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loving-and-dreaming · 2 years ago

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nonsense s.b oneshot

pairing: Sirius black x reader x reader

a/n loosely based off the song nonsense by Sabrina carpenter <3 I would have highlighted and italicized the lyrics but I didn’t directly use any. But all credit goes to her amazing song because that is literally the basis of this ❤️ huge huge huge thank you to @whoahoney for helping me gain the confidence again and reading it over to make sure I didn’t sound dumb 💛💛💛

-Word count: 2.2K

You and Lily were getting ready for the get together at her boyfriend's place. You were extremely nervous; you know James, but the rest of his friends that will be there, not so much. I mean let's face it, you are not the biggest social butterfly. You love talking and love making friends but sometimes you just want to curl up in bed. But for your friend and her new budding relationship you would go and be your best self.

Arriving at James' house, you were surprised. He was known for throwing his parties back in Hogwarts but there were only two cars in the driveway, now with yours three. There was no booming music. No bright strobing lights. Looking at Lily you grab her hand and let her drag you in. As soon as you step in your first thought is to go hide in a corner with Lily, but that is not the point of this. The point was for her to spend some time with her new boyfriend in a low stakes environment. You push Lily, “Go girl! I will be fine. Go find lover boy and tell him I said hi!”

“Okay you know where the kitchen is, if you need anything just shout. I promise we can leave if you ever feel uncomfortable.” She gives you a look of concern. Maybe you were not hiding your nerves as well as you thought. Giving her a thumbs up and one more push, she goes to find James.

You head to the kitchen to get a drink. To get to the kitchen you need to pass through this hallway, which in your opinion is too long. You don’t normally drink, but tonight might be a cause to break out of that habit. Now you were not sad, but just in your head. Thinking about the phone calls you have to make at work, what you are going to make for lunch tomorrow, when you are going to call your mom, what should you get for Lily's birthday, how surprised you are at the nice decorations in a house full of guys. All these thoughts made you too distracted and miss the person heading in your direction. Only noticing the other person in the hallway when you are wearing a disgusting smelling drink(and now you remember why you don’t drink) and had his strong tattooed arms around your waist.

“Oh my-” you look up and see his beautiful smile before anything else. Embarrassingly so your voice gets higher, “—gosh, I am so sorry! I wasted your drink! What was it? I’ll get you a new one, although it smells gross. Wait I didn’t mean to say that, well I did but to each their own, if you like it that’s all that matters and I will get you a new one!” it took you a moment to realize you were rambling like a mad man, you look anywhere but the beautiful man in front of you.

“Don’t worry about it, Love. Lets get you a new shirt, this one is a little wet and now smells like my beer and like you pointed out it smells gross,” the stranger tells you in a voice filled with laughter. He moves his arms from around your waist and puts one on your back to lead you to a room. “I don't think we have met, Im Sirius, but those hooligans call me Padfoot or Pads. you can call me king though… perhaps you’ll be my queen?” Faltering in your steps you stop and look at him. Had he really just said that? He was probably just a natural flirt, nothing personal. So you simply giggle and roll your eyes.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, I think they are my favorite part of you.”

Okay that's it, you know he must be messing with you. It's probably James' bright idea to get one of his friends to mess with you, since you are the only friend in Lilys group that is single. You don’t know how many times you have reassured them that even though the break up was nasty, it was a year ago and you are over it. Turning to him, “Hi Sirius-”

“I thought I told you to call me king, my queen?”

“As I was saying, sirius, i'm not sure if james put you up to this or maybe lily, but i promise i'm okay being single. I hereby relieve you of your babysitting duty. Just point me in the direction of the bathroom and I will be fine.”

“Babysitting? What are you talking about? Anyways I am not going to let you stay in that beer soaked shirt, so here is my room, I will get you a clean shirt. Just one moment.”

He brings you out a shirt that looks worse for wear. It must be one of his favorite shirts, you can’t help the little blush and skip in your heart that he chose to give you a favorite shirt of his. “I insist you use my room, I mean I’d love to get you naked in my room, but in reality my bathroom is not the cleanest…” he opens the door for you and gives you space to walk in. You look back at him and smile while closing the door. Now you are not a creeper, but like anyone you are naturally curious. So while slowly taking off your beer soaked shirt you look around. The first thing that you notice is for someone that has apparently a messy bathroom. His room is extremely clean. The bed is completely made up, you’re just as clean and even your bed doesn’t look like that. The desk is free of clutter, and there are no clothes on the floor. To say you were shocked, would be an understatement. The next thing you notice is the bookshelves lining the walls from the few moments that you talk to him or more like he flirted with you. He did not strike you as someone that would be this well read. The last thing you notice, and this one stands out, is the fact that he has a candle burning in his room. The candle smells just like you thought he would, a hint of leather and musk. Cynthia reminds you of the words while also something fresh that makes you want to bury your face in the smell. Realizing you spent a good ten minutes just staring at his room you quickly change and without thinking about it so your shirt on his bed. With a red face, you quietly open the door, ready to endure the teasing of spending a good 10 minutes just to get changed yet When you open the door you find him gone. Although you told him to leave your heart does drop a little bit. But you quickly shake off that feeling you don't need James or Lily trying to make you feel better by asking James’ hot friend to keep you company.

You know the break up was a year ago, and honestly you are NOT still hung up on him. But they swear you are and that you need to find someone new. You’ve told her countless times that you’re just not ready for a relationship right now. And maybe Lily does know your taste, and picked the right guy but still absolutely not.

You walk back to the living room, still on the original mission to find a drink and run into jame and lily making heart eyes at each other in the hallway. Normally you would leave them be, but with sirius fresh on the brain you had to say something.

“Lily, james. I know you just want what is best for me. But I promise I am not hung up on Tyler. I just dont need to have someone in my life right now. So please tell Sirius he no longer needs to babysit me.”

James lets out a snort and lily looks at you with wide eyes. “Y/N hunny, what on earth are you talking about. We never asked Sirius to babysit you, we didn't even tell him about you because he tends to be a lot, which it seems like you are now witnessing.”

You're speechless. “So you're telling me I kinda told him off for no reason??? fan-freaking-tastic. Please excuse me while I go die on the couch with my drink I still have not gotten.” stomping over to the couch you make yourself at home. After you make yourself comfortable on the couch, you realize you still have not gotten your drink. Which may be better because who needs to be drinking when you’re sulking.

Once again lost in your head, you don't see or hear anything until someone sits down next to you and puts a glass full of water in your face. Looking up you see Sirius and are feeling the butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach. Mouth opening and closing you cannot find the right words to say. All that is in your brain is nonsense, so logically that is what you say, “you… have me thinking nonsense.” not realizing you said that out loud until you hear James snort from the other couch and Sirius’ little laugh. Looking at Lily you mouth “did i really say that out loud?” The look on her face gives you the answer.

“Here, Love. I heard through the grapevine you never got your drink so I came bearing gifts. I was also told that you don’t drink alcohol, so I made sure to get you something that you would drink" Sirius looks at you smirking, “if it makes you feel better when looking at you I lose my chill.”

Giggling and once again rolling your eyes you say “yes Sirius thank you, i feel so much better because of that. Thank you for the drink. I really do appreciate it”

“Wait, I got an even better one! When you get close to me my tongue goes numb, sounds like bleh blah blee!” James once again snorts(you make a mental note to call him pig later), and Remus, Peter(who you just put names to face) and Lily all roll their eyes. This does however make you let out a real laugh, not those cute little giggles us girls do, no this was a whole laugh form your stomach. And hearing it made Sirius want to hear it everyday from now on, he made sure to tell you this too. “ Tell me the word Y/N and I promise I will make you laugh like that for the rest of our life.”

The rest of the night was spent by Sirius' side. He had the young energy of a puppy, which is how he got his nickname, puppy. He said he was offended at the nickname because “Y/N i am a manly man, i need a better nickname than puppy.” But the way he smiles when you say it with the sparkle in your eyes… He would let you do anything.

Eventually it is time to go home, you and Lily promise to come back with donuts in the morning (this lets the boys let you go a bit easier). In the car she gives you a look that says ‘spill’.

“I really like him lily! I want to spend all day talking to him, maybe going to the bedroom and doing not so soft things, my mind is running wild with everything i want to do with him. I think I caught that L-O-V-E…”

“Damn girl… really? After one night?”

