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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 months ago

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Amor Fati: Chapter 13--Fibrin

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

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Summer enters in a full wave with a thick blanket of heat and humidity covering the rez. Paul’s relieved for the warmer days, given the chill the past winter brought. A winter spent relatively alone and still on the brink of sure destruction, if not death. The Volturi is a much distant thought, a small blip in the grand scheme of life now. Time is at the helm of that. The further and further they get into summer, now in the bowels of July, the more and more it starts to feel like the year previous of Paul’s life is a fever dream. The only thing that keeps him grounded is the black box on his nightstand and the tiger’s eye gem around his neck. Time is still real, the almost year with Maelyn, Jacob’s involvement with Bella, the baby, vampires, and even the wolves are all real and tangible to Paul because both the gems still exist. And he has them both, for now.

His boots clomp against the last step, a sound that brings Emily’s attention up from the stack of mail in front of her. She waves him inside and Paul gingerly steps through. “You’re back early,” she hums, pushing up from the table.

“Em, I practically live here. Do not get up,” Paul laughs, pushing further into the house to grab some water from the fridge. The windows are open. The fan hums from the living room, attempting to create a cross breeze to fight back against the humidity.

“No need to tell me twice,” she laughs and then settles back into her seat. “How was today?”

Paul twists at the cap on the bottle of water, a sharp crack echoing for the briefest of seconds. “Not terrible,” Paul admits before taking a gulp from the bottle. But most days aren’t terrible, if he’s honest. Most days are tolerable and some days are even better, but his baseline is not terrible, because it’s not perfect either. But things get a bit easier with time.

“Class was, well, class. At least it’s interesting,” Paul adds on. He started his journey towards becoming an electrician back in May with courses attached to the community college. His home situation aids in him getting financial assistance and currently with the prospect of no loans, Paul’s grateful to be doing more without being underwater on the back end.

“I would hope so,” Emily laughs. “You seemed pretty stuck on that path so it’s a relief to see it’s working out.”

“I’m motivated.” It feels much too simple of a phrase, but it is true. “However, I am here to take a look at the microwave, yes?”

Emily looks at him like she wants to say more, her lips pressed together in a line that Paul knows means she’s got something to say but doesn’t want it to cross her lips just yet. “Yes, yes, the microwave. I can’t tell if it’s the plug or not.”

“No worries. I’ll take a look.”

“I hope you still take payments in the form of baking. I have a carrot cake recipe that I think I’ve finally perfected.”

“Emily, I am happy to be your guinea pig. Though, if I croak, it’s on your head. I do have a promise to keep.”

She laughs, tearing into another envelope. “Yes, yes, you won’t let me forget that promise to Maelyn either.”

The two of them fall silent. Paul’s careful as he examines the socket and cord to the microwave. The machine’s not terribly old, but it’s been around for as long as either he, Sam, or Emily can recall, so it’s definitely been around for a while. Some of the rubber covering over the cords has frayed which immediately concerns him, but he continues his inspection, thankful now that the exposed wires didn’t cause a spark.

“I don’t think you’re going to like my diagnosis,” Paul starts, risking a glance back over to Emily at the conclusion of his prodding.

“It’s about time to retire it. Is that what you’re going to say?”

He nods. “Exposed wiring. Not even I would risk it.”

“That’s your budding professional opinion?” Emily asks the question with a bit of a smile, a teasing edge to her words.

“Afraid so,” Paul answers.

“I’ll go out tomorrow for another one,” Emily sighs. “Another thing to the never ending task lists. At least for now we can survive to some degree with the oven.”

“Yeah, sorry for bearing the bad news.”

“It’s alright. Things don’t last forever.”

The house is quiet, yet again, Paul takes another sip of his water. He’d halfway expected Sam to be home. Though it’s possible with Paul getting out of class early, he mistimed his venture to Sam and Emily’s. Sam hadn’t gotten the chance to look at the microwave either, according to Emily and with a sizable pack now, a significant portion of Sam’s day is constantly occupied. The older pack members act on the fringes, do what’s needed and do what’s asked, but many are also looking to see if they might feel safe enough to venture off the rez, even if it’s temporary.

“This is for you,” Emily calls out.

The card is small, or what at the very least looks like a card. He pushes off the counter and starts in Emily’s direction. “Why was it sent to you and Sam?” Paul asks and just before the question settles into the air, he spots the purple ink that’s written out his name.

Paul,

Congrats on starting classes! Don’t electrocute yourself though. Heard it’s bad luck.

Maelyn

He flips the card closed again, the front is white with a multi colored Cheers embossed into the card stock. The back is blank, only more thick white card stock. He opens the inside again and there is his name, the three sentences, and her name as the closing.

“I didn’t--” Paul starts and then wonders if someone else did tell her. He wasn’t sure if he could or should write to her.

Seth mentioned getting a postcard once. But Paul gathered from the young boy’s excited chatter that she’d promised him letters and postcards. But Seth wouldn’t know much about Paul’s life, not now at least. Seth still belonged to Jacob’s pack, which didn’t make them enemies anymore, there is a truce which would seemingly hold, but it does mean that most of their days are separated now. They saw each other in passing, when Seth came by to visit, but not daily.

Emily’s smile answers the question though. “I might’ve let it slip in my last conversation with her. But to be fair, she did ask.”

It shocks Paul. Not that Emily talked about him and what he was doing, but that Maelyn asked. But he’s right here. His address, his phone number hadn’t changed. Yet, it still excites him, reinvigorates something like warmth in his stomach--a feeling that hadn’t been stirred in quite a while.

“You should see your face, Paul.” It comes out with a snickered laugh behind it. “She does care about you, you know?”

Paul knew that. He’d always know that. “How-how is she?”

“Good. She got accepted for the Spring semester, off the waitlist like she was hoping for.”

Paul wants to ask more, what program she’s in for, if she’s settling in well with her roommate. He hadn’t heard about any murders or fights down in Texas, but he wouldn’t assume that he was glued to the news at all times. Yet, he can’t bring himself to do it. Like maybe he should really let the distance be distance. He can’t though. Not fully.

“If anything major happens,” Emily starts, voice soft as she speaks, “I’ll let you know. That sound like a good deal?”

It’s good enough for Paul. A lifeline he can hold onto without feeling like he’s going to go insane with fret. “Yeah, thanks, Em.”

“Good. Now, before you leave, I need you to do two things, first, try this carrot cake and two, please scrap the newly departed microwave so that Sam does not attempt to fix it with electrical tape. Because I know he will.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Paul laughs, sliping the small card into the back pocket of his jeans and turning to follow Emily back towards the kitchen.

The fork clicks against the plate, a tiny circular dish that’s even smaller in Paul’s grasps, but he watches Emily’s hawklike gaze on him. This is an assessment laced with worry, assessment dripping with hope and anxiety. He’s slow as he collects the slightly orange tinted cake onto the prongs, makes a show of scooping up all the crumbs and getting a good cross section of cake and icing.

“The color looks good,” he starts, looking at it side to side.

“Oh, do not do this to me,” Emily huffs. “My heart is not built for it. Just eat it.”

“Texture looks promising,” Paul tacks on. Her face pinches, nose pushing upwards with the disapproval clear on her face. “Icing’s the right color too. Let’s move onto the taste test.”

Emily places her hand over her mouth as Paul takes the first bite. The cake is still moist. He’s had a time or two where the cake feels like chalk in his mouth. The taste is just sweet enough without being overbearing. The icing is maybe a hair too thick for the amount of cake there is, but Paul’s not one to complain about the amount of icing.

Emily watches every facial tick, every tilt of his head. Paul licks the icing off the fork and sets down his plate. There’s only a bite missing from the slice. And he knows she’s looking for him to go in for a second one. “Ms. Young,” Paul starts. Emily grits her teeth for a moment and then shakes before standing perfectly still in front of him. “It’s delicious.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she exhales, leaning into the fridge.

“But! Maybe a little too much icing. I’m not an expert though.”

“I figured as much,” Emily returns. “I didn’t like it cool enough at first and so the cake was sort of crumbling and the frosting was melting a little as I worked. So I had to stop, let it cool some more and put on maybe a little too much to over compensate.”

Paul picks up the plate and goes for another bite of the cake. “A little extra won’t hurt anyone. I won’t tell, if you don’t.”

Emily laughs, head thrown back on her shoulders. “Oh, I won’t,” she snickers out.

Paul washes his own plate, thanking Emily one last time for the slice. But before he can get the now deceased microwave into his truck, Sam’s climbing out of his vehicle. “Don’t tell me it’s not fixable,” Sam hisses.

“A tad too dangerous to attempt. Wires are exposed now and probably shorting so unless you want a fire.”

“No, definitely not worth it. Going to scrap it?” Sam asks.

Paul shrugs. It would be a good piece to dissect, but he doubts that given the age of the item many of the parts are salvageable. “I’ll give it a look over.”

“Sounds good. Do you have a minute?”

Paul slips the microwave onto the floor of the passenger side but nods. “Yeah, is everything okay?”

“That’s what I want to ask you. I know things haven’t exactly worked out like you wanted lately. So I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Paul knew the conversation would come eventually. Though, part of him hoped he could avoid it. Things are far from perfect, but there are brighter spots. There are things that are improving and things that have space to improve. But it’s not as easy as he thought. It’s far from easy. Paul exhales, a deep and long sound that drops his shoulders from his ears--a height he didn’t realize they were up near.

“Yeah, I figured,” Sam laughs, nodding to the steps before he settles on the lowest one. Paul settles down next to Sam. “It’s okay if it is a lot.”

“It’s challenging,” Paul starts. Because it’s the only way he knows how to articulate it. He knows, or hopes, at the end of it it’s worth it. And maybe that’s the hard part. Time could change so much and he’s not sure if he’s ready to really face what that means.

“Being away from them both or something more specific?”

The question’s gentle probe, attempting to get at something deeper, but not wanting to disturb too terribly. But the question is still a probe nonetheless. “What-what are you really trying to ask?” Paul doesn’t want to assume anything.

“It’s--I guess I don’t understand it. How you can be this far from Rachel or choose Maelyn. I don’t think it’s a bad thing what you’re doing,” Sam clarifies. He’s quick to do it too. “I guess I don’t get it considering the imprinting thing and all.”

Paul’s not sure how this works either. How he’s landed himself in this murky position either. Yet, none of it feels wrong. He doesn’t regret his choices. But he underestimated how this would feel, how much he was really asking of himself in the end. “Sometimes, I’m not even sure. But maybe it’s different for me.”

“I’d assumed with a pull that strong no one would be able to resist, you know? That’s the way it’s for Jared and I. It looks like I’m wrong though..”

Paul’s not sure if he would call it a pull anymore. It’s more like knowing his compass is always going to default to Rachel. It’s an orientation point. Paul will always be able to tell to some degree where the universe wants him to go. But she doesn’t want that and Paul doesn’t want that either. It’s a mutual understanding, something they can both pluck from when they both want it, but there’s no obligation for either one of them to want more. “I mean, Rachel’s not looking for a romantic relationship. Let alone one with me. So there is that,” Paul offers.

“And you believe her?”

The question falls with a thick lilt of disbelief, maybe shock. “I don’t have any reason otherwise,” Paul laughs.

“Just--there’s nothing?”

“Sam, we’re both too grown not to say it plainly. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, shut it,” Sam laughs. “I’m technically still older than you and that does mean something. But, I-what I’m trying to get at was with Emily, I had a feeling she might’ve felt more for me but was trying to save face with Leah. Or that could just be how I interpreted it. But that’s how it seemed at the time, like she wasn’t being honest with me..”

“Emily probably was trying to do right by Leah, so I can’t fault that. And that’s just my assumption,” Paul calls out louder. Emily’s laughter floats out from the open door of the house. “But I think if I hadn’t been dating Maelyn at the time and Rachel hadn’t come back right after breaking up with her ex, things could’ve been different. But it’s not different, so,” Paul shrugs, hands open and fingers splayed to emphasize that he’s here now. Things aren’t different and would never be different than how they happened.

“But like when you’re around Rachel, it’s different, right? Like it’s different than it was with Maelyn?”

“It’s different, yes.” Paul wants to say more but he’s not even sure what he would say, how he’d even get it into words that were coherently strung together.

“But you don’t want it with Rachel?”

Paul shakes his head no at the question. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Sam questions.

“Not what I’d choose for myself. Rachel’s nice. The thing with Rachel is that it’s easy. Like playing your favorite game or something. You don’t really have to think about it. You just know what to do. I get the appeal. I understand why Jared is in the relationships that he’s in because that just makes sense, right? She likes him, he imprints on her. There’s no loss there. You felt like Emily wanted something more with you and you went after it. And I do have questions about that, but I’ll hold off for now.”

“I don’t fault it,” Sam interjects.

Paul carries on, “But, all this to say, the few weeks Rachel and I hung out were the easiest few weeks I’ve ever had to spend with someone. I could’ve been totally happy with that. The truth though, I don’t think I would’ve been fully satisfied. It would’ve been enough with Rachel, but I wouldn’t have been satisfied.”

The question crosses Sam’s face before his mouth opens, the furrowed brows and the frown just starting to form around his mouth. He pushes up from his elbows and turns, facing Paul head on now. “What makes something being enough different from something satisfying? They feel the same to me.”

That question pauses Paul. Because hearing it back does sound strange. Something that’s satisfying should be enough. Yet, it isn’t. Maelyn is satisfying. Her push and his pull were satisfying. The resistance, the work, the time, the effort they both put in is satisfying. Choice is satisfying. But how does Paul articulate that?

“You know how you or maybe even Emily will cook something and plan for that to last a day or two or maybe even three, right? You’re like prepping meals for the week, right?” Paul starts. He hopes this works. He hopes it makes sense.

“I’m following,” Sam returns.

“Okay, good. So, you’ve prepped a meal. You plan for it to last three days or whatever. But by day three, you really don’t want it, right? The food’s there. It’s going to fill you up. It’s going to be good, right?”

“Right, okay, I get that.”

Paul nods. “But, hear me out, this part is important. You don’t want the leftovers. You want a burger or some shit. I don’t know. Use your fucking imagination here,” he laughs. Sam’s rumbled laugh joins in for a moment. “You’re just really craving something else than what you’ve already made. That’s the difference between something that’s enough and something satisfying. You can eat the leftovers. It’ll do the job. But the burger, the take out, whatever you’re craving is the thing that’s going to satisfy you.”

Sam’s nod is thoughtful. He peers out in the treelines in front of them, elbows resting against his knees. A position Paul’s sure he mirrors, except he keeps looking at Sam’s face. Paul keeps praying to Sam that it makes sense. Things could be so easy with Rachel, the way it’s maybe intended to be, but it’s never going to scratch the same itch that Maelyn does. It’s not going to be the same between the two of them and that’s the thing that Paul’s not sure he can live without.

“I’m amazed,” Sam says after a stretch of silence. “Watching you, I mean. I was sure that you were fighting the bond because you’re stubborn.”

Paul snorts at the jab. “I’m not that stubborn.”

“No, you most definitely are. I distinctly remember getting knocked into a tree by you.”

“I get into one fight with you and it haunts me forever.” As Paul says it, he catches a chill—words and sentiments that had been expressed to him from Maelyn.

“It sure does,” Sam laughs. “If I had a file on you, it’d be in there. I’ll admit, part of me is envious. Just a little. I didn’t know Rachel had been dealing with a breakup when she came back and I’m sorry she had to deal with that. But you really are a lucky bastard, you know?”

Paul slaps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “And that comment would go in your file.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“I wouldn’t call myself lucky,” Paul returns.

“I mean, no, you probably wouldn’t. I didn’t mean in terms of what’s happening with Maelyn and such. That’s definitely not lucky bastard material. But, at least you have some sort of expectation, or guidance. Being the first to phase and to imprint has its pros but comes with some cons.”

“Like?” Paul probes. He doesn’t want to push it if Sam doesn't want to go there. But the door feels creaked open. There’s just a sliver and Paul’s going to take the opportunity to learn and see all that he can of Sam, considering the Alpha doesn't let that door open often.

“You’re more prepared for it than I was at the very least. At least knowing what it is and what it means. You and the rest of the pack of the assurance of me and the elders you know? I didn’t really have that, not at first of course. The elders and I talk about you….a lot, actually. None of them have seen imprinting before us. I always thought it was for mating reasons, which may still have some validity. Even though you’re choosing Maelyn, we still don’t know what phasing does to her or Leah in the long run on the fertility front.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paul agrees. It’s a risk he’s willing to take. Though he likes the idea of having kids, if it is meant to happen, it would. And if not, it wouldn’t. He leaves that up to the universe though. That was truly outside of his control and he wouldn’t worry about what he couldn’t control. Or at the very least, try his damnedest not to worry.

“But we--the elders and I--are more shocked at the way your bond with Rachel’s taken shape. It overwhelmed me and Jared from what he’s said. But I don’t know. Watching you makes me think what could’ve happened to me if I wasn’t the first. If we knew more, if I hadn’t felt the need to take so much on by myself and instead asked for more help. Regret has no place here, really. I can’t exactly undo the pain I’ve caused. You’re just a peculiar case. How you seem to know you’re sort of fated to Rachel, but she doesn’t care to reciprocate. And then that influences how you feel to some degree, though the larger part still seems like an active choice for you. Theoretically it makes sense. There’s the histories that say imprinting isn’t about romance, there’s versions of it that are more platonic. But this just makes it a bit more complicated to figure out why we imprint and then on top of that why some others don’t.”

“Maybe I am the lucky bastard. Because at the very least I don’t have to explain that to people. Even if I’ve lived it.”

Sam snorts at Paul’s tease. “See, I told you!”

“But you and Emily are going strong, or at the least that’s who it seems.”

“No, we are. It’s enough and it’s satisfying too. Since apparently, there is a distinction. But now watching you, it makes me think how something can be satisfying, but not enough. Or maybe it was both with Leah too and I rushed into a decision. You know what imprinting is like. How intense it is.”

Paul nods. Though his imprinting experience is heavily tainted, nothing will undermine the intensity of the way the world feels like it’s shifting around you. The universe feels warped, stretched too far and then snaps back into place. It’s enough to mess with anyone’s head. Paul’s early weeks with it show that, how intense the feelings are, how confusing it can all be. Sam was the first, he’d been going through this mostly alone, with no blueprint or guide on what to expect or what to do in these cases. No one understood what Sam was feeling or how to help. Not until now at least.

“I’ll take accountability,” Sam states. Paul’s not sure if it’s a thought for him to respond to or just a thought that just needs open air around it. “You know? For the shit I’ve caused, there’s no need to hide behind excuses. Hiding from that’s never done any good.”

The reality is that there will always be what-if’s in life. There would always be decisions and consequences. No amount of being supernatural would undermine the core of existence. “Let’s hope no one else imprints that’s already in a relationship.” Because Paul knows Sam knows all that. They both know all too intimately well how every set of choices made sets about a reaction.

Sam’s laughter reaches the tree tops, a small flock of birds take off in a ‘V’ above them and fly until the flock of them disappears in the horizon. “I really hope not. But, we’ll know better next time to do better next time.”

********************

In the faux dip of September, Maelyn holds onto the seat in front of her, the hard plastic of the Dillo’s seats pressing into her palm--though most of the commute is straight, the curves around still feel sharp and the seats are still slippery even if she’s prepared for it. The beauty supply is the next stop, should either her or Alasie survive the trip. The trolley is packed, which is not unusual at the time of day, a rare Saturday where both girls have the afternoons free. But the slip of the seat sends Maelyn to the hard edge of the wall. Though it doesn’t hurt, it is annoying around the curb. The only saving grace is that the Dillo is quicker than driving.

The cord is thick, but the click rings out and soon, with practiced ease the cart comes to a stop just two blocks up from the beauty supply store. There’s a pharmacy much closer to their apartment, but if Maelyn’s going to do this, she wants to do it right.

“Which way again?” Alasie asks. Her paused steps echo her confusion.

Maelyn laughs, taking her hand. “You’ve been here longer than me and you still get lost.”

“Directions are my fatal flaw. What can I say?” Alasie hums, following behind with ease.

There’s too many colors. Standing on the aisle now of the beauty supply store, Maelyn’s eyes rack over the selections lined the shelves. Every color has a range of hues, various shades of purple and blues. Greens that go on for miles. Reds that Maelyn’s far from confident to try. She misses home, in the way that it brings comfort to her. In the way that it’s frozen in memory and will stay exactly like it once always was. She has tiny pieces of it with her, photos, letters, phone calls with her dad.

But she’s in Austin to be free. Yet, she can’t let go of everything. Especially not with the way Shannon’s bouncy steps and her sharp quips echo in her mind while she’s at the deli counter, working to ring up customers or serve those that wait inside. So it’s led her here, to this aisle of rainbows that she worries will swallow her whole.

“If you hate it, you can dye it again,” Alasie offers, picking up a bottle of purple dye. It has a reddish hue to it, a burgundy that lets red do most of the talking at first.

“Red’s going to be a nightmare to get out.”

“You’re thinking like you’re going to hate it. You could love it,” Alasie returns, but she reaches for another bottle. A blu-ish purple this time. “What do you think?”

It would only be temporary. If Maelyn really hated it, then she wouldn’t have to keep it. It would be a story to tell, how she and Alasie stained the white bathtub red, how she had to cut her hair to get rid of the color, scared to bleach it again.

Maelyn selects the burgundy still in Alasie’s left hand.

“Oh someone’s being bold!” Alasie laughs. “Finally.”

Maelyn laughs as she looks over the bottles. Will the color show up on her hair without bleach? How should she even bleach it? She really is in over her head. Alasie keeps pulling more colors from the wall, a bright teal, hot pink--utterly immersed in her game of finding the next wild vivid color. Just as Maelyn starts to put the bottle back, an older woman, who’s got a black apron tied around her waist, comes around the corner of the aisle. “You ladies need help?”

“So much help,” Maelyn laughs.

“What are we looking to do, hmm? I know a thing or two. But only a thing or two,” the older woman laughs, shuffling down the aisle towards them.

“I’ll take any help I can get. I’m looking to dye my ends and have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do,” the woman smiles.

The bags crinkle once they’re lifted, with the weight of the bottles, brushes, cups, gloves, and cape sagging the bottoms but not ripping them. Between the color, the shampoo, conditioner, Maelyn feels like could've been baptized in the aisle and recited back the bible on proper dying and hair care techniques she’d been lectured on by the employee, Cherise. Maelyn learned more about Cherise’s personal life too-the single daughter she had, her two grandsons, her starting a hair salon before passing it down and now working here at the supply store- all sprinkled in between how much lift to achieve, how virgin hair operates different than processed hair, how time and patience would be Maelyn’s saviors. Alasie’s too.

The afternoon sun is warm, a bright end to the crisp morning and though Maelyn shouldn’t, she waits at the bus stop that doubles as a stop for the Dillo’s, and scans her surroundings. There hadn’t been any noise since her first night out. But there’s a part of Maelyn, the trained and innate instincts that wouldn’t let her rest. Jacob, in a previous phone call, promised that he’d spoke to the Cullens, and Jasper specifically, about making sure all their contacts were alerted about her as additional insurance that she’d be okay, that she’d be safe too, and be free from the world of vampires and shapeshifters. Though Maelyn’s starting to realize, she could only get so free. Shifting was a part of her. A piece that she’d never be able to get rid of. So maybe she’d have to learn some sort of balance, take the good with the bad.

The kind of exchange of a little for a lot, the inch for the mile, that seems weaved into the fabric of existence. Pulling this thread out would unravel the whole thing, leaving Maelyn only with a larger mess of frayed fabric at the end. So she leaves it.

“Um, excuse me, sorry to interrupt.” Both Maelyn and Alasie turn to the voice, high and shaky from their right--closer to Maelyn.

The girl that stands next to them looks young, fourteen or so. Definitely not college aged by any stretch of the imagination. She smiles apologetically at the two of them and behind her are a collection of four more girls, all young too by the look of it. “I’m wondering if either one of you could help orient us. We’re just a little lost.”

The bus stop’s not full, but there are definitely other people--a couple guys dressed head to toe in black with silver chains and accessories, an older white man, a couple middle aged women, and one mother with her child. “Ask her,” Alasie laughs, pointing to Maelyn. “I’ll get you even more lost.”

“What are you looking for?” Maelyn asks.

The girl laughs a little, tucking her hair behind her ear before rattling off a small local cafe. One Maelyn’s thankfully passed plenty of times. “Sorry,” the young girl utters again. “We got off back a couple stops and I think it was too soon, so now we’re just a little turned around.”

