in any bake sales and take care of the cake for the Cotillion as well.”

“Aren’t we so lucky to have such an addition as Chantilly Davenport? The Club of Negro Women of the Lowcountry would is made better with your presence after such tragic circumstances that fell over your family. You’re looking much better these days, isn’t she ladies?” They all begin to clap for her, enraging Tilly. Bitch still knew how to capitalize on an opportunity to embarrass her. Maybe Tilly would become a permanent fixture; let’s see how Missy would like that. “Stay your hand, Chantilly. Her time will come.”

Fixing her lipstick, Mrs. Warner perked up to throw her hat in. “Well for all you moms with sons, y’all know y’all can come to my husband’s barbershop for their haircuts. I also have gotten some intel on that colored Yankee shaking up King Street.” She was so sure of herself by the way she twisted her lips up.

“Now now ladies, we are not ones to gossip! Although he is quite handsome. What’s the fella’s name?” Missy inquired, nibbling on the cap of her pen.

“His name is Erik Stevens and he’s from Massachusetts. He was in the Navy and was in the service during Korea. Said the things us colored folk down here experiencing made him want to do something! He’s quite the looker….”

Sipping her tea to get the nasty taste out of her mouth, Tilly’s heightened intuition confirmed everything she already deduced. Mrs. Warner wasn’t just keeping her marital bed to her husband; it was written all over her face. Erik Stevens. The Yankee vet that shook up the lowcountry. With a smile like that, he has to be up to no good.

Davenport Desserts & More would be opening in the next month. Tilly was still waiting on an industrial mixer to be delivered, and she could have sworn the electrician would be by to check the circuit breaker by 2. Here it is, coming up on 3:15, and a no show so far.

These were the times she hated. With a snap of a finger, Ursilene could speed things along. But she didn’t want to overstep. Ursilene was an asset and the catalyst for change in her life, which is why she had to be discerning. She still had to live and be normal in Charleston and behave as normal. So human problems still plagued her. It kept her humble.

She painted the inside of the bakery sea foam green just like Ursilene’s colors. The wall facing the street was getting an extra coat when the slow wheeze of an old muffler came trudging down Meeting Street. On instinct, her stomach dropped into her butt.

Officer Josiah Morton was the resident hard ass, dying to prove a point. Charleston was very segregated and he would do anything in his power to keep it that way. Yet Josiah had a wandering eye that left him full of self hatred. Black women were beneath him and yet they occupied his mind. A sick combination of contradictions with too much power at his disposal. The police cruiser came to a halt in the front of the bakery.

The electric sign was on its way and there was still paper on the windows shielding the inside. Tilly hadn’t known that the officer was approaching until she felt the pull from Ursilene. “He’s here to intimidate. Stay on guard, and he’ll leave.”

Tilly’s hand shook a bit painting upward with the paint roller. This particular pig was an incessant nuisance for this community and by the way his chest was poked out with that slimy smile of his—he’d been waiting to corner Tilly.

“Officer.”

“You working for some folks here, gal?” His sly eyes roamed Tilly’s body and lingered on her round bottom in her overalls. She wanted to kill him where he stood.

“Not quite, Officer. Seems that luck has turned in my favor, I own this place.” She had the audacity to look in this white cop’s eye because she was a Davenport and they were proud people. Tilly saw how he ogled her with no regard for how she felt, and that ungodly anger swirled in her chest again. The slimy officer twirled a kinky ringlet of Tilly’s mane tied under a bandana, leading it down her arm.

“You’ll have to make me something special once you’re all opened up, gal. I’ll be sure to pop up and every now and again….make sure you don’t get outta hand.” Tilly gulped down her ire until a smooth candy red Camaro parked behind the police cruiser. There’s no way..

“Everything okay here baby? I apologize for being a little late, I had to square away with Jerry before I closed up. I see we have a visitor..” Erik swaggered right up to Tilly, and gently brushed the officer aside and placed those unbelievable lips on her neck. The sensation that flowed through the both of them was unnatural, much like what had occurred already. Yet it felt ancient and familiar.

Erik’s hand guided her face to his and they stared at each other momentarily before the officer cleared his throat. The haze wasn’t totally broken between the pair but Tilly was able to separate herself from him. However, not far enough to spoil the act. “This is Officer Josiah Morton, baby. One of Charleston PD’s best and brightest.”

