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babyhatesreality · 1 year

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what if someone else tries to discipline stucky's babygirl?🥹🥹 like, some random dude who considers himself a daddy got mad for something she did?? i think daddy stucky would absoluty go ✨bersek✨

Oh....*Berserk* is putting it mildly....

But let's back up a bit first. You've been with Steve and Bucky long enough that you're truly and deeply one of the family. And with that, it means that you and your friends have gotten into plenty of trouble before at each other's places. You've been put in time outs by several of your extended family members- mostly Tony, Pepper, Natasha, and Bruce. There's a rule in the tower that if you're little and misbehaving while in their care, anyone in the family is allowed to give a time out. Of course it means you're in big trouble when your primary caregivers find out, so you don't ever MEAN to get into mischief. It just ...sometimes ...happens! Right?? :D

But there was this one time that SHIELD was introducing a group of new operatives. They were the ones who would be running some of the simpler operations that didn't require super strength, stealth, or swag. But they would have access to and contact with the Avengers, and so were brought into the Tower for training.

There was this one new recruit named Kenneth. He was tall, had a firm jaw, strong enough to handle pretty much anything- and had an extremely overblown sense of his own worth. He had decided (without asking anyone or confirming anything) that he was on his way to becoming the first civilian Avenger simply because...he was that awesome. Which he was not, but that comes later.

Since this new operatives team would also be responsible for looking out for low level threats to the Avengers themselves, they were briefed on all the Littles and Caregivers in the tower. So if, God forbid, something happened, they knew the chain of command to help take care of the Littles in a crisis situation- mostly getting the Littles to the correct Avenger.

Welp, as with most other things, Kenneth didn't feel these rules applied to him either. He knew that if he were ever to encounter one of you "littles" (as he put it, complete with his own stupid air quotes and a dumb look on his face), he'd make sure that he'd show his authority, and that would prove he could be an Avenger. *Sidenote-it's funny how these dude-bros' egos work, isn't it?*

One day Daddy and Papa had brought you upstairs with them, as had the rest of the caregivers with their own littles. It was an easy half day, and barring anything suddenly popping up, there was just regular paperwork and classified debriefings to meet about- a safe day for you all to be up there. The other littles were playing a game of tag in the big rec room, but you were feeling a little cranky from a rough night and just wanted to be on your daddies' laps. You would hop down off Bucky's lap ten minutes into a meeting to climb onto Steve's, and then back again ten minutes later. Hey, you were happy, they were happy, it was all good.

You politely asked if you could go get a drink of water, and after insisting that you could be a big girl by yourself, Bucky let you go down the hall to the kitchen area. And that's where you ran into Kenneth, who was sneaking up to the meeting, trying to make up some excuse as to why he needed to be in this Avengers-only debriefing (he was pretty sure they weren't even going to question his right to be there, but it was always good to have a plan B, right?).

He immediately identified you, and stopped you in the hallway by grabbing you by the shoulder (wrong move #1). "And where do you think you're going, little girl?" he asked you snidely (wrong move #2). You immediately stepped back, trying to get yourself out of his grip. You didn't know this guy, and you weren't supposed to talk to strangers. And no one was allowed to touch you without your permission. Daddy and Papa taught you well.

But Kenneth took that as defiance before you even opened your mouth, tightening his grip on your arm (wrong move #3...you get the idea). "You are not supposed to be wandering the halls by yourself, are you?" he sneered. "Some caregivers, just letting a helpless little girl wander around unguarded." He leaned into your face. "Someone could get hurt."

That scared you, as it sounded very threatening, so you shook your arm again, trying to pull away. "Please let go," you said through gritted teeth, trying to be polite (he was in the Tower after all, and no one got in without SHIELD's permission), but really wanting to kick this guy in his private area. Instead, Kenneth yanked your arm so hard that you cried out, and started dragging you towards the meeting room. He shoved you down onto your bottom right outside the doorway, then pointed a finger at you.

"You stay right there, little missy, and don't even think about moving. You've been very bad and you're in big trouble," he scolded, unwarranted. You just glared at him but didn't move. He didn't even bother knocking on the door to the meeting room- he just barged in.

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes? I've got something that you both need to see, immediately," he said arrogantly.

You heard the shuffle and scramble of your daddies moving quickly, and you knew they were panicking about you. But the second they got out of the doorway and saw you cowering on the floor with a glower on your face, they both stopped, confused.

"Baby, are you okay?" Bucky asked frantically, dropping to his knees and reaching out to you. You threw yourself into his arms, relieved.

"What happened? Why was she sitting on the floor?" Steve asked as he got down next to you and Bucky, brushing your hair away from your face and scanning you as hard as he could, looking for injuries.

"She was wandering around the halls, unsupervised," Kenneth replied lightly, the arrogance dripping off of him. "Then she was defiant and disobedient when I tried to help her."

" 'Tried to help her'?" Steve repeated, slowly standing up to face Kenneth. Anyone with half a brain could hear the steel in his voice and see the rage in his posture. Even Kenneth turned a bit pale at the fury he'd unknowingly invoked. "What...exactly...did she need help with?"

"Well, er...um..she wasn't supposed to be in the hallways-"

"She had permission to be there," Steve interrupted him. The aura of controlled anger about to snap that was radiating off your Papa was something to behold- you'd never seen him like this before and it was AWESOME. "She was getting a drink from the kitchen." He turned to you, smiling softly, but his vibranium-infused posture didn't change one bit. "Lovebug, were you able to get your drink?"

"No, Papa," you said simply.

"I see," he said, turning back to Kenneth as his gaze turned back to razor blades. "So you kept my baby from getting a drink when she's thirsty, you stopped her without permission and tried to get her to disobey OUR directives, and you barged into a classified meeting." He pinned the now completely pale Kenneth to the wall with only his clear cut steel blue gaze. "Anything else, baby girl?" he asked you without turning his head.

"He touched me," you added, then turned your gaze to Bucky, who was still holding you. "And it hurt my arm."

Bucky set you down gently, then stood up and faced Kenneth.

Kenneth was only able to remember three things from that moment until he woke up in the hospital. The first being the insanely loud thundering of crumbling concrete mixed with a strange whooshing sound that he couldn't immediately identify. There was also a cracking and a crunching that seemed to be coming from inside of him, but that didn't make any sense either...

The second thing was the fact that he was no longer in the hallway- he seemed to have somehow transported to another area that he was pretty sure was about three rooms away from where he'd just been standing.

The third thing was the sudden and overwhelming pain screaming all over his body. He had just enough time to realize that the Winter Soldier had thrown him through 3 solid walls before he blacked out.

When he woke up in the hospital, among the machines and IVs, he found a small cardboard box with all his desk items in it.

#there was also a letter from Fury #that made him vomit #it was so bad #daddy!bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky x little reader #daddy!steve #daddy!steve x little!reader #daddy steve #daddy steve x little reader #daddy!steve rogers #daddy!steve rogers x little #daddy steve rogers #daddy steve rogers x little reader #daddy stucky #daddy!stucky #daddy stucky x little reader #daddy!stucky x little reader

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justporo · 7 months

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Dumb Ideas

"Staeve's arm was around the vampire’s shoulder who - like every night - acted like he was disgusted by all the affection but leaned into it as soon as one of you tangled their limbs with him. You had one arm slung around the pale elf’s mid with your head on Astarion's shoulder. Which also had the advantage of Staeve being able to caress your cheek and play with your reddish-brown hair - or pinch your ear. Meanwhile you were in the perfect position to nudge the half-drow's side whenever he got too feisty."

Staeve and you decide it's a good idea to pierce each other - while Astarion can't stop commenting on how idiotic that is...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: So uhm, @velnna has allowed barbies being smashed with his Staeve and... my brain started to think of a sweet polycule with Staeve, Astarion and my own girl, Tav (the hero to almost all my fics)... how could I resist? And you might be saying "Poro, isn't this very self-indulgent?" to which I would agree, but have you considered that I am down bad for this half-drow? So, @velnna, big thankies again for letting me borrow Staeve again, he's wonderful as are you! <3

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: well, they pierce each other, so don't do this at home, kids? Wordcount: 4,5k

In today's spoils from taking out the occasional bad guys on your way to bigger fish you had to fry in Baldur's Gate, there was something a bit peculiar.

Quite obviously just before you had gotten to these bandits they must've relieved someone else of a lot of jewellery: beautiful golden necklaces, amulets adorned with shimmering stones of all colours under the sun, delicate silver bracelets - and a surprising amount of piercings.

Back in camp now after a full day of adventuring, the party had started sorting through the valuables.

Staeve was just inspecting the pieces when you came over to him and the vampire. He was turning them around in his fingers while Astarion was captivated by a collier with rubies that matched the colours of his eyes very nicely.

When the half-drow saw you coming out of the corner of his black and teal eyes he looked up and threw you a grin: “Looks like I got myself an upgrade for my ears.”

He winked and immediately pocketed a few golden earrings - just to be sure to have them. You raised an eyebrow at the rogue: “Who says it's only you getting some new ones, eh?”

Stepping closer you grabbed Staeve's hand which still had some more gold rings and bars in it. And then while getting so up close and personal with him that the tips of his forest green hair almost tickled your face you wrung the remaining pieces out of his hand. He let you. And grinned benevolently at your audacity - thieves among each other.

“Sharing is caring, love,” you whispered and mimicked his wink from before exaggeratedly and stood on your tiptoes to press a quick peck onto the half-drow's lips. You felt the corner’s of his mouth curl up more as you kissed him.

“Oh, don't worry, there is plenty to go around!” Staeve declared cheerfully and opened up his other hand with much more loot.

You narrowed your eyes at him while he rewarded you with a shit-eating grin. “There should be enough for all of us, even for Karlach. Although I'm not quite sure how many she might have,” Staeve mused and looked around to find the barbarian enthralled by Gale explaining to her in excruciating detail how to recognise a real diamond over a fake one.

“Or maybe we could do new ones. Especially since I don't know what these are for,” he held up some half-moon shaped pieces with a bar connecting the curve.

You just shrugged.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Astarion had snuck up behind you in the meantime. Having - just like Staeve - secured his more than fair share of the spoils already.

“If you're intending to pierce your nipples, darling, I'd be more than interested to see that. Because that's what those are for,” he explained and pointed one of his long fingers at the thing Staeve was still turning around in his hands.

“Or maybe our sweetheart Tav would like to try that out?” Astarion teased as he stepped up even closer behind you and you felt his hands suddenly cupping your breasts for a short moment and squeezing them upwards - making you yelp. “I'm sure it would suit you terribly well and would make for some extra fun for Staeve and me,” he haughtily whispered close to one of your pointy ears while he tried to make eye contact with Staeve. But the half-drow was too mesmerised by the sight of long elegant fingers presenting a quite alluring view of you exactly in front of his face.

And before you could swat the vampire’s naughty hands away he had already disappeared again with roguish quickness, just laughing. But you wouldn't let yourself be treated like that - not in public anyway. So you went after him, trying to get some revenge.

Meanwhile Staeve held the supposed jewellery for a nipple in front of his chest and looked at it curiously, his lips pursed. Then he simply shrugged and went after his two lovers who were hissing and swearing at each other somewhere at the back of today's campsite.

***

The rest of the party had split up the loot with everyone humming contentedly about the sudden wealth you had fallen into. Astarion had put on the ruby collier to everyone’s entertainment and Karlach had been happy about the still huge amount of new piercings she could take her pick from. Quite some more jokes about how other companions could adorn different parts of their body were made over a generous dinner. The wizard had thrown in a little extra effort and ingredients to celebrate the unexpected financial triumph for it to everyone’s delight.

And once everyone had had their fill of food, laughter, amiable companionship and the sun had set, everyone had retired to their tents - or each other’s for some.

Astarion was languidly laying on the pillows in front of his tent reading, one leg casually angled, the other splayed. He hadn't stayed solitary for long.

Staeve and you had bundled up with him like it had become second nature for all of you: Astarion in the middle, all smothered by you, the other rogue and your joint, multiplied love for him.

Staeve's arm was around the vampire’s shoulder who - like every night - acted like he was disgusted by all the affection but leaned into it as soon as one of you tangled their limbs with him. You had one arm slung around the pale elf’s mid with your head on Astarion's shoulder. Which also had the advantage of Staeve also being able to caress your cheek and play with your reddish-brown hair - or pinch your ear. Meanwhile you were in the perfect position to nudge the half-drow's side whenever he got too feisty.

On top of that you had hooked one leg around the vampire's while Staeve had one of his threaded through the angled one. Effectively you had all immobilised each other as you lay there all knotted.

You were talking about and presenting each other the pieces of jewellery you had saved for yourself, talking about which fit whom better. Or, Staeve and you did. Passing the delicate golden earrings between you, just over where the vampire held his book.