“You’re almost there, actually,” Maelyn returns. “It’s about four blocks if you keep on up. You’ll have to cross the street, since it’s on the other side of the road. There’s a big yellow and red sign, so you’ll see it coming. Don’t worry about missing it.” Maelyn’s sure to point in the direction the girls need to continue on.

“Oh, thank you! Appreciate it!”

“Yeah of course,” Maelyn laughs. “Anytime.”

The five girls line themselves in pairs, except for one trio group, and then continue on. Arms linked as they go up the sidewalk. “I told you the two of them would help us,” one girl says. It comes with a laugh and Maelyn can’t decipher who with the entire group’s back facing her, but it strikes something in her chest. A tiny little crack that releases the rush of warmth, a surge that carries Maelyn onto the trolley as she hopes the girls make it all the way to the cafe safely.

“We’re not getting our deposit back,” Alasie laughs, standing over Maelyn’s body. The shower roars from above them both, the water slipping down Maelyn’s strands now a reddish purple. The white tub holds a ring of the red and Maelyn can only assume given the laughter of Alasie that some dye is also on their walls.

The plastic gloves side over Maelyn’s scalp and she shuts her eyes, feeling the water running down her forehead and nose. “Well, there’s no going back now,” Maelyn calls out, hoping her words aren’t swallowed down by the echo of water and the press of her chest.

“Surely not. Let me know if I’m pressing too hard.”

The pressure is nice, reminds Maelyn of her mother and Emily. “You’re good,” she hums.

“Sixth street tonight,” Alasie declares. “We have to christen this new hair the right way and we have to see Brenda now that you’re officially legal.” Maelyn’s birthday fell on a Sunday this year, where Maelyn spent the entire day at the Deli, in the final days before the semester got too heavy, taking as many shifts as possible to have some spare cash on the side. Alasie made sure to come on her break with a cupcake and a singular candle so Maelyn still had a celebration, no matter how small.

“I’m game,” Maelyn laughs. With syllabus week basically behind them, Maelyn knows with her load of Biology, Texas Government, Pre-calculus, English Composition, and the Art History courses time will most likely be limited as the semester gets fully underway.

The shower cuts out. The water gurgles down the drain. Maelyn’s one-eyed peek reveals a relatively clear stream of water rushing down from her strands, though between the drops her ends hang in her vision. A burgundy before it changes over to normal black strands. The slight wave is looser now, she notices, but she grins all the same, reaching up to squeeze out the excess water.

“Need help with styling?” Alasie asks.

“No, I got it. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll leave you to it. By the way, have you checked the mail recently? I know I checked it Monday and then you did again on Tuesday? Wednesday? But the postal workers do get crabby if we leave the box full.”

“I checked Tuesday around 5 after getting done with classes, but it was empty. That’s the last time I checked it this week,” Maelyn answers, head turned just a little so her voice carries over her shoulder and doesn’t fall into the porcelain basin.

“I’ll check it. Maybe we can alternate days. If I take a Monday, you do Wednesday, I check on Friday, and you take Saturdays, so it doesn’t get too full. That sound okay?”

Maelyn throws a thumbs up over her shoulder, wiping at her face with the corner of the towel still draped over her shoulders. A schedule would help at the very least and considering they’d still have an equal number of days to check it, it seems fair. Standing, Maelyn looks in the mirror, part of her unsure if she’s actually looking at herself. Previously, it’d always been the long hair. Hair that she was meticulous to care for. And then phasing meant she had to cut it. Though Emily left it longer, part of Maelyn still grieved for the length she once had. The hair’s past her chin now, but doesn’t touch her shoulders. And each time it does, Maelyn feels the itch to cut it, to bring it back to her chin, though she’s not sure why.

Now, reflected back at her is something new, something she’d yet to experience before. Her face and hair dipped in burgundy. It’s a nice color, settles well against her skin tone, even if the color is a little blunt from where it starts in some places. The slightly imperfect application is cheaper than the alternative. And it’s so new. Something Maelyn is sure she’d never actually do. She was sure she’d let it go, yet that hadn’t happened. She grins, watching the water drip onto the towel. New--that’s what Maelyn needs. Something new and something bold.

The front door squeaks open again after Alasie’s earlier departure. “Yes, we know that’s due,” she mutters. Papers are shuffled and Maelyn pauses on the section of blow drying to peer around the door molding. “A card for you, Mae,” Alasie notes, holding the small purple envelope up. Her eyes gleam just a little.

She’s gotten all her birthday cards--ones from her dad, Leah, Seth and Sue, Jacob and Billy, Sam and Emily on behalf of the entire pack all arrived on Monday when Alasie last checked it. There was really no one left, save Shannon, but she’d called on Saturday, the day before Maelyn’s birthday.

Maelyn sets the blowdryer down and wipes her hand onto the towel again to clear away the product as she takes the card as Alasie hands it over. It’s relatively small, nothing grandiose about the envelope in its soft pastel purple, except who it’s from. His name pressed lightly into the left corner in blue ink--Paul Lahote followed by his address.

The front cover of the card carries a cross section, a slice of cake with a singular candle in it, and in gold lettering reads, Happy Birthday, against the thick white card stock. Like Paul went out of his way, into town, to get the same size card she’d given to him. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he found the card somewhere closer, plucked it off a shelf after reading through half a dozen of them. But when Maelyn cracks it open and is greeted solely by Paul’s handwriting and a handful of singles with some fives thrown into the mix, she knows he didn’t just grab any card off the shelf.

Maelyn,

I hope Austin’s nice, and is treating you well. Do cities even do that? Hell, if I know. But that’s not the point of this card. This card is to say, Happy Birthday.

Get your first legal beer on me, or whatever you prefer, too, I guess. Don’t spend it all in one place.

Paul

She would undoubtedly spend it all in one place--if a collection of streets and corners and bars counts as just one place--but she appreciates the gesture, the inclusion of 21 dollars between the two fives and six ones and the card. Handpicked and handwritten. The blue ink is gently pressed into the card, unlike her own hard press that indents her notebooks, like Paul didn’t have to worry about the words he wrote. And maybe to him, he doesn’t worry all that much. Because he’d always been able to do that--make the mundane feel seismic.

“A little birdie told me someone hit the big 2-1,” Brenda laughs in greeting. “Welcome to the club. Who do you plan to celebrate with? Your guy’s been moping most of the night.”

Maelyn rolls her eyes, leaning into the worn wood of the bar counter. Aaron, the guy she inadvertently stood up on her first night out, appears to be a frequent flyer at a few bars on this strip. Each time they see each other in the bar, they dance together, trade drinks back and forth. She doesn’t make it more than what it is--which is flirting, maybe a kiss or the hint of one, but it never goes further.

“I much prefer your company right now,” Maelyn teases, putting enough volume to be heard without disturbing anyone else closeby. She’s gotten used to wearing the plugs now, the thick foam doing just enough to save her ears from throbbing the next day or the headache from the loud music. But she can still hear perfectly fine, still carry on a conversation.

“Don’t go flirtin’ with me. I’ve been warned about you,” Brenda laughs.

“I do not have a reputation,” Maelyn counters.

“Not yet, heartbreaker. Not yet. But Las warned me about you. That some boy back at home might still be tugging at those heart strings even though you’re way out here.”

Maelyn knows she didn’t have to tell Alasie about Paul, yet it came up when both girls were huddled on the couch, each with a bowl of ice cream from the carton Alaise bought earlier in the week during her grocery shopping. “Well, if she told you the truth, you’d know I’d treat you like a lady.” Maelyn pairs the sentiment with a wink, pushing a bit more of her chest onto her forearms as she does so.

Brenda pretends to swoon, her hand pressed to her forehead as she drops a couple inches behind the bar. As always, Brenda’s sleeves are rolled up on her forearms, splats of dark ink echo over the bright lights. Those look new to Maelyn. Their laughter is swallowed in the rattle of the bass. “Goddamn, you’re a smooth talker. Sure you ain’t from down here?”

“Pretty sure,” Maelyn laughs, waving her fingers for Brenda’s arm. “New tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Brenda returns, pushing the sleeve up higher. “Couple days old.”

Maelyn’s careful as she holds onto Brenda’s elbow not to touch the area. A woman’s face stares back at Maelyn with four sets of eyes. One pair stares directly ahead, the other set of eyes are closed. Seeing and not seeing all at the same time. One part aware, one part possibly desperate to stave off the knowledge. The hair looks like black waves in the lighting. “Looks sick,” Maelyn comments and releases the tender hold on Brenda’s elbow. “Now, what beer do you recommend for a newbie?”

“You do not want beer as your first drink, sweetheart. Not at my bar.”

Maelyn slips out the bills Paul gave her. “I have a promise to keep.”

“That hometown boy?”

Maelyn shrugs at the question. “Maybe.”

“Your tastebuds will cry, but that’s your funeral.” Brenda’s quick to pop the metal top off a Corona and slips a lime wedge in. “But I’ll always treat you right too,” Brenda winks as she slides the glass bottle across the bar.

Brenda is right, at the first swig Maelyn’s face sours. The lime helps cut the edge, but the bready taste coats her tongue instantly. A deeper chuckle emerges from her left and there Aaron rests, leaning into the counter. “There you are. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re avoiding me.”

Whatever bitter taste of the beer left behind fades at the bright green of his eyes. Aaron’s fun. Maelyn would admit that with ease. He’s a senior now in his last year of his chemistry degree, looking to break either into the working world or get his masters in forensic chemistry. He’s easy to talk to, a great dancer too.

“You ought to know me better,” Maelyn laughs. The tiny bit of foam lingers on her lips, drips down from her top lip to her lower one.

Aaron’s gaze is hot on the remaining liquid. His travels back up her face, slow as he goes and smiles. “Your hair is different, right?”

She nods, laughing as she does. Though, behind her second sip of beer--still not great even with the lime--disappointment crawls up her throat. She shouldn’t be disappointed. Aaron probably couldn’t see in the lights of the club that she dyed it. But the thought creeps up, behind the initial excitement at someone noticing the change, that Paul would have not only seen that something was different, but would’ve noticed exactly what it was. But she drowns the bitter edge with another sip of the beer. “Dyed it.”

“Looks good. Care to dance?”

Part of her begins to doubt that Aaron’s truly looked at the hair or even cares. His eyes drop again to her mouth, and then just below down to her chest. The V in her lace trimmed camisole hides little away, which is the intent, but his gaze looks too hot, lingers too long. Dancing is easy. Dancing is what they should be doing. Maelyn spots Alasie on the fringes of the crowd, laughing amongst another group of friendsAlasie made in her freshman year. They’re all nice and accept Maelyn with ease. When invitations for parties, or movie nights are passed to Alasie, they make sure to pass them along to Maelyn too. Just minutes ago, she’d been in the group, exchanging hugs before separating to get the drink.

“Yeah,” Maelyn answers with a flick of her gaze back to Aaron. His smile is easy, charming in a way that makes Maelyn sure makes plenty of girls swoon. She’s no exception with the small flutters in her stomach. Or is that a lurch?

Aaron’s hands slide easily over her hips, the press of him feels almost right. They dance like they always have, Maelyn’s back to his chest, hips swaying in tandem with each other, following the rhythm of the bassline. But it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like it did weeks or even months ago. She’s pinned to Aaron. Unlike the usual tender embrace, his grip is tight on her. There’s no space between their bodies. His breath against her neck makes the hairs stand up. Every half step to create just a hair of distance is retracted by his hands, bringing Maelyn back to his chest.

She attempts again, pushing just ever so slightly off his chest. The second the air of the room rushes between their skin, Aaron’s closing the gap. “Running away from me?” he laughs.

Maelyn wants to laugh too and she almost does, but when she steps forward again and Aarron slides in yet again, her mouth hardens. “Hey, just a little bit of space,” she calls back.

“We’re just getting started,” he counters.

“Let me go,” Maelyn declares. She nearly adds an excuse, that she has to go to the bathroom. Yet the words don’t climb up her throat. They don’t fall off her tongue. She doesn't have to go but she does want to be let go. She does want a tiny bit more space.

Aaron’s grip at her grip tightens. “Oh, c’mon, baby. One more dance.”

Baby.

No one’s called her baby in over a year. A pet name that used to feel right, but only from Paul. Aaron’s hold on her hip grows tighter. The non-existence space continues to shrink around them. The sea of the crowd rocks with the music. It’s loud, now, way too loud. Too hot. Aaron’s too close.

No one’s called her baby in over a year. And if she were counting, which she isn’t, it would be a year and a half, but not exact. She’s still technically a month too early on the count, and she’s not counting.

“Just relax, baby,” Aaron coos next to her ear. His grip is now bruising.

The elbow jab backwards happens swiftly before Maelyn can stop herself. All she wants is a little bit of space. Just a drop of it. A relatively small ask in the grand scheme of things and it seemed like Aaron wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t listen to the simplest of requests. Aaron’s release is immediate, the oof leaves him with a groan. “Let me the fuck go,” Maelyn growls, whipping around to see Aaron doubled over, one arm wrapped around his abdomen.

“Jesus,” he huffs. “Fine, go.” It comes with a cough.

Maelyn seethes for a moment, then two. Her hair trigger wouldn’t save her in the end. Inhale, two, three. Exhale, two, three, four, five. “Don’t bother looking for me again or ever.”

“Fuck, I hope not,” he coughs again.

Maelyn’s not sure if he’s attempting to save face, but it feels less effective as she watches him catch his breath, easing away from her towards the bathrooms. She hopes his ribs ache for another day.

“I thought you like him,” Alasie shouts next to her.

“Not much anymore,” Maelyn returns.

“He’s a loser anyway,” she adds on, slipping her arm around Maelyn’s waist and reorienting the both of them back towards the larger group.

“Wasn’t it your birthday last weekend?” Nicole, Alasie’s freshman year roommate, asks. Maelyn nods at the question. The neck of the bottle is still in her hands, but the drink is long. “Oh my god, birthday shots. Fuck that guy. Let’s get wasted.”

It doesn’t seem like the best idea--hardly seems like an idea Maelyn should get behind. But she agrees to one; she would only turn 21 once. The tequila burns at the back of her throat. Though, if she had to choose, she’d take tequila over beer in an instant again. Alaise and the rest of the group laugh, but assure her if she does do more, it will get easier.

“I’ll stick with my Coke, thanks,” Maelyn laughs.

Brenda’s quick with the glass. “You okay, sweetheart? Lover boy left here in a hurry and looked worse for wear.”

Even over the thumping bass, the rattle of her teeth of the house music, Maelyn can’t scrub the sound of baby from between her ears. It rattles in her brain. Maelyn stares at the fizzing glass, the straws lifting to the top and she holds them in place. But Brenda’s calling her sweetheart, like she usually does. A pet name’s grown Maelyn’s grown to adore the blond. It falls all round from Brenda’s lips, the drawl pulling on the ‘a’s and ‘r’.

Inhale, two, three.

Exhale, two, three, four, five.

“It only sounds right from him,” Maelyn answers. She knows it doesn’t make sense. There’s a line of other people at the bar, waiting to be served. But goddamn, the pet name only sounds right from Paul’s lips.

“Hometown boy?”

Maelyn nods at the question, still chewing over the way Aaron said baby. A growl behind the two syllables that makes it more of a belittlement than endearing. Paul said baby softly, like it took all his breath, like she took all his breath, a reverent echo in his intonation.

“It only sounds right from him.” Maelyn echoes again before she slides the glass back onto the counter and reaches into her pocket for the remaining bills. She slips them across the counter to Brenda.

Brenda’s brows furrow. “Don’t forget your drink.”

“I’m actually going to go,” Maelyn returns. The room’s still too loud, too hot. She can feel the shakes, tiny and just in the tips of her fingers. But she can’t stay here.

“Then don’t worry about it. It’s just a soda.”

Maelyn pushes from the bar with a shake of her head. “It’s fine, Brenda.”

The outside air rushes over Maelyn’s face. Behind her she can still faintly hear Brenda calling her name, but she doesn’t turn. Maelyn pulls the plugs from he ears and lets the noisy city invade her senses. Stuffing her hands into the tiny pockets of her jeans, Maelyn carries on down the block. She has to dodge the wobbles of other drunk girls in heels, the barking laughter of frat guys with hats tilting off their hands.

She wanted fun. She wanted the space to be herself. And one name, one pet name has ruined her. Maelyn always figured there would be no getting over Paul, only getting through. But one pet name crumbles her, makes her want to find the deepest lake and see if she can reach the bottom. There were others, sweetheart, babe, love, dear, hun, honey. All of those she could handle but not baby. It will always be Paul. Even if she wanted to fight it. It would always be him.

“Mae!” Alasie’s voice cuts through chatter. Her strides are long and in the seconds it takes for Maelyn to pause, a hand is already sliding over her shoulder. “Where are you going without me, silly?”

“I-I just need to clear my head.”

“Sure. We can do that.”

But Maelyn waits, watches Alasie with a raised eyebrow. Clear her head alone, in some densely treed areas. While Austin was populated and mostly asphalt, Maelyn did have a few places she could phase. The seconds are terse, and then without so much as an apologetic look, Alasie slips her hand down to find Maelyn’s wrist and tug it free from the pocket. Alasie’s palm lays flat against Maelyn’s as her fingers wrap around.

“I have a joke for you,” Alasie says.

“Alasie, it’s really not—”

“A wolf and a bear walk into the club and a wolf and a bear walk out of it.”

Maelyn sighs. “That’s not even funny,” Maelyn counters, a tiny smile pushing at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m far from a comedian actually. They don’t have degrees for it. Besides, it sucks what happened with Aaron and on the first weekend you’ve actually been able to celebrate your birthday. So no, I’m not leaving you alone, even as much as you might want it.”

“Paul did that once. Refused to leave me by myself after I found out who killed my mother.”

“Consider me a much cuter version of Paul then.”

The thing about it now is that then Maelyn felt overcome with rage and grief--a deadly combination with her occasional predisposition to snapping. But he’d stayed with her, tried his best to let her grieve but not leave her alone. Maelyn’s not alone. A thing she knows as a fact. Alasie wouldn’t ever let her forget it. But the thing she’d attempted to run away from, if she allowed herself to be honest, keeps proving to be the only thing she can run towards. Paul is in everything. No past tense. And Maelyn doesn’t hate it. She might even prefer it.

She might even want it again.

#paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote series #paul lahote x black oc #twilight saga #twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fic #twilight series #emily young #sam ulely #jacob black #h writes #bella swan #edward cullen #leah clearwater #seth clearwater

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radioactive-yuri · 4 months ago

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oh hell yes

gonna start off with the obvious one, sasunaru. iconic. but here's my controversial take: they do see each other as brothers. kishimoto wasn't lying. however! they both have fundamentally fucked ideas of what a "brother" is. naruto, an only child and an orphan with no real friends for most of his childhood, has never before felt any kind of camaraderie with a male peer, so obviously some wires get crossed when his teammate tries to save his life ("brother", but also "lover"?). i'm just projecting my own older sibling issues hard onto sasuke. his entire life was shaped by his older brother, so he ultimately seeks to take control of that aspect of his trauma by declaring naruto his new brother, while still being attracted to him. the bond they share is very. twin fantasy, y'know. those two brothers, those two lovers, etc etc.

inosaku...god. inosaku my beloved. the definitive toxic codependent homoerotic teen friendship experience. once they get over their comphet, it's over for everybody. the flower motif is such a crazy move, i think kishimoto got possessed by the spirit of a himejoshi for like a few minutes when he wrote that. i mean. a girl named sakura, and a girl whose family owns a flower shop...that's peak yuri. i think ino's fixated on sakura, on observing her growth. she wants to study her, basically. she's been watching sakura bloom into herself throughout the years. but sakura, sakura looks back. ino holds her as something precious; soft and delicate, and all hers to watch for forever. sakura holds ino as something comforting; warm and gentle, the grass beneath her feet and the sunshine on her face. both of them assume they'll be together, forever, one way or another. neither of them have doubted that for a second.

gaalee. it must be said. t4t butch4butch. gaara is transfem, lee is transmasc. with that out of the way, i do see them as immovable object x unstoppable force, but even more than that, i'm fascinated by gaara as a mental illness allegory and lee as a physical disability allegory. they both face the same core obstacle: "this society, in every possible way, was not made for people like me to live in". for lee, that presents itself as him not being physically capable of doing the things his peers can, having to work a thousand times harder than them just to keep up, actively harming himself in the process. for gaara, this presents itself as her being unable to connect with her peers on a fundamental level, struggling internally to keep herself together despite the constant noise in her head. i really like the idea of them learning to advocate for themselves and each other together. lee makes sure gaara doesn't force herself into triggering situations, gaara makes sure lee takes a break every now and then. but at the same time, lee knows that gaara knows herself best, and will back off as soon as she tells him to, and gaara knows lee's strong as hell and doesn't doubt for a second that he can do whatever he says he can.

i feel like i've already written enough orotsuna meta not to go as in-depth for them, but basically. when they were kids, tsunade was a safe space for orochimaru. she was their primary healer ever since they became teammates, and basically the only person who bothered to try to understand their unique anatomy, at least enough to properly medically care for them the way she did. during the war, they only got closer. they were essentially sisters, comrades, teammates, friends, and girlfriends to each other. and later, after everything, orochimaru still reaches out to tsunade. for her healing. for her safe space. both of them seek to subconsciously emulate their own backstory via other characters.

i have very specific opinions on certain naruto ships but i shan't say

#narusasu #sasunaru #inosaku #sakuino #gaalee #orotsuna

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atlasscrumpit · 2 years ago

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Steve/Tony x reader

(Evil Bucky)

Steve had gotten an odd letter.

It was from Bucky apparently.

"Steve, what's that?" Tony asked, walking up to Steve.

"I got a letter, it says it's from Bucky. I haven't seen him since he almost killed me." Steve muttered, surely it wasn't from Bucky.

"It says he wants me to come visit him. That he needs to apologise for somethings." He muttered as Tony looked over the letter.

"That surely can't be real." Tony muttered as Steve closed his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, it's definitely a trap. But maybe we should go check it out anyway. Get the team together." Tony suggested as Steve nodded.

"Hydra has to be behind this. Friday, call a team meeting."

"Oh, Y/N!" You heard Bucky sing out as you watched him enter his bedroom where you were cleaning.

You would've responded to him, but Bucky made sure a long time ago that you couldn't speak, wiring your jaw shut did the job.

"I have a friend coming over for dinner tonight, do you think you could be a wonderful girl for me and make dinner?" He asked, running his hand over your cheek as you smiled and nodded.

"Good girl."

Hours passed and you had cooked up a large dinner, Bucky said he wasn't sure how many people there would be.

You heard a knock at the door and made your way over to open it.

It was only Steve and Tony there, the rest of the team were positioned elsewhere.

You bowed to them and gestured for them to enter.

"Thank you." Steve said as you smiled and nodded.

"Well, there's the guests of the evening. Tony, I hope we can put out past behind us for this evening." Bucky said, walking up and shaking their hands.

"Bucky, it's really you." Steve muttered as Bucky smiled.

"Come on, punk. Would I ever lie to you?" Bucky said as Steve and Tony shared a glance.

"Come on in, my dear Y/N has made a lovely dinner." Bucky said as they followed him further into the mansion.

They saw a table set out for dinner.

Steve kept glancing at you, you tried your best to not look at him.

They all sat down and began to talk while you stood beside Bucky and did whatever he needed, like filling up his glass or dishing up for food.

Steve would still watch you closely every now and then.

Once they were finished with their meal you cleared the dishes.

"Do you mind if Tony and I talk for a moment?" Steve asked as Bucky smiled and nodded.

"Of course, I'll be in the kitchen helping Y/N." Bucky said, leaving them both.

"I've noticed a few things." Steve muttered as Tony looked at him in shock.

"A few? This entire place is a fucking red flag, Rogers." Tony growled making Steve sigh.

"There's something about Y/N. I haven't once seen her talk or even open her mouth. Something is seriously wrong here." Steve muttered as Tony groaned.

"I've watched horror movies, we probably just ate a person." Tony growled as Steve rubbed his head.

"Let's just see how this ends, we have provisions. I'm more worried about Y/N." Steve replied making Tony nod.

You and Bucky returned, you brought out some chocolate cake for them and more whiskey.

"Is Y/N your employee?" Tony asked as Bucky glared at him.

"Yes, she is if you must know." Bucky grumbled as Steve looked at him with suspicion.

"And she lives with you here?" Steve asked, before Bucky's face changed into a fake happiness.