Erik shook the officer’s hand and looked him square in the eye. Erik easily was in a different weight class than the officer and stood almost a head above him. “Erik Stevens. United States Navy. Just made my way down south to help some vets and fell in love all the same. Isn’t she a stunner?”

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck stood up—he loved to gaze at her mouth specifically her cupids bow. But the wrath fought to overwhelm and it made his spine straight as steel as another cop abused his power. “Control yourself, Erik. Protect her, and that’s all.”

Officer Morton turned red as a beet at the nerve of this uppity Yankee negro. He did shake his hand while he measured the man up. Josiah knew he would be overpowered man to man….but he had a different kind of power to aid him that Erik couldn’t access. “Stevens, is that it? You serve in Korea?”

“That’s right Officer. With the seals. We did what needed to be done.” Erik squeezed his arm around Tilly, and clenched his jaw. The tension was very high in this small space, and Tilly made sure to diffuse the pressure. “Well Officer, as you can see we have everything under control. Thank you for your….initiative to keep an eye on this community.”

She pinched Erik on his side and his head whipped towards her, with confusion and anger all in his features. The officer slowly dragged back to his cruiser and left them in a cloud of exhaust smoke.

“I’ve beat men up for much less with the shit you just pulled. You don’t know me!”

“Oh Miss Davenport, surely you don’t mean that. You played it tough, but your knight in shining armor came to save the day. You ain’t know?”

TAGS:

@l-auteuse

@eclecticblkgirl

@thadelightfulone

@nickidub718

@theogbadbitch

@loveeeeandaffection

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@amirra88

@sheabuttahwrites

@janelledarling

@raysunshine78

@stariamrry

@fd-writes

@dessianna1

@thehomierobbstark

@thickemadame

@honeytoffee

@uzumaki-rebellion

@xo-goldengirl

@blackmissfrizzle

@killmonger-fics

@rbhp

@sheisexcellent1

@viewsfromthesips

@ljstraightnochaser

@spicynoodlezzz

@dashhoney25

@wassuduoo

@msreshel

@honeyandpeaches

@miyuhpapayuh

@majesticbrownjawn

@dameshaemonique

@tchallasbabymama

@naysianaee

@alookintohersoul

@blackburnbook

@cecereads209

@themeirajay

@just-peachee

@theblulife

@melodicheauxx-lacritiquexx

@woahitslucyylu

@richonne4life

@xsweetdellzx

@blackpinup22

@eyeknowmywrites

@childishgambinaax

@abcdestinyyyy

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@elaindeereads

@brattyfics

@why-wait-for-eventually-blog

@girlsneedlovingfanfics

@pipsqueak-98

@ladymac82

@ghostfacekill-monger

@id-rather-be-an-outsider

@merranerra

@theliterarybeldam

@kokokonako

@sourbabynaee

@4bambiray

@crowngold

@darkangelchronicles

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger smut #erik stevens #charleston blues #killmonger smut #killmonger fic #killmonger x reader

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sarahowritesostucky · 17 days

Text

📖"Blood Moon Rising" pt 6

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: shrinkyclinks, prison au, werewolf au, omega Steve, Alpha Bucky, dub-con, non-con, werewolf sex, knotting, oral (m!rec), hand jobs, held hostage, age gap (40/26), forced mating, violence, bonding, Dom/sub elements

Summary: Steve gets a lot more than he bargained for when a prison riot breaks out and he becomes the captive of an Alpha werewolf.

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Fic Masterlist

Part 6 - "In Shades of Purple"

After learning so much new information in the Yurt, Steve needed to get some air. He needed time to process, and maybe think of a last minute escape plan (though none was forthcoming).

He went for a walk along the outskirts of the camp, trying to clear his head. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed a rustling from the nearby woods. He looked over, thinking that it was probably a squirrel, and was surprised to see a wolf peeking at him through a bush. With all of Steve’s varied escape attempts thus far, by now he knew that werewolves were more than capable of treading silently in the forest and pouncing without ever being noticed by their prey. If Steve had heard this one’s approach, it was because the wolf wanted him to.

The wolf stepped closer, revealing itself from around the foliage, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed. There were only a couple of pack members whom he recognized by sight in their shifted forms. Most of them tended to be a combination of dull grey and brown, black and white, but Wanda’s fur was almost the same color as her actual hair. “Oh,” Steve said as the wolf walked over. “Oh. Hi Wanda.” He felt so weird speaking normally to her, but he’d been told that the wolves could understand speech just fine in their animal forms, so … “Erm, how’s it going?”