Astarion just occasionally threw in some teasing commentary and eyed the glinting ornate pieces - more than once trying to swat them out of your hands when he got too annoyed with the two of you disturbing his peaceful reading.

Having two lovers so eager and physically affectionate was surely a blessing for the tortured soul and body of the vampire - but it still took him some getting used to. So his usual coping mechanism was to be sassy about everything. Staeve and you knew that by now and usually took it as a hint to give your third a bit more space - however that may look like in the moment.

Right now you had each picked out several pieces and were getting bored anyway. The conversation drifted off. Peaceful silence spread between the three of you.You were toying around with the laces on Astarion’s shirt while Staeve had stuck his nose in the vampire's curls and pressed soft kisses to his scalp.

With your other hand you fidgeted with one of the piercings, letting it wander around your fingers. And while it made another turn around them, a thought slowly formed in your mind. But before you could voice it, someone else broke the quiet moment.

“You two are terribly silent - it's disturbing,” Astarion burst out after a while of neither you or the half-drow saying anything. Sassy, just like you were used to.

“First you're annoyed by us talking and now of the opposite. Make up your mind, darling,” Staeve muttered flatly and softly bit into one of the vampire's pointy ears.

Astarion hissed and snapped his face around to his insolent lover. Pushing him away with his long fingers splayed over the half-drow’s face, his pale skin contrasting with Staeve’s darker skin.

“I was annoyed at you for passing things right in front of my face while I am trying to read,” Astarion snapped back. “Also usually when the two of you are silent like this one of you is about to come up with a really dumb idea that will come back to bite us all,” he snarled in response to the other rogue’s complaint and Staeve grabbed his hand off his face - but not without a small kiss to it.

“You're one to talk Mr ‘I-am-not-a-details-person’,” Staeve gave back, unwilling to be called out by someone with so little talent for coming up with plans himself.

“Rich coming from someone who repeatedly almost got himself killed with his stupid need to throw himself at every blade pointed at Tav or me, my love,” Astarion snapped back again.

The two of them kept bickering and teasing each other playfully until Astarion rolled his crimson eyes and decided to end the argument by grabbing Staeve's face and kissing him. Up until both men were merely softly humming and moaning, content with being wrapped up in each other.

This so far had always ended any dissonance between the three of you for good. No opportunity for arguing when mouths were occupied otherwise.

You observed the scene as those two turned more to each other, laying on their sides. You moved so you were basically spooning the vampire, your head still on his shoulder but now from behind. You let your hand wander from Astarion’s waist to Staeve’s hand that was cupping the vampire’s cheek along with the kiss. Letting your fingers softly trace down his freckled arm and eliciting a light shiver from him. His eyes flew open, gaze softening at you and your soft caress. The three of you stayed like that for a long time, making you almost forget your idea.

“But what if we actually got some new piercings?” you posed as a question when the two rogues finally broke their kiss and stared tenderly at each other after.

Staeve's gaze immediately snapped to you and he began grinning, face lighting up with some radiant energy. You could always count on him for a quick and probably somewhat stupid idea.

“Absolutely not,” Astarion exclaimed though and huddled around so he lay as before, picking his book up again and forcing both you and Staeve to readjust positions again. Well, his standpoint on the whole thing was clear.

But Staeve and you were still grinning at each other in agreement.

“You do whatever you imbeciles want but no one is touching me with a needle!” the vampire reiterated and shimmied himself around deeper into his pillows. A steep wrinkle formed between his furrowed brows as he made a show of focusing on his book again, basically making the pages snap as he opened it up at his bookmark. But Staeve was already up and about to grab supplies for your endeavour.

“Your loss then,” you whispered to Astarion and leaned over for a quick kiss to take the frown of his face. It worked quite nicely.

“Don't let Staeve poke your eye out, darling,” Astarion purred when you pulled away again, raising one of his eyebrows.

You stuck your tongue out at him and made to get up. But the remaining rogue quickly grabbed for your wrist and pulled you back onto him for a longer, deeper kiss - arm around your waist so you couldn’t so easily escape.

“Don't poke out his either, sweetheart,” Astarion mumbled when you withdrew “I like my lovers each with both their pretty eyes.”

You gave him a peck onto the tip of his nose.

“Well, who says I'm not doing the nipple piercings after all?” you retorted and jumped up to go after the half-drow while Astarion offered you a fiendish grin at the proposition.

Shortly after, you and Staeve had returned with supplies: needles out of your packs, strong liquor from the camp supplies and of course some suiting gold rings.

Despite the expressed interest for something else, you had decided to let Staeve pierce your bottom lip so you could put a ring through it. And now after he had poured some alcohol over the needle you were sitting in front of each other with crossed legs - while Astarion watched from the back with a perpetually raised eyebrow.

“Have you done this before?” you asked the half-drow as he bit his lip and obviously didn't know how to get going.

“Of course! I've done all my piercings myself. Also pierced others before,” he answered and kept inspecting your lips as if there was something new to see. As if he wasn’t staring enough at them every single day already.

You eyed Staeve's ears and the rings dangling from them. Some of the spots had healed a little roughly it seemed. “And all your victims so far still live?” you asked sceptically and grabbed the bottle of liquor that Staeve still had beside him to take a good swig from it. Staeve pressed his lips into a thin line as he watched you drink, clearly not even thinking the question worth an answer.

“Having second thoughts, darling?” Astarion threw in sarcastically, staring at you from under his brows when he had seen your questioning glance at Staeve's answer.

“I'm surprised you'd let him put a needle into you. Some days I'm surprised he remembers to use the pointy end of his dagger,” the vampire continued while letting his eyes drop to his book again and pointedly turned over to the next page.

Staeve puckered his lips and stared down Astarion who must've felt it and lifted his gaze again to stare right back. “Just leave me something to kiss,” the pale elf concluded and went back to reading.

The half-drow sighed and grabbed the bottle of liquor from you and also downed a fair amount - not exactly adding to your trust in him. But with some liquid courage within him he cracked his neck and made to get to work.

He softly grabbed your bottom lip between his index and thumb, softly tugging. His teal eyes flitted over it while he hesitantly brought up the needle to it. Meanwhile your silver eyes remained firmly on your partner, watching as his lips slightly parted and a light frown formed on his face. Silence spread for a few long heartbeats.

“Your hands are trembling, love,” you muttered, with as much clarity as your caught bottom lip allowed for.

Staeve's eyes jumped to yours, a hint of desperation lit up in his eyes.

“How am I supposed to do this with you staring at me like that, sweetie, hm?”

One of your eyebrows jumped up, lips curling into a smirk.

“So what you're saying is I am distracting you with my piercing eyes?” you teased.

Staeve rolled his eyes at you but smiled. And both of you heard how Astarion clicked his tongue at you.

“I don't want to hurt you,” the half-drow whispered once he had shaken off your stupid joke.

“Surprisingly this doesn't seem to be a common problem with you,” you gave back slightly breathy and watched a soft shade of pink colour Staeve's cheeks.

Then he tugged harder on your lip, making you whimper slightly in the process. “Well, if you say so, Tav,” your lover teased in a low tone, leaning ever closer to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, biting his own lip now.

“Please, don't have too much fun without me,” Astarion commented from the back in a mockingly dry and bored tone.

Your eyes jumped to the vampire who wasn't even looking at you.

And suddenly you felt a sharp sting that caught you off guard. A single yelp left you, then you looked back at Staeve and - blinking a few times to manage the pain - realised that he had pushed the needle cleanly through. He grinned triumphantly at you.

Without letting go of the needle he grabbed the golden ring you had picked out and carefully threaded it around your bottom lip once he had pulled the needle out. Then he softly dabbed off some blood with some clean cloth.

You didn't even further react to all of it until he finished his job with a very delicate kiss on your lips (that still sent another sting of pain through the wound but you barely minded).

“There you go,” Staeve grinned at you. “Looks hot!”

You grinned back and flinched only a little when you felt some pain from the movement.

“Turn your head for me, darling?” Astarion demanded back from his vantage point. You obeyed and underlined your new accessory by adding a playful wink. The vampire rewarded you with his signature smirk and hummed approvingly: “I have to agree with you, Staeve darling, it does suit her.”

The half-drow puffed out his chest in pride, extremely satisfied with himself and his work. He kept looking at you, eyes wandering over your new piece of jewellery again and again.

Then, while pain began to slowly throb through your lip you got up from your cross-legged position.

“Now your turn,” you said as you got up and grabbed a fresh needle. Staeve's mouth moved silently as you quickly poured some of the alcohol over the needle and were already reaching for one of his ears. He had opted for another earring for a longer row down his pointy ears.

What he had not opted for was how fast and eager you were to get to it now that you were already dealt with. He lifted his hands defensively and leaned away from you.

“Don't you just want to take a break first, see how you are with the pa-” “Don't chicken out on me, darling,” you immediately interrupted him and grabbed for his ear with a wicked grin and glint in your eyes.

Staeve yelped and still tried to lean away from you despite you already having a grip on him. This went on until he lost balance and toppled over. You had no problem with this and quickly followed him, climbing onto him until you were straddling him - his ear still in your grasp and in your other hand the needle.

“Love, I'd really appreciate some of the restraint I showed towards you,” the half-drow pleaded, one hand still held up to guard himself and with the other holding himself slightly upward to not fully lose control of the situation.

“Looks like someone delights a lot more in pain than you do, Staeve love,” the vampire once more threw in. This time he had actually lowered his book. This was all way too entertaining now.

You answered your vampire with another fiendish grin, then looked at the rogue beneath you once more.

“Have mercy, darling!” Staeve pleaded once more but you saw now how he could barely contain a grin himself. The twitching corners of his mouth gave him away.

“This is going to be it, Staeve? This is how you'd beg when she basically has you by the balls? Pathetic,” Astarion teased ruthlessly and then clicked his tongue again. Staeve and you shared a glance. Both of you knew the vampire would make much more of a fuss would he be in the half-drow’s position now.

The rogue beneath you made a slightly despaired noise, then took another breath and looked you straight in the eyes: “Alright, you know what. Tav, ge- wait a second!” He interrupted himself and grabbed the bottle of liquor again, downing the rest of it with impressive speed.

“Get it over with,” he finished and then turned his head slightly to give you better access to the side of his head. He was still eyeing you cautiously.

And as you moved in until the needle was almost touching his ear, his free hand snapped up and grabbed your hand: “Count to three? Please?”

His eyes were genuine this time when he asked that of you. Your gaze softened, your hand with the needle dropped slightly. And with your other you softly let your thumb wander over your lover's much darker skin.

“You don't have to do this, Staeve,” you whispered and let go of his ear to softly cup his cheek and turn his face around to you. You softly pressed a kiss to his lips, biting through the pain immediately shooting through your lip doing this. Staeve let go of your hand to mirror you, the pad of his thumb softly stroking over your cheek as you kissed.

But when you lifted your head up again you saw the determined glint in his eyes, being sure he wouldn't pull out of this, no matter what.

“Hells no, I want to do this. Just - count to three,” he asked of you. You simply smirked and grabbed his chin to turn his head back to the former position.

“Ready?” you asked and felt how some nervousness welled up inside you too as you carefully aligned the needle with your partner's ear.

Staeve slightly nodded as he looked at you. He trusted you after all. Even Astarion was still watching right now.

You took a deep breath - as did he. Your eyes were firmly on him.

“One,” you said - and pushed the needle through the half-drow’s ear.

Naturally, you took him fully by surprise. His mouth opened, ready to let out a yowl of pain but then realised it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. “Oww?” he made, more question than exclamation of pain, while you already pulled the needle through and fiddled with his new earring.

“Well, I could do that again anytime,” Staeve boasted afterwards and leaned forward - until he had to wrap his arms around you to stop you from falling off his lap. You grabbed a cloth and cleaned up his ear while he kept grinning at you insufferably and you pouted at him for how easily he swatted away his hesitancy from before.

“You like it, darling?” he shouted towards Astarion fishing for a compliment like you had gotten and meanwhile fully ignored your attitude.

The vampire rolled his eyes then nodded in exaggeration at Staeve, putting on some massive histrionics. Then he rolled his eyes again and went back to reading.

“Are you guys done now? Can I finally read in peace again?” Astarion spat towards you as Staeve let his hand wander up your back and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“Still no nipple piercings for you?” the half-drow suggested cheekily and threw his other lover a glance. But the addressed vampire just stared at him in annoyance for his insolent proposition and shook his head - moving up his book to block both of you out of his view while he muttered something under his breath. Something about what he must have done to end up in this situation.

And while he kept softly muttering to himself, Staeve looked back at you, softly motioning towards Astarion with his head and a slight grin on his lips. You immediately fully understood his intention.