“Lily you know me, you know i wouldn't say it if i didn't believe it at least.. 80%. He made me feel things that I can't explain. I don't know how he does this to me, but I cannot help myself.” you pull into the apartment building and look down for your keys in your purse. That's when it dawns on you, you still have his shirt on… Unlocking the door the first thing you do is call James' house.

“Hey it's Y/N, is Sirius there?”

“Wow, ready to talk to him already, huh?” You can hear the smirk in James' voice.

“Says you, who called the apartment before Lily even made it back home…” He scoffs at that and you hear him screaming for ‘Pads’ to get his ‘ass down to the phone’.

“Hello, Love, miss me already?” After spending all night with his flirtatious self, you easily opened and gave him back some of the sass (you are very proud of yourself if you do say so).

“Of course I miss you, but I kinda miss my shirt more. It was one of my favorites.”

“It will be here all clean for you tomorrow, I'll even learn how to do laundry for you, my queen. Also! before you go, I do have a very important question for you.” Thinking the worst, you lose your smile and look down… His joking and smile filled voice is the only reason your smile comes back, “my question is, how quickly can you take your clothes off, pop quiz!”

The last thing he hears is your giggle and “you'll find out soon, Puppy.”

#sirius black and reader #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius #sirius black and you #sirius black imagine #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one shot #sirius black #sirius black scenario #marauders imagine #marauders fic #young sirius x reader #young sirius black #harry potter imagines #harry potter marauders #marauders era

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rabbitcoveredinmoss · 2 years ago

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Rudy Headcanons

Theres like no images on him on pintrest and it makes me angy

——————

Rudy General Headcanons :3

Image Credit: Sorry im not really sure, i just nabbed it from google but someone named 'just mctvsh' did post this image on here so credits to them ig :3

▸Wears Gothic Lolita. Tried to find masc outfits but gave up, caved and started wearing the femme outfits. Found out he actually preferred the femme outfits

▸Of Course can’t wear Gothic Lolita ALL THE TIME so he’ll try to sneak some aspects into some outfits. Maybe a small necklace hiding under his shirt

▸Unlabeled in regards to gender preference(preference for men and masc nonbinary, on and off for women and femme nonbinary)

▸Demisexual

▸LOVES cuddling. Will always ask for them whenever it's appropriate. Sometimes at night if your sleeping in the same bed he’ll started cuddling you in his sleep

▸Very basic level for baking and cooking, he would try to make some more fancy recipes but gave up when he kept burning himself/messing up. Because of his work in the army he normally wouldn’t give up on something so easily but baking does not meet on the same level as army stuff

▸I feel he had a small home gym in his basement. Gym rat but not in the e-boy gotta have fine lined abs way, kinda more like bodybuilders? He’s got some extra weight that doesn’t look like muscle but it is (please tell me you’re picking up what im putting down😭)

▸”Where my hug at?” ironically dw

▸Fav colour is green 100%

▸Struggling with some internalised homophobia. Wants to show his pride but because of the opinions/mindsets he grew up around he finds it hard to openly express himself [im also pretty sure most of the people in the military arent very accepting but this is a fictional setting so lets pretend it ends at his childhood :) ]

▸Alejandro helps him with learning to express himself

▸Has two rats, Wolverine (Alejandro named) and Berry

▸Do I have to specify that Rudy and Alejandro are dating or all we all on the same train on this :D

▸Plant dad but only to this one potted plant in his bedroom that definitely should have died like a decade ago

▸His personal spaces are all an organised mess

▸Please ask him if he wants to go on a walk with you, he loves going on walk with people, not alone, he can't stand it. Even if you guys don't utter a sound to each other while walking, just the presence of someone else being there makes it enjoyable

▸Bad habit of ignoring people’s texts/messages. He doesn’t really mean to. Puts his phone on silent and even if he does see the message his mind goes on autopilot and he just ignores it, looking at it like hours later.

▸Has vibrate on for people he’s really close to though. Like Alejandro, his parents, maybe like one of his closest friends, and maybe someone else idk

——————

List is kinda short but i cant think of anything else rn ughh

HAPPY NEW YEAR :D

#rodolfo mw2 #rodolfo cod #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy cod #rudy mw2 #live laugh love rudy #hes one of my favs #headcanon #i cant get enough of him #modern warfare 2 #the brain rot is real

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butchlaser · 11 months ago

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ID: A thread of tweets made by Melon Kid (@animegirlcrimes). The thread reads:

"fuck it whatever ill just air out my grievances now i dont feel like carrying this shit anymore

i joined the omori team in 2019, i remember being invested in production right away because getting paid to do dev work on a game i like is basically my dream

(1/whatever)

i went kinda crazy on it, i worked harder than i ever have in my life. i did not spend a second on the clock even slightly dicking around, i would regularly work like 12-18+ hour shifts just because i wanted to

people would leave for the day, come back in the morning and see me still working. by some divine miracle i somehow kept that up for like a half a year. i felt totally fine the whole time. i was flying bro

my smarter friend sensed something was wrong and tried to pull me away from work but omo resisted because at that time i was like her golden workhorse. anyway, fast forward to the 6 months later and i crash and burn out of nowhere i am straight debilitated

a lot of that was my own doing, of course, im under no illusion about that. but when it happened, omo suddenly started treating me like garbage. she didn't believe me, said i 'just didnt want to work anymore' and demanded a doctors note and i was like are you fucking serious

she would guilt me into keep working as hard as i did before despite the blatant toll on my body and say she expected better of me and would constantly downplay my illness

i felt miserable physically and emotionally, she made me feel even worse about it. and its like, this feels really shitty but fine it is what it is.

forward again to release, im really excited about the launch of the game. i put so much energy and emotional investment into this project, the thing i love the most about dev is seeing the game release and watching people play and enjoy the game

right before the game launches omo pulls the rug from under me and suddenly comes out to say she's taking back the royalties she promised earlier in the year. it soured the entire fucking launch. i couldnt even enjoy the one thing i spent a year working on and looking forward to

she goes on to say she put my royalties to a vote and said 'i thought you deserved it, but everyone else voted no :(' what kind of manipulative bullshit is that excuse me

first of all you are my boss, you know best what i contributed to the project, second you are a millionaire and i am fucking poor is this a game to you, third youre gonna throw the whole staff under the bus too? what the fuck is this

the worst thing is, i know someone who was fucked over by omo WAY MORE than i was. i wont name them (at their request), but i got like... basically the lite version of her fuckery and even THAT was personally devastating to me

i actually made a post like this shortly after omori released, but the entire team banded together voltron style and begged me to take it down and because im fucking weak i did

im STILL fucked up by the burnout i gave myself. im sore all the goddamn time, it didn't use to be like that. sure, my fault. i own it. but to treat me like shit and act like im just lazy? actually fuck yourself

i actually made a post like this shortly after omori released, but the entire team banded together voltron style and begged me to take it down and because im fucking weak i did

oh, AND i dont show up as a member of the dev team on either their game website OR on wikipedia even though i show up in the actual game credits like 3 different fucking times?

thats interesting i wonder what thats all about

some other grievances: it was my suggestion to implement the survive at 1 HP mechanic for omori cause i could already tell players would get annoyed if they lost because he got mobbed by rng. wouldnt you know it, this also shaped the final battle to be as impactful as it is! wow!

the omoli character in blackspace was a thing that i pitched to omo and whose dialogue i wrote, it made me unreasonably annoyed to then see that character get used in promotional material for the game

you know that (in)famous aubrey school fight sequence? THAT WAS ALL ME BABEY. the base concept from omo was 'theres a bunch of aubreys because sunny has a crush' and i cooked up the scenario you see now and evented that whole sequence

(trying really hard to think of a game whose moral involves the guilt of hiding the truth of something wrong you did)

(and also explores the concept of being stressed out for being treated poorly despite working so hard for them)"

One of the developers of Omori recently shared their experiences in this thread about the treatment they had to go through during the development of the game. They're going through a rough patch at the moment. If you liked Omori, I think you should help Melon Kid out if you can!!

It's disheartening to hear that someone on a team was mistreated. Games are a beautiful medium, but the people who make those games come first. We've all got to work hard to ensure better environments for devs, and that starts with making sure they can get back on their feet!

