#apparently i refuse to draw the old man fully | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zhongli-topper · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, that Zhongli fic is *chef kiss* can I request dom reader with xiao, with orgasm denial, overstimulation but also praising him? Can the reader be gn? but fem reader is fine too. I've can't stop thinking about this man please, sadly he didn't come home so I'm here stalking xiao tag 😔

xiao x dom reader - taking care of him (nsfw)

pairing: xiao x gn reader includes: praise, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light dom reader/sub xiao a/n: thank you so much, lovely! 💖 sorry for the delay, i got busy with life. i love xiao, he’s baby and he absolutely deserves to be taken care of~

“Xiao.”

It never fails to astonish him, how just the way you say his name can feel like a caress, and you don’t even need to touch him. Despite his instincts, despite the voices that tell him to take up his burdens in solitude, he finds himself drawn to you like a moth to light.

“Come here?”

Under the lantern-light of your room at the Wangshu Inn, your voice is somehow softer, your gaze darker than the velvety night sky settling over Dihua Marsh.

He approaches you on the bed, stance wary like a cat’s. You know his caution is born of necessity, a natural outcome of his thankless and eternal battle, but right now it mainly makes you want to hold him and comfort him and try to help him untangle that ball of pain, even if just a little. Even as he sits on the bed next to you, his body’s tense, and still fully dressed even though you’re ready to sleep, if you felt like sleeping, which you didn’t.

You turn slightly towards him and place your hand over his, and the warmth of your skin seeps even through his glove, and even to a two-thousand-year-old adeptus, the mystery of human touch is still something unfamiliar to him—though with you, he’s learning to grow accustomed to it.

It had been a relatively slow process, even in mortal, human terms. After Xiao had begun to accept your fleeting, friendly touches during your acquaintance, it had taken a while for him to reciprocate, and even longer for either of you to progress into more physical, intimate forms of affection.

In that time you had learned to read the subtle shifts in Xiao’s moods, the quiet differences of his anger and sadness, and the rare, sun-bright glimpses of his happiness. For him, learning to be vulnerable was—and still is—an uphill battle, but in the time you two had been together, you could sense what he needed, and right now, with his brow drawn and hand clenched beneath yours, you were determined to give it to him.

“Xiao,” you say again, and flip his hand to thread your fingers through his. “You seem tense. Did anything happen today?”

“No,” he answers automatically. Then he frowns. “I’m the same as ever. What makes you say that?”

You’re a little stung at his blunt tone, but you know he means nothing by it. You shrug. “I know you, Xiao. I’d hope you would give me a little more credit after all this time.”

He looks at you fully then, and his frown deepens as though he’s disappointed in something. “I—I know.” He blinks, his lashes fluttering. His gaze grows determined then, and squeezes your hand in return. “I need…”

“Yes?”

“Just…” He shakes his head, a frown etched into his features. “Memories of the war. They’re… being difficult to deal with again.”

He averts his gaze from yours, suddenly shy. “I… thought I would ask if you…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he cuts himself off, seeming to be embarrassed at what he was asking you to do.

“What did you want to ask me?” you encouraged him.

“If you would… help me to forget. To stop thinking about it.” As he said it, a pink tinge bloomed across his cheeks, an endearing sight that clued you in as to what kind of activity he had in mind. You turn your hand over and twine your fingers with his, and you’re happy to see him reciprocate rather than shy away as he had done in the past.

Giving him a small smile, you nod. You pull him closer, slow enough for him to get comfortable, and press your lips to his. “Then, let me take care of you, Xiao.”

~*~

You kiss him, slow and deep, and he melts under your touch, his hands grasping at your shoulders, your arms and chest, anchoring himself to your body. He’s taken off his accessories, leaving him in his sleeveless top and pants. In between kisses, his breaths already have an uneven quality, as he presses himself into the warmth of your body.

You pull back to catch your breath, and see that even with his eyes closed, his brow is still clenched, and you smooth over the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb, following it up with your lips. He shifts on your lap, and you can feel through his pants that he’s already half-hard, and trying not to rut against your thigh.

You smile against his skin. “You’re doing so well, Xiao,” you whisper, kissing close to his ear after you say it. You can feel him shiver, just slightly, at your praise, which you’ve learned is something that really gets him going.

“Do you want me?” you ask, just to make sure.

His fingers clinging onto your shoulders tighten and he nods fervently, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Please.”

You swallow the rest of his panting breaths by sealing your mouth over his, and slowly you push up the fabric of his shirt, his tight shirt that never left much to the imagination. Xiao might have been small, but his body was solid and muscular, and his naked skin under your hands was hot. You could feel the vibrations of his soft moans as your palms dragged up his toned torso, over his abdomen to splay your fingers over his chest and play with his nipples.

“Y/N…” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “I…”

“Shh,” you say. “I said I’d take care of you, love.” You let your mouth trail over his jawline and down his neck, enjoying the little huffs of breath he lets out. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

You feel him hesitate. It’s always been difficult for him to admit to it, that he is worthy of such gentle, loving attention, but you want to make it known to him that he is.

Your lips descend to his chest, and you swirl your tongue around his erect nipples, drawing small gasps from the adeptus. He soon grows pliant beneath your caresses, and you easily push him down to lie on his back, and place the hem of his shirt in his hands so he can hold it up.

“Keep that there,” you instruct him in between kisses down his abdomen, until you reach his waistband and the tent he’s forming in his pants. His lips are trembling as he looks down at you, already sensitive from your kissing. He attempts to reach down with one hand but you bat it away, prompting him to return to holding his shirt up, and you slowly pull his pants down.

He’s already hard, the tip of his dick starting to leak precum, and you press your palm to its top before sliding it down his shaft and encircling him in a loose fist. You pump him a few times, and lower your head to his hips.

Your eyes flick up towards Xiao’s, and you can see him biting down on his knuckles, unwilling to make noise. You pause in your movements, looking at him meaningfully, and he growls into his skin.

“I want to hear your voice, Xiao,” you tell him, “I want to hear the sounds you make when you’re feeling good.” With your other hand, you let your nails dig into the muscle of his thigh.

He gasps at the sudden pain, releasing his hand from his teeth, then frowns at you, but you’re already smoothing the hurt over with kisses, getting closer to his cock.

“Don’t hold back,” you tell him. “That’s an order.”

He only grunts in response, but you stop moving and give him a pointed look until he says, “…I won’t.”

Pleased, you finally give attention to his cock. You start to leave a line of small, light kisses up the side of his shaft, lips fluttering over his heated skin until he’s gasping and barely stopping himself from bucking his hips in search of more friction.

“Good boy,” you say, “you’re following my instruction.”

He mewls as you give tiny licks to his cockhead, tasting the slightly salty flavor of precum, before swallowing it whole and sealing your lips over his shaft.

“Aa-ah!” He trembles, suddenly engulfed by the wet heat of your mouth. You close your fist around him and pump in tandem with your head, slowly building the intensity until his eyes glaze over and his hands threaten to rip the fabric of his top. All the while, he moans and whimpers, and you can see how his lips tremble in embarrassment before letting the sounds out.

You release him with a pop and his hazy stare goes to you, hips chasing after your face only to be stopped by a hand on his hip. You look down at him, and he’s so cute, panting underneath you, you can’t help but grin.

“You look so cute like this,” you tell him, “feeling good under me. I like how you’re moaning too~”

His eyes widen and then his brow clenches, blushing hard at your praise. You give him a little kiss on the nose, his lashes fluttering at the contact. He had been getting close, you could tell, but you wanted to tease him some more.

You push his legs up and spread them, using your thumbs to massage around the cleft of his ass.

“Aah!” A high-pitched gasp leaves him, your fingers having taken him by surprise. His golden eyes fly towards you, in between his thighs, spreading his asscheeks to have access to his entrance.

“Nnh… that’s…” He bites his lip and trails off, apparently lost for words. You grope around for the bottle of oil you keep in your nightstand before spreading some over his hole, then continuing to massage around it, loosening up some of the tension in his muscles.

Apparently you’re taking too long, because he growls and says “Stop teasing,” which might have sounded threatening if not for the pleading, high-pitched note in his voice. At his demand, you let your nails dig in to the meat of his thigh—not too hard, but just hard enough to draw a small hiss of pain from your mewling lover.

“I said I’d take care of you, and I will,” you tell him. “Or don’t you trust me, baby?”

He grumbles and has to avert his eyes before saying, “…Yes. I do. Sorry.”

Xiao chews on his lip when you slip one finger inside, then eventually another. His small gasps are coming out in an uneven staccato, his hips writhing slightly as he tries to get your hand to hit that sweet spot inside of him. You settle in between his legs, adding a third finger, and he moans, clenching at the bedsheets.

“Fuck,” he groans, “please, deeper.”

You do as he says and curl your fingers as you drag them against his insides, and he all but howls when you press against his prostate.

“Y-Yes! There—ngh,” he gasps, opening his bleary eyes, looking down at you in a daze. You smile, keeping your fingers buried inside him, and grip the base of his still hard cock tightly. Sweat is sticking his dark fringe to his forehead and beading on his skin.

He presses the back of his hand to his mouth, his hips rutting into your fist, but you’re not moving, holding him too tightly. Rather than giving him pleasure, your hand is keeping him from cumming, even as you continue to pump your fingers inside of his tight hole.

“Please let me cum,” he begs, stilling his hips with effort, his thighs shaking as you keep thrusting at his prostate. He whimpers, clearly at the edge and overwhelmed at the sensation of being so close and denied his release.

“You can hold on for me,” you coo, your voice sweet. “You’re taking my fingers in so easily. You look so hot begging for me, I want to see more of it. Can you spread yourself open, baby boy?”

Panting, he lets out little huffs of breath as he bends his legs up, pressing his thighs against his chest, opening his legs wider. His face is bright red, his voice growing in volume when you resume thrusting your fingers and lower your head to take him in your mouth again.

Xiao sobs, the warm heat of your mouth engulfing his weeping cock, driving him closer to his peak even as you still grip his base.

You drag your tongue along his length in time with your fingers on his sweet spot, and he bites his lip bloody.

He all but screams, his hips and thighs shaking. His eyes are glazed and he seems lost for words, aware of nothing but the sensations your hands and mouth are giving him.

“I need to cum,” he cries, “c-close, please—”

He’s held out for long enough. You drag the hand on his shaft up along with your mouth, sealing your lips around his sensitive head, while aiming for his prostate once again. Like clockwork, his fists clench in the sheets and he cums, spilling down your throat.

You swallow down the salty, bitter taste of his spend, hearing him begin to quiet above you, but you're not done with him yet. You nudge again at his spot and give his cockhead a broad lick before sucking him back in.

He makes a noise of surprise, trying to watch as you don’t stop, but his entire body shivers from the overstimulation, and he's unable to prop himself up, instead shaking and boneless under your hands and mouth on the bed.

You pull your mouth off him for just a brief moment and say, “You said you needed to cum, baby. So be good and cum for me some more, huh?” You lock your eyes with his blurry gaze and keep them there as you begin to suck him off again.

“Ngghh,” he groans, and it doesn’t take too long until he’s shaking and fully hard again, and close to a second orgasm. When you feel him approaching his peak, you release his cock from your mouth, pulling a frustrated groan from Xiao as he cums a second time, a dry one, as his hips bear down on your fingers inside him.

“Good boy, Xiao,” you say when his lashes flutter open, slits of gold peering at you.

His whole body is trembling even after you pull your fingers out of him, and you kiss his sweat-slicked brow before wiping his cum off his stomach. He finally lets go of the sheets and then blinks at the torn fabric that falls from his hands.

“…You ripped the sheets,” you say with a laugh. “Was it that good?”

He grumbles again, turning on his side. “You kept going. I’m blaming you.”

Still smiling, you slide into bed behind him, and lay an arm around his waist. You can feel his soft exhale when you wrap around him, and he subtly nudges himself back, further into your embrace.

“You did well, baby,” you tell him, kissing at the sensitive spot under his ear.

“…Thank you,” he mutters, and you almost don’t hear it. You pull him close, nuzzle your cheek into his dark hair.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Nothing answers you but the sounds of soft breath, and when you check, Xiao’s fallen asleep.

You pull the blanket over the both of you, making a mental note to have them repaired in the morning. “Good night, Xiao.”

#chirumi #xiao x reader #xiao #genshin impact #genshin x reader #xiao x you #genshin smut #fanfiction #sub xiao

852 notes · View notes

the-hidden-pages · 4 years ago

Text

Let Me Worship You: Part 1 - Zemo x Fem!Reader

The fact that this man is the one who dragged me out of my refusing-to-write-fanfiction grave and let me post old work while working on new stuff is...Impressive. Damn you Daniel Bruhl.

Synopsis: With all the horrible things you had heard of Baron Helmut Zemo, you hadn't anticipated just how badly he wished to win you over. To a further extent, you certainly hadn't anticipated how tempting it would be to give in.

No bad NSFW this chapter - this is the lead up to the main course.

You were not an Avenger.

Unsurprising, really, given what you perceived to be your lack of talent and marketable super-heroine prowess, and so when Bucky called you up asking for a favour, you were pleasantly surprised.

You had only met Bucky on the rare occasion he let you help him, often expressing that he viewed you as a worrywart, a particularly bad day of his leading to him accusing you of trying to be his mother. He later apologized, hearing your explanation that you wanted to help in any way you could, and since you didn't have a superhero serum or fancy suit or arm, you relied on what you could - your mind and your giving nature.

He must have remembered this conversation, because he brought you with him and Sam to what appeared to be an underground parking garage.

"What're you talking about, you wanna break Zemo out of jail? Where the hell are we Buck? Have you lost your mind?!" Sam was raving as you followed behind the two men, silent as you stew over what Bucky had told you.

Babysitting duty.

You were effectively on glorified babysitting duty of an incredibly dangerous criminal.

"James..." you hesitated when he discussed this with you, how could you not? "I don't know how useful I'll be here."

"Very," he countered, his voice dull while his eyes were pleading. "Sam’s an Avenger, I have the serum. But you, you're just a person. Zemo will be less likely to hurt and immediately betray you because of that fact alone."

"He's killed people who've been in his way before. Normal people."

"He won't kill you. I'll make sure of that."

A heavy sigh escapes you as Sam and Bucky continue to bicker about the logistics of breaking Zemo out.

"I don't like how casual you're being about this, it's unnatural - and - where are we man?"

"I wouldn't mind an answer to that too," you supply, but any answer is interrupted by the sound of a door unlocking.

The three of you turn to approaching footsteps, and find no one other than Helmut Zemo striding towards you, dressed in a prison guard's uniform.

Sam responds immediately, arguing to throw him back in jail, while Bucky tries to calm him down. But you can't help but stare at the man before you as he removes the cap on his head, arms raised in an attempt to calm the men down.

"If I may" his voice rasped, but he was stopped short by Sam and Bucky in unison.

"NO!"

Zemo nodded, looking away almost sheepishly. "Apologies," came the quiet response.

If it were any other situation, you would have laughed - those two had the dynamics of a married couple and they couldn't stand each other. And for them to completely shut down the killer in front of them was...incredibly funny.

But you had a job to do.

As the boys continued to bicker, you took slow steps forward towards the man now looking you up and down, trying to place your part in all of this.

"Don't mind them," you spoke quietly, not wanting to distract Sam and Bucky, but still intending to speak with the criminal. "They're having some troubles in paradise. You must be Zemo."

His eyes take you in, a small smirk beginning to form. "So I must. May I have the pleasure of your name, Liebling?"

You offer your name hesitantly, and he repeats it back to you, as though he were sampling what it might taste like.