Without further need for communication the two of you dashed back towards your third and smothered him in between you: showering him with kisses while wrapping all of your limbs around him. Basically giving him not a single chance to escape your joint affection. The book was quickly wrestled out of his hand and discarded to the side.

Of course the vampire took it with hissing and many very verbal complaints but he simply couldn’t resist his partners showering him with the love he deserved. In the end he let himself be happily swept up between the two of you. All of the affection making him almost forget that it hadn’t always been like that.

It took a while before the tangle of limbs calmed down again. By the end you were almost in the same position again as you had started the whole night with, neatly wrapped up in each other.

Astarion looked at the two of you softly since you had seemingly used up all of your chaotic energy for the day.

When he took in your face, one of his eyebrows jumped up as he looked down to your freshly pierced lip. By now you could certainly feel it swell up and how it began to throb in pain.

Before you could question his intention, Astarion leaned towards you and softly licked up a fresh trickle of blood from the wound. All while retaining eye contact with you and sending shivers down your spine. Afterwards his lips stayed for a kiss - cautious of course, to not cause you more pain. You would have loved to deepen the kiss more and see where it could possibly lead. But you knew the pain would make you regret it and so it remained quite chaste.

When the kiss ended, Staeve immediately inserted himself back into the situation: “And are you taking care of my ear too, or…”

“I’m definitely not going to lick your godsdamned ear, Staeve!” Astarion answered with a snarl.

The other rogue pouted.

And that surprisingly was all that had been needed for Astarion to give in despite himself. With a loud sigh, he turned over and softly pressed some light kisses to his lover’s new earring. Staeve grinned at him contentedly and drew him back in for another open-mouthed kiss that went on until all of you slowly felt the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you.

Slowly the three of you settled into serene silence: only the campfire still crackling, soft breaths drifting off into the aether and the sound of two hearts beating for three filled the night now.

It would have been perfect to just drift into your dreams now - if only it hadn’t been for the pain that now really kept bothering you.

You caught Staeve’s gaze and saw the same agony mirrored on his face - especially since he was laying on the side of his freshly pierced ear. You made a face towards your half-drow partner. He answered you in like.

But neither of you would have bothered to get up and do something about it. Especially not if it meant letting go of your vampire for only a second.

But Astarion noticed anyway.

“Regretting the consequences of your actions, darlings?” he teased with a bit of bite in his tone. But when both you and Staeve made big eyes at him, he simply sighed. Then he tried to detangle himself with quite some effort and got up.

“Where are you going, Astarion? You can’t just leave us here, not if we’re hurting!” you exclaimed and immediately shimmied over into Staeve’s open arms since the spot between you was empty now.

“I’m going to get the druid to fix you up. I can’t have you die of an infection because of this. Not before either the tadpole or I get to you,” Astarion responded with some annoyance masking his actual care for the two of you as he was already stomping away.

“Or do you rather want me to get Shadowheart?” the vampire teased you.

Staeve and you looked at each other. Both of you could imagine the amount of judgement you’d receive from the cleric.

“Halsin,” you exclaimed in unison and heard Astarion laugh slightly in response. And then you waited until your temporary missing piece returned to make the three of you whole again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year

Text

A completely sad/sappy (sadpy?) self indulgent piece I wrote last night while feeling several Feelings. consider this an author insert & death sans thing

---

“... tell me about you.”

She blinked, sitting up, no longer leaning against his soft black cloak, waking out of the stillness the tree's shade and the gentle rain had cast over both of them. His words had come completely out of nowhere.

“Pardon?”

Reaper looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “i can’t say i’ve met many other mortals who seek out the company of death.”

She gave him a look. “Don't be ridiculous. I know plenty who would seek your company.”

“they would seek my touch.” His gaze was low. Those eyelights saw more than normal eyes ever could. “they would seek... earthly desires. nothing wrong with that, i also seek those. but i’ve never had someone seek me out merely for my company.”

“I’m not that interesting.” She mused, softly, notably leaning back against the tree, and not him. “Besides. You’re great company.”

“tell me regardless.” He pressed. “consider it my just payment. for my great company.”

... She hummed. Despite her easygoing exterior, he could sense her resistance, her immediate discomfort. He had sensed it, from the beginning; her unwillingness to share about herself. Her quick deflections, her paradoxical fear of letting others know her, despite her clear desperation to be known.

He was patient. He would wait as long as it took for her to collect her words.

...

“... You’re the only one who gets it.” She said, eventually. Her voice lacked its usual quickness, its usual exact choice of word, the wittiness he liked so much.

That gave Sans pause. “... go on.”

“I don’t... love anyone. I don’t feel romance. I can’t help it.” She stared into the middle distance. “I’ve never been in love with anybody. Even when I really wanted to be.”

He watched her, quietly.

“... I let my guard down, y’know. Every now and then. I let myself get close to people. Then... sometimes they start to feel things that I can’t reciprocate. They want me to love, but I can’t. They see it as a fault with me, or worse themselves, and what we had in the first place falls apart.” She looked down at her hands. “I gave up getting close, because I’m tired of hurting people I care about with the way I am.”

“... hm.”

“... You’re the only one who... gets it, I think.” She couldn’t look at him. “Feeling like you’re separated from everyone else, through no fault of your own. But at the end of the day, that separation is the reality you’re in, and you have to live with it.”

“feeling as if everyone is part of something that you can’t even begin to be part of. and even if you suddenly joined one day, everyone else is so far ahead of you, you could never hope to catch up in time.”

She nodded. She did eventually look at him, a small smile forming on her face. “Yes.”

“you enjoy my company most, because you know i won’t grow to expect anything from you?”

“You’re mature. You’re... well. Death. I’m a human. I can trust you not to love me. And theoretically, even if you did, I think you’d have very different expectations about it. Expectations we could manage.”

“... is that why... your relationship with error is so fraught?”

She let out a short laugh. “Error and I are ‘on break’. Would you believe me if I told you I used to like him the most, because I thought he hated my guts too much to catch feelings?”

Sans grinned. “error is full of surprises. yet i think the fact that you grew to somehow like him surprises me the most.”

“He’s a giant manbaby. But he’s funny. And I liked having someone I could shamelessly argue with.” She tucked her knees up to her chin. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He got upset I spend so much time with you, then tried to kiss me.”

“... ah. that’s why he’s been watching romantic aus.”

“... I write about worlds full of love. Worlds where, regardless of looks or faults, romantic love always prevails and conquers all. Worlds where a self-insert can feel all those feelings I hear about on the radio.” Her breathing was very controlled, very quiet. “But it’s wish fulfilment, isn’t it? Giving a version of me the things I’ll never have. Giving everyone else the stories I’ll never be part of. Even if one of my most perfect characters stepped right out of my pages, I’d never have that 'happy ending'. I couldn’t give them what they wanted from me. I couldn’t give them what I want to give.”

A pause. She didn’t seem to like how obviously upset she had become. She emotionally retreated, quickly fixing on a smile, lowering her legs back into their previous crossed position.

“... I sound full of myself, I know." She chuckled artificially. "Oh, woe is me, I can’t get close to anyone because everyone just falls in love with me all the time.”

“no, not at all.” Sans reached out, and laid his hand over hers. “it’s happened more than once. you can’t blame yourself for recognising a pattern.”

... She squeezed his hand.

“i can’t promise i won’t love you. that’s a dangerous promise to make.” He murmured. “but i can promise i won’t ever expect romance from you, nor let romantic feelings define our relationship. closeness and love does not require romance. i’ve had thousands of years to come to grips with much more upsetting subjects than a woman potentially not returning affection i develop.”

...

She shuffled up to him, and tucked herself back against his cloak, her cheek pressed to the soft fabric. He reciprocated, wrapping an arm around her.

“Thank you.” She said, quietly.

"of course."

... They stayed like that, for a long time.

#self insert???? nono this is a Blelf Blinsert #jk this is 100% me #im taking self insert to a new level and literally just writing me #cringe culture dead lmao #anyway hope you enjoyed llama's deepest fears about being aromantic/demiromantic mixed with a lil shipping

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charliedawn · 2 years

Text

Slashers x Reader

18+ only. Thank you.

Author : You are the slasher's partner and get jealous when they seem to be seeing someone else behind your back. Enjoy.

"WHAT THE HELL FREDDY ?!"

Freddy almost fell off the bed at your scream and when you entered your shared bedroom with a phone in hand, his old cellphone to be exact..He knew he was in trouble.

"WHO THE FUCK IS MANDY, HUH ?! AND WHY IS SHE F*CKING SENDING YOU TEXTS LIKE THAT ?! 'WANNA HAVE FUN TONIGHT ? WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN ? LOTS OF KISSES ?!' WHAT IN THE ACTUAL F*CK, FREDDY ?!"

You started reading out loud some of the rather suggestive texts and Freddy sighed. Sh*t. You had found his old hook-up slut..He sighed and tried to explain.

"Listen, sweetheart.."

"DON'T YOU F*CKING SWEETHEART ME ! WHO IS SHE ?!"

There was a moment when Freddy was well...speechless. How to tell you he used to get lonely ? So, he had heard of some app that hooked you up with some local people searching for one-night flings. However, he hadn't used the app in a long time and he was starting to get fed up of being yelled at..

"If you'd just let me explain I.."

"SHE'S STILL SENDING YOU NUDES, FREDDY ! NUDES ! I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR EXPLANATIONS. I'M LEAVING !"

You were about to leave when Freddy grabbed your wrist and spun you around with a dark scowl on his face.

"LIKE HELL YOU ARE !"

You sent him a nasty glare and in a fit of rage, slapped him.

"F*CKING LET GO OF ME, FREDDY ! I'M TIRED OF YOUR BULLSH*T !"

Freddy seemed stunned for a moment before he brought his fingers to the fresh cuts on his face..He then cackled darkly before his whole demeanor changed.

"...Oh. You're so gonna regret that."

Before you could as much as let out a squeak, he grabbed you once more and pinned you to the bed. He then gently traced the side of your face with one of his very sharp blades. For a moment, you were afraid he was actually going to kill you—but he seemed to read your mind and shook his head.

"Oh no no, sweetheart..You know very well I don't do that anymore. You're the only one I see, but if you ain't f*cking sure ? Let me remind you.."

He took the phone away from you and deleted the contact without even giving it a second glance. You frowned—still not convinced—but he then kissed you passionately and straddled your lap while letting his hands wander all over your body. You tried to protest, but finally gave in when he bit your lower lip and gained access to your mouth. You moaned and Freddy smirked.

"For someone who hates my guts, you're kinda sending me mixed messages here, sweetheart..", he teased and you groaned loudly in annoyance.

"Shut up.." You pulled him closer and kissed him again.

You couldn't keep the tears from falling and Freddy pressed your foreheads together so you may look at him in the eyes.

"...Mandy is an old friend of mine. And yeah, we used to fuck. Don't act all surprised. Never said I was a virgin..Besides, my last conversation with her was well before I met you. Check my answers before bitching, yeah ?"

You huffed in annoyance and even though Freddy was infuriating, you knew he was right. And the real reason of your anger wasn't because he had lovers before you.

It was also because you were afraid of being one of them.

You hadn't told him everything..like how Mandy wasn't the only contact he had on his phone. It wasn't just one or two persons. He had had plenty of anonymous people who he never called back. You then let out a long sigh as he started kissing your neck and leaving a trail of hickeys there.

You wondered how much time it will take before you ended up another nameless contact on that phone ?

"WHO THE F*CK IS LAURIE ?!"

The name made Michael snap his head at you and the letters you held in your hands, letters Laurie had sent him but he had never been brave enough to answer..

He didn't understand why you were so upset when you thew the letters at him.

"YOU JERK ! I DID EVERYTHING FOR YOU ! I LOVE YOU AND YOU DO THIS ?! CHEATING ?! THAT'S IT ! I'M LEAVING YOU !"

The word 'leaving' triggered something in Michael and his eyes darkened as his features hardened. No one was leaving him. Not now. Not ever..You turned around to leave, not expecting Michael to stop you. He suddenly grabbed you by the back of the neck to shove your head against the door—not caring about the bruises it would leave in the morning.

"LET GO, YOU BIG OAF ! LET GO OF ME, YOU CHEATER !" You started screaming and thrashing against him, but he held you in a vice grip and whispered in your ear.

"One more word...And I'll cut off your tongue."

You bit down on your lower lip, knowing very well he wouldn't hesitate before putting his threat in execution. You remained silent for a long while, even though your heart was hammering in your chest. His body was pressed against yours and his hair tickled your cheek as his breath hit your shoulder. He was trying his best to stay calm and not hurt you, but it was hard..

"Laurie..is my sister.", he finally disclosed and you frowned.

Michael has a sister ? He did tell you he used to have family, but he never actually talked about them..Surely because they were all dead, or didn't want to talk to him. Or, because everyone he ever loved ended up killed by his own hands. Your eyes then widened at the realization of what you had said. Sh*t. He knew now. You tried to turn around to apologize, but he didn't let you.

