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l1vchuu · 8 months

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resentment. part five

part one. part two. part three. part four.

!! warnings: strong language and themes, you know the rest :)

Simon was lying down on his bed, staring at the wall. His brown eyes scanned the ceiling, searching for something to take off his mind. Something to drive him far, far away from all this mess. The mess he had created.

It was unusual, unusual for him to be the reason for someone else's suffering.

He stopped meeting with Amelia.

'Nonsense. You were the one who stuck to me, I never wanted any of this. It is not okay.' were his last words to her.

She nodded and walked away, it's not like love existed in the military anyway.

Look, it wasn't like his teammates drifted away from him or something, they continued to treat him the same- but the atmosphere was slightly different when he was around. It was heavier like the oxygen slowly escaped through the window when he appeared. It was an uneasy feeling, and Price didn't like any bit of it. He talked to him about the situation when you first left, but with your absence, there was nothing to look for in terms of progress.

You were a soldier for years, and have never taken a break since. You have a few honor medals here and there. You for sure were respected on base- that was the reason why you were in the 141. Every recruit adored you.

Captain Price didn't know if Simon had sent any letters before that, and he didn't have the right to see if he had in the first place. It was absolutely Simon's responsibility to fix this, but how will he approach it? It's not like he is not a full-grown adult, he can fix it all by himself. He will send a letter, of course. But he never wrote any letters, what will he do?

Simon was too afraid to ask for any help, he was always like that. Afraid that people will know that he is uncertain, that he doesn't know what to do.

He tried to sit down to write something multiple times, but he never got to anything. There were pieces of paper scattered all around his room all scrunched up, all of the attempts to contact you. It was hard for him to express his emotions, so there was absolutely no hope left.

He closed his eyes, trying to give peace to his mind in order to figure something out. What could he write in this situation?

Hello, how were you?

Hey...

Look, I know...

Good day, isn't it?

Everything seemed so stupid to him. Every word he tried to come up with sounded worse and worse. It felt like he was going to write a business email by reflex. It was like every syllable scraped his tongue like sand. The ideas in his mind were flowing at a rapid pace, like how Formula 1 cars chase each other for victory. Every word felt like a plead. Please come back, please, I need you.

His eyebrows furrowed, physically showing his irritation.

'What do I do?' Is all his mind repeated over and over again

He finally opened his eyes, his pupils adjusting to the darkness in the room. It was the end of fall, the start of winter, and the breeze flowing through the windows got colder and colder as time passed. The outline of the trees colored the walls, letting the light create all types of shapes. His eyes trailed to the window, which was slightly agape. He looked at it for a while before sitting up in his bed. The hesitance was growing in his mind, but he chose to ignore it all as he walked to the window, opening a pack of his old cigarettes- a habit that he tried to quit. There was no one to hide his packs anymore.

He grabbed one cigarette and lit it up, leaning his arms on the windowsill. The guilt in him was growing bigger with every puff he did, but he couldn't focus on that.

'She will get so mad if she sees me.'

But, she won't.

The smoke traveled with the wind, glazing through the wood as the smell faded away. He looked up at the sky. It was past midnight, so the full moon glowing down at him. All big and round, shining at him, making his eyes squint slightly.

He wondered if you were looking at it at the same time- and you were. God forbid, you were looking at the moon every night, hoping for change, hoping that the following day will bring you peace.

In the following moment, the pen was in his hand.

"The moon is pretty bright tonight, isn't it?

You said that when you were feeling unwell you would look up at the moon, and the thought of other people looking in the same direction as you made you feel less lonely. I see you in the moon every night.

Remember that one time we were on night duty? When it was another full moon, and you were looking at it. I could see every star reflecting off of your eyes, like a whole universe, at that moment. The wind blew your hair in front of your face, the pleasant smell of it hitting me in the face with every breath I took. You do smell really good.

This moment alone made me realize that maybe there was a calmness in this whole chaos. The first time where the silence didn't make me suffer. You brought peace into my life, and I took it away from yours.

Letters won't hold up all the things I need to tell you, and no punishment in hell would be enough for the things I've done. You have every right to not forgive me, because I will never forgive myself.

S."

Simon wasn't an award-winning writer, but that was all that he could manage to write. He couldn't bring himself to write more, it would take him days just to finish it. His mind was full enough, and the fact that he had mastered the courage was impressive.

You sat in your kitchen again, a cup of tea on your side as you held the paper in your hands, letting it scrape your fingers. A slight smile on your face as your eyes twinkled in the morning sun.

"Hello from the other side!

How are you feeling? We hope that home welcomed you nicely, (I would kill for a swig of scotch right now- J.)

Base is just as boring as it always was, even more boring without you around. We found these sketches at safe house 132, they are probably yours, they are pretty nice ones. We decided to draw you something as well. Don't you dare sell it to an art gallery, we know it's so beautiful, but it is for you! Unfortunately, that is all are allowed to send in, you know how it is :(

We bet it is freezing in your area, England can be cruel like that in the winter.

Anyhow, we wish you a peaceful break. And don't forget to bring gifts on your way back! Hope to hear from you soon!

All is well,

J, K, A :)"

You saw the small pieces of paper in the envelope- ones you drew on when a snowstorm hit on the way back from a mission, causing you to crash in one of the safe houses. There were drawings of all kinds of sea creatures- whales, sharks, and types of small fishes. Over them you wrote small passages of poetry- it really wasn't anything serious, just small words with big meanings.

The letter also included one piece of paper full of small doodles from your teammates. There were animals, faces, and flowers. It was amusing really- imagine three grown men sitting together and putting this up for you. This small gesture alone made you smile, the first genuine smile in a long time. You left the paper on the table as you took a sip from your tea, the warmth healing your throat. It has been a long week- it started snowing in your area, which you thought you would've liked, but you really didn't.

The thoughts in your head were just as confusing. What the hell was happening? You were a grown soldier, you had discipline, you had a strong heart... what was wrong with you??

It was like everything started melting slowly. You didn't have enough energy to go to the supermarket to do groceries, you barely kept yourself awake, and you couldn't even run a mile. You felt your fingers tighten around the mug, did you really want to open that last envelope? Your heart started beating rapidly, making your head slightly dizzy. You felt your limbs fall asleep, and suddenly your head weighed what seemed to be 100 pounds heavier. Soon enough, you were fast asleep on the table. You had fainted again.

Fainting was a coping mechanism your body was used to before when you were a teenager. Not only because of your eating disorder but also because of the stress you put yourself through. You were troubled at a young age. You forced yourself to suck up all the pain like a sponge. That was the reason you were like that at the moment.

You knew that holding in your emotions wasn't the resolution to your problems, but it was easier. That was why you became severely attached to the first person you shared your problems with. The first person who gave you a taste of what comfort felt like. You were reminded that, indeed, people had their own lives. But you were so... scared. What if you weirded him out? What if he had lost interest in putting up with you? What if he lost interest in you?

You cried so much, you wanted to feel his touch- his fingers up and down your back, his sweet voice in your ear, his dumb jokes, all in order to make you feel better, all while he was suffering from himself.

You missed this attention. Feeling like you mattered in someone's life? Feeling like you were finally valuable? And not just a dirty rag full of pain and emotions??

Were you going to feel like that again? After causing all this fuss... all because you felt bad. You wanted to bang your head against a wall, why did you do that? You should've sucked it up, to forget about everything. But now you were in your old apartment, passed out on the table, the cup of tea- now cold, just sitting over the papers.

A wave of shock went through your body as a thought struck your head.

'What will happen if you return? What if I acted like nothing had happened?'

'What kind of fucking idea is that?!'

Years ago, when you first decided to see a therapist, there was something she had told you about. You couldn't remember the correct name- but it was something along the lines of 'fake it till you make it' sort of thing. It was entirely possible for you to return... to forget about it... maybe change your whole personality- no, cut that- you could try to talk with Simon, you know? Instead of running away from your problems, like the little girl you were.

Running won't save you, not when you are running from yourself. Make yourself known, talk to people, let your anger out, let yourself feel. Instead of cutting yourself in order to feel something external, share a hug from a friend. Pretend like you were bigger than your own problems... because you were.

John Price went into his office, closing the door behind him. He sat in his chair, sighing. It was a long day for him and the coldness just made it a hell lot harder. There was a long pause until his radio went off, which he immediately rushed to turn on. It was a thing that rarely happened, so he became a little cautious.

"..."

"Captain... it's 2104 (your code), do you copy?"

He sighed in relief. It was just you.

"Yes, Sergeant. What is the matter?"

"I would like to request a time for return. Approximately in a few days."

He stared at the radio in slight confusion.

"Affirmative... is there a particular reason?"

"No reason, sir."

You and your reasons...

"Return as soon as you can, I'll inform the team."

You froze for a couple seconds.

'I'm really doing this, aren't I?' you thought to yourself.

"Sergeant? Do you copy?"

You blinked, immediately replying.

"Yes, sir."

There was a slight pause.

"Have a safe travel, Sergeant."

"Thank you, Captain."

There was a bleep, symbolizing the end of the conversation.

It took time to settle in... three, two, one

...

"WHAT DID I JUST DO?!" you whisper- yelled, your hand on your forehead. You stood up, pacing around in your room.

"No, no, no. This is not happening right now."

"What do I do? What do I say?... I should leave the military."

Definitely not doing that.

"Now people are going to think I'm crazy!"

Not far from the truth.

"Why is this happening to me?!"

Girl, you did this to yourself.

"Do I just get in and be like, 'Hi, guys! I'm sorry for leaving without telling you all, probably making you think I passed away! I've missed you!', and pretend like nothing happened?"

Most precisely, yes.

You packed your stuff, leaving the envelope on the bed. You can't just read it now.

The next day was your flight to the base...

What did you get yourself into?

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

I am SORRY for making y'all wait for this long. I accidentally wrote this part way longer than it was supposed to be, so the other half would be in the next part (which is going to be the final one), and then my mind went blank. The ideas just went outside my head!! Anyway, I really hope you forgive me! I love you all, sending a lot of hugs and kisses <3

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfic #cod mw2 fic #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #cod angst

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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nowhere without you

rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)

The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.

Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…

It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—

“How did you stand you it?”

The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.

More, kinda…kinda desperate.

So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.

“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:

“How did you survive it?”

Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—

Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.

“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—

Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—

“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve’s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—

“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…

He survived, like, now?

“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—

“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”

Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—

Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.

How did you survive it?

Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.

That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—

“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”

Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.

“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.

He was listening.

“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”

“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.

“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—

“I couldn’t feel you.”

Oh. Fuck. He—

“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”

“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.

A love big enough to hurt that hard.

“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.

“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.

“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:

“All of me. It’s yours.”

Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.

It knows.

“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“

“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.

“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:

“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”

“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.

It’s a start.

”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”

And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.

Not for them.

Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:

“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:

“Was never going anywhere without you.”

♥️ ao3 link here

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

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upat4amwiththemoon · 2 years

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Misunderstandings | part 2

Summary: Words have a bigger impact than you’d think.

Pairing: WandaNat x daughter!reader

Warnings: angst, Natasha still doesn’t really understand, my knowledge of adhd is limited

Word count: 1278

a/n: thank you for all the love you gave to the first part, here is a second one! Heavily inspired by this, thank you for the ideas! <3

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

”Y/N!” The minute Natasha yells her name from the downstairs, Y/N is already running down the stairs. “Could you empty and clean the kitchen table?”

“Yea.” Y/N’s answer comes out as a mumble as she walks past her mom to the kitchen.

Natasha watches her put the dirty dishes into the sink and grab a wet rag to clean the table. She does the cleaning quickly, but still not half assing the job, scrubbing some spots harder than the others so the dirt comes of. After putting the rag away, she takes a few pieces of paper to dry it and then throws them into the trash.

“Thank you, honey.”

Y/N doesn’t answer, she just goes back upstairs to finish her homework. Natasha frowns but pays no mind to it, surely Y/N is just tired. She has done a lot of work these few days, all the chores Natasha asks her to do are done in an instant, and she has done her homework every day in her own room.

It makes Natasha quite happy, her words have stayed in her mind. Even though she wasn’t happy with the way she expressed her feelings, she’s glad Y/N has seemed to remember the most important ones.

The real world won’t allow you to slack off.

In reality, Y/N has tried her best to avoid her mother. She did everything she asked right away so she wouldn’t have any time to forget it, no talking back, never acting out as Natasha would call it.