"Beautiful name, thank you." He turns to face the two men still arguing, not noticing your introductions. "I really think I'm invaluable..."

"Shut up..." Sam warned, before turning back to Bucky, looking between him and you.

You nod reassuringly to him - this is necessary, if the super soldiers are to be dealt with.

A sharp sigh leaves Sam. "Okay. If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission. And she is watching you every step of the way."

Bucky interjects. "And if anything happens to her, you're going to wish we left you in that cell."

Zemo nods, looking to you once again. "Fair."

You tilt your head slightly, unable to read his eyes as they examine you. You brush it off, chalking it up to him appreciating not being thrown back into a cell immediately. "Okay Zemo. Where do we start?"

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

Zemo wasn't sure of what to make of you, he realized as you were on the jet to Riga.

You weren't an Avenger, you weren't a soldier, super or otherwise. You seemed to just be a person, one constantly offering her help where she could, even when it was to her own detriment.

He also took note of how rarely your help was appreciated or reciprocated.

You would offer help any moment you could, carrying supplies, offering to fetch food, simply offering and ear to listen. You were quick to attempt to smooth over Sam and Bucky's disputes, and you would play along with the role Zemo would assign you without much question - anything to help, you would say.

You were kind, he noticed as well. Smart, and shrewd, and clearly with trust issues, but you were kind and polite. You spoke with him as much as you might Sam or Bucky, you offered him your trust under the promise he would aide you find the super soldier serum. With your kindness, he thought it might be easy to manipulate you, to slip away from the group, maybe even to ask you to join him.

But there was an issue with his theory, he quickly noticed - any attempt to woo you, attract you, win you...didn't seem to work.

He hadn't been at the task long, mind you, but he had hoped you would be impressed with the jacket, the Baron title, the jet, the offer of wine. Instead, you simply seemed uncomfortable. Come Madripoor, you were happy to play the part of eye candy to escape much attention, yet when he offered you to keep the stunning dress, shoes, and jewelry ensemble you simply waved it off, claiming that you'd reimburse him if he insisted on you keeping it. You were happy to dance near him, unable to hide your laughter at his moves, yet he offered you a drink and you promptly declined, claiming it unnecessary.

Zemo's brow furrows as he observes you, awake and quietly reading as Sam and Bucky both sleep on the flight.

"What's your motive, Liebling?" he questions, and you glance up from your page.

"Don't tell me the criminal doesn't trust me," you respond wryly, turning your gaze back.

"No, I don't mean like that," he shifts, leaning forward to continue to observe the woman that was his guard. "I wonder what keeps you going. Some are motivated by riches, and dreams. Others from spite and anger. What do you want from life, my dear? What causes you to wake up in the morning?"

You pause, looking up to search his eyes to see where this question was coming from. You weren't sure what game he was playing, and you weren't sure how to answer him either. You eventually look back down to your book, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Nothing wakes me up in the morning, given I rarely get to sleep most nights."

His brows furrowed as she goes back to her pages, eager for the conversation to end. Her difficulty doesn't seem to be that he's a criminal - she's spoken plenty freely to him, she agrees to his plans...

The difficulty, he begins to realize with a smile. Maybe he's beginning to see what the difficulty is after all.

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

You weren't sure what to make of Zemo, you think as you lie awake at night in the Riga safe house.

This criminal coming out of nowhere, apparently being rich as hell, so far doing nothing to cause you to believe he would betray you (yes, Sam and Bucky were shocked by his killing of Nagel, but really? You weren't shocked) ...but what shocked you the most was how badly he seemed to want to win you over.

You could justify it, sure. You're supposed to be his guard, he's likely trying to get you to let your guard down so he can escape. Yet when he's so charismatic, the way he holds himself, that voice...

Your eyes snap open sharply.

You were attracted to Zemo.

The man you're meant to be watching.

No, you told yourself. You're just lonely, and he's the first man offering you attention in a long time. It doesn't matter that his eyes examining you makes you blush, that you want to run your fingers through his hair, that a quiet voice your head wished that he would kiss you when he pulled you aside with one arm, other hand aiming at a pipe in Madripoor to blow up some poor saps...

It's the heat of the situation, you told yourself. Your options are Sam, Bucky, and Zemo...

Trust you to pick the worst option.

But how could you not, your mind whispers. When he danced like a goofball in a club your heart warmed. When he sat, filled with confidence and righteousness in the jet, legs splayed enough that you could perch on your knees in front of him, worship him, pleasure him. When he left the bathroom this morning in that damned robe, the deep V drawing your eyes down his chest before you could help himself.

You groaned. Of all the thoughts to keep you awake, why did it have to be your assignment on your mind?

It was too hot, your mind was swimming, you knew sleep wouldn't come soon.

And so, you stood, wrapping your arms around your book and padding downstairs in a loose t-shirt and shorts. Zemo had said that you were welcome to whatever resided within the safe house, and you were ready to take up his offer and steal a cup of tea.

You weren't expecting to find anyone else still awake. And yet, you weren't fully surprised to find Zemo sitting in the kitchen, bottle of whiskey at his side, a glass in his hand. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a soft smile on his face.

"Good evening, Liebling."

"Zemo. Can't sleep?"

"Unfortunately, not." He leans backwards slightly, examining you. "Another sleepless night for you as well."

"So it would seem."

You take a seat across the counter from him, not wanting to sit too closely to the man you were just fantasizing about. You were good at keeping a straight face, but you wondered if you got too close if he'd somehow be able to smell it on you.

He pushed his bottle forward, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"Drink?"

Your finger caresses the binding of your book as you hesitate to find the words.

"Actually, I had come down to make myself a cup of tea, if you don't mind."

Zemo's eyes lit up slightly, and he stood, motioning for you to stay where you were. "Allow me."

"You don't have to-" you begin to protest, but he's quick to cut you off.

"Please, Liebling, let me spoil you."

The heat that washes over you is clearly visible, if his chuckle is any indicator.

Silence falls and you quietly open your book as Zemo busies himself over the tea. In mere minutes a steeping mug is delicately placed in front of you. You smile graciously and nod, though you falter slightly as he doesn't return to the other end of the counter - rather, sitting on a stool right beside you, inquisitive eyes not leaving your face.

"Can I help you with something, Baron?" you question, taking the tea and blowing on it to cool it down somewhat. His eyes follow your movements, before travelling to meet yours again.

You could drown in those eyes -

"Day after day you offer your help, sarcastically or not," he begins, leaning forward slightly as he rests his chin on his hand, examining you. "Who offers help to the helper?"

You take a sip of your tea, tilting you head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Your refusal of my gifts, your reluctance to let me even make you a cup of tea - at first I wondered if it was in distrust of me, Liebling -"

"Well, you have killed people."

He quirks an eyebrow, and you motion for him to finish.

"I realize now it's because you're uncomfortable being cared for. You spend so much time looking after everyone else, you give no one the opportunity to worship you as you deserve."

You choked a bit on your tea at that.

"I don't know that I deserve to be worshiped, I just...exist. And do what I can to help others."

Zemo leaned forward further, slowly, so as to not push you away in result. "We haven't been acquainted for long, my dear, but from all I've seen from you with Sam, with James, and with an undeserving man such as myself...the strength in your soul and the empathy in your heart...It alone rises you so far above the men and women placed on pedestals because of their supernatural abilities."

You lean forward to match, but your eyes have steeled over. "Your sweet words won't make me let you go, Zemo. I won't betray Sam and Bucky."

He didn't miss a beat. "I should be so lucky to be held captive by you for eternity, Liebling. I don't ask you to betray your friends on my behalf."

"Then what do you want from me, exactly?"

You should be very afraid. The man who singlehandedly tore apart the Avengers is staring at you as if you were a last meal, his knees touching yours, his hand finding its way to lightly perch on your arm.

You should be afraid.

Yet despite your better judgement, you aren't.

"I want you to tell me every one of your desires, so I might fulfill them. I want to see you stand tall in the finest clothes money can buy, to whisk you away to Paris, Vienna, Rome, every beautiful local this world has to offer, local that pale in comparison to the beauty in front of me. I want you to let me bring you tea, wine, food, chocolates, and anything else that might please you. I want you to relax against me, to feel the tension you've had all mission to wash away in the most luxurious bath of your life, while I wash your beautiful hair, while I taste every inch of you."

His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward more to hang off his every word. "I'm not a stupid man. I know it's only a matter of time before I'm back in a prison cell of some kind. And even if I weren't, you may not believe the sincerity of my words. But tonight, little bird, I want you to let me worship you."

Your eyes fluttered as his hand reached forward to cup your cheek, thumb caressing over your bottom lip. You had the strength to look him dead in the eye with one final warning.

"If this is a trick of any kind, Zemo, I won't hesitate to let Bucky rip you to shreds."

The laughter that leaves him fans over your face, drawing your eyes to his lips.

"I'd expect nothing less, Liebling."

His eyes still search your face. A gentleman, you realize. He's waiting for permission.

You lean forward to close the gap, slowly letting your mouth brush over his, tasting him for the first time, as your hand raises to card through the locks of hair in his face. Your body thrums with anticipation of what's to come, with the anxiety that this may be a dangerous move, with pure, undiluted arousal from his words.

Yet you break away gently, both hands cupping his face now as he looks at you, curious as to why you stopped, pleased that his initial seduction worked.

Your hands slowly travel down to his own, and you stand, backing towards the way you came when you first gave up on sleep for the night.

"Come on then. You want to show me what being spoiled is like?"

A grin curls its way onto his face as he spins you in his arms, twirling you so that your back is against his front, his arms around you, his breath hot in your ear.

"Little bird, I'll give you everything you crave and more."

#zemo x reader #zemo fanfic #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #x reader #baron zemo x reader

455 notes · View notes

hockeywhy · 4 years ago

Text

caught in the middle (1); m. barzal

SYNOPSIS: For the sake of your friend’s wedding with Tito, you and Mat agree to maintain the facade of still being the happy couple everyone sees you as. But the act comes with its consequences, one more taxing than the other. WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 11.2k A/N: I am so excited for this because it contains some of the tropes I enjoy seeing in fics, and I was dying to also put out some new content as opposed to only reposting my old writing. I wish I wrote this when I was still decent at doing the thing, but I hope that this is still an enjoyable read that makes you look forward to the next part! Title is based off Alexander 23′s Caught in the Middle which is such a good song and I really recommend. Sections in italics represent flashbacks.

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

“We’re getting married!”

You gasped, bringing both hands to cover the lower half of your face as your jaw dropped at the announcement. It shouldn’t be so surprising – you would’ve bet even your most prized possession that this was bound to happen at some point eventually – but knowing this was actually now a sure thing sent a thrill through you. It didn’t take long for the shock to wear off and in place of it, your expression mirrored that of your best friend’s: the wide grin, the bright eyes and of course, the giggles of sheer excitement as soon as the news sunk in. Elise was glowing and next to her, Tito embodied the idea of what the world’s proudest man would look like.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, and Elise burst into laughter, not hesitating to jump out of her seat at the same time you did so that the two of you could embrace. Among your squeals and giggles, you could faintly make out the sound of hands being clapped, then caught sight of Mat and Tito hugging. Over Elise’s shoulder and over Tito’s, you and Mat exchanged smiles and you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your mouth as soon as he winked at you. “Congratulations!” you said as soon as you broke apart, though the two of you still held hands. Immediately, your gaze fell down to her hand where a ring now rested, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t taken notice of it earlier. “Just—when? How? Where? Who else knows?”

“We don’t have a date or venue set yet, but we wanted you and Mat to be the first to know,” Elise informed you as soon as you took your seats again.

“We have a favour to ask from both of you,” Tito supplied. As soon as he said it, you felt Mat’s hand wrap around your own and the two of you exchanged a brief look during which he squeezed your hand gently, before diverting your attentions back to the soon-to-be newlyweds.

Newlyweds. The immensity of the word sent a discrete shiver down your spine.

“I can’t imagine asking this of anyone else: I want you to be my best man,” Tito directed at Mat.

“You shouldn’t even think of asking this of anyone else,” Mat responded immediately, and the two shook hands on it. You couldn’t help but think that if they weren’t as comfortable as they were now, they’d probably hug again, do their typical pats on the back or fist bump as they usually did, but Elise’s head now rested on Tito’s shoulder and Mat’s hand was so warm, so firm atop your own.

“Be my maid of honour, please?” Elise asked. “I can’t think of anyone more suitable than you and Mat as best man and maid of honour. We’ll return the favour of course,” she added playfully.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you warned without hesitating because after all, you had no reason to – and you knew Mat would agree with you.

Although the two of you hadn’t touched on the subject yet, there was an unvoiced knowledge shared between you that eventually, this would also be you. Eventually, Mat would ask you and your heart would grow and your soul would warm, and you would say yes. Yes, yes, yes.

As you all settled down to hear a replay of how Tito popped the question and Elise accepted the ring, Mat’s thumb began caressing the back of your hand. Though the gesture wasn’t a novelty, you couldn’t help but take notice of the way your heart fluttered each time he seemed to linger more on your ring finger. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a ring wrapped around it but neither of you were in a rush: you simply waited for the right time to take your relationship to a point in which it would become a forever thing, fully confident it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but rather, ‘when’.

This was anything but the right time.

You frown as you cast a glance down at the phone resting on your lap, eyes narrowing a little at the name which brought the display to life for the second time in the space of less than a minute. You click the side button twice, silencing the vibrations of it and from your side, your colleague leans in to whisper to you.

“You can take it if it’s urgent. I’ll fill you in afterwards.”

“Thanks,” you whisper back. “I think it can wait until the meeting wraps up though.”

Luke gives you a well, if you’re sure look as he leaned back in his chair and you flash him a grateful smile.

Still, it is difficult for you to settle comfortably in your seat again and much to your chagrin, you find yourself crossing and uncrossing your legs as if the call had sent some sort of signal to your entire body kickstarting jitteriness you can honestly do without. Not long after you find some comfort and energy to draw yourself back to the present, your phone buzzes again – only once this time, indicating a message.

I’m waiting for you in the lobby.

Fuck, you curse inwardly, locking the phone in frustration. As quietly as you can, you gather your notebook and work tablet then lean in towards Luke who met you halfway. “Have to run but let me know if I miss anything important.”

“At the current rate, I wouldn’t count much on it but will do anyway,” he states as quietly as he can and the two of you exchange sly, conspiratorial smiles before you excuse yourself quickly and very quietly while making a swift exit.

Internally, a string of curses follow without a break in between, and you have to physically bite down on your lip out of sheer fear one might unconsciously slip out. If anyone would be in your shoes, though, they wouldn’t blame you for it. You are the type of person to stick closely to any plans and agreements made, so the fact that he just chose to turn up so unexpectedly doesn’t sit right with you. Not anymore, that is. Besides, you had both agreed to do this after your workday ended as opposed to midday and definitely not in this place. Now, you have to brace yourself for coping with a foul mood on top of whatever else the rest of the day would throw at you.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Rachel announces quietly in a sing-song voice from behind the reception desk as you approach. She doesn’t bother masking the giddiness in her tone and you struggle to work up as genuine of a smile as you can when she nods her head towards the waiting area.

“Thanks, Rach.”

“Bet he must be so happy your redeployment to the Baltimore offices was cut short so quickly,” she coos.

“Sure is. We’re still on for tonight?” you ask quickly in an attempt to drive attention away from the subject before she can try to lead into it too far for your own comfort at the moment.

Rachel’s smile falters a little, her expression somewhat quizzical. “Don’t you want to postpone so you could spend some time with him? You only just got back yesterday, after all.”

You swallow uncomfortably before shrugging. “We’ve got plenty of time to do that. So tonight, okay? I’ll catch you later.”