The wolf stepped up close and nudged Steve’s hand with her snoot in a silent greeting.

“I was just taking a walk.” He indicated the treeline he’d been following. “To clear my head. Try and figure out what I’m gonna do about … about tonight.”

Wanda chuffed and shot him what could only be interpreted as a look of judgemental incredulity, making Steve feel stupid.

“Yeah,” he agreed glumly, because what could he really do? Run away again? Commit suicide? Kill Bucky? He had zero interest in any of those options. Running away would only mean getting his slippery ass caught in record time (humiliating), offing himself was cowardice and too dramatic for the circumstances besides (lame), and killing Bucky was, well …

Steve bit his lip. Killing Bucky would just be setting himself up for attack from the rest of the pack. It was beyond dangerous. And even if it weren’t, even if he could somehow magically stab Bucky in the neck and not have to worry about 200+ other werewolves coming after him, he still wouldn’t want to do it.

Of course he’d thought about murdering Bucky—numerous times, usually envisioning some scenario involving killing the alpha while he slept. Unfortunately, Steve couldn’t seriously contemplate such things for more than a minute or two before he’d begin to feel awful and discard the idea. Bucky might be a lot of things, but he hadn’t been cruel to Steve. Not once. Not since the Blowjob From Hell, back at the prison, leastways. Even back then, Bucky had only been doing what he felt he had to, in order to protect Steve from the other alphas in the pack.

And sharing a cabin and a bed with someone and letting them jerk you off night after night, week after week sure as shit didn’t make the idea of murder any more palatable. Bucky wasn’t a monster. He hadn’t treated Steve poorly (other than, ya know, kidnapping and holding him hostage), and he’d clearly ordered the other alphas in the pack to leave Steve alone, as nobody had since bothered Steve beyond scooping him up from his various escape attempts and depositing him back at Bucky’s doorstep. Even the men who’d been the scariest, most aggressive, and most challenging of Bucky’s leadership back at the prison—Drax, Batroc, Killmonger—had respected Bucky’s wishes regarding Steve. And Steve was under no delusion that, if it weren’t for the pack Lupului having laid down the law on who was allowed to touch Steve, then a lot more people would’ve been, by now.

Bucky was undeniably dangerous. He could be ruthless and brutal, taciturn and grumpy, and he was hella rough around the edges. But that didn’t mean he was bad. Now Steve had seen him as a provider, a protector, and a leader; and along with his shredded body and his handsome fucking face, all that together was a damned tempting package.

Yes, Steve was attracted to him. And yeah, his body reacted to the alpha in a powerful, instinctual way. He could admit that now, even though he’d been scared shitless of the guy in the beginning. His whole life, Steve had always been a real believe-in-the-system, do-the-right-thing sort of guy; somebody who would’ve never considered getting involved with an ex-felon, or aiding and abetting a bunch of escapees from a federal prison. And yet here he was, fully not intending to alert the authorities even if by some miracle he did escape.

Here he was, considering just how upset he was over the fact that he was about to be forcefully mated to one. The answer was: not as upset as he should be.

He groaned in frustration and looked down at Wanda, who was still walking right by his side. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Wanda blinked her big, wolfy eyes at him and tilted her head curiously.

“It makes no sense that I like him. Or that I’m not trying harder to run away right now.” Steve smacked at a branch of underbrush as they edged along the woods. “He’s awful. It’s awful that I’m even here at all. I don’t belong here.”

Wanda whined and bumped her body into his leg as they walked, and somehow Steve knew what that meant: She was reminding him of all the good times he’d had with the pack since his arrival.

“Well you didn’t see how he treated me at the prison,” Steve defended. “And he hasn’t exactly been invested in obtaining my consent for most things.” He bit his tongue as he thought about how Bucky had never once asked for permission to touch him … but also how Steve himself had almost never said ‘no’ to those advances when they happened. Was it really inevitable that it’d ended up this way? Or had he just not tried hard enough?

Having someone who looked like Bucky and smelled like Bucky and acted like Bucky around him for so long, pressuring him into a relationship, telling him without words that he wanted him as his mate and mother to his pups … well that kind of stuff built up over time. Even the act of running away had been getting harder each time Steve attempted it—not because he didn’t think he deserved to get out of there, but because he hated the hurt that would flash across Bucky’s face each time he was dragged back and dumped in front of him.