It’s affecting her mental health, a lot. She’s more tired than ever. Spending most of her time in her room, taking multiple naps a day to get her energy back. Sometimes she just cries. It all overwhelms her to the point she can’t do anything else than sob quietly. But she doesn’t want to upset her mother again. She wants to be a normal kid.

At dinner Y/N just pushes her food around quietly. She doesn’t have any appetite. “How was school today?” Natasha asks in between of eating.

“Fine.” She mumbles, her eyes cast down.

“You did your homework?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Natasha smiles.

Wanda observes the interaction with a frown on her face. The short answers and dismissive tone worries her, usually Y/N is a rather lively kid, who likes to talk. “Is everything alright, Y/N?” Natasha gives Wanda a questioning glance.

“Yes, mama.” She gives her a small smile and brings a small amount of food to her mouth.

“You’ve been doing so good lately, doing everything when I ask you to.” Natasha praises her.

“Mhm.”

“You think you could wash the dishes after you’re done eating?”

“Sure.”

Natasha smiles and nods. “Thank you for dinner, love, it was amazing.” She kisses Wanda’s cheek and puts her dinnerware in the sink before going to the living room.

“I’m not hungry anymore, can I put the rest to the fridge?” Y/N looks up at Wanda, finally making eye contact.

“Of course, honey.”

Y/N gets up from the table and scrapes the rest of her dinner into a Tupperware, putting it in the fridge and the plate to the sink. “Are you done eating?” When Wanda nods, Y/N takes her plate and mug, setting them into the sink as well.

She takes a sponge, puts soap on it and changes the water temperature to warm. Her eyes are brimming to the top with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall, not when Wanda is still in the kitchen. Her throat hurts from holding in the sobs, but she doesn’t want her mothers see her cry. Not over some dishes.

“Do you want me to help with them?” Wanda asks, setting her hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N just shakes her head, not trusting to her voice at the moment. The way Wanda keeps rubbing her shoulder makes her lip tremble. All she wants is to be embraced by her. She needs the comfort.

“You can tell me if anything is wrong, you know that right?” Again, Y/N just nods while rubbing the dishes clean. “Oh, sweetheart.” Wanda takes the sponge and plate out of her hands.

Y/N looks up to see Wanda looking straight at her face. As she pulls her into her arms, the dams break and she starts sobbing.

At the sound of crying, Natasha gets up quickly and comes to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Y/N presses her face into the crook of Wanda’s neck, wanting to hide away. The fabric of Wanda’s shirt is tightly in Y/N’s fists, her knuckles turning lighter from the pressure.

“Shh shh, everything’s okay. You’re okay.” One of Wanda’s hands rubs her back while the other is holding her head. “Mama is here.”

“What’s wrong?” Natasha whispers, mostly to Wanda as Y/N is in no condition to speak. She sets her hand on Y/N’s arm, but lifts it off when Y/N moves away from it. Her head snaps to Wanda, face full of worry and confusion.

“Y/N, do you think we could talk? All three of us.” Wanda asks quietly, still holding her close.

Y/N shakes her head. She doesn’t want to talk, not again. The last conversation was awful. It made her feel less than.

“We really need to talk. Something is wrong and we want to fix it.”

“You want to fix me.” Y/N sobs. “Because you think I’m broken.”

“No, no, absolutely not.” Wanda presses Y/N against her even tighter. “We do not think you’re broken.”

“Mom does.” She whispers, hiccuping from all the crying.

Natasha’s eyes widen. She and Wanda look at each other, tears starting to gather in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re broken, I don’t. Why- Why do you think that?”

“Because you want me to be normal.”

Natasha thinks back to the argument and talk they had two weeks back. She thought they had solved it. She figured Y/N took the lesson to heart and forgot about the things said out of anger.

“Honey, no.” Natasha says immediately. “I said those things because I was angry, not because I think they’re true. I never should’ve yelled those things, it was very bad of me to do. You don’t have to change. I love you for being you.”

“But you got angry at me for being me.” Y/N cries out, finally turning to look at Natasha. “You yelled at me for taking breaks, but I need them, I really do. I haven’t been able to do anything these last weeks because I’ve been so tired.” Her voice cracks. “I’m so tired.”

“Okay.” Wanda mumbles. She brings Y/N to her arms length, holding onto her shoulders. “We are going to get you into therapy, okay? I’m not letting this get on any longer.”

“What if they just confirm something is wrong with me?” Y/N whispers.

“There’s nothing wrong with you if your brain is wired a bit different.” Wanda reassures. “The only thing that needs fixing here, is me and mom. We will do better and listen. When you tell us you need a break, we will give you a break. Got it?” Y/N nods. “That also means you need to come to us right away when you’re feeling bad.”

“Okay, mama.” Wanda smiles, wiping away Y/N’s tears. “I’m sorry, mom.” Y/N hugs Natasha.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m sorry, I’m very sorry.” Natasha embraces Y/N tightly, kissing the top of her head. “You’re an amazing daughter, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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valkeakuulas · 7 months

Note

For the smut prompts: #1 with Fivescase please?

This one was fun to write! I tried to make dem bois not too silly but also keep it light, so hope that went well. :D

01. ❛ i’ve been thinking about you all day. ❜

Hardcase was inspecting the parts of his dissembled rotary blaster canon when someone draped themselves over his back, their arms hanging over his shoulders.

Someone with familiar gray and non-501st blue vambraces.

"Hello, Fives," Hardcase greeted with a smile, "did you enjoy my little present?"

"Hmph," Fives replied inelegantly, nuzzling at the back of Hardcase's head.

"Is that all you're going to say? Not even a simple thank you?" the heavy gunner chuckled, putting away the piece he had been cleaning and picking another, easily moving even with the whole weight of Fives in full-kit resting against him.

Fives made another grunt, this one more of 'kark them all' than 'so kriffing tired' kind of grunt.

"You're so eloquent today," Hardcase commented, amused. "Want to tell what's in your mind then?"

His smile grew bigger when the ARC's lips brushed the tattoo running down the back of his head, the scrape of the beard such a nice feeling in small doses. Almost as if getting scritched.

"You," Fives replied heatedly as he continued to trace the blue line with soft, barely-there kisses, "I've been thinking about you all day, you asshole."

Laughing, Hardcase jostled the other man a little. "You saying thinking of me has left you so annoyed? I'm hurt."

"Not as hurt as my deecee is. I bet there's a dent on my cod piece now; I swear I could hear it hit the plastoid when opened that comm. When the kriff did you even have time to do that?" Fives' hands had started to wander as he spoke, deft fingers easily finding the magnetic seals of Hardcase's armor and unlatching them.

That being a set of holopics of Hardcase posing with his rotary blaster cannon in some suggestive positions in full armor. It had been one fun search through the holonet to find different poses to use with the challenge of doing them without being completely nude.

The holonet had claimed that it was the illusion of what but actually wasn’t there was what made holopics like that sexy.

Clearly, it had worked.

Fives was gracious enough to let Hardcase put the pieces of the cannon away before the ARC bodily dragged the snickering heavy gunner into his bunk.

It soon turned into breathless laughter, interrupted by an occasional gasp when Fives continued removing Hardcase’s armor with the intensity of a trooper with a mission.

Once down to his blacks, Hardcase was no longer laughing but moaning as he arched up from the bunk. Fives had just finished unsealing the flaps at the bottom of Hardcase’s bodysuit and wasted no time pulling the hard cock out in the open. Leaning over the laying Hardcase, Fives started to pump it slowly from root to tip.

“You’re quite eager to get your hands on my cannon,” Hardcase mused and wiggled his eyebrows before groaning when Fives tightened his hold for a second.

“You and your stupid cannon,” the ARC muttered heatedly but couldn’t deny it, not with his thumb circling the cockhead, smearing it with the fluid that had started to gather on the tip.

Grinning cheekily, Hardcase raised a hand to run his fingers through Fives’ hair before tugging him down for a kiss. He shuddered when Fives gently bit his bottom lip, mouth parting with a moan that the ARC used to lick into his mouth. Hardcase all but melted on the bunk, humming in pleasure as now both Fives’s hand and mouth worked him up, arousal warming his body from head to toes.

Hardcase decided there and then that if this was the reaction he got, he would send more holopics to Fives in the near future.

#asks #elismor #Hardcase #Fives #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #fanfiction #valkeakuulas writes AKA butchers English grammar #OTP perhaps?#clone shipping #askbox writing prompts

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jades-typurriter · 9 months

Text

Chasing Your Own Tail

A piece written about an OC that me and @lenn-ey brainstormed together! Tailmaws, sharing a brain and body with thoughts that aren't entirely in your control, and the ways in which we try to reel them in.

Please go check them out!! AND READ PRAGMATIST TOO

CW: it's not self-harm exactly but they're very very mean to themself

My alarm rings. 7 AM sharp, Wednesday morning. My eyes slowly crack open—I can already tell it’s going to be one of those slow mornings, the kind where you wake up at the wrong point of your sleep cycle and have to navigate your whole routine half-asleep and with a dull headache. Before I can muster up the energy to roll over, my tail sweeps out from under my blanket, knocking my clock off of my nightstand. Knocked everything else off my nightstand, too. Crabby after lackluster sleep like that, I guess. Come on, Tux. You gotta get out of bed.

I plod down the hall from my bed to the bathroom, my tail dragging across the floor behind me the whole way. I huff, frustrated; I don’t want to get out of bed, but there’s no point being that petulant about it. I’ve got to be at the office soon, and that means cleaning up already so I can get on with my morning. The knob squeaks and the water steams. My tail swishes behind me, discontentedly, as I disrobe. After I make a quick trip to place my clothes in the hamper where they belong, the water is warm enough to stand under. I step in, letting the glass door swing shut behind me and let out a yelp—my tail’s caught in the door! I see that “slow” wasn’t going to be the right word for today. No, today was going to be a real slugfest.

“Alright,” I mutter, shouldering open the door. “You’re being real uncooperative this morning. Will you just get in here?”

She doesn’t dignify me with a response, other than to keep swaying side to side—shaking “no” at me.

“We don’t have time for this.”

Still nothing.

“We have work—”

She cuts me off, opening her maw just enough to stick out her slobbery tongue and blow a fat raspberry up at me.

“Oh, you’re going to be like that today? Fine,” I growl, gripping her a few inches up from the base and hauling her into the shower paw-over-paw. As she tries to stay out of the water, she scrapes against the edge of the door, which smacks shut with the bwom of a vibrating pane of glass. She lets out something between a growl and a whimper, snarling at me, but it’s too late: most of her top is already soaked, and she’s gonna smell like wet dog all day if she doesn’t let me get in there with some shampoo and finish the job. She’s still not happy about having to get ready for the day—neither am I, and we both know it, but she doesn’t seem to care—but she surrenders for the time being. I set about getting us the rest of the way wet, and the worst trouble she gives me for the rest of the shower is a scowl.

After drying us off (she at least plays along for that part of our routine, because she likes feeling like a freshly-tumbled towel after being blow-dried), I set about getting us dressed. A sharp black pair of slacks, a crisp white blouse, and a simple choker, unadorned except for a small metal hoop. Clean and professional. I smile at myself in the mirror, satisfied, gray eyes peering back at me between my bangs, chic little curtains of straight black hair. I pick up a collar from my dresser and reach down to wrap it around my tail. She matches with me now, though her collar is a few sizes bigger—her mouth is nearly as big as my torso, and she has fur a few inches thick on top of that. I glance at the clock. We are, predictably, running behind. Not much time for breakfast.

Hustling into the kitchen, I… really don’t want to cook, even if I did have time for it. Not even out of the house, and I’m already feeling drained… We’ll keep it simple. I look for some bread to jam into the toaster, and start shuffling through the fridge for jam. While I’m elbow-deep in the shelves, my tail creeps up to my hip, sniffing at a few slices of leftover cake.

“No,” I scold her, “We don’t have time for dessert. You already wasted plenty of time dragging your feet about showering.”

She turns toward me, pulling away from the cake (and the puddle of drool forming on the lowest shelf of the fridge). With posture somewhere between a wilted leaf and a half-deflated balloon, she gives me a plaintive grumble.

“I don’t care if it’s easier than cooking, we’re not having cake for breakfast. Toast is also easier than cooking. I can manage toast. I’m managing toast right now.”

She cocks a little to the side, skeptical.

“So what if it’s technically more steps? It’s just waiting. I don’t feel like being queasy from too much chocolate all morning, and then having a sugar crash at work. No.”