“Your call. See you then, Y/N!”

You only had just a split second to brace yourself for what is ahead of you, so you draw in a breath then slowly exhale it as discreetly as you can while cutting your way across the lobby. Since agreeing to this meeting, you prepared yourself as best as you could, imagining every single scenario and devising the appropriate plan for it: from the way you presented yourself to what you said, you had a mental plan for everything including a few backups just in case. The only thing you hadn’t factored in, apparently, was how little was under your control and you hated that. Each step you take made you feel less and less prepared for what is ahead, and the thought rattles you. If you were swift enough on your feet, you could just about make a quick turn and dip into the hallway leading to the visitor restrooms. All you need is just a few more seconds. A little alone time for you to run over your lines in your head.

Except—

Mat looks up at the same time you take a step sideways, ready to bolt towards temporary safety. His eyebrows rise a little as if surprised by the sight of you, but you refuse to appear outwardly deflated by the turn of events. Instead, you square your shoulders, tip your head back a little and arch an eyebrow. You can do this. You note he is dressed casually, and his hair is pushed back underneath a black cap.

Unless there was a change in schedule, Thursdays were scrimmage days.

Your jaw clenches ever so slightly as you recall that with so much ease. Then again, you basically built up a collection of information that was practically helpful or useful to exactly no one over the course of the past few years. It’ll probably take just as much or maybe more to replace that with something different, so you try cutting yourself some slack whenever you are willing to.

“I thought we agreed on five thirty,” you state coolly, pitching your voice at just the right tone to also express surprise.

Mat pushes up from the armchair, returning whatever magazine he’d picked up back on the nearby glass table. “Sorry, I tried calling earlier this morning to ask if we can reschedule but it went straight to voicemail.”

Oh. You mentally curse yourself for not charging your phone as soon as you made it home from the airport the previous night or bothering to check the voicemail message you’d been notified of once it did begin charging earlier this morning at your desk.

“They rescheduled the viewing of the new arena for this evening, and I was in the area, so I thought I’ll drop by just in case,” Mat continues, throwing a cursory glance around the place though to you, it seemed more like a way of having a break from the eye contact. You don’t complain; you welcome that.

You open your mouth, ready to berate his poor timing but even you could admit you carry some fault here too. Only a little. You bite down lightly on the tip of your tongue, before nodding towards the seats though you didn’t wait for Mat; you sit, deciding he could make up his own mind if he wanted to follow or not.

“How was Baltimore?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence while settling in the same armchair he previously occupied.

“Mat,” you say, hoping it comes across as more of a warning than a plea. You can’t deal with small talk and a part of you thinks that’d make the entire deal even more difficult to go through with. He presses his lips together into a thin line and you take that as your sign to continue. “Elise told me she’d like us to be at the venue a day in advance of the rehearsal dinner if we can. I’ve already arranged my leave for that, so it’s not a problem for me. I’m planning on making my way there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“We can go together then. I can pick you up after work.”

“There’s no need—”

“Y/N.” The sharpness of his tone catches you off guard and you can swear Mat was equally surprised by that, though only for the briefest of moments. He slides forward a little in the seat almost as if he is more than ready to leave but Mat has never been one to back down so easily and you doubt any of that changed during the course of the past three months or so. “You were the one who insisted we go through with this and I’m trying. I really am, but you’re not giving me anything to work with. So please. Let’s just put everything to the side, do what we need to do and then it’s done.”

Done. Like it is a task, like it is something you needed to cross off a to-do list, scrunch it up then trash it.

The finality of the word is so heavy that it feels as if it had managed to knock out all the air in your lungs. You and Mat were running headfirst towards a fork in the road, and deep down you knew that was truly it. If until now the two of you have been dancing around each other, playing pretend as if you were kids living in a world of fantasy, you know that eventually, you have to let light shine on the truth: whatever lay ahead, you and Mat could no longer walk the same paths. It is just a matter of admitting it not only to yourselves, but also to the people you were lying to.

Lying for, you prefer.

Defeated, you slump in your own seat a little, legs crossing and fingers tapping lightly against the back of your notebook. “Be at my place by two. I’ll have everything that I need ready the night before so we won’t need to wait around.” A pause, and then, “how’s Tito?”

Mat lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Excited. Nervous. It’s the only thing he talks about in the locker, outside of it, on ice and off ice. How’s Elise?”

“Same deal with her. I never knew there were so many shades of blue before, but I’ve been proven wrong before.”

A pause follows that could easily be attributed to the group of people rushing into the building and allowing noise from the street outside to filter in while the doors were kept open, but you can tell there is more to it than that if you are to go by the shift in Mat’s expression. His expression changes and you find you can’t quite read into it or guess what could be going on through his head. You try not to focus much on the little voice inside your mind that was bothered by it but find it takes a considerable amount of effort to do so. Force of habit, you conclude.

“You don’t say,” Mat finally responds. There is a hint of accusation in his tone. Or regret. Maybe both.

Your lips press together firmly, a light frown forming on your face but chose to let that slide. Not only is the lobby of your workplace the least suitable place to have an argument about the two of you, but you find that even those short moments of seeing Mat face to face months after you called it quits appears to take a toll on you. You feel tired, worn out and willing to be the first one to back down for once.

It is cruel irony that a big red neon EXIT sign is visible from the corner of your eye.

You release a quiet, long sigh then stand up from the seat. “Well, I guess we’re done here? I do have another meeting to prepare for, so…” You trail off, already backing away a few steps.

Mat opens his mouth as if ready to say something else but promptly presses his lips together, deciding against it. He gives a swift nod of his head then stands up. It’s then you notice the two Styrofoam cups in front of him and the neon EXIT sign imprinted in your mind starts flashing temptingly at you. Mat is a step ahead. He holds out one of the cups towards you and you are ready to tell him off for it, but he cut in.

“Thought I wouldn’t drop by empty handed.” When you don’t make a move to accept it, his eyes briefly peek behind you. “Rachel’s all eyes this way, by the way,” he informs you and a brief glance over your shoulder confirms Mat hasn’t been lying.

As soon as you turn to look towards the reception desk, Rachel grins, waves quickly at you then turns back to her computer screen. Begrudgingly, you accept the cup of coffee and force a tight smile.

“See you soon,” you say by way of greeting and didn’t wait to hear a response from Mat.

It isn’t until you scan your pass to cross the security barriers and make a turn out of sight that you take a sip from the drink and almost immediately wish you didn’t. It’s your order to a T. The two of you even brought a coffee machine that would let you replicate it on days when you didn’t feel like leaving the comforts of your apartment, especially days when Mat didn’t need to get up early for practices or scrimmages or evening games. It stayed with Mat when you left and the memory left a bitter taste in your mouth, despite the gentle sweetness of the beverage.

Without thinking twice, you throw the cup in the nearest trash can.

As soon as your order is set on the table, you ignore the basket of fries and reach straight for your glass to take a long sip from the straw, letting out a content sigh as soon as you felt satiated enough.

“Long day,” you state in response to Rachel’s raised eyebrows but she seems to accept that by raising her own glass. You clink yours against hers, take a smaller sip then set it back down on the table. “What time do you think you’ll make it over to the hotel?”

“Well, I was thinking of trying to get there by midday on the day of the rehearsal dinner but it’s starting to look more like late afternoon. I’m…” She trails off, and you can just about pick up on her hesitation and the way her gaze shifts over to the side momentarily as if avoiding something or considering whether to continue that. You move in your seat, peeling your back away from the plush backrest to lean in a little closer.

“You’re…” you trail off, voice peaking just a little into a question in an attempt to prompt her to continue.

Rachel takes a deep breath in, shoulders visibly drooping and when she looked back at you, she did so with a look that could only reflect…shame? Embarrassment?

“Luke and I are sort of thinking of coming along together.” At the sight of your widened eyes, she quickly adds, “just as friends! We’re still working out through a few things and we’re taking it slow. As in, much, much slower than the first time around.”

“No way! That’s… Rach, that’s so good. I’m happy for you both, seriously.”

You find that you truly believed that, though it wasn’t a surprise to you. You had introduced Rachel to Luke while she visited you in Baltimore and at the time, he worked with you there also. Initially, you didn’t think much of it - you simply invited her to come along to a few after work drinks and the two kicked it off easily that night. Very easily apparently, because as the night started coming to an end, Rachel prompted you to go ahead without her. Ready to say you weren’t going to leave her own her own, you shortly found out exactly why: you watched with plenty of amusement and fascination as she and Luke climbed into a taxi together and whizzed off to his place, undoubtedly. That was pretty much their start and continuation. Her visits to Baltimore were more frequent and though you were seeing her often enough, it definitely wasn’t as much as Luke saw of her. And you were fine with that. They fit almost perfectly and it only took a few more meetings for them to label themselves as a couple.

Things began crumbling as soon as Luke had moved to the New York office just a few weeks before your own return. While he seemed fine with the idea of Rachel working in the same place, that wasn’t also her take on things.

“It’s weird,” she told you through the phone. “It just… It’s so weird. I’d be seeing him at my place or his and in the office? No thanks. That’s way too much for me, you know?”

It made sense, of course, and though you rooted for them, you didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. Yet, there was a tremble to her voice, a sort of uncertainty that made you think otherwise. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t have any feelings for him - maybe she was simply shocked to see him walk through those glass doors one morning to pick up his brand new ID and claim what would soon become his permanent desk across from yours.

“Thanks,” she tells you, pulling you back into the present. “But like I said, slow and easy does it. We’ve been talking more and that makes a huge difference.”

“For sure. If communication isn’t the backbone of a relationship, I don’t know what is,” you agree and wasn’t that ironic? You’re hardly in the position of giving any relationship advice at all or saying what is good for one and what isn’t. Not anymore. Not when your own had fallen apart.

Rachel grins. “You’d know. You and Mat have been together for… how long now?”

You should’ve seen it coming a mile away. You swallow uncomfortably, take another sip of your drink and take a few fries just to buy yourself a little more time. “Maybe four years? Don’t really keep track of that anymore,” you said as casually as you could muster, lifting your shoulders in a shrug.

“I think I’d stop doing that eventually too at the rate you two are going. Honestly, I would’ve bet anything you would’ve been the first to tie the knot. Actually, thinking about it,” she says, clicking her fingers in recollection, “Elise said the same thing to me the other day when we caught up on the phone. She went—“

You don’t really register her words. There is a low ringing in your ears and an uncomfortable draft sweeps in the locale as the entrance door somewhere behind you is being kept open, no doubt a large group making their way in; it sends shivers down your body, but really, you are pretty sure you can’t only attribute them to a brief gust of wind. After all, your sweater is keeping you sufficiently cosy and warm. In front of you, Rachel continues praising your relationship with Mat, talking about how anyone took a look at you both and would say, whatever they have going, I want it too and you are trying so, so hard to block out as much as you can of it. You can stop her, of course; distract her with whatever random topic and you know she’d go with it but your jaw is locked in place, teeth clenched uncomfortably. You blame that and the way your nails dig into the palms of your hands on the sting behind your eyes and the sudden heaviness weighting down on your chest.

It isn’t so much the pain of your relationship ending that was rendering you in a state of daze, but the shame of what you and Mat agreed to do: pretend the two of you were still the happy couple Elise, Tito and everyone else thought of you as just to not spoil whatever luck they thought you’d be passing on to them by being their main witnesses. And then, once the event passes and they would return to New York from the honeymoon you and Mat would soon gift to them on their wedding day, you’d tell them the truth. Or part of it anyway. Definitely no mentions that the two of you were childish enough to play pretend; just a simple, clean break timed just perfectly with your request to be permanently redeployed elsewhere. Preferably, as far from New York City as possible so that you no longer have to walk the streets you once both did or yearn to once again visit that perfect pie place the two of you once dubbed your own.

“We’re not together anymore.”

The words stumble out of your mouth in a desperate now or never manner. Despite the anxiousness that came with the act, you find relief in it also. It feels freeing to be able to admit the truth to someone that isn’t only yourself though perhaps you should’ve thought of this more carefully: the idea of now needing to come fully clean to Rachel is somewhat daunting, mostly because of what she might say in response to the front you and Mat are trying to uphold. But for the first time in what feels like too long, you no longer feel like a fraud; like a person lying to everyone around them.

“Wait.” Rachel frowns, and it was obvious she doesn’t quite know what to do with that information or how to best process it. Her head tilts a little, palm idly rubbing against the side of her neck so you take the initiative to come across as unbothered by this as possible by leaning into the seat, legs crossing as you fiddled with the drink’s straw. “What? I’m confused. Didn’t Mat just drop by earlier? You two seemed okay. He was…fine when he came in. We didn’t talk much, sure, but he was all smiley and just…normal.”

You laugh quietly and shortly. “It’s been a while now. Maybe two or three weeks before I left for Baltimore, I think. It’d be pretty worrying if he was still hung up about it. After all, we both agreed on it. And this,” you add, a little more disheartened and embarrassed. “This…thing we’re doing. We promised Tito and Elise we’ll be there for them on their big day and we will. But they had this… I guess, idea of us being an ideal couple. Whatever that is,” you continue more quietly and with a roll of your eyes. “He wanted to tell Tito, but I didn’t want to spoil Elise’s day, you know? So he agreed. Took some convincing because it feels so… Gosh, it sounds so stupid, doesn’t it? Pretending we’re still together just to spread some fake cheer around.”

“Oh, honey…” Rachel whispers and you read the sympathy in her voice. Not that she makes it particularly difficult to take note of. “But… I thought everything was okay. Actually, way more than okay. Perfect, even. What…uh—“ She trailed off awkwardly, but you could easily fill in that gap.

What happened?

You bring the beverage to your mouth, this time drinking from the glass directly as opposed to using the straw. The mixer stings your throat this time around but the small ice cube you take into your mouth numbs it away pretty quickly. Slowly, you chew it to small pieces and speak only when you finish it.

“I thought long and hard about this the first few weeks after we called it quits,” you admit. “We always talked about what bothered us or if there was something on our mind, but at one point we just… We stopped wanting to compromise. When I was put forward for Baltimore, it was going to be a permanent thing. Mat was happy, sure, but I could tell he wasn’t being entirely honest with me, you know? When I called him out on it, he asked me well what about us? And I said we’d be fine. Baltimore isn’t a different continent. It’s not even a different timezone. He could come over when he had free time and if he didn’t, I’d always spend weekends in New York anyway. It’s Baltimore, Rach. Not fucking San Francisco or whatever. Eventually, he told me exactly what was on his mind: he couldn’t do long distance. Not even for a short period of time while I figured out if Baltimore is really what I wanted. Isn’t it a bit hypocritical, though?” You question, but it’s clear Rachel feels a bit awkward about giving her take on it right now, so you make it easier for her by responding to your own question. “I felt lonely too when he was on the road. I was worried he’d find someone different, someone much better while away. He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but a small part of me still thought what if. This happened right before he was on the road again, actually. We didn’t call, barely even texted those weeks and then when he returned, we decided it’d be best to break up. Didn’t take us a long discussion to get to that conclusion because at that point, it just… I don’t know. It felt like we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

Rachel presses her lips together, the frown still on her face and hesitantly, she asks, “who said it first?”

“I did,” you respond without hesitating. “He wanted a break while we work it all out but come on, Rach, a break? Look me in the eyes and tell me people really believe in breaks and they come back to each other as if nothing happened.”

“I mean…” she trails off, pointing at herself by way of explanation. “Look at me and Luke, I guess.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not the same thing, trust me. This was for the best, Rach. It’s much neater to call it quits. That way, neither of us will feel obliged to hold back if life puts something different ahead of us.” You pause for a moment, teeth biting into your lower lip. “They said they’ll always have me back there if I decide on it, so who knows. Once I wrap up the project their called me back for, I might just take them up on it. Not quite a promotion, but it’ll be a good sidestep and maybe a change of scenery is what I need.”