"She does, of course. She happy here, poor dear is mute though. I rescued her from Hydra. Anyway, on with other things."

The night dragged on as Steve and Tony asked question upon question.

They didn't know what his end game was, neither did you.

"So, why did you invite us here? You're...different of course, but something seems off. What's your motive?" Steve asked, crossing his arms and getting into his Captain stance.

"Oh, come on, Cap. Can't a guy just invite his best friend over for dinner?" Bucky said, Steve noticed the comms had been quiet for a while.

"But, I'm disappointed you don't trust me." Bucky said as he snapped his fingers, the door burst open and the avengers were dragged in unconscious by Bucky's henchmen.

You backed up against Bucky as he grabbed your arms and chuckled.

"Don't be afraid, little Dove." He whispered as you nodded.

"Sorry, Steve. Didn't mean to ruin your plan." He said before Steve and Tony were knocked out.

"Go finish cleaning up then get to bed, sweet girl. I need to handle some things." Bucky said as you nodded and quickly rushed away to the kitchen, you were glad to be away from him.

You finished up and laid in your large bed.

Bucky was a monster and abusive, but he was nice enough to give you your own room and bed.

You were exhausted from today and quickly fell asleep.

You were woken up at about 3am hearing screams as you gasped and woke up.

You wrapped your coat around yourself and ventured out of your room.

You followed the noise to the old ballroom and saw Bucky torturing Steve.

You inhaled sharply and Bucky looked at you.

"Doll, I told you to go to sleep. Back to bed." He said as Steve looked at you with a bloodied face, making you stare back at him.

"Y/N, don't make me repeat myself. Unless you'd like to end up like Steve." Bucky growled as you looked back up at him and quickly ran away back to your room.

You quickly buried yourself under the covers and tried to block out the screams.

After about an hour you felt someone pull your sheets back as you looked up and saw Bucky.

He was luckily cleaned off from all the blood.

He crawled into your bed and you moved over for him.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly.

"Babygirl, I'm sorry I yelled, I just don't like you seeing when I have to carry out my business." Bucky said as you nodded and cuddled into him.

You couldn't talk and he knew your way of apologising was to nuzzle into him.

"Get some rest, babygirl."

You woke up the next morning seeing Bucky wasn't with you.

You had a wicked idea you knew would get you in trouble.

But you needed to see Steve.

You needed to see the team, you hated knowing they were down there being tortured.

You put your coat around yourself and snuck downstairs.

You went to the ballroom again and saw the team beaten up and handcuffed.

Steve looked up and made eye contact with you.

"Y/N." He whispered as you went further into the room.

"Who the hell is she?" Nat grumbled as you looked at them all.

"Y/N. You can help us. These hand cuffs are making us all too weak to fight back. Bucky has the key in his pocket at all times. You're the only one who can get close." Steve said as you looked down at your feet and thought.

You didn't know what you were thinking but you nodded your head, making him smile.

You snuck back outside and to the kitchen to where Bucky was.

"I have a lot of things to do today, sweetheart. You remember what we do on days where I have business?" Bucky asked as he ran his hand over your cheek.

You suddenly leapt forward and hugged him tightly making him chuckle.

"Needed some affection, baby?" He asked as you nuzzled into him and gently reached into his pocket.

You kept it in your hand before pulling away.

"Get some breakfast, love." He said before walking away.

You sighed in relief before Bucky began to pat down his pockets.

"Love? Something you wanna admit?" Bucky grumbled as you looked up at him and backed away, shaking your head.

"So, you wouldn't mind opening your hand." He said backing you against the kitchen bench.

You felt tears in your eyes before you handed the key back to him and lowered your head.

He grabbed you by your throat making you cry softly before he gripped your hair and dragged you down the hallway.

"Looks like you want to end up in the same position as my friends." He growled before you made it to the ballroom and he threw you inside, making you fall to your knees.

"I'll be back, angel. Why not get aquatinted before i come back and beat the shit out of you?" He growled before storming away.

"Y/N, I'm sorry." Steve said as you quickly got up and pulled a key out of your pocket.

You knew Bucky would catch you so you stashed a similar key in your pocket before seeing Bucky, so you could grab the real one and get thrown in here.

You began to unlock everyones handcuffs as quick as you could.

Once you were done Steve helped you off the floor.

"Come on, let's get you out of here." He said before you shoved him off you and backed away, shaking your head.

"Y/N, it's okay. I know you're afraid to leave, but you'll be safe with us." Steve said as you breathed heavily.

Tony came closer to you as you looked up at him.

"I know you've grown accustomed to how he treats you. But, I also know you're just surviving, you're not living." Tony whispered as he cautiously reached forward and ran his hand over your cheek.

"We can keep you safe." He whispered as you nodded a little.

"Now, let's get out of here."

—

You were in the back of a car on the way back to the city.

Bucky was being taken into custody by shield, you'd gotten a few bruises and cuts but you were alive.

Tony was beside you while Steve drove and Nat sat in the front.

He handed you a piece of paper and a pen as you looked at him in confusion.

"Can you write?" He asked as you nodded and wrote down yes making him chuckle.

"Can you tell me why you can't speak?" Tony asked as you began to write and then handed it back to him.

"Wire?" Tony muttered as he looked at Steve through the rear view mirror.

"Your jaw is wired shut?" Tony whispered sadly as you nodded.

"Jesus Christ." Nat muttered as Tony held your face again and looked at you.

"We have a really good doctor, sweetheart. We'll get this sorted out. Can I ask why it's wired shut?" Tony asked before you began writing again.

You handed it to him again as he felt his heart stop.

"You were too loud when he would hurt you." He whispered as you nodded again.

"Sweetheart." Tony whispered as he slowly leant forward and hugged you.

You nuzzled into him, feeling safe in his arms.

"Let's get you home."

#Marvel #Mcu #Tony Stark x reader #Tony stark #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve rogers #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #Avengers #Avengers x reader #Dark bucky Barnes #The winter soldier

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darsynia · 2 years ago

Text

Trust Fall | Ch10

ARC image by Eury Escodero | image from neverfeltbetter at Wordpress

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Yinsen's story about how he fell in love feels very familiar to Emory and Tony, but that doesn't stop them from finding joy in Emory's new powers and each other.

Length: 4,833

Tags (please don’t hesitate to ask!): @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @starksbf @themaradaniels @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

"Cyclone Armor, Emory. Think big.”

“I hate to point this out, but that name is way too grand for someone of my stature. It would be more like Downspout Armor or something.” She skids to a halt and ‘feels’ the air around her. One of the ‘packages’ is gone, another one is at less intensity than it held before. “It knocked out one of three, and the second one is at half strength.”

Emory tosses them into the corner and watches as they spin dust up and dissipate into the ceiling. Then she goes over to where Tony is still lying on his back. He’s got his hands behind his head and one knee up, the other leg crossed over it, looking for all the world like he’s resting peacefully on a beach instead of in captivity in the mountains.

“What if,” he says, pointing at her with one shoe, “You spun a hundred of them around you? Could you deflect projectiles?”

“In theory. In practice, I’d run out of patience for creating them at around ten, and likely they’d just collide mid-stream and knock me around. Are you going to get up or do you want me to check you for broken bones?” she asks. Emory knows that she’s got to get a handle on her power generation, and that the longer she’s het up, the more she’ll have to control, so why not go hard and fast?

“I am overdue for a thorough, line-item inspection of all of my parts,” Tony says immediately, holding both hands angled back, palm up.

Chapter Ten: Солнечный лучик

Tony’s constant low-level sexual frustration is, infuriatingly, good for his progress on the suit he’s building, he finds, especially as he has started on the wiring. Because the wires themselves are so lightweight and valuable, he can’t risk Emory being anywhere near him while he’s working, so he’d had to ban her from his side of the cave. Yinsen’s almost finished cooking, though, which means they have a dilemma.

“Would it be ridiculous to just take the table and chairs over there?” Tony muses.

“That depends on how willing you two are to curb your enthusiasm. I have no wish to clean bean stew from my suit,” Yinsen says, stirring at the pot without looking over.

“It’s not that bad,” Tony objects.

Now Yinsen looks over. Tony doesn’t like how perceptive his expression is, so he makes the command decision that yes, they’re moving the table.

“Well I’m going to do it. You’ll just have to regale us with tales of your youth,” Tony tells him.

Emory’s under her blanket doing her singing exercises when Tony picks up the table. His instinct is to call out and tell her what’s going on, if only so he can see the expression on her face as she watches him come over. The problem is, if he sets her off so soon before eating, there will definitely be bean stew to clean up.

His compromise is to carry over the chairs first. The sound will alert her to something going on without any direct interference from him.

Tony loves being a genius.

A sound of metal clinking together pulls Emory out of her singing practice. She drops the blanket to see Tony setting down some chairs.

“Thought we’d eat over here. Just in case.”

He doesn’t hold her gaze long at all, but there’s a playful light in his eyes that has Emory captivated. As she watches, he picks up the table they eat at and walks it over, turning sideways when he sets it down (she’s certain he’s doing it on purpose) so she can see his arms to best effect.

“You are so completely transparent,” she laughs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony protests as he arranges the chairs, but he glances over at her with a broad smile. Emory had spent all morning learning what it felt like to hold onto the odd second skin of potential power that happens when she feels a particularly strong emotion. The longer she holds on, the thicker that skin feels, and after a while there’s feedback, as if a small percent of what she’s gripping frees itself to affect her personally. She’d held on long enough for her hair to start blowing around (despite being dirty and weighed down by grime) and her clothes to ripple. Emory hasn't had a chance to share that information with Tony yet, but something about the way she’s already having to focus on holding back tells her he’ll be observing it himself by the end of their meal.

Considering she can feel it starting to build and the food isn’t even ready yet, Emory realizes she probably ought to focus this afternoon on learning how to dissipate the energy in a benign way.

That gives her an idea, and she hops to her feet. The other thing she’s been trying to practice is being able to tell the distance she’s ‘throwing’ the energy, which she’d tested by standing further and further back from the string contraption Tony’d built for her.

“What’s up?” he asks, coming over with three cups of water.

“Had a thought about how to disperse the energy. In case I need to.”

Tony’s lips curve into a smile that is at least fifty percent powered by whatever is going on between them. Just seeing it is enough for her hair to start lifting off of her neck.

“Okay, let me just--” Emory says, backing into the corner where she’s been retreating to test her abilities. She has enough banked not to need to look at Tony, but the temptation is too great. She craves the look of surprise and approval she’s certain she’s going to see on his face if she succeeds. To start, though, she closes her eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, she focuses on the layer of power she’s sheathed in, picturing it as less of a scabbard than a cushion, one she can rotate. If Emory’s right, instead of projecting the energy, she should be able to circle it around herself. She starts slow, wishing she’d tied a shirt around her waist to see whether the ends start to flutter. The pants she’s been wearing for over a month are quality material, and the airflow against them doesn’t really register, early on.

She can feel her hair lift and twist, and that’s when Emory opens her eyes. Tony’s standing with one hand resting on the back of a chair, eyes fixed on her, clearly fascinated.

“You’re making your hair spin, do you feel any force turning you, or are you able to hold it far enough away?” he asks.

“It’s like a cushion around me, like I’m protected in a cylinder, or something,” she answers, feeling the rotation as she eases more of the power into the already existing spiral. Soon she feels the force that Tony had hinted at; the wind wants to turn her. The only way that won’t hurt her is if she lifts up a little, but even then, Emory doesn’t want to get dizzy, just spin the potential energy around herself and away, rather than building it up until she’s a powder keg. “I wonder…” she says, and directs almost all of the energy down, meaning to see if she can levitate, even just a little bit.

“Emory?” Tony asks, seconds before she starts to lift up.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little--” she says, but even as she says it, she realizes she’s wrong. It’s a lot. Emory fights to keep the power she can feel surging under her feet from winding up onto her legs and spinning her in a dangerous, uncontrollable way. She can sense that this is possible, now, as if she can see a tiny bit into the future of where the energy can go, if she pushes or pulls it just the right way.

“Send it out, send it wide, you’re going to--” Tony says, coming forward, reaching.

Emory looks up and throws her hands up to protect herself against the array of jutting rock and dug-out hollows that make up the cave’s ceiling. Instinctively, she brings the cushion of air she’d spun beneath her up, allowing it to turn as it whooshes up and away. She starts falling faster than she’d expected to, but Tony is there, so she sends all the air up instead of retaining it to cushion her landing.

She trusts that he’ll catch her. The alternative is to knock him down with the force of the energy.

Tony does catch her; he ends up crouched with her in his arms.

“How does it feel to defy gravity, Elphaba?” he asks. He sounds impressed but shaken.

“Terrifying,” she says, hiding her face in his neck.

“I’ve got you,” Tony says, his voice quiet but reassuring. His arms tighten around her for a few seconds, one hand coming up to stroke her hair once, before he straightens, and Emory draws back with no small amount of reluctance. She’d felt so safe in those stolen moments, as if Tony’s strength was something she was entitled to. However, his reference to the musical Wicked reminds her of the duet that the character Elphaba sings with her love interest. ‘As Long As You’re Mine’ stings, in context. The male lead, Fiyero, starts the musical wealthy and narcissistic, after all. The song plays in her head as she backs up. ‘ And if it turns out it’s over too fast, I’ll make every last moment last… As long as you’re mine.’

“Thanks,” Emory says, tongue-tied.

“Food is ready. Come, eat.” Yinsen sounds stressed out, and Emory guesses that he probably is. If what she’d just done had been visible on the camera, they would be in a serious mess.

Emory sits across from Yinsen, thinking that it would be better than across from Tony. She’ll have to turn her head to look at him, maybe that will help?

“I think you’re on deck, sir,” Tony tells Yinsen. “In the interests of preventing any spinning stew bowls.”

She bites her tongue, resisting the urge to defend herself. Right now, just hearing Tony’s voice is fraught with power and passion, as much as she’d like to pretend otherwise.

“Do you want to talk about your children? I don’t think you’ve said anything about your family before,” she says to Yinsen.

The interpreter looks down at his bowl, holding himself uncharacteristically rigid. “I--” He lifts his head. There’s a misery there that makes Emory catch her breath. “I think that might be too painful. To be reminded, the responsibility I have to keep them safe. To have failed so completely.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to give the impression that we didn’t care about what’s important to--”

Tony’s hand comes to rest on hers, and Emory’s words dust in her mouth.

“The worry is ever present, do not fret. Distractions only last so long. I could speak about my wife. There’s no escaping reminders of her, here.”

As always, Yinsen’s voice sounds gentle even as his words slice through all pretense, striking with unerring accuracy.

“Please,” Tony says, pulling his hand away.

Emory makes note of the fact that she had been caught up by feeling guilty, and thus didn’t store up any energy from the touch. It tells her that she might want to figure out a way to test the effects of fear on her newfound abilities. For now, though, she refocuses on Yinsen.

She wonders what he could mean that it’s impossible to escape reminders of his wife here of all places.

“My marriage wasn’t what you would call arranged in the typical use of the term, but the meaning of the word is very appropriate. Our families planned for us to marry, you could say.”

“How old were you?” Tony interrupts.

Yinsen’s expression is singularly amused, as he answers. “Oh, we were past thirty. This wasn’t a situation of young people, new to the world, being guided. Though, we were guided, most certainly. Adult professionals making their hopeful mothers weep for the lack of grandchildren.” He stops to take a few bites of his stew, but Emory saw that there had been a hitch in his breathing on the word ‘grandchildren.’ She wonders if there’s something awful that he’s been hiding from them, about his children.

Ever since discovering that she actually has ended up with powers that she can actually influence, and hopefully learn to better control, Emory’s felt guilty about having ‘stolen’ them from Yinsen’s son. In order to survive here in the cave, she’s pushed away all the thoughts of danger as far as is reasonably possible. Dying isn’t as distant as she wishes, though-- and Yinsen is nothing if not pragmatic. He had made the choice to use the injections on her in the hopes that they can all better survive this ordeal… but the cost and the rarity means that he’ll likely never have the chance to obtain more.

Emory almost wishes she could know: does Yinsen expect to survive? Did he give her the injections because he is more certain of dying than not?

Tony’s mid-sentence before she breaks out of her reverie. “--order the two of you to get married, or what?”

Yinsen sets down his spoon, an enigmatic smile on his face. “Nothing so direct. No, our families and a few others met for a week-long celebration. They didn’t tell us about their plans, just sent Jalila and I to collect food from an underground storeroom. The door closed behind us and we were trapped together for quite some time.”

At first, Tony seems confused. “But you said they planned it, what did they plan? For you to be--”

He trails off, and Emory looks down at her bowl. She understands, because the same forces have worked on her, if she’s understanding Yinsen correctly.

“They knew it would be a bonding experience,” Yinsen says. Emory can feel his eyes on her, but something about the certainty in his voice is setting her off.

“It’s not a given,” she protests without looking up. “How long were you in there?”

“Many days.”

“Did you figure out what they were trying to do?” she pushes. “Didn’t that, I don’t know, make it… didn’t it make you stubborn? Resistant?”

“Your reaction is a common one,” Yinsen says. The amusement in his voice makes her look up, even though she knows that he’s always incisive, always perceptive, and now is the worst time for him to demonstrate that, at a moment where her private feelings are so clearly illustrated by his tale. Just as she expected, he’s looking at her, and there’s understanding in his eyes. Emory grits her teeth, ready to push back on anything he might say in reference to herself and Tony.

“What reaction?” Tony asks. She looks over to see that his brows are furrowed, and he’s looking between the two of them.

“Do you want to explain?” Yinsen asks her. He’s enjoying putting her on the hot seat, Emory realizes. She glares at him.

“Not really, but I’m not sure I’d trust your take on it,” she tells him truthfully. Yinsen laughs at that.

Tony frowns. “Seriously, what am I missing here?”

“Many people to whom I tell this story believe that if they were in the same situation, they would resist forming an attachment because falling in love was the material purpose of our families confining us together like that. A romantic bond via a shared traumatic experience”

Tony starts to cough, takes a sip of water. When he puts the cup back down, it sloshes a little.

“I’m saying that if you knew someone was trying to force you into something, it’s human nature to resist it. Especially if they have power over you! So it’s completely different, if you knew,” Emory argues. “Anyway, it’s not a given.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Yinsen laughs.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence.

Emory spends the day studiously ignoring the implications of Yinsen’s story and what Tony might have gleaned from her reactions to it. She positions herself with her back to him, ostensibly so that she doesn’t change the conditions of her testing. After all, if she re-ups her emotional boost from her feelings for him when she’s in the middle of trying to dissipate the energy, won’t that just make it more difficult to learn how?

It’s always great when circumstances mean that the thing you already felt like doing ends up the better choice.

By the evening, she’s confident that she has the concept of dissipation down, but in practice, it’s still a bit difficult. There are two things she can do, and one of them might preserve the energy in a way she can ‘regather’ to use again. It’s hard to know for sure, because she has to hide in the corner to test it, and Emory has the feeling that she has a greater capacity than would be safe to fiddle with in the cave in the first place.

More than once she’d let herself dwell on her feelings, leaning into a future she doesn’t expect is very realistic, and felt like she could tug on the air around her to pull it in. Obviously that would have a very different effect in the open than it would in their enclosed space.

“How’s it going over there, Dorothy?” Tony calls out, when she’s finally starting to get tired.

“Come over and see,” she says, looking down at herself. There really isn’t much indication of what’s going on, but she leans over and picks up a handful of the ubiquitous dust from the floor, so she can show him.

Tony’s pulling on a button-up shirt over his black tank top when he walks over. For once, she doesn’t tease him about it, because she’s too busy looking forward to his reaction.

“You might stop calling me Dorothy after this and start calling me the twister,” she says, grinning at him. Her hair’s in a rare ponytail at the top of her head, for once, because the motion of the air she’s meticulously wound around herself had sent her hair into her eyes so often she’d considered chopping all of the red locks off.

“Oh?”

“Watch.”

She holds the handful of dust at chest level and drops it. The multiple vortexes of air chasing around her body catch the flow, taking it along for the ride.

“Holy shit,” Tony says, staring.

Emory grins, feels the potential she’s carrying rise, and twists a fourth vortex around herself. As soon as she does it, though, she can tell it was too many.

“Okay, uh, stand back, that--” she says quickly.

Tony stays put, meaning he gets pelted with dust when Emory essentially plucks one of the ‘packages’ of energy-wrought air from its position winding around her to ‘toss’ it onto the floor in between them. The result is like throwing a localized, miniature tornado; it spins up into the ceiling to scour its surface with the materials it’d picked up on its journey.

“Nice! The culmination of what I did today was hooking up the air compressor on the arm of my suit, something I can’t test without toasting the two of you,” Tony laughs.

“You and your flamethrowers!” Emory says, laughing.

“So, question,” Tony says, advancing on her with one hand outstretched. “Do your vortexes maintain integrity until they come into contact with something? Can you use it for defense?”

“What do--” she starts to say, but Tony’s got a determined scientist look on his face. He snakes out an arm and pulls her up against him, giving Emory a thrill from the decisive movement, right up until he is thrown into the air and spun sideways before landing on his back on the floor.

“Tony!” she says, starting toward him.

“Wait!” he says, holding up both hands. “Just a jolt. Are they still there or would you have to refresh them? Cyclone Armor, Emory. Think big.”

“What if,” he says, pointing at her with one shoe, “You spun a hundred of them around you? Could you deflect projectiles?”

“I am overdue for a thorough, line-item inspection of all of my parts,” Tony says immediately, holding both hands angled back, palm up.

“What--”

“Palm to palm, one leg on either side,” he instructs.

“Do you want me to hurricane this entire place into a disaster area?” she says, walking closer dubiously.

“No, which is why you’re going to do this now instead of arguing with me.” He shakes both palms expectantly.

Emory steps over him and, loving the encouraging anticipation she can see in his brown eyes, rests a palm on each of his.

Then, they both start laughing. Her hands are quite small in comparison to Tony’s. Emory slides her hands up so she can link their fingers, and the searing want that slide engenders weakens her knees. Once they’re locked together, Tony lowers his hands, keeping his knees behind her at just the right angle to support her. His arms don’t shake at all. Tony’s expression is serious and direct, and Emory can barely hold his gaze. There’s so much that he’s promising in that look, and she wants every single second of it.

Just inches before their bodies touch, Tony swears under his breath and surges up, pulling her arms up to his neck and disentangling their hands. He cups the back of her head and Emory's right there with him, sliding her fingers into the sweat-damp hair at the base of his neck right as their lips meet. It's as if he's breathing life into her. Everywhere they're in contact, her skin sings, as if the friction of their touch sparks the chemical reaction of pure joy.

Tony’s other hand grips her hip, and his thumb is brushing across her cheek, the sensation almost as sensual as the kiss itself. Every signal he’s sending her is exactly in line with what she wants to send to him. Emory’s fingertips trail her heart through his hair. Her heartbeat under his palm beats in a rhythm of want, I want, I love, I love you, love you. She’s surrounded by him, and the new but familiar echo of those feelings as manifested by her new powers surge forth. Emory sends them spiraling around them, begging for a delay, a few more seconds with Tony, a few more, just a few more.

Every other time he’d kissed her, Tony had broken the kiss by now, but she can sense his own reluctance to stop in the way his hold on her keeps tightening, as if he’s physically fighting the message his conscience might be sending. Finally, he squeezes the hand at her hip too tight and she lets out a little sound of pain, pulling back and laying her forehead on his shoulder.

“What, you’re not made of metal? Sorry,” he quips, nosing a caress of an apology onto her hairline. She compensates for the way that makes her shiver by slipping her arms up under his, around his back. As she does, Tony starts stammering in seeming confusion. “Uhh. Okay, that’s-- Was that, is that just from that short time? Gonna give me an ego here.”

“You already have one of those,” Emory says, but she lifts her head.

Spinning closely around them is a blurred column of dust and pebbles from the floor of the cave. Before she can stop him, Tony reaches out two fingers to touch it, but instead of breaking the structural integrity of her spontaneous vortex, he simply causes a traveling void where he’s swept away the particles. He pulls back his hand, and seconds later the void ‘heals,’ the dust and dirt redistributing throughout the tunnel.

Tony looks at her, and Emory turns her head back toward him. He jerks his thumb at the rotating phenomenon. “This? is sincerely amazing. But, promise me: no more strange injections, okay?”

Emory’s had that song from Wicked running through her head all afternoon, especially the part where one of the self-centered rich man’s line includes the words ‘there’s no future for us as a pair.’ She’s pushed back her powers in a bid for more time with him, why not push back on the rest of it?

