#he can’t forgive himself for a small mistake on a good day

[withclawandvine]

the interview was years ago, and this particular snippet had been edited out of the final cut. the agency had forked over a lot of money for it, too. but every once in a while, an illegally recorded cellphone video would resurface, doing numbers on twitter and tiktok. a grainy image of a younger dynamight, sitting at a disrespectful angle in one of those talk show chairs. even with the low quality, and the shaky cameraship, it was obvious he was scowling. then, the interviewer asked about you—the mysterious figure he was so rarely seen with, always shielded and angled away from prying eyes and camera flashes. and dynamight’s scowl became much more intentional. his silence nearly ominous. but he was still young and inexperienced with press, so it didn’t take much needling from the host to end up where they did: a leading question about protecting the relationship. wondering aloud if he was also trying to protect you. if he worried about you capturing the interest of a villain, who might see you as dynamight’s achilles heel. and finally, striking just the right nerve with the implication that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to protect you. dynamight wasn’t afraid of anything. katsuki, on the other hand…

but all the audience saw at that afternoon taping was a murderous glower, and a death-promise to any villain that might make such an attempt. brazen and protective, a little bit arrogant. not particularly heroic, at least not in the usual way. classic dynamight, really. his manager didn’t see it that way. she saw it “how villains are going to see it: as a challenge.” so she and her team have continued to do their best to scrub any traces of it off the internet for years. as soon as a repost goes viral, it’s removed and the poster’s account is often suspended.

the video is as forgotten as it will ever be when finally, after three years and an engagement ring, you are targeted.

[cupidsanne]

Mike Faist Fluff Alphabet ✢ Headcanons

Mike Faist x Female! Insert Reader

SYNOPSIS! ✦ headcanons based on the ask of these prompts!!

WARNINGS! ✦ None, sfw.

NOTES! ✦ link to template for these are here! no proof reads, lmk if something’s wrong! <3

Mike Faist Masterlist . About Me + Rules .

A — Admiration . . . What Do They Absolutely Adore About You?

One of the things he adores about you is your leniency with everything. Your ability to forgive and be tolerant of certain things is really nice to him, since no one’s perfect and even Mike makes mistakes sometimes. Mike always assumed the worst whenever he messes up something small and thinks you’ll hold it against him, which is so far from the truth. He has to constantly remind himself that you’re not there to belittle him for everything, and it’s okay to tell you things.

B — Body . . . What Is Their Favorite Part Of Your Body?

His favorite part is your smile. You’re a silly person naturally, so a grin is always spread onto your face. He makes you laugh a lot, and you do the same for him. He’s definitely attracted to your happiness. Don’t even be insecure if you’re teeth may be crooked, if your lips look a certain way, ect. he does not care!! Smile all the time!

C — Cuddling . . . How Do They Like To Cuddle?

He prefers to cuddle with you sat up and seated, cause whenever you two do cuddle laying down, he falls asleep. He can’t help it! You’re comforting to be around.

D — Dates . . . What Does Their Ideal Date With You Look Like?

He’s content with anything as long as it’s private. On dates, Mike likes to give his sole attention to you and doesn’t want outside distractions or interruptions. He’s also not too particular with dates, but he does prefer calm ones. Although he doesn’t mind those crazier dates like rock climbing, clubbing, ski-ing ect. he likes ones where he doesn’t have to do much as well. Mike loves having fun, but he’s a homebody too. His ideal dates are picnics at the park, beach, or having a quiet dinner in a cozy restaurant. If your dates mostly consisted of eating inside either (or your shared) homes, he’d be fine with that too.

E — Emotions . . . How Do They Express Emotion Around You?

He’s a honest partner, but he’s not always comfortable with being verbally vulnerable. He doesn’t want to burden you with his issues or thoughts initially, so a lot of the times of when he’s upset, you have to look for any physical cues on him. Similar reasoning from letter A.

F — Family . . . Do They Want One? If They Do, When?