“And do you think it’s good? What the two of you are doing right now?” Rachel questions, not at all deterred by your weak attempt at trying to divert conversation to a more work related topic. “And I don’t mean it just for Elise and Tito’s wedding, but for you and Mat generally speaking. I mean… the two of you have been together for a pretty long time. Doesn’t it… Isn’t it odd?”

“It’s not normal, that’s for sure,” you confirm. “But it’d be weirder for everyone if we were to tell them we’re no longer together given we’ve been asked to do what we need to do. Rach, promise me this stays between us, okay? Promise. I know how it sounds, I know how it’ll look but trust me on this, okay?”

She fixes you with a sceptical stare, a look that holds yet more questions than certainty but eventually, she nods her head and relief washes over you at the gesture. “I’m sorry it happened, Y/N,” she offers, voice warm and sympathetic as she places a hand on the table palm up. “And I’m sorry you went through it alone.”

You smile softly and reach for it, returning the squeeze she gives you. There is comfort in the gesture, comfort in her words and you find yourself rooting for it, so grateful to have received it. “The worst part is over, but thank you, Rachel. “It means a lot.”

“Feel like carpooling with Luke and I?”

“I’m good,” you assure as you both relax back into your seats. “Elise wants us there the day before the rehearsal. I guess just to have some familiar faces around that aren’t just wedding planners, so Mat and I agreed to go together tomorrow. Promise I won’t lose my shit if our song plays on the radio,” you add jokingly and find yourself laughing along with Rachel.

“What song’s that?”

Too many, you think, although one in particular stands out to you. “Brett Young’s In Case You Didn’t Know.”

A tray containing an assortment of dishes is set on the table and shortly after, an ice cold pitch of sangria accompanies that. Eager to cool down, you reach for one of the empty glasses to pour yourself a drink but Mat’s quicker. He takes them both, filling your glass first before his own. You laugh to yourself and Mat grins at that, briefly looking towards you as he fills his glass. You’re about to take a sip, eager to both quench your thirst and cool down but Mat takes the initiative of initiating a toast by raising his glass a little, elbow resting on the table.

“What’re we toasting for tonight?” You ask, imitating his pose by leaning forward a little. “To our first holiday together? To how perfect the weather’s been so far? To how I mastered paddle boarding way before you did?”

Mat laughs, lowering his head as he did so but when he looked back up at you, he clinked his glass against yours and held it there. “To all of that. To one of the many, many holidays we’ll have together. To this moment right here, to us, to you.” He pauses and the strobe lights of the bar switch from dark blue to hot pink, and the way Mat stares at you in this moment makes your heart race inexplicably. “To how much I love you.”

He takes your breath away. Draws it right out of your lungs and you feel heady. It’s the first summer with Mat, the first I love you from him and it suddenly feels as if this bar is too small for the both of you. You love him, and he loves you too and the only thing you could imagine doing is jumping in his arms but there’s a table between you and sangria topped wine glasses in your hands, and he’s wearing a pristine white shirt that looks incredible against his tanned skinned and there’s a lot of people around (the majority significantly older than both your age and Mat’s combined) so you simply grin and carefully lean forward more, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips and even if your voice is low compared to the loud, cheesy country music blasting through hidden stereos, you know Mat catches on to that.

“I love you,” he says right back and before you pull away, he bumps his nose against yours gently, making you giggle.

You both take a sip of your drinks and you smack your lips together, content with the turn of the night.

You and Mat had been dating for a few months, but this was the first time the two of you will spend back to back nights and days together without needing to rush somewhere. Of course, a part of you was anxious about it - while it was easy to spend a few hours together now and then, maybe even the odd night together, it was entirely different being together pretty much all the time. There were habits and quirks you each had that might get in the way, but your worries were soon put to rest. You and Mat had wonderful chemistry together, easily able to spend your time together but also still enjoy each other’s company while doing separate activities. You didn’t want to rush into things and you made no move to do so, but it was ever so easy to imagine what living with Mat would be like. And sure, you were well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t always be sunshine and rainbows; the two of you would eventually transition out of this honeymoon-type period of your relationship, but something told you life would Mat would never bore you. It’d never make you wish for anything different.

“Give me a second,” Mat says and before you could ask him what he meant, he’s out of his seat and you follow him across the bar, a little confused.

He makes his way past the bar, past the pool tables and stops in front of what is undoubtedly a jukebox. Curious, you arch an eyebrow and watch as he fiddles with finding the right amount of change before inserting the coins in the slot. It takes him a while before he finds whatever song it is he wants and it takes enough time for him to make it back to your table before the jukebox and sound system registers the request. You don’t recognise the first few notes at all, much less the accompanying guitar strings but you don’t have time to search your memory for a title.

Mat stops by your side, holding a hand out to you. “Dance with me.” It’s more statement than question and under any circumstances, you may have felt a little awkward about doing this, but it’s the heat of the moment and your giddiness that pushes you to your feet, hand in Mat’s.

The two of you are beaten to an emptier area in the establishment by two other much older couples that were closer to it anyway, and you find that gives you a bit more of a boost also. Mat pulls you to him, wrapping one arm around your waist while holding on to your free hand while you hold on to his shoulder with the other. Your fingers lightly clench and unclench the soft material of his shirt, lowering your head a little and you smile against the back of your hand. It’s so painfully cheesy and there’s nowhere near enough other people dancing along to the song but you love it much more than you thought you ever would.

“Know what I’d invest all my money into?” He asks you suddenly.

You pull back a little, still swaying along with the song. “Cryptocurrency seems like a safe bet right now.”

Mat laughs, that big hearty laugh of his that makes your smile wider and when it passes, he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Well, I’m glad one of us has a good head on their shoulders, but no.” He shakes his head, then laughs again, shorter and quieter as if recalling your response. “A time machine. I want to stop time right here and right now so that we can be as we are for a little while longer.”

“Cheesy,” you joke, despite the warmth coursing across your entire body and the jelly-like feeling forming in your knees. “But perfectly understandable.”

“Eventually, we wouldn’t need it, but it’d be nice to have one for tonight.”

“Eventually? How so?” You question, then narrow your eyes a little, the gesture playful. “You plan on getting bored of me and breaking up?”

“What!” He exclaims and pulls you in just that much closer. He lets go of your hand only so he could bring his to your chin, tipping your head back a little. “Never,” kiss, “say that,” kiss, “again.” The final kiss you share with him is a little longer and you take the liberty of bringing your hand to his chest, palm pressing against it to feel the thump of his heart against his ribcage momentarily. Then, slowly, you graze the tips of your nails along his exposed collarbone and peck his lips once more before pulling away. It’s then that the song’s name and artist comes to your mind, almost as an afterthought. From hidden speakers, Brett Young declares I couldn’t live life without you and Mat gives you a pointed stare. “Damn, he said it before I could.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you assure him. “Either way, I think I prefer hearing it from you, Barzal.”

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t live without you,” he recites and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He sways you both in a more exaggerated manner that makes you cling to him more out of habit than necessity. You’ve known you’d trust Mat with anything, but each day, he seems to do something that makes that thought solidify more and more in your mind. The comfort and safety that brings wraps around you like a warm blanket.

Be it the hot weather, the somewhat stifling interior of the bar, the sips of sangria on an empty stomach, the euphoria of the moment or all things combined, you nod quickly. And from somewhere in the depths of your mind, the very bottom of your heart, you respond with, “I can get used to this day after day. So don’t let me go, baby.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, tone full of care and love and warmth. He gives you his promise without hesitation and you know it’s bound to stick.

Your phone buzzes once.

I’m downstairs. Need help with your bags?

You push up from the comfort of your couch and make one last round of your apartment to make sure you had everything you definitely needed from where it was placed.

I’m good. Will be down in a minute, you text back but don’t pocket your phone right away. Instead, you stare at the screen for a little while longer, half tempted to scroll through the thread of messages. They’d provide a stark timeline of when things started going wrong and you would probably be able to see exactly how things changed between the two of you from the moment you suggested a mere break wouldn’t do it. But doing that would be like breaking a streak you had going for sufficient time to earn a pat on your back. The journey of getting to a point where you were sufficiently okay with being in Mat’s presence without any other company was a long one and the last thing you needed was to recall how it once was.

You and Mat started out as friends after Elise introduced the two of you just a short while before he started his professional career with the Islanders. She talked about how the two of them met in school and how great of a guy he was; real down to earth, funny and incredibly ambitious - traits she also assigned to you, and therefore thought the two of you would get along great. She wasn’t wrong about it. You knew a little about hockey, going to games every now and then mostly whenever Elise dragged you along but you found that Mat made the game more enjoyable. He explained it to you in a manner that didn’t make you feel belittled or as if it should be something you already knew of, and didn’t mind explaining some things more than once. On the other hand, you introduced him to your own hobbies and the little world you created for yourself in a city as big and busy as New York. You showed him the more lowkey but homely establishments, including your favourite pizza place that - unbeknown to you at the time - would become yours and his, and even took him to a few student bars where you regularly beat him at pool while he showed off at darts. Occasionally, it felt weird to watch him unwind in such…normal places and ways while on other days, he shone on ice and was easily one of the best rookies emerging from one of the country’s most well known sports leagues. Yet despite that, you found that athlete Mat wasn’t all that different from Mat the person.

He never put a front and his genuine manner was refreshing to you, particularly during a time when you were still a college student and a good portion of the guys around were textbook frat boys. Being around Mat was comfortable and safe. You didn’t feel the need to speak a certain way or be a different person, and retrospectively, the way you felt towards him developed almost organically. You felt yourself gravitating towards him and were pleasantly surprised by the moments when he’d seek you out first. A day off here and a day off there until eventually, you found yourself spending much of your free time with him and vice-versa.

Falling in love with Mat was easy. Being without Mat was difficult. But, thankfully, not impossible apparently.

Convinced you packed everything you needed, made your way out with a duffle bag on your shoulder and a suitcase at your heels.

True to his word, Mat was parked in front of your place and as soon as you pushed open the building’s door, he looked up from his phone and made his way over to you. The last thing you needed was to make the journey any more awkward or difficult for the both of you, so you didn’t argue when he took the bags from you to stow them away in the trunk.

“Are you going across the country?” You ask, peeking into the trunk while he plays Tetris with the bags.

“What?” He questions, evidently distracted by the task at hand but straightens up when you delicately place a hand on his arm, pushing him to the side a little.

“You’d think you’re going across the country for like, two or three weeks rather than a couple of days,” you repeat. “Maybe put that smaller bag sideways? That might let the bigger suitcase fit.”

He follows your guidance and sure enough, that does the trick: the suitcases fit perfectly in the trunk and you grin to yourself, triumphant.

Mat steps back, closing the trunk and brushes his hands together. “Thanks,” he says and you nod, heading towards your seat in the front. He follows you inside just as you click in your seatbelt. “I don’t think it’ll take us more than two or three hours to get there if traffic’s as good as it was when I checked it a little while earlier. Got everything?”

“Everything important that is. Everything else, I’ll just worry about and pull my hair out when we get there,” you tell him and you can’t help feeling proud for being able to keep conversation light and as normal as you can.

After all, you’ve known life before Mat and you’re rediscovering it after him too.

Mat laughs ever so quiet, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him brushing his hand across his mouth though he’s a few seconds too slow in trying to mask his smile.

“I think I’ll need to fill up soon, but let me know if there’s anywhere else you want to stop along the way,” he tells you while pulling out of the parking spot.

You nod even if he probably might not see it and take the liberty to scroll through radio stations. Mat doesn’t seem to be against it, so you continue switching to them until, a little frustrating that nothing seems to work for you, you connect your phone to the car and play one of your playlists. A mix of upbeat pop and an assortment of viral tracks fill in the silence for a while, and the act of singing along in your head takes your mind away from how it almost feels as if you’re sitting on needles. It takes a conscious effort on your behalf to remind yourself to loosen your shoulders and stop fiddling too much with your hands, and you’re glad Mat seems to be plenty preoccupied with driving. Once upon a time, he would’ve immediately picked up on even the most mild of your discomforts and tried to do anything he could to alleviate them. You don’t know how much, if at all, Mat changed during the time you spent apart but you want to think that you no longer wear your heart on your sleeve as much and your emotions are much more guarded, especially in his presence.

Apparently, though, there’s only so much he can take with silence filled in by music because once he’s off busier streets, he leans in his seat more comfortably and you can tell he very briefly turns his head towards you. “Think they’ll like their wedding gift?”

You direct your gaze away from the flashing scenery outside to Mat. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t like it? Trust me when I say Bali’s been a place Elise always wanted to visit and I can’t think of a better time than now,” you assure him.

“If they don’t, it’s on you,” he says and it takes you a beat longer to realise he’s just joking so you huff out a laugh, relaxing back in the seat.

“If they don’t, they can give one of the tickets to me and I’ll happily go there.” You cast a glare out at the scenery ahead, eyes narrowing upwards towards the overcast sky. “I don’t think summer will ever come at this rate. I’m starting to hate it here.”

“Doubt Baltimore was any better,” Mat points out.

“Hardly,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll ask them to send me to Miami instead. That’d be much better.”

Mat clears his throat quickly, shifting a little. “So, are you planning on going back to Baltimore or... Why are you back?” You catch sight of the frown forming on his face, and he quickly shakes his head as if trying to rid the hint of accusation from his voice. “That sounded wrong, sorry. But just genuinely curious. I thought a permanent move was on the table?”

“It was. Still is, but they needed me back here to wrap up a project. It was a pretty bad move on their behalf to send me there before we had that wrapped up nice and neat, bow and all, but I guess…” You trail off, shrugging a shoulder. “Guess we’ll see what’s next after that. They do want me back there, though. It just depends how long it takes for things here to fall into place.”

“Fair enough.” Another pause, another moment for him to press his lips together in silent deliberation. He did that often, and you wonder if that remains a habit still. “Was it a promotion? I forgot, sorry.”

“All good,” you assure, brushing off the apology. “Not a promotion per se, but a sidestep with just a slightly bigger paycheck. The office there is a bit smaller than the New York one so maybe there’s a higher chance of getting promoted sooner, but I don’t want to jump the gun on that yet. How did things work out for you guys this season?”

The Islanders had a good season, making the playoffs but fell just short of making the semi-finals, you knew that. After all, you hadn’t removed the Islanders game and news alerts from your phone and you put that on your laziness. You wouldn’t shy away from admitting to him you still followed the team’s progression, but you preferred not to.

“Could’ve been better but there’s lots to learn from it,” Mat tells you and there’s a trace of excitement and determination in his voice. “Next season will be even better, I guarantee.”

It’s a staple Mat response, one he always gave if he felt a game didn’t end in their favour or he didn’t do as much as he thought he should have. Sometimes, it took him some time to accept it. Usually, it came to him after pushing himself in training, after going that extra step in the gym, after re-watching highlights or coach videos and always - always, you’d assure him that it takes a team to move forward, not a single person. Always, he’d kiss you and tell you he loves you and always, you’d spend those moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, more often than not with Mat’s head resting against your chest and your leg slung around his hip.

“Plenty of time to lift that cup, Barzal,” you assure him. “Sure, the sooner the better but there’s always a right time for everything.”

“I hope so,” he agrees pensively, and lingers on that thought.