Steve smacked another branch, and that was when Wanda became animated, nudging Steve’s leg with her nose. He took it as a cue to give her scritches behind her ears, but she only shook him off and started grabbing at his hand lightly with her teeth. “Hey!” Steve laughed, pulling his hand back. “What’re you doing?”

She nudged up behind his legs, urging him into the woods, and Steve got the picture that she was trying to lead him somewhere. So he started following. “Where are we going?” he asked her, amused, following along for a few minutes until they reached a dense thicket in a part of the woods Steve had never seen before. Wanda yapped at him once, ducking her head as if to say “Are you paying attention?” Then she went to her belly and began to crawl through a small pass at the base of the thicket.

Steve scoffed. “I’m not going in there.”

Wanda whined and kept crawling, so Steve rolled his eyes and got to his elbows and knees and began crawling in her wake. “This better be good,” he huffed as he pushed past a few thorned branches that caught against his hair and his shirt. “Jeez.”

On the other side of the pass, there was a small grassy area, no bigger than one of the cells back at the prison. It was chock full of a tall, purple flowered plant.

Steve stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his pants. “What? We’re going flower picking for the big event?” he looked at Wanda peevishly. “No thanks. I’m not a blushing bride. I don’t need a bouquet.”

Wanda chuffed and shook her head in a decidedly un-wolflike way, and Steve paused with a frown. “Well what then?”

She padded to the edge of where the tall flowers grew and pawed at the leafy bases of the plants. She nudged her head at them as if to say, “Here, stupid.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.” He walked over and touched the flowers. They were pretty: purple and bell-shaped. “What is this?” he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the blooms. “Foxglove?” It had that look about it.

But Wanda growled and shook her head again, and she closed her mouth on one of the plants and pulled, tearing the flower stalk off. She immediately dropped it and moved her tongue in her mouth like a dog with peanut butter stuck in its gums, her pointy little front teeth showing as she sneezed in displeasure.

Steve briefly snickered, before he paused as a crazy thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute. Is that …?” He stepped forward and bent to pick up the stalk that Wanda had pulled. He held it up to his face with a frown. There was only one flower in the world he’d ever heard of in reference to werewolves. “Wanda, is this … this isn’t wolfsbane?” he whispered. “Is it?”

Wanda immediately barked and stomped her front feet in enthusiasm, and Steve looked at her in astonishment.

“The fuck? You want me to kill him?”

Again, Wanda huffed and shook her head no.

Steve looked between her and the patch of flowers, and back to her again. “Well what then?”

Once more, Wanda growled impatiently and went up to grab another stalk and rip it clean off the plant. She dropped it, sneezed, and repeated the peanut butter tongue thing. Steve didn’t understand what on earth she intended for him to do with it, but she was definitely telling him to pick it, growling and fake-snapping at him to urge him on so that she didn’t have to pull any more of the flowers with her mouth.

He might not understand the plan, but Steve’s heart leapt as he did realize one thing; and that was that someway, somehow, Wanda was trying to help him escape.

“Are you nuts?” Darcy said, right after she shifted back to skin and Steve’s eyes all but bugged out of his head at seeing his first, full-body werewolf shift.

“Oh.” He averted his eyes, but it was too late. He’d seen, well, everything.

Darcy stomped back to her bedroom—ostensibly to put on some clothes. Steve hoped. A moment later she returned, dressed in leggings and a tee shirt. She pointed at Wanda and said, “You’re nuts.”

“What? What’d she say?” Steve leaned forward anxiously where he was sitting at the kitchen table, right where they’d dumped the large clump of purple flowered stalks. “I already told her I don’t want to murder anybody!”

Darcy scoffed and came over, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from him. “No. She’s got it in her head that you can drug everybody at the bonfire. Put it in the harvest wine and zonk everybody out long enough for you to make a getaway.”

Steve’s breath stuttered in his chest. “I can?” He looked over at Wanda, who was lying by the woodstove and chewing on the entrails of the squirrel she’d caught for herself on their walk back to Darcy’s cabin. “We can? That’s something we can do?!”

Darcy scowled and rapped her knuckles on the table. “Hello, Earth to Steve. No you can’t do that. How would you even get it in the wine? Everybody’s eyes are gonna be on you tonight. You won’t have a second on your own to—”

At the stove, Wanda whined, and Steve looked over at her. She was staring straight at Darcy with a meaningful look. Steve’s heart leapt as he thought the same thing. “Yeah. Darcy: You could do it!”