He does, but he isn’t sure when is the right time. With his career and constantly being on the move, he doesn’t know how he’ll want to balance work life and family life. He doesn’t work a office job where he can go in during the day and come back in the evening, he’s an actor! Actors schedules constantly shift and he may be expected to travel. You knew what you were signing up for when you got together with him, so he really wants to leave the decision of a family to you.

He has a great relationship with kids. Because of his energy and kind smile, kids naturally are drawn to him and want to play/hang out with him. He’s polite and super fun, and he’s also good at a lot of things. He’d be a great father, but he underestimates himself.

G — Gifts . . . How Do They Feel About Gift Giving? What Are Their Habits When It Comes To This?

He doesn’t mind giving gifts but it’s not his main love language. He’s the type of person where he likes to save gifts for special occasions so they can feel extra special. Occasionally, he might gift you something small and silly to make you laugh but the meaningful gifts are for certain occasions. He also entirely chooses your gifts for your benefit and wants, not his.

H — Holding Hands . . . When/How Do They Like To Hold Hands?

Mike is not a huge fan of PDA, but he’s not completely against it either. This doesn’t mean he’s not physically affectionate with you at all, cause that’s false!! He’s just not the type of guy to make out with you in public or grab your butt in front of friends… (I find those things corny.) Subtle affection like hand holding is great with him! He doesn’t mind holding your hand as you guys walk, sit down, or talk. He’s a private person, but he’s not gonna keep your relationship a secret.

He likes to interlock fingers! It’s comforting to him and if your walking through somewhere crowded, you won’t feel like you’re slipping away. He doesn’t like those hand holds where it’s him holding your hand and you’re not, or you’re holding is hand and he’s not, he likes to keep it mutual. One parter just holding onto the other feels territorial.

I — Injury . . . How Would They Act If You Got Hurt?

If you slip on the floor and fall, he’s gonna rush over and check on you with a smile cracked on his lips. He’s not doing it to make you embarrassed, he just finds it cute, in a way! If it’s funny, he’ll try to hold it in and make sure you’re recomposed. He doesn’t like to see you hurt at all.

Now, he’s not a monster! If you seriously get injured, he’s gonna be devastated! He’s a responsible person and when put in a panicked situation, he knows how to calm you and/or the area down. Not saying he won’t be stressed or alarmed, but he’s gonna take you to the hospital or doctor to make sure you’re alright.

J — Jokes . . . Do They Like To Joke Around With Or Prank You? How?

He definitely does, no question about it. You two joke around and share many laughs with each other. He doesn’t necessarily prank you crazily, but he does in a small way.

If you’re new here, Mike is a actor. A incredible one, and with being a actor it’s easy for him to tell little lies. Sometimes when he says things, you’re prone to believe it based off his face and tone. For example, he’d do those pranks where it’s “My gosh, [insert a celebrity you like] has just died!” and you’d definitely become hysterical trying to find out if it’s true, the whole time he’s sitting there smiling internally as you’re freaking out. He doesn’t keep it up forever though and always comes clean, you’d complain but you’re not actually hurt. If anything, you reciprocate and pull mini pranks like that on him all the time. Yet, he’s skeptic whenever you try since you’re not as good at pranking him then he is with you.

K — Kisses . . . How Do The Like To Kiss You?

Now, a controversial opinion… He just loves those short kisses! Those kisses where he leans down to kiss you on the lips deeply but fast are his favorite. He likes to see your facial expression afterwards, nine times out of ten you’re grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t mean pecks where it’s so quick the other partner can’t catch it, but the short regular ones. Despite this, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love those long kisses either.

L — Love . . . How Do They Show They Love You?

Quality time is his favorite way! It sucks because sometimes he has to be away from you for periods of time because of his job, but it’s his favorite way of showing how he loves you. Mike can be anti-social sometimes and does cherish his away time, but quality time together is his love language cause it means he’s sharing his space and extra time for you. When you two are together, it doesn’t feel like a chore or obligation to be around each other. He genuinely enjoys your company, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t.