Even if it would be a nice treat after a rough morning, I know I’ll regret it later. One of us has to be responsible. I turn my eyes back to the higher shelves, still looking for the jam; my tail’s been a pain, but she hasn’t been rowdy enough lately to warrant constantly wrestling with her. At least, right up until she lunges past my waist, diving MAWFIRST INTO THE CAKE.

I drop the jam (which I had FINALLY just found) in my haste, throwing both paws around the midsection of my tail and pulling back so hard we fall flat on our rear. The jam—and a whole lot of glass—are all over the inside of the fridge and the floor. The cake looks like it had a brief conversation with a woodchipper: tooth marks the length of a finger and the width of three rake across the half of the cake that survived. My tail’s maw is covered in chocolate frosting, like a toddler on their second birthday. She seems tempted to take another hack at it, to pounce so ferociously that she hauls the both of us backward the fridge by our butt, but she settles down after a moment’s consideration. Wonderful! Now, while I clean this up, she won’t make me even later to work.

Thankfully, her behavior is better once we get to the office. Usually, she fidgets quite a bit. She constantly swishes around my chair and pokes around at the things on my desk; a chew toy sometimes keeps her occupied, but not always. Today, she’s just sleepy, whether it’s from a full belly, a poor night’s rest, or sheer boredom. Even then, though, she manages to be an inconvenience, draped across the better part of my desk. I shimmy my keyboard and mouse over, facing my monitor at an awkward angle. Not too difficult to work around, but it would be lovely not to have to work around her in the first place. Then again, seeing her having such a relaxing time just reminds me that I wish I could sleep through today, too.

My boss stops by my desk and lets me know that the team is having a meeting soon. Something about updating each other on the status of all the smaller jobs going into our current project. I’m not prepared for a presentation—I didn’t know I’d have to speak on my work, to say nothing of the state I’m in after my morning—but I tell him I can have some notes in the next few minutes and at least give everybody an outline of where I stand. Reliability and punctuality, while painfully difficult sometimes, are paramount.

Of course, that makes the weight of my tail all the more dead. She doesn’t wake up, no matter how much I shake her, make noise at her, or threaten to find some kind of punishment if her doesn’t come along so I can get my job done. Instead, I have to carry her with me into the meeting room to avoid tousling up her fur by dragging her (especially after cleaning her twice already). If that weren’t embarrassing enough, the entire time I’m speaking, my tail is flopped on the floor next to me like roadkill. Answering questions, on the fly, in front of a group of people, is plenty difficult when they can’t tell that you’re half-asleep; it’s much, much worse when they can see how much you’d like to check out already. She. Snored. During one of my colleagues’ updates.

At least the rest of the day goes by mercifully quickly (after dragging this stupid thing back down to my desk). I log off, clock out, and start making my way home before my phone buzzes. One of my friends—one of my best friends, really—wants to hang out for a bit. I suggest the park that’s on the way from the office to my place, and they’re already in the area, so it works out just fine. I haven’t seen them in what feels like forever… Between work and taking care of myself (and my tail, which… makes both more challenging), I haven’t had much time for socializing. If there’s anything that would be lovely right now, it’s a friendly face. I can’t wait to see them again…

Unfortunately, neither can my tail. The second we turn a corner and find them sitting on a bench, she surges forward, almost dragging me to the ground again. Instead, I dig in my heels and dig through my bag. If this stupid thing gets to my friend, I just know she's gonna slobber all over them, and maybe knock them to the ground. Worst of all, if she’s so desperate to see someone, what’re they gonna think about me? What does it say when I get done with a simple day at work, and I’m exhausted and my tail is whimpering like a sad puppy in their lap? It’s humiliating. It’s unacceptable.

I pull a leash out of my bag and hook one end of it to the collar around my tail. I thread the other through the loop on my choker and pull it like I’m starting a chainsaw. My tail makes a strangled sound, and then she’s pinned up against my back by the leash, which means she can’t get into any more fucking trouble. I clip the other end of the leash through one of my belt loops, dust my hands off on my pants, and plop down on the bench next to my friend. Who cares if I look like a squirrel with her pinned up behind my head like this? I pretend like they didn't just watch the whole affair—like they’re not still staring at me—and greet them with as much composure as I can muster.

“Heyyy. It’s been such a long time! How’ve you been?”

“Uh, how have… you been?” They ask, looking concernedly down at my lap. I realize I’m digging my claws into my thighs. “You seem. Tense.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, pressing my lips together and offering a thin, unconvincing smile.

“You don’t think you were being a little harsh on your tail there, Tux?”

“Please. You don’t know the kind of trouble she’s been getting into. She’s made my life so much harder recently; really, she needs to be disciplined.”

“I just watched you give her whiplash. That seems like being too rough with yourself.”

“Sure. I wouldn't be this rough to another person, but I can treat myself however I want, can’t I?” My tail whines in response. She’s still straining to get closer to my friend, who leans past me to look at her, worry continuing to write itself all across their face.

“You know I wouldn’t mind if she wanted some pets, or whatever. I mean, how long have we known each other? I’m more than comfortable with the both of you.”

“Look, I just—she won’t control herself, so I’ve got to keep her on a short leash!” I huff. “Even if I have to do so literally. We don’t have to make it your problem that I’ve had a bad month—” I let slip, turning away as an eyebrow shoots up on their forehead. ‘---Bad day. It’s… embarrassing. And it’s our own fault, anyway. Even when my tail isn’t giving me a hard time, I can’t get myself to do what I have to do, some days. I just have to keep myself in line. Keep both of us in line.”

“Tux, bestie,” they softly offer, reaching out to put one hand on my shoulder and to pet my tail with the other. “If being so hard on yourself worked, like, period, wouldn’t it have worked by now? How long have you been struggling like this?” I don’t answer for a few moments, and I don’t turn back to meet their eyes, either. I cross my arms, trying not to seem like I’m outright clutching at myself, as the gears turn in my head.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but. I take your point.” I reach down and unlatch the leash from my waist, and my tail whips straight into my friend’s lap. I can tell she’s straining not to wag full-tilt; that would take her out of their reach, and they’re really pulling out all the stops on petting her. Both hands, from her maw to her base at the bottom of my back, the works. We talk about a few other things for a while, even though for a long time I still can’t bring myself to turn around or relax my shoulders. They listen patiently as I complain about work, and about a million other little things that have been irritating me, but that I won’t admit have been wearing on me.

Talking to them is good for me. I need to go out of my way for them more often; I know they would for my sake. They’ve always been supportive like that. Someone as understanding as they are is always nice to talk to, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, being shown some kindness instead of just tightening up further and further is… relaxing. Eventually, I swivel around on the bench.

“Hey. Do you think I could… have a hug too?��

“Dude, of course.”

I lean in, and they wrap me up in their arms. My tail wraps the both of us up, still panting happily and drooling all over my nice work shirt, but it’s fine. Honestly, she knows what I want just as clearly as I know what she wants. They’re one and the same, more often than not. It’s just nice to be able to indulge ourselves without worrying, every once in a while. Certainly less conflict that way.

#writeblr #trans author #furry fiction #tailmaw #indie author #original writing #short story

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tryingtimi · 1 year

Text

Ash and Rot PART III.

Side title: I would

PART I. | PART II. | PART III.

Poll babies' request, tho it's still not the first one. However, here's the Cronyl and Avelyn fluff, because my mind couldn't leave them alone and my writer's block just crashed under the inspo of this. The inspo song were Panic Attack by Liza Anne.

Context: Avelyn visits Cronyl after the ritual. She confessed him before, but he basically rejected her, saying he's too broken to have a relationship. Now he might have came to another conclusion.

BOOK III EXPLORATION | VERY TINY ANGST | MOSTLY FLUFF | DYNAMIC AND CHARACTER EXPLORATION | WC: 1,179

A knot like a stone weighed down Avelyn’s stomach as she fidgeted with her hands.

She raised her palm over the hut’s door, letting it hang there until her fingers felt numb from the cold. Then, she pulled them back again, for the who-knows-how-many-times.

Her head seemed light and ridiculously empty, while it was as if something tried to cave inside her chest, pulling her inside around itself. It shrank with every heavy-lidded blink until her chest seemed no bigger than a needlepoint. She wasn’t as tired, yet she felt exhausted, her eyes barely staying open.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized she couldn’t see her breath.

One deep inhale, and a slow exhale. One in, one out. Repeat it. Nice and calm. And again.

She forced herself to do it constantly, never again missing a visible breath as she exhaled into the freezing atarqian air.

Calm down, you fool.

She swallowed a big bite of air, right into her belly and pushed the door open.

Gentle warmth attacked her face, her nostrils filling up immediately, making it hard to breathe for a second.

Playful fire blazed on the hearth, giving just enough light to give the room a welcoming atmosphere. With the puffs in the corner, right beside the leather pieces, and the table with three chairs that stood on a furry rug, she found the room just enough stuffed to feel comforting.

And comfort she needed as she turned to the bed under the window, opposite the fireplace.

Cronyl’s been already sitting, fur cover blanketing only his injured leg, his bare chest, and the scars scattered on his skin radiating under the aurora’s light. He was quiet, not noticing her arrival as he stared outside the window. Those always stiff shoulders now hung low and relaxed, his back comfortably leaning against the bedhead, his hands resting in his lap. His forehead seemed even, without any sign of a frown or wrinkle, his eye slowly following whatever he watched outside.

Avelyn saw him like this many times now; raw and true as one could be when no one is around. However, this was the first time she found splinters of calmness in him.

She finally found herself breathing evenly.

“Hey,” she offered quietly, taking a seat on the chair beside his bed.

Cronyl’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly, only to relax back as his eye trailed at her.

His figure seemed to brighten even more as the morning light seeped inside. She could see the faint golden glow in his body; the magic that pulsed inside him and concentrated in his eyes. No matter his bandana, she was now able to see both of his eyes outlined as two glowing golden orbs, thanks to Nareethi’s teachings. And both were watching her.

“Hey.”

Avelyn’s heart sank from the hoarseness of his voice. She held herself back from scraping her skin beside her thumb with her nail.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not dead,” he said with the tiniest smile on the corner of his lips.

She did the same, warmth spreading inside her chest. The fire crackled silently as she was watching him, respectfully stealing a glance at his bare upper body. He had no new scars, luckily.

Avelyn looked down at her hands when she realized she was scarping her skin beside her thumb. She scolded herself inside her head before she turned back to him.

“I, well, heard everything. I don’t know what you saw, but it sounded… dreadful. So, I was worried. Still am. Those screams and the way Bra’aka could barely hold you down…”

“You were inside?” he held her the question. His voice remained calm and quiet, not sounding upset or angry. Yet, she couldn’t be sure what he thought about the whole situation.

Avelyn stopped biting the inside of her lower lip.

“I arrived at the end, but yes, I was, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand to stay somewhere else and just listen. Bra’aka, well, he didn’t approve of my decision either. But, I had to come.” She exhaled deeply, feeling the heat of the flames on her back. Avelyn wanted to look away from those intense golden orbs; that unreadable gaze that’s intensity always made her stomach flip. But she didn’t. She held his eyes, the same way she held his hands when he raged in delirium.

“Did you call my name?” Cronyl asked after a moment of silence.

Avelyn blinked, feeling a tender warmth spreading across her cheeks.

“I did. I was hoping it would help if you know someone there. That, well, I am there.”

Cronly smiled.

A smile, a visible, gentle, modest smile. A simple gesture that’s been the most telling among everything. Avelyn might not be able to see colors, but she somehow felt as if the room would have brightened. Remembering those heartwrenching cries Cronyl let out from time to time during the procedure, and as his face wrinkled into a different kind of agony she never saw on anyone before, this small thing made her eyes sting.

She wanted to reach for his hand, to squeeze as hard as before. She almost did, but then she restrained herself.

Cronyl, however, thought better.

“I was in a place I never wanted to be,” he said, taking her hand in his. “This ritual showed me everything I never wanted to face. What I saw there, what I… did there… It’s been more than I could bear. But I had no choice. And that led me to realize more than one thing about my past and my present.” Cronyl slowly scooped closer to her on the bed, a soundless grunt leaving his throat. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. Not because it was told to me, but because I love you.”

Avelyn remained silent. She focused on blinking and breathing evenly, yet she couldn’t hide her slight inner shaking completely. Cronyl’s touch felt warm, genuine, and right. He didn’t flinch anymore when she slid closer to him.