“What? No!”

“Yes! Yes you can. You have to!” Steve reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Please? I don’t how much to put in, and like you said: I won’t get the chance. But you could do it when everybody’s distracted by the celebrations!” He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, Darce? This is my only chance. Please help me.”

Darcy complained and angsted over it, but Wanda came over and had a non-verbal conversation with her, which culminated in Darcy’s shoulders dropping and Wanda affectionately head-butting her leg. Darcy huffed in defeat, and Steve’s spirits soared. “So you’ll do it?!” he asked. “You’ll help?”

“Help you drug my entire pack on the night of a blood moon.” Darcy groaned. “Fuck. We’ll be in so much trouble if Alpha Barnes ever figures out who did it.”

Steve figured that was as good of a ‘yes’ as he was going to get, and he slapped the tabletop, unable to contain his excitement. “Thank you!”

Darcy glared at him. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s only one person I know who’s got the access we need to the harvest wine. And he could still turn us in.”

“Who?”

“Are you serious?” Peter whispered, wide-eyed as Steve took the lid off the basket and showed him the purple flowers they wanted him to lace the wine with. Darcy had just told him their plan, and now Peter would either turn them in, or help them. “Ohmygod you are. You’re actually friggin’ serious!”

Fuck, Steve thought. He’s gonna turn us in.

“Dude, I’m so in. This is crazy!”

Oh, Steve thought. Okay then. That was easy.

By dusk, the plan was underway. Peter had briefly shifted so he could wolf-talk with Wanda, who told him precisely how much wolfsbane to steep in the wine to knock the pack out but not harm them. Then Peter shifted back and got to work, whilst Steve, Wanda, and Darcy went about their business as usual.

Or, well—as usual as they could manage. Steve was excited, but he felt a creeping sense of dread as the day wore on into late afternoon, and then into early evening; as the village became more and more alive with activity and the pack started to gather in the clearing where the bonfire was being held.

People were bringing out folding chairs and blankets and food like it was the damn fourth of July. Steve would’ve felt more intimidated or embarrassed if he didn’t already know that the excitement wasn’t truly all about him and Bucky. It was a communal sort of excitement, an excitement for the pack Alpha having found his mate, which forebode stability and progress for the pack as a whole. Mating runs were a big deal in this community, warranting late-into-the-night revelry and partying, and with the significance of the blood moon on top of that, the entire village was bound to be out celebrating. Apparently, once Bucky caught Steve and dragged him back (yikes) then the entire pack would shift and run together.

Steve was ushered into the omega yurt, where he was prepared like a lily-white bride on her wedding night. He had to shower with special soaps, then dress in a flimsy white robe that wrapped around and barely reached halfway down his shins. Darcy and Nakia shoved him down into one of the beanbag chairs and rubbed the purple paste all over him. Steve scowled at the robe—a reminder that he was going to have to be naked for this event in front of the entire pack.

Not for long, he consoled himself. By the time the run was announced and Steve sent off with his head start, everyone in the pack should be well on their way to conking out. Even the alphas. Peter was on strict instructions from Wanda to time the bringing out of the wolfsbane-laced wine exactly thirty minutes before the beginning of the mating run. Luckily for Steve, since this was also the night of the blood moon—a night of great cultural significance—they could count on every adult member of the pack drinking the Harvest wine.

The pups of the pack weren’t anything they had to worry about. Wanda, who had the excuse of abstaining due to being pregnant and gestationally shifted, would look after the kids while the others slept off the drugged stupor. And while she wasn't in on the plan, Darcy had assured Steve that Jane - who was also pregnant and wouldn't be drinking - would help contain the pups once everybody started dropping like flies. Darcy and Peter would wait until the alphas started passing out, and then they too would drink the wine for real, to avoid any suspicion that they’d been involved.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be a lot of terrain for Steve to cross in bare feet, miles to go before he reached the beginnings of civilization. He’d need to move quickly if he wanted to get down the mountain and to the nearest town before the wolves started to stir again. It was a risky plan, but it was the only plan he had.

It was a good plan, he kept trying to reassure himself. There was no way it could go wrong. It would work. It would work. It would.

Fuck, he was nervous.

In the yurt where he was being prepared like a damn sacrificial lamb, Nakia noticed his mood, and seemed to interpret it as the normal nerves of a bride-to-be. “Don’t be afraid,” she encouraged him with a smile, as she worked the Wakandan paste into the soles of his feet and in-between his toes. “This is exciting! It will be fun.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes every time they flicked up to Steve’s face. “Alpha Barnes is a good man. He’ll make an excellent mate.”