M — Memory . . . Favorite Memory Together?

Meeting your family was one of his favorite memories. You come from a big family and they were all so excited to meet him. Some of them couldn’t believe he was this star who could sing and dance as he was so bashful around everyone! He was super polite and warm to everyone. Your parents are obsessed with him and whenever you try to come around, the first thing they ask is “Where’s Mike? How’s Mike doing?”

When he was first invited to a family get together, he was set on making a good impression, and he sure did! He met and greeted everyone, he played with the kids for a little bit, he help set the table when your mother asked, he even sat down with your dad, uncles, and some other guy relatives and they had a drink and chatted. He came to have a genuine good time with them all, and was glad to hear that they like him so much, cause he was planning on being with you for the long run.

N — Nightmare . . . What Is Their Worst Fear?

Disappointing or not living up to certain expectations. Mike can be very tough on himself and underestimates his abilities. If you listen to any peer, actor, or even directors he has worked with, they all have such uplifting things to say about him. How Mike always goes above and beyond in whatever he does. He doesn’t just do this to please others, but he does it to please himself.

Before his career, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for him, so working hard is always the mindset that he lives in. It’s a sense of security for him.

O — Oddity . . . What Is One Quirk They Have?

Most of the time, you can read what he’s thinking or feeling through his eyes. It’s not odd, it’s pretty regular but it’s much more intriguing from him. Mike has heterochromia which means his eyes are two different colors! It’s not something you see often but it’s not uncommon. Not only are they different but he’s naturally handsome as well and as luscious eyelashes to go with his eyes. You’ve learned that whenever he’s listening to something, he might not do the talking but his eyes will.

For example, if you say something totally unexpected, his eyes might widened and he’s gonna blink repeatedly. If you say something funny, he’s gonna chuckle and his eyes will squint. He doesn’t always realize you look in his eyes to read him.

P — Pet Names . . . What Do They Like To Call You?

He likes to keep it simple, he doesn’t do those extra cheesy pet names like “sweetie pie” and “boo boo bear” he can’t stand those!! A good go-to nickname for you is a short “Babe”. If you’re not really into pet names but you do have a nickname that’s known from close friends or loved ones, he can call you that too!

Q — Quality Time . . . How Do They Like To Spend Time With You?

He likes to spend it privately and not too much outside distractions. He wants all his focus on you to let you know that he’s listening and paying attention to you.

R — Rhythm . . . What Song Reminds You Of Them?

“There! I’ve Said it Again” sung by Bobby Vinton!!

I really don’t have any reasoning for it, but this is my selection! Because Mike was into the older movies with Gene Kelly and more, I’d think he’d appreciate that older genre of music too. This is a slow yet lovely song.

S — Secrets . . . How Open Are They With You?

Like stated before, he’s honest with you but it may take some coaxing for him to speak up. He’s good at acting and ignoring something, but after so long he can’t always keep it up, so you’re always bound to find out. As time goes on, he gets better at being more open.

T — Time . . . How Long Does It Take You To Get Together?

Surprisingly, he’s persistent. As much as he’s an over-thinker, he’s not gonna make any decisions he’s gonna regret if he knows he has a chance.

I definitely see you two starting off as friends and slowly falling for each other. It all really depends on the circumstances of how you two crossed paths for how long it takes for you to get together.

U — Upset . . . How Do They Act When You’re Upset?

His first priority is to comfort or calm you down. When upset, you’re not gonna always think rationally and he doesn’t want you to wear yourself out or do anything you’d regret. If there’s a issue, he won’t ultimately take over and help you, but he will assure and offer solutions if you need it. Sometimes, that’s all a person really wants when they’re upset and he realizes that over time.

V — Vaunt . . . What Are They Proud Of? Do They Like To Show You Off?

Despite his humble demeanor, he’s very proud and grateful for how far he’s come into his career. There was a point in his life where he felt like he wasn’t going to get as far as he wanted, yet he’s proven himself wrong.