Michael fist his hand in your hair and pulled.

"Don't..", you tried to protest—but his grip tightened. You chocked on your own words as you felt his eyes piercing holes at the back of your skull.

"You said...You love me ?"

You closed your eyes and sighed. It was the first time you had ever said it out loud. You didn't answer and Michael groaned in annoyance.

"...Why ? Why tell me this ? You know what will happen to you.."

You blinked your tears away.

"I figured since you had someone else..You didn't love me so..What is the point in hiding it anymore ?", you looked up at him with a small grieving smile. "I love you, Michael Myers."

Michael's heart stopped..He started shaking and felt Myers at the back of his neck—begging to be let out. His grip loosened and he pulled his mask off—letting it fall to the floor. You frowned in incomprehension until you saw Michael's face—his eyes staring at you intensely and his breathing hectic. He suddenly clasped his hand over the back of your neck to crash your lips together.

He wouldn't hold back anymore. The curse and Myers be damned.

He wouldn't let Myers tell him what to do anymore—he could go to Hell as far as he was concerned..

Jack laughed when you told him you suspected he was cheating on you and gestured around the both of you theatrically.

"Darling..Be serious. I'm a ghost. A very sexy one. But, a ghost nonetheless. Who do you want me to cheat on you with ? The walls ?"

Okay..It did sound silly now that you thought about it. You were the only human in the hotel. But, then you realized something.

"..Another ghost ?", you asked with a challenging raised eyebrow and your arms crossed over your chest.

Jack bit his lower lip in order not to burst out laughing again. Why would he go waste his time with a bunch of cold dead bodies when he could have you ?

"Nah. Too cold. It would be like f*cking an iceberg—except the iceberg would enjoy it. Believe me."

He raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively and you rolled your eyes. It did make sense, but it didn't explain why he had been moaning and grunting alone for an hour or so by himself in the living room...The walls were thin and you had no doubt it was Jack you had heard. When you told him, he laughed again.

You frowned and were about to shout when Jack gestured for you to follow him. You hesitated before finally indulging and then, Jack opened the door leading to the room you had heard the noises from.

A lot of different explanations had crossed your mind, but you didn't expect to be met with a giant Christmas tree.

"Well...Merry Christmas in advance I guess ?"

Your eyes watered at the realization Jack had in fact cut down a tree for you—knowing how much you loved the holiday. It made sense now. He had cut it himself and dragged it inside before hauling it up in the main living room..

"That thing is heavy. I had to pull and push all the way. I know I'm loud, but I didn't mean for you to hear..Hum...Yeah."

He sheepishly admitted and waited for your reaction—one that didn't make itself wait. You jumped in his arms and peppered his face with kisses.

"I LOVE IT ! THANK YOU SO MUCH !"

Jack was taken aback for a second before he chuckled and wrapped his arms around you.

"No problem. I was never a fan of all that mushy stuff but..HEY ! As long as it makes you happy.."

You smiled against his lips and what had started as chaste thankful kisses turned into a long and sensual makeout session.

"Not that I'm complaining but...Better get your hands off me before I start thinking of all the ways you could repay me.."

You knew he was joking, but you didn't stop and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"...And what would these 'many ways' entail, hmm ?"

Jack deadpanned for a second before his mischievous smile matched yours.

"~Oh honey..You got no idea."

Norman seemed rather distant with you and you started suspecting he was seeing someone else. So, when you noticed a phone on the counter of the hotel—you assumed it to be his. You then saw several texts from a mysterious number with lots of red hearts involved..It was no surprise when you decided to confront Norman about them.

"NORMAN ! WHO IS THAT ?! IS THAT WHAT YOU'VE BEEN HIDING FROM ME, HUH ?! WHERE YOU'VE BEEN GOING ALL THOSE NIGHTS I WOKE UP ALONE IN OUR BED ?!.."

Norman waited for your jealous ranting to be over, sitting in a corner and watching you let all your anger out. Finally, when you were finished, he sighed and stood up to approach you.

He stopped just a few inches from you and tilted his head to the side. You thought he was about to snap and prepared yourself for pain, but was surprised when he only gently stroked your cheek.

"I would never hurt you, my dear. You know that. Besides, I do not have a phone. I'm an 'old man', remember ?"

You shook your head and looked back at the phone in your hand...It was true Norman never ready liked technology. But, you had seen him use this one several times before. If it wasn't him, then who else ?

"Someone saw my phone ?"

You both looked back at the young man now looking around frantically and you looked down at the phone in your hand..

"Is..your name Norman ?", you asked and the young man's eyes settled on you before he nodded.

"Yup. Norman Skalviski. Nice to meet you."

Norman chuckled knowingly next to you before taking the phone and giving it back to its owner.

"Here, my good fellow. And please, do not misplace it again."

The young man's face flushed red in embarrassment, even more than you, before he nodded shortly and retrieved the phone.

"Thank you. I will."

He then scurried off sight and the moment he was gone, you started apologizing profusely to Norman. But, he only chuckled and shook his head.

"No need, my dear. Norman is a very common name, darling. And don't forget that I own a hotel."

He then traced your upper arm with his fingers and when they reached your face—he grabbed your chin and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"However, think twice before accusing me of something like that, alright ? Remember who you are talking to, sweetie."

It wasn't Norman's voice anymore, he never called you sweetie..But, the way his eyes looked deep into yours and waited for your approval. You knew if you had been anyone else, your body would have ended up in a ditch somewhere.

Norman doesn't like when people judge, even more without proof. He may let it slide the first time, but he won't accept it on a daily basis.

"YOU LYING JERK !"

Beetlejuice didn't understand what you were mad about until you threw a tube of lipstick at him. He blinked several times at the unknown object now in his hands and raised his eyes at your expectant face.

"Erm...Am I supposed to say thanks or..?"

You rolled your eyes before clarifying.

"This isn't mine, genius. Now, tell me. Who have you been f*cking behind my back, huh ?"

Beetlejuice leaned forward and scoffed.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I ain't f*cking no one but you..Jealousy really doesn't look good on you, babes. Careful with the wrinkles."

You gasped—clearly offended—and were about to slap him when he grabbed your wrist and clicked his tongue.

"Nuh-huh. Don't do that. I'm no saint, but I never lied to you. You're my one and only. D'ya really think I'd be hiding it if I was sleeping around, huh ?"

It made sense. Kinda. When you met him, Beetlejuice wouldn't shut up about his many amazing reviews on the dating ghost app or something..You didn't even know why you had decided to give him a chance. But, you had and now, you were regretting it.

You were about to shout again when a knock was heard at the door.

It only dawned on you who that lipstick belonged to when Lydia came in—red in the face and asked if you had seen her tube of dark lipstick. It was your time to blink several times before sighing loudly and throwing the tube of lipstick you had found at her. A smile brightened her face as she caught it and thanked you.

The moment she was out of the room, you could feel Beetlejuice's smugness before he even opened his mouth.

"....So. I'm still a lying jerk ?"

You didn't reply and Beetlejuice taunted you with a sh*t-eating grin. He then snorted when you only humphed petulantly.

"Yeah..That's what I thought."

"PENNYWISE !"

He appeared right next to you in an instant and his eyes widened significantly at your infuriated expression.

"Hum...Yes ?"

You shoved a phone you had found buried between the sofa's cushions and asked with clear suspicion in your voice.

"Who is 'sexy goose' ?"

He looked at the phone in his hand, then back at you, then back at the phone..

"...Erm. I think you got the wrong clown here. Penny is the one with a phone. Not me. Besides, I'm pretty sure I don't do 'sexy'. Heck, I don't even do sex."

You deadpanned for a few seconds before realizing he was right. Pennywise had taken forever to even ask you out and to touch him would take months of coaxing. So, him having an affair would be really unlikely.

"...Oh. Right."

Pennywise chuckled before wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Don't worry. It's cute really. Nice to see you care—or that you can be jealous."

You were gobsmacked by the sheer nerve.

"Wh—I'M NOT JEALOUS !"

He laughed when you tried to deny and shuffled your hair playfully.

"Yeah yeah..Whatever you say."

Penny could already tell that you were upset the moment you stepped in the room and didn't even look up at you before replying to you silent impending question.

"She's my dentist.."

You closed your mouth and sat down next to him.

"Oh..."

Penny looked up at you with a knowing smirk.

"...You were jealous, weren't you?", he taunted and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"No.."

It wasn't convincing and Penny chuckled.

"You humans are so funny.."

Bonus : A newbie ! Hush from the movie Hush. His name is supposed to be The Man, but I found it better to give him the name of the movie. 😁

Hush didn't understand when you decided to lock yourself in the house, not until you showed him his phone. You laid its surface flat against the glass and his eyes widened a little when he saw the texts there..He was stunned for a moment before he took off his mask. Then, a small smile crept on his face.

"Come on, darling..Let me in and I'll explain everything."

Your eyes filled with tears and you shook your head.

"No..Not after this. Get the fuck out of my life."

His smile fell and he glared at you before suddenly knocking the glass with his fist, which made you take a step back in surprise.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Come on, sweetie. Open up."

You took a couple of steps back and finally, Hush's expression hardened as he realized you meant it. He then seethed through gritted teeth.

"Open the door. Now. Or, I swear you'll regret it.."

You closed your eyes and plugged in your earphones—drowning put his voice and Hush kept pounding on the door until he was certain you wouldn't open. He then sighed and put his mask back on.

"Fine..Have it your way."

Hush looked around for an entrance, but you knew better. You had locked all the doors and windows and even though, Hush wasn't one to quit easily. He waited until you were asleep before sneaking in through the one passage he knew you had no idea of the existence, a secret tunnel leading inside the house..

He then crept into the bedroom and laid down in front of you—watching you sleep. He waited until your eyes slowly opened before suddenly clamping his hand on your mouth—muffling any sound that could have gotten out of your mouth.

"Ssh..Keep it down. Someone might hear you, sweetie."

The moment he lowered his hand, you spat.

"Fuck you !"

You then tried to get out of the bed, but de grabbed your arm and pulled you back.

"Well..Not after that little stunt you just pulled. Really ? You thought you could get rid of me by closing a door on me ?"

He sounded amused and it unnerved you.

"You messaged her..That woman. Who is she even ?"

Hush stared wordlessly at the phone in your hand and sighed before cupping your cheeks and making you look at him.

"...I'm a killer, Y/N. And you know what happens to my victims. My games. So, believe me when I say that the b*tch is long dead."

Your brow furrowed with uncertainty, but you finally sighed and smiled weakly.

"Fine. I trust you.."

He kissed you and you let him..But, you weren't fooled. Hush was known for his mind games and his dishonesty. You had written down the mysterious number, and you would find out if Hush was telling the truth—one way or another.

#freddy krueger x reader #fandoms #imagine #fanfic #slashers au #slashers #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #jack torrance x reader #norman bates x reader #beetlejuice x reader #hush slasher #hush x reader

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weirdsociology · 2 years

Text

Distractions (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Distractions (6.6k)

Series: Part one of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: An artifact from the Mandalorian's past leads to trying something new - and remembering the past.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex toys, fingering, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied violence, spit, a touch of size kink, light manhandling, very mild D/s in all directions because we love a switch in this house, no betas we die like men, canon what canon

Tropes: hurt/comfort, idiots with feelings, angst but it all works out in the end, the helmet stays on

Author's note: I blacked out, I don't know what happened, and frankly I'm embarrassed that the first fanfic I've written in 20 years is kind of fluffy and not significantly more insane. This little offering is canon timeline-agnostic; I just wanted to give our armored dumbass a happy ending. Please don't think this reflects my personality, I am spiritually covered in the blood of my enemies at all times. Also there is one small bit of truth from my personal life in here and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't flashbangs, it was bayonets. This one is for @tarabyte3 who got me excited about what fanfiction can do again.

***

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep in hyperspace. A ship this old doesn't have the automated circadian rhythm programs that dim the lights according to species preference, and all the daylight bulbs are second-hand, their blueness dimmed by repeated use. Darkness is in plentiful supply, but that's only half the equation of an artificial night. You do your best, careful to check the time reads on the navigational display, and adhere to a schedule as much as you can. It helps give structure to long periods of transit, and you know that ten years from now, your body and mind will thank you for being careful to guard their rest.

The Mandalorian, by contrast, doesn't have a diurnal cycle as far as you've been able to tell. His sleep patterns are pure anarchy, having nothing to do with mood or physical need. Sometimes he'll spend a week getting no more rest than a few brief, truncated minutes on the ground after trekking in harsh terrain. Sometimes you'll go looking for him after a quiet stretch in flight and he'll be in the bed he calls his rack, completely dormant for the next fourteen standard hours. You don't know how he does it. He lives like someone who fully expects to die before their body has enough years to register protest - which on the one hand makes you anxious, and on the other you find it hard to blame him for.