“You said…”

“I know. I am still as broken as before, my scars will remain forever, and I will always be capable of hurting you or anyone. But I don’t want to, therefore I will do everything in my power not to do that. To control what I do, to know what I am. Among you, not alone. I will learn to be around you without causing pain. Because I want to stay beside you, Avel, I want to love you. If you would still let me.”

A chuckle bubbled up in her throat that she wasn’t strong enough to stop. It came out along with a breathless whimper, which she didn’t mind anymore. She slowly leaned onto his forehead and closed her eyes when her lips turned upward from the fact she didn’t feel him tense anywhere.

“I would. Always,” Avelyn whispered, squeezing his hand.

#Project Metalsea #Metalsea snippets #Metalsea: Nohrinal's Legacy #fantasy #writeblr #writing community #yeah Avelyn is colorblind #which is a funny thing in their society that heavily relies on colors #but #that helps her see magic so #first time trying to describe how she sees the wold cuz of that #Avelyn Dione #Cronyl Eldenwer #Cronyl ship

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awlumii · 2 years

Note

[Powering up...]

[Project REV1VAL 1.0: ACTIVE]

[Power: 100%]

[Restarting systems...]

[Scanning systems...]

[Scan Complete. Vitals stable. Weapons charged. Limbs fully functional.]

[Programs Activated: 15/15]

[Mechanical Damage: 0%]

[Scanning memory cloud backup...]

[Scan complete. Cloud backup stable.]

[Good Morning LANCEL0T!]

His eyes fluttered open, vision momentarily overwhelmed by the bright, fluorescent lights on the ceiling. His augmented auditory range caught up on boots clicking against the floor, the rustle of fabric and papers, and a sweet voice muttering about the lights. He heard a whir and a click before the harsh white had dimmed into a more comfortable brightness, and his eyes easily refocused on the sight before him, eyes scanning the room.

There's a window on the far left, displaying the cerulean sky beyond his confinements, dotted by white cotton clouds. Golden rays filter through the glass, landing on a desk full of disorganized papers with another next to it, various containers filled with liquids, metal parts, and cables scattered just like the papers atop its mahogany surface. Curiosity struck and he pointed and tilted his head at the mess. The scientist, judging by the lab coat thrown over a purple blouse and black jeans, shook their head, lips moving, indicating that it need not to worry. Lancel0t blinked as cyan text suddenly appeared in the corner of his vision, little squares and lines connecting words to the scientist's face.

Sorcerer of the Parallel Empire. 23 years old. Known for their vast knowledge in magic and science alike. Currently working under Il Dottore as the head scientist of....

He blinked and the text faded as a gloved hand was held out, helping Lancel0t step out of the silver machinery that had previously held him and kept him alive. His hands struggled to grip the scientist's; he moved clunkily, with stiff legs and arms, like a newborn still clumsily adjusting to walking. The scientist merely smiled, but he detected a trace of a foreign emotion within it.

"There is much to be done, my dear Lancel0t," they said, voice pleasant and smooth. "But worry not. I will teach you everything you need to know."

---

"Doctor."

You snap your head up, blinking back the exhaustion threatening to overcome you. "Yes? What is it? Is there another malfunction I have to take care of?"

Lancel0t shakes his head, brushing the strands of silver hair that fell into his eyes away.

"It is currently 12:57 am. A healthy adult needs between 7 and 9 hours of sleep per night. If you rest now, you'll be able to obtain the bare minimum of rest--"

"I appreciate your concern, Lancel0t," you start, biting back a yawn. You feel Lancel0t's gaze boring holes into your back, yet you shrug it off. Your work is a bigger priority. "But I'm used to scraping time off from sleep."

"So used to it that you obtained a common cold after staying up for 72 hours?"

You turn to face him, a retort on the tip of your tongue. His expression doesn't change, but you swear you see the corner of his lips twitch up, threatening to quirk into that painfully familiar smirk. Your frown falls, eyes widening.

Dottore would notice. He would take him away. You don't want to lose Kazuha again.

His brows furrow, lips turning into a frown. "Your heart rate has accelerated, Doctor. I've also noticed a shortness of breath, and your hands are trembling. These are some symptoms of anxious behavior-"

"It's nothing. I'm fine." You turn your chair back to face the piles of paperwork on your desk, fingers brushing against the smooth wooden surface in search of your pen to distract yourself from your current dilemma. A reboot wouldn't work. You've configured his memory to store every single piece of information and speech he hears, no matter how many times he is torn to pieces and rebuilt. But if you manage to stay calm in front of Dottore, then maybe....

"I'm sensing an increase in anxiety and frustration from you. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Your fingers twitched, a familiar burn building up behind your eyes. You couldn't deal with this now.

"I'm fine, Kazuha. Just-" you stiffen, paling at the slip-up. Your chair is abruptly pushed back as you stand, avoiding his gaze as you take hurried steps to the door. "I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."

Lancel0t remains silent when you leave. You mutter a curse under your breath as you walk to your room, eyes already burning with regret.

Lancel0t sat before his charging pod, fingers typing away at a light blue holo-screen. Ever since you had gone to sleep, his mind had been plagued by the familiar name you uttered. For some reason, he kept running it over and over in his mind, as if repeating it many times over would give him some sort of clarity to the situation.

His eyes scan the cyan words displayed before him as he types the name in a database known for keeping tabs on civilians that were either alive, dead, or missing. He pressed the search button, waiting for a result.

NO MATCHING NAMES WERE FOUND. TRY AGAIN?

He frowned, refreshing the page. His confusion only grew as the same words flashed on his screen, almost tauntingly. Surely you wouldn't confuse him with any of the staff working at the lab; even when working yourself to the brink of exhaustion, your mind remained as sharp and cunning as ever.

Lancel0t ran a hand through his hair, strands tangling into his fingers.

What could you possibly be hiding?

---

another addition to the sci-fi/fantasy idea i had (gotta come up with a better name for it though /lh)

and i’ve decided on dottore being the head of the scientists working on cyborgs because that man is the bane of my existence /hj

and we got more drama too 👀 a small flashback, and kazuha growing suspicious of his name. we love to see it 😎

anyways, i hope you enjoy this! and congratulations on pulling cyno, i’m glad you got him! may the gacha gods bless you with luck for his weapon ✨

- 📖 anon

AYOOOOOOOOOOO HELLO HELLO HELLO THIS IS SO GOOD FUCK IM SO INVESTED

#[ 📭 — incoming! ]#📖 anon #kazuha x reader #[ 💭 — thinking! ]#WHAT HAPPENS NEXT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???#also i'm not gonna pull for his weapon .. gonna save what i've got until maybe a yelan rerun?

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banditywrites · 2 years

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Fic Preview: Gilded- Pinch of Platinum

To prove to myself and to anyone who is around that I am still, in fact, writing.

The beginning of my fic, based on the title prompt: Pinch of Platinum. I have added to the title and that may change or not before posting onto ao3, but here is some of the fic so far anyway.

Summary: Lance is captured by some not so nice aliens and they are trying to decide what to do with him.

Gilded: Pinch of Platinum

He had gotten too comfortable out in space.

They had won a few fights and he must have let it go to his head, thinking he was good and capable of anything and safe.

He was wrong.

One of the worst parts was not having any memory of what happened. The last thing he remembered was being on the castle and they were making plans to do a supply run on a nearby planet. He was pretty sure he had woken up that morning, he assumed he'd arrived on the designated planet and he had the sinking feeling he had wandered too far off on his own.

But.

But they were looking for him, right?

He had said something to that effect to his captors early on; that his team would come for him.

Something about the way they laughed hinted to him that they had heard things like that before. But as time went on and he was kept in a much too small cage as they poked and prodded at him through the bars, he started to wonder.

Were they not looking for him?

Not only not looking, but relieved to be rid of him?

In the cage next to his was a young alien about Lance’s age. One night, the alien shuddered out a story about his family selling him to their captors to pay off some debt.

Lance had been horrified at the idea, the fact that someone’s family could sell them off....

But time went by. His muscles cramped from crouching low in his cage for too long. The few prisoners around him began to grow quiet. Weak from thirst, hunger and the consuming darkness; he stopped hearing them cry.

Surely. Surely, his team hadn't given him away?

Lance didn't know how long it had been before his captors finally ripped him from his cage.

He tried to struggle, but they were a lot bigger than him and, while he had only been managing sips of the brackish water that dripped from a leaking pipe and down onto his cage bars, his captors were well nourished and rested.

He ended up on the floor with nothing.

Not a stitch of clothing between him and the cold floor.

And when they turned harsh, cold water against him, he was ashamed at the way he licked the calmer droplets that settled near his lips.

Lance didn't think he passed out, but he lost time.

One moment he was being pulled off the floor and the next he was laying on some sort of thin cot, wrapped in foreign fabric.

"Not working class is he?"

Voices floated above him.

"Not much of a decorative piece either."

"With some adjustments…"

"He'll bring in more money as a display than a slave."

Rough fingers scraped against his face.

"He just needs a pinch of something here…"

Lance shook under the touch.

____

Lance had been waiting to regain his strength, his senses, his courage, before he tried to make an escape.

But his strength never returned, his senses remained muddled and his courage was muted in his chest.

He knew he was in a plain room, sitting on the cot with a thin mattress. Not really a bed as it was raised off the floor just a few too many inches to be considered appropriate for sleeping.

Kind of like the examination cot in the castle's medical bay, his brain slowly supplied.

Examination. Lance swallowed thickly.

They had wrapped him in loose garments and allowed him to eat. He could have refused to eat. Could have said he would rather starve than go along with things.

But he was hungry and he thought it might help him think clearly. After his meager meal, he felt detached and so, so tired. He figured out they must have slipped something into his stale bread and he had been too stupid to notice.

When they finally returned, he was laying down, watching the room slowly spin.

He had been expecting them to hurt him. He didn't know what to do with the calm voice that just asked him questions. Nothing about Voltron or who he was.

Just about his appearance.

Could he change colors? Could he grow his hair longer in a few vargas? Was he considered a pretty thing on his planet?

He snorted at that.

His mother had always said he had pretty eyes.

He must have said it aloud because a hand was grasping his chin, tilting his face up. Fingers pulled back his eyelids and Lance tried to flinch away too slowly.

The alien laughed at him and Lance winced at the sound.

"For your mother’s memory, you can keep them then."

Lance blinked at the words and he all at once found the sense to twist out of the rough grasp. He wasn’t successful.

The alien laughed harder.

TBC

#tw: captivity #tw: nudity #tw: torture #though it's really only mentions of #there is also #tw: starvation #voltron #langst

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rudenwrites · 1 year

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A Riftwalker Of My Own

Yoru x Yoru

Word Count: 1,895 words.

Warnings: Blood. He gets shot lol

The cool air pricked at my exposed fingertips, snow crunching beneath my slightly shifting sneakers, and cool metal pressed against my jacket, cursing my skin with a stubborn icy feel. I had bigger things to worry about than weather. I could hear gun shots firing excessively behind me. Pitiful. I stash my pistol under my arm as I push my now open hand forward, feeling the universe slowly rip and tear at the force of my grab. The shift between my universe and something much bigger is off putting for the first few tries of this trick, but after so many times of doing it, it becomes almost unnoticeable. Sure, the pressure change around my wrist feels like a tight bracelet and the gravity feels lesser on the other side, but that's the most intense difference. I try not to keep my hand in these for too long anyways. Don't know what could happen with too much exposure. I reach and grasp quickly at a solid piece of mass. Pulling it out of the slot, I glance at my hand and the orb pulsing in my clutched fingers. A bright light rests in the middle of it, surrounded by a blue and black void. Around the outside, slight tentacles peaked up, reaching outwards only to be pulled back to their origin. Even through my gloves, I could feel the power in my hands. My veins lit up with the same light blue coursing through them as was in the center of the substance I was grasping. Of course, this light only led up halfway of my forearm until it chipped away into nothing.

I pulled my back away from the metal and turned to face the opening into the site. I stayed close enough to the wall that my shoulder still scraped against it in the movement. I sat to listen for another minute, making sure the soft crunching of footsteps was real and not part of my imagination. They stilled soon after I started listening, but there wasn't enough time to ponder it. Without even taking another second to think about it, I tossed the orb into the gap between walls. I saw it ricochet against the container opposite side of me and I turned my head fully away from the opening, just in case. Once I heard the small burst of energy, I swung around the corner, dropping to my knee as I pulled my pistol back out and aimed it straight ahead of me. It had worked. Someone stood in front of me, covering their eyes with arms forced in front of their faces and trying to scamper back to avoid getting shot. Except I didn't shoot. Something was. wrong.