He doesn’t mind showing you off at all! He loves you and everything you do. The reason he doesn’t have you out there to the public like crazy isn’t because he’s ashamed to be with you, but it’s because he values your privacy and his. Despite this, the instances where you two are put out in the spotlight, he’s making it known that you’re his and he’s yours!

W — Warrior . . . How Do They Feel About You Fighting? Would They Fight For You? Beside You? Ect.

Verbal or Physical, he doesn’t want you fighting at all! Mike likes to keep the peace in situations and feels that fighting isn’t the way to go. Although, he doesn’t want you to get walked over on and allow yourself to be backed into a corner. If we’re speaking about verbal fighting, he wholeheartedly supports you defending yourself and knows you’re an adult and you should be able to handle yourself. He won’t say anything but he will be alongside you to comfort you. Now, if it calls for it, he will defend you with no hesitation. If someone tries to insult/put you down while you’re not there to defend yourself, you bet he’s going to shut that down. So don’t even worry!

X — X-Ray . . . How Well Are They Able To Read You?

In the beginning of your relationship, it was so hard for him. At times he’d read too much and think the worst instead of coming up and communicating with you. Eventually, he’d get the hang of it all and now he can read you like an open book. He’s memorized your quirks and behaviors whenever you’re happy, sad, angry ect. and so have you for him.

Y — Yes . . . How Would They Propose To You?

Now, what some people may not know is that Mike has a pilot’s license! He wanted to make the proposal memorable for you and him, and he was wondering if he should do something totally different then you’d expect! With some coaxing from friends and his half brothers, they encouraged him to propose to you while flying! With some convincing, he pushed for you to join him on flying out. He assured you’d be safe and staged that his half brother couldn’t be his co-pilot and needed to go out because “he didn’t want his skills to get rusty.” You believed him obviously and followed through and as you two drove out in the air, he popped the question on you privately, handing you a ring box as he drove. You cried tears of joy and accepted his proposal.

( ^ should I turn this into a imagine or blurb? 🫣)

Z — Zen . . . What Makes Them Feel Calm?

Knowing that you’re understanding and listening to him always. There’s a different between hearing and listening to someone. Sometimes, he feels invalidated on his wants and expressions therefore he doesn’t always outright admits to when he has a problem with something. You know he doesn’t like to ask for assistance or help, and will do it himself before anything. That’s why, whenever you feel or get a hunch that there’s something off, you immediately ask him if he’s alright or if there’s anything he’d want you to do. He appreciates it so much, and even if he declines your help and controls your worries, it means so much that you’re wondering how he’s feeling. To you, this is the bare minimum but to him, it means a lot.

[cutielando]

we can’t be friends, part 2

a/n: the highly requested part 2 of we can’t be friends is finally here!!! again, this is super rushed because i wanted to post it as soon as possible for you guys, so forgive me 🥲

also, part 3? 👀

my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

Lando had never before considered himself a “lucky” man. He was always of the belief that things just kind of…happened.

But when he saw you in the paddock on that one particular day, after months of being away from you and only watching you from afar, he thanked his lucky stars.

That was part of the reason why he couldn’t resist coming up to you, introducing himself with only one thought in mind: I need to get her back.

You hadn’t known why the feeling of his hand in yours felt familiar when you shook his hand, why the tone of his voice made tingles arise on your delicate skin, or why his smile and dimple seemed like something you had seen before, seemingly in another life.

Something in your gut was telling you that you had met him sometime before, but you just couldn’t figure out where you knew him from.

Which Lando was grateful for.

He had realized he hadn’t been a good boyfriend to you before, he could see his mistakes and what he should improve now. He knew what he had to do.

After the fateful meeting in the paddock, you started bumping into him more and more. 

At the grocery store in Monaco, at the museum where you were strolling with your sister, at the hair salon, at the nail salon, he seemed to be everywhere.

You didn’t think anything about it at first, telling yourself that Monaco was a very small place and coincidences were bound to happen.