#omori #omocat #long post #edit: just saw someone else made a transcipt. i think im just gonna keep this up anyway

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thesugarhole · 2 years ago

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ok now i have 20mins free before work starts so im going to keep chipping away at romac

pineapples chapter is actually the "today i found a geiger counter in the wasteland - no more radioactive soup for me!" chapter..? i think i remember that one being just the hot stuff joke, not an actual expose on the pineapple bomb that exploded in pilots face, but i could be wrong on this one. or maybe it was mashed together to make use of the geiger counter

its opportune to make that giant green field orb thing the pineapple after effects though so no complaints here. yet.

yes yes we've all seen hot stuff captain. moving on

WHY IS THE FUCKING PINEAPPLE CONNECTED TO THE WIFI COME ON MAN THERE HAS TO BE A LIMIT

its like that pôr do sol joke where the guy negotiated with the workers to end their strike by 'installing wifi in every single cherry' on their cherry farms

surely thats not snippys sleeve... theyre both black for a solid stretch.

is whoever planted this one actually known or are we to suspect snippy Forever? from past information that might not even be true anymore, of course

If the User does not eat this fruit, I will automatically convert it into energy upon expiry date (to provide power to my kitchen friends).

(...)

User set temporal watch to count backwards. Watches are supposed to count forwards, not backwards. You cannot send fruits to your past-self, silly User. User synchronized temporal watch to pineapple expiry time. User changed parameters of my fruit-to-energy conversion program.

so thats how it works huh. infi has said previously the explosion only goes the way they want to if the watches are inside fruits, and i guess it has to do with some futuristic nonsense (as futuristic as this all is) about them auto disappearing once they cant be eaten anymore

DEX-M unit 966912 came to the mini-van. He sounds nice.

He looks great. Sometimes I dream of having such luxurious blonde hair.

DEX 966912 loses his beautiful face. How unfortunate.

stoooooooooop this is embarrassing me. like its true pilot is very nice and very handsome but come on pineapple those are your dying thought- THE PINEAPPLE IS ALIVE WITHIN THE GREEN THING I KNEW IT

whyyyy are you alive. why are you talking in the first place. this future is terrifying to me i dont want my food to talk to me about how it must be eaten what is this a fucking "oooh you gotta water me you gotta use your pee" world?

It smells wonderfully, so fresh, so full of life. I read its label. The label tells me its title and fruit type [CHARLES SNIPPY: DEAD ZONE TOUR GUIDE] It is not yet expired. Good. But I can already see its expiry date closing in. Bad. It will expire prematurely, if it does not make true friends soon.

wasnt snippy. the pineapple would probably recognize it as its previous user. yay!

incidentally where DID i get snippy did it from. am i misremembering something because im positive he was blamed for this bomb specifically at some point

lol at the pineapple being angry he didnt so much as approach the creepy green field thing come on. give the guy some credit you think he would just walk inside it to see whats up even if its technically not radioactive? like sorry this happened to you but also you did blow up pilots face so. stay there. with your horrible future man made consciousness.

#sugar.txt #reading romac

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equallyloyalandlethal · 1 year ago

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Mmm! Yes!!!

He’s such a fun contrast to the characters we’ve come to expect from the shows season 1-3.

He’s a level of purity of heart and loyalty that emulates and merges the two aspects from Scott and Stiles; he’s a brand of smart and wise that draws on the characteristics seen in Lydia and Deaton, knowing when to talk and when shut up and listen; he’s this weird amalgamation of sweet and innocent while being whip smart and more observant than he’s given credit for. Like, fuck, he carries the puppy pack on his shoulders in most fics just as hard as Theo and Liam, just not as applauded for it. He’s a glue character. The one that most people don’t notice until he’s not there, until there’s no reassuring smile thrown back at a worried glance, until the space behind them is empty and cold where the sturdy shoulder propping them up/breathing back their insecurities is gone, until the void of silence is ringing in the air where sudden realizations would be exclaimed as puzzle pieces fit together mid pack meeting… If he wasn’t there, I’d wager A LOT of season 4 would be different.

There’s so much that goes on with him in such short bursts that it’s kinda ridiculous. Like, boy has the opposite of a chill life.

worries about losing best friend

almost dies with Lydia

gets dragged into supernatural, though as @trpiaep19 said he’s excited about it

ALMOST DIES at least once during the Deadpool

endures Corey almost dying AT LEAST TWICE (the mercury spitting up and the fire burns)

experimented on by Dread Docs, which is never really addressed to my satisfaction, but that’s for another essay (someone poke me about it later and I might write the essay or a fic. I dunno. We’ll see what mood im in)

watches as his boyfriend and friends are HUNTED by the ENTIRE STUDENT BODY AND TOWN

PROCEEDS TO GET LEFT (even if only for show) BY THE PACK

AND YET HE WANTS TO STAY AND HELP. At every fork in the road where Mason Fucking Hewitt could turn the other way and just bolt for the hills without anyone blaming him, he turns down the one that has train tracks careening towards Insanityville and chases the train down screaming “LET ME ON DAMNIT” with a certainty that he needs to be there and determination to be that rivals the force and stability of gravity. He is just too loyal a friend, too much of an optimistic romantic, too much of a good fucking person to consider anything else. Those are his friends, his family, the people he loves, and come hell or high water, tides of bullets and arrows where idiotic bigots and xenophobic and otherists are aiming to maim, hunt, and kill his people, his pack, he will be always be there. No matter what comes, he will fight for them, by them, with them till the cows come home and the moon stops rising.

He is EXACTLY what the pack needed and arrived when they needed it most. He’s the breath of fresh air, alight with excitement at the novelty of it all and zero degrees of skepticism, a foil to the other purely human entity of the pack, which is Stiles. Stiles, who from the beginning, was thrown into the supernatural world with a filter of dread and death and gloom and ever present FEAR due to Peter and Derek being the only other werewolves around and the Argents trying to kill Scott from the beginning. And sure, you can say that Mason being the McCall pack’s 2nd generation is part of what a HUGE difference on how he is indoctrinated into the world and how he sees it. Like sure, the Deadpool and Kate trying to kill them all with Berserkers are less drastically or inherently soul-dimming because Scott is the leader, the rainbows and unicorns puppy turned alpha is the person Mason and Liam look to for guidance. But there’s an inherent element of levity and brightness to Mason that he keeps throughout the series, always admiring the new twists they’re thrown rather than being annoyed or fearing them. As much as his life and the lives of those around him are in danger, he always sees the other side to the threats, the things that are intriguing or cool or novel about whatever they’re going up against. He’s in love with the intensity and crazy that is the supernatural world.

Urgh, mason is phenomenal and I love him to bits.

“Intense”

#underrated character #teen wolf #mason hewitt #mason appreciation #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf meta #teen wolf analyst #in this essay i will...#in this essay i will

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cleverwinepun · 2 years ago

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Todays Wine Is..

Barefoot Boxed Sunset Red Blend

Less than $20

ABSOLUTELY DESPICABLE

Once again, this wine was not of my picking, and was instead one of my Mother’s usual choices. She usually goes for the Barefoot boxed wines and usually I’m pretty partial to them; they don’t taste too bad and they definitely do the job! However, my mother suddenly started ordering this specific flavor, and I’m not sure if it’s because she began taking a genuine liking to it, because I could not glean a single reason to enjoy this wine. This wine is truly the Devil incarnate, satan himself injected gallons of despicably sour, hot, bitter seed into a vat of aged grape juice, boxed it, and sold it directly to the human race one night because he was bored and wanted to get a rise out of watching mere mortals suffer trying to chase pleasure so desperately they sip through this absolute wretched acid waste by force.

The only way I can enjoy this wine is by mixing it with a juice of some kind, which I will admit, is not one of my proudest moments. Wine should be respected, enjoyed and praised as it without help, indulged entirely as she comes without aid. And yet I simply couldn’t help it, it was wine after all, it needed to be drank… drunk? Me wanted feel funny off the silly juice OKAY? I’ve been mixing it with dollar store orange banana strawberry juice or lemonade, and it’s helped significantly. I served some to a friend during his visit without notifying him about my concoction and he exclaimed, “wow! this wine is really delicious.” What a fool. I could never subject my sweet friend to this wine virgin, it would ruin my credibility. I’m so ashamed, but it had to be done.

Overall Rating

Anyhow, if my ramblings prior didn’t make it clear, the wine alone can’t possibly get anything above an INCREDIBLY RARE 0/10. I have to give credit where credit is due though, it is impossible to create such a revolting drink. Maybe this was all a secret experiment? To create the worst wine known to man? Sell it and get a laugh at the expensive of wine moms all around the country? Who knows.

Barefoot, if you’re reading this… suck my nards, man. What’s wrong you with?