“Why, Mr. Stark, are you… invested?”

Tony leans back and tips his head sideways. The man is seriously attractive, despite being scruffy and dirty after five plus weeks in their cave. More than that, though, is the draw of his quick wit, his genius mind, his gentleness one minute and arrogance the next. Even if someone had told her ahead of time that their plan in confining them was for her to fall for Tony, the very scenario that she’d told Yinsen she would have resisted with all her might? She doesn’t think she would have succeeded in that resistance. Tony narrows his eyes at her, an obviously impish crinkle around them.

��Is this confidence I’m detecting?”

She knows he’s teasing, and it’s an affectionate tease, but it still rankles. “You don’t have to heckle me!”

“I’m not!”

“Tony,” she dangles, but he interrupts her.

“Not heckling. And--” he pauses, lets out a little breath, and flashes her a vulnerable smile. “--yes.”

Emory’s on the verge of asking what the yes is for when it hits her. She’d pulled back to talk to him, but now she reaches out, presses her hands flat on either side of the glowing power source in his chest. Seeing how naked his expression is right now, the way he just admitted something she isn’t sure she’s brave enough to be so blatant about-- it’s making her feel guilty. If they survive this crazy adventure and he’s serious about being invested, however deeply that word is buried into the vulnerability that shines on his face, he’ll be leaving with at least two obvious liabilities.

The least she can do is try to keep him alive with her new powers as much as the reactor in his chest does.

“Sorry about that,” she whispers.

“One step forward, two steps back? Stop waltzing, Emory. Tell me why exactly you think you should be sorry?”

He sounds almost stern, and she looks up from the compelling bright circle under the edge of her thumbs to his face. Tony’s expression is kinder than the tone of his voice, at least.

“For giving you another responsibility, I guess?”

“Oh yes, you’re quite helpless.” To her utter shock, Tony reaches out, spearing his hand into the still spinning column around them, flattening his hand and smacking some of the dust and dirt right in her direction.

“What on--” she gasps, shaking her hair. She has to pull the cloth she’d tied it up in free to get all the dirt out, and since she’s sitting on him, it all goes onto Tony. He uses his other hand to protect his head, and she reaches out, having to brace herself on his shoulder to reach, so she can splash some dirt from the vortex onto him, too.

“Oh, it’s on,” Tony says, tilting sideways to knock her off of his lap.

“Don’t make me drop it on your head!” Emory threatens, but she’s giggling.

“That would be cheating, and you’d feel guilty for days, admit it, Mother Teresa!”

They spend the next few minutes jumping around hitting each other with slaps of debris from the whirlwind around them until there are only a few sections of dust left. Emory can barely see. She’s completely covered in dirt and pebbles, and Tony’s not much better.

“I’m practically blind,” he complains dramatically, wiping his gritty hands on her back before leaning over to drag his face on the fabric of her shoulder to wipe it off.

“Not fair! And aren’t you supposed to keep dirt away from the reactor? Shit!” she says, brushing his chest off.

“Oh shit,” Tony says, his tone deep and regretful. It pulls Emory back from the amused abyss with a sharpness that fills her with fear. When she looks over to where Tony’s looking, though, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or feel even more guilty.

Yinsen is standing on the other side of the waning vortex with his arms crossed. He looks like a school headmaster catching them as they sneak back into their dormitories drunk as hell.

Emory supposes their behavior isn’t that far off.

“I only hope this was not visible,” Yinsen says in a clipped, disapproving tone.

She can sense that its power is mostly sustained by momentum, so Emory reaches out and mentally dispels the rest of its lateral movement. It’s enough for the whole structure to collapse into nothingness.

“I’m sorry,” she offers, dropping her gaze and her arms to her sides.

“I’m sure you will be, since it has been quite a while since they’ve bothered to offer enough water with which to wash.”

With that, Yinsen turns on his heel and walks away, shaking his head as he goes.

“It took every single fiber of my being not to toss this handful of dirt at him,” Tony says, stretching out one large hand to show her.

Next chapter, Tony decides he needs to pause a little bit on his armor to come up with some armor for Emory, because it's becoming very clear that he cannot let himself lose her.

#tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x oc #tony stark x original character #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark imagine #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

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awindylife-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Sick

Relationships: 10th Doctor x reader (Not an established relationship)

Summary: the Doctor and you find yourselves on a spaceship in desparate need of repair and you are determined to help the crew (Kaisa, Lincoln and Bressa), but then the ship also gets highjacked. And on top of that, you fall sick.

Warnings: you're in mortal danger but that's it

You were standing by the big metal desk in the middle of the room, reading the numbers to Kaisa so he could type them in.

The digits kept swimming in your vision. They were blurry, everything was blurry, but they also kept moving. And when did it get so hot? You wiped the sweat from your forehead while trying to breathe deeply. You knew that if you looked up from the pad, the room would be spinning. The worst part was the tiredness. It coiled through your limbs and made them so heavy you could hardly move them. The effort to keep connecting letters and sounds, keep connecting thoughts hurt.

You closed your eyes for a second and the ship tilted so far you lost your balance. You stumbled back, eyes flying open and arms trying to reach out for something to hold onto.

Suddenly there were strong hands on your shoulder and the small of your back, steadying you. You looked up and recognized the dark orange skin and curly brown hair that was greying at the edges. Kaisa had caught you.

"Are you alright?" his gruff voice came to you.

"Yeah, yeah l'm okay." That sounded weak even to your own ears. "The ship just tilted."

"The ship's fine, love," he answered in confusion. You could see furrowed eyebrows, and then his dark golden eyes. You couldn't make out the wrinkles around them, or the lines on his forehead. Everything was blurry.

He put one hand around you to hold you up, then felt your forehead with the other. It was blessedly cold and you leaned into it with a sigh. "I think humans aren't supposed to be this hot," his worried voice came then.

You could hear Lincoln and Bressa turn around and step closer. You would have cracked a joke about drinks first if you weren't about to ask to sit down from exhastion. But you all had a job to do.

"I'm okay," you tried to reassure him. "Let's just get back to-" As you stepped away from Kaisa to shake his hands off, the ground rushed up and you barely caught yourself on the table. His arms were back, supporting you, before you could fall further. Shit.

"You're sick," Kaisa confirmed with a voice full of worry. He gently pulled you from the table and towards the wall. "Here, sit down," he told you softly and manouvered you to a stack of crates. He helped you sit on one and you rested your head on the taller pile.

"Thanks," you breathed gratefully and closed your eyes.This is nice.

On the other side of the room you could just hear Bressa order Lincoln, "Go get the Doctor. Tell him y/n's sick." Her voice was grave.

The Doctor had just recalibrated the fiberlinks of the navicomputer and was well on his way of taking apart the integral protonic bond when Lincoln reached him. The Doctor didn't even pull his head out of the ship's innards, much less stood up. "What is it?" He didn't have time for this.

"Your friend," the young man's distressed voice came. "She's sick."

That made worry explode in his chest. Ice spread through his veins as he hurriedly pulled himself out of the wiring. He hit his head on the way but that didn't matter, not when y/n was-

"What did you say?" the Doctor demanded in a low voice, eyes scanning the Tirellian crewmate.

"Y/n is sick." The Doctor marked every blink, every twitch, every line. He did not like the worried frown on Lincoln's face. He had gotten his answer.

The Doctor put the sonic back in his inner pocket and demanded, "Where is she?", voice forcibly calm but unrelenting. He picked up his coat as the young man turned to show the way, and off they went.

When your eyes were closed, you could almost pretend you were fine, but the fever, the heat in your skin was killing you. The box on your cheek and forehead had warmed up and provided no more relief.

You could feel even the darkness around you spin if you tried to think.

The Doctor ran into the room after Lincoln, trench coat billowing around him.

"Where is she?" he demanded in worry with his gaze searching the room.

"Over here." Kaisa stood up from behind the large metal table and pointed at the stack of crates beside the wall. He stepped back towards the others as the Doctor came to kneel before you with his coat scraping the floor. His hands hovered just inches above your skin.

"Y/n," he breathed quietly while looking you over. His hand settled on your arm. Scarlet cheeks, sweat - fever, eyes closed, leaning on the crate - exhausti-

You tiredly opened your eyes but you didn't lift your head. "Doct'r." The regret was already in your voice. "'M sorry. I should've-" Should have known the signs, should have slept more, should have eaten-

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he murmured softly, shaking his head. He rubbed your arm, his expression gentle and reassuring.

He took your hand and found your pulse point, which made butterflies flutter in your stomack despite the sickness. Then he lifted his other hand to your cheek. It was cold so you leaned into it, your eyes closing in content. You breathed deeply but it seemed like there was never enough air.

"You've definitely got a fever, about 39 degrees," he continued in that same soft tone. "And your heart is speeding up. How're you feeling?"

"Evr'thin's spinnin'," you told him tiredly, words a bit slurred. You tried to remember, but the things you were trying to describe made it hard to do that. "Couldn't stand up, Kaisa caught me. Couldn'read anymore, evr'thing was blurry'n moving. My head hurts, my eyes hurt, ever'thing hurts. An'l'm tired," you sighed. "I wanna go t'sleep."

"You will, l promise you will, but you need medicine first," he told you gently yet firmly. "It's the virus Tem, from Polon. We were there about four days ago, it's quite common for the planet, but it's dangerous." His brown eyes were full of worry. "If it's left untreated, as yours was, it can be deadly." He left the sentence hang in the silence after it.

You tried to shake your head but the motion caused more pain and you stopped. "So l'll get the meds and ll'l be fine," you told him tiredly. It didn't seem like much of a problem. You faced death on a daily basis, so what was a little virus?

"What do we do?" Kaisa stepped closer and looked down at the two of you, eyebrows furrowed in worry and hands crossed in front of his chest.

The Doctor moved closer and took you by the shoulders. "C'm on." He smiled encouragingly as he gently helped you stand up. You didn't like it, but the solution to this situation probably required moving.

You leaned against him and put your head on his shoulder as he helped you stay upright. The spinning did not help your stomack.

"Polonians have a vaccine, but it's far too late for that. You though, you three come from Kristella, is that right?" the Doctor looked around the room.

"Yeah," Kaisa nodded.

"So you receaved the whole med package there, including the VC five-six-o-nine."

"Yes."

"Good," he nodded, "bless the Kristellan med care. Your immune system knows the virus so you're not in danger. But you," he looked down at you, gritting his teeth, "are."

Well, that was a bit obvious.

He looked back up at Kaisa. "I want you to get her to the med bay. Give her Triskel two point three with a lot of water, she needs to stay hydrated, and then two shots of Amino when that's down, got it?"

"Yes," the large sailor nodded and stepped closer to take you. "And don't 'Got it' me, young man."

The Doctor opened his mouth to explain the whole Time Lord age thing when-

"I don't wanna go," you mumbled into his chest, pressing yourself closer. The room was spinning, you couldn't see well and you could barely stand. The thought of leaving him (he meant safe and good and you needed him) on this ship where anything could happen to you or him (who would look after him if not you?) made you want to sob.

He pulled away enough to look at you but still hold you. His eyes were soft. "I know," he told you gently and then frowned at the thought of letting you go, "l don't like this either." Every instinct in him flared against leaving you while you were sick and in need of him. He was Gallifreyan, and he protected what was his, even if you didn't know. "But you need medicine, and they need help rewiring the ship," he put it plainly. "I have to stay, and you have to go."

You nodded even though it hurt. He pulled you closer and for a moment, you just held each other.

"Stay safe," you said into his shoulder, almost an order. "Not a hair out of place, you hear me?"

You could feel him smile at the familiar tone. "Yes, ma'am."

It was time to go. You slowly let go of the Doctor as Kaisa came closer. He slung a hand around your waist while you put yours around his shoulders. It worked well, you could stay upright and move at the same time.

Then the whole ship shook like it was being torn apart and you were thrown against the table while Lincoln yelled in surprise. The Doctor and Kaisa kept you stable and unharmed between them, but the room looked like it had survived an earthquake.

"Are you alright?" The Doctor was franctically looking you over for injuries.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Bressa.

Kaisa didn't know what to do. You and him were locked in one of the main storage rooms, and they hadn't even let you get medicine. The large Risonians, two out of six who had highjacked the ship, simply came into the med bay and dragged you out before he could find anything to help you. You hadn't even gotten water.

All he could do was put his jacket under your head when you couldn't sit up anymore and hold your hand as you slipped into a restless sleep.

Then he noticed the computer log in the corner behind the crates. He could rewire it, send an altering pulse through the system... He looked at you as your head turned from one side to the other as you gasped for breath, mumbling nonsense in your sleep. Your fever was rising.

"Right then, love. I'm going to get help."

When the Doctor noticed Kaisa's message beeping under the log, he'd been momentarily confused. He'd made it very clear to the Risonians that you needed medicine and that he would do anything to make sure you got it, so why would they-

A second later, a pair of the hijacking crew came marching into the room with guns drawn. The Commander was as shocked as him when two of her people turned against her.

This was bad.

The Doctor walked into the storage room with his hands behind his head, with Bressa and Lincoln behind him. What remained of the Risonian crew had been locked into a separate room, to keep you all separated. His eyes immediately scanned the space for you.

When he turned the corner behind a high stack of crates, his hearts lurched. You were unconscious, lying on the floor with Kaisa holding your hand.

The Doctor was by your side in a second. Your skin was pale, but your cheeks were scarlet and your forehead glistened with sweat. You were mumbling in your sleep, your breaths laboured. Your head was turning restlessly in the throes of a fever dream. He took your warm hand and held it tightly.

"She was asking for you," Kaisa told him softly, eyes still trained on your face.

"What?" The Doctor's gaze flew to the larger man in confusion.

Kaisa looked up at him, "She was asking for you." He searched his eyes, for what, the Doctor didn't know. "Even after she couldn't answer me anymore, she kept asking for you in her sleep."

The Doctor felt like a hand had squeezed his hearts. It happened again, he did it again, you were in danger and it was his fault. He looked down at your closed eyes and scarlet cheeks. You were helpless, you needed him, and he couldn't do anything.

He brought your hand to his cheek and held it there with his palm as he closed his eyes. He needed you to live, he needed you to be alright. You had to be.

"Doct'r," your voice was barely a whisper.

His eyes flew open and he stared down at your still sleeping form. You turned your head to the side and, "Doct'r," again his name.

It lit a blazing fire in his chest. That was it. That was it, he was getting you out. He was getting all of you out because that was what he was going to do and the universe would bloody listen. He was the Doctor, and you were his. He was not losing you, not ever.

They'd taken the sonic but he was, for all intents and purposes, in a supply closet. Time to find out exactly which supplies he had.

#doctor who #doctorwho #doctor who x reader #doctorwho x reader #the doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor #tenth doctor #10th doctor #doctor who fanfiction #doctorwho fanfiction #reader insert

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thechekhov · 4 years ago

Photo

Alright, alright, I caved.

After a slot opened up in me to be able to take on another show emotionally, I decided to invest in OwlHouse. I thought I would probably like it, but it won me over faster than I thought it would.

I’ve already watched a few episodes, but I realized that it might be more fun to do liveblogs, so here I am - with a liveblog...

I will be doing this episode by episode, and probably releasing them every once in a while. Everything will be under a cut, however, to save you all dash space.

If you’d like to follow, please track the #chekhov watches owlhouse tag!

(I’d also like to dedicate this post to the Tumblr Staff Rob, who did his best to restore this post for me when tumblr queue ate it.)

Without further ado...

Episode 1!!

Fair warning - this is technically not a ‘live’ blog, because I have already watched some of the show before deciding to do this, but I’ll still react to them to round things out.

Immediately, this reminds me of Little Witch Academia... Anyone? No? Only me? I feel like maybe I’m getting my wires crossed, but there HAD to have been some inspiration taken from there?

“No-- my only weakness! Dying!!“

Same, big snake monster. Same.

Oh, backup snakes? This girl is READY.

Please don’t mistreat the snakes.

Spider breath... This kid is on my wavelength. That griffin seems to be waiting to be put out of its misery though, and I don’t blame it.

My child... where did you get that pigeon head though.....

Nurse mother, do you REALLY think signing up your spider-summoning daughter for summer camp will actively make her antics slow down instead of ramp up to 60?

Awww, baby makes AMVs... But also, NO ONE TOLD YOU TO THROW AWAY THE BOOK??? I know it’s symbolic, but goodness, isn’t that a bit much???

wait a sec, is that Eda????

Love the realistic bilingual kid experience of replying in English when your mom talks to you in your native language. Universal.

Love this introduction of Eda’s character. She’s got that little green scarf on and everything. Like a tiny trash grandma.

Oooh, okay, let’s extrapolate...

Lots of bones everywhere. I kinda love the aesthetic here - it’s gross and visceral, kind of like what Luz was making with her school projects. Yet in the middle of it all we have a rather clear gothic looking structure. Is this a power imbalance in the supposed kingdom?

The five circles of stained glass seem to perhaps indicate something like Hogwarts houses? Several different types of magic?

But Luz has no reason to freak out as much as she is - she LOVES weird stuff! Haha... No, I kid, I kid. I get it.

“Am I in the bad place?“

Eyyyyy, gotta love shows referencing other shows. :)

“Oh dear child... I’m not like you.”

Wow, what a DRAMATIC reveal for some pointy ears. :) I love her.

We should all aspire to have such cool and stylistically well put together wanted posters. You can tell the commissioned artist really respects her craft.

Steven Universe fans watching this:

I’m looking too.

Okay, okay, enough shenanigans, let’s have some LORE.

I love this landscape. Teeth or bones, or whatever they are, this is one of the more unique settings we’ve gotten, though maybe I’m prejudiced because I love body horror and bones. The darker orange and red themes fit really well here.

Things I’m desperate for: Giraffe Lore

Things I’m more desperate for: Eda lore. Why do her limbs fall off? Is she a zombie?

Things I’m not quite as desperate for: Hooty lore. He can keep that to himself.

well hello there mysterious chekhov’s glyph which will DEFINITELY not be relevant in the second chapter (or end of season? Maybe? Idk it just seems important).

Ah, yes. That would have been my reaction as well, to be fair. Somehow I didn’t expect to see this guy so early on. I figured he would be a low stress early villain that got assimilated into the Found Family. Kinda psyched that he’s just there from the start.

....I’m just gonna presume this is all true and accept it at face value.

Old Escape The Cops Lady and Tiny Little Demon King, I need your backstory. How did you meet.

I love looking at background details, because like... you can tell the BG artists had fun. I particularly love how the 3 eyed toad doesn’t actually have any reward attached to her. Though the Knife Baby does intrigue me!

“I write fanfics of food falling in love.”

Why am I being called out...

“Noo! My weak nerd arms!”

Finally, a realistic portrayal of a protagonist thrust into a fantasy setting!

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

Okay but. If only humans could pass through the barrier... wouldn’t that mean a human had to have deposited those things in there? Do they have a human on staff in this weird pseudo-prison??? Suspicious....

Confession - when I initially saw ads for this show, I expected Eda to be a villain, not a loveable middle aged witch aunt figure. I am shockingly even MORE drawn to her this way. I expected betrayal. I expected her to be a lowkey threat?? But no. She’s just wholesome in the way a solid raccoon is.

“Eda, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, this just happens when you get older...”

“........does it..?”

If I had to pinpoint the exact moment this show won me over...... it would probably be this one.

I know it’s probably the wrong thing to focus on, but what is that insignia? Wings??? Like.... the kind OWLS HAVE?????

COINCIDENCE??? I THINK NOT!!!

I’m really loving the landscape here. And those fireworks are... hmm... intricate?

Gotta love the old tried and true Witch Apprentice Actually A Live In Intern trope. :)

Hold up...

Is that

Is that Hooty? I thought he was just a door....

Eda: This is my room for human stuff. I will also put my human in there.

. . .

Overall rating: I think this is a cute overall beginning. The prison break went hard! I enjoyed the characters and it kind of surprised me in a lot of ways. It definitely does a great job setting up a world with a lot more to explore while giving us a small taste of cool magic stuff and witchy battles. :)

Now on to Episode 2!!

Read the liveblogs in order by clicking here!

#the owl house #owl house liveblog #chekhov watches owlhouse

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bensonsbreakdowns · 4 years ago

Text

The Autocomplete Interview

Summary → your favorite thing about interviews is how cuddly tom gets afterwards, almost like he’s a life size teddy bear.

Warning(s) → literally nothing but fluff and tom getting teased by the reader and zendaya

Word Count → 1.5k

add yourself to my taglist

Tom has his arms wrapped around your waist, rocking your bodies while the makeup team touches up your eyes and hair. He’s in a conversation with Harry and Zendaya, occasionally humming as if he thinks you’ve said something, before he goes back to them. It’s heartwarming.

Buzzfeed is your last interview of the afternoon, and then you’re free until nightfall when you’re expected at the Hilton across town for another round of press. It’s days like these that remind you of elementary school field trips, only instead of an ugly yellow school bus that was kept together by duct tape, you’re riding coach.

When both you and Zendaya are cleared for camera, you bring Tom towards the chairs, shoving him back, and forcing him down on the one furthest left. A few laughs go around, watching your boyfriend get shoved around in his expensive slacks and neon yellow turtleneck. You’d teased him earlier about the denim jacket he wore, asking if he took it straight from your closet back home. He grinned as if you we’re the funniest thing he’d come across, placing wet kisses into your skin until you begged him to stop, laughing nonsensically and promising he looked ‘hella hot’.

After a sound check, and a screen test to make sure none of you we’re washed out, cameras counted down from three. You squeezed Tom’s hand twice before you dropped it, eyes directly down the barrel of the camera.

“Hey, it’s Zendaya here.”

“Y/N”

“Tom Holland.”

Your boyfriend sounds entirely british as he pushes his fingertips together in his lap. He's tired, the long day wearing him thin. You can’t wait to strip your skin of makeup, let your dress fall in a pool around your ankles, and take a much deserved nap in his arms. As much as you love press, and being with your friends, you need your boyfriend's skin against yours. You need to decompress before you start all over again at sundown.

“And we’re uh, about to do our,” Zendaya looks to you, grin on her face. She’s tired, you all are, but unlike you she’s miles away from anyone to cuddle with. Maybe you’ll ditch Tom, fall asleep with Zendaya instead.

“Wired,”

“Autocomplete,”

“Interview.”

Zendaya’s handed the cardstock first, questions for Tom beneath strips of paper. You shudder, the same as Tom, when she scratches her fingers along the board and peels the paper away. You’re hardly as dramatic as your boyfriend, who coils into himself and raises his hands to his ears. You laugh, but your spine is still cold from the hideous noise. Your hand reaches out, and you tenderly pat him on the thigh.

A joke about your wedding comes into mind, but you pocket it for later, not willing to risk your intimacy making it into the final cut of the interview. You may be open about your relationship, and the fact that yes, you are banging Tom, but you’re still reserved with most things in your life-- including the engagement ring that’s tucked away back at your London apartment. Maybe one day, after the wedding, you’ll be open to sharing the ring, but for now, it’s your perfect little secret.

“Alright, first question. Does Tom Holland do his own stunts?”

“I do actually, I do my own stunts, but there are some stunts that I can’t do,” Tom’s eyes shift to you when you mumble beneath your breath, entirely displeased with the many times he’s come home hurt after he insisted that he could do his own stunts. He had too much faith and pride in his limited gymnastics background, “and then I have my stunt double Greg and Luke, who are incredibly talented, and have made some of the action sequences in this film, I would say, some of the most incredible sequences ever. Um, yeah, so I do do my own stunts, but I can’t take full credit.”

You smile softly, proud of all the work your boyfriend puts into not only his projects, but keeping himself in shape so the filming process isn’t so grueling. He’s missed out on a lot of sleep, but he takes his wins with his losses. He’s somebody you look up to.

“Does Tom Holland play video games?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You look towards your partner expectantly, lips coiled into an unimpressed pout. He’s the worst. No matter the hour, if he has a console with him, he’s chatting to Harrison until you either unplug the system, or crawl into his lap and beg with him to come to bed-- usually it’s the latter, but Harrison’s heard quite a few squabbles take place in your flat.

“You know, every now and then.” He shrugs, and your jaw drops. You raise your eyebrows, eyes locked with his. His cheeks flush, but nothing needs to be said. Your expression give away that his habit of video games is definitely more than a ‘once and a while’ occurrence.

Zendaya laughs, shaking her head at the pair of you before she pulls another sticker off of the board, looking down at the next question, “Does Tom Holland have a spidey sense?”