You let him to it, directing your attention back to the view outside and only now and then picking up your phone either to switch songs or browse through a few applications. A part of you feels almost obliged to try and push for conversation but you avoid doing so. The last thing you need is to make it painfully awkward for the two of you and you figure Mat could always do that himself if he feels like it. So, you let your mind wander to better things - to the upcoming rehearsal and the wedding itself, to how good Elise will look and how Tito will be so proud to watch her walk the aisle towards him. You imagine their reaction to the gift you and Mat contributed towards and smiled to yourself, knowing it was a perfect pick for them both.

You don’t think about telling Elise you and Mat had lied to them. You don’t think about passing this hurdle - the final one before you two will become strangers to one another. You don’t think about how the next time you might both see each other again, you’ll both have such different lives that for a brief moment, the surprise of it will knock the air out of your lungs before you remember: that’s him without me, and this is me without him. And you won’t be the first or the last people to break up, but a part of you is certain what the two of you had was unique and could’ve been grand. So much grander.

You become more alert to your surroundings when he starts slowing the car and you notice you’re pulling up into a gas station. As much as space allows you, you stretch out a little and Mat stops right by one of the pumps.

“Want something for the road?” You ask him, unplugging your phone and taking your card from your bag.

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Mat tells you and it doesn’t take long for the refill to happen before you both walk into the station’s store, beelining for the snack aisles even if you have only two hours or so until you reach your destination.

“Oh gosh, those are going to be a nightmare to clean up if you spill any in the car,” you groan quietly as he browses through the variety of Nerds flavours.

“But they’re so good though,” he shoots back and flashes a smile that is nothing short of sly when he picks up two boxes instead of one.

“Yeah, until the flavour runs out literally two seconds after you put them in your mouth. I mean, enjoy that but I’m different,” you boast and pick up a bag of sour candy.

“You just like obliterating your taste buds.”

He’s not wrong. Sour candy and spicy foods are your guilty pleasures, and have been for the longest time. You don’t try to look into how easily he recalls that because, you tell yourself, there’s nothing to look into. It’s a mere fact that anyone who knows you would easily recite.

“You’re wrong and you know it, but admitting that is difficult so it’s fine, Barzal. No hard feelings,” you throw back, snickering as you head over to the fridges for a bottle of cold water. Instinctively, you grab another for him and instinctively, he takes your candy and the water to pay for them but you still tag along with him in the queue.

“No shot. I like some spice but to the point where I literally can’t taste anything else? Hey, remember that one time when you made something… Can’t remember what it was but it was so…” He purses his lips and you laugh because yes, yes you remember it so clearly.

“So good you ended up crying over it?” You offer.

“More like, I wasn’t crying but it was so fucking spicy, Y/N, holy.”

“You survived though, didn’t you?”

“I only did because there isn’t a thing you do I don’t like,” he says and then, seems to catch himself but a second too late. “Didn’t like,” he corrects quietly but the damage is done.

You swallow uncomfortably, directing your gaze away from him but don’t hesitate to nod towards the outside. “I’ll head over to the car. I’ll text Elise to tell her we’re close.”

“Y/N—“

But you’re already taking steps towards the exit and out of ear shot, making a beeline for the car. Your heart thumps rapidly and uncomfortable in your chest and find that pressing a palm to your left side doesn’t make it any better. You know it’s an innocent mistake and there are some habits that die hard, but the way he phrased it triggered your fight or flight instinct instantaneously and despite yourself, you leaned towards the latter. You enter the car and take the time to compose yourself as much as you could. The last thing you need is to have a conversation with Mat about this because you didn’t want to have it - it shouldn’t happen for the sake of avoiding making the situation even more uncomfortable. It was an innocent slip up, no doubt, and you should’ve braced yourself to speak of Mat in present tense as opposed to past tense in the presence of others but it comes to you harder than imagined.

It’s odd how you both once knew so much about each other, everything even, and now the two of you are reduced to dancing around all that and making conscious efforts to keep your conversations as short and banal as possible.

You try and busy yourself with formulating a message to Ellie, one that’s long enough to try and make you seem as busy as possible by the time Mat returns to the car, but every line you wrote, every mini paragraph going into dull details about the trip and where you guys currently are seemed like an overthrow. So, you delete that also and simply text her an OTW just as Mat sets the sweets on the centre console and the bottles in the cup holders.

He doesn’t start the engine immediately and your mood quickly switches to frustration. Sure, you hadn’t handled it in the best way possible but trying to have a conversation about it wouldn’t make it any better. Or at least, it’s just something you didn’t want to have to think about for the remainder of the journey.

But he does just that, because that is what Mat always did: he talked with you.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he begins, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. It’s force of habit more than anything else.”

“It’s whatever, Mat, so just move past it. I did, simple as that,” you tell him neutrally.

There’s something in that response he must have not liked because you pick up on his small huff and shortly after, the car starts and you’re both on the road again. This time, with silence between you and an atmosphere so heavy it makes you wish you weren’t speeding down an Interstate just so you could open the window and let some of the air in.

The hotel the wedding will be held at lies in front of you, sprawling and secluded and perfect for an event like this. Tito is already at the entrance and when he spots Mat’s car, he waves quickly while Mat quickly flashes the headlights before pulling into an available parking spot.

“There they are!” Tito says by way of greeting and you walk right into his outstretched arms, hugging him. “Can’t believe so much time passed since we last saw each other. What is it, two months? Three?”

“Three,” you confirm once you pull away so that Mat could hug him also. “It’s good to see you too. Where’s Elise?”

“She wanted to check on some small details and said she’ll meet up with you guys in a bit. So here I am, the welcoming committee,” Tito explained and when he and Mat stepped apart, he reached out to give you another short hug which you accepted. “So how was Baltimore? Don’t suppose you liked it all that much if you’re back so soon. This guy was happy about it,” Tito adds, nodding his head towards Mat who was already busy emptying the trunk.

You press your lips together, displaying a small smile. “Baltimore wasn’t too bad but they missed me here, apparently. Can’t complete a damn thing without my two cents so here I am for now.”

Tito frowns, but the expression is very brief. “For now? We’ll need to talk more about that later so Barzy doesn’t mope around as much as he did back then.”

You throw a quick glance towards Mat but he’s looking away towards whatever interesting spot on the ground he found, pointedly ignoring you. “I’ll have a word with him about it later,” you tell Tito lightly and together, the three of you make your way inside, towards the reception.

“I think Elise is in the room at the end of the corridor if you want to say hi,” Tito informs you and you jump at the opportunity.

You follow the corridor, making a right turn and continuing along the dimly lit hallway leading to what the signs informed you to be Conference Room 1. The door is slightly ajar and you begin picking up on the buzz of activity coming from within and soon enough, you’re face to face with a spacey room boasting an array of flowers and various arrangements tastefully decorating tables and drooping down from the ceiling. No doubt, the effect will be lovely during the night when colourful neon lights can be turned on. You spot Elise easily: she’s in the midst of the room with what is undoubtedly the scrapbook of ideas she’d been carefully putting together since Tito asked her to marry him. Outwardly, she’s all smiles and laughter but you can imagine the amount of effort and planning putting all of this together and working with planners takes.

When she spots you, she squeals in excitement, sets her book down and dashes across the room to engulf you in a hug, making you stumble a few steps back.

You burst into laughter and wrap your arms around her, squeezing her with just enough force to try and communicate how much you missed her but not so that it was uncomfortable.

“I missed you! You’re here!” She exclaims, stepping back to look at you in disbelief then hugging you again. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy you’re here! Where’s Mat? Is he here too?”

“Of course he is,” you assure her with a laugh. “I missed you too.” You throw a curious glance towards the room over her shoulder, nodding your head towards it. “How’s it going? Need me to take over for a bit?”

“Maybe later. Definitely later. Come on.” She wraps an arm around yours and leads the way out of the room, undoubtedly back to the reception area where you left Mat and Tito. “Please tell me Baltimore is off the table. FaceTime is fine, sure, but it’s not great, you know? I need the real deal next to me. Besides, I’m not sure if you heard, but Mat wasn’t Mat without you.”

“So I heard, but forget about us!” You said in a desperate attempt to try and steer attention away from the subject. “Tell me about how everything’s going. Are you still nervous about it? Because trust me, Elise - you have absolutely nothing to be nervous of. What I’ve heard of so far and what I’ve seen will make it the absolute best day, surely.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” she tells you and to demonstrate, she holds her free hand in front of you and sure enough, there’s just a slight tremble to it. “Please lend me some of those nerves of steel of yours, Y/N, I’d do anything to have even a small percentage of them right now.”

“Pft, as if. Those are all show, trust me.”

“I’ll take even that. Oh, Mat!” She greets as soon as the two of you reach the reception area and Elise spots Mat.

Much like you and Tito, they hug and when she steps back, she immediately stands next to Tito who doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They exchange a quick kiss and you smile at the happiness and bliss they’re clearly surrounded by.

It’s the slight pressure on your lower back that makes you jolt a little on the spot and it’s then you realise Mat had gently placed his hand there to encourage you a little closer. It takes effort on your behalf to follow his guidance but you move towards him, though you wish you could physically wince at how undoubtedly stiff the two of you must look. Or hopefully, not greatly so because neither Tito nor Elise comment on it or shoot you any funny looks as the four of you engage in brief conversation, mainly surrounding the trip here and any other guests they expect to receive today.

You don’t hang around much, though. Elise’s phone begins buzzing incessantly and she’s whisked away by the message received, but not before she fixes you with a pointed stare and demands the two of you have drinks later in the evening. Tito follows her also, even if he informs you and Mat that he feels as if he’s running around in the right places only because of Elise and the wedding planners, but you encourage him on by joking he could maybe turn a few candles on the tables this way or that for some extra oomph.

“I can’t imagine how she does it,” you admit to Mat once the elevator doors slide shut soundlessly and the car begins moving upwards to your floor.

“Pretty sure it’s not that big of a deal to her, given what all this is leading to,” Mat tells you and you detect a hint of detachment in his voice.

You don’t welcome it, of course you don’t, but you choose to not point that out to him. The last thing you want is an argument to break out the relatively okay mood the two of you have managed to hold, recent events that could be erased from memory aside. Instead, you simply stand back quietly, eyes glued on the red digital numbers aside until they come to a halt on the ninth floor where the elevator stops and you’re both left in a silent, dimly lit hallway.

Mat has the key to the apartment Elise told you the two of you would be in and just before tapping in, he hands you your own copy of it. Up until this very moment, you hadn’t thought very much of the overnight arrangements. You were pretty sure you meant to ask Elise a bit more about them at some point but both your attention and hers were pulled in different directions and here you were, stepping into your place for the next couple of nights, Mat trailing a little behind you.

You stop, arms folding across your chest and you feel Mat stop somewhere close behind you, looking into one room.

“I didn’t think this through,” you state neutrally.

Ahead of you lay only one bed.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #*#the synopsis sucks but i'm bad at short summaries lol #i had this idea since i first joined hockeyblr and i'm happy to have finally found the motivation to write it #anyway i have a vague idea for some scenes #and there will probably be three MAYBE four parts to it

499 notes · View notes

lordabovehelpme · 4 years ago

Text

Big Bear- Clyde Logan x Reader

Request: So we all know how the best nickname for Clyde is Bear. But how about the first time reader called him that? It doesn’t have to be a whole fic, it can totally be a headcanon or just a thought! Love you! - anon

A/n: Ahhh I love this!!! And I love you for sending this in!! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Everything he does reminds you of a bear, but you’ve never told him. What happens when the little nickname slips one night?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the comparison crosses your mind, it never leaves. It just makes so much sense. The way he get’s all huffy and rumbly in the mornings. Those pillowy lips of his pushed out into a pout and his eyes half closed yet sparkling when they see you. His grumbles will thunder down the halls as he tries to find you. Every morning it makes you think of a bear waking from hibernation a little too early. And every morning you’ll cup his cheek and stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to that pout. And his pout will slowly turn into a small smile.

It’s the way his giant hand wraps around your own, in fact your whole hand can fit in his palm. When he offers his hand out to you, you have to bite back your giggles at how he seems so similar to a bear offering his paw. And it’s not only his hands, it’s also his feet. Those large feet carrying him all around the world and barely fitting into his shoes. They also remind you of paws.

Then it’s the way he hugs you. Those big arms wrapping around your form and pulling you into a strong chest. If he’s behind you, he will rest his chin on the top of your head. Most often he’ll let an overdue sigh escape and relax around you, content with your touch. And if you could see his face, you would see closed eyes and a lazy smile. But if he’s facing you, then a kiss is pressed to your forehead before you are fully pulled in. Then he’ll tug you impossibly close to him and nearly tuck you away into his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist and slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scratching at his back. Shivers will run up and down his spine and you’ll be pulled even closer, a purr vibrating from beneath his chest.

It’s also the way he eats. It’s like you never feed the man or like he’s never eaten before. He will shove as much as food as he can into his mouth and eat it so quickly. It’s a miracle he hasn’t choked and died yet. But you don’t mind it as much when he’ll give you a thumbs up, his eyes closed from happiness, and a smile with his cheeks puffed out with your cooking concoctions.

But all that good hearty food leads him to look like a bear. His shoulders are wide and nearly take up an entire doorway, muscle cushioning the bone and making a perfect spot for your head to lean on. His chest is broad and strong, pecs pulled taut and slightly protruding from his favorite (and your favorite) shirts. But when he takes those long deep breaths, he swells with air and grows before your eyes, you can’t deny the heat that rises to your cheeks.

However, your most favorite part (if you can even choose) is his tummy. It’s so soft that you literally cannot wait to run your hands over it every night. He’s fed well and you love that it shows. He used to hate it when you first started dating. You would wake up to find him gone, putting himself through various workouts, trying to burn it off. But over years of you telling him how much you love it and how it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he’s grown to like it. It tells you that he’s healthy and loved. And you both know he can’t refuse your baking, especially when you make those gooey apple pies.

The funniest comparison you’ve found though, is the way he sits. The way his entire body will fill any chair and his shoulders kind of slump. But it’s most apparent when he sits backwards on chairs, large thighs surrounding the back and his arms resting on his knees. One time when the two of you were watching a National Geographic Documentary on bears, they showed a scene of a bear sitting in a field. You happened to have looked over at Clyde during that scene, and had to bite your lips to stop from laughing. He was sitting in the exact same position. Your head went back and forth from the TV screen to your man bear on the couch, giggles hidden behind your hands. You could have put their pictures next to one another and said “Spot the difference.” Although, that wouldn’t have really worked because there was no difference.

But there’s something about how warm and cozy he is that really puts the icing on the cake. Countless nights you have found him on the couch, book in his large paw and cooling mug of tea on the small coffee table. And countless times he’s just lifted his arms as you’ve crawled onto his lap, he’ll set his book down on the armrest and drape a blanket around you, tucking in all the corners. Then, without a word, he’ll go back to his book and his arms will hold you close. Sometimes, if you ask, he’ll read aloud to you, deep voice grumbling out poetry and old english in his little drawl. You can feel it rumbling around in his chest and it draws your eyelids to shut. The scent of woods and faint cigarettes mixed with the warmth of his embrace makes you fall asleep in seconds. You’ll nuzzle further into his hold and his shortened forearm will trail up and down your back, caressing you as you drift off.

In your mind, clyde is a bear and there is no other option.

However, you haven’t told him of this comparison yet. Pet names aren’t uncommon between the two of you, he’s always calling you one, “Sweetpea, suga’ plum, sweet’eart, and his favorite, darlin’.” But something about comparing him to a wild animal is keeping you from telling him. Maybe it's the fear of him not liking it, maybe it’s just embarrassment, whatever it is, you don’t know.

The first time it slipped was a late night at the bar. Clyde made you fancy cocktails that were way too good and he looked even better. Your thoughts started to come out unfiltered and you could tell he was getting a kick out of it.