The flash faded from their eyes and they lowered their arms, quickly going to point their gun. I should have rushed to send bullets into their skull, but I found myself frozen, stunned. Everything about him was.. perfect. Everything from his black shoes and orange laces, sloppily wrapped around his ankles and knotted in the backs, to his... hair. His legs were perfectly sculpted, his thighs filling out his dark leggings so amazingly and his quads just LOOKED strong as all hell. His waist was just the right size, not small, but not huge. It was something to grab hold of and it was shown so nicely through his tight blue jacket. The jacket had orange highlights that ran up his chest and around his torso, drawing my eyes around his figure. When my eyes dragged up to meet his own, I realized it was my first time. My friends had always told me about this first sight bullshit, but I didn't expect it to be true. But here I stood, looking at him, and I knew in my heart it was right.

I was looking at myself.

My wonder and stare were broken with a loud bang. It took me longer than a second to realize what had just happened and by that time, a quick tightness formed in my arm. Looking in his eyes, I saw the panic set in as the seconds passed. I couldn't spend too much time on it, I knew that tightness all too well and the fast approaching footsteps told me that if I stayed, I wouldn't feel anything much soon.

Ignoring the sting in the movement, I shove both my hands forward abruptly, pushing through the universe's fabric once again, channeling my physical form into the area of the marker I had placed mere minutes before throwing the corrupted orb into the site. I clutch my hands in the new area and and quickly thrust them back towards me, pulling the rest of my body to the site of my teleporter. Glancing around, my warp had made it into the opposite site as I had just been rushing into.

I glanced around the area quick to make sure there were no enemies were around, pressing myself into a corner with my back against the direction that the attackers would arrive from as I finally took a glance to my forearm. A tear in my jacket with blood dripping from it. Fuck. I stashed my pistol back in its holster before pulling a walkie talkie from my belt, pressing into the transmission button.

"Can I get Sage down to A site? Got a few bullet holes that need healing." I muttered into it, hooking the device back into my belt and waiting, pulling a knife and gripping it tightly as I waited.

I sat and thought about what had happened. I saw my carbon copy and he shot me. It was so easy for him to pull the trigger, so quick and he didn't even give a thought about it. It was so... impersonal. But his eyes. Why did his expression seem so worried when he was the one who just shot me? It didn't seem to make sense. It was still a crazy experience though. Seeing him stand in front of me... I had never looked at another physical person in front of me with that much astonishment. He was so... beautiful. His eyes were so captivating, even if they didn't hold the same amount of admiration as I'm sure mine did. A sigh left my lips. I don't know what hurt more, him shooting me or that I got shot. Why didn't he see me the same way I saw him? He should see me as just as beautiful. I know I take care of myself, I know I look... similar. He's supposed to be my copy. He should have the same thought process. How did he shoot me so easily?

My thoughts were cut short when I heard footsteps approaching. Soft and unsure of themselves. Sage. I had to be sure not to spook her, even if she was going to heal me, it would help not to get even lower down on health. I stayed where I was, quiet, looking towards our entrance as she slowly came into my view from the doorway. She held a ghost pistol raised up in a ready to shoot position, she hadn't gotten word of my death, but that didn't mean someone wasn't lurking where I couldn't be seen. As soon as her eyes landed on me, she lowered her pistol and hurried over to my side.

"What happened?" She asked while stepping towards me.

"What do you think happened? I got shot." I rocked my head to the left, the side where my forearm stayed bleeding. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a frown gracing her lips.

".. You didn't call in a death after. And only one shot?" She gently took hold of my arm, touching near the injury. Sure, it stung to touch it, but not enough to let her know it.

"... Special circumstances." She raised her eyes up to meet mine for a second and paused, but after my voice hadn't sounded for a bit, she gave a slight nod and lowered her gaze back to the injury. I didn't need her to know that I had been awe struck by a clone of myself and it seemed like she didn't want to pry any more. Maybe she thought I would be embarrassed. Hah.

Either way, she lifted her hand, facing her palm towards the opening. Suddenly, I felt something expanding in my skin.

"Shit! What are you doing?" I jolted back slightly, she gripped my arm harder, forcing it back into place with her free hand.

"Stay still. I have to get the bullet out." She kept her hand opened at the wound and soon enough, I felt the thing in my arm start shifting towards her like a magnetic attraction. I took the chance to look at her. Long, black hair tied in a tight ponytail that fell all the way down to her ass. I don't get how she dealt with hair that long. Her white shirt was much too big and long, but she closed it tight to her body with a belt that balls of jade were clipped to for fast usage. She had long bangs that fell over one of her eyes. Her leggings were a dark black leading down to equally black boots that almost rose up all the way to her knees.

"This... is disgusting." I grumbled, glancing around and lending my ears to the sounds around to make sure no one was approaching.

"Yeah, well it's what happens when you get shot." She didn't sound too pleased with me, but maybe she was just focused on her work. I couldn't tell. Within a few more seconds, a small red-ish green cylinder exited the hole in my skin. I could see the faint bullet through the cover of blood and jade. Gross. She wavered her hand slightly and it fell to the ground. She focused her energy on the area again and a green type mist formed around the blood and torn skin. Slowly, yet surely, the wound started to close. Even if my clothes were still torn, I started to feel better.

"Thanks." A sigh left my lips with the words. Half meaning it, it still hurt like a bitch and its not like it hurt her.

"Yeah, well make it count. You know how much that takes. Your teammates could very well need it for worse injuries." She let go of my arm and stepped back, earning a nod from me. She pulled her ghost back out and crossed her arms.

"So who shot you?" A small smile met her expression. They always made a fun game out of pointing out who of our fake friends got the others. It was a gruesome, but made things better for them, I assume. It's easier to deal with killing your friends if you can use it to brag to their still very alive face. Some form of 'I beat you', 'I killed you', or they even made a point to jokingly accuse each other of the harm their clones caused. Something like 'You shot me!'. Brutal. And dumb.

"Why does it matter?"

"Come onnn! I wont tell anyone! Was it Brimstone? He would feel SO bad if his copy shot you!"

"It was no one."

"So you shot yourself?"

"...No"

A pause lingered in the air.

"Yoru?"

"What?"

"Did you shoot yourself?"

Fuck.

#valorant #valorant yoru #val yoru #rudenwrites #valorant fanfiction

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questioned-quetzalcoatl · 2 years

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30 Days of OTP: Day 22, In Battle - Side by Side

Rating: K

Verse: DVA (Call me Satan Darling Au)

AN: I really wanted to make this based in the 'Call me Satan, darling' universe with Satan!James and Kainga battling out a pack of hungry Hellhounds out in Hell's wastelands. Whether this is a part of canon or not, I dunno, but I always love to flesh out this Au as it's my favorite one ever uwu

A quick side note, this fic is inspired by the song 'Mary On A Cross' by Ghost, which is absolutely amazing and I defiantly recommend a listen to it. The vibe of it goes super well with this Universe.

He should've learnt his lesson by now, this wasn't the first time James had encountered the beasts that roamed Hell's wastelands. The reason he's in such a predicament is that Satan, being Satan, is a massive show off, especially to his future queen. He just had to pick a fight with an entire pack of hungry Hellhounds in the midst of a storm.

There was a few dozen of the giant hell beasts, circling them both like prey. Their grueling snarls echoing against the rumbles of thunder above that spat out it's acidic tears to the ground below, he finds peace in the fact that the creatures had no eyes and were completely deaf otherwise they'd be in a lot more trouble. Instead, the pack hunted them down using their prodigious sense of smell. He should be used to these kinds of situations now, they were completely surrounded by the Hellhounds that snarled, sounding like the grinding of bones and moist flesh. A truly ear piercing sound.

What was worse was the lack of preparation, James thinking and insisting to him that a simple pistol from Earth was enough to take out one of these beasts. Oh how wrong he was. Kainga's first shot is with his pistol, that sends the whole pack sprawling and lunging towards them, the bullet barely scathes the molten flesh of one of the Hellhounds, going straight through it's face with seemingly no impact. Oozing flesh started to contort around the wound where the bullet had entered, healing itself with pieces of skin flaking off it like bark on a dead tree, some form of liquid seeping from it like sap. Sure it sent the creature back and it was physically wounded, but Hell was no place to start praying for his life.

Apparently he was supposed to trust Satan and his predictions, he couldn't help but scoff a little at how ironic it all was.

Soon bucking his ideas up when another bigger Hellhound pounced at him, scraping it's teeth across Kainga's flesh as he just managed to dodge out the way of it. Dazed with the sickening smell that was emitted from the beasts, he lay on the ground like easy prey. James soon stood over him protectively, James has the demon knife in one hand and he’s cutting and stabbing without hesitation. The Hellhounds taking a much fouler hit with the blade as apposed to the sleazy bullets Kainga had in his pistol, every slash of James's wrist across their bodies would leave deep gushing gashes that didn't heal over as well. Only six of them break away from the circle to deal with them and the others are twitching and convulsing, laying half dead to rot away in the crimson undergrowth. Throats and chests slit open as they continue to discreet that pungent clear and deep red liquid, Kainga came to the conclusion, that must be their blood.

Kainga doesn't move from the ground until he’s out of salt packed shotgun shells. It keeps the moving Hellhounds back and down long enough for James to get at them with the knife. James still stood over him for better advantage from all sides, the pack surrounding them now lessened in numbers yet were closing in tightly, James didn't know how long he could keep fending them off for. Having only picked off the smaller runts of the pack only the bigger and stronger beasts remained to battle including the alpha. Two times bigger than the rest of the group, ones that only the pack would listen to, they didn't even take orders from Satan himself.

Thunder rattles the sky, it happened to quickly. Distant at first it grew into a sound so catastrophic it shattered bones and ruptured organs, metallic rain falling upon them that burnt and punctured, the storm only got worse. James screamed at him to seek shelter against the clattering of the storm around them, loosing his focus on the pack was a mistake of a fool who cared too much for his Queen below him. Sharp claws dug into the turned back, ripping at the flesh as if it were clay with large keratin scythes that were its claws. The knife falls from his reach as there's an agonizing scream of pain as his flesh is ripped into by the beast on his back, drowned out by the carnivorous guttural snarls as more of the creatures were alerted to his misfortune and the crashing of the storm around them.

He didn't remember what happened, only the screams of James to tell him to seek shelter. Bloodied trails leading back to where he had left him, there was no Hellhounds, only James once it was finally all over. He didn't know what had happened or how in God's name he managed to fend them all off but he knew it was something beyond the James he already knew. Who knows what Satan was truly capable of, making Kainga regret not watching him finishing off the entire pack of beasts. He didn't question why James was practically steaming like he'd just been on fire, no matter as James was severely weakened. The screams of his Queen telling him to stay with him start to drown out as he looses his consciousness, leaning up against him as his breathing grows hoarser.

No matter what James had done that day, he knew he'd be forever thankful. The deep gashes down the unholy mans back only served as a reminder of that.

#fic: call me satan darling #30 days of zeaonga #hetalia #aph new zealand #aph tonga #aph #hws new zealand #zeaonga #hetalia oc #hws tonga #ao3 fanfic #30 day otp challenge

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dyrewrites · 5 months

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Pale Blood - i couldn't stop writing so have more

Nash was halfway to the couch with a raw heart between his teeth–extra, that one, and a bit presumptuous of the one whom ordered it–when the front door opened.

No, you read that correctly; the front door opened.

No bell sounded, no knock pounded, the door simply slid open. So quietly did that door open, in fact, that Nash would not have noticed were it not for Minara screaming at it. And, biting clean through the heart, Nash about dropped what remained when he turned.

The door was full of ogre.

Something he concluded based on the single eye and single horn above it…but there was also her sheer size, which cannot be overstated. She filled the door, in all directions–which should be counted as an incredible feat, considering the seven feet and some change Nash took up vertically, and the three or so the one the door belonged to took up horizontally.

And she stayed in that door, saying nothing–but making Nash terribly jealous of her very long, very sleek full-coverage coat and boots, which matched in color with the violets of her hair and skin–as her eye narrowed and swiveled towards Nash.

He choked, swallowed, and tried words, “Can we help you?”

She grunted.

“Look, I ain’t gunna pretend I can take,” he gestured with his free hand at all of her, “that in a fight, but I did promise my lil’ bro I’d keep this place in the same number of pieces he left it in. So, if we gotta throw down…”

She grunted.