Drinking Buddy:

Its kind of hard to pinpoint a drinking buddy this time around, I’ve had many over the course of my time with this box of eldritch horrors; My aforementioned friend, several unfinished commissions im slaving through… But I’ve been putting off my review of this one for some time, waiting for the right state of mind where I could truly express all my thoughts about this drink to no one but myself (satisfying yourself with your work is most important, of course). So I poured myself yet another mixture that I just finished enjoying this morning with Trigun in the background, so I guess I’ll count it as my drinking buddy for this entry.

I only started Trigun yesterday and have made it around to roughly around half of the entire series, though it is only 27? Episodes, so it isn’t much of a feat. I was looking for a new piece of media to watch while I finished my art commissions, and had the hankering to begin a new anime that I’ve been wanting to watch for a while. I added Trigun to my Hulu watchlist without any prior knowledge of the series beyond the name. Judging by the synopsis and the thumbnail, it looked to be more of a serious, older anime, and I expected to get more of a convoluted and early mysterious, lore heavy, and emotionally strenuous series with very little humor involved. However, I was PLEASANTLY surprised! This serious has been a treat, with a humor heavy plot and a simple to grasp, semi-episodic beginning that I found myself getting a good laugh at, and soon became incredibly invested at the sprinkles of lore and powerful overarching message reinforced at the end of every episode of forgiveness and the fight for peace, even at the expensive of your livelihood. The relentless fight for peace despite the how taxing dealing with the evils of the world is leaves a very inspiring message, even if left by the worlds most pathetic womanizing loser ever (said affectionately of course). I can’t wait to finish the series, as I’m currently watching episode 14 right now, albeit a bit tipsy.

Well that’s it. Fuck barefoot, and god bless Vash the Stampede.

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exidy-sorcerer · 3 months ago

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oh yeah babe we ain't dead

yet

#giffany #gravity falls #all credit goes to my friend even though im not sure if he want me to tag his tg #gravity falls giffany #girlsirkgeuglriglfgigk #giffany gravity falls #reposring my bros artwork #gravity falls fanart #illustration #fanart

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tonberry-yoda · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! Your fluff alphabets are so cute! Would you do one for Nishinoya? YOU ARE THE CUTEST

ignore double letters ofc 😅 love you!

hello!!! thank you so much! i love writing the fluff alphabets so im super glad that you like them just as much as i do! i absolutely love this idea and love nishinoya, so i was so excited to get this request in! thank you so much and please enjoy!! AND I LOVE YOU TOO <333

Fluff Alphabet with Nishinoya (Y O U A R E T H E C U T E S T)

Pairing - Nishinoya x reader

Warnings - none!

Notes - i keep forgetting to mention in my other posts that my credit from the fluff alphabet goes to this post, sorry for not mentioning that guys, ill remember from now on lol. thank you so so so so much anon! i loved this request and i hope you love it as much as me! enjoy and have a great day/night!!

And don’t forget REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! So, if you want to request any writing, don’t hesitate to ask. Please read my pinned post before requesting though. Have a good day/night and please stay hydrated!! <333

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

he is such a pouty little baby

bro would be upset even if yall were just in separate classes for like an hour

and if you were gone for a vacation or something... you are in for it

i think that would be at first

he would be super good with long distance, still trying to make sure that you love him, so if that were the case, you wouldnt have to worry about the guilt you would feel for being gone because he would only make you feel that way for the first like day lol

but yeah, if you're apart for like 35 minutes, he would be all pouty and when you come back, he would jump into your arms talking about how much he missed you

to cope, he would definitely just send you memes or hang out with his buddies to keep his mind off of it

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

this man is over the moon for you

when he had a crush on you, the whole flippin volleyball team knew

it was so obvious

i mean, look at how he is around Kiyoko in the show lmao

he would treat you like a god/goddess/deity he loves you so much

he would bring you food to show his love, idk why, but it just feels like he would

he will not hesitate to tell you/show you how much he loves you and will not hesitate to tell other people that you are taken

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

he knows you so well. even if you havent been in the relationship long, he knew you as a friend first, so he knows you super duper well

he knows what can tick you off and what makes you happy

he knows your favorite foods and drinks and your least favorite

you two gossip together all the time, so he also knows what people you like and dislike

in a disagreement, he is super empathetic. he loves you and wants whats best for you and wants you to have everything in the whole wide world, so he knows that understanding you is top priority

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

if you dont already know how to play volleyball, he would absolutely love to teach you!

anything outdoors is a yes for him

hiking, frisbee, picnics, long walks, all an A+ date idea for him

he also loves goofy things

just like getting giant pretzels or going bowling a sucker for it

loves when you go to his games and practices and loves going to support you at whatever you're good at!

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

as said before, this man is creative!

i mean, i would think he's romantic (back to kiyoko lol) but at the same time, i dont think he's a sucker for lovey dovey stuff, y'know?? like romantic dinners and giving flowers sound like a bore to him

he would take you skydiving dude!

like he is super creative

loves planning coo coo crazy stuff with you

definitely not just a regular date fella

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

you make fun of him for being short

you're the dominant one

i mean, he can be, he's good at it, but tbh, you probably have all the power over this little dude

like he worships you, would do anything for you, so like... yeah

you wear the biggest pants in this relationship

but it's pretty equal overall, there just so happen to be Noya goo goo eyes involved

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

YES YES YES HE NEEDS TO SPICE IT UP

its not like he would leave you if you did have a routine, but he would definitely need some fun in the relationship

as long as you're down ofc

like he would take you to some crazy fun stuff

literally cannot stress this enough

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

the only secret i think he would hide is his insecurity

he wants to be this happy guy who never has any problems, but really, he has some deep insecurity that you dont know about

other than that, he shares everything

maybe even overshares lmao

lots of 12 year old boy humor

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

HE IS SUCH A SWEETHEART OMG

okay tbh, he could make it worse by panicking, but it's because he loves you and wants to help you in any way possible

would ask too many questions

once he does take the hint that he may not be helping, he drops everything and sits next to you as you fall into his arms, just getting through it

just having him there is enough

he wouldnt realize it, but his breathing would help you get back on track

you would thank him with a kiss and he would get you any food that you want

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

HECK YEAH HE IS! AND HE DOES

since you support him by coming to volleyball games and practices, he is right behind you supporting you in whatever you do

as long as you support each other, he is happy!

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fixa-ryeter · 2 years ago

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here's ageswap!Ritsu!

before we go on, quick heads-up: this is a heavier and wordier post; there’s going to be discussions about PTSD, its symptoms and Ritsu's response to them, and because i’m on PC i can cut off that section with a ‘Keep Reading’ bar? so i’ll do that and try to lay out the rest of the facts before that. also there's gonna be a bit of a format change here bc PC so afblakdhbf

a few people have shown interest in Ritsu and i was. so happy. im still new to tumblr imo and im so excited about all of this FBALDKHFBASFB so here he is. and with this it’ll be a huge look into what happened between him and his brother. also shoutout to my friend bc she is VERY MUCH part of the creative process. i’m not sure if she wants to be mentioned here but credit goes to her too! (bestie if you see this please tell me) update: SHE SAID YES @escape-from-twinkov say thank you escape from twinkov

Ritsu! Popular, all-rounder kid in academics and sports who started burning out in university and dropped out to pursue music with a few of his friends. it worked out for them, and his life is relatively stable. kinda stable. a little stable. really depends on your definition of stable. here’s the facts:

he's a good 5'11, about 24 years old

he/they demiboy. doesn't really feel the need for a solid label for his sexuality

plays guitar. is the band's frontman. he has three other bandmates and Shou Suzuki is one of them.

suffers from PTSD and anxiety (more on it below the cut)

loves playing Just Dance (even though he sucks at it) and Guitar Hero (he's better at this one)

your average My Chemical Romance + vocaloid enjoyer, AND a closeted 1D fan

he's a quick thinker, but when they're anxious he can barely think at all

loves udon. loves tofu. give this man either or both when he's upset and it cheers them up quite a bit.

tells people he has a diary no one should read. not because it's his diary, but because he doodles a lot in it and finds it embarrassing. of course Shou finds out. of course Shou thinks it's adorable.

he went through a lot of friends in his later school life. had many, lost many, and struggled to make friends in university. Found some buddies in their second year, made a band, dropped out with them at the start of third year.

if you've decided not to keep reading until here thanks so much for getting to this point already!!!!! heavier stuff below the cut so read at your own risk. it's lore so if theres a need for it i'll post a summary on it.