“Darlin’ I think that’s enough fer ya.” He said with a chuckle making his voice even deeper.

You let your lips push into a pout as you stared up at him with your best version of puppy dog eyes. “But bear, I’m already going home with you, one more won’t hurt.”

He froze, eyes widening but after a second he shook his head and let a small smile take over his face. “No more fer ya darlin’. I’m sorry, but you’ll thank me in the mornin’.”

The two of you never spoke about it.

Well, you didn't speak about it for three days.

He was curled around you that morning, dead to the world as his snores thundered through the house. (Even his snores sound like a bear’s!) You wiggled out of his hold and padded into the kitchen, starting to prepare all the ingredients for omelettes. Mindlessly you hummed a little tune and started to chop some bell peppers.

Suddenly an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you away from the counter, lifting you into the air. You scream and start to kick your legs before loud chuckles come from behind you. Realizing who it is you relax in his hold and frown.

“Clyde, I had a knife.”

“Darlin’ if that's how you fight against a bear, I’ll never be able to take ya campin.”

The amusement is loud and clear in his voice. You know you’ve been caught.

“What do you mean bear? I don’t see any bears.” When worse comes to worst, what do you do?

Play dumb.

It’s also not your fault he sprung this upon you in the early morning. Your brain’s not even awake yet.

He sets you down and you turn around in his hold, eyes wide with faux innocence. His own eyes slightly narrow, but a small smile stays on his lips.

“Hmm.” He stares down at you, silently testing your acting abilities. “Some little birdie told me that ya think I’m a bear.”

“Well obviously the birds around here are terrible at gossip!” You cross your arms and turn back to your peppers.

He lets out a loud hearty laugh. Then he wraps his arms around your waist and sets his chin on top of your head, watching as you try to not fumble and fluster under his gaze.

“I just wanna know why ya said it? And why you’re now denyin’ it.”

You sigh and set the knife down on the counter, looking up and out the small window above the counter. “Promise me you won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

Everything in you screams at you to not tell him. But he said he promised and you know that eventually it would come up again, so why not tell him now?

“Ikindathinkyouactandlooklikeabearsoinmyheadit’sbecomeanicknameforyou.”

He takes a second to think over what you said so quickly. You can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. But with each second that passes, the anxiety bubbles up further in your stomach.

“I like it.”

That is the last thing you expected him to say. “You like it?”

He turns you around so he can look at you. “Yeah, it makes me feel like I can protect ya better. Like a bear.”

Your cheeks hurt from your smile. “Really?”

He swoops down and presses his lips to your own. “Yeah.” His own lips are pulled into a smile. “I’ve got ya darlin’ and now you’ve got yer bear.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press another kiss to his lips. “My big bear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So yeah, I totally was swooning the entire time I was writing this! I hope you enjoyed!

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! It means the world to me and I also love hearing what you all have to say!

Love forever, Lordy :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @jedi-jesi @along-the-lines-of-space @madsvano4

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist please fill out the form below! :)

Taglist form

#clyde logan #clyde logan x you #clyde logan x reader #clyde x reader #adam driver #adam driver x reader #logan lucky

308 notes · View notes

jessicajonesrp · 4 years ago

Text

She was so beautiful.

Jessica’s narrow face, usually set in harsh angles from scowls or tense expressions, was open, soft, almost aglow with pride and affection as she looked across the room at the little girl at her feet. Sometimes, even after so much time, it felt surreal to look at the child and realize all over again that she was hers. Danielle Patricia Cage was her daughter, her very own little girl. She belonged to Jessica in a way that no one else ever had or would.

She was a miracle, a blessing that Jessica still didn’t understand how she had come to deserve, or how she had managed not to screw her up somehow so far. But no matter how dark and flawed her mother was, Danielle had managed to take only her strength, intellect, and determination, with none of Jessica’s more grating qualities. She had Luke’s patience, optimism, and certainly favored him in her appearance.

And boy, was she a little ham.

Grasping a well-worn stuffed elephant in a chubby brown fist, Danielle made a grunting noise in Jessica’s direction, opening and closing her other hand in a gesture that Jessica had come to recognize as her way of asking for something. Jessica raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled, shrugging.

“Come on, Dani, use your words. I know you can holler out “no” just fine if you’re mad enough, so why don’t we try some new ones today? What do you want Mama to get you?”

Danielle waved her hand again and made another, more insistent noise, stubbornly refusing to respond to her more clearly. Jessica laughed again, then snorted when Danielle tossed her toy elephant down, sticking out her lower lip.

“Oh god, I know I’ve seen your dad do that exact same look when he’s hungry. You want something to eat, don’t you, you little mooch?”

She felt the presence of Luke coming up behind her, heard his deeper chuckle join her voice, and without looking, leaned back into his broad, solid chest, relaxed and happy against him. Simply being with the man she loved, watching their little girl, was immensely comforting and satisfying, and each small moment of it still felt huge.

Jessica snuggled back closer into Luke’s chest, covering his arms with hers, and directed a smile towards Danielle, releasing a contented sigh.

“She’s awesome, isn’t she? I can’t get over how I can love a kid this much.”

“But of course you do,” a smooth, self-satisfied voice responded. Its pitch was higher than Luke’s, its accent rounded and carrying a British intonation of its words, and so immediately, terribly familiar that Jessica froze, her muscles rigid against the warmth of the body against her back.

“Of course you love her,” the voice- Kilgrave’s voice- repeated, and hands tightened on Jessica’s arms, almost pinning them down. “She’s ours. Yours and mine, Jessica. Just like you’re mine. Always.”

Jessica’s wide eyes saw then that the hands over her were pale and slim, not Luke’s at all. The body holding her against it was slight, almost bony, its wiry frame humming with excited, frenetic energy instead of radiating out Luke’s steady calm. The arms wrapped around her were no longer an embrace, but an imprisonment.

No, she tried to say, no, this is impossible. No, get away from me, let me go. Let me go!

But she couldn’t bring the words out of her mind to be spoken aloud. When she opened her mouth, Kilgrave’s cold fingers pressed against her lips, silencing her.

“You love me,” he said, slow and distinct. “You love the life we have together. You always have, Jessica, and you always will. You and me…and our daughter.”

To her horror, he turned his head to regard the child in front of them, lifting one arm from around Jessica to open it wide in invitation.

“Come here, Danielle. Come to your daddy.”

Danielle was not yet 11 months old, and she had not yet mastered any further skills past walking while grasping a couch or chair for assistance. But she stood on chubby, unsteady infant legs at Kilgrave’s command, arms wide for balance, and began to toddle towards him, her face alit with her smile.

No, Jessica screamed inside herself. No, don’t touch my daughter, no, none of this can be happening! Not again, not this! Not my baby too!

But she remained against Kilgrave, her body betraying her with its now loose, relaxed posture against him, as though she were comfortable and secure at his closeness. She remained smiling, remained still, as he lifted her baby into his free arm, drawing her into his embrace with Jessica. She remained silent and unprotesting, even as Kilgrave kissed Danielle’s face.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Kilgrave mumurred, his lips touching Jessica’s ear, his voice smug and soft with triumph. “And this is all you’ll ever want now too. Isn’t it so much easier when you just let yourself be mine?”

His lips trailed down her ear, over her cheekbone, and then his mouth was sealed over hers, blocking off any possibility of a scream. And Jessica was dying inside, even as her lips betrayed her in eager responsiveness.

Jessica bolted awake with a gasping, shuddering burst of air, her lungs burning as though she had been near drowning. Nearly hyperventilating, she reached both hands up to her face, frantically scrubbing her palms against her lips. She needed to rub away any trace of the lingering memory of Kilgrave’s lips, even before her eyes had adjusted to see in the bedroom’s darkness.

Even as she dimly came to understand that she had been dreaming, that nothing she had just felt or experienced had been real, Jessica couldn’t fully take this in yet as true. Shaking, her skin slick with sweat and traces of tears, she covered her face with her hands, trying to still her breaths. Even reciting those damn street names didn’t seem to help when it came to nightmares of that caliber.

She could feel Luke’s body close to hers, even as she didn’t dare yet to look over and see him. Part of her still feared it wouldn’t be him there at all, that she would be thrown back into an endless loop of horror becoming reality. But when she let one hand drift down, touching her abdomen, she was reassured to feel the small curve of her stomach, evidence of the child not yet born.

Danielle was still safe. Danielle wasn’t even born yet. Kilgrave was at the Raft, more secured away from others there than apparently even death had been able to keep guarantee.

But it was still hard to argue logic against remnants of fear.

Slowly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Jessica stood, going to stand at the balcony doors of her and Luke’s bedroom and staring out at the night sky. Vast, dark, and aglow with stars, it was somehow comforting to her to see. She knew that Luke was awake, could feel his eyes on her, and pressed her lips tightly together before she spoke.

“Do you ever get scared, thinking about what we’re bringing this baby into? Is it wrong, throwing a kid into the fucked up mess of our lives and all the people that want to bring us down?”

#jessica jones #jessica jones roleplay #luke cage #luke cage roleplay

240 notes · View notes

hopelesshawks · 4 years ago

Text

History of Us Part 3- Introductions

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You trudge downstairs already dreading meeting new people. Aizawa had assured you your last name would be kept under wraps but it still feels like it’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out who you really are. There’s a reason you dye your hair, your natural coloring is too recognizable and it’s a bitter reminder of a man you actively wish to forget. For years you hated looking in the mirror until you finally convinced your mom to let you dye it. Kirishima had been kind even after finding out but Kirishima is kind to everyone. You seriously doubt everyone is as much of a cinnamon roll as he is, especially if he-who-shall-not-be-named recognizes you and blabs to everyone like the little bitch he is.

As you walk into the lounge area it’s just your luck that you spot him first. It’s like a hit to the chest, physically stopping you in your tracks. Suddenly you’re that sobbing, confused eight year old all over again, just wanting to understand how her best friend in the whole wide world could turn his back on her when she needed him most. Kirishima calling your name snaps you out of it as you roll your eyes and make your way over. If Shoto doesn’t recognize you then fine, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it’s upsetting you. You drop onto the couch unceremoniously in the small space between Kirishima and Bakugo, causing the blonde to shoot you a glare and huff as he and Kiri are forced to adjust themselves to make space for you. You give him a satisfied grin once you’re comfortable, which only causes his scowl to deepen more, before suddenly multiple unfamiliar faces are hovering right in your field of vision.

“Have none of you fucking heard of personal space?” you snap instinctively, feeling closed in. They seem unperturbed by your temper, instead a boy with long black hair and a wide toothy grin comments “You really are like Bakugo!” “Don’t compare me to that angry Pomeranian,” you scoff. “Hah!? The fuck you just call me half and half?” Bakugo immediately retorts, crimson eyes glaring you down as his palms spark in warning. “I called you an angry Pomeranian. You deaf or something? That why you fucking yell all the time?” you fire back as black shadows start to curl off your right hand like smoke. “You little-“ Bakugo starts to threaten, looking like he’s seconds away from launching into you and starting a proper fight, but both of you are distracted by the delighted laughter of the others. “I love you already! Name’s Mina Ashido,” the pink girl, Mina apparently, introduces herself. “Glad we’ve finally got someone who can keep Bakugo in check. I’m Kyoka Jiro,” another girl introduces. Your mind whirs as you process more and more new names. Denki Kaminari is the other blonde. The boy with the long black hair is apparently Hanta Sero. All of them introduce themselves with both their first and last names. You will not be following suit. “I’m (y/n),” you reply simply. “No surname?” the eager blonde, Denki you remind yourself, asks with a tilt of his head. The gesture reminds you of an overexcited puppy. “Nope,” is your simple reply. “Why not?” he presses. “Because I said so,” you shoot back, raising one eyebrow. To your surprise he immediately drops the subject and moves on. “So why’d you transfer?” he asks. “Moved too far from my old school,” is your quick reply. “How d’you know Kiri?” “Fatgum’s agency.” “What’s your quirk?” “Jesus Denki it’s not an interrogation. Let the girl breathe,” Sero cuts him off with a laugh, shoving Denki to the side a bit so that Sero becomes front and center in your line of vision. He openly gives you an appraising look from head to toe before saying “Don’t mind him he’s a little nosy. The better question is: are you single?” You can’t help but bark out a startled laugh at the boldness of the question. “Your laugh, while beautiful, is not an answer,” he grins. “God you guys are the worst,” Jiro groans with a roll of her eyes, “you don’t have to answer that.” “Thanks,” you laugh before turning back to Sero to say “but for the record I am single,” with a wink. Your laugh turns into a full on cackle at the way his face goes bright red. “Don’t tell me you can dish it and not take it,” you tease him. “Oh he definitely can’t take it,” Mina giggles before launching into a story to prove her point, much to Sero’s chagrin. A small part of you starts to hope that maybe this year won’t be so bad.

The sound of your laughter draws Shoto’s eyes to you. It’s such a stark contrast between how you’d looked when he last saw you. Guilt crawls up his throat like bile, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. You’re different from when the two of you were little. Harsher. More acerbic. He’s not entirely surprised but it still saddens him. He wonders if things would’ve been different had he ignored his father’s warnings about you. He wants to ignore his father’s warning now. He wants to march right up to you and apologize for everything, lay himself out bare to prove to you he never wanted to abandon you, but something holds him back. He thinks it might be cowardice. God, how would he even begin to apologize? You were having such a bad time you moved to an entirely different prefecture and he did nothing. Of course you hate him.

Shoto is brought out of his musings by Midoriya nudging him, a questioning look in his green eyes. Midoriya would know how to right the wrongs of the past. Or at the very least would probably be able to give him some ideas. But to fully explain what had happened he’d also have to explain your father and reveal your identity. Judging by the fact your last name wasn’t even given on the list of students Aizawa gave Iida, you must be trying very hard to keep that information confidential. It’s really not his place to share and he’s hurt you quite enough already. Maybe he can talk around it a little bit though. “Midoriya, hypothetically, if you had hurt someone greatly many years ago and now had no idea how to start apologizing. What would you do?” Shoto finally asks after thinking carefully over how to phrase his question. “Hypothetically?” Midoriya asks skeptically. “Yes. Hypothetically,” Todoroki confirms. “Well I guess it depends how bad what I did was,” Midoriya hedges. “It was bad,” Shoto replies immediately, face darkening at the admission. “In this completely hypothetical scenario,” Midoriya replies with a knowing smile. “Yes exactly,” Todoroki says as he clears his throat. “Well I guess I’d start by just doing little things to show I’m sorry until we were both ready to talk and I could apologize properly,” Midoriya offers. Shoto nods thoughtfully as he mulls over Izuku’s words. Small things. He could do small things. “Hey, Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya prompts causing Shoto to return his attention to his friend. “Whatever you did to (y/n), I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think. She’ll forgive you eventually,” Midoriya assures him.

A loud boom causes both of them to jump in their seats, eyes seeking out the source only to land on you and Bakugo almost literally at each other’s throats as the two of you tumble over each other, the crowd around you still laughing at whatever had incited the tussle in the first place. Both of you look damn near feral, causing Midoriya to gulp. “Probably,” he amends, “she’ll probably forgive you eventually.” Todoroki nods almost solemnly. You may just kill him before he gets a chance to apologize. That doesn’t mean he can’t at least try though.

A/N: Am I back to daily updates on a fic again?? Maybe??? We’ll see lmao. It was fun to write more of the class and their dynamics but omg there’s so goddamn many students in class 1A idk how Horikoshi keeps up with them all 😩 also M*neta got kicked out for sexual harassment in this version of events, I refuse to write that little nightmare lol

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso

#hopelesshou #todoroki smau #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #shoto smau #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n

132 notes · View notes

firewins-the-fangxrl · 4 years ago

Text

Building Anew

Now that May The 4th Be With You Excange has revealed I’m crossposting my fic! so here’s some fluffy Grogu and Luke bonding! (also can be kinda dinluke if you want)

(link to the fic on ao3 in the notes cause tumblr sucks and will hide posts with links!)