Nash looked to Minara for; sympathy, recognition, a plan…anything really. And Minara gave him a sudden grin and a bounce.

“Oh! Oh, ogres are named for what they do, right?” She asked no one, and answered herself, “Then you must be ‘Grunt’!”

Grunt grunted.

Minara couldn’t help the giggle at Nash’s confusion but she turned her eyes back to the ogre, “Okay, okay, if that’s all you can do…um, grunt twice.”

Grunt grunted…twice.

And Minara squealed and ran to grab Grunt’s hand, “Good, now c’mere!”

Grunt allowed the small thing–that her nose insisted was wolf but her eyes insisted was human–to lead her into the surprisingly comfortable apartment, grunting approval at the high ceiling that didn’t scrape her horn, and stopped a few steps before she slammed into the bigger thing–that no part of her would mistake for human, even if he wore one’s skin.

“Min, ogres ain’t pets,” Nash warned his sister as every instinct he possessed begged him to back up–as quickly as possible, all the way off the balcony and into the street below if he could manage it–but his pride wouldn’t let him move an inch, so he held his ground.

“I know that!” Minara snapped, “But she had’ta come for somethin’, right? And Den wants us to keep his boyfriend’s house safe.”

The ogre still hadn’t spoken, or moved since she stopped too close to him, and Nash remembered the half a heart in his hand too late to stop the mess it made. Clicking his tongue, he shoved the rest of the heart in his mouth and stomped back to the kitchen–around the ogre, who watched him, closely.

“So?” Nash asked his sister, after he found something to clean up the spill.

“So! We ask her what she’s here for and then she goes away!” Minara had confidence to spare and, though he usually found that endearing, at that moment Nash just wished she’d go back to screaming instead. But she didn’t. While he found a mini vac and muttered curses, Minara addressed the ogre with clearer speech than she used with anyone, “Okay, Grunt, can you tell us what you’re here for?”

Grunt surveyed the room with a slow, steady slide of her eye and locked in on the balcony. She tilted her head at the sight of the telescope on the other side of the hardlight barrier, smiled, looked back at the small wolf-thing and pointed.

Minara bent near the ogre’s thick arm and traced it to the balcony with her own before meeting Grunt’s gaze, “the scope?”

Grunt grunted twice.

And Minara squeaked, and then gasped as she remembered what she’d seen through that scope. Her voice warbled then, with the little back and forth wiggle her body took on, “I, is this…about the lady with the gold eyes?”

Nash looked up from the mess he was, begrudgingly, cleaning and stared at his sister. She had not mentioned anyone with gold eyes to him, but the tone of her voice said she should have.

Grunt grunted twice.

“Oh, oh no,” Minara wriggled more as she asked, “am…am I in trouble?”

Grunt considered it, remembering the exact words of the one who hired her–with its lack of required violence towards those in possession of the scope–and then she grunted…once.

The sigh nearly flattened Minara to the floor before she perked up again, “So you just came for the scope?”

Grunt did not grunt, but nodded.

Which made Minara grin, “And then you’ll go?”

Grunt nodded again.

“Well, I,” she nibbled her lip, looking at the scope, then at the ogre, “I s’pose a scope is better than, than us, right, Nashy?”

It was Nash’s turn to grunt, and he did so twice, which made Grunt look down at him. He smiled and she tilted her head and smiled back, revealing more of the tusks poking from the sides of her mouth. And, just as Nash finished cleaning, he had to roll out of Grunt’s swifter pace.

She was on the balcony before he was finished standing, her meaty hands wrapped around the tall mess of metal that was the telescope. A telescope that, unbeknownst to anyone there at the moment, had taken Delmas three years to save up for. And, in three flashes of Grunt’s hands, it became a twisted ball of metal and wire–limp and broken on the less shiny metal flooring of the balcony–that still flickered faintly as she re-entered the apartment.

Without another sound–grunt or otherwise–Grunt walked through the living room and out the front door, leaving Nash and Minara to gape, even as the door slid silently closed, they only gaped.

Until Nash broke the silence, “I’m’a tell him you did it.”

Then he yelped and laughed as Minara howled and tackled him.

#writeblr #snippet #novel #writing #urban fantasy #pale blood #i have no idea what i'm actually doing with the ogres of this world #but of the two i've written #i love them #they aren't all mute though #i feel this is important to mention #also realized i am writing nash and delmas similarly and i'm going to say it's on purpose because it's funnier that way

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staplerization · 11 months

Text

White Sauce (Bechamel casserole)

Ingredients

1000g Frozen bag of mixed veggies: carrots, beans, cauliflower

250g Frozen peas too if you like them

2 Potatoes (or 4 if small)

4ish tbsp Olive oil (1/4 cup or 200ml will be enough)

3-5 tbsp Flour (1/4 cup or 200ml)

1 cup or 400ml Milk

2 Chicken breasts (optional)

1 bag or 500g or 1 lb of Pasta (optional)

A LOT Grated cheddar cheese (2 cups or 500ml or smth)

Instructions

(organised into parallelizable parts aside from Part 5)

Part 1: Veggies

Chop the potato small so they're a similar size to the mixed veggies.

(honestly it's ideal if the mixed veggies have potatoes and peas too, but sometimes you get what you get)

Take a big bowl, throw in the potato, add water to cover potato.

Microwave for 4 minutes.

Take a big pot. Add Mixed Veggies, Peas and Potato.

Add salt and pepper to taste. Then sprinkle on Italian seasoning, garlic, paprika - whatever seasonings you favor, really.

Boil/medium heat for 10-20 minutes (until cooked).

Your checking factor is the beans and potatos - the rest will cook more easily than those. If they're cooked, veggies done. :)

Part 2: Bechamel

Add 2 tablespoons of oil (or butter, if you want it richer) to a medium pot.

Add 4 heaped tablespoons of flour.

Wait for the flour to brown a bit. This is tricky because the oil-flour mixture will already look golden brown. Just stop waiting before it's burned, that's all.

Slowly stir in 1 cup water, bit by bit. Add a little, watch the pretty steam, mix it in. Stop and wait when the mixture looks like wet sand. Alternatively, if you have no patience like me, mix it all in. Then scrape the bottom with a big spoon and use a fork or whisk to mix the flour lumps together with the water. Note: if the lumps are causing you extra trouble™, you can take the pot off the stove to avoid things burning. Or turn off the heat (if it's gas, electric will continue providing heat)

Add 1 cup milk the same way. (You can make it richer by adding two cups of milk instead of 1 cup water, 1 cup milk)

Seasonings! The traditional bechamel has none of these but I like adding them. I add salt and pepper (ofc), Italian seasoning, garlic, paprika... maybe chilli powder if I'm feeling adventurous.

Let the pot come to a boil and the sauce thicken. You want a consistency like cream, not soup. (Okay, a thick soup like broccoli cheddar might work, but not chicken noodle)

Done!

Part 3: Chicken (optional)

Cut the chicken up into bite-sized pieces or slightly bigger. If you can have the forethought to marinade it for half an hour in a brine, that's better, but I usually forget.

Add a tablespoon of oil to a pan. Cook the chicken and flip each pieace after 5 or so minutes, when the underside is white.

✨Seasonings again ✨ You are trying to flavour match everything and this means flavouring everything.

Cook until a piece cuts through cleanly. (We want no salmonella here, thanks.)

Done.

Part 4: Pasta

(optional, can swap with chicken or vice versa)

Idk man, I figure you know how to make pasta or at least the packet does

Part 5: Assemble

Preheat the oven to broil. (Honestly, you can skip the oven if you want, ik some people don't like browned cheese.)

Put your veggies (and chicken/pasta if you made them) into a suitably-sized oven-safe dish. Pour the sauce on top of them and mix.

This is a good point to check the salt, esp if like me, you undersalt. Add some if you need to.

Scatter grated cheese on top - enough to make a layer. We are going to brown this :D

Put it in the oven for like 5-10 minutes. Get some oven mitts or a thick cloth or w/e. Keep an eye on the dish and rotate it midway - the back usually browns first.

Get a trivet or something to put the dish on-top of, first. Then pull the dish out when the top's golden :D

#original content #recipe #but like weird instructions lol #cooking with ADHD!

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

💕 reader turns into a baby and obsessed with Bucky. Awww 🥺

Infant Issues

bucky barnes x reader / masterlist

warnings; fluff, morgan definitely being tony’s kid, biting, swearing, spoilers for IW and Endgame, mention of the blip, childish behaviour from adults, terrible humour (I really am sorry), spoiler for WV, mention of age gap, kinda a crossover, an absolute mess 😂

“Morgan?” Bucky frowned, as the girl tried to speed past him. It was not wise for anyone to allow the mischievous child run around the compound alone, she always got up to nothing but trouble, and there was such a glazing in her brown eyes.

She didn’t spare him a glance, instead, she bolted, causing the super soldier to sigh. He would have went after her if there weren’t already footsteps recurring from the path that she had just came from; it was his father. It so happened that there was a bundle of joy in his arms, crying like the sudden crack of dawn.

“What were you going to do, wait another five years to tell everyone about this one, Stark?” Bucky asked with a chuckle, though the cries from the infant muted at the sound of his voice. The child wiggled in Tony’s grasp, trying her utmost to reach out for the vibranium armed hero.

“She’s not my daughter, if she was, I think me and you would be having conversations.” Tony’s words spurred a frown to combust out onto Barnes’ face, and the billionaire sighed, shifting the baby so that the baby was in Bucky’s arms.

The child cooed up at him, her eyes were a baby blue, sure to avert possibly into a different colour once she grew elder. “Look, I didn’t ask if I could hold her, she’s cute, but why do you-“

“Morgan did it.” Tony willingly blamed his own daughter. With her various experimentations, she was definitely taking after him. He’d be sure to keep this one quiet from Pepper, otherwise he was almost certain that he’d be banned from bringing Morgan on expeditions to the compound.

“I though y/n was supposed to be watching her.” Stated the enhanced soldier, cocking his head at the information that he recalled. He promptly remembered you abandoning him half way through training the newbie recruits, because Happy was dropping Morgan off, and you had offered watch over her, despite the associate being there.

“She was, and now you’re going to have to watch over her.” Tony pointed specifically to the child in his arms, and that was when realisation hit Bucky. He gulped, breathing through his nose to calm himself, as all the pieces clicked perfectly together.

This was not just a child - it was you. As he gazed down at you, he could finally see the pouted expression that would fixate upon your face when you paid attention to him when you were drunk, there was a glazing over your eyes as you raised your small and innocent hands, scraping down the stubble of his chin, as you curled further into his arms.

“I am going to kill you.” He steadily spoke, huffing as Sam went to walk past, but stopped himself when he saw the bundle of joy that was content in the brooding soldier’s arms.

“What the hell! Did you and y/n have a baby or something without telling anyone?” Oh, how he wished those were the circumstances, and if the pair of you were to ever have a child together, then he would be impartial to the idea of doing so.

"This is not my child, it's y/n, thanks to Stark over there." He bounced you in his arms, he even felt a small dribble of spit seep through his shirt, but he didn't mind, not as his icy glare was intently prized upon the philanthropist.

"Hey, it was my daughter's fault, not mine!" Tony excused himself from the blame, holding his palm against his chest, as he received as such. Sam ogled at him for a second, before returning his attention back into Bucky, and little you.

He came forwards, reaching his hand towards you, keening as you went to grasp his. As you did so, a smile broke out upon the man’s face, until it contorted into a sharp frown, the noise of a yelp escaping from his lips. “That little bitch bit me.”

“Language.” Steve rounded the corner, his golden brows raising when he saw the infant contently resting in his best friend’s arms. “Did you and y/n have a baby without telling us?”

“That’s what I said!” Sam beckoned to the blonde, as he averted a strong gaze to you and your normal sized partner. "Until she bit me, it reminds me of that time that I tried to steal her fries."

"I don't see why your complaining." Bucky rolled his eyes, bracing you up straighter so that your forehead was pressed lightly against his shoulder. "I'm the one whose partner is an actual child."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Sam rolled his eyes in reference to how you were beforehand, before Steve cut in, directing his leading tone towards the men that were stood idly by.

"What actually happened?" Tony found his enquiry to be an opportunity to avert the fault from himself; how lucky indeed was it that Steve asked such a thing.