Still, despite all your attendance to regularity, there are nights - times - when you can't sleep. Especially when you are headed past the Outer Rim, and the length of travel means nothing to do except read and watch holovideos you've already seen and eat stale food and exercise in cramped, artificial repetition. Nothing new to look at, nothing new to do.

Which is how you end up awake at this hour, dressed in nothing but your bandeau and shorts with goosebumps pebbling your legs as you lean over one of the big crates in the cargo bay. You're digging through the thermoplastic case that holds the Mandalorian's personal possessions, looking for one of the old holonovels you're sure he has stowed, when you find it. A smooth, round black cylinder with a cap on each end. At first, you suspect it's yet another esoteric firearm - but then why isn't it in the weapons locker above?

Curious, you gingerly remove the cap from one end. Life on the ship has taught you to be cautious about any unfamiliar object. You don't know if it's normal Mandalorian living style to have to shove aside a mountain of electronic flashbangs when looking for clean blankets, but it's certainly normal for this one.

What's inside isn't like any weapon you've ever seen. The cylinder is filled with something soft and yielding, silicone or plastisilk you think, and it gives disconcertingly when you brush a thumb over it. There's a small bore in the middle about the diameter of your finger, but the polymer feels like it would stretch. It's textured near where the cap would fit, small ridges inside and a gentle flowering of protuberances around the borehole. Almost like -

You stand up, unsure whether to blush or laugh, and snap the cap back on. You've certainly found something new this time; something that might help break the monotony of space travel if you approach the topic - and Mando - correctly. If you're right there should be something else nearby, something that would make this a little more... usable.

There is. A discreet bottle, neatly wrapped in plain paper.

You take cylinder and bottle and step out in the corridor from the bay, checking the location of your fellow crew. Mando is not in his rack or the lockers, which means he's in the cockpit. The Child is in his usual nest. It's late, and the kid should be asleep for a long while yet. You jam the - the toy, you suppose - and the bottle into one hand and climb your way up the ladder, half appalled at your boldness and half delighted at the thought of making your Mandalorian squirm for once. You're secretly hoping to catch him out, tease him with the evidence of his private sexual habits, a friendly nip around the edges of his Creed.

"Look what I found," you say as you approach the pilot's chair. His head is turned away from you, bent over something in the navcomp, his long legs in front of him as stretched out as they can be in the small space. He hums an acknowledgement and takes a moment to finish entering something before he looks over his shoulder. You offer the cylinder to him flat across your palms, like a knight offering a loyal blade, which you hope is both funny and at least a little charming.

It doesn't work. He's still looking at you. You wave it in front of him instead, resisting the urge to waggle your eyebrows. The helmet drops to consider the cylinder, then you. "I'd forgotten I had that. Where did you find it?"

You stop, hands still outstretched. "Forgot-- your crate in the cargo bay, but... is this what I think it is?"

Mando can't raise his own eyebrows at you, but his chin twitches upward in the way you've learned to interpret is the same thing. "Do you think it's a cock sleeve? Because it is."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I've always been less concerned about what to call it than how to use it," he says. He's fully turned to face you now. The conversation is not going as you imagined. You flush and he gives you an appraising look, taking in your half-undressed state.

"Isn't that... Against your Creed?" How does he do this. How does he always turn the tables. How is it you're the one quailing under the calm scrutiny of his helmet. You'd meant this as a good-natured ribbing, not a come-on, but suddenly you're picturing what you were decidedly not thinking about earlier - Mando, years ago, alone in his rack or fresh from a hunt, with his beskar still on and his arming jacket rucked up, screwing the toy down onto himself with his fist. The thought makes heat pool between your legs. It also makes you a little melancholy. Suddenly you want to fuck him and hold him in equal measure.

"You weren't always here, you know," he says calmly, honest and unembarrassed as he is shockingly honest and unembarrassed about everything to do with sex. He reaches for you, captures your wrists, pulls you further into the cockpit and down into his lap. You thrill as always at his casual possessiveness, his desire to be close. At the breadth of his shoulders under your hands. "The Creed isn't against pleasure, only distraction. Sometimes it's more distracting to make your body suffer than to give it what it wants."

"Like me?" you ask. It's a joke that once would have stung, an echo of your first night together - you are nothing to me but a distraction from my work - but it's an old wound, long since rubbed over by the smooth edges of time and shared affection.

An amused huff through the modulator. "Like you," he agrees, and though the helmet dampers every inflection you now know, where once you only imagined, the statement is fond.

***

You'd been traveling together for months, a reluctant passenger paired with an unhappy custodian. It had been weeks since the first time the tension between you rose to the breaking point, pulling his hands to you like a gravity well. You were now fucking the Mandalorian regularly, enthusiastically, and, at least to you, inadequately. Regardless of how well you took him, how perfectly he fit when he slicked and stretched his way into you, your heart hammered the same rhythm: no room, no room. His attitude toward you had made that abundantly clear. There was no room for you in his life, on his ship, in his Creed. You were his... distraction. That's all.

You mostly ignored it. When you were working or hunting, you barely thought about it. You pushed the thought down and stored it away to keep from slicing yourself on its sharp edges. But there were moments when it pressed forward again, tumbling out of the drawer of your heart in disarray. The Mandalorian was behind you or over you or under you and you were crying out the name you knew him by even as your blood rushed in your ears demanding more. Not more sex, not more of the heavy punch of his hips against you or the feeling of his hands in your hair, but more of him. You wanted him. You wanted everything.

You wanted to know what it kriffing meant when he called you his distraction.

And sometimes, after you had been fucked within an inch of your life and left lying on your bunk or still pressed against the weapons locker, it hurt a breathtaking amount.

You were pretty sure the Mandalorian was not unaware of how he affected you. Beyond that first epithet which became routine, he was not intentionally cruel. Away from the heat that flared between you and his resentment at his own inability to ignore it, he was considerate and distant and respectful. Unfailingly polite. You loathed every moment of it with a growing bitterness that threatened to replace food and sleep. It reminded you of the time you'd run into a recruiter after she’d turned you down for a job. Sorry kid, you had your chance to convince me and you blew it. Except Mando, being Mando, had never given you a chance at all.

It was worse when you fucked. For weeks, you had resolved over and over to put an end to his careful handling of you. Better an angry rebuttal or cold silence than... whatever this pitiful halfway connection was. Next time he approached you with that weight in his step or crowded you into a corner, too close, you would force his hand. You knew that was the time to do it, when you had his full attention and the bargaining chip of your body. You'd seize his wandering gaze and stare into the helmet: "Why do you call me a distraction?"

You had told yourself this a dozen times. But his practiced fingers were already slipping inside you and all you could do was whine as his modulated voice, sounding not quite human, breathed a word that meant nothing to you in your ear: Mesh'la, mesh'la, mesh'la.

***

You had entreated him to show you how he used it, before you joined his crew. Before, as he drily puts it while running a gloved hand up your thigh and teasing along the waistband of your shorts, he had a far superior array of options. Now you're mostly naked in the dim light, seated between his spread legs, his helmet tipped against the headrest as he leans back. You're watching the arched column of his throat, watching his gloved fingers wrapped around the cylinder and most of all, watching his thick cock disappear into the plush expanse of the toy. He's hard but not fully erect, probably because you refused to touch him until you got to see him touch himself. Not that you needed to threaten - you both know that Din, and it's Din now, in the privacy of the cockpit with both of you partially undressed and warmth radiating from him, will deny you nothing where his body is concerned. Except, of course, his face.

His cock is stirring to full attention, and you suspect it has more to do with your rapt gaze on him than his own ministrations. It's a novelty for you to watch him for once. The way you two fuck, he normally has the better view, pulling back to see your cunt swallow his length and hear you moan in gratitude. He likes to watch you touch yourself while you're speared on him, chasing your own orgasm as you clench. He likes to see your thighs tremble when you ride him, and your face when he makes you come too much. "One more, mesh'la, one more for me, let me see you," he'll croon, as one hand worships your sore clit and the other bats away your arm as you try to bury your face in the crook of your elbow. Din likes to watch anything that shows him how good he makes you feel.

Your Mandalorian might be on to something, you decide. Watching certainly has its appeal. You can hear the soft slide of the toy, see the tension in his forearms and his stomach even through his tunic, his breath through the helmet fast but even. He looks gorgeous like this, a warrior half-undone for your enjoyment. You slide the palms of your hands up his thighs and run them lightly along the bare skin peeking through where he's partially shucked himself of armor and clothing. His breathing alters a little, hitching as your skin makes contact with his.

"How does it feel?" you ask, watching the steady rise and fall of the cylinder. You idly trace a finger up his groin and along the sensitive skin just under his sack. He hisses, and you twitch in response to the noise you know so well, your cunt giving a little spasm as if to remind you of its needs.

After a moment, Din answers your question. "Tight, but not warm. Better than nothing but... Like a ration bar when I have a meal right in front of me," he adds pointedly, and one booted foot slides between your folded knees, leather rubbing along the seam of your sex to make his point clear. "I like that you like looking at me, but we could have bought a mirror instead. I could be fucking you in front of it right now."

Your cheeks warm as you think about it: Din, arching over your back, holding your chin, making you watch your own face as he nudges the head of his cock into you. You don't know how you'd feel staring at yourself like that, but your cunt twitches again, letting you know that more important parts of you fully approve of the concept. The helmet has dropped back down. He's observing your reaction. You file the idea away for later. "I like seeing you like this, though. Did you really never use it after you met me?"

A chuckle. "Oh, I used it. Before... when you were first here. I used it so much I think I did permanent damage."

A little shiver of heat winds up from the base of your spine. This is new information. But he's not done. "Which is why I should be allowed to show you how much I appreciate you, not this plastic junk." He makes a show of slowing down, grinding up into the toy and letting out an exaggerated groan. You know he's still watching you closely, waiting for his cue.

You give him a wicked grin. "Sometimes... it's more distracting to make your body suffer than give it what it wants." Din groans for real in response, but you have other things on your mind. "Back before... when you... were you thinking of me?"

He makes an uninterpretable noise. "Oh no, mesh'la, I wasn't thinking of you. Only of your hips. And your hair. And your tits. And your ass. And your cunt, and if I could get you wet for me, and what that pretty mouth would look like around me, and how you'd sound when I put my cock down your throat."

"... Fuck," you say breathlessly. What started as a flutter has become an aching, empty pulse. "Fuck, Din," and you lean forward, bringing your face almost close enough to nuzzle where he's still sheathed in the toy, breathing in his scent. It has the unintended effect of driving the tip of his boot further into you, a solid mass pushing on the thrumming bundle of nerves between your legs.

When you first started doing this, he said very little to you. You could read nothing in his body except desire and frustration, both of which he extinguished in the furnace of your sex. Later, after Mos Eisley, when anger was no longer the single note of your shared existence, he talked to you constantly. The man of few words outside the ship became the man of many words when he was buried inside you. He told you what he was going to do to you, what he wanted to do to you, how good you felt and what you did to him. He talked like he was trying to construct a gilded cage of words you wouldn't fly away from. You had been dumbfounded by the change, shy and unsure, unable to find a way to reassure him you had already stooped to his lure. Part of you was afraid that if he knew the truth - that you'd have him any way he wanted, silent or talkative or babbling in Tuskan sign - he would stop. He hadn't, but the stream had slowed. More deliberate, less frantic. Somehow even more indecent.

He's being indecent right now, timing the strokes of the toy with his words. "I wanted you every morning and twice at night." Down. "I couldn't think - could barely shoot straight." Back up. "I wanted to bend you over the crates and fuck you until you felt the same." A slow slide back down. "Fill you up with me until you cried, until you knew you were mine, until that sweet cunt wouldn't want anyone else." Up, until just the tip of him is still out of sight. He's losing his even tone, the modulator turning gasps into static. "And then I did fuck you, and it got so much worse. You let me pull you open and put my cock in the hottest, wettest place in the galaxy and-- are you really going to come on my boot instead of letting me fuck you?"

You come to with a little start, pulled aware by the abrupt shift in subject. There's dampness under you, and you realize you've been rocking back and forth on his boot, rubbing the folds of your cunt against the worn leather, and moaning into his lap while he talks. It feels so good to be here, sitting at his feet as he strokes himself for you, hearing the jagged details of your shared past transformed by pleasure. The scruff of the boot against you, the bite of a seam into your tenderest flesh, the smell - steel and old smoke and hot sand - so uniquely Mandalorian it has you panting for him.

"Din," you breathe. "Stop -- stop. I want to feel you."