“If he did, he wouldn’t have answered the last question lying through his teeth.” You say before Tom has a chance to respond. Your boyfriend, ever the bashful boy, ducks his head down into his hands as he laughs, shoulders shaking.

You bear a smile at Zendaya, subtly winking. You’ve seen the compilation videos of YouTube and Instagram. You know that the fans have caught onto your relationship with the former disney star. You’d be lying if you said friendship wasn’t built on the foundations of picking on Tom, but your boyfriend could handle the heat. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be in the kitchen.

Somehow, you make it through the first round of questions for each of you. Zendaya’s cracked jokes, but your social timer is running low. Tom can tell. You’ve stopped laughing at the little things, only offering small smiles and giggles. His hand wants to hold yours, rub circles into your skin as a promise that it’ll be over soon, but he can’t. He won’t let the world in on such a private moment. You already share so much of yourselves.

“How did Y/N become famous?” Zendaya read off a question, eyes lightning up as she nudged you with her elbow.

“Uh, Disney Channel.” You responded, a cheeky twitch in your lips as you tilted your head towards Zendaya. You hadn’t actually had a history with the company, but for whatever reason a rumor had spread that you and Zendaya went up for the same role back in 2009. You hadn’t, but you poked fun at the obscure lie as often as you could.

“Who is Y/N dating?”

“Tom Holland. Somebody’s gotta do his wash, and I don’t think Harry wants the job again.” You taunt, your boyfriend scoffing as he crosses his arms over his chest and sends you a sweet pout. You grin, tapping your thigh with your finger twice, a silent saying of I Love You.

“What is Y/N’s favorite color?”

You laugh, reminded of a question Zendaya got earlier about what she’s been up to. Sometimes, people's intense interest in your lives was confusing. You didn’t think yourself to be entertaining, but the millions of follows and fans who dedicated hours to edits and draws said otherwise. “Purple.”

“Who is Y/N’s favorite Holland?”

The three of you burst out laughing, your forearms resting on your thighs as you came back to yourself. The questions towards you were random, but the ones directed towards you provoked the most laughs. “I-- Besides Tom? I think it’s quite obvious who my favorite is, if we’re including him. Sam. Sam’s my favorite.”

You smile when the cameras cut, concluding your interviews for the afternoon. Tom pulls you back into his arms, whispering in your ear about how he can't wait to cuddle, curl up in your bed and sleep for a few uninterrupted hours before you’re sent back through the grueling process. You wouldn’t change your job for the world. Especially not when the constant conversation tires Tom out, and makes your already sweet boyfriend a life size teddy bear.

When you finally make it back to your hotel room, your eyes are barely open. You took your makeup off in the bus, and before Tom had even closed the hotel door you were kicking your high heels off and pleading with him to unzip your dress. He laughed, pulling his jacket off before he stepped up behind you. Letting it fall to the floor in a pool around your ankles, his arms wrap around you and tug you back into his chest.

“I love you, you goof.” You mumble against his lips, turning your head to the side so you can kiss him just as sweetly as he holds you. His sweater is soft beneath your bear skin, but you shiver anyways with the new lack of clothing.

“I love you more, Princess.”

☆ taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen--marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15 @anapocalypseinmymind

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #zendaya #zendaya x reader

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cyncerity · 4 years ago

Note

TOMMY FINALLY TALKING TO RANBOO FOR THE FIRST TIME LIKE “sup motherfucker give me my damn house back” ranboos like THIS LITTLE DUDE IS ALIVE?!? Tommy’s like that isn’t important rn give me my home

(I have a feeling these asks were sent by the same person, but if they weren’t it’s kinda funny they were sent at the same time and have the same writing style lmao)

Ranboo would freak out, definitely. He’s definitely noticed this weird doll that Tubbo always carries around, but he hasn’t ever mentioned it. He’s just kind of learned to live with its existence. Even if he thinks he’s going crazy cause the dolls expression keeps changing. So yeah, let’s have Ranboo meet Tommy >:)

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold out your hands! It’s not that hard, bossman.”

Ranboo begrudgingly squeezed his eyes shut and held out his open palms. It’s not as if he didn’t trust Tubbo, it’s just that Tubbo could be…weird, and he was a bit nervous for his “surprise.” Ok, maybe more than a bit.

…

In all fairness, screaming might not have been the right response. But what else was Ranboo supposed to do with the talking doll in front of him? He hadn’t tried to scream, it was a natural reaction! It definitely wasn’t what Ranboo had in mind when Tubbo had said he wanted to “show him something cool”.

Tubbos hands went immediately over Ranboo’s eyes and mouth, at which point Ranboo heard the same, unfamiliar voice he had heard earlier mumble “fuckin rude” before Tubbo whispered to him. “Shhh! We don’t need to call extra attention to ourselves, do you want your brother to come in here! What the hell?”

Ranboo dropped the doll on his lap and pried Tubbos hands off his face. “What do you mean ‘what the hell’?? That-“ Ranboo pointed to the doll, which was now on his lap, crossing its arms and staring at him, and not moving, strangely enough, “just talked! I should be the one asking you ‘what the hell’! Why’s it alive?!”

“First of all, he’s not an ‘it,’ he’s a ‘he.’ And his name is Tommy. Second of all, hes my other best friend, so you’d better get used to him. And the only way to do that is to talk to him.” Ranboo grumbled at Tubbo before picking up the doll in a fist and holding it up. “Tommy” just continued to stare at Ranboo, and it clicked to Ranboo that the doll hadn’t moved at all since he dropped him. Maybe it wasn’t the doll that had been talking, maybe it was something else? Had he been wrong? Ranboo looked back at Tubbo, exasperated.

“It looks like your ‘friend’ doesn’t want to make much of an effort towards friendship either.” Tubbo rolled his eyes and sighed. “You have to close your eyes, big man. He can’t move or talk if anyone’s looking at him.” “This has to be a prank-“ “Just do it!!” Ranboo huffed in frustration and closed his eyes again.

The doll spoke out again almost immediately. “Fucking finally!” Tommy shouted before sighing as he saw Ranboo’s jaw drop and his eyebrows raise. “Ranboo, listen, the whole ‘eye contact’ thing is a long story, and why I’m alive is an even longer story, but I need to know if you still have that dollhouse that your therapist sold you.” Ranboo thought about it for a bit before putting the pieces together. “…I took your house, didn’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” Tubbo said. “I told Aunt Puffy she could sell it before I found out that the dolls that lived there were alive. So they’re kinda homeless. We didn’t even want to tell you in the first place. No offense, but you seem pretty stressed out, and memory problems and cursed dolls don’t mix well.” Ranboo only had a short amount of time to linger on the guilt in Tubbos voice before the doll piped up again. “The problem is, we don’t know how to get the house back into Tubbos basement without looking suspicious. Tubbo’s dad has turned the basement, where the house was, into his personal office, anyways. Neither of us want his family questioning why he would suddenly want the house back, since we’re not sure how they would respond to living dolls-“ “Wait, dolls? As in more than just you?” Ranboo interrupted. “Yes, more than just me, keep up, dumbass. Anyways, my family wanted to just move here since they don’t have any particular attachment to Tubbo. And it’s not like I do, Tubbos the clingy one, not me, it’s just that your brother is terrifying and our last meeting didn’t go…great. So your house is out. Any other ideas?”

Ranboo didn’t know what the doll was talking about until he recalled the last time Tubbo had brought the blonde doll to his house. At the time, Ranboo had found it odd that Dream playfully tossing the doll around had resulted in Tubbo almost breaking down in tears, but he now understood how badly that could’ve ended.

“Dream didn’t mean it like that, he couldn’t have known, I’m sorry-“ Ranboo said before being interrupted by the voice again. “I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to think! What the hell do we do about this?”