So remember the ???% incident in childhood that led to Ritsu getting hurt and Mob being unable to remember what happened? That's where we're getting at. It was never resolved in their childhood or adolescent years. Ritsu tells Mob he doesn't remember either, and tried to sweep it under the rug. Worked for the most part.

his PTSD was delayed onset. his symptoms were there, but not enough to fit the diagnostic criteria. they got worse in university because he was experiencing heavy burnout with no one he felt like he could turn to. he'd moved out and was struggling to make friends.

he has nightmares which only increased in frequency, something he never gave much thought to because they figured it was a logical response to the event. didn't bother to question it either even when he had been experiencing them for months since he had other things to worry about. doesn't mean they didn't bother them and scare them though.

sometimes they just don't show up and don't reply to messages after shooting a quick text to his mates about feeling ill. his bandmates were getting concerned.

a little bit difficult to work with in the studio sometimes because he has difficulty concentrating and doesn't seem present.

terrible sleep quality, something he and his brother have in common.

often lacks motivation to do anything outside of his music job and things he feels like he's obligated to do, like hang out with his friends sometimes. never moves things out of place in his apartment, but his room is usually a mess because he struggles with cleaning up.

Ritsu had no fucking idea how to cope with any of this and made a decision to remove their perceived source of trauma from his life. He completely cut out Mob from his life for a few years. Blocked his number. Blocked his socials. Moved and never gave him a new address.

at first he felt as though he really did something to fix things for himself. after all he didn't need to bother checking up, visiting, hanging out with a person who had caused him all this trouble. he felt optimistic about it at first. waited for their own symptoms to get better. eventually no matter how he looked at it he hadn't fixed anything. he was still being stubborn for years after cutting his brother off.

had a breakdown in front of his bandmates and they started asking him to get help. he caved in and he did! now they're learning to live with their PTSD and their issues in a healthier way. but he's also starting to really miss his brother and feel like an asshole for lying to him about the incident and leaving him in the dark.

soooo that's all that's going to be revealed in this post. more on mob's side of the story and how they try to fix things next time? i've actually already written a oneshot on it but i'm not sure if i should share it. i'll go ahead and burn that bridge when i get to it afbdhsakfb but if you're still reading at this point thanks so much for reading until here 😭😭😭

#mob psycho #mob psycho 100 #mp100 ageswap #age swap au #kageyama ritsu #ritsu kageyama

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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passmethemolly · 4 years ago

Text

dteam + friends as old navy employees

Bad is the manager. a very tired one, but he keeps everyone in check

bad: guys please make sure we’re asking for cards today- we’re behind and-

dream: its georges fault

george: it’s not! i ask and everyone says no-

dream: thats because you aren’t asking them right

george: how the hell do you ask for a credit card right???

bad is long gone by that point. he’s quietly sitting in the office watching george and dream bicker

he has a photo of his dog on his desk and will smuggle her into the workplace sometimes

will deal with the difficult customers but will feel bad for being mean even though its his job

sapnap is on the floor bc he can perfect fold things

hates every second of it and always hides in the fitting room or goes up to cash wrap to bother george

purposefully messes up piles of clothes so dream has to refold it

scares tommy whenever he hides in said fitting room

overall, super chill and will go where ever he needs to but folds like a sloth

once caught someone stealing but he didn’t say anything

george is always up at the registers and he absolutely hates it

he will never ever ask people to open up a credit card unless bad is there or unless dream gets put up there with him and they compete against each other

as soon as a customer has an issue with something, george calls bad up to the register to deal with it and he walks away

george will ignore customers and let wilbur take them instead

he steals the candy all the time

dream is tossed around all over the place

doesnt do anything, yet still manages to meet his credit card goal which annoys the fuck out of george and sapnap

he hits george with hangers

george will always hit him back

the kids are fighting again ft. hangers

he attracts the weird customers which makes for good stories

he once fell off a ladder and george saw that and he will never let dream live that down

a BOPIS beast- not a single order goes unnoticed by him

sapnap likes to fold the kids clothes since theyre easy and bad never checks kids

dream is a huge wingman to sapnap through the walkies

dream: sapnap, tell that girl that the boyfriend jeans are 100% off at your place.

sapnap: dude i have a girlfriend

dream: okay, say it for me then

sapnap: dream im not saying that-

george: will you please shut up i can’t hear anything but you two idiots

alternatively- also the biggest instigator

dream: george, i dare you to not talk to the next customer

george: what? no, i have to it’s literally my job to talk to them-

dream: do it, trust me

george: im not gonna ignore them as i check them out

dream: if you dont, im telling bad that you dont ask to open credit cards and you didn’t count the money from last night and youve been stealing the kitkats

long story short, they got a complaint and george was tasked with cleaning the bathrooms that night as punishment

tommy is in fitting room and he loves it

he was put there since he was “too aggressive” to be on sales floor

but hes the only person at the store that can open more credit cards than dream due to his aggression

he gets to go on his phone and drink coke whenever

once locked sapnap in the fitting room for three hours

whenever he has to return the ‘go back’ clothes, he sprints through the store. he literally runs the clothes.

once fought a customer that told him he was wrong about a price.

tommy: HOW IS IT WRONG I SCANNED IT WITH THE FUCKING IPOD AND IT CAME UP THAT PRICE HOW IS IT WRONG

tubbo is holding him back while bad is apologizing to the customer and offering them 70% their entire purchase

wilbur is on register with george and they gossip about the customers

wilbur is the best dressed there

everyone swoons for him, which racks up sales since everyone wants to be checked out by the cute cashier

him and george are lowkey the power duo on register

he cares very much about sizing and taking proper care of the clothes

he drives tommy and tubbo to work

dream and george go get lunch together on their break

dream will occasionally bring george mcdonalds if he feels like it

george, in return, won’t do anything special <3

jk- george just helps dream fold the floor after closing instead of hiding behind the cash wrap counter

george will always bring dream a starbucks cookie on fridays

one time, bad wouldn’t let george wear one of his supreme shirts and he had to wear dreams hoodie to cover it up

techno is a ghost at this old navy. hes never scheduled to work but when he comes it- everything is perfectly folded and they have a spike in customer satisfaction- but people rarely see him do these things

small rivalry between dream and techno obviously

they will always make a competition out of everything

always a closing time employee- he never opens the store.

dream is obsessed with how he perfect folds and will stalk him around the store when he does work

techno just wants to work tbh

tubbo is in fitting room with tommy

hes more…passive… with the customers

will always wish everyone a nice day even if they leave the room a mess

will take the time to clean each room while tommy sprints in and out with his arms full of clothes

does whatever tommy wants to do

except when it comes down to who is cleaning the bathrooms at closing time- then its a battle

(just rock paper scissors)

tubbo and dream sometimes trade places, but tubbo always goes back to the fitting room since he has no idea how the sales floor works

dream ROCKS old navy clothes

he abuses the fuck out of his employee discount

sometimes he’ll get george to give him a bigger discount

george always wears stuff with brands even though its against dress code (he will not give up his hypebeast shirts)

bad will let it slide most of the time but not all the time yk?

sapnap shoves his phone into clothes and plays games

on the quiet days- everyone is on sales floor except tommy. tommy is forbidden from being on sales floor.

tommy watches from afar as his friends slap each other with hangers and talk shit about the public

his time will come. he will get out of the fitting room

at closing time, dream and george hide in a blind spot and talk for the rest of their shift

sapnap: can you guys please stop flirting and go fold in mens? bad says if we fold everything we can leave early-

dream throws a bundle of socks at sapnap

george wants to be on sales floor so bad, he complains about register everyday

dream wants to be on register since sales floor is boring to him

bad wont let them switch

tommy, tubbo, and wilbur always start fights with george, dream, and sapnap

a ‘war’ broke out one night when they were closing

bad made them stay an extra two hours to refold the entire store since they trashed it

george once parkoured over a jean table

sapnap is always friendly to the customers and will ask them how theyre doing as soon as he sees them

scares the shit out the customers at the same time. he’s a ninja

tommy got out of the fitting room once and hid in a rack of dresses so bad couldn’t find him

bad just wants people to open up credit cards

sapnap would bring his girlfriend in a lot and now bad is considering hiring her since shes here so often

on their breaks, they will all sit in a circle and watch the cameras and make fun of people

they have a groupchat called “the navy soilders” and they literally just send the same video of dream falling off the ladder that george pulled from the cameras

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wienerbarnes · 3 years ago

Text

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes mob au #bucky barnes x mobboss!reader #mob au #marvel #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #even tho bucky wants her to give up control we all know he prob likes being yelled atin italian #and that the real reason he wants to take you out

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phykios · 3 years ago

Text

this one is dedicated to mi amor mari @perseannabeth, who is a beautiful bird and a wonderful friend and i am v v vvvvv grateful to have crossed the airwaves with her :”)

Today Was A Fairytale [read on ao3] T, modern royalty, fun at disneyland!