That's all it takes. The toy is gone in an instant, he's off the pilot's chair and dragging you upright and his half-bare hips are against yours, crowding you into the console. His cock is painfully hard against you, already smeared with precum and the lubricant that makes someone of his size using a toy like that even possible. You realize with dizzy delight that this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you without preamble, pushing his way in, making you feel every inch of his invasion. The pleasurable burn of your cunt adjusting to his girth will be revenge for making him use the toy - a revenge he knows you will enjoy.

More leather, this time at your mouth. The feel of his glove as he curls his fingertips under your chin. "Spit," he commands, and you do.

"Good girl. Now turn around."

***

It was after the first time he'd had you in the cockpit that you'd found the courage to ask. It had already been one of the worst days of your life, what more was there to lose? You were so numb there was no cliff you wouldn't jump off, no risk you wouldn't take. If you asked and the answer was indifference, well, it was just one more pain to add to the litany: your cracked lips, your shredded feet, your bruised ribs, your bloodied hands. And soon, maybe, your broken heart.

Mando had left, as he always did, after you were done, leaving you on the steel floor mostly naked and entirely without the desire to stand on your own. You told yourself that you would simply sleep there, if you had to, rather than getting back up on your cut soles. After all, you'd slept in worse places recently. Though you'd meant it to be fierce the thought sounded pathetic even to you.

The sound of boots climbing up the ladder interrupted your self-pity. Mando had not only come back, he had come back with a box: the medkit he kept in a crate in the cargo bay. He knelt beside you on the floor and started to lift you to him, one hand on your back and one hand under your knees. It was close and familiar in the worst possible way, like the fuck wasn't, and you made a hoarse inhuman noise and tried to kick him. You slammed a broken toe into a beskar vambrace instead and then you screamed for real.

He was patient with you and you hated it with every aftershock of white-hot rage in your body. You struggled even once he managed to get you up in his arms. After a bad moment where you thought you might actually try to bite him, he stopped attempting to haul you down the ladder and dropped both of you into the pilot's chair abruptly instead, pulling his hands away like you'd burned him. "Hey, it's me, just me, the one who's on your side," he'd said, attempting a touch of humor, and strangely it was the buzz of the modulator, so unlike the voices you'd been hearing for the past few days, that had incrementally slowed your galloping heart.

The medkit was in reach and at first he was gentle but even that was too much. You pulled away without leaving the chair, putting distance between you and that damned helmet. All you wanted was to rest, except you were afraid of what you might have time to think about if you did. There was a tense minute as he resumed his work with gauze and tape and bacta spray, but even in your exhausted state you somehow felt him make the decision to stop trying to be tender. He took your cue and bandaged you with impersonal efficiency, like you were a soldier in his regiment or a fellow Mandalorian. It made his touch tolerable, and you were so tired you almost resented him for it.

By the time he was done, you were nearly asleep. You heard the click of the medkit closing and, calmer now, a little more returned to yourself, braced for him to lift you down the ladder. But he surprised you by making no move to get up, resting his hands on his legs, around you but not on you. You could tell he was waiting for something but not what. Maybe it was something from you, but you were all out of give. It was his turn.

Another moment of silence, then momentary confusion as you both spoke at once:

"I have to tell you so--"

"Mandalorian, why are you--"

He stopped. You pressed on. "Why are you always calling me a distraction?" Your tone was flat. You sounded like you could be asking about the price of power cells.

The helmet twisted. This was clearly not the direction he expected your post-coital, post-triage conversation to take. "Because you're distracting."

You thought anger might be the only thing keeping you upright. "Not good enough. What the fuck are we even doing here? Why did you come after me? You told me we were done, that you didn't owe me anything. You could have left me there and pocketed the bounty for yourself. They would have let me go once they convinced themselves I didn't have the information.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “That doesn't sound like I'm just a distraction."

"I said you're distracting, and you are. That's different." You were sure he was being pedantic but your tired brain couldn't keep up with Mando at his most evasive. "You're not just a distraction. I don't make a habit of coming back for-- distractions."

Coming back for was a polite euphemism for the amount of killing Mando had done in the past few hours. None of it mattered to you if he was doing it because of his damned Creed. Maybe none of it mattered at all. Maybe you had kept your mouth shut for nothing. Your chest hurt and you had no idea if it was because of your ribs or because of your heart. You kept going.

"It makes no difference if I'm a distracting fuck or something worth coming back for or a kriffing bantha, Mando. I'm still..." Exhaustion made you blunt. "I'm still against your Creed."

He made a noise that could have been agreement, or negation. "The Creed is not against pleasure. Or companionship. Only... distractions." He sounded like he was reading out of a textbook. You'd heard it all before. You had wrung everything out of him you could about his Creed, because you wanted to find somewhere to fit. That was all he'd ever said.

He surprised you again. "Distraction is a-- it's not easy to describe. It's not as simple as wasting time or effort. Distractions are... things that pull you from your orbit without returning value, like a comet disrupting a planet's path around a sun. Too many and you begin to drift away from the tribe, the Creed, the things that make you a Mandalorian. You lose yourself chasing what streaks past you, already gone."

That little speech was probably the most words you'd ever heard Mando say at once, and there was too much there for you to process in your wasted state. You latched on instead to the thing that seemed most personally insulting, given how you'd been spending your time the past few days. "Maker, Mando, do you think that's all I am, a comet? That you'll turn around one day and I'll be gone? Do you think I did-- what I did– what we did– for fun? Do you think that's all you are to me?"

There, you had said it. Or at least implied it. Your cortisol response gave one last death rattle and suddenly you found you could sit up a little straighter, could feel your pulse in your throat. Your feet ached.

There was a long silence.

Then the Mandalorian sighed, and in that sigh was more defeat than you'd ever heard after a hunt gone wrong. The sound seized you and squeezed your breath as it stuttered in your chest. When he spoke, it was low, tired, and edged with brutal honesty. "No mesh'la. I don't think you're a comet. Not after... today."

And that, somehow, was what did you in: his surrender. The first acknowledgement of what you had endured for him and what you'd done together and what it meant between you. You dropped your face into the filthy duraweave of Mando's shoulder, not caring if you caught the edge of beskar beside it. Something boiled up in you and you weren't sure what it was, only that you snapped your mouth closed hard over a noise like being struck and fisted your hands in his tunic. All the fear you'd put aside came slamming in, the torrential wave presaged by an empty beach. You drove yourself as close as possible to your Mandalorian and shook as though a blaster bolt had found its home in your brain after all.

When you knew where you were again, you found you had shifted - or he had shifted you. You were curled between his legs, your arms still around his neck, your face against where his cheek would be in the cruel parody of a kiss. You froze for a moment, anticipating the helmet to feel hostile against your lips, but it was only Mando, the smooth silver of him that you'd come to know and expect. With sudden resolve you drew back an inch or two, away from the spot where your mouth left a sliver of fog. Your heart beat in your ears, marching steadily onward toward its inexorable conclusion. You had always known what you needed to do for both your sakes', and now you even thought you knew the bargain that could make it bearable.

"Mando," you whispered. "If that's the way it is, I wouldn't... I would never ask you to go against your Creed. I couldn't."

The warrior under you was so still you feared he might not respond at all. Then he blew out another long breath and put his hands around your waist, impossibly solid against you. It was the second time that night he'd reached for you with gentleness and, leaning against him, you could nearly imagine what it would be like to feel safe again. It would have been so easy to sink into shared delusion. But you owed him something more.

"I couldn't," you said again. "You couldn't. We could never-- it would never be right between us. I don't want that." You were certain you were crying by then, silent tears racing down your cheeks. "But please... I'm not ready yet. I'll leave tomorrow. Please, please... just give me tonight."

The hands on your waist spasmed, gripping you so hard that for one deranged instant you thought he might throw you down on the steel and fuck you all over again. He did the opposite and hauled you painfully upright, stood you in the tight space between his knees and the console. You winced when your abused feet took your weight. His own posture and the set of his shoulders told you absolutely nothing. He was still holding you like a lifeline.

"No," he said. After everything you'd done it was absurd that one word could make you want to crumple to the floor again, but you stayed upright, nails digging into the console for support. "I won't give you just tonight. I know you. You walked into that warehouse for me. You were so afraid for me you couldn't be afraid for yourself. You bled-- you killed-- because you hoped it would buy me time. I know you. Now you're offering– this. I refuse. You're not a Mandalorian, but your courage puts ours to shame. Who would I be if I returned your loyalty so little of my own?"

"Mando, what are you saying?" You were so numb with exhaustion that you weren't sure you had it in you to hope. You tried to keep your gaze steady, but you knew your eyes were wet.

"Stay with me," he said quietly. You did crumple then, your knees turned to water, and only his grip still on you kept you standing. "Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you."

"Yes," you breathed, and that was all he needed. He hauled you to him, pulling you down, until your chest was pressed to him as he ran his gloves frantically over your neck, your shoulder blades, your hips. You rested your forehead against his, against the blood-warm beskar, and waited. You wanted nothing more than the feeling of his hands on you but you were so tired. "Will... will the tribe understand?"

A pause. He slowed, but did not stop, tracing soothing heat across your body. The blank faceplate tipped up to gaze out at the desert night. "Some will. Some won't. It doesn't matter. How I feel about you can't be against the Creed any more than my helmet. You can't turn a thing against itself." His head was still turned away, looking past the canopy to the starless sky outside. "You aren't a distraction from my Creed, mesh'la, and you never have been. You're part of it. You make me a better... a better Mandalorian."

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. You heard what he didn't say: a better man.

***

The problem with having sex in the cockpit is that when you want - no, need - to lay down afterward there isn't quite room for both of you between the chairs. Also, the floor is that textured, anti-slip steel they use for gantries, which pokes uncomfortably into bare flesh. You end up squashed together, half on top of your Mandalorian, letting his still partially-armored back take the worst of your combined weight as you roll on to your side and throw one leg over him, pillowing your head on his pauldron. It's not ideal, but after the three orgasms he pulled out of you with as much dedication as he'd ever chased down a bounty, you don't really have a choice. Going down the ladder in your current state might actually be the thing that kills you.

Din is still breathing hard from his own climax, sought only after he'd made you so sensitive that he'd had to put a callused palm over your mouth to keep you from shrieking and waking the Child. He'd started, as you thought he would, by pulling off your flimsy shorts and shoving the thick head of his cock into you with no preparation other than telling you to bend over the console and stay quiet. You'd cooperated, knowing that the position put his mouth conveniently close to your ear, and were rewarded with that smooth modulated voice telling you he was going to make sure you never made him use a toy again, never want his cock in anything but you. He told you he was going fuck you so thoroughly you'd beg for him to let you come on his cock. He'd started rough, his pace matching the coarseness of his words, and you'd bitten down your whimpers at the stretch.

But Din knew you far too well to let you off so lightly. Fast had turned to slow and deep, caging your hips with one forearm while skillful fingers lightly circled your clit, never giving you quite enough pressure to get you where you ached to go. Then you had begged, and he'd almost given in: pulled out of you abruptly, replacing his cock with three fingers after ripping off his gloves. You'd come so hard Din had groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, your legs trembling uncontrollably, but even that wasn't what you were hoping for and he knew it. He'd coaxed you to a second orgasm by turning you around and crudely shoving his knee between your legs, making you ride the textured cuisse on his thigh. He'd insisted you work for it, rubbing yourself against him and leaving streaks of arousal on the beskar, and that was less satisfying still. Only after you'd gotten yourself off did he ask you what you wanted, and by then you were so needy, so desperately raw and sex-drunk, that all you could do was whine, "You-- please, Din-- you." The sound of his name seemed to shred whatever last bit of composure he had left, and he'd pressed into you harder than ever as your hand dropped to provide the friction you'd needed. You'd come apart with him buried deep, your cunt gripping him like a vise, and he'd followed not long after, your name on his lips as his cock twitched and softened in you.

The nice thing about steel floors, you decide, is that they're easy to clean. You can feel Din dripping out of you and you're pretty sure you're going to leave a wet spot. You’re also pretty sure that the cylinder rolled under one of the consoles and is still jammed there, but that's a problem for later. You pull yourself even closer to him, enjoying his warmth in the shared quiet, watching the strange false light of hyperspace dance outside the canopy.

You don't notice that Din’s turned his helmet to you until he speaks. “Another 26 hours and then we’re off this boat.” He sounds relaxed, pleased both with your current configuration of tangled limbs and the prospect of no longer being confined to the ship. “Felucia is a jungle world. Plenty of frogs for the womp rat to chase.”

You grin. “Or eat. How long are we staying? Are we dropping in somewhere civilized or staying off the radar? And who are we even after? You didn’t show me the puck yet.”

“Off the radar, and this one’s a solo job.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “Really. The contact says he’s holed up in a cave in the middle of nowhere. We’ll set down in the nearest open spot, then it’s half a day overland to the hideout. No point in you coming, nothing for you and the kid to do but get wet and feed the gnats.”