“Actually, uuuhhhh…” “Tommy.” Ranboo nodded quickly before returning to his thoughts. “Actually, Tommy, I might have an idea…”

~~~~~~~~

“So why are we here exactly?” Wilbur said. Tommy had left everyone extremely confused after he spontaneously decided to gather everyone for a family meeting, only to direct them onto the floor and say “follow me.” They had assumed Tommy wanted to talk more about their house after he told them they couldn’t get it back nor live in Ranboo’s house, but instead they now found themselves walking down the hallway towards god knows where. It’s not exactly like they had bothered to explore the house.

“Tommy, this is risky.” Techno muttered. “What if the humans come down the hall?” “It’s 3:30 in the morning, Blade, we’ll be fine.” Tommy retorted.

“I have to agree with Techno on this one, Toms. This is really risky.” Phil said. “It’ll be worth it, I promise, just follow me!” Tommy began to walk faster towards wherever as the rest of the SBI looked at each other and sighed before catching up to Tommy.

After a few more minutes of walking, the dolls came upon a door. Tommy knocked on it a few times before it swung backwards and he ushered his family in in front of him. The three of them looked up and froze, for once not because of someone’s stare, but from shock.

Above them stood Tubbo and Ranboo, doing their best to plaster shingles and mini columns to a model doll house that sat on a table. It looked like a sort of log cabin, complete with fake snow, but was so much bigger than their previous house. It took up half the room, and the half it didn’t take up was paved with wires that seemed to spout from the bottom of the house.

“What- what is this?” Phil gaped. “We felt really bad that we couldn’t get your house back, so we wanted to make up for it!” Ranboo nodded along as Tubbo spoke, both continuing to keep their eyes off the dolls and locked on the mini mansion. “I told my aunt that me and Ranboo should do some sort of ‘therapeutic bonding activity,’ which she bought. So we looked around a bunch for doll houses that would be correct to your size, but we couldn’t find any that where exact. So I had my friend Foolish 3D print out some custom walls and stuff. And we ordered the rest of the furniture and other supplies on Amazon.”

“Well, not all of it.” Ranboo said. “We still wanted your input on what it should look like on the inside. There’s all sorts of furniture and mini wallpapers we can buy online or make ourselves.”

“The electricity was a bitch, though,” Tubbo interjects, gesturing to the mess of wires on the floor. “Just be thankful you’ve got automatic lights and a heating system. We didn’t really see the need for running water or a tiny fridge, though, since you guys don’t seem to need food or showers.” Phil, Wilbur, and Techno looked on in varying levels of excitement and awe as Tommy looked at them with a proud smirk on his face. Phil looked over to his son, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, before he pulled Tommy into a tight hug, Wilbur and surprisingly Techno shortly after.

“Well,” Wilbur said, “looks like we’ve got a few decisions to make here.”

To say Schlatt and Puffy were confused when they walked in in the morning to find Ranboo and Tubbo passed out over the mini house, dolls strewn about the room, and over a hundred online orders of different fabrics, stickers, and doll furniture would be an understatement.

#cyncerity #cynwrites #Eyes Off Me AU #tiny!tommy #tiny!sbi #giant!tubbo #giant!ranboo #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt

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a-supernatural-writer · 4 years ago

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hcs for poly! tlb with a fem! s/o who’s style is dark academia and is really blunt/logical and smart. she basically gives off a ‘mysterious, quiet, dark, critical’ vibe (she also doesn’t really know how to handle people who are extremely emotional and she doesn’t know how to soothe someone. she’s just really oblivious/clueless when it comes to others feelings). i’m so sorry if what i requested doesn’t make sense or if it was too much. i am seriously incapable of writing anything without making it look like an essay lmao. love your work btw 💕✨

Dark Academia Fem! S/O

Poly Lost Boys x Fem reader

I had so much fun writing this! I love the dark academia aesthetic! And it made perfect sense and it wasn’t too much! Having a lot actually helps me expand and write more so thank you. And I’m the same, once I have an idea, I write a lot, so you’re all good! And awww!!! Thank you!!! 💗💗✨✨ I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so you are very different compared to the large number of characters on the boardwalk. Your style consisted of button shirts, sweaters or turtle necks, dress pants or a plaid pleated skirts, cardigans or waistcoats, oxford shoes or even wire framed glasses if you wore them for seeing or just for the look.

To say that you caught the boys attention would be an understatement. You seemed to stand out amongst the crowd and they became curious. You were a mystery to them and they love the challenge.

Somehow, someway, after days or weeks later, you became good friends which soon lead to you dating four trouble making punks. It was tough on both parts, but it happened, and hey, you weren’t complaining.

You were very blunt when you first met them, not really interested in them and more or less interested in the book in your hands. It took a lot of “accidental” run ins to even get you to hang out with them.

You slowly opened up when they offered to take you out for dinner at a local diner. They’re constant joking soon had you letting out small, almost whisper-like giggles and tiny smiles that sent them into a frenzy.

When you would start talking about yourself, your ideas of fun were different from theirs. You liked museums, opera houses, bookstores and going to theaters to see plays. The games you played were chess and cards, and the music you listened to was old. You were pretty sure they thought you were boring but you actually peaked their interest.

After a while of being friends with them, they asked you out. You liked them and the only logical step was to see if you liked them the same way they liked you was to date them, so you said yes.

In general, them having a girlfriend with a 1940s/1950s dark prep look was fun. David and Dwayne like it the most. Paul next, then Marko.

David actually really likes picking out your clothing on most days. You have an extensive collection of clothing with material from cashmere to linen, all the colors consisting of browns, black, cream and even a little dark green.

His favorite thing to put you in is trench coats. Doesn’t matter what color it is, he just likes seeing you in them. Also, there are a handful of times that he has MADE you wear his trench coat. Yeah it almost swimmed on you, but he thought it made you look cute and it fit in perfectly with your look.

Dark academia isn’t only your style, but it’s your way of life. David is the one that plays chess with you. You had to reteach it to him and pretty soon, the two of you had your own little set up in the cave that was always ready for a game of chess.

David is sort of like you… in a way when it comes to others feelings. But deep down he knows that he really likes you and tries to show it the best he can. He took you to a theater to see a play that you were constantly talking about and so he took you on a date. You being you, didn’t realize that’s what it was until he told it straight to your face. Let’s just say you were speechless for the next hour.

Also, when it’s just the two of you, deep inside the cave where your nest is, classical music is playing from your record player. It could be Beethoven, Tchaikovsky or Mozart. Whoever it is, David is the one that will listen to it with you the most. I think he really enjoys classical music and he enjoys it even more if the two of you are cuddling in your bed.

Occasionally Dwayne would join the two of you. You would be sitting in between David’s legs as Dwayne sat in between yours, his head leaning back against your chest. It was like a cuddle pile… cuddle train?? Whatever you wanted to call it, it was cuddling while the three of you relaxed listening to classical music. And it was darn cute.

Dwayne loves listening to you go on and on about any books you were reading at the moment. Whether or not it was nonfiction or even about any type of history. He was down. He lived through a lot and he knew about half of the stuff you gushed on about, but for some odd reason, it never bored him when you talked about it.

He would be the one to get you new books, leaving you sweet little notes tied to them. Of course you thought it was just him being nice and thanked him for it without thinking there was any romantic meaning behind it. Yeah he was one of your boyfriends but it never really crossed your mind that way. He would just shake his head at your obliviousness and give you a small peck on the lips.

Don’t ask him why, but his favorite look on you is a light cream colored blouse with a plaid skirt and Mary Jane shoes. Dwayne is a leg man so… he’s very happy when decide to show off some skin if you decide not to wear knee-socks or stockings with it. Even if you did wear them, he would still be attached to your side the entire night.

Like David, Dwayne would bring you out to a lot of places that were opened late at night. If there was an art exhibition in town or even a museum that was open late, just say the word and he will happily drive you on his bike. Heck, David might even tag along.

Also, late night bookstore dates… oh my heart, it’s too sweet it hurts. There are times that he does have to throw you over his shoulder when the bookstore is closing and you're pretty much refusing to leave. When he does that, you just stay frozen over his shoulder, not knowing if you should be blushing or cursing at him for carrying you like a sack of potatoes.

If anything, you and Dwayne connect very well. You’re naturally very quiet and so is he. Not much is said between you two but there's a mutual understanding that can’t be explained. While the others are out causing trouble, you and him are on the sidelines watching hand in hand or your reading and he's just staring at you as you do so.

Paul and Marko kind of give you whiplash. They’re loud and rowdy and definitely 100% opposite from you. But they interested you. They had a very chaotic outlook on life which made you ask many questions.

Paul found your look sexy. He’s horny and you give off preppy school vibes, he’s living for it 24/7. Constant teasing of you giving him ‘private lessons’ which results with you whacking a book against the back of his head. But it doesn’t stop the reddening of your ears which doesn’t make him stop.

This man is also your designated jewelry expert. You only wear some accessories and they're very simple. So you are very surprised when Paul finds you jewelry that is your style and collects it for you. You like leather watches, guess what, he’s got it for you. You want some fancy victorian looking brooches, he’s got that too. Simple rings with a single jewel in the middle, expect constant ‘will you marry me’ jokes, but he gets you the best.

Also, he’s not overly big into your music selection. He does try to get you into his type of music, which you only like very few and far between. But when you do get him to listen to your type of music, it’s only if you agree to listen to his music the next night. You guys come up with a system and decide to switch every few nights.

Each of the boys have their favorite look on you and Paul's is when you wear a button-up of any color with a simple black tie, a pencil skirt and a pair of Dr.Marten boots. He especially likes the tie… for reasons. God damn it, you know the reasons, get out of here.

He’s a very affectionate boy and he finds your looks over confusion some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen. Probably the first one to tell you that he loves you and you honestly like glitched out. Did you feel the same way? Yes, but poor little thing you doesn’t say it right away, but Paul knows that you aren’t really used to saying things like that without warming up to it. Which is okay. He knows even if you don’t say it.

He definitely steals one of your blazers to put pins on it. Marko helps, putting a few patches on it that they both know you would like. It’s the one item that stands out in all of your clothing and you will wear it if they ask you to.

Marko definitely thinks the look is cute and it suits you very well, but why no color?! You wear dark colors but nothing bright like the colors that are on his jacket. He tries to slip in some colorful clothing into your everyday look, it never goes as planned but you give him an A for effort.

He loves how dark you can be at times though. You want to go to a local graveyard just because? Sure! Let’s go! He’s your designated graveyard buddy. You have many date nights there, looking at all the different gravestones and finding it interesting when you jot down some names in one of your notebooks.

Speaking of notebooks, you have many of them. They were filled with notes from books you’ve read, real life observations or even just some random poetry and short stories that you wrote. Marko would go through them a lot and even sometimes draw little doodles or rough sketches that were thought up from your writings.

When you spend nights down at the Boardwalk, your go to drink isn’t a slushie or a milkshake or even a soda. It’s coffee or tea. Yeah, and only Marko knows your drink orders by heart. None of the others seem to remember them correctly which you thank them for trying but Marko has got them all beat.

Marko likes seeing you in sweaters and in your trousers or linen shorts with chelsea boots. If anything, when the two of you are alone, just wearing a knit sweater and shorts were perfect for him. He likes how cozy and warm you look. He’s very happy when he cuddles you and you are warm.

Now when they tell you that they’re vampires, you think that they’re joking. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a work of fiction. Yes there was a real man named Dracula, but there was no way that they were actual vampires.

Then they showed you hard proof and then there was no denying it at that point. Instead of running away, you were fascinated. You wanted to understand your boyfriends vampire ways that lead to you conducting extensive research and a notebook dedicated to them.

They showed you everything about them, how they feed, to which you didn’t bat an eyelash of watching them feed one night. You were one morbid chick but they saw that as a plus that you didn’t react. You had graveyard dates for crying out loud, nothing really surprised them at that point.

Flying came next and they had a lot of fun showing you just how high they could go with you in their arms. You never screamed at the height, you were too caught up in seeing the overhead view of the town. You could get used to seeing a view like that every night.

Then came the other things; how they slept before you came along, what actually hurt them and what didn’t. There was one time that you stared at their vampire faces for hours because you were taking notes on how their facial features changed.

Soon you had to stock up on more turtlenecks because of the many bite marks they would leave behind from feeding on you if the weather was bad one night. It wasn’t tough adapting to their occasional feeding. A lot of your clothing already covered up your skin so it was easy to hide from people on your nights out.

Not too long after, they popped the question. Would you want to be a vampire? Live forever, never grow up? Be with them for all eternity? You didn’t really need to think about it for too long, you knew what your answer was and so did they even if you didn’t say it out loud. You loved your boys and not much would change.

When you did change, it was entertaining for them to watch. You soon started taking down notes about your progress, comparing and contrasting your experience to their own.

To the eyes of many, you became even more dark and mysterious. You had an aura around you that drew people in, it’s what got you your four vampire boyfriends, only now, it brought in your meal for the night.

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tsuki-chibi · 4 years ago

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Adrien AUG-reste Day 31 - Kiss

This series is now COMPLETE! You can read all six parts on AO3: Marinette March, Adrinette April, Marichat May, Ladrien June, and Ladynoir July, followed by Adrien August.

----

“I… huh.” Marinette blushed again and looked away from him. “Could you… not look at me? This is kind of hard to say, and I always get tongue-tied when you’re looking at me.”

“Umm… sure,” Adrien said, confused. But he obediently turned his head away, looking out into the distance. He heard Marinette take what sounded like a very deep breath behind him, and it was so tempting to take a quick peek to see what her face looked like. Still, he had said that he wouldn’t look and so he didn’t.

“I know I always turned you down as Chat Noir,” Marinette began, and Adrien winced.

So it was going to be that kind of talk.

The kind of talk where she told him again that there was another boy that she liked and that she didn’t return his feelings.

He braced himself.

“And that was because there was this other boy. I fell in love with him the day that we met, and I only met Chat Noir afterwards… maybe if things had been different… but they weren’t,” Marinette said, sounding a little wistful.

That hurt. To know that he had come so close to winning her heart and had missed by what sounded like a few hours stung. If only that akuma had attacked sooner! Adrien bit his lip, suddenly glad that she had asked him to look away.

“Besides that, I couldn’t let myself think about Chat that way. We had a job to do. We had our duty to Paris. Even if I wanted more, it couldn’t happen without us knowing each other’s identities. And that was too dangerous.”

Adrien disagreed with that. Even before he had known who was behind the mask, he had known everything he needed to know about Ladybug. He knew that she was kind, that she was stubborn, that she was brave, that she could jump to conclusions, that she loved her family and friends, that she was sometimes quick to anger. She wasn’t perfect, but she was his lady.

He could have – would have – no, did love her with everything that he was even if he didn’t know her civilian name.

“But now…” Marinette trailed off again, and the silence rapidly grew too much for Adrien to bear.

“Can I say something now?” he asked.

“Okay,” Marinette said.

“I know why you wanted to keep our identities a secret. I understand that, which is why I never pressed you on it. But none of that ever mattered to me. It still doesn’t,” Adrien said. “Finding out who you were didn’t change my feelings.”

If anything, finding out that Marinette was Ladybug had only intensified his feelings.

“I wish that things could have been different, but I won’t stand in the way of you and this other boy.” Adrien swallowed hard. It was so, so tempting to be selfish and try to throw himself on her mercy. He could probably convince her to give him a chance, given what he had just been through.

But he wasn’t going to. He wanted Marinette to want to be with him, not to be with him because she felt sorry for him.

“Wait, what?” Marinette said, sounding puzzled. “I – oh. Oh shit. Adrien, no. That’s not – ugh, I can’t believe I’m still messing this up!”

“What?” Adrien said, just as confused as before.

The chair shifted behind him and then Marinette’s hand touched his shoulder. Adrien turned his head instinctively to find that she had moved closer. Her face was a little frustrated and a little amused and a whole lot lovely, and her proximity made his heart flip.

“It’s you. You’re the other boy,” Marinette told him.

“Me?” Adrien said. “Wait. Me? Not Luka?”

Marinette shook her head. “No. You. It’s always been you, Chaton. I just couldn’t see it before now.”

“So all those times you talked about another boy –” Adrien didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All this time and he had been standing in his own way and he hadn’t even known about it.

“I was talking about Adrien. I was just too shy to do anything about it,” Marinette admitted.

“It’s good that you didn’t. I was too hung up on Ladybug,” Adrien replied. Suddenly, he chuckled. “Wow, now I understand why Plagg used to get so aggravated when I’d talk about Ladybug.”

Marinette smiled a bit. “I guess we really got our wires crossed. I never thought that secret identities could mess things up so much. Then again, I also never thought that Master Fu would choose two people who were so close to each other to be Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

“It does seem like he should have chosen strangers,” Adrien said. “But maybe he wanted to make sure that our civilian selves could get along first. Just in case. Or… you know… maybe more than get along?” He looked at her hopefully.

She blushed. “I literally just said that it’s always been you. I’m not saying it a third time.”

It was him. Adrien let those words sink in for a few seconds.

It was him. Not Luka. Him.

Adrien reached up and took her hand. “Marinette, would you like to go out on a date with me?”

“Yes. I would like that very much,” Marinette said with a shy smile.

“Good. I have the feeling that we still have a lot to talk about,” Adrien said, smiling back. It would be wonderful to be able to talk to his partner without the mask in the way. Now that all their secrets had been unveiled, there was nothing standing in their way.

“I think we do too. And you know, I was thinking. Last week Maman asked me if I’d like to go on a trip to China with her. I wasn’t sure at first because of… well, everything. But now…” Marinette squeezed his hand. “Maybe you could come with us. Maybe we could investigate the origin of the miraculous together. Alya and Nino could watch over Paris while we were gone.”

“Absolutely,” Adrien said. He didn’t want to leave Paris permanently, but a vacation sure sounded like a great idea. He and Marinette definitely deserved it.

“I’ll let Maman know. I never did give her a straight answer.” Marinette looked away, then back at him. Suddenly, before he could react, she darted forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Adrien froze. His heart thudded too loudly again. Marinette’s cheeks turned pink as she pulled back, looking at him like she wasn’t sure how he would react to that. Adrien was way too far gone to respond, so he just let instinct take over. He leaned forward a bit, waiting until she leaned in too, and this time it was their lips that met.

Whatever happened, he knew, they would be fine as long as they were together.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #adrienaugust #first kiss #happy ending #storm verse #petrichor

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lovelywingsart · 4 years ago

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Metallic (18+)

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

Oh lord here we go- Ok, first off, y'all get a small paragraph beforehand, please forgive me. :'D I've... never posted smut THIS PUBLICLY before. This is admittedly incredibly nerve-wracking and I'm hella nervous because I feel like I write... 'conservatively'? You'll see what I mean. So... Please go easy on me for this one...? I'm great for sweet stuff and angst, but smut is a whole other beast despite NSFW being one of my favorite art forms when drawing. I mean, I've already made a few *spicy* art pieces for them, but just... Writing is difficult. I mean, I really hope you guys like it anyway!! But fair warning. THIS is new for me. QuQ I do have a few more smut pieces in the works, but this was the first one written.

So uh... on to the story, I guess...!

**Small reminder that I have a small 'Masterlist' for these!**

-------

*Warning?: Hella smut, lots of biting, choking and kisses, some blood from said biting, just rough sex in general? Normal, to rough, to fluff. not entirely sure what else to add?? :'D It's all consensual, no worries.

Summary: With some high tensions, a smart mouth, and some unfortunate forgetfulness, Emelia gets herself into a bit of... 'trouble' with the notorious Metal Man. But maybe this time she bit off a bit more than she could chew... Not that she really ends up minding.

A pair of footsteps echoed through the underground tunnels of the factory, almost mimicking the constant sounds of pickaxes being dug into the stone. The walking man looked around every once in a while, seemingly proud of whatever progress had been made.

"All is going well. Good, good." He said proudly, puffing on the cigar he held between his fingers. The woman next to him rolled her eye. The small lights of the tunnels glinted in the glasses he wore as he turned his head to glance at her. "Is there a problem?" He chuckled.

"If by 'well' you mean 'excruciatingly slow by dimwitted slaves', then yes."

"Would you like to join them then, Emmy?"

"Bloody hell, no. I'm still sore from lugging those damned carts around..." Emelia mumbled, reaching to rub behind her neck. The man next to her chuckled again, handing over his cigar. He stepped forward slightly as she took it, holding out his free arm.

"And yet you're still walking!" He chimed, looking back at her as she puffed on the cigar, herself. "We'll change that soon enough."

"I'm not working myself to death, Heisenberg." She huffed, picking up speed and shoving the cigar back into his face. "While factory productions are important to me too, perhaps learn the definition of a 'break', and not as in 'break my back'."

Karl took the cigar with amusement as she walked forward ahead, clearly heading back to the main building.

"First you tell me to work harder, then you say not at all." He mused, following closely. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I can do what I want?"

"And yet, what you want is what affects YOUR factory in the long run... Timing, Karl."

"You act as if you know more about MY factory than I do."

"And what do you know?"

"Everything."

"Good, then you know I'm heading upstairs to rest for a moment."

"I assumed so."

The two wandered along the corridors to a hall with stairs leading to a metal door, sharing the cigar before she went forward and kicked the door open, snorting as she heard an irritated grunt behind her.

"If you break that, you're fixing it." He muttered, setting his hammer down to the side as he took the cigar from her. She snorted, tossing her own weapon to the side, watching it land on a pile of fabrics used for either covering machinery or covering herself when she slept, whichever happened to come first.

"You say that as if it would be difficult." She retorted, taking her hair out of the tie it was in and running her hand through it before stretching slightly as he walked past her to sit in a chair next to a desk in the room they were in. It was similar to a bedroom, but not quite. 'More like an office with a small bed' , she always said, occasionally taking residence on said 'bed' when she was tired. She felt Heisenbergs eyes on her as her muscles stretched and popped, and she let out a satisfied groan.

"It wouldn't be, but you'll have to make a new one from scratch." He said, arching a brow as he leaned back in the chair. She rolled her eye, moving to stretch her arms in front of her.

"Again, not hard." She shrugged, finally moving towards the desk he was next to. "Making a door takes less brains than you already have."

"Are you calling me an idiot?"

"I'm not calling you a genius."

She almost laughed as she saw him pause before taking a long drag on the cigar.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you say that." He sighed. She shrugged, leaning over the table and looking over the papers that had been laying on it.

"It's a joke, Heisenberg. I'll admit you're more intelligent than you let on." She said, moving the papers and other objects slightly while looking at them. She then paused as she held them, her eye going over the plans, x-rays, and sketches. "Did you leave out the other Soldat plans?"

"They're in with the cadou notes. I thought you would have seen them." He said simply, reaching for a manila folder on the corner of the table. He put the cigar in his mouth as he opened it and flipped through with a huff. "The new ones haven't been functioning properly, damn things... I'm thinking of rewiring the circuits to the brain.".

"Wouldn't that cause more damage than good?"

"Not if it's done properly." He chewed on the cigar for a moment before flipping over one of the papers. "The worst that could happen is the head exploding from the current. In that case-"

"Lycan food?" She suggested. He nodded in agreement.

"Lycan food. They're mostly useless to me otherwise..."

"As are most things..." she muttered, earning a glance. She looked back at him. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Not necessarily. Others do still have use."

"How?" She asked, turning to face him. "No head means no use."

He shrugged, tossing the folder back onto the table before leaning back in the chair.

"Replace certain muscle tissue and bones with pneumatic or hydraulic systems, whichever proves to be less of a pain in the ass that day, hot wire circuits to the remaining muscle structures, add an engine system into the chest with a strong battery..." he tilted his head slightly, almost as if he were picturing the plans in his head, thinking of more details as he went along. "They would quite literally be mindless, but a few shocks and currents would make them go just fine."

"Sounds a bit like you..." Emelia snorted, turning back to the table to organize the papers as he glared at her. "Shall I pick a few poor sods from the village to test this?"

"Or I could just use you..." he muttered.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Keep making your ass-backwards comments and see what happens." He shot back, finally pushing himself up to stand. "Yes, I'd like you to do that. Fresh bodies work best for the experiments. I'll send out the Lycans as well, given they don't tear them apart."

"That wouldn't matter anyway, Karl. You'll just stitch them back up like you always do."

"I could, couldn't I?" He started, taking a step closer to stand next to her with a sinister smile. "Or I could make YOU do it. You seem to have fun with tearing things apart and putting them back together-"

"I'm NOT sewing your bloody creations together." She interrupted. "I'll kill them and I'll tear them to shreds, or I'll assist with the inner workings of the mechanics. I don't sew."

"You'll learn."

"Like hell I will."

"I'll make you."

"Bullocks."

"Keep talking, Emelia." He dared, his voice lowering in a threatening manor. "I'm not in the mood."

"You were before we got here." She challenged. She only held her breath as he suddenly snuffed out the cigar on the table itself while his eyes seemed to stare directly through her.

"That's what happens when you keep insulting me, Emmy. I start to get angry. You know that."

She felt a chill down her spine at his voice. It was different from any other time she had aggravated him... It was as if she were in actual danger. His face was only inches away from hers, and he smirked once he noticed her hesitation.

"Scared, Emelia?"

She kept her eye on him, watching his movements carefully. No, No she wasn't in danger... Maybe.

"No." She replied, lifting her chin slightly as he arched a brow.

"Oh?"

"What is it you say to me...? I'm 'in a mood'...? Because I believe you're currently in one, yourself." She asked, finally moving forward and brushing past him in a nonchalant manor despite being somewhat stiff in her movements. "Drink some coffee and throw a few things around with that power of yours, you'll be fine."

She felt his eyes on her as she neared a cushioned chair against the wall.

"I'll throw YOU around..." He growled, taking amusement in her body slowing down as he spoke. He walked towards her as she turned to face him. "See how that pretty mouth works after your head goes through a wall."

"You forget I've stopped your hammer with my arm." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest before smirking. "You smashing my head through a wall would be as effective as Sturm trying to hold something with his nubs."

"You don't seem to understand what I can do to you, Emelia."

"And you don't seem to understand the amount of fucks I don't give, Karl."

His arm twitched slightly, and she glanced over as metal pieces on the floor began to shake just slightly. She just hoped he wouldn't direct his power towards her...

"If you would like to play, I'll GLADLY entertain you."

She suddenly got in his face, a mischievous, antagonistic spark in the gold of her eye.

"Entertain me HOW? Throw me to the Lycans? The Varcolacs? Hell, let Urias get ahold of me, see what happens."

He bared his teeth in a snarl, though the corners of his mouth stayed in a malicious grin.

"I'll turn YOU into a goddamn Soldat, you'll be so full of metal you won't be able to FUNCTION without me-"

"I'm more afraid of your SISTER than I am you!"

Her smirk widened as she saw a sudden spark of anger in his face, his smile faltering.

"Don't you dare attempt to bring that bitch into this, I'll put my hammer straight into your skull-"

"TRY ME, THEN-" She started, only to give a yelping gasp in surprise as Heisenberg slammed her against the wall by her throat.

"Shut your damn hole!!!-" He snarled. His grip was tight, but he seemed to stop once he glanced at her open mouth. All of a sudden the air around them changed, and she stared at him with confusion in her one golden eye. "Oh, Emmy, you didn't tell me!" He said with a sudden cheerful tone, moving his hand from her throat to her jaw. He switched so quickly...

"Wh-" she began, only to stop as her jaw was yanked open. She was confused until she saw the reflection of her tongue piercing in his glasses.

Shit.

"Well well, I guess you've got some metal in you after all. I won't have to try as hard..." He chuckled, tilting his head as she stared at her own reflection. "What else are you hiding from me, Emmy?"

Her eye was wide in simultaneous fear and curiosity. She knew she couldn't have hidden the piercings forever, but certainly longer than this. She usually at least took the one out of her mouth when around him given how often they talked for this reason... But even then, he had never noticed it before. Why now?! She kicked herself for forgetting. She wanted to shove him away... Shove him and run. Would he chase her? He was most definitely trying to scare her, she knew that much... But she also wanted to know how far he would actually go if she did nothing. Would he rip them out if he found the others? Use them as control like he mentioned? Or would he leave her alone? Something told her the latter was out of the question as he showed growing interest in her silence.

"N-.... Nothing..." she managed, nudging her jaw out of his grip. "I just-"

"You're a liar, Emelia." He said, his grin growing wider. She gave a huff and shook her head.

"I am not, you ridiculous-"

She was stopped with a startled gasp as a gloved thumb was shoved between her jaws, nearly propping her mouth open.

"Now now, this'll go far easier if you do it my way. Now open up."

He lifted his other hand to his face, taking a finger of the glove between his teeth and sliding it off. The glove fell to the ground between them, and she watched as he reached for her face with his bare hand. She flinched slightly as his fingers pressed against her lower jaw, though admittedly relaxed as his thumb drifted over her bottom lip. The skin was expectantly rough, she found, calloused and covered in smaller scars. She closed her eye as it drifted over her sharp lower teeth before thrusting over her tongue, pushing it back and causing a small gaging reflex. It tasted... metallic... Metallic with hints of other things. Not quite metal, not quite blood... Maybe residual oil? Maybe a hint of the cigars. She couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the mixture wasn't bad... She really didn't mind much. She could almost feel the interested look on his face as she relaxed, though she attempted to hide it. Oh god, was she enjoying this...? She only flinched as he pressed his thumb against the muscle, pushing it out of her mouth somewhat to see the piercing fully.

"Let's see how much you're hiding from me, shall we?" He grinned.

There was a moment of confused silence before she felt his thumb press against the metal rod, her eye snapping open with a gasping yelp as what felt like electric sparks and currents traveled through that piercing, as well as the others.

All the others.

The sparks lasted only a second, but a second was all that was needed as her back arched slightly away from the wall. Heisenberg took a step back in surprise as Emelia suddenly collapsed to her knees, shaking and panting ever so slightly out of shock and... something else. She doubled over with a wide eye, an arm covering her chest and the other pressed against her abdomen and ever tightening thighs. What the hell WAS that...?! What the fuck did he do?!

"W-.... Wh-...." she tried, trying to voice her thoughts. But alas, despite the tingling feeling up her spine disappearing, she couldn't. She couldn't even move as she heard movement directly in front of her, the shock of the feeling only allowing her to look up as he grabbed her chin and lifted her face to meet his. She watched as he kneeled, only to look up and see the most smug grin she had ever seen.