She stares at him.

He stares back. “What?”

“Really?”

“What?”

“You really think this is going to be enough?” Annabeth points at her head, the blue Yankees cap squishing her curls.

“Of course! It’s the Clark Kent effect.” As if to underline his point, Percy slips on his fake hipster glasses, except that stupid grin of his is too bright not to draw attention.

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is. Studies show that glasses are actually good enough to alter your appearance if someone doesn’t know you well.”

“Then why didn’t you bring a pair of glasses for me?”

“Because your hair is definitely the prettiest thing about you,” he says, automatically tugging an unruly curl which peeks out from under the brim, a gesture so practiced she almost doesn’t register it--until he blinks, dropping his hand, blushing lightly. “I mean--the most noticeable thing. You know. A hat should be fine.”

He looks away. Heat rises to her face, too. Because it’s so hot out, obviously.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “um. No--no one’s going to give you a second look if your hair is hidden.”

Chewing her lip, Annabeth can’t help but worry. Percy’s face is extremely well-known, possibly more than hers, and they’ve both spent the better part of three weeks with their faces plastered all over the media on their diplomatic trip. This is probably a really, really bad idea. Then, a thought occurs to her. “How about,” she says, perking up, “you give me your glasses, and I’ll give you mine.” From her backpack, she fishes out a pair of sunglasses, big and nondescript. He’ll practically be wearing a superhero mask with these.

Percy smiles again, and Annabeth thinks she might fly. “Perfect.”

Which is how Her Royal Highness Anna Elisabeth Ingrid Irene of Sweden and His Serene Highness Perseus Alexandros Ioannis of Thera play hooky from their day of boring meetings, insufferable dignitaries, and stuffy security guards, to go see the eighth wonder of the world: Disneyland Resort in California.

And how Annabeth eats her words as they make it past the security gate unchecked. “Eh?” He beams, nudging her with his elbow. “Eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shoves him back. “Shut up.”

***

[description: a tiktok video which depicts a line at Disneyland. the op, a black girl with braids, covers her mouth and looking into the camera, turning the camera to focus on the two people behind her. one is a tall boy with black hair and sunglasses, and the other is a blonde girl with a yankees hat and glasses. both are white. video text reads: “p sure the people behind me are prince percy and princess annabeth??? um?????”. background audio is a dubstep remix of the fight theme from undertale. end ID]

***

Maybe it’s a little weird, on account of her being actual royalty and all, but Annabeth has always been interested in princesses, both as a matter of historical record (history is awesome) and in the general sense. Like millions of other people, she, too, was raised on Disney movies and tales of princesses and true love, and she was just as captivated as the rest of them. She and Percy used to watch the Disney catalogue whenever their families held state visits for each other, staying up into the small hours of the morning, sharing some popcorn and singing along.

Luckily for Annabeth, her favorite princess is holding a meet and greet at the Royal Hall.

“Excuse me,” Percy says, approaching Princess Ariel. Well, her cast member, anyway. “Could I get a photo for my friend?”

“Of course!” she trills, her blue eyes sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.” Holding her hand out, perfectly poised and graceful in a way that would impress even Annabeth’s stodgy etiquette instructor, she smiles, warm and welcoming, pivoting to bring Annabeth in for one of those weird, semi-awkward half-hugs. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” says Annabeth. Hey, it’s not untrue. She’s a little leery of using any of her names, but Anna is common enough. Annabeth? Not so much. Even with her glasses and hat disguise, a little paranoia is justified, she thinks.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Anna,” she says, cheerful, with all the grace and charm of someone who doesn’t spend hours saying the same thing over and over again to excitable, temperamental children. What a trooper, she thinks.

“Don’t you recognize a fellow princess when you see one, your highness?” Percy says, grinning that stupid, smarmy grin of his.

Annabeth glares. Oh, he thinks he’s so damn clever.

“Oh, of course,” says Ariel, smoothly. “How could I have thought otherwise? Your highness.” And she curtsies to Annabeth, a short dip, her hand placed delicately against her chest. “Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend Anna, princess of Arendelle?”

Still smirking, Percy takes some more pictures, trapping Annabeth into smiling for the camera. She can’t be glaring daggers in her pictures, nor can there be video evidence of her kicking him--no matter how much she wants to.

And she definitely doesn’t miss the way Ariel not-so-subtly checks Percy out, eyeing him up and down.

“You fucking asshole,” she hisses as they leave the photo area, swatting him lightly, and he giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, though she definitely tries as they enter back out into the park proper, giving him just the barest hint of a cold shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Percy says. “I was just teasing.”

“You shouldn’t go around tempting fate like that,” Annabeth says. “Do you want to cause another international incident?”

Percy winces, no doubt remembering the Gateway Arch incident of 2008.

“If someone recognizes us, we don’t have Zoe or any of her team to protect us,” Annabeth goes on. “Not that I think anyone here would try to hurt us, but…” But it’s a little nerve-wracking, being on her own like this. She hasn’t been alone like this for a really long time.

Wincing, Percy rubs the back of his head. “I guess I forgot you’re a little higher profile than me. Sorry.”

She doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Percy, by his nature as the younger son of a largely defunct royal house, doesn’t have quite the same number of… issues… that someone like Annabeth might have.

Deflating, she uncrosses her arms. “It’s okay.”

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s really okay,” she says. “No harm no foul.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, entirely serious. “I can call someone up.”

She knows just how long they’ve planned this, how many favors he’s called in and policies he’s sidestepped. Backing out now would just be a waste of a day. She shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just… feeling a little exposed, I guess. But, I don’t want to ruin all our plans. Let’s keep going.” She grabs his hand, squeezing a little.

“...Okay,” Percy says. “But say the word, and we’ll call it a day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Like he doesn’t have any other expression today, he smiles at her again.

It hits her, suddenly. He’s so much taller than she remembers. Once upon a time she used to be taller than him; now, he’s basically a whole head above her.

It’s annoying. But also… not.

Spying something over her shoulder, his eyes light up, and he practically gasps. “Cinderella!” he points with his free hand, like a five-year old. “Come on!” And he takes off to one of the park corners, dragging Annabeth along with him.

He has to wait in line behind a pair of twin girls, six or seven years old by the looks of it, in identical Cinderella dresses for a photo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and when it’s finally his turn, he nearly trips over himself to go up and ask for a photo.

Cinderella agrees, and now Annabeth is relegated to the job of cameraperson. Percy slides in next to the princess, his hand on her waist, but, ever the respectful gentleman, loosely held, so the cast member can slide out of his grasp without any difficulty at all.

Taking a few shots, it does look kind of strange to have Cinderella’s beautiful, shining face, and Percy’s enormous sunglasses blocking his. “Take off your glasses?” she says, lowering her phone for a second.

Dutifully, Percy slips them off, smiling again for the camera.

Cinderella’s smile doesn’t falter, a credit to her professionalism, but Annabeth can see her eyes widen, just a touch.

Annabeth snaps off a few more photos, “Got ‘em!” and Percy once again gushes over the princess, thanking her for her time. Grabbing Annabeth’s hand again, he practically skips off, leading them in the direction of a nearby candy shop.

***

me: IM SHAKING GUESS WHO I JUST TOOK A PICTURE WITH????

sis: prince percy?

me: HOW TF DID YOU KNOW

sis: its on twitter already

***

They’re walking along, Annabeth slurping up a Dole whip, when she suddenly stops in her tracks, outside of one of the many, many gift shops. “Wait up a second.”

“Hm?” Percy says, around the giant lollipop in his mouth.

“I want to get some Mickey ears.”

Very quickly they get lost in the sea of Disney merchandise, walking the labyrinth of Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar goods. There’s a surprising amount of black for the so-called happiest place on Earth, but things do brighten up when Annabeth finally turns a corner and finds the enormous selection of Mickey ears. It’s a wash of sparkles, flowers, bows, and occasionally characters, for children and adults alike. Annabeth eyes a pair designed like Baby Yoda, eyes wide and ears adorably huge, before she fingers a pair of white Mickey ears that have a bridal veil attached to them, contemplating its counterpart, the black ears for the groom, each ear emblazoned with a sparkling silver “Happily Ever After.”