"Technically it's your fault capsicle. Morgan found your prototype of your unsuccessful time machine. As you can see, she turned into a baby, much like Lang. And if you want to push the blame off of yourself, blame these two for their asses disappearing."

"Hey, if I wanted to disappear, I wouldn't have made such a dramatic exit. I'd have just left for my sister's." Crossing his arms, Sam shook his head at the man that was not wearing his iron suit. He was unable to take any responsibility, unless it was for his genius brain wave of creating the true transportation for the time heist.

"Well I'm going to keep that noted for any future repercussions." Oh, how Wilson regretting mentioning that now.

"You left it out, within your daughter's reach." Bucky quirked his brow, as he prepared to head towards the storage of the private laboratory that was shared between the two science bros.

"Technically, that was the big green guy." Bucky vouched not to listen to Stark, instead, he continued to walk, leaving the three other men in his rear view, though for the most part, he could still hear them bickering.

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change."

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change." Tony mimicked Steve, thus only proving his point. He was certainly a man that enjoyed pressing people's buttons, it was a shining attribute of the once playboy, and god, did it annoy the hell out of Barnes.

As he entered the laboratory, he found the lab to be in a state of havoc. "Hey, it wasn't me this time." Scott laughed, as he used an extinguisher against the frayed machine, that was blubbering sparks from its ruined exterior.

"Smash!" A small green child, wearing glasses that were far too big for him, ran across the room, followed shortly by a child with long blonde hair wrapped up in a red cape, as though it were some kind of makeshift diaper.

"Explain." Bucky bluntly stated, clenching his jaw, as he cooed lightly at your cries that pierced the air. He bounced you in his arms, not quite certain of what he was supposed to do.

In his time, there wasn't exactly an education system to teach the men going to war how to parent, or even care for a child. A part of him panicked; it was you, he hated seeing you cry in general, but now he couldn't attempt to find out the cause for your falling tears.

"Aw is that y/n?" The man half dressed in his ant man suit asked, a bright smile on his face, as he reached out to hold you. To say Bucky was hesitant to pass you to him was an understatement. "I have a daughter, I've looked after a baby before."

"From jail?" The white wolf asked, as he heard a crash exhibit from the connecting room, obviously being the fault of the two most destructive avengers, or at least, their little versions. Being aged down was definitely certification for trouble, everyone knew that.

"Okay I wasn't in there for that long." Scott reassured him, he picked up a bottle of milk from the table, handing it to the metal armed man, whom had never fed a child before. He found himself, cautiously, keeping a watchful eye, passing you over to the former criminal, intently watching every movement that the man made.

Lange simply fed you. "Always thought you and y/n would have a cute baby, imagine its- oh yeah, well after all that stuff that happened with vision and SWORD, we thought it best to destroy any technology that was recovered from the old base. This part survived, and well, I went into its- okay, you don't want to hear the science, but basically Thor insisted he could break it with his hammer, albeit whilst I was inside of it, and it sent energy around the room that turned them into pubescent children."

"I can see that it did nothing to you. And I thought Morgan did it.”

"I was so relieved, lucky I- wait, was that an insult?" Bucky remained primitively silent, and that answered Scott's question. The hero sighed, as you finished nursing, and your arms reached for Bucky, to whom he passed you to. “And I lied...”

He literally blamed a five year old for the screw up of grown men. Tony was going to thrive off this information, whence he knew that his daughter was in fact not the culprit.

"What do we do now?" He was eager to find a cure for this betrothed science. Those whom were responsible for your decrease in age, well, one was running around the compound, and the other, well, he was even younger than Morgan currently.

"You could wait twenty years, I mean you two already have quite a big age gap, and please don't kill me. I'm not sure that Cap would approve, I am a vital source to the team!"

"I'm not going to kill you tic tac. Or at least not at least until we fix these three."

"Phew." Scott wiped his brow, blowing air from his mouth. "Wait thre- oh yeah, the little guy carrying the hammer that is bigger than himself, and the

"Okay, we need someone smarter." Bucky sighed heavily, as he hugged you in thought. "You tried hitting it again with the hammer?"

"Oh my god, I could be worthy!" Gasped Scott, running off to the next room, only to come back limping, a pained expression on his face. "Little Asguardian bastard hit me!"

Bucky contained his smirk, and instead passed you to Lang, venturing into the other part of the lab, finding that Bruce was asleep, a blob of snot hanging from his nose, he could see the hammer in the middle of the room, almost as though it were waiting for him to attempt grabbing the handle, and Thor was-

The minuscule god jumped from one of the shelves, wrapping his arms around the front of Bucky’s neck, as he put all his weight on the super soldier’s back. In all practicality, Thor was strangling him, and Bucky tapped his arm, trying to convince him to let go.

“I know who Noobmaster69 is.” Thor quirked his head, lessening his hold, as he promptly awaited his now older friend to continue. “It’s, its- his name is Wade Wilson.”

“Wilson!” No, gosh no. Bucky stood completely, making sure to keep Thor in the vicinity, he needed him to be so so that he could reverse the affects on the son of Odin.

“Not Sam. Wade.” He had never met the man before, but god did he seem like a dick. When the pair of you were getting a taxi, the driver Dopinder just could not shut up about his friend, who liked to wear red, and had a kink for unicorns.

Wade certainly sounded like a weird one, but right now, his pass time was getting Thor to pick up that hammer. “Where can I find this Wade?” It practically left his mouth as a hiss, if the imagery and proven death supposed otherwise, he’d possibly think it was Loki instead.

“I will tell you, if you pick up that hammer, and hit it against that old machine. Got it buddy?”

“It’s name is Stormbreaker!” Bellowed the norseman, who tried to slide off his back, but Bucky kept a hold of his legs, refraining him from going anywhere. “Get peter to do it, I don’t want to play that game anymore!”

“Uuh, hi Mr Barnes...” That voice, oh he knew it, and the majority of the time it irritated him, he was Tony's little pet. “And, baby avengers?”

“Don’t ask kid.” Peter nodded, as he went to reach for a spanner. “Can you pick the hammer up, are you worthy?”

“Am I worthy?” He wondered aloud, his eyes fixated on the hammer, as he stepped towards it, holding his hand out, and clasping his palm around the handle, it feeling weightless in his grip, as he picked it up without effort. “Oh my god (it’s Robert Downey Junior)!”

“Great, now take it out there, I’ll deal with these two. And don’t do anything yet.” He was certainly feeling like a sergeant, throwing all the orders to the others, Peter complied, carrying the hammer as though it were an empty duffel.

“Can I try?” Instantly, after Peter passing it to him, Scott had such hope, until the force of gravity hit, and it fell on his foot, causing a light scream to ripple through his throat. “Get it off, get it off!”

Peter did so, as Bucky kept Thor on his shoulders, and grabbed a hold of Bruce’s chubby little ankle, dragging him into the other room. “Shit he’s heavy.” He saw that you were sat in the grand spinny chair, making Bucky relived that you weren’t in Lang’s arms as he attempted to have a moment of worthiness.

“What’d you do, go all Winter soldier on his ass and knock him out?!” Half screamed the prodigy of Hank Pym.

“Of course not, I think Thor did it.”

“Oh yeah, blame the kid because I did the same.”

“Put your suit from Stark on kid, unless you want to become a fetus.” Bucky ignored Scott for the moment,

“I got Hope to send her outfit, it will stretch to accommodate you, but I also think it would hug your shape nicely.”

“That was fast.” Muttered Peter, and Bucky shook his head, eyeing the outfit with weird eyes.

“I’m crazy, but not crazy enough to wear that.” Sighing, he grasped it in his hands, walking to the other room to squeeze into it. He noticed you watching, and thus he turned the chair around so that you couldn’t see anything. Little did he realise until he came out, that you had spun it around again, and was giggling. “Don’t laugh at me, or you won’t be allowed to see it when you’re returned to normal.”

A pout settled on your small lips, and it appeared as though you were getting ready to cry again, but before you could do so, a distraction intervened. An uninvited, and confusing one.

“Stop. Can I just say, that is some cruel declaration for the both of you, you’re my fave ship, after me and Hugh Jackman of course, but he doesn’t even know that this version of me exists.” A newfound imposter called out, his arms raised in the air. Leather gloves crinkled as he twitched his fingers, his white eyes freaking Scott the fuck out. “May I join you on this journey? I read about you guys in comics. And can I just say, I want to see these hunks and that hottie all grown up.”

“You want to see me go Winter Soldier on someone Lang?” Bucky gritted his teeth, prepared to murder this man for ever posing such words about you into the open air. Him speaking obviously drew some attention to him though, but it was not his rage that was mentioned, instead, it was his attire- or well, Hope’s.

“Nice suit Buck Buck. Can you do a twirl for me, I wanna see if it competes with America’s ass. Damn, does that man have some buns on him.”

“I know right!” Scott eagerly agreed, earning a smack in the nuts, to which had made him close to crumbling.“You had to use the metal hand, didn’t you.” Whimpered the Ant to the false Wasp, clamping his hands over his goods as he half hunched over. “I thought you often forgot to use it coz your right handed.”

“You’re on my left.” Gross, he sounded like Sam.

“Who the hell are you?” Thor spoke, and it felt familiar on his tongue. It was as though he had asked an enemy the same thing before...

“I, am Noobmaster69.”

“Hi, I’m Peter. Oh, we’re using our made up names, I thought Sam said it was that guy from that tech place.” Peter scratched his head through the mask, providing a small verbal distraction, as Thor willingly set himself free, launching at the intruder, whilst snatching the hammer from a suited up Peter.

“Aaasrrrghh.” He screamed like a true deity of the vikings.

“Thor, no!” Lang screamed, knowing that he’d have to come up with another excuse. The cameras had been fused whence Thor had first struck the hammer in the room, and it abused the guy in the red suit as he went for his legs, attacking the friend of Dopinder.

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keeper0fthestars · 3 years

Text

would you let me

din djarin x fem!reader (au)

summary: tattooed!din. guys you should know me by now, there’s no plot this is shamelessly soft and a little bit of filth (you can assume this takes place well after the events of ywmnd, but it can be read as a stand-alone fic)

warnings: Din without his helmet, 18+ explicit, fluff/smut, love and affection, oral f receiving, praise kink, y’all din is Hor-neeeee, dirty talk sort of, possessive din, cock warming, unprotected sex, oh yea- din doesn’t realize how enamoured you are with his tattoos.

a/n: Did I intend for this to be 2.8k words? Hahaha, oh god, in my head this was only 600 words at the most and i have nothing to say for myself, all i want is Din Djarin to be being safe, stable and happy.

✨immaculate✨moodboard at the bottom by: @bxbafett

His skin tingles where you still touch him.

The sweat has dried but he can’t yet bring himself to move from where he'd collapsed next to you on the pillows a few minutes ago. Sprawled on his stomach, he takes up your side of the bed, the comfortable weight of your leg bent over the back of his thigh. The heat of your mouth and the exquisite grip of your pussy would stay with him for days.

The peaceful glow blanketing the room hangs in contrast to the raging wind outside. The storm arrived unexpectedly before dawn and continues to rattle the windows every so often, a promise that it's far from over.

Muscles protesting, he bunches the pillow under his arms. His eyes struggle to stay open and he sees you’re doing no better, not a lick of tension left in your body. His shoulders bulging, he rests his head on his forearms, lulled by the sensation of your slow fingers tracing the dark ink over his shoulder blade.

He wonders what you're thinking about, he wonders if you even realize you’re doing it. Not that he minds. Not that he needed a reason to keep you in bed today. Drowsy and spent, the look on your face tells him you wouldn't be able to recall a single thing you’d carried over from yesterday’s to-do list. He likes days like this when the only thing on your mind is him. Even now, especially now, when all that exists is the delicious scent of you and he’s on the verge of dozing off and it's not even noon. He can't get enough of how fucking beautiful you are after he's fucked you.

The dwindling fire dances in the corner of the room, creating shadows across the dips and valleys of his back. Coals begin to crackle but neither of you seems to care about the chill creeping back in the room. The window could be wide open right now and neither of you would even notice.

At the moment, other things occupy your mind. Lazy, your fingers continue over the smooth slope of his shoulder, repeatedly admiring the same path of black ink.

With a languid exhale, he shifts, turning on his side, ruffling the toasty air under the quilt between you. One arm propped under his head, his other hand slipping warm underneath the blanket, hugging your hip, he settles heavy and solid beside you.