"Liar liar, Emmy... You know how I hate liars." He chimed, adding to the smug aura he held. It pissed her off, but she couldn't do much about it now... She then grew nervous as he tilted his head, taking in her reaction fully as she stared at him with an ever-deepening red blush on her cheeks. "If I was more foolish, I'd say you enjoyed that."

"I-I... D-did NOT...!!" She snapped, stopping with a small squeak as he shoved his thumb back into her mouth to silence her.

He was met with another squealing whine as he pressed against the piercing once more, gleefully sending more currents through the metal pieces in her body. Emelia reached up to shakily grab his arm as the piercing was left alone once more, though the residual shock still remained. She wanted to say something... Say ANYTHING... but the feeling in her face, chest and thighs was so odd and... and good... It kept her silent, and Heisenberg took interest.

"Lycan got your tongue?" He joked, chuckling as she let out a growl. He found it amusing, of course. She only frowned as he tilted his head with the ever present smirk, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light of the room. "You know, Emmy..." he started, yanking her forward by the jaw slightly as she kept her hold on his arm. "I can't help but wonder how it tastes."

She felt another shiver down her spine at the sickeningly curious tone in his voice. Taste... Taste?? She stared at him as he removed his thumb from her mouth, though nearly started to form words immediately in stupid curiosity. The answer came to her quickly, however, in the form of a hand around her neck, a mouth to hers, and being shoved against the wall once more. She made an almost strangled noise as her back hit the concrete, her mind attempting to play catch-up as she felt something being shoved into her mouth. More sparks traveled along the piercings as his tongue slid over hers, and she let out a whining growl in response.

The taste of metal and the slightest bit of sweetness filled her mouth, along with the taste of the cigar they had shared only minutes prior. But... Why did it taste so good? Why wasn't she fighting him? She found herself frozen for a few moments as the realization set in that she... truly enjoyed this. He couldn't have known, could he? There was no WAY he could have known... Oh god, what was wrong with her? She generally wanted to strangle the man, but now...

She allowed the frustration from earlier to bubble in her chest, giving her control of her limbs for a few moments. Heisenberg began to back off, thoroughly satisfied in her reactions and his 'taste test' before she suddenly grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him back against her, giving a quiet grunt as her back was forced against the wall again with his weight. He was brought to his knees at the force of the tug, and it was her turn to feel satisfaction as a startled grunt left this throat.

Emelia returned the forceful kiss with all her strength, her back arching somewhat with the now consistent current from the piercings. Her legs shook slightly as she felt a warm feeling in her thighs from the current, unintentionally letting out quiet whimpers and heavy breaths into the kiss. His hand stayed pressed to her throat before he moved it to the side of her neck and shoved her head upwards with his thumb. He tore himself away to attack her neck immediately, licking along the skin before closing his jaws around it. She gasped as he moved along her neck, leaving bloody bites and bruises while using his free hand to nearly rip at her shirt. The fabric was pulled it from its tucked position, his grip tearing a few holes in the worn fabric as he held it taught away from her skin. She couldn't help it as her heavy breaths turned into pants, and she gripped his arm tighter as she felt the fabric continue to tear from a mixture of his grip and her squirming from the feeling between her legs. She shuddered as he finally pulled away from her now very bruised neck, his lips hovering right against her ear.

"Let me taste all of them, then." He growled, returning his hand to around her neck and squeezing along the bottom of her jaw.

Her squirming paused in his grip. 'Please, oh PLEASE-' she thought, secretly wishing to rip the shirt off, herself. But he couldn't know that... If he did, she knew he'd taunt her mercilessly. Not that he wasn't doing the same now... Instead she shook her head just slightly, trying to even out her breathing.

"W-Wait-" she started quietly, only to gasp once more as he finally tore the front of the shirt clean off from the seams. He tossed the fabric to the side as her back arched to meet the new air her front was exposed to, the newly revealed silver nipple piercings glinting as her body moved.

"Too late." He chuckled deeply, grabbing her by the side and bringing her chest forward as if he were claiming a prize.

He leaned down slightly, his arm wrapping around her as his mouth returned to her skin. He kissed and nipped to her shoulders and collarbone until his lips met the tip of the large scar that rested between her breasts. She swore she could almost see something flicker in his shade-covered eyes as he seemed to study it before nipping at it carefully. The nips were... oddly careful. It was as if he knew what it was... She managed to compose herself enough to speak, one of her hands moving to nudge his shoulder. She couldn't help but give a nervous gulp as he looked up at her, his eyes burning as if her touch had fueled the fire.

"N-... N-Not... um..." she tried, her voice oddly timid. She knew what was happening, though the idea made her nervous... "N-Not... here..."

"Hm?" He tilted his head slightly, loosening his grip on her neck. He then followed her gaze to the small 'bed' in the corner of the room- though it was more like a single mattress over a solid 'frame' with random odd pillows along the wall and multiple covers lumped on top. It was how she liked it.

"Th-There... uh..." she looked away for a moment, heavily aware her burning cheeks. "P-... P-Please..."

She could nearly feel his smile against her skin as he chuckled, though he didn't reply. It was then that she was suddenly picked up with a surprised yelp and tossed over his shoulder, her knees pressing against his sides to balance herself. She managed to hold on long enough before he walked to the 'bed', landing roughly onto it as she was tossed. She nearly scrambled to sit up until she looked up at him, watching him quickly close the space between them, removing his thick jacket and single remaining glove.

"Stay still, Emmy. The show is just getting started." He taunted, unbuttoning the long sleeve shirt he wore before kneeling onto the cushion and looming over her. She couldn't help as her vision traveled down what she could see of his chest, seeing similar scars along his skin.

She opened her mouth to speak, giving a quiet yelp as she was shoved into the sheets by her neck, her legs now situated around his waist. Her back arched as he leaned over, biting at her shoulder and collarbone once more before around one breast and onto the other. She gave a whining gasp as he reached the peak, his tongue swirling around the sensitive skin and the small bar of metal pierced through it, his teeth grazing the it ever so slightly. He used his other hand to trail along the scar on her chest and down to her pierced belly, his rough fingers caressing the skin until they pushed underneath the tied overalls. Her legs twitched as his fingers reached the piercing between them, feeling as it was surrounded by a moist warmth. He smirked.

"I knew it." He said, rubbing against the piercing and bundle of nerves with another jolt of electricity before removing his hand. She couldn't help the whine that left her throat as her hips bucked lightly from the feeling, and he chuckled. "Easy..." he muttered, returning the palm of his hand to her stomach and shoving her down.

He dug his fingers into the skin around the belly piercing as she glanced down, and she made another strangled noise as he sent another wide current through her piercings. Her back arched as he pressed harder to keep her down, though she was startled as he suddenly crushed his mouth against hers once more. The small currents pulsed in a slow rhythm as she returned the kiss, her legs shaking and tightening against his hips. She let out a soft cry against his lips as the pulses increased, her grip on his arm tightening and even pulling him closer as the waves of a small orgasm rushed through her in spasms. The feeling was strengthened with the addition of... something pressed to her thighs underneath their clothing. But the waves... The small spasms that affected the muscles of her back and legs... While it hadn't been something she had felt even when human, and while she knew what it was, all she knew was that it felt good. REALLY good...

She could have sworn up and down she hated the man at any point before this, but as he broke the kiss and pulled away to look at her, she couldn't help but feel... want? Desire? Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want it to stop at the moment, and that's all that mattered to her. She still didn't want to give in so easily... But god damn was this feeling hard to fight off.

"D-... D-Damn you..." she nearly whispered, her voice wavering slightly. She was met with an amused chuckle as he removed his glasses and lightly sent them to the table they had been at before.

"Just what I like to hear..." He taunted, removing his hand from her throat. "Tell me, Emmy... Do you want more? Feel free to say nothing if you do."

She stared at him as he gave another sly grin, opening her mouth as if to protest... But she couldn't. Instead, she remained silent, though gave an irritated, embarrassed huff as she glanced off to the side. Her lip curled into a silent snarl as he gave another chuckle.

"I thought as much." He replied, leaning up. His fingers were dragged along her skin as he moved, trailing along other scars that littered her skin.

She glanced down to follow his hands, watching as they trailed over her hips and around to her front where the knot in the tied mechanic suit she wore. With one quick movement it was untied and loosened, and she jumped as everything was suddenly pulled away and off of her hips, sliding down her thighs. She froze at the new rush of cool air surrounding the warmth between her thighs, and suddenly the entirety of the clothing was removed as he seamlessly pulled it away from her legs. Now she was completely bare in front of him... Exposed.

The desire to cover herself was overwhelming as she met his eyes, seeing the smugness and sense of possession he gave as he took in every visible inch of her skin. Her arms and legs twitched in an attempt to cover any vulnerable areas, but she suddenly found her arms pinned next to her head and his hips against the backs of her thighs to keep them open.

"Don't you dare." He grumbled, a smirk still on his face as he glanced down slightly before looking back up at her face. "I haven't tasted everything yet."

"Wh-..." she tried, her legs twitching again.

She was met with another kiss as he leaned down, though it didn't last long. She let out quiet pants as his lips and teeth moved along her jaw to her neck, leaving more bites and bruises among the ones that already stained the skin. Her arms twitched as he reached her breasts again, hit tongue repeating the same actions as before on both piercings before finally returning to the large scar running down her sternum. He planted light kisses and nips along it, earning her confusion as he continuously moved lower. She watched as he nipped along the skin of her stomach, the corner of her mouth twitching as he seemingly, almost playfully, gently bit the piercing in her belly and glanced up at her. She rolled her eye for a moment before he sent another current through the metals, and she let out a soft whimper. It wasn't until he let go and moved to kiss and bite around her hips and thighs that she realized, her head shooting up with slight panic as she felt his lips against the inside of her thigh.

"H-Hey-"

"Quiet Emmy." He purred, the tone of his voice making her freeze. She watched as he kissed the inside of her thigh once more, her head landing back against the cushion with a shuddering gasp as he bit along the sensitive skin. Her hand flew over her mouth as he moved closer to her core, whimpering as she felt his tongue gliding along the skin.

"K-Karl, wait-" she whimpered through her fingers, only to take in a sharp, gasping breath as she finally felt his tongue against her, moving slowly as if savoring her reactions.

She tried closing her legs, though found it nearly impossible due to his hands forcing them to stay where they were. She could almost feel the bruises form where his fingers pressed against the skin, though that feeling was second in her mind compared to the pleasured sparks up her spine with each movement of his tongue. She couldn't help as her hand left the sheets, finding its way to his head as he played with the small piercing through the bundle of nerves, sending small electric pulses through her body once more. She felt the vibration as he chuckled against her, gripping his hair with small gasps and whimpers as his tongue delved into the warmth. Her back arched slightly with each movement, her thighs shaking from the new sensations. Why did it feel so good...?! She let out a long whine as the electric pulses continued, eventually biting down on her hand as to attempt to prevent any further noises. She could feel the tightness return as his teeth grazed against the piercing, and suddenly her hand was gripping his hair in a fist as she came again, a multitude of muffled whines and mutterings of his name escaping her mouth while her back arched. She barely heard the grunt he gave as he was pressed against her, not even realizing as he was able to pull himself away.

She flinched as Heisenberg reached up to grab her wrist, her body shaking slightly as he managed to nudge her hand away. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out, rising to loom over her once more as he licked his lips. Where the actual FUCK did he learn that?!

"That hurt, Emmy." He purred, keeping his grip on her wrist as she finally looked at him. Her face was red as she panted, her legs trembling as they rested against his hips once more. "Good girl."

He smirked as she stared up at him, his tongue swiping over his teeth before he leaned over and yanked her other wrist from her mouth, pinning both of them to the cushion beside her head. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden movement, her eye widening as it met his. There was a moment of silence as they held a stare down, only ending as he shifted her wrists into one hand and used the other to undo the belt and button of his own pants in one swift motion. It took her a moment to register the movement, keeping eye contact once the full realization of just how far- and how fast- this was about to go hit her. She squirmed slightly in his grip as she glanced down, nearly breaking said grip, only to get caught in yet another rough kiss as she felt something warm press against her thighs. She could taste herself on his tongue, and somehow it made her arousal worse...

She let out a whining groan as she was rubbed against, her back arching once more at the new feeling, only to give a surprised and somewhat pained cry against his lips as she felt him enter her quickly and fully with a grunt. She gasped into the kiss as he returned his hand to her neck, her back arching into his chest and her thighs once again tightening around his waist. More of the pleasurable feeling shot up her spine as he moved a few times, pressing against her roughly as she gave small whimpers and whines. It felt... good... so good. Why did it feel good? Why did all of this just feel GOOD? What the hell was she missing from her old life that didn't include THIS?? She couldn't help the small moan she gave as the kiss was broken, and he shoved his hips against hers. He tightened his fingers around the sides of her neck with a sly smirk as he stayed where he was. Although the glint in his eyes may have looked malicious, his actions proved otherwise as he allowed her a few seconds to relax.

"Am I being too rough with you, Emmy?" He asked, his smirk widening into a grin as she mindlessly shook her head, though it was more like a few twitches.

"N-... No... N-Not rough enough..." she growled with a challenging tone, though her voice was still light. She was met with a dangerous chuckle.

"Good."

Emelia glared up at him with a somewhat clouded eye, her breaths coming in light pants that turned into gasps and moans as his movements continued, growing faster and harder with each passing second. She struggled to keep her voice down despite the feeling of each thrust sending sparks into her chest. The sounds of his low grunts and deep breathing weren't helping, she found, and it made it much more difficult to control her own pleasured noises. She was then aware of a low laugh from him.

"Ah... I didn't think... you could sound like THIS, Emmy...~" He purred, his grip on her neck tightening. She opened her mouth, nearly flinching as she let out more soft moans.

"S-... S-Shut...." she tried, though was unable to finish any thought with her gasps and whines.

Her arms struggled in his grip, shaking with each thrust, only to suddenly be freed as he let go in order to take ahold one of her hips. She mindlessly reached for him almost immediately, gripping the edge of his shirt with one hand and grabbing the necklaces around his neck with the other in order to yank him down. She was rewarded with another rough kiss, her head being jerked up as he kept a hand around her throat. She let go of the necklaces, instead reaching under his shirt, her fingers trailing over his own scars until her nails dug into his back. There was an internal satisfaction as she heard Heisenberg give a surprised grunt, only to give a yelping cry as he suddenly pulled away to replace his hand around her neck with his teeth.

Small sparks of pain made their way through her shoulder as his teeth broke the skin, though they seemed to amplify the feeling as the thrusts became rough and quick. She finally reached her other hand around and under the shirt he wore, her nails dragging down the skin of his back as her moans and whines grew louder.

"F-... FuCK...! K-Karl...!!" She said suddenly, her voice cracking somewhat as she was met with a possessive growl and the slight smell of fresh blood as he let go of her neck. She couldn't help but gasp as she felt his cheek against hers, his beard scratching against her skin as his lips nearly against her ear.

"You're MINE, Emelia..." He growled.

Emelia felt as more pulsing currents were sent through her piercings, and she couldn't help but cry out as the pulses caught her by surprise. Her muscles tensed, her nails tearing at Heisenbergs back as she felt the waves of a strong orgasm, making her body shake and her legs flex around his waist. Her thighs tightened at his hips, halting him enough to keep him where he was as she came, but not long enough to stop him entirely. He let out a low growl as he kept up his movements until he slammed against her hard enough to move her up a few inches. She gave a gasping moan as could feel his muscles shudder and a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach as he filled her, and her back arched against his chest as she nearly hugged him to her for dear life.

There was small silence as their movement ceased, each breathing heavily. Emelia held onto the man over her as if it meant life or death, momentarily forgetting her irritation around him in the first place as there was a sudden feel of lips along her neck in a multitude of small kisses. They were gentle against her bruised skin... The odd tickle of the facial hair made the corner of her mouth twitch as she panted, unintentionally laying her head to the side for him as she very slowly but surely relaxed. Her irritation only slightly returned as she heard a chuckle from her neck, and she glanced down.

"Th' bloody hell is so funny...?" She muttered, unable to keep the lightness from her voice. She watched as he looked up from her neck, a sly smile across his still bloody lips.

"You're adorable, Emmy." He said simply, making her groan and start to push him away.

"Piss off...!!" She growled, only to gasp as he suddenly leaned over her with a chuckle, nearly being pushed into the mattress again as he finally slipped off the button-up shirt.

"Precious little doll, you didn't seem to hear what I said."

'Doll' ...? Emelia stared at him, now also shirtless, taking in the rest of the scars she had never seen. She could feel her face heat up more as he leaned over her, holding himself up with his hands on either side of her shoulders.

"Wha-" she started, only to let out a gasping yelp as he gave a single hard thrust to silence her.

"I told you, Emelia. You're mine. In more ways than one, it seems." He nearly purred, leaning down to press his nose to hers.

Her single eye widened as he grinned, only to be met with a quick, relatively gentle kiss. It took a moment for her to calm down before she returned it, staying where she was and secretly holding herself to that proclamation. She didn't want to admit it... She never would. But somehow, despite how he could be, this made her feel... wanted. It was an odd feeling, and one she knew she would be hesitant on getting used to. But she still hated him... Right?

She gave a soft whine as he pulled away, physically removing himself from her with a shuddering breath. She let out a whimper as she relaxed back against the covers, feeling an odd coldness and even a slight sense of loneliness as his weight left the mattress. She opened her eye with confusion and watched as his pants were fixed before her vision trailed up his back to see the bloody scratches she had left.

"Whoops..." she muttered, earning a chuckle and a glance back.

"I'll let you relax for now, Emmy. I don't wanna break you just yet..." He joked, nodding to the shirt he had left. "Use that for now, we'll get you another shirt later."

She couldn't help but smirk, her face red.

"Done already...?" She asked, her smirk faltering heavily as he glanced back with an odd mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Never said I was, Doll. This is for your sake."

Emelia watched as he began to walk to the jacket he had left, but she felt... sad. Not because he had stopped. Not even because she almost wished they would keep going immediately... No, it was another reason she couldn't quite place with every step away he took. She carefully pushed herself to sit up, wincing at the tenderness that settled between her legs before reaching for her discarded jumpsuit. But she only grabbed the simple boxers she had, managing to slip them on with minimal issue. She saw him slow his movements as she managed to stand, her knees just the slightest bit weak. Holding on to a support beam on the wall, she shakily made her way over to him as he glanced at her with an odd curiosity. She didn't care if she was entirely naked save for underwear, simply covering her chest with her arm as she reached for him. She stumbled into his back, feeling his muscles tense as her arms slowly wrapped around his torso, her fingers lightly drifting along the hair and scars on his chest.

"Don't you dare leave me like this, Heisenberg..." she muttered, pressing the scarred half of her face against his back. She knew he could feel her trembling as her legs threatened to collapse on her.

There was a moment of silence before she heard and felt him chuckle.

"You really are an odd one, Emmy..." He chuckled, turning his head to glance at her over his shoulder before giving a dramatic sigh. "Have it your way, then."

Emelia jumped as he suddenly turned in her arms, her cheeks going red as his face was suddenly mere inches away from hers. What was she DOING? Why she acting this way? She didn't know... But she was pleasantly stunned as she felt his hand raise and nudge her chin gently. However, instead of it going around her neck again as she expected, he simply caressed her cheek, avoiding the scars around her missing eye; Even he knew she hated them being touched, and now didn't seem like the best time to annoy her. In fact, he almost enjoyed her more when she was calm like this... She couldn't help but feel relaxed as the rough pad of his thumb brushed over her skin. Relaxed enough to settle her cheek into his hand fully, ever so slightly trying to remind herself that this wasn't who he was all the time. This was temporary... But she could do temporary.

"... Don't tell anyone..." She muttered suddenly, keeping her hold on him as he leaned back against the shelving next to them to stay comfy. He chuckled once more.

"Who do I have to tell, Emmy?" He chimed. She stared at him for a moment before shrugging, laying her head against his chest.

It was a moment of domesticity that she vaguely remembered wanting as human... Something about someone being close physically always seemed tantalizing, yet there was no way to achieve it here... Or so she thought. If she could just have more time like this... Though she knew it wasn't meant to last, especially not with him... But for now, she appreciated it. It wasn't until her senses focused on the machinery noises outside of the room that she gave a sigh, reluctantly pulling away from him.

"I should get back to work, then..." she mumbled, taking a few steps away, her fingers dragging along his chest before she turned, not seeing Heisenbergs face as he watched her walk away and run a hand through her hair to push it out of her face.

She made her way over back to the bed-like cushion, absent-mindedly picking the button-up shirt he had been wearing and slipping it on, herself. She'd take it since he offered, and because she didn't necessarily feel like hunting down new clothing. It was only slightly loose over her frame, being only slightly smaller than him in stature, and she felt his eyes burrow into her back as she buttoned it up. Quiet footsteps approached her from behind, causing her to jump with a small gasp as arms surrounded her while the shirt was only halfway buttoned. Heisenberg pulled her back against his chest, one hand on her hip and the other around the front of her waist.

"What are you-" she started, only to stop as the arm around her waist raised to nudge the collar of the shirt off her shoulder, placing gentle bites and kisses along the skin as soon as it was shown. Small shivers went up her spine with the movements, and she let out a wavering breath in attempts to not laugh from the tickling of his beard. "K-Karl, stop-"

"I never told you to get back to work..." He said simply, his now semi-serious tone interrupting he train of thought and causing any hint of laughter to disappear. He trailed kisses and bites to her jaw and her ear once more. "Indulge me then, Emmy, and I'll let you go. Let me have my fill."

Her face fell slightly. His fill... Did he mean...?

"W-What, be your toy until you're done?" She huffed, turning her head slightly to face him. Though he was on her blind side, she could almost feel the grin.

"Well, when you put it that way..." he started, letting his hands wander. One trailed under the shirt slightly, his fingers drifting below her belly, while the other found and gave a gentle squeeze to a now exposed breast from the shirt being moved before resting over the large scar. "Yes. But don't worry. I take care of my toys... I said I wouldn't break you so soon. And besides..." he pressed another gentle kiss behind her ear, "You seem like you want more. Am I wrong?"

Emelia took a shaky breath as she felt the odd sensations once more, reaching to hold onto his forearms as his hands moved. Well, of COURSE he was right... She knew there wasn't much else she would have to do around the factory today anyway. She worked constantly, and the factory ran relatively smoothly without her. She even came here for a break, anyway... And, despite her feelings about him, what the man had just shown her was... Well, her legs still held a slight wobble. To say she wanted more was an understatement. And so, she have a small huff and looked forward, tilting her head to allow him at her neck.

"... Go ahead..." she muttered, her voice an embarrassed tone. She felt his grin against her neck taking a breath as he gave a small, rough bite.

"You won't regret it, Emmy."

She gave a small, joking snort.

"I'll believe you if you can prove it, Karl..."

"Oh, even after what I've just shown you?" He played, his lips pressing to her neck once more. She said nothing, only somewhat easing against his chest with a huff. She rolled her eye as he chuckled, though her breath caught in her chest as his hand left the scar, letting his fingers trail up and along her throat. "I didn't think I would have to prove anything."

"You never do..." she muttered suddenly, only to close her mouth as she felt him freeze behind her. Where the hell did that come from...??

"Oh?"

She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat.

"Th-That, ah..." she started, only stopping as he grabbed her throat and pulled her to him roughly.

"What?" He growled, ever so slightly moving them forward. She took shaky steps, following his direction.

"N-Not... what I... mean..." she finally managed, glancing down with a quick breath as she felt the edge of the work table against the front of her thighs.

"Hm. What did you mean then, Emmy?"

"I..." she tried, though was unable to find her voice. What was this rush of excitement...?? The tone of his voice sent chills down her spine as he nibbled at her shoulder while awaiting a response. She then decided to just speak. What could go wrong?

"I-I mean...." she managed, gaining a smirk and holding onto his arm. She could feel as he tilted his head in curiosity. "You haven't quite done so thus far, how am I to believe you could...?" she continued, feeling his grip tighten. Good. She pulled away from him slightly to aggravate him. "You always need to prove yourself Karl, you won't get far without it-"

She was stopped with a surprised grunt as she was suddenly shoved down against the table, giving a surprised grunt of pain as her chin hitting it with a light *thunk* . He kept his hand between her shoulders, using his weight to keep her down as she moved to rub her jaw. Her hand was then suddenly yanked away as he twisted her arm behind her back, earning an uncomfortable grunt.

"Bloody hell- H-hey-!"

"I don't give proof, huh?" He growled suddenly, leaning down over her to talk into her ear. "I assure you, Emelia, I have all the proof you need."

She opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it with a surprised noise as he suddenly bit down on her neck and yanked her towards him. The backs of her thighs hit his hips, and she let out a small, surprised whimper. He slipped his fingers under the waistline of her underwear with his free hand, taunting her by slowly dragging them down. There was a sudden spark at her piercings once more while her lower half squirmed, and she couldn't help but give a small, moaning whine as she felt the sparks increase. Waves of pleasure traveled up her spine, causing her back to arch into the table somewhat and nearly bite her bottom lip until it bled. Small goosebumps covered her skin as she felt her underwear finally fall to her ankles. It wasn't until she felt him adjust himself behind her that she attempted to look to the side, only to be met with a growl and his teeth digging into the skin more.

She could smell the blood as it began to seep from between her skin and his teeth... It made her head swim as she finally felt him rub against her roughly, the small sparks of pain from his teeth adding to the odd pleasure she was feeling. He removed his teeth from her neck for a moment to speak into her ear, sending more shivers down her spine.

"I've got your 'proof' right here." He purred, his smirk nearly audible. He shoved her down again once more. "HERE!!"

He gave a rough thrust forward as he spoke, filling her quickly once again and earning a yelping moan; but this time, he didn't stop. A mixture of pain and pleasure racked her body as he kept up the rough thrusts, simultaneously twisting her arm more behind her back to hold her there. She couldn't stop the now loud moans and whines she gave as she panted, nearly digging her nails into the metal table supporting her. She could feel the pulses of her muscles threatening to tighten and mutate as she was slammed into nearly mercilessly, her fingers creating small dents in the material as she forced her mutation back once she felt a familiar flutter in her chest. He seemed to notice, letting out a low chuckle through his own grunts and growls.

It wasn't long before she felt the sudden waves of an orgasm, making her give a loud cry as she shifted under him, pressing back against him for a moment. She reached forward quickly and gripped the edge of the table, easily denting and nearly crushing it in her grip with light cries as he continued his thrusts through the tightening spasms. Her body shook while he didn't slow down. Instead, he increased his movements, and she almost felt tears come to her eye with the overwhelming sensation.

Her other arm was suddenly freed as he moved to grip both of her hips, leaning down to bite at her shoulder once more with low grunts and growls. He kept going... Oh god, he kept going. She couldn't speak, the only noises leaving her throat being whines and cries. She couldn't help but lean into his jaw, almost begging him for more despite the overstimulation. Her neck was bitten multiple times as if she were being marked, each bite breaking the skin with ease. Beads of blood slowly dripped from the wounds and over her skin every time he let go, only to feel his teeth elsewhere. She felt tightness below her belly once more as she let out a wavering cry of his name, only to be met with slower thrusts and a growl at her ear.

"What do you want, Emelia?" He growled, his voice low and strained. She couldn't help but squirm and push back against him with whining whimpers as he slowed more, quickly becoming frustrated and seemingly desperate. No... No, why was he stopping... Why was he slowing down?!

"N-.. N-No...!! D-Don't- fuck- D-Don't slow-...!!" She managed, earning a dangerous chuckle.

"Tell me Emelia, or I swear to God I'll stop right NOW." He played. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. She knew this was amusing to him... It was payback for her insults. Her body shook out of desperation and anger as the thrusts slowed considerably, and she put her forehead against the table with a growling whine. He held her hips in place against the table to prevent her from moving against him. She couldn't take it anymore... She wouldn't even try to fight it. It was as if she were being denied a prize, and she hated it already.

"F-Fuck- I-" she started, barely able to get words out, "Y-YOU Heisenberg, you bloody idiot!!! I want YOU!!!" She finally yelled, her voice cracking somewhat. "J-Just... D-Don't... Don't FUCKING stop!!! Fuck- PLEASE!!"

She could almost feel the pride-filled smirk he gave in knowing he had won, but she didn’t care... Her little outburst gave her slight confidence as he chuckled, his last breath coming as a low growl.. She jumped as she suddenly felt an arm around her waist, roughly pulling her back towards him as his other hand reached to pin and hold hers as if keeping her in place. A wavering whine left her lips as he gave a possessive growl, looming over her with obvious intent.

"Good girl." He grumbled, only giving her a chance to inhale before returning to the powerful, near brutal thrusts from before, pulling her to him with each movement.

She didn't even attempt to hide her voice again, her cries and moans growing louder with each passing second. She almost didn't want the feeling to end, allowing herself to melt into him as her back arched into his chest.

"D-Don't... D-Don't stop... F-FUCK- Don't stop...!!!" She repeated, her voice wavering with uneven pants and gasps.

"You. Are. MINE." He suddenly growled in her ear, not letting her respond before biting into her shoulder once more.

More electric pulses were sent through her piercings, nearly making her scream while gripping the hand over hers. The orgasm she felt then was strong, traveling through her body in waves and overstimulation as the pulses continued. The feeling was amplified as he kept moving for a few seconds, finally pressing her roughly against the table with a loud, wavering growl and swear as he came as well. She let out another gasping moan as she felt him twitch inside of her, shuddering with the light warmth she felt at the pit of her stomach.

The room was filled with the sound of their panting and deep breaths as their rode their highs, and Emelia finally relaxed against the table with a shaky, satisfied sigh while still panting. She felt... good. Great, actually... Very sore now, as well as numb, but good nonetheless. It was as if any frustration she felt had melted away with the thin layer of sweat on her body. She gave a quiet whimper as she felt Heisenberg shift somewhat. He removed his jaws from her shoulder, nudging her head and pressing his cheek against hers as his grip on her loosened to allow her to relax more.