Steve nodded along nervously, aware that she had to pretend to be just as on-board with the run as everybody else was. Even though he knew that they had a plan brewing—literally brewing—to help him escape, he still couldn’t calm himself down from his jitters very well. He’d avoided thinking about the run as much as possible ever since he’d first learned about what would happen: chased naked through the woods, with a purely ceremonial head-start, then tackled by a humongous werewolf, who would fuck him and bite him (hopefully having shifted back to human somewhere in the interim, but Steve hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask anybody about that little detail).

“It’s a big deal when a pack Alpha finds his mate,” Darcy said, where she was sitting beside Steve and rubbing the paste into his palm. “The Lupului of the Haită getting married doesn’t happen often. Once or twice in a generation. Last time was when I was just a pup, when Alpha Batroc came over with his pack from France.”

“Batroc?” Steve frowned. “You mean that asshole who’s always challenging Bucky’s leadership?”

“No, the asshole’s father.” Darcy rolled her eyes and moved around to do his other hand. “Apparently in some European packs, the title of Alpha is passed down hereditarily.”

“But not here,” Steve muttered, because he remembered what little Bucky had told him about being Alpha of this pack. How power was earned; borne of competence, brutality, and natural dominance. “Hard won and hard kept,” he recited, recalling what Bucky had said.

“Yeah.” Darcy met his eyes while Nakia was busying herself down at his feet. “Things weren’t always so nice for us, before Barnes. He challenged for pack Alpha when Batroc Senior died. There were fights, but he won.”

Steve nodded and tried not to worry about what would happen to the pack once they all woke up from being drugged and realized Bucky had lost his omega. Steve hoped it wouldn’t cause conflict, but from what little he knew of wolf nature and pack structure, it very well might. “He’s a good Alpha for you guys?” he asked quietly.

On his hand, Darcy gave a comforting squeeze, and Steve looked up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “But we’ll be fine.”

Steve hoped so.

“Now you must sit until it dries,” Nakia proclaimed, indicating the purple paste as she finished with Steve’s feet and set his heels down onto the floor. Steve glanced worriedly out the tiny windows of the yurt, where he could see that the daylight had fully waned and evening had drawn in. “H-how long will that take?”

“Oh not long. Ten minutes, maybe.” Nakia nodded brightly as she stood and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. “This will help you,” she said. “It will disguise your scent and give you strength.”

“Sure, sure.” Steve wanted to ask if the purple color of it came from wolfsbane, but figured it was probably a bad idea to say anything about wolfsbane at the moment. “What … what makes the color?” he asked instead.

Nakia’s smile turned sly. “Special Wakandan herb,” she said, and would say no more.

Just a plant, then, Steve thought. Just an old superstition from Africa. He thanked her anyway, since it was the polite thing to do. Nakia had spread the paste in lines across his cheeks and down his neck as well, taking extra care to rub it into his bonding glands. Steve hated to think what the people in the nearest town would think of him when they got a look at him running down the street in nothing but the strange markings and his birthday suit. Hopefully someone would recognize that he needed help, and he wouldn’t just be straight up arrested for public indecency or hauled off to the nearest loony bin.

“Good luck, Steve!” Nakia bid him goodbye, Darcy trailing out after her somewhat reluctantly.

“It’ll be okay,” she said back to him at the door.

“Wait!” Steve pleaded at the last second. “What am I supposed to do?”

Darcy just gave him a sympathetic wince and left the yurt without another word, and Steve sat there wondering how the heck he was supposed to know when to go out there.

A few minutes passed, and he started to angst that he’d missed some cue, and that this might mess up the timing of the Harvest wine. Wanda had warned that the wolfsbane would only work for an hour or two, at most. With the distance he had to travel out of the mountains, Steve wouldn’t have any time to waste. He looked down at his purple hands and feet, feeling lame and worried. Then the door opened and Steve blinked at the man who walked in. “... Doctor Banner?”

“Steve, Hi.” Banner came in and walked over to where Steve was sitting, hands in his pockets. He looked somewhat sheepish to be there. "I've seen you around but we've never been introduced. I’m Bruce.”

"I'm ... drying." Steve shifted awkwardly in place and indicated his purple hands and feet. “Not supposed to move for ten minutes."