She looks around. Where did Percy wander off to, anyway?

Well, wherever he is, hopefully he hasn’t gotten mobbed by a horde of excitable fangirls. Given that she can’t hear any screaming--well, any unusual, non-Disneyland-relevant screaming--that’s probably a good sign.

Running her fingers over the ear selections, she finally picks out a pair of silver sequined earrings with a shiny gold bow, a tiny, rhinestone Cinderella’s castle placed delicately in the middle.

Yeah. This one.

Percy finds her as she is paying for her ears, a pair of his own already on his head, red balloons inside of plastic circles. The sunglasses, she notes with a tinge of nervousness, are tucked in his shirt, and not on his face, protecting his identity. “Oh, check mine out--they light up!” he says, giddy, pressing the button on the side, not that she can tell in the brightly lit shop.

“That’s not why I was looking.”

Walking out of the store, ears firmly in her possession, she looks around again. Percy’s face is out there for the world to see, and no one is giving them a hard time.

And her hat is really sweaty.

Ah, fuck it.

She removes the Yankees cap, shaking out her sweaty curls, sliding the ears on in its place.

And the glasses, for good measure.

“Cinderella?” Percy asks.

“I thought you’d approve.”

Outside the shop, next to a corn dog cart, Percy pulls her aside, out of the way of a whole classroom’s worth of children, holding up a plastic plag. “So, confession.”

“Percy…” He didn’t. “We said no gifts!” They had agreed to it that morning!

“Well, see,” he says, fumbling around in the bag, pulling out a black t-shirt. “I saw this, and I thought--I thought you might like it.”

He unfolds it, and Annabeth frowns at the shirt design.

It’s… a drawing of a man in a purple mask against a solid black background, glaring at the viewer. Circling him, in distressed, white-grey military font, are the words “BARON ZEMO,” and the logo for the show he must star in, Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. She doesn’t really watch superhero shows, though, and she’s pretty sure Percy doesn’t, either. Maybe he’s started this one and he really likes it? “Thanks,” she says, confusion coloring her voice despite her best efforts.

But he doesn’t look too disappointed. “I was looking through their pride merch, and they didn’t have any stuff with the ace flag, which totally sucks, but then I thought that maybe you might like something a little more subtle? So, yeah.” He shakes it. “Ace pride!”

Oh. Oh, this boy.

She remembers, so vividly, visiting his father’s summer home on Kalymnos, a few years ago, the summer she turned nineteen, waking up to a banging in the kitchen, noisy pots and pans making a real racket. Granted, it had been one in the afternoon, and Annabeth probably should have been awake sooner, but she had stumbled out of the guest room into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, to the sight of Percy wrestling with the standmixer, making bright, neon purple frosting. The night before, sometime around three or four AM, that weird, liminal hour where the shadow of night just starts to recede, the sky a sweet, soft, dusky blue, she had come out as demisexual to her best friend, saying the words aloud for the first time ever. Loopy from lack of sleep, the moment had passed without much fanfare.

But Percy, dark-circled and still yawning, had woken up early to make her a chocolate cake. By the time she had woken up, he had baked the cake, chilled it, and made two out of the three frosting colors, a beautiful, moist, dark chocolate cake which ended up being frosted with a marbled mix of purple, black, and white, all folding into each other into a kind of colorless, grey sugar.

Here, now, in Disneyland, she throws herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His arms automatically come up to circle her, hugging her tight.

She had been worried it had been some kind of defense mechanism. A young girl with an alarmingly high profile, Annabeth had been the subject of intense scrutiny with regards to any romantic entanglements, with critics, tabloid reporters, and fans alike attempting to invent gossip-worthy relationships with every boy she ever talked to--most usually Percy. They did grow up in the public eye together, attending all kinds of events and functions together over the last fifteen or so years. And they did tweet at each other. Like, a lot. They even had their own portmanteau hashtag. But no relationship ever materialized.

She thought maybe she was just being stubborn, unwilling to play the media game. But it hadn’t been stubbornness. It wasn’t about shyness or inexperience. It was real, and it was her.

And Percy hadn’t even blinked.

“I love it,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, swaying her from side to side, just a little. “It was my pleasure.”

***

What’s happening: #percabeth (Entertainment • trending)

@kndrck__ STREAM CHROMATICA: um @TheraUS @SwedenRoyals i think i found your sick royals? #percabeth #disneyland

@wasabiviking: omg werent they supposed to be at some hospital opening today #percabeth

@ChampionSno brando he/him: LMAOOO NOT #PERCABETH PLAYING HOOKY LIKE IT’S ROMAN HOLIDAY

***

“Holy shit,” Percy moans, his mouth full of food. “Oh my God. Dear God in Heaven.”

Annabeth kicks his ankle under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Oh my God, Annabeth. Holy shit. This is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“A monte cristo?”

“A deep-fried monte cristo! In sweet batter!” Taking another bite, he moans again, just this side of indecent. “Oh my God I love Americans. They are absolute culinary geniuses.”

“Better than Bistrot Chez Rémy?” They had both been to Disneyland Paris, separately, sadly, and Percy had recommended the restaurant to her with great enthusiasm for her upcoming trip. As usual, he was spot on with his food recs.

He nods, eyes closed in rapture. “By a mile.”

“You’ll have to learn to make your own when we get back home, then.”

He jolts, straightening up, cheeks full of food. Roughly, he swallows. “You’re right! I need to take notes.” And he takes out his phone, hurriedly typing down whatever scent and flavor notes he must be able to discern. “This is definitely challah…”

Plucking another piece of chicken with her fork out of her jambalaya, Annabeth lets her attention wander a little, content to watch the passengers on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride as they float on beside them, down in the artificially constructed bayou river.

Truth be told, she’s kind of tired. They’ve been walking around all day, and even with the brief reprieve of rides, her shoes really aren’t the kind that deal well with huge amounts of walking. She can already tell that she’s going to crash, and crash hard, whenever they get back to their hotel. You know, if their security detail doesn’t eviscerate them first.

When Percy had first presented his idea to her, she had agreed without hesitation. They had had a long, dense schedule of public appearances planned for their excursions to the states, and the days had begun to seriously wear them out. Together, they had worked out the kinks, coming up with contingencies, negotiating things to do, all over Discord so no one else would get wind of what they were doing. Prior to this trip, she hadn’t seen him in… probably almost a year. She knows his father had been keeping him close to home for whatever reason, and Annabeth had had a handful of official functions to deal with. Their paths just never managed to cross, up until now.

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him.

It’s lonely, growing up in the public eye. It’s cliche, but it’s true. And while Annabeth is afforded a metric ton of various intersecting privileges, she thinks she’d probably give it up in a heartbeat. It kind of sucks being a living, breathing tourist attraction.

Growing up, she had her cousin Magnus, and a handful of other assorted children to play with, but she would never say that she had a best friend, or even a good friend, until she’d met Percy. Her mother and his father, famous for their mutual dislike, had put aside their differences to host some kind of charitable dinner for the disgustingly wealthy, and had trotted out their respective children in all their finery. Annabeth, being all of twelve years old, hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the event, and had gotten into an itty bitty little food fight with the then-unknown Prince Perseus, the result of an extramarital affair whom his father had so graciously decided to acknowledge and adopt.

After that night, they became fast friends, and she decided that, if she ever left the royal life, she’d make sure to take Percy with her. He’s one of the few things that makes her life bearable.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Renouncing her title. It wouldn’t exactly be hard. There was Magnus, just in line behind her. And it’s not like her family held any executive power anyway. They’re just fancy, historically interesting celebrities.

Would Percy give up his, she wonders?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looks at her oddly over their dessert, two vanilla-bourbon creme brulees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired. Long day.”

“You want to call it a night?”

She frowns. “What’s left?”

“Well, we did Space Mountain, Rise of the Resistance, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, a few others,” he counts off his fingers, “saw the princesses, got Mickey ears, ate at Blue Bayou… I guess all that’s left is walking around the pier, if you want.”

“Sounds like you two had a full day.”

As one, they almost leap out of their seats, Annabeth choking on her spit. “Jesus, Zoe,” Percy pants, his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh?” says Zoe Nightshade, the head of their security detail, who had just apparently materialized out of thin air. “Funny. I could say the same about you, sir.”