Your eyes are drawn to the intricate pattern that spreads across his chest and curls around his biceps and disappears under the blankets. You know the significance of each piece of ink. The one on his shoulder, the one bigger than your palm is your favourite. Ever since he'd gotten it, you found yourself silently longing for something you’d never thought you’d want. But then, you’ve never done anything as reckless as being in love before.

You've often wondered if he'd like that; to see a similar version of one of his tattoos somewhere on you, to watch him brush his fingers over it, or his mouth- tracing the pattern in the dark, knowing the shape of it from memory alone. Tender evidence of just how entwined your life with him is.

The thought of it pulls delightfully inside your stomach.

When you look up, he’s already watching you.

He sees the flash of eagerness in your eyes before you blink it away, he sees the cautious way you wet your bottom lip as you consider your words. He can see you’re itching to say something.

"If I wanted something like this, would you do it for me?"

His brow flattens, his lips part and you can tell the question catches him off guard. You hear the hitch in the air but you don’t know the half of it.

You do not know that his throat jams with adrenaline when he opens his mouth to answer you— he barely manages to swallow it down and level his voice enough to speak. He’s powerless to stop the grin that sneaks into the corner of his mouth.

‘Of course, I would.’

The kick of overwhelming pride in his veins is instant, a punch to his lungs. This timid little request sets off fireworks in his stomach, floods hot up his chest, flushing the roots of his scalp. Something so tangible, so primal he thinks he could reach in and touch it. He thinks if he does, it might lay him to waste. The more he visualizes you this way, the more light-headed he becomes.

And then you weaken him further. Sweet little apples forming on your cheeks— and he gives in. Allows the sensation to shatter him.

His girl, his girl, wants ink that matches his.

He wants to bask in it, drown himself in it. Arousal licks hot inside his stomach, tightens his cock so fast it makes him dizzy-

Instead of on your hip, the heat of his hand is now curling around the back of your neck and his forehead collides gently with yours. Warm and solid.

He has to close his eyes, focus on you, or the muscles around his heart will squeeze right out of his chest and turn him into a puddle. His cock, painfully heavy between his legs.

Tethering himself against your warm brow, he lingers, focuses on your breath fanning down his cheek. Eventually, he comes back down again.

You'd said you want him to do it.

You'd be wearing a part of him on your skin. Forever.

Fuck.

How he wants it.

His lungs threaten to collapse again.

Gentle fingers squeeze the nape of your neck, spreading warmth down your spine. Nudging your forehead up, you are met with the imploring depths of his eyes carefully fixed on yours, circling your features. You watch his brows pull together, the earnestness on his face tugs at the strings around your heart.

“You would let me?” He asks.

You know exactly what he means. Giving him the power to adorn you, stinging with needles.

To hurt you. Trust that he wouldn’t.

Like his name hasn’t already been written on the inside of your heart since the day you met.

Your hand curves along the scruffy edge of his jaw, reaching further, tangling in his hair. Tipping your face up, your mouth slides between his supple lips and you answer him the only way you can.

He melts immediately, nose pressing into your cheek, tugging you closer with a soft hungry moan. Stubble grazing, you’re lost inside the slick of his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper, reaching for yours. His hand trails down the curve of your back, his cock rigid, presses against your softness and heat swoops low in your belly. Much too soon he pulls away and you already feel his burning gaze as you struggle to pull your eyelids open.

Bloomed and dark, his eyes burn with adoration so intense it would blot out both suns.

"Where would you want it?"

The softness in his voice makes your heart flutter. You already see the possibilities flickering in his eyes; his ink decorating you.

Easing you back on the pillows, you barely get a chance to give his question any thought when you feel the ends of his hair tickling your jaw, his mouth ghosting over your clavicle.

"Maybe here?" his voice lilts up at the end, satisfied at the goosebumps erupting across your skin.

He doesn't give you time to answer, instead, he grasps your hand, softly brushing his thumb over the tendons on the inside of your wrist. "Or, here."

And then it hits you and your mouth goes dry. “You’ve already thought about this.”

‘Yeah,’ he says softly, bending to slot his lips over your open mouth. ‘I have.’

His admission just about ruins you.

Ugh. This man.

Curiosity ignites inside you, in sync with an eagerness of an entirely different kind. One that charges your pulse, makes your voice weak.

‘Where would you want it?’

He's slow with his answer. Even slower gripping the blanket from underneath. Pulling it down, watching the satin edge slide over your skin, watching it slowly catch on your nipples. Bit by bit, exposing the soft fullness of your curves. Doesn't stop pulling until the blanket bunches around your knees.

You watch his mouth tug into a crooked grin.

Crowding over the side of you, he’s so long and so broad. Your skin tingles under his appreciative gaze. A warm hand trails up the side of your hip, fingertips counting ribs, so gentle it's almost ticklish. You struggle to breathe around the quivering in your stomach where your heart thuds erratically from one corner of your ribcage to the other.

Unhurried fingers trace a slow semicircle underneath your breast.

‘I want one here,’ his head dips down, his nose following the swell of soft skin. ‘So I can see it every time I fuck you.’

Your pussy twinges, heat flaring all the way to your nipples.

Oh.

Grasping a handful of your breast, he circles his tongue over your nipple and before you can put a single thought together, his large hand moves to your hip, squeezes, then melts into the softest of touches.

“And I want one down here.”

You catch his gaze, blazing and dark, before his mop of messy dark hair trails down your stomach.

He licks a hot stripe over the spot he's just identified on the inside of your hip bone, teeth nipping. Your core clenches painfully at the contact and your vision goes hazy. He is pleased with your splintered gasp, but you can think of a few other uses for that smug grin. As though reading your mind, his open mouth finds more bare skin, hot and wet, scraping slower, pushing your legs apart.

His voice low, possessive, ‘No one but me would ever know about them.’

The thought sends a spectacular sting of arousal around your ass and up your spine.

Something only for him. Maker. He renders you so defenseless so fast your head spins.

"So, what do you think?" his voice dips lower, his stubble scrapes up the inside of your thigh. "Where should we start?"

You know he just asked you a question but his thumb is toying with the seam of your pussy now and the words he just said have nothing to cling to inside your head. He’s slow about it, pressing just far enough to collect your wetness and push it up around your clit. Painting. Teasing. Dipping further each time only to pull away and bring it to his mouth. Spreading you wider so he can see how flushed and swollen you are and he hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

“You gonna answer me?” Using his palm to pin your leg open, his mouth sinks into the inside of your thigh, teeth and all, and he hears you pull air from the beams of your ceiling.

“Tha-s not fair..” you plead.

He moans his agreement into the flesh of your other thigh. “We can finish this conversation after you cum.”

His mouth closes over your clit and your eyes roll back in your head. He doesn’t let up.

“Din-,” you gasp.

He pulls off your swollen clit and sucks the taste off his lips, watching you clench for him at the loss of contact.

“Yeah?”

You’re so fucking wet for him that his cock throbs, leaking between his stomach and the sheets. Bending his index finger he drags the side of his knuckle over your clit, pushing deep until he snags your entrance, holding you there. You’re already fluttering around him, so eager. With every clench, more slick leaks between his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns into the most filthy whimpers every time he laps at your clit. His other hand pries your fist from the sheet beside you, curls his fingers through yours and holds tight. Collects wetness on his tongue and leaves it on your clit again.

“You wanna cum on my mouth... or my cock.”

“Yes…” you plead, chest heaving, not sure if he even hears you.

He doesn’t know what you’re moaning ‘yes’ to but he doesn’t care because your pussy is too fucking tempting to stop now. Two fingers buried to the knuckle, they twist and curl and he has to hold your hips from seizing and climbing off the bed when you cry out and come apart at the seams.

He moans blissfully, mouth buried in your pussy, working you through it until your grip on his hair loosens and your thighs finally lay limp around his shoulders. His mouth becomes patient, gently cleaning you up until you’re too sensitive to take anymore.

He crawls up to your mouth, forearms crowding you on either side, settling his weight between your legs. Your hands tug through his hair and he moans again, taking his time inside your mouth, sloppy and breathless.

Blissed out and shaky, you let him nudge you over on your side. Bringing the blanket over your bodies, he climbs up behind you like a massive wall of warmth.

Soft kisses to your shoulder, his hand splays firm on your belly; he needs to be as close as possible, needs to fit himself between your legs, perfectly content to just keep himself there for the rest of the day if that’s all you wanted.

He knows it’s not.

Still keyed-up from your orgasm, the heavy length of his cock slides exquisitely through your folds, the wide ridges catch perfectly on your tender clit. He throbs hot and your eyes cloud over with a need so obscene, so sharp, it would take no effort at all to angle your hips and ease every inch of him into you. Your fingertips reach down, smearing your fingers over the blunt head of his cock and he twitches for you, leaking and hot, a broken groan shuddering within his chest behind you. The ache goes straight to your pussy.

His mouth gone dry, his hand like steel on your hip now. He holds delightfully still, right over your clit and he feels you shudder and clench, more heat spilling out around his cock.

“Does my girl want more?” His hand dips below the swell of your ass, he squeezes into your flesh, pulling you apart, making more room for himself, fixed on supplying you another heavenly inch of contact. You oblige and squeeze the muscles between your legs, giving him more friction and he keens for you, whimpering ‘fuck’

He sees you bring your slippery fingers into your mouth, and he has to force his eyes shut and rein himself in, dazed at how dangerously close he is to that sweet blinding edge of oblivion. He feels you clench desperately again, knows it’s because you’re gathering more slick from his weeping cock and swallowing it down.

Pressing your ass into the base of his hips you arch your back, sliding him once more through the same path. The desperate sound he makes against the back of your neck makes you throb.

He hums wet kisses into your neck, bringing three fingers soaked from his mouth to your nipple, rolling them over the hardened peaks. You shudder for him and grind harder into his lap, legs trembling, your nails digging into his arm.

“What d’you need, my girl?”

Your only answer is a low whine. “I need you in me.”

Grasping your knee from behind, he lifts your leg just enough to wedge his hips properly... ‘like this, you want me just like this’ ...and it’s effortless. He drags through your whimpers, through the haze of his own blurry desperation, burying himself into your slick heat all at once. When he reaches the hilt, you gasp high and tight, the stretch fucking divine.

He groans through a string of filthy curses, low and needy and breathless through gritted teeth, ‘this what you want, just like this?’ A delicious ache burning deep in his stomach, he stills, waiting for you to breathe again. ‘...good girl, y-es,’ he hushes against your neck, ‘...relax for me.’

There is no more room for him to move but slowly, somehow, he still manages to rock into you, continues to gush praise into your hair, easing your leg down on his, ‘so fucking good for me,’ keeping you anchored, close and unmoving.

Your grip on his cock is intoxicating, nothing could ever come close. Buried deep in you is the only place he feels truly weightless.

It’s a heady thing, the way you claim him, the way you light up when he walks in the door, how much you trust him, how much you care for him. It takes his breath away. Erases every fear he’s ever had and every worry yet to come.

Snug in your bed like this, forever is a real thing.

Shielding you from the cold room, you’re both on the edge of sleep again when it occurs to him and he smiles. “You never answered my question, sweetheart.”

You inhale with a soft contented sound, burying deeper underneath his arm.

“On my wrist.” Your drowsy slurred voice makes his heart swoon.

“I want everyone that sees it, to know who I belong to.”

His arm tightens around your waist.

TO BE CONTINUED...! HOPEFULLY :)

thank you so much for reading! I would love to know what you think of this! if you’ve every left me a comment on anything i’ve written -please know i’ve never forgotten it xx

perm taglist: @opheliaelysia @oldstuffnewstuff @sistasarah-sallysaidso @fromthedeskoftheraven @hiscyarika @oloreaa @punkpascal @wickedfrsgrl @b0n-chann @buckstaposition @mstgsmy @the-wishmonger @givemethatgold @cinewhore @ksgeekgirl @princessxkenobi @getinthepoolkeanu @paintballkid711 @yespolkadotkitty @pedropascalito @randomness501 @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @dearspacepirates @jaime1110 @chews-erotically @this-cat-is-dea @cryptkeepersoul @findhimfives

din djarin tag: @tiffdawg

@seawhisperer deserves all the pancakes in the fcking world for tolerating my incoherent messages at all hours of the night and her endless supply of inspiration xx

If anyone is interested, you can use this link to add or remove yourself from my tag list :)

#din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #tattooed!din #din djarin x female reader #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #*mine: writing #would you let me #this is has been living in my head for a few weeks and i'm so happy i got it out

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