Banner smiled and sank down into the beanbag across from Steve's. “They sent me in to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“It’s traditional. Before the mating run.”

Steve fought not to blush at the term. To him, "mating run" sounded like it might as well be called "naked werewolf sex chase"—because that's what it was. It was still weird to hear people talk about it so openly, and Steve shifted in discomfort. “Um, no offense or anything, but why’d they send you? You’re not omega.”

Banner’s mouth twitched. “No. No I’m not. But it’s usually someone who can impart a bit of wisdom relevant to your situation.”

“Oh.” Steve waited, unsure what the heck Doctor Banner had to impart. “Um, so …?”

“I wasn’t born into the pack, either.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he leant forward slightly. “I didn’t know that. You weren’t born a werewolf?”

“Mm mn.”

“What happened?”

Banner looked down with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m a doctor. One night a patient came into the E.R. in pretty bad shape. I was a mandatory reporter back then, so when his bloodwork came back saying he was infected. I had to alert the authorities.”

“You turned him in?”

He nodded regretfully. “I did. The patient heard about it, and the next blood draw I did, he grabbed the needle. Stuck me. Told me ‘welcome to his world’.”

Steve’s lips parted in shock. “On purpose?!”

“Well yeah. I’d ruined his life. He wanted to ruin mine.”

Steve had heard of cases of healthcare workers being infected on the job, but it was always discussed with an air of tragedy about it—like the AIDS crisis had been, back in the eighties. Banner was sitting there talking about it like it was no big deal, and Steve couldn’t decide whether an “I’m sorry” would be appropriate or offensive, at the moment. He licked his lips and instead asked, “Well, what happened then?”

Banner shrugged. “Lost my job. You can’t practice medicine if you’re infected with lycanthropy. Can’t do a lot of things, as it turns out.”

“No, that’s not true.” Steve shook his head. “There are … anti-discrimination laws. It’s illegal to fire or not hire someone based on infection status.” The quiet snicker he received for that told Steve he was being very naïve, and he squared his shoulders defensively. “Outside of medical jobs, I mean.”

“Yeah, there are laws.” Banner’s flat affect told him just how little that mattered in the real world, and Steve felt his face heat with indignity on the other man’s behalf. Banner continued, “I couldn’t find work, after. Being in the registry and all. Got a taste of my own medicine, so to speak. Karma. I felt so awful for all the years I’d ‘done my duty’ and reported infected patients to the health department. Got to see what the world was really like for people living with lycanthropy.” He shrugged. “That was when I started trying to find others.”

“Oh.” Steve had never once considered what he’d do if he ever contracted it. It’d always seemed like such a far away problem, something that could never touch him. Something for other people to deal with. Embarrassed over his own ignorance, he looked down at his hands. “I guess … I just always thought everybody was born into a pack, for the most part.” Werewolf communities were some of the most disorganized and dysfunctional in the country. Noone liked them because they were trouble: poor, crime-ridden, drug-addicted, violent. Steve had never stopped to wonder why that might be. “You don’t hear of hospital infections much anymore,” he mumbled.

Banner nodded. “Yeah. With safety precautions these days it’s rare. And when it happens, you’re kind of screwed. The packs’ve been marginalized for so long that they’re very insular now. Protective. Most of them won’t just take in strays. There’re too many traditions, rules, suspicions. But then I found this pack, and because of Barnes, they’re different. A lot of physicians won’t treat were patients, you know? Infected or congenital. So the pack needed a doctor. Barnes accepted me in. Gave me home, a family, purpose.” He looked at Steve meaningfully from over the rims of his glasses. “I owe them everything.”

Steve’s heart sank. “You’re trying to tell me I should be glad to be here. Is that it? That I shouldn’t be afraid of getting infected?”

“No.”

He crossed his arms, remembering the purple paste only belatedly and looking down at himself. Luckily, the paste seemed to have dried and hadn’t smeared on the robe. He looked back up at Banner with narrowed eyes. “Well I’m not here by choice. They kidnapped me. I’ve been trying to run away, and they keep dragging me back. So I don’t know what Bucky told you to come in here and say to try and butter me up, but don’t bother.”

Banner’s face pinched sadly. “He didn’t tell me what to say. He thought you might have questions. About what it’s like, what’s gonna happen. He asked me to come talk to you.”