Coughing, Annabeth eventually manages to get her air back. “Hey, Zoe,” she wheezes. “How was your day?”

“Eventful. Let me tell you about it in the car.”

Annabeth glances at Percy, who’s looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. Honestly, she’s surprised they even made it this far without one of their own tracking them down. Still, it looks like their game is up.

...Or is it?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a large tour group, approaching on the horizon.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, getting up. Luckily, they’ve already paid, so they can just head out; they don’t need to wait for another big group of people to cross their paths. “Will you let us go to the bathroom, first?”

Zoe squints. She’s always been able to see through Annabeth’s bullshit. But Annabeth has her best, Percy-patented baby seal eyes on, perfectly innocent. Surely, Zoe wouldn’t deny them a physical need such as relieving themselves?

After a moment, she nods. “Make it quick, if you please.”

“Of course,” Annabeth says, looking over at Percy, hoping he gets the message. He stands up, slow and stiff, eyes darting between the two of them. “We’ll be right back.”

They wander through tables and chairs towards the bathroom, her eyes always on the tour group as it just starts to pass by. Reaching out, Annabeth grabs Percy’s hand, and with a turn that would make her track coach proud, sprints out of the restaurant, using the throng of people as cover.

She thinks she hears Zoe yelling behind them, but maybe it’s just her own laughter. “Come on!” she shrieks, breathless, as Percy’s long legs keep pace with her. “To California Adventure!”

***

darthbingus said: the monarchy are fucking parasites but percabeth is pretty cute i guess :/

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: it’s obviously a publicity thing lmao, also prince Percy is gay???

eowynning reblogged and said: he’s dating rachel dare, right? he can’t be gay

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: That was a publicity thing too obvs, and Annabeth hasn’t ever been linked to a guy. The king of thera is hardline greek orthodox, there’s no way he’d let his son come out publicly. They’re both gay and pretending to date because homophobia

lardoftheprks reblogged and said: people can be bi and ace and pan and all sorts of things you know

batgirlcock reblogged and said: can you animals leave them alone fr

***

Zoe only spots them after the ferris wheel starts moving. Sprinting over to them, they’re still a full forty feet off the ground by the time she reaches the operator. “Sorry!” she yells down to her, hands cupping her mouth. “We’ll be down in ten minutes!”

“Ananbeth!” he chokes, giggles still escaping him.

“What?” she laughs.

“We’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“Exactly,” she says, settling back on the ride. “You’ll probably be grounded for life.”

“Me?” he squawks, playfully offended. “What about you?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ll just pin it all on you.”

Leaning back, he pouts, arms crossed. “Wow. I plan this amazing day, violate a few embassorial rules, and probably put both of our countries on a massive red alert, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I helped plan it, too.” But he does have a point. “Thank you,” she says. “I had a lot of fun today.”

He turns his head to her, a grin stretching across his face. “Me too.”

His voice is so soft, so fond. They share a look, a moment, no words between them, only the silence of a true, deep companionship. They don’t need to say anything else, because they already know what the other would say.

As one, they break away, looking back out into the California evening.

They don’t talk much as the ferris wheel climbs higher and higher. Honestly, Annabeth is kind of impressed with how well he’s handling himself--she knows heights are a bit of a weakness of his. He grabs the edges of their gondola every once in a while as it drops a few feet, knuckles white and face a little green, but he manages to keep his dinner down, even as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt, Percy and Annabeth at the top of the world. The swing back and forth a little, hot faces against the cool evening breeze.

And they stay there.

And stay there.

And… stay there.

Annabeth checks her watch. How long have they been up here?

Percy taps his feet, a little too frantic just to be ADHD.

Finally, there’s a burst of noise from below them, garbled and static. “Uh, yes, excuse me--” the voice says, amplified through a megaphone. “Yeah, um, it appears we are having some… uh, technical difficulties with the Pixar Pal-A-Round. Please remain calm, as we have our best technicians on it, and we are working on evacuating the ride in a calm and efficient manner.” Then the voice cuts out.

Annabeth glances towards Percy. He has his hands in his lap, fists clenching and unclenching, over and over again. “Uh… you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Percy says, “just fine. Peachy keen.” He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly blowing out his breath through his mouth.

“Hey.” She reaches over, and takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. After a long day of holding hands, somehow it still manages to surprise her, how well they fit together, how her skin tingles as she rubs her thumb against his finger. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to get us off this ride, and then we’ll fly home and be grounded for life.”

“I thought,” he wheezes, “you’d blame it all on me?”

“As if you could come up with a plan as genius as hiding from our guard in It's A Small World.”

He nods, shakily. “Right. All you. Definitely not my idea. Everyone knows I’d have looped back to Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer. “Just breathe with me a little, okay?”

They breathe together, slowly and evenly. At some point, Percy takes her hand in both of his, running his thumbs over her palm, tracing her lifelines like a map. His hands are big, and warm, and it seems to calm him down a little, so she doesn’t mind all that much.

Twilight darkens, stars twinkling against the grey, dusky sky, and still they are holding hands. Eventually, Percy relaxes, slumping against his seat.

“You good?”

He nods. He still doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Just…” he sighs, stretching his arms up, taking Annabeth’s hand with him. “Not super looking forward to the dressing down I’m going to get.”

She winces. Annabeth’s dad is a little more flexible than Percy’s when it comes to breaches of protocol. The king of Thera is somewhat famous for his paranoia. “I hope it was worth it.”

He whips his head to her, eyes wide. “Of course it was worth it!” he says, as though the opposite were even fathomable. “You kidding? This was the best day of my life.”

“Better than your sixteenth?” His father had officially acknowledged him that day. Annabeth had spotted him in a deserted hallway with his mother, the two of them fighting off a few happy tears. She knows just how special that day was for him.

“Not even close.” Squeezing her hand, he smiles again, that smile she knows almost better than her own by now. That smile she grew up with, a quiet oasis in a whirlwind of ancient tradition and modern media coverage. That smile is safety, familiarity. That smile was there to greet her when her mother chose to leave her family, when her uncle died without heirs, thrusting the position of heiress on her, whenever she had a rotten day or a bad grade or a lonely night, just on the other end of a phone, or down the hall, or in the kitchen.

Whatever happens, she knows, Percy will be her best friend. Her anchor.

Her…

She swallows. “Thank you,” she says again. “I needed this.” A day without an agenda. A day just for them.

His eyes are dark, and soft, like the water beneath them. One hundred and fifty feet in the air in a broken ferris wheel, there’s nowhere safer she can be. “Me too.”

So she’s not really surprised at herself when she says, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Eyes widening, just a hair, he opens his mouth, momentarily speechless. “You--are you sure?”

She nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Cool. Uh, me too.”

“Cool.”

Neither of them move.

“So, do--do you want to--”

Annabeth leans in, her other hand cupping his cheek, and kisses him.

His lips are soft. His mouth tastes like vanilla and bourbon. They are trapped in a metal box, one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, about to get the punishment of their lives when they get down, and it is absolutely, utterly perfect.

And when Annabeth pulls back, there are fireworks.

Quite literally.

Percy’s face glows with pink and green and purple, and a little fire in his eyes that’s all him. The pops of the fireworks, loud and brassy, and muted, completely overshadowed by the pounding of her heart in her chest.

They rest their heads against each other, breathing each other’s air, quiet and intimate, the calm before the storm that is surely coming. But that’s fine. Let it come, she thinks. She’ll be safe with Percy.

When the park technicians eventually get the ferris wheel moving again, Percy and Annabeth disembark from the gondola like nothing’s even gone wrong, waving to the crowd of people, fans, and reporters alike, who have swarmed the pier, phones and cameras held aloft in a constellation of light, before being quickly hurried away by Zoe and her crew, ushered to the end of the pier where Annabeth’s embassy’s car is waiting.

Percy doesn’t let go of her hand once.

***

KALYMNOS, GREECE--Prince Percy has arrived on the island for his family’s annual summer retreat, bringing his girlfriend, Princess Annabeth of Sweden, with him for the fifth year in a row, and the third as his official partner. Lifelong friends, the couple were most recently seen at Disneyland Tokyo, continuing something of a tradition for the two royals where they visit Disneyland parks across the globe. Our sources inside the castle are hinting that the family is planning something big this year. Could we see a proposal by the end of summer? Be sure to subscribe for more updates!

#pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #my fic #au #perseannabeth #the rivalry ends here #will i ever stop writing modern royalty aus? no 💖#also look mari i even used a taylor swift song

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