After space travel, a hike doesn’t sound unpleasant, but you know he’s right. There’s no reason to go to the extra trouble of packing supplies for two more when it’s a straightforward retrieval. At least you and the Child will get to explore your landing site. You can do your work outside in the open air, and if all goes well, Din will only be gone a day or two.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’ll come back, right?” It’s only half a serious question. You trust your Mandalorian. You’ve trusted his competence and drive and ability since the moment you met him, and have learned to trust that his desire to return to you is real. Still, you always ask. It’s a private ritual between you, something soft built over top of hard truths.

You think of the times he’s left you. To work a job or on a hunt or sometimes just for the cold, hard recesses of his mind where you cannot touch him. Once, although you try not to remember it, for a black and shaking depression that terrified you both. Most of all, you think of that night, on Mos Eisley. The crunch of sand under his boots as he turned away. The glimpse of beskar through the door. The feeling of his hands on your battered ribs. His voice, very tired, I don't make a habit of coming back for distractions.

"Of course I’ll come back, mesh'la." You’ll never not thrill to Din’s electronic baritone calling you beautiful. "How could I do anything else? You're part of my Creed."

***

series masterlist

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the most interesting part of mando is how his creed doesn't constrain him specifically but requires him generally #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #this ones owes a lot to a lot of other excellent writers #thank you all for sharing your talents with me #long post #pedro pascal

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damagedintellect · 5 months

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Skk Brainrot for Chuuya’s BDay

💌 When I said chibi was my dog this is not what I meant : Chapter 1 💌

Summary: The minute he stepped into Mori's office Chuuya was already annoyed. While the Mafia dealt with foreign imports of all kinds, being told to investigate the strange influx of Stray Dogs across Yokohama wasn’t his ideal use of his skill set. Chuuya has always liked animals, animal's also liked Chuuya and he's always wanted a dog. He never expected to become a dog. The irony of Dazai calling him a dog all these years makes him want to scream. His ex partner has always been vocal about his disdain for two things. Now Chuuya is somehow both, and Dazai is the only one who can change him back.

Notes: Happy Birthday Chuuya~ I wanted to post something for Chuuya's birthday & this has been sitting in my drafts. Eventually this will have more than one chapter because I see the vision I just haven't had the time to write for it. Gonna base all the dogs on WAN.

💌 Word count: 3,754 💌 You Are Here | Next Chapter coming soon

The port mafia was practically "in charge" of every illegal trade in Yokohama so the sudden influx of stray dogs, breeds that were not known for being popular in Japan, tipped Mori off. He couldn't help but sigh rolling his eyes because he probably should have someone look into it. As silly as the situation may have seemed the Port Mafia has a reputation to uphold. Although the juxtaposition of sending an executive to investigate was also incredibly ridiculous but Mori has seen animals gravitate to the young man and knowing that a certain partner used to claim all the time that Chuuya was his dog, brought back a level of nostalgia that plastered a smile on his face. Chuuya on the other hand was less than pleased with this position. The mafia’s greatest combatant being used as a sheepdog to herd in a bunch of no names to the slaughter was a waste of time in his personal opinion. Don't get him wrong, he'll do it because Mori's command is law but he's still going to complain about it.

The investigation didn't actually take him that long to trace it back to a series of missing people reports. One person went missing and suddenly there was a new dog on the streets. Although it seemed pretty cut and dry it was still concerning that the authorities haven't done anything about the disappearances. Most of the cases occurred near the edge of town where plenty of abandoned facilities were located. It was possible whoever was behind this was hiding there. Chuuya had only assumed what was happening, he had a hunch that it wasn't even animal's being imported. The power of science was a bizarre field to him, after all, he contained a power equal to that of a God.

What he didn’t expect was for it to actually be someone's ability. Why let the dogs out on the street if it was someone’s ability? He only had more questions but Chuuya didn't care one way or the other because what difference would it make to him. He was given the order to take them out regardless. Mori wanted the facility intact for further investigation after the group was swiftly dealt with but it was more of an afterthought. Chuuya didn't even bother taking reinforcements; he simply walked through the front door and watched as they realized nothing could touch him. He cleared out floors left and right until the only way down to the lower levels was an elevator. His ability should have been able to handle whatever trap had been set but then the room filled with gas, one of the very few things his ability had no effect on. Chuuya could only hold his breath for so long and despite manipulating the drop from the elevator to compensate for the impact of fall damage, he was already dizzy. By the time he forced the doors open, with a few steps out of the elevator he found himself collapsing to the floor.

His head had a dull ache that spread to the rest of his body. They didn’t kill or physically harm him yet which could only mean they want information but they must be more stupid than they look to not even bother trying to restrain him. All they did was put a cloth over him. His joints were sore as he tried to clutch his head. When he shifted the cloth fell off revealing not a hand but a paw. He wiggled out of what used to be his clothes to get a better look at himself. Observing the new changes to his body, he was a dog. A fluffy chihuahua if he had to guess by his reflection in the glass across from him. They seemed to have put him in some examination room. He turned around and shook his tail. The feeling of an extra limb was more apparent and weird but he didn't have time to dwell on it for too long. Someone was going to pay.

The familiar red glow covered his form as he continued what he came here to do. Being a dog wouldn’t matter in the end. He'd just change back after he killed the ability user, but even after clearing the building he didn’t. He ran up and down the empty halls struggling with the new sensation of walking. The panic was starting to set in. He still hadn't changed back and there was not a soul left in sight at the entire facility. That means they got away before Chuuya woke up. He grit his teeth. He didn't know how long he was out for and tracking them down would be a pain in the ass in the state he was in. The only thing that gave him some relief was that he came alone and that none of his comrades were in this predicament. He could only imagine the chaos an entire division of dogs would do.

Trying to sift through files with paws was a nightmare. It took all of his self control to not destroy everything in this godforsaken lab. Chuuya just hoped this weird organization didn't send back up his way otherwise he was screwed. He couldn't find anything important and his patience was running extremely low with how long it was taking to even grab a file from the desk. If he was human it would take him two minutes to settle this whole endeavor. Chuuya stopped dropping the papers from his mouth.

If he was human.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized there was one person who could fix this.

Dazai.

He really didn't want to see the mackerel especially not like this but what else could he do. He couldn’t go back to headquarters like this. He couldn’t even phone for someone to help him, he tried. Even if someone picked up he could only bark and hoped they understood. All Dazai would need to do was touch him but there was one glaring problem with that. Dazai hates dogs. He wouldn't voluntarily approach them let alone pet one out in the wild. If Chuuya tackled him to the ground he would be forced to at least touch him right? He took off in the direction of the ADA without a second thought. Completely forgetting about his hat, his phone and the rest of his belongings. He sure had a lot of faith in Dazai’s ability.

Chuuya was exhausted halfway there. Walking on all fours was miserable considering the distance he had to cover and he was even using his ability to help travel which probably only made him more tired. Luckily it was so late in the night there weren't a lot of people or cars around. By the time he made it to the agency building he was ready to collapse. He sat by the door as the sun was already starting to rise. It would be hours before Dazai would show up. He let himself sleep in the meantime he was too tired to try and fight it.

“What’s going on here?”

A voice stirred Chuuya awake from his sleep but he didn’t want to wake up yet not after the night he’s had. He could sleep in a little more right? He didn't have to make his report immediately. He contemplated just how long he would sleep in before another voice joined the conversation.

“Hey Mr. Kunikida.”

Chuuya swears he’s heard the name before but it doesn’t fully click why. He was about to get up when he felt a hand smoothing out his hair. A warm feeling washed over him preventing him from wanting to move. He let the voices talk while he leaned into the unknown touch still keeping his eyes closed.

“A lost dog, did you really think things through before bringing it here? Listen, it's a lot of responsibility taking care of a living creature.”

Lost dog

That broke Chuuya out of his pleasant stupor. He opened his eyes and got up abruptly. He was sitting in the white haired kids lap while a bunch of agency members were surrounding him. None of them were the one he needed to see.

“Dazai!” he tried shouting as he scrambled out of the kid’s grasp to find the waste of bandages. He briskly dodged the many hands that tried to grab for him. Finally being small came in handy for once. He cringed that he admitted that to himself. Chuuya sniffed the air and sure enough he could tell exactly where the brunette was sitting at his desk. As he bolted around the corner he jumped into Dazai’s lap almost knocking him out of his chair. He was pawing at Dazai’s chest trying to explain what happened to him but it only came out as incoherent barking.

Dazai frowned. All of his coworkers were fawning over an ugly mutt while he was making it a point to actually do some work. It was just a dog and a lost one no less. It already had an owner. What was so special about it? He had made his distaste for the animal apparent when Atsushi brought him up the stairs. Hadn’t he ever heard the phrase “let sleeping dogs lie” before? A single bark rang out from the conference corner causing him to turn his head before everyone’s panicked cries could be heard. It must have woken up and the amount of people surrounding the dog scared it away. Dazai should be fine at his desk or so he thought. The small runt tackled him almost making him lose his balance yapping up a storm. He frowned, glaring at the dog but that only made it continue barking and pawing at him.

“Okay that’s enough.” Dazai snapped, holding the dog up with both hands. It was weird the dog stopped his infernal yelping, its eyes seemingly growing wide as both its tail and ears slumped downwards. Did the dog understand that it was being scolded?

Atsushi stood in front of Dazai making sure the dog was okay “I thought you didn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t. Here, you take him.”

The statement was dismissive as he tried to hand Chuuya off to Atsushi but before he could get a proper hold on him Chuuya jumped on to Dazai’s desk and started growling at the tiger boy. Dazai perked up again at the sudden change in the dog’s mood.

“Maybe he can tell you’re a tiger.” he stated playfully.

“Or maybe he likes you, Dazai.”

Chuuya started barking again, taking an aggressive stance towards Dazai’s protege. Dazai stifled a laugh looking over the dog. It was a red long haired Chihuahua. The fur almost seemed unnaturally orange for a dog and paired with the black collar around its neck it almost reminded him of a certain slug. Maybe this dog was a Chuu-huahua with how little it’s temper was.

"We should call him Chibi because he's so small." Dazai wanted to take a picture, draw Chuuya’s tacky hat on the dog and then send the picture to him. Of course he wasn’t going to because that was effort he didn't want to waste on the small creature but he still had the thought cross his mind.

Before Chuuya could bark in protest the president stepped into the room to address the obscure racket. They filled him in on the situation as Dazai resumed working, nudging Chuuya to get off the paper he was writing on and then completely ignored the dog. Naturally Chuuya stepped aside at a loss of what to do. The president was pretty okay with the agency taking care of the runaway for now until they found his owner but they would never find his owner since Chuuya wasn’t actually a dog. He hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing his choker which is probably why they thought he was lost. It fit loosely around his neck but since his coat of fur was so fluffy it wasn’t that obvious it didn’t fit him properly.

Chuuya was gutted that he didn’t turn back immediately but if he could just get Dazai’s attention the brunette would put it together. They could communicate nonverbally in the past with just a look. All Chuuya had to do was to make the stupid mackerel realize it’s him. He put his paw on one of the books discarded to the side. If he could make it float then his ex partner was sure to put it together right, but nothing happened. There was no red glow in fact Chuuya couldn’t even feel Arahabaki anymore not since the president said they would take him in. Was it possible that being a dog got rid of his ability? That can’t be right since he used it a few hours ago. He was more confused than worried. Dazai wasn't touching him; he should be able to use it. Chuuya grit his teeth but tried to appear calm. Chuuya glanced towards the president, was it possible it was his doing? He didn't actually know if the president had a special ability but it's also not like he doesn’t remember N explaining that animals are not capable of manifesting special abilities. It's just peculiar that he was able to use it when he first turned. Maybe it took him a while to fully transition to being a dog?

He didn’t have much time to think about it as Kunikida tried to pick him up off the desk. He kicked his hand away and growled again. He refused to let anyone come near him. Chuuya might be a dog but he didn’t want to be touched again. Knowing how good it feels to be pet and pampered he’s afraid he’ll lose himself in the warmth, plus he needs to focus. His train of thought crashed when Dazai patted his head calmly saying “No one’s going to hurt you here. You can stop your growling. It’s annoying.”

He didn’t miss the glint of daggers in the other’s eyes, it was oddly comforting. If it was anyone else he would have bit them but right now Dazai was the only one he trusted. Chuuya nodded at Dazai causing him to pause. Chuuya would smirk if he could because he understood what that look meant. It was a subtle gesture but since he’s known Dazai for years and in that split second he could tell the other was caught off guard.