---

In his efforts to rebuild the Jedi order Luke finds himself learning many new things, some were expected such as old Jedi teachings and methods of finding force sensitives, others things he had not expected, such as the favourite colours of his younger students.

"Wait Master Luke, lightsabers can be purple?" a tiny Twi’lek pipes up.

"Yes there's a multitude of different colours that lightsabers can take depending on the users connec-"

"Can they be rainbow? Rainbow is my favorite colour!" comes another voice.

"My favorite is yellow!" from a Nautolan boy.

The ensuing lesson turned into a session of sharing favourite colours. Which, if Luke is being honest, is surprisingly enjoyable.

Teaching turns out to be one of Luke's favourite parts of resurrecting the order. Each of his students is different and helping them find and control their connection to the force is rewarding. The kids are also interesting to talk to, they're happy to tell him, with the honesty and excitement that comes with childhood, about a variety of things from a cool bug they found to what sensing presences in the force feels like.

Luke learns a lot about each of his students, both mundane and not.

Grogu is probably one of the most interesting to communicate with. Luke learns a number of things about Grogu, firstly that the kid has had a long life.

A really long life.

The first time Luke really gets a sense of Grogu's age is a few weeks after he was first brought to the small temple that acted as the youngling teaching quarters. He and Grogu are meditating together when he's hit with a rush of unfamiliar memories.

Huge sprawling temples filled with the bustle of people going about their day. The sound of children playing and distant lightsaber practice. The sight of adults hurrying past, lightsabers strapped to their hips, some with padawans trailing behind trying to keep up.

It takes him a few seconds to piece together that the memories are of the old Jedi order at its height. He turns to observe the small green child, struck by the fact that the people from that memory are probably all long gone.

"You're a lot older than you look, aren't you?" he murmurs quietly.

The child doesn't move, still deep in meditation, so Luke returns to meditating as well. They settle back into peaceful and companionable silence.

The second thing he learns about Grogu is that he loves his dad. Though Luke only met him briefly he can see that they have a strong bond.

Grogu is also more than willing to share stories of his and his dad's adventures with Luke. Every memory Grogu shares is laden with warmth and adoration.

The adventures are also seemingly extremely dangerous, which is how Luke quickly learns fact number three.

Grogu's father is a stone cold badass. From risky rescues snatching Grogu from the clutch of Imperials to killing a fully grown krayt dragon (something he is honestly in awe of) the man seems to be an unstoppable force powered by protective instincts.

As the stories go on Luke starts to wonder if part of the reason Grogu's father is so unstoppable is because he never stops to think anything through.

Of course Luke isn't exactly one to judge since he's nowhere near the picture of restraint himself.

But still, for force sake the man let himself be swallowed whole by a krayt dragon!

Even Luke isn't quite that dumb… well for the part he's not.

Grogu, it seems, has inherited his father's lack of regard for consequences, as he's quite willing to attempt to eat anything without waiting for Luke to check if it's poisonous or not.

However Grogu's favourite foods by far are frogs and cookies. Luke isn't quite sure what those two things have in common but he does know that cookies must be protected from the green bean (especially if they belong to another student) and that most of the frogs on Draay 2 aren't poisonous.

Except for the tiny yellow ones.

Chasing down Grogu to remove frogs from his mouth to scan for edibility becomes a daily struggle.

This is when Luke first realizes that Grogu is a menace.

The child has more chaotic energy than should feasibly fit into such a small being. Most memorably in the lightsaber incident. The less said about that the better but Luke has certainly learnt his lesson about leaving his lightsaber in a place that small green toddlers can reach.

He's glad to still have his legs.

A fact that he has not been at all prepared to learn came during one of Grogu's father's visits. Which was that Din was apparently a king.

Din lands his ship at the small landing platform adjacent to the temple. Grogu is practically vibrating with excitement by the time the loading door opens and the man walks out, beskar armour glinting in the sunlight.

Unlike his previous visits he is flanked by two other Mandalorians, both wearing blue armour.

Din turns to one of the Mandalorians and says something, too low for Luke to overhear at this distance, and the two Mandalorians turn to go back inside the ship.

As Din walks closer, Grogu wriggles free from Luke's arms and runs to his father. Din drops down and scoops the excited child up into his arms. Luke can hear Grogu making excited squeaks as Din murmurs something to the child.

“Who are your friends?” Luke asks as Din walks closer.

“Royal guard.” is Din’s only response.

“Royal guard?”

“I’m technically the Mand’alor”

“Technically?”

“It’s… complicated. I don’t suppose you’d want a second laser sword?”

“Uh, no thank you” Luke says, noticing one of the blue clad guards glaring at him from the ship. Her helmet is off and he can see short red hair and a slightly terrifying expression that reminds him of Leia when some poor soul angers her.

“Yeah that’s probably for the best,” Din says wryly.

The rest of the visit is fairly normal, except for the bodyguards hovering over Din. Luke gets the distinct impression that the guards are more interested in ensuring that Din doesn’t make a run for it than protecting him from danger.

Something he learns after a while is that Grogu has nightmares.

Grogu is more than happy to share snippets of memories and stories about his life before the fall of the old order. However he avoids the topic of the fall itself. Luke doesn’t push Grogu to share anything he’s not comfortable with.

Luke is pretty sure that's what the nightmares are about since Grogu refuses to tell him anything about them.

He’s okay with that. He doesn’t need to know the specifics to comfort the small scared child that comes to him. Luke just holds Grogu and murmurs reassurances.

Sometimes, if it’s really bad they start a holo call to Din, he always answers no matter the time. They stay up late talking about whatever they can think about until Grogu has fallen asleep, comforted by the presence and voice of his father.

Once when Din is visiting Grogu, Luke wakes to a knock on his door in the middle of the night. He finds a very tired looking Mandalorian carrying Grogu.

“He had a nightmare?” Luke asks.

Din nods clearly suppressing a yawn.

“Come on in. I’ll make some caf.” Luke says, stepping aside.

They stay up talking long after Grogu has fallen asleep, Din tells Luke about the struggles of being a king and Luke shares some stories he’s collected from being a teacher.

He tells Din about the lightsaber incident. Din finds it funny and Luke would probably be more annoyed if the man’s laugh wasn’t so pleasant.

By the time Din leaves, the sun is just starting to crest over the horizon and Luke realizes that he has to go set up for his morning class.

He decides that there are much worse ways to spend the night than with Din and Grogu.

Grogu apparently agrees with him based on the number of crayon drawings he makes of the three of them after that.

Luke is pretty sure Din gets a few of them framed.

#the mandalorian #the mandolarian #the mandalorion fanfic #Luke Skywalker #din djarin #Grogu Djarin #grogu #baby yoda #dinluke #dinluke fic #if you want #Fic #fanfic #firewins writes

100 notes · View notes

detectivesebcas · 3 years ago

Text

Nightswimming

I did write a little something just for fun before I started my Promptober prep. There’s not much to it, but it’s NSFW. Basically, 30-year-old Sebastian meets a mysterious stranger on the beach.

...

Eight cops in one beach house is a terrible idea. It was a terrible idea when Connelly suggested it, but for some reason Sebastian went along with it anyway, and there’s not much he can do about it now. It’s day one, they’ve already been through almost four cases of beer, and while Sebastian enjoys video games and arm-wrestling as much as the next guy, it’s too fucking hot in the house and definitely too fucking loud in the living room.

He slides open the glass door and steps out onto the deck. The others don’t seem to notice his departure, but it’s not all that surprising. They haven’t partied this hard since the Academy, so everyone’s observation skills are probably pretty compromised.

The air is warm against his chest and legs, but at least there’s a nice breeze, and once he slides the door closed again, it’s a little quieter. He takes a deep breath, head spinning a little from the alcohol, and tries to clear his mind.

The gentle lapping of the waves in the distance calls to him, pulls him forward into the darkness. It’s peppered with the reflected lights of distant ships and buildings, and the wind carries the smell of salt. Before he can process all of it, he is descending the steps to the beach.

The sand is soft underfoot, still warm from the heat of the day, and he moves across it silently, drawn toward the water’s edge.

He stands there for a few seconds. The waves are breaking in front of him, but not with the same fury as earlier in the day, when he and his friends were laughing and splashing and drunkenly attempting to body-surf. Now the beach is serene, dark, and deserted.

He’s not sure what possesses him to slip his shorts down and off so that the breeze tickles him even in those places that are normally covered. Leaving the shorts behind on the sand, he closes the gap to the water. It’s almost as warm as the air, and Sebastian wades in up to his waist, then stands, swaying slightly as the waves push him back and forth, staring out to sea.

For just a moment, he feels small, unimportant, as though he has caught a glimpse of something much greater than himself, and he stands in awe of the darkness, but then the clouds shift and the moonlight is shimmering, reflected in the water, and Sebastian turns around to find he is no longer alone.

He knows immediately it’s not one of his friends. The dark-haired stranger is standing on the beach, gazing evenly back at him. There’s nothing threatening about him- or maybe Sebastian isn’t in a position to assess threats after how many beers he’s had- but there is a certain mystery about him, a pull Sebastian feels the same way he felt the pull of the sea a moment ago.

Sebastian doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to ruin the peace of this moment. The other man doesn’t speak either, just casts his gaze down to the sand, and Sebastian feels his own face go hot as he realizes the man must see his shorts there, must know there’s nothing between him and the water.

He almost convinces himself he can see a smirk on the man’s face and maybe in the light of the moon he can, but it disappears almost as quickly as it came, and Sebastian is left wondering if it was ever there at all.

“Mind if I join you?”

The man’s voice reaches him somehow even over the sound of the waves. Sebastian swallows hard. He can’t form any words. His mouth has gone dry, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t mind at all.

The stranger definitely smirks this time, and then he is hooking his thumbs into his own shorts, and Sebastian looks away, his face burning hotter if that’s even possible. He manages to keep his eyes averted until the stranger has waded out almost to where he is, and even then, it’s hard to look at the other man with only the water for modesty.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks.

What is his name? He has to think about it for a moment, and not just because of the alcohol. Everything about this is so surreal, so dreamlike that he isn’t even sure he is himself anymore.

“Sebastian,” he manages finally.

The stranger smiles at him, and now that they’re within a few feet of each other, Sebastian can see more of him- dark hair, pale skin, shockingly blue eyes. He’s almost as tall as Sebastian though considerably more slender. In fact, he must be quite a bit younger than Sebastian originally guessed.

“Who are you?” Sebastian asks, a little more bluntly than he intended, but apparently he doesn’t offend the other man, who laughs before he answers.

“Stefano.”

“And how old are you, Stefano?” Sebastian asks, because he can’t think of a more tactful way to approach the question.

Stefano does frown a little at that. “Twenty,” he answers.

Sebastian nods, momentarily at a loss for how to continue the conversation before he asks, “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Just enjoying the sea and the moonlight,” Stefano replies. The more he speaks, the more Sebastian can detect a European accent, although Stefano clearly speaks English well. “And you?”

“The same,” Sebastian says. “And my housemates were being really loud and obnoxious.”

Stefano laughs at that.

“Are you here with anyone?” Sebastian asks.

“My parents,” Stefano says, a dark look passing over his face. “They are...irritating as well, but in other ways.”

Sebastian nods again, unsure how to respond.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Stefano muses, taking a step closer to Sebastian.

Sebastian isn’t looking at the night anymore, the water and the sky are becoming blurry, indistinct around him, the crashing waves fading out as he focuses more and more on Stefano’s face, on Stefano’s voice. It is a beautiful night indeed.

He knows he should be saying something right now, knows it’s his turn to respond to Stefano, but his brain is stalled and his heart is pounding, because Stefano is stepping in closer and closer until his face is inches from Sebastian’s.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and Sebastian closes the gap, dipping his head to press his lips to Stefano’s. His hands are on Stefano’s hips, pulling Stefano against him, his heart leaping into his throat as Stefano’s bare skin slides against his.

Stefano’s arms are around his shoulders, pulling him close as Stefano kisses back hungrily. It’s a little clumsy at first, though Sebastian isn’t sure if it’s because of Stefano’s inexperience or his own intoxication, and it’s hard not to laugh when their teeth bump against each other, but soon they get the angle right, and Stefano is drawing Sebastian’s tongue into his mouth.

Stefano’s mouth is warm and soft and tastes like coffee and mint. The kiss is long and slow and deep, and when Sebastian’s hands slip around to grab Stefano’s ass, the little moan Stefano makes goes straight to his cock, drives every rational thought from his head, and all he can do is pull Stefano closer to him, fuck Stefano’s mouth with his tongue, and let the sounds of the ocean soothe his mind.

After a few moments, he pulls back, trying to look Stefano in the face with eyes that refuse to focus.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “That was…”

Stefano laughs and leans in for another kiss, which is fine, because Sebastian probably wasn’t going to be able to come up with the words to finish that sentence anyway. Stefano shifts in his arms, pressing the front of his body fully against Sebastian, and then Sebastian definitely isn’t coming up with any words at all.

It occurs to him vaguely to wonder what on earth Stefano thinks he’s doing approaching a stranger on the beach in the middle of the night and being so forward in his advances, but Sebastian supposes he’s being a little more forward himself than he normally would. Maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol or maybe it’s the spell of the night and the sea. Still, it does seem strange...

Stefano breaks the kiss.

“Is something wrong?”

His confidence falters just for a moment, and Sebastian can see so much written on his face- the hope, the nerves, the fear of rejection.

“No,” he says immediately, gathering Stefano in his arms again and kissing him deeply, savoring the little whine Stefano makes as his tongue thrusts forward.

He can feel Stefano’s cock pressing against his thigh, can feel Stefano’s soft, wet skin against his own cock, and he holds them closer together, lets his tongue stroke Stefano’s the way he wishes he could fuck Stefano, slow and gentle and easy. But of course he can’t do that here, can’t do that now. There’s no time and no privacy and no way to make this comfortable under the current circumstances, and he doesn’t even know if that’s what Stefano wants anyway.

Though of course, Stefano has made it clear that he wants something.

One of Sebastian’s hands slides back around to the front of Stefano’s body, slips in between them to palm his cock, and Stefano moans, breaking the kiss again to rest his forehead on Sebastian’s shoulder, breathing hard.

“Is this-?” Sebastian starts to ask.

“Yes,” Stefano hisses. “Please.”

Sebastian’s hand closes around Stefano’s cock, and Stefano sighs deeply, raising one leg and wrapping it around Sebastian’s waist. Sebastian strokes up and down a few times as Stefano shivers against him, then traces his thumb across the head, smiling when Stefano tries to thrust his hips forward into Sebastian’s hand.

“It’s alright,” Sebastian murmurs. “We’ll get there.”

Stefano nods, taking a few deep breaths and steadying himself against Sebastian, who wonders for a moment if this is the first time Stefano has done this with someone else. It’s not the right time to ask, of course, and whatever the answer is, it’s clear what Stefano wants.

He begins to stroke again, letting his hand glide up and down, making little splashes in the water between them, and when Stefano presses closer and his hand brushes his own cock, sending a little thrill of excitement through him, he has another idea.

“Oh!” Stefano breathes as Sebastian’s hand encircles both of them. Sebastian couldn’t agree more, though he is struck speechless by the feeling of Stefano’s cock pressed against his. He squeezes them together gently, enjoying the feeling of soft, wet skin on soft, wet skin, and then his hand begins the slow slide up and down.