"Are you alright, Emmy?" He asked quietly, his voice low and catching her off guard enough to flinch. She only made a small, confused noise as she glanced over. He chuckled, catching a glimpse of the residual pleasured tears that stained her cheek. He reached over, dragging his thumb over her skin to wipe them away. "Is that a yes?"

She kept her eye on him for a moment before giving a small nod and setting her head back on the table. She attempted to shift, but found her body was... unable to move. The numbness had begun to turn into the feeling of being a puddle, she found. Her muscles shook as she tried to push herself up, and she almost collapsed under him. He nearly laughed while kept his grip on her waist, keeping her upright while he watched in interest.

"Would you like some help?"

"N... N-No, I..." she tried, her voice quiet. There was silence for a moment before she gave a shaky sigh, putting her head down once more in defeat. "... y-yes..."

"I thought so." He chuckled, finally pulling himself away with a quiet grunt. She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Alright. Keep steady, now."

Emelia glanced back as he partially adjusted himself, not bothering to fully fix his pants before he let go of her waist. A small panic entered her chest as her legs began to collapse under her, barely able to use the table to keep herself up before she felt him at her side. Her body shook as she tried to lean up once more, reaching to hold on to Heisenbergs arm as he draped it across her shoulders. He didn't even flinch as she leaned her full weight on him, and he chuckled.

"Come on, then." He said, suddenly leaning down once she was fully off the table. She let out a surprised yelp as he swept his other arm behind her knees, bringing her up into a cradling position against his chest as she held onto him tightly. She tightened her grip more as he started to walk, her face red. "Something wrong?" He asked, amusement thick in his voice. She watched his movements, only somewhat relaxing as they neared the bed.

"N-No..." she replied quietly, slowly easing herself in a sitting position the tattered covers as he set her down, wincing again at the soreness she felt. While the fabrics weren't always the best for relaxing, right now they were comforting, and a godsend for her shaking muscles. She then jumped as he sat down himself before he laid beside her with a huff. She stared at him for a moment as he held his arm out for her. What was he doing...?

"Well?" He asked expectantly, raising a brow as she looked confused.

"... what?"

He rolled his eyes.

"You're wearing my shirt Emmy, the least you could do is lay down."

"What-" she started, only to look down. "O-Oh... um..." She had admittedly forgotten what she had been wearing, and sheepishly pulled the shirt over her now throbbing shoulders and neck. She then adjusted herself on the mattress with a quiet grunt. "Ok..."

"NOW you're embarrassed??" He asked, nudging her arm slightly. "Should I describe, in detail, what I just did to you?"

She glared at him and gave a small huff as she managed to lay down.

"Shut up..." she mumbled, somewhat begrudgingly cuddling onto his chest as he smirked.

"It was an honest question."

Emelia only grumbled in response, though relaxed as she felt his arm go around her. She adjusted her head on his chest, pausing as she felt a heartbeat. It was slow and rhythmic, lulling her into a relaxed breathing pattern. He glanced at her as her arm wrapped over his chest as well, though he froze as she mindlessly began to trace over some of the smaller scars over his skin. She watched her own fingers move, an amused smile creeping on her face as she felt him tense and relax at her touch. She tilted her head slightly as she heard a light grumbling from his chest, her fingers pausing. He shifted under her, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

"What...?" She asked, resuming the movements. She watched as his eyes traveled between her and her fingers multiple times, his breathing easy with small grumbles in each inhale.

"Nothing." He replied simply, only to lift his chin slightly in confusion as she moved her hand to the scar across his neck. She felt his breath hitch as she traced it, and he looked at her again. "What are you doing, Emmy?"

"Nothing." She copied, almost laughing as he rolled his eyes.

"Don't get soft on me now Emelia, just earlier you were threatening me." He snorted.

"I still can if you would rather that."

"Hm. No, I'd rather fuck you again."

She went silent for a moment, her face heating up once more with embarrassment. "You said you wouldn't break me." She huffed.

Heisenberg gave a chuckle before turning to face her, gaining a smirk when she looked at him in surprise.

"I won't. I can't, actually." He said matter-of-factly, suddenly pushing her shoulder to have her lay on her back. She jumped, staring up at him in a stunned silence. "That doesn't mean I can't try. I haven't had that much fun in years, and I know you're durable. So am I."

"I-I can tell..." Emelia managed, clearing her throat slightly. Well, she knew he had a point... Despite being sore, she still felt oddly energized... Sure, the light exhaustion was there, but she knew she would have gone back to work immediately if she were physically able to. And she had to admit... She enjoyed this. It felt... normal. Almost.

She kept her eye on him for a moment before taking a breath. Was she really debating on this? The reality of the current situation hit her full force like Sturm on a rampage. She was silent for another moment before gulping slightly.

"What... What is... 'this' , exactly...?" she asked, her voice quiet. Karl drew back slightly, caught off guard by the question.

"Excuse me...??"

"I... You... You piss me off, Heisenberg..." she started, her arms resting at the sides of her head. Each movement of her shoulders resulted in a dull pain from his teeth, and his mouth twitched as he realized. She paused as she saw the smallest... tiniest twinge of regret in his eyes. But she shook her head, looking down at herself.

"I don't... I've been here for... only a short time compared to you, Karl... And now I... We do... THIS..." she continued, looking back up at him as he held his place over her. "What are we doing...?"

It was his turn to stay silent, obviously contemplating his answer. She had seen the same look on his face when discussing important factory matters... It almost made her feel better.

"What do you want from it?" He asked finally, tilting his head with a light shrug. She blinked.

"... What?"

He rolled his eyes, giving a small smirk.

"Ah, who's asking the hard questions now?" He played, chuckling as she glared at him. "I don't quite care what this leads to, I know what my goals are." He explained. "What are yours? What do YOU want out of it?"

"I..." she started, looking to the side. "... I don't know."

"Then don't worry about it!"

"But I-"

"Look, Emelia. If you can't figure it out, then focus on something else. Is it really worth wasting the energy if you don't know right away?" He asked.

She was silent. He... He was right.

"That... That's the most intelligent thing I've ever heard you say."

She nearly laughed at his insulted expression.

"Hey-"

"I'm joking, Metalhead..." She sighed with a small smile. There was silence for a moment before she finally gave a huff. "Just... For now just..."

"Come on, we don't have all day." Heisenberg joked, smirking as she glared at him.

"... Shut up you daft idiot." She growled finally, reaching to yank him down by his necklaces.

The movement startled him, but he seemed to know exactly what to do as his lips met hers with a light chuckle. The kiss was... gentle, oddly enough, but she relaxed once more under him. Light shivers traveled up her spine as she felt his fingers travel along her skin. The shirt was fully unbuttoned once again and nudged to her sides, and she took a deep breath as she felt the air on her chest. She only whined as her legs were moved, making him pause. There was a soreness between them from his roughness beforehand, sending small waves of a low, pulsing pain through her body. He gave a questioning hum against her lips, and she spoke against his.

"Sore..." she admitted quietly, feeling his amused smile.

"Good." He replied simply, adjusting himself and his pants to rest between her thighs. Emelia let out a quiet whimper as she was rubbed against, her legs shaking against his hips and her arms reaching out to his onto and wrap around his shoulders.

The dull throbbing sensation continued as he pushed into her once more, earning a somewhat pained whine as her back arched. It hurt... But the feeling lessened to a light sting after a few seconds, and she took lighter breaths. She couldn't help but wonder as he stayed still, his words and question playing in her mind as he returned to his position of leaning on his forearms over her. What DID she want from this...? Did she truly wish for any sort of stability from this? Or just survival? Maybe this was the first and last time she'd experience this, or maybe it would be regular. Did she WANT it to be regular, though? She didn't know... All she knew was that his touch swung wildly between rough and gentle every time he touched her, even before this. He always switched between harsher interactions and kind ones, making her angry and thankful at the same time. And yet, when he touched her NOW... Even while over the table, it was almost careful, hesitant to push her too far even while leaving bruises in her skin. Somehow, while sharing this intimacy, he was a perfect mix of the two. And somehow, it calmed her and even gave a small hope in the back of her mind.

Her thoughts stopped, letting out a breathy moan into the kiss as he started moving, this time at a slow pace. This time she kept her arms around him, hugging him close enough for their bare chests to press against each other. Her breaths and moans came from a different sort of pleasure, almost willing to believe that sharing this with him would allow some sort of normalcy. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he set a careful, hard rhythm, one of his arms moving down to press his hand against her stomach.

A single second passed before Heisenberg sent a low pulse of electricity through her body and piercings, causing her back to arch as she pulled away from the kiss with a gasping whine. She felt as he lowered his head with a low groan, starting to kiss and nibble along her jaw. Her nails dug into his back as his movements increased somewhat, creating more scratches to match the ones he already had. Her voice came out in quiet whines and moans into his ear as she clung to him. Sure this was making the soreness worse, but she almost couldn't tell between the low pulses and thrusts coming from the man. Her body shook while simultaneously encouraging more. She WANTED more... She already admitted as much to herself. Another whine escaped her lips as he nibbled just below her ear.

"Fuck, Emmy...~" he nearly purred into her ear, lifting her hips slightly and switching to smaller quick thrusts.

"K-... K-Karl-! F-FUCK-" she managed, her voice breaking somewhat as she allowed her legs to loosen at his sides to bring him closer. She whimpered as he suddenly leaned up, her nails digging and sliding down to his biceps before gripping them as she felt a familiar tightness below her belly; he could feel it, too.

Emelia suddenly held her breath in a surprised, wavering gasp as he slid his hand up her body from the belly piercing, his fingers dragging along the large scar on her chest before lingering and pressing against the sides of her neck. Her whines and moans continued, even as his hand moved higher to her jaw. She then jumped as his thumb pushed past her parted lips, resting on her tongue. She attempted to look up at him, but found it difficult to even keep her eye open... Heisenberg gave a low chuckle at the sight, pushing on her jaw slightly. He didn't even have to say a word as her mouth nearly closed around his thumb. Her whines and whimpers grew louder and her grip on him tightened, and she could only gasp as he pulled his thumb from her mouth and replaced it with his own.

The kiss was returned instantaneously, followed by her wavering, now muffled cry as she finally came once more. He grunted into the kiss as she tightened around him, her legs wrapping around his waist once more while her back arched. She wrapped her arms fully around his shoulders with overstimulated whines as his pace quickened before he finally let out his own wavering moan against her lips. She joined him with her own moan as he shoved his hips against hers, feeling the warmth enter her as he rode out his own orgasm with shaking muscles. God, it felt... It felt good... The warmth and twitching from him kept her whines going as they panted, her body shaking under him.

Both were silent for several moments, the kiss lessening to gentle movements before breaking.

"D-... D-Damn..." Emelia nearly squeaked, her head rolling to the side as her jaw was nuzzled.

"Hm. Are you alright?" Heisenberg asked, earning a small nod.

"... gonna be sore..." she replied quietly, relaxing somewhat as he kept his face against hers. He chuckled.

"You wanted it."

"Shush..." she huffed. Her breathing eased, feeling his smile against her skin. This was... Nice, she had to admit... An uncomfortable whine left her lips as he began to push himself up and away, only pausing as her legs twitched around him to keep him there. "N-No... stay..." she whined, watching as he raised a brow. "... P-Please..."

"I've never heard you say 'please' this much." He joked, earning a light glare. But he simply returned to his place over her with an amused chuckle, nearly laying on her.

She was relaxed despite nearly his entire weight on her torso, though she had no issues. He was really warm... She could almost purr with the warmth both on top of and inside her, the feeling relaxing her to the point of her limbs going lax around him. She felt him chuckle against her skin, taking a breath as his lips found her bruised neck. But her mind wandered elsewhere, and she found herself pressing her cheek to his.

"Can we... Not talk about this...?" She asked quietly, earning a confused hum as he glanced at her.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"J-Just... Um..." she tried, turning her head to look at him. "M-Maybe this could be... just... stress relief...?"

She jumped as Heisenberg shifted, his face now hovering over hers with their noses together.

"Just stress relief?" He asked, amusement dancing in his eyes as her face reddened. "Is that what you want?"

She simply nodded, her fingers traveling over small scars that covered his upper back and shoulders. 'For now...' she thought. Wait, 'for now'...?? Did she really mean that...? She was pulled out of her thoughts as he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Then so be it." Heisenberg said simply, meeting her gaze. She stared up at him before nodding and taking a breath. But he moved before she had a chance to even think, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Hold on."

"What-" she tried, only to cling to him with a surprised yelp as he pushed against the mattress to lean up with her against his chest. She let out a light whine as she was shifted on him, small sparks shooting up her spine as she was settled against his hips while he sat and leaned back against the wall. He couldn't help but smirk as she let out a whimper, her legs twitching. "Better?"

"I..." she tried, though couldn't manage words as she felt him shift against her to make himself comfortable. So she simply nodded before leaning against his chest.

It was his turn to freeze as she nuzzled to his neck, giving a pleased sigh as his arms hesitantly went around her waist. She relaxed against him, enjoying the warmth he gave and the feeling of his arms around her.

"... You're warm..." she said quietly, earning a surprised chuckle.

"I would almost hope so." He replied, reaching up and under the shirt she still wore to drag his fingers along small scars on her back. He smiled as she relaxed. "I'm going to assume you're not moving any time soon?"

He nearly laughed as she nodded against his shoulder.

"Fair assumption..." she mumbled, closing her eye.

While she wasn't necessarily tired, there was a sliver of exhaustion in her chest. She had to admit, there was still pain from the bite marks that now covered her neck and shoulders, and the soreness of her legs came as a dull throbbing. But she oddly didn't mind... She held her breath as she realized her enjoyment of this. The touches, the intimacy... Even the dull pains she felt. Maybe she didn't even mind HIM...

No, no... She DID mind him. Did she...? She still found him infuriating... But the way he held her now was... Well, it made her question quite a bit.

She finally sighed, relaxing fully against him. She focused on his touches against her back instead of the thoughts in her mind, willfully ignoring them for once. She'd enjoy what she had for now... Her attention went to the sounds of his heart and distant machinery, letting them lull her into a light sleep. She didn't NEED she sleep at the moment, but to her, it was almost perfect.

She only hoped it would stay that way.

#oc #resident evil #resident evil oc #resident evil village #resident evil village fanfiction #resident evil village oc #re8oc #re8 #heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg smut #lord heisenberg #smut #lovelywingsocs #LovelyWings Writes #Metalworks Fanfiction #heisenberg fanfiction

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sithsecrets · 4 years ago

Text

five intimate moments | din djarin x reader

A chronicle of five moments that shaped the Mandalorian’s relationship with his one and only crew member.

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3.5 k words

Mentions: illness, hallucinations induced by a high fever, minor injury to the reader character, NO SMUT!

(This is my first attempt at a Mando fic so please have mercy!!!)

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When the Mandalorian says he wants to hire you as his first and only crew member, you’re taken aback to say the least. Your first impulse is to laugh and tell him that his joke is very funny, because what else could an offer like that be from a man like him? He’s entirely self-sufficient from the look of things, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the credits to buy services from others when he needs them. But one long look into the darkness of that visor tells you at once that what Mando’s said is no jest, tells you that he’s serious.

He tells you that he’ll cut you in ten percent if you help him out a little bit. It’s standard stuff, really, just ship repairs, navigation, and taking care of the baby. You’ve learned a lot under Peli over the last several years, you’ve definitely sat in the pilot’s chair a time or two, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a soft spot for Mando’s weird little baby— so why not? Working for him would get you off this planet, and it would be a change of pace for sure.

Doubt sets in the night before you’re set to go off with the Mandalorian, though Peli waves your feelings off pretty readily.

“You’re being stupid,” she tells you bluntly. “He’s a Mandalorian. Just do as you’re told, help him with the kid, and let him keep to himself if he wants to. Everything’ll be fine.”

Peli’s words are of some comfort, though anxiety is still fluttering in your gut the next morning. You say your goodbyes to your mentor and the droids, and then you’re flying off in the Razor Crest on the way to somewhere.

The first day is strange as you try to pick your way around your new home, and you spend much of your time feeling as though you’re snooping around in someone else’s space. The Mandalorian is just as quiet as you thought he’d be, clanging around in his armor doing this and that while you try to make yourself busy. You run out of tasks quickly, however, and it makes you skin itch to sit idle like this.

You watch for nearly an hour as Mando fiddles with the mechanics in one of his arm guards, cursing under his breath through the modulator as he picks at this and that. You think you know what the problem is, but you’re not sure you’re brave enough to tell him that. Finally, though, you can’t let him struggle anymore.

“Let me see,” you declare, cringing as you realize your tone was more commanding than you’d meant for it to be. But Mando says nothing to this, letting you take hold of his arm without uttering so much as a sound. Just as you thought, there’s an issue farther up the guard, one he’d overlooked. A little soldering here, a change of wires there, and then the thing’s good as new again.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, and you can feel his eyes on you through the visor.

“It’s what you hired me for.” You laugh nervously then, suddenly shy under the attention. “Gotta show you I’m not completely useless somehow, right?”

The Mandalorian stands, headed for the ladder on the other side of the room.

“Don’t call yourself useless.”

This is said without so much as a glance over his shoulder, and you find yourself rushing to explain for no apparent reason.

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.” The Mandalorian pauses with one foot on the first rung, finally turning to look at you now. “You’re not useless.”

The Razor Crest’s interior, in the grand tradition of spaces owned and maintained by single men, is in desperate need of a tune-up. There’s a bit of clutter here and there, and the walls and surfaces and well, everything else could do with a good scrubbing. It’s a big project to say the least, but you think you can tackle it given enough time and supplies.

The perfect window for such an undertaking opens up just a few days after the idea strikes you. Mando’s got another assignment, and it’s brought you to a relatively safe planet nearer to the Outer Core. He’ll be gone a few days, or so he says, and you know already that the market in town will be the perfect place to get what you need.

You set about your task the same day the Mandalorian leaves to set about his, the baby secured to your chest in a makeshift sling. It’s a good thing you brought him, too, because his charm helps you score several bargains along the way.

Organizing everything takes almost a whole day by itself, but after that, the cleaning is easy. You scrub and dust and mop until everything sparkles, and then it’s time to do laundry and see if you can make some functioning garments out of the scraps you find in Mando’s small closet. The clothes he wears aren’t rags by any means, but a little patching here and mending there gives him two more shirts and another pair of pants to work with.

It takes two more days for Mando to come home after you’re done, and he notes the changes immediately. He stops dead in the little hall between the main hull and the place where he keeps his carbonite-contained quarries, looking to the left and then to the right very slowly. You can’t tell if he likes what you’ve done at first, his expression obscured by that damn helmet like it always is.

“I didn’t touch your weapons,” you declare, holding up your hands as if to ward off whatever anger Mando’s about to level at you. But he doesn’t get upset, doesn’t cuss or ask you what the hell your were thinking, so you think it’s safe to go on.

“I scrubbed the whole interior, organized some of the stuff you had laying around, and made myself a better place to sleep.”

You gesture to the pallet you’ve made for yourself on the floor, proud of how you’ve managed to tuck it out of the way. That was the problem with your old spot— Mando had to step around you a lot, and it was becoming impractical. This new space comfortable, too, plush thanks to some cushions and blankets you managed to score in the market. You even have pillows now, but this is something you delight in privately.

The Mandalorian stands silently before you, and you prattle on, showing him this and that.

“I got the baby a couple of outfits to wear, one for colder weather and one for warmer weather. I mended some of your old clothes and washed everything that was here, so that’s done.” You shut the door to the little wardrobe and go to Mando’s bunk, pushing the button so he can see inside. “The woman that sells upholstered goods in the market really liked the Child, so she gave me a great deal. I managed to get you a decent mattress, or something close to it, and a couple of new pillows. She fixed up your old quilt for me too, so I hope it’s warmer now…”

You trail off, words escaping you under the intensity of Mando’s gaze. He’s staring you down properly now, the visor trained right on your face.

“Why did you do all of this?” he asks, gesturing to his bunk, the wardrobe. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps you should have asked before you messed with his things, his sleeping space, and a wave of something not unlike embarrassment sweeps over you.

“I— Mando, I’m sorry, I should have—”

But the Mandalorian still isn’t cross, cutting you off before you can finish apologizing. “Don’t apologize for anything. This is… This is…” He stares at his bed for a long moment, searching for his words. “Thank you.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flutter, though you can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

The cough is innocuous enough when it starts, just a tickle in the back of your throat that comes on one afternoon. You brush it off as allergies, even telling Mando you’re fine when he asks about it that night.

Two days later, you’re bedridden.

Mando insists you’re absolutely burning up even as you shiver and shake beneath a virtual mountain of blankets, so cold that you think you’ll never be warm again. He forces you to sip on broth and water, though it all settles like sludge in your stomach. It must be bad, whatever you have— you must look bad— because the Mandalorian’s façade is slipping. He’s having full-blown conversations with the baby now, asking the little green infant if he thinks it’s a good idea to cut this hunt short, if he thinks you can be left alone for even just a few hours while he collects the last quarry. And though your body is aching, though you can practically feel the fever cooking your brain at this point, you tell him to finish the job. He made an agreement, and you know it’ll kill Mando not to honor it— you’ll be fine by yourself.

The two of you touch down on some planet in the Outer Rim, and then Mando’s practically running out of the ship. He promises to be back within the day, the sincerity in his voice managing to pierce the haze clouding your mind, and the ache in your bones makes you hope he means it.

Sometime later, you begin to hear a voice coming from the ‘fresher, one that taunts and teases you. It speaks nonsense on and off, but the clearer messages are frightening nonetheless. The voice says that Mando’s not coming back, that he’s left you here forever. Why else would he have taken the baby, hm? He doesn’t care for you, he’s not going to help you.

“Yes, he is,” you retort weakly, becoming more and more upset with each passing hour as this faceless thing continues to fill your head with words and threats. Somewhere in the very back of your fever-addled brain, you know that none of this is real, that all of this is a fever dream. But still, you weep and twist in your bed, scared that the Mandalorian really has abandoned you.

True to his word, though, Mando’s back in record time. You cry out for him the minute you hear footsteps inside the ship, and even the quarry grows quiet at the sound of your voice. Things are hazy after that, but you know that Mando comes to you after just a few minutes, promising over and over again that you’ll be better soon.

You and the Mandalorian and the baby fly somewhere together, this much you know, and Mando comes to sit on the floor with you once the Crest is in hyperspace.

“We’ll be there soon,” he tells you, voice tense and nervous through the modulator. He shushes you when you become upset all over again, emotions stirred by more taunting from the voice in the ‘fresher.

“Make it stop,” you cry, so very weak, “please make it stop. It’s so mean, Mando.”

“Hey, hey,” the Mandalorian cuts, pressing a gloved hand to your forehead. “Nothing can hurt you while I’m here, I won’t let it. I’ll stay right here until we get you to a doctor, I promise.”

And that’s enough to calm you for a few hours, it’s enough to help you fall asleep. You only wake again when you feel arms around your body, when the plushness of your mattress is no longer underneath you.

“Come on,” Mando says, talking to himself as much as he’s talking to you. “The medic will fix this. He’ll fix this, and everything will be fine.”

The medic the Mandalorian takes you to does fix this, but things are touch and go for a few hours there. Your fever breaks in just a couple of hours, thank the Maker, but you’re still very weak from being so sick for so long. You spend two days confined to a medbay bed before you’re deemed well enough to be discharged, and even then, it takes about a week before you’re truly feeling like yourself again.

It’s not until much later that you realize Mando never left your bedside once, and not for the first time do you find yourself wondering what something like that means coming from a man like him.

Mando’s been gone nearly two weeks, and the baby’s beginning to lose it just the slightest bit. He doesn’t talk, of course, not in a way you can understand, but you know he misses his father. If the Child isn’t in a sour mood, he cries, and you’ve caught him playing in Mando’s clothes more than once. It’s stressful, taking care of the baby when he’s like this, but you understand how he feels. You feel strange and almost embarrassed to admit it, but you miss the Mandalorian too. The rational part of you knows it would be best to chalk it up to proximity, but you know in your heart that it’s a little more than that. But just because you know this doesn’t mean you accept it, and you tamp down the feeling at every turn, focusing instead on getting the Child through this rough period.

At the sixteen-day mark, the baby refuses to sleep in his pram entirely, insisting instead that Mando’s bunk will do much better. And you would be fine with that, all things considered, if he wasn’t insistent that you climb in there with him as well.

“Bug, I know you want Mando to come home, and I know you like sleeping with me when he’s not here, but I’m not getting in there with you.”

The baby makes a most discontent noise, pulling on your fingers so hard that he tumbles back onto Mando’s mattress when he lets go. You tell him once again that you won’t be invading his father’s space like that, and then the Child is crying, sobbing so hard his little shoulders shake beneath his baggy outfit. I’m too tired for this, you think to yourself, and you finally give the baby what he wants.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, climbing up into the bunk with a sigh. “But we’re not telling him about this.”

The Child is soothed at once, snuggling down beside you in Mando’s blankets as if he was never upset in the first place. You lie beside him in the dark, eyes already growing heavy as you breathe in the scent of the covers around you, the scent of the pillow beneath your head. All at once, you realize that this is what Mando probably smells like under all the armor and the weapons. Something about that only serves to make this whole thing feel even more like a violation, but you force that thought out of your mind.

At some point, you do drift off, only the be woken hours later by the feeling of a hand on your ankle. And there the Mandalorian is, standing before you in the flesh (and beskar) after all those days away.

“You’re in my bed,” he says to you, though there’s no edge to the words. It’s a simple statement of fact, a plain observation.

“We missed you,” is all you have to say in explanation, though it takes you about three seconds too long to realize which pronoun you chose to throw out in the front there. Now properly awake, you go to cover the mistake, but Mando cuts you off as he is so wont to do.

“I missed you too,” he says slowly, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Both of you.”

You realize that Nevarro may not be as safe as you thought about three seconds after a man with a vibroblade demands you hand over all the credits you have. You try to flee on impulse, your mind focused on protecting the baby—

Right up until the man catches your shirt, using the natural momentum of the action to propel you right into his clenched fist. Searing hot pain blooms behind your eye, spreading across the entire side of your face and into your nose. You’re completely stunned, unable to so much as form a coherent thought as your attacker moves to hit you again.

It’s like everything happens in slow-motion after that. One minute, your assailant is bearing down on you with murder in his eyes— the next, he’s grimacing, falling to the ground with thud. Two voices urge you to follow them now, and there are hands on your shoulders, your back. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a moment to realize that there are two fucking Mandalorians in your face, but when you do, the urge to fight back leaves you immediately.

Neither Mando is your Mandalorian, but you follow them anyway. They usher you into a tunnel system beneath the city, telling you to turn this way and that, and you do as they say without question. For some reason, they know you— they know your name, and they certainly know the baby because they ask about him the moment the lot of you are concealed. About a thousand questions swim around in your mind as you follow the Mandalorians deeper and deeper into the tunnels, but you aren’t given a chance to ask a single one.

Finally, you’re allowed to stop in a smith of some sort, coming to stand before a Mandalorian woman sheathed in maroon and gold. She regards you for a long moment, pausing over her work to take in the sight of your face, the way you clutch the baby protectively against your chest.

“Fetch him,” is all that she says, speaking to one of your saviors, and they turn and leave without a word.

A period of time elapses before you hear movement in the hall, though you can’t be sure how long. What you are sure of, though, is that you hear Mando’s voice drawing near, and the wave of relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’re safe here, of course— anyone would be, surrounded by this many Mandalorians— but… but they’re not him.

“What happened?”

It’s the first thing Mando says to you, picking up the pace once he lays eyes on your injuries. You’re taken aback by how he crowds you, how he lets his gloved hands linger on your cheek.

“She was attacked by a chakaar,” says the Armorer, speaking from workspace. “He will not be bothering anyone again, though.”

Mando is satisfied by this, thanking his brothers and sisters for protecting you and his child. You thank them as well, though it’s hard to tell if the sentiment lands with the Mandalorians. The Armorer is the only one who responds at all, saying, “You are our brother’s cyar’ika,” she explains, confusing you with a word you don’t recognize, “we as his brothers and sisters must protect you. This is the Way.”

“The is the Way,” intones the group, and then you’re being ushered from the room, tucked under Mando— your Mando’s— arm.

The walk back to the ship is a quiet one, though the Child coos happily. He seems largely unaffected by all of this, even dozing off in his pram as though he’s had an uneventful afternoon. You’re glad he’s asleep, knowing it’ll give you and Mando some time to talk. You want to ask him about what the Armorer said, what that word meant. Mando’s cyar… cyar’ika? Is that what she’d called you?

But you don’t get the chance to speak a word, because Mando crushes you against him the moment you get the baby settled. His arms are strong around your back, the sensation of being held by him effectively knocking the air from your lungs. When he finally lets you go, every question you had stuffed in your mind is gone.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” the Mandalorian says to you, sounding more distraught than you ever thought possible. You shake your head at that— how could he possibly have known?

“I’m fine, Mando,” you press. “Don’t worry about my face, it’s—”

“I should have been there.”

The both of you just look at one another after that, and the Mandalorian doesn’t flinch away when you lay your hand on the side of his helmet. You know at once that everything is different now, but you need to hear it just to be sure.

“That woman—”

“The Armorer,” Mando corrects.

“The Armorer,” you begin again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “What did she mean when she said what she said about me? What is a cyar… cyar’ika?”

Mando’s hand comes up, and his glove is cool on your uninjured cheek.

“’Beloved,’” he says softly, “’cyar’ika’ means ‘beloved.’”

You think your heart’s going to beat right out of your chest, but you force yourself not to be calm.

“If you’re going to call me your cyar’ika,” you whisper, afraid you’ll shout if you don’t, “then what should I call you?”

“Din. You can call me Din.”

#my writing #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #cw: illness #tw: illness #cw: hallucinations #tw: hallucinations

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