Dazai blinked, did the dog just nod at him? It was getting increasingly difficult to dislike this dog when it kept peaking his interest. Most animals have always hated him but cats usually were the only exception. They say that animals can judge a person’s character and it seems like every small creature in Yokohama, including a certain slug, got the memo but this is twice now that this dog seemed to understand his words. Not even the cats that approached him displayed such obvious strange behavior. He could also be reading too much into this situation because he simply didn’t want to be working right now but that was more to spite everyone over the dumb dog.

Before anyone else could touch Chuuya, he jumped down and scampered underneath Dazai’s desk sitting by his feet. He had a lot to think about and he was still tired. He thought about going back to the facility to try again but it was too far for his small stature to traverse back and forth constantly and now he'd have to shake off these schmucks to do it. Honestly he could try dragging one of these losers with him, they are detectives after all. One of them could put it together but he doubts any of them would follow a dog around town for that long without thinking they’ve gone batshit crazy. The biggest problem is he didn’t know who the ability user was and there was no way for him to communicate effectively right now especially since his ability disappeared. Or was there? He’d have to think of something.

Atsushi and Kunikida watch in awe as the dog practically follows Dazai’s command. They both peer under the desk to see him curled up by Dazai’s feet. Atsushi raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not the only one who thought that was weird right?" Laughing awkwardly as he looked around when everyone circled the desk.

Kunikida pushed up his glasses "I guess he's a lot smarter than he looks." Chuuya peeked out to bark again before glaring at the blonde. He could see this startled Kunikida slightly.

Dazai sighed "I think you guys should leave Chibi alone for a bit. Let him get used to his surroundings."

"I'm impressed. Dazai, I didn't realize you were so good with animals."

His frown deepened "I'm not, I'm just saying that he's only gravitating towards me because I'm the only one who's left him alone."

Dazai shifted to see the dog still at his feet lazily pawing at his shoe laces. He rolls his eyes. This dog was more of a cat than a dog but he supposed that with its small frame it wasn’t completely uncommon for a chihuahua to be fast and nimble but that does take the proper training to accomplish. Just whose dog was this, unless, was it possible this is Chuuya’s dog? Dazai remembered the hat rack always mentioning that he wanted a dog but for some reason he never got one. He smirked to himself. If that was the case Dazai would keep him for a while. Maybe he could train him to mess with his owner a little bit but first he had to find out if this was, in fact, Chuuya’s dog. Unfortunately finding that out would be too much effort even if it was to annoy Chuuya. He dropped the idea entirely. At the end of the day it was just a dog.

Everyone went back to their daily tasks giving Chuuya a much needed break from being the center of attention. He lazily played with the laces of Dazai’s shoes. He really had nothing else better to do. He heard the shuffling of paper and the scribbling of pens filling the room. Chuuya only assumed Dazai’s partner was furiously trying to blitz through paperwork. Glasses guy seemed like the workaholic type. Although that gave him an idea. If Chuuya could get his paws on a writing implement he could try spelling it out for Dazai. He slowly got up and walked around the corner to Kunikida’s desk. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the dog except for the blonde. Gracefully he jumped up and knocked a pen and small notepad off of the desk.

“Hey, what are you-” Kunikida stopped when he saw the dog try to take the cap off the pen. Dazai raised an eyebrow but knelt down to take the cap off for him.

Chuuya tried his best to write “help me” but when he looked down it was intangible scribbling. Next he tried to draw a fish which he was much prouder of when he really shouldn't be. Dazai tilted his head as everyone crowded around to see what the dog was doing. When there was still no reaction Chuuya rolled his eyes and drew a hat. Well he tried to draw a hat. Putting the pen down it looked more like a food bowl but come to think of it he hadn’t eaten anything and it was nearing lunchtime already. Chuuya placed the pen down sitting upright, puffing out his chest. Surely this was enough for Dazai to understand what was going on.

There was a moment of silence from everyone before Kenji clapped his hands together "Oh I get it! He's hungry."

Chuuya deflated, nosing the paper of the notepad to start over as the ADA were trying to figure out the food situation. Chuuya took his time with the next drawing. He needed to get it right this time but holding the pen in his mouth wasn't the easiest thing in the world when he had to pick it up from the floor. Luckily this time it was a recognizable fish. When he was done he pushed it towards Dazai stamping his paw trying to mentally communicate.

Dazai tilted his head to the side "A fish?" Chuuya barked trying to correct it to "mackerel" but it was no use.

Kenji crouched next to Dazai on the floor. "Could it be, he likes fish!"

The brunette raised an eyebrow before trifling through his pockets to pull out a can of crab. "Maybe he could smell this on me? That would explain why he tackled me earlier." He flatly added opening the can without a second thought. Seriously, what was he doing? He should let the others handle the pest.

Chuuya stared at the open can silently laughing to himself. Some things never change, huh? Back when they were partners Dazai always carried around the same disgusting cans of crab with him. He contemplated pushing it away but at this point it was better than being relegated to eating dog food. Taking a hesitant bite it wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being. He lapped up the crab ignoring the rest of the office marveling his odd taste in sustenance.

"A dog who likes crab and Dazai? Atsushi, where did you even find such a creature?." Kunikida put his pen down for the moment. This situation was weird even for what they normally deal with. "Well he was just sleeping outside the entrance. I thought he was another stray until I saw the collar." Atsushi scratched the back of his neck. He didn't really think anything of picking up the dog since Kyouka had brought a cat to the office not too long ago. Kunikida pushed up his glasses “I guess Dazai should be the one to take care of it then.” Everyone in the

office nodded in agreement leaving Dazai in distress.

He scoffed “Why me? Might I remind everyone that I detest dogs!”

As Chuuya finished eating he casually walked back over to where Dazai was sitting and made himself comfortable in the brunette's lap. Kunikida laughed going back to his work. “Could have fooled me.”

Dazai grumbled, staring at the small creature. It wasn’t everyday that anyone trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. This dog really was like Chuuya. The thought only made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, as if.”

#bsd fanfic #skk #happy birthday chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #skk fanfic #soukoku

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stuckysimp · 2 months

Text

Hell and Back

Summary: After they return to the base camp in Italy, Bucky and Steve talk

TW: Mentions of child abuse, death, torture, war

Word Count: 1415

Co-author: @ivyace

After marching back to base, Bucky had wanted nothing more than to lay down and just let himself rest. Everything fucking hurt. He knew that wasn't an option, so he'd lingered enough to show how proud he was of Steve. He'd disappeared quickly after, though, not wanting to be suffocated by the other soldiers. He also didn't really want to face the Colonel either, or any of those assholes. He'd get his orders later, and he'd deal with the lecture for whatever damn thing Phillips was pissed off about this time.

Right now he needed a drink.

Bucky had slunk into one of the smaller, empty tents, and grabbed a flask. The pain was annoying and his head was pounding, but there were plenty of men worse off that the medics needed to focus on. A couple of drinks and he'd be fine. He drowned as much of the burning liquor as he could in one go, choking on it as he did. He quickly stifled his coughs and sighed, leaning his head against one of the cold metal poles for some sort of relief.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard someone enter and his head snapped up, relieved when he saw who it was. Steve.

“Shouldn't you be gettin' some reward or somethin'?" He quipped, taking another swig from the flask.

He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Steve closed the tent behind him, expression full of concern. Dammit. Out of everyone, Steve had always known him best.

“You okay?”

"Course I am. Just need a good night's sleep and I'll be right as rain."

The response was almost automatic, purely instinctual. He’d always been sure to be strong, especially in front of Steve. Now was no different, no matter how much… taller the man was. It was still Steve. Still his Steve. He had to take care of him, just like before.

“You look like shit, Buck.”

Steve’s bluntness caught Bucky a little off guard, but he just shrugged it off, downing the rest of the vile liquor. No matter what, he wouldn’t let Steve worry about him. He caught sight of himself in one of the small mirrors left around and he sighed. God, he looked almost worse than he felt - pale and bruised. Whatever Zola had done... It hadn't been easy to fight against, that was for sure.

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Not like you look great either."

Steve feigned a smirk. "Yeah, I don't think so either. Scrawny and about to drop dead any second was far more my style," he joked. He sat down on one of the beds in the tent. "It was worth it though."

"You're an idiot," Bucky told him with a shake of his head, though there was a fondness to it. "Ya know that?"

"I know.” Steve’s voice was softer now. "But seriously, Buck. Are you okay?"

Bucky didn't look at Steve, staring down at the rough ground beneath his feet. He felt worse than he'd ever admit (and looked it, not that he realised). He couldn't stop fucking shaking, and he looked lost more than anything.

Scared.

Confused.

"I'm fine, Steve. You ain't gotta worry about me. The others are worse off."

"I saw the look in your eyes, Buck. I know you better than anyone else.” Steve sighed, moving closer to his side. “Don't."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Bucky spoke, voice quieter now. More vulnerable. He stepped away from Steve "I thought I was going to die.”

“I won't let that happen," Steve promised. "I'll keep you safe."

Bucky just shook his head. "I know ya will." Despite Steve's appearance, it was evident that it was still the same reckless idiot inside. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.

"And I'm here. No matter how long it takes, I'll be here when you're ready to talk about it."

Bucky felt himself tense and he turned away from Steve, closing his eyes. "I know.

He didn't know if he'd ever be ready, but... It was nice. Having Steve there. He cleared his throat, composing himself, shoving all his pain down. Away.

"Whatever they're doin' in their damn bases, it needs to stop Steve."

Steve’s response was immediate. "I know. We'll stop them. I swear.”

Bucky shook his head, turning back to face Steve. "No, you don't get it, they-" His voice wavered and he cringed, kicking himself. He had to be stronger than this. Fuck! "They took so many men and none of them came back, and whatever they're tryna accomplish, Zola wants it finished."

Steve sighed and shook his head. "We'll find them. And we'll stop Zola from taking anyone else."

Bucky felt nausea rise in his throat as he remembered the faces of the many that they had lost. Remembered their laughs, and their smiles as they sat around camp. Remembered their corpses staring up at him, their last screams shown plain as daylight on their faces.

His stomach turned and his knuckles went white on the bench that he was leaning against. He forced himself to nod at Steve. "Good."

"Buck," Bucky thought he might actually be sick at the softness in Steve’s voice. "Look at me."

He felt his chest tighten and he swallowed down the bile that burned his throat more than the alcohol ever would. He forced a smile, relaxing his posture. Dammit, why was this so hard?! Why couldn't he hide this?

"I'm alright, really."

Steve shook his head again, still refusing to back off. "Sit down, Buck. Let yourself breathe. I won't tell anyone."

Bucky frowned at him, struggling to keep the mask of calm on.

Even when he'd been beaten as a kid, when Sarah had died, when he'd been almost dead every day after work at the docks, when he'd been drafted into this bullshit war, he'd never let himself be weak. Not around Steve, anyway. Not around anyone, really.

"I just need to sleep, Steve, and I'll get that soon enough." He could barely stand, but that didn't matter. He gripped the table, keeping himself steady.

Steve stood up. "Then sleep." It was almost a challenge. "I'll be here, I'll keep watch."

Bucky looked at Steve and something in his expression shifted. He knew he should sleep, he knew it would help but... He didn't want to. He didn't want to see it all again. It was too fresh, too new.

"I don't need a damn babysitter." He moved to leave, his legs almost giving out beneath him.

"I'm not trying to babysit you," Steve insisted. "Just sit down, goddamnit. You're about to pass out."

Bucky glared at him, his exhaustion finally taking over his brain. "Back off Steve! I-" He began to walk over to tell him off, but his legs gave out below him and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

Steve's stomach dropped and he picked Bucky up, putting him on the bed. "Christ, Buck. How many lectures have you given me about staying in bed when I'm supposed to."

Bucky huffed, a little embarrassed that Steve was picking him up (and that he COULD pick him up). "I'm fine Steve, you ain't my damn mother." He pushed the other man away.

"No, but she'd have my hide if I didn't help you."

Bucky sighed and he closed his eyes, hissing through his teeth as his head ached in protest against the harsh light of the world around him. The fight left him and he let himself fall back into the bed, looking up at Steve.

"If I rest, will you get off my damn back?"

Steve nodded, seeming to somewhat soften. Bucky felt his heart melt and he tore his gaze away before it showed on his face. Steve didn’t need... That. Not with everything else going on. No, no way.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, Buck.”

Bucky watched as Steve left, walking out of the tent. He sighed and grabbed the flask, downing the rest of the liquor. It didn’t seem to be doing anything, not yet, and he just hoped it would kick in soon. He wished Steve hadn’t come. He was grateful to be alive, hell that was for sure. But Steve… He was supposed to be home. Safe. Not here. Not in this hellscape. He knew now, he would do everything in his power to keep Steve safe.

No matter what that meant.

#marvel #marvel mcu #captain america #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #captain america the first avenger #fanfic #mcu fanfiction #stucky #40s stucky #stevebucky #steve x bucky

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