It takes Sebastian a moment to process what he’s feeling, how much better this is than when he pleasures himself alone in his room. The feeling of friction on his cock is amazing, but even better than that is the feeling of Stefano’s body against his, the sound of Stefano’s little gasps and moans in his ears, the way Stefano clings to him.

Stefano is beautiful. His pale skin shines in the moonlight, and the way he lets his head rest on Sebastian’s shoulder leaves his neck exposed in such a way that Sebastian just can’t resist. He presses a kiss behind Stefano’s ear, then kisses his way down, letting his lips and tongue and breath raise goosebumps on Stefano’s skin. He doesn’t use his teeth; he’s too afraid that will leave marks that will lead to questions Stefano won’t be ready to answer, but Stefano is so responsive to even the gentlest explorations.

As he draws his tongue along Stefano’s collarbone, he can hear the hitch in Stefano’s breathing, can feel the way Stefano is pressing into his hand with more urgency, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he gets closer to completion. The waves are still lapping at them, and one of Sebastian’s hands holds Stefano steady as the other strokes them both.

He’s pretty close himself, though not as close as he suspects Stefano is. The other man seems entirely lost in his pleasure, all sense of propriety forgotten as he rocks himself against Sebastian, faster and rougher than the waves now, and Sebastian pulls him close, holds him tightly as his hand squeezes and strokes and tugs at them both.

“Sebastian!” Stefano’s voice is muffled as he bites down on Sebastian’s shoulder, thrusting forward to press their bodies together as he comes. He clings to Sebastian tightly for a few seconds before going limp in his arms.

Sebastian releases Stefano’s cock, wrapping both arms around Stefano’s body to support him as the waves push them gently back and forth, the soft roar of the ocean blurring the world around them. He holds Stefano, kisses his way up and down his neck until he can feel Stefano smile against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Stefano says, sounding suddenly shy. “That was...I didn’t…”

“It’s alright,” Sebastian murmurs, giving Stefano a little squeeze before loosening his grip so Stefano can take a step back and they can look at each other again. “That was really nice.”

He means it. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone else, and being with Stefano tonight has made him feel good in more than just the physical sense.

“Can I do something for you?” Stefano asks, gesturing vaguely toward Sebastian’s erection, which is still standing proudly between them.

“Oh,” Sebastian says quickly, because he had honestly almost forgotten about that. “You don’t have to. I mean-”

“I want to,” Stefano says. He’s not quite making eye contact with Sebastian, and there’s a blush spreading across his cheeks, but the small, self-conscious smile on his face tells Sebastian he really does want to participate, even if he’s suddenly become rather shy.

“Then of course you can,” Sebastian says with a smile.

Stefano pauses for a moment, still looking down at the water rather than at Sebastian. “What do I…?”

“Uh, have you ever…” Sebastian begins, finding himself at a bit of a loss for words as well.

“No,” Stefano replies. “I mean, not with another…”

“Oh,” Sebastian says, feeling a blush growing on his own face. “It’s not really that different from doing it by yourself. Here,” he says, taking one of Stefano’s hands in his and turning around so that his back is to Stefano. He guides Stefano’s hand down to his belly just above his cock.

Stefano’s other arm wraps around his body, hand splayed on his chest, and Sebastian releases the hand he’s been holding so Stefano can wrap careful fingers around his cock. He’s not going to last long. He can tell that the moment Stefano begins to touch him, tentative at first, but gaining confidence with every stroke. Stefano’s fingers are slender, but his grasp is firm, and he seems to know the perfect rhythm, the perfect way to squeeze and rub that has Sebastian moaning, “Fuck,” and grasping helplessly at the water around him.

He ends up with one hand pressed to his chest on top of Stefano’s and the other arm reaching behind himself to pull Stefano closer to him, and the feeling of Stefano’s body all up and down his back is lovely- safe and exciting and familiar all at once.

It has to be less than two minutes before he comes, but he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed. Stefano’s hand on his cock and Stefano’s skin against his back and Stefano’s breath on his neck just feel too good, and before he know it his hips are jerking forward and he’s spilling over Stefano’s hand, which continues to stroke gently, milking the last few drops from him before he sighs deeply and turns around in Stefano’s arms.

Stefano is looking quite pleased with himself, but Sebastian only has a moment to take note of this before he throws his arms around Stefano, embracing him as his heart slows down, as his breathing returns to normal, as he comes back to himself.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, tilting his head to kiss Stefano’s temple, then his cheek, then his lips.

“Thank you,” Stefano says, and they both laugh.

They stand like that for several minutes, arms wrapped around each other, as though neither of them wants to let go, before Stefano says, “I suppose I should be getting back.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sebastian says, reluctantly letting go of Stefano and taking a step away.

The silence as they wade back to the beach is a little awkward, but once they’ve both put their shorts back on, Stefano gives him a smile that is equal parts warmth and mystery.

“I hope to see you again, Sebastian.”

Sebastian smiles back. “Likewise.”

His head is spinning as he makes his way back up to the house, but this time he knows it’s not the alcohol.

#the evil within 2 #steseb #Sebastian Castellanos #Stefano Valentini

27 notes · View notes

sealer-of-wenkamui · 3 years ago

Text

Ciaran Character Analysis

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ciaran over the last few months, so I wanted to try and collect my thoughts and do a proper character analysis of sorts. Of course, things are highly open to interpretation in Dark Souls, so this is just how I read her character and the reasons why.

First of all, I actually don’t think she was together with Artorias for a number of reasons. She almost certainly had feelings for him, but I think she tried to hide them, and perhaps didn’t fully understand them. For one, she simply speaks of him as a “dear friend”, and while this could also be taken as her keeping their relationship secret, there is no description or unused dialogue from Artorias’ side hinting at it either. I also wonder if her unused dialogue where she calls him a “dear companion” was changed because it sounds too openly affectionate. In Gough’s unused dialogue he states that she had “strong feelings” for him, which is worded like they were one sided instead of in a relationship. And while he might have realized it, Gough is also the most perceptive of the Knights, even realizing that the fire will one day fade, while Artorias strikes me as being much more oblivious. Finally, her dying words come across like the confession of a dying woman, one who was never able to say her feelings in life, so she at least will say them now that she has nothing to lose. Interestingly enough, they’re also unsubtitled- words meant not for you, but for Artorias and for herself.

One of the biggest reasons why I think she would hide her feelings is her position. She is one of four Knights of Gwyn, entrusted with a special soul, and despite her appearance, she is considered something more than human, and seems to have disdain for humans (as seen by her dialogue when you attack her, or even just the way she says “human” in her unused dialogue).

I don’t think it’s the case that she’s human while the others are not just because she’s small, since size seems to be easily variable based on the state of the soul, for example Ornstein grows in size upon absorbing the soul of Smough, or Gael, much larger than your average person after consuming the dark souls of the pygmies. Perhaps even Artorias was a normal size to begin with.

Ultimately the gods and these demigod-like existences with their special souls aren’t all that different from humans, but the important thing is that they are considered as such, so she would be too. Humanity is constantly linked with the dark throughout the series. And even someone as kindhearted as Artorias, who believes in the goodness of humanity, thinks of the dark as something evil, something to be feared (In fact he words it as believing them to be more than just dark in his unused dialogue). One of the four Knights of the man who sacrificed himself to stave off the Age of Dark would want nothing to do with the dark. Yet feelings, and especially feelings of love, are a very human thing (just look at the pursuers/affinity description for example). That alone seems like the strongest reason to hide any feelings she might have for Artorias, to refuse to acknowledge that human side of her, to repress them and pretend they don’t exist.

Even more so than the other knights she comes across as having something to prove, as someone that has worked so hard to reach the distinguished status she has and doesn’t want anything to take that from her. The lightning arrow description mentions that female knights were rare to begin with, and she was able to work her way up to being one of Gwyn’s most trusted. The porcelain mask description mentions how determined she was to earn it as a decoration of honor (I imagine she first became an especially distinguished Lord’s Blade before becoming one of the four), and the English description actually leaves out another interesting fact- that it’s decorated with her own hair. The wording makes it sound like she cut her own hair to decorate that mask. This makes it seem like she wanted to stand out and make a name for herself- giving herself a distinct look that would come to be feared by all enemies of Lord Gwyn.

On the level of character design, her mask is what she’s most known for, the hornet ring description in DS3 even drawing attention to it. This comes across as a very deliberate choice reflecting her character- as she is a woman whose mask is more than just physical, someone who is perpetually hiding her “human” side. Her mask gives her an otherworldly look, like something beyond humans and reflects her “divine” self. Her purpose in life is to strike down any and all enemies of her Lord, and she has worked so hard towards that alone, almost as if she’s trying to become the mask she wears. Even though I think she might be able to relax a little around the other knights and especially Artorias, she comes across as a very serious woman that doesn’t truly know much about herself outside of her job. Interestingly, her face under the mask is just the default female face in-game, as if she truly isn’t meant to be seen without it!

No matter how much she tries to repress her feelings though, a mask is still just a mask, and they don’t disappear just because she wants them to. She has strong feelings for Artorias, a darkness she desperately wants to hide. Despite being a Knight of Gwyn, I tend to associate her with the darkness as a result, and even her name may be a reflection of that as well. Ciaran is common Irish boy’s name (Ciara is a girl’s name but she specifically has the masculine form of the name, a decision I also think was intentional and may tie into her being the only woman of the four and how rare female knights were) and looking around, she doesn’t seem to be named after any famous Ciaran as far as I know. So, what is the meaning of the name? Little dark one. A name associated with darkness seems especially significant in this series, and her struggle with her own humanity is central to her character, something that even her name itself betrays.

Since female knights are apparently rare, and she has an especially high-ranking position, I think she would also want to hide her feelings out of fear of being seen as just a girl in love. I also think its interesting how the hornet ring description also draws attention to the fact that she’s the only woman of the four, and how her name is almost exclusively used for boys, and I wonder if she went by the title of “sir” as well. At the same time, her appearance is the distinctly feminine look shared by all the Lord’s Blades, even using her own hair as well, so it’s not something she’s hiding either.

In addition to being the lone woman of the four, I also got the impression that she’s the youngest and last to join the Knights, which may further add to the feeling of needing to prove herself.

The main reason why actually comes from her speech pattern, when you compare it to the rest of the characters seen in that time period, it stands out. While Elizabeth, Dusk, Gough, and even Artorias all speak in an old-fashioned manner, she noticeably does not, except for “May the Lord guide thee” which sounds like a set phrase anyone serving Gwyn might say. If it was tied to status, then she would speak that way as well, she’s hardly trying to hide it (and besides we see other characters opposed to the gods that speak in the same way, like the hollow outside the Ringed City or Yuria). Maybe she did come from a more humble upbringing and that could be why, but with how varied the characters that do speak like that are I don’t think that’s it (and even some clearly noble characters don’t, like Lothric or Oceiros). So I wonder if its simply because she was born later once speech styles had changed.

Her position also makes sense if so as well, she’s an assassin, so even if she wasn’t around until after the Age of Fire had begun and Gwyn had gained status, that’s exactly when you would need a skilled assassin to eliminate your enemies. In other words, she’s not a dragonslayer, so it still makes sense if she is younger.

Going back to her feelings, the way I see it is that Artorias being consumed by the Abyss and killed is what finally forced her to face them- she’s not able to recognize just how strong they are until the man himself is gone. Perhaps she planned to kill him herself as she was in the area, but realized she couldn’t, or rather that she would almost surely hesitate and get herself killed. In a way, its almost a relief the chosen undead came along and killed him instead, she understood it was something that needed to be done, and though she doesn’t seem to like humans very much, she doesn’t hold anything against you. You find her immediately after killing Artorias, so she almost certainly would have been the one to find his corpse and make that small memorial, as if she wanted to make sure it would be her and no one else to find him. Despite being the kind of person who would always be watching her back, you find her kneeling in prayer, not so much as turning to look at you when you approach, and you can even easily attack her from behind in such a state. As if simply being there in prayer was the most important thing in that moment- and she surely has a lot of thoughts going through her head and a lot of feelings hitting her all at once. At this point, she can’t lie to herself, and even if she couldn’t confess while he was alive, if you take her life, she’ll at least do it before she dies.

When you speak to her, she seems to have no interest in you outside of obtaining Artorias’ soul, with only his will stopping her from taking it from you. She claims she wants to pay proper respect to him with it, but at the moment, his actual grave hasn’t been made yet, so I imagine she might take it into herself for a while until that point.

As to her eventual fate, I do think its likely she’s the corpse found behind his grave that has the hornet ring. At first I wondered why someone of her status wouldn’t have a proper burial, but in time, not many people are going to that grave, and those that do don’t return, so it may simply be she died after it was forgotten, and her corpse was never found.

The fact that she will give you her tracers if you give her his soul implies she gives up being a Knight of Gwyn (they’ve half fallen apart at that point anyway), but she doesn’t strike me as the type to kill herself right then and there, I think it would be a slow wasting away and curling up to die behind the grave of the man she loved. She (nor Gough) drop the special souls that they should have as part of the four… and while it may simply be to not further encourage people to kill them, if that soul is what gives them a long life (Ornstein is somehow still around after all) she may have purposely given it up so that she may eventually die… or maybe its after she receives his soul and she keeps both hers and his at his grave.

Finally, her ring ends up in the untended graves in DS3, and while there are a number of reasons you can come up with for how it ended up there, I feel like the most important part is the symbolic meaning behind it- for it is found by a grave with a Farron greatsword, one of the types modeled after that of Artorias’. It feels as if even in death, her feelings linked the two of them together.

While not nearly as direct, even DS2 has a parallel to Ciaran in the form of Alsanna. Much like Ciaran, you find her kneeling in prayer mourning her lost love, who also happens to be a left-handed swordsman who sacrificed himself and got corrupted and even has (several) animal companions. (DS2 also is where its mentioned that Artorias was left-handed, and its consistently used to mark characters paralleling him, even in Bloodborne with Ludwig.) Her soul even gives you a pair of curved swords. Parallels can also be drawn between the other three knights and people closely associated with the fragments of Manus, but only Ciaran parallels the child of dark herself, further deepening her association with the dark.

More directly, DS3 has the Dancer and Vordt, two knights who seem to honor Ciaran and Artorias’ legacy, and were always seen together- in fact you can see phantoms of what seems to be them before they were transformed into beasts walking the streets of Irithyll together (Vordt too, is left-handed). Despite how she tried to hide her feelings, I think it may have been her ring that betrayed them, so they ended up being remembered together. The Pontiff Knights in general also have a great deal of similarity to the Lord’s Blades, somewhat in armor design but mostly in their job, being described as Sulyvahn’s “punitive blades”. The Dancer herself most notably has two curved blades that look remarkably similar to Ciaran’s tracers in shape, as well as being gold and silver, even wielding the gold one in her left hand like she did.

There are probably more little details I could add, but this is already long, and I’ve covered the major points that I’ve thought a lot about. I tried to explain my reasoning as best as possible too, but there’s plenty of stuff that’s unknown and that’s half the fun. Feel free to comment, I love Ciaran and I love to think about her and discuss her!

#Dark Souls #Ciaran #Lord's Blade Ciaran #I've been dwelling on her ever since i met her in DS1....#i love her.....#i don't really write much but i've been posting a looot of thoughts about her on twitter and stuff #so i wanted to try making something somewhat cohesive to collect them all #didn't even get into little details like how cute it is how her voice softens when she talks about Artorias #or my delusions about how she might have initially reacted to his death #but i got the important points!#enjoy?#I hope i can make everyone appreciate her just a little bit more~

27 notes · View notes