Steve scoffed, unwilling to believe that. Bucky wasn’t trying to be nice, he was trying to be manipulative. He thought sending in a former human outsider to sing his praises would change things, would somehow make Steve happy or ease his fears. Well Steve had news for him: it didn’t. He wished so badly that Bucky was there himself. He’d rip the alpha a new one if he was—

“So do you?”

Steve looked up. Banner was watching him expectantly. “Do I what?”

“Have any questions?”

“Of course I do!” he snapped, frustrated. When the other man just sat there looking regretful and kind, Steve felt bad for having raised his voice. He pursed his lips and looked down. “I dunno,” he said. “I guess I’m still hoping to get away. I guess you think that’s pretty stupid.”

“Naw,” Banner assured. “I went on a cleanse after I got infected—some made up junk I found on the internet. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I spent a thousand bucks to have some purge juice mailed to my house anyway.” Steve shot him a ‘really?’ look, and Banner nodded with a wince. “Yeah. Trust me, nothing sounds stupid when you’re desperate. I'd know.” He inhaled deeply and pushed the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. “But, I guess if you don’t have any questions …” He started to get up, standing from the bean bag chair and heading for the door. “It was nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Wait!” Steve blurted, fearful of being left in the dark on something he’d long wondered. “... What’s it like?”

Banner turned back and blinked at him. “Which part?”

Steve swallowed thickly before he worked up the nerve to ask, “The first time. The … shifting. What’s it like? Does it ... ya know, hurt?”

Banner looked like he’d expected the question. “Well, it is painful, but probably not like you’re imagining.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s intense. Overwhelming. Really weird. But it hurts in a way that almost feels good. Satisfying.”

Steve scowled. “That makes no sense.”

Banner shrugged apologetically. “It's its own thing. There's nothing like it. No that I've experienced. The only thing I can compare it to is ... maybe a bit like having a knot or a kink worked out? You know: like a good massage; stretching sore muscles, or popping your knuckles; that prickling feeling you get when you come in out of the cold and your skin starts to warm up. It’s a relief feeling. Does that make sense?”

Steve sighed. “Not really. Kinda. I dunno.”

“Hey.” From the doorway, Bruce sent him a fortifying look. “You’ll be okay, kid. It’s really just a day or two of fever, and then you feel right as rain until the moon comes. That’s when you’ll shift with the whole pack.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, thinking about the particular shade of the purple-blue flower petals that'd probably already been strained out of the giant vat of wine by now. “... shift with the whole pack.”

He’d certainly do something with the whole pack, if this plan didn’t pan out. Like get ripped apart by them.

Bruce seemed to take his silent worry for concern over becoming a werewolf, so he added, “And you feel stronger and swifter after, even in your human form. You can smell better, all your senses are enhanced and you feel more in tune with yourself. Especially during and right after a shift. It’s exhilarating.”

Steve nodded, avoiding meeting the other man’s eyes out of the guilt he felt. Soon the entire pack would be drugged up and knocked out because of him—even Banner would be. “Thanks,” he said morosely. “For telling me, I guess.”

“Of course. I’ll tell them you’re ready. Someone will come and get you.”

“Great."

The door to the yurt closed behind Banner, and Steve was left alone again, sitting in silence except for the near-distant sounds of two hundred people kicking off a bonfire party.

He turned his hands over in his lap and stared down at his purple palms. “Great,” he repeated, this time in little more than a whisper. He wasn’t ready for this at all. He was scared, and anxious, and guilty, and not at all sure that he was doing the right thing.

Darcy had explained that everyone would recover, but it certainly wasn’t healthy for them to be ingesting wolfsbane. Steve was low grade poisoning an entire village of people just so that he could get away from Bucky. It made him feel crummy, made him think of the pale rings of scar tissue all the alphas had from the silver collars poisoning their skin, back at the prison. Steve cringed when he thought of how mad Bucky was going to be, once he realized what Steve had done. Darcy had said people might throw up once they regained consciousness, and Steve hated to think of hurting everybody like that. He felt no better than the prison guards, using the wolves' weaknesses against them.

But it was too late to back out now. The plan was already in motion. Outside, people were probably already being served the laced wine in red solo cups (or whatever kinds of cups hillbilly werewolves drank their booze from). And Wanda and Peter had stuck their necks out for Steve, in helping. All he could do now was soldier on with the plan.

Soon he’d be free of this place, and all the wolves would be right as rain, having recovered from the sneaky poisoning of their harvest wine. They'd go back to their lives as usual, minus one pesky human, and so would Steve. And it would be fine.

It would be fine.

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