But you gradually began to feel like it was not the case, and you settled for confronting him to get to the bottom of the problem.

“You’re following me” you had caught him yet again, seemingly trailing around the flower shop where you usually spend your mornings.

Lando’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing before he settled for shaking his head.

“Bumping into me once or twice is a normal coincidence, but you’re everywhere I go. I turn around and you’re there, like a ghost. Can you please tell me what’s going on? You’re starting to creep me out” you said, making sure to keep your distance from him.

Lando’s heart began hammering in his chest, panic quickly settling in his body.

This was not how it was supposed to go down. You were meant to find it cute, endearing even, but he couldn’t have you thinking that he was a weirdo, not when he was desperately trying to make you fall in love with him once again.

How was he supposed to win you back if you thought he was a total creep?

“I’m not trying to be creepy, I promise. I just didn’t know how to approach you without being awkward” he tried to explain, realizing he sounded even more like a creep.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And you figured following me around was the solution?” you had to admit that seeing him flustered and trying to explain himself was becoming funny to you, any trace of annoyance long gone.

You couldn’t describe the feelings you had whenever you were around Lando. There was a foreign sense of familiarity every time you would talk to him and whenever you would be near him. Like your body was already used to being around him.

“No, no. God, this is so not how I wanted this to go down” he murmured the last part to himself, but you heard him nonetheless.

“Look, as much as I might find this stalking of yours kinda cute in some twisted way, what’s really going on here?” you asked, crossing your arms one on top of the other.

He sighed, hanging his head low. Should he just be honest about why he was following you? Tell you about everything you had done so much just to forget? Should he just lie and truly start from scratch? 

There were so many questions clouding his judgment, dozens of ideas and excuses floating around in his brain.

But in the end, he decided that wiping the slate clean was his best bet. You would never agree to go out with him if he even mentioned how your previous relationship had ended, that he had hurt you so much that you chose to completely forget everything about him and your relationship.

He didn’t want to risk a new beginning by plaguing it with events from the past.

“Okay. Truth is, I really like you, and I wanted to ask you out but couldn’t seem to find the words to do it. You’re gorgeous and kind and nice and I didn’t think you would want to go out with me, given what the internet has been saying about me” he confessed, scratching the back of his head in fear of what your reaction would be.

Once upon a time, he could read you like the back of his hand, knowing your every little tic and every tell. He knew every single thing there was to know about you, but as you stood there in front of him, he felt like he didn’t know you.

Even while you smiled at him with that same smile he had come to love over time, you were not the person he had left behind. You were someone else entirely, only the memory of you hiding behind your eyes. But was it wrong that it intrigued him? That it made him want to get to know you again so badly?

Maybe. But he didn’t want to resist it any longer.

Finally looking up at your eyes, his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the smile he loved vibrantly shining on your face, a sense of familiarity filling his chest.

“I don’t care what the internet says about you, I want to get to know the real you. People can have their opinions of you, I want to have my own” you said, stepping closer to him.

Lando felt like he couldn’t breathe. Having you so close to him after so much time apart made him want to lose his composure and just kiss the life out of you, but he couldn’t.

No, he wanted to do it right. He couldn’t afford to mess it up again. 

“What are you saying?” he asked, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t misinterpret anything.

“I’m saying that you should give me your number” you said, trying to suppress the smile that was inching towards your lips.

You didn’t know why you were acting like this. Accepting to go on a date with a guy that basically followed you around, asking him for his number? You were never that irresponsible when it came to dating, so why was he so different right now?

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was something deep within you which was screaming at you to trust him. There was that sense of comfort that you felt whenever you were around him ever since the two of you bumped into each other, but you didn’t know where it was coming from. How could you feel so at ease with someone you had just met?

It was weird, definitely worrisome if you were being truthful with yourself. But then again, what harm could it do?

Lando had never taken out his phone as fast as he did in that moment, almost dropping it in the process, which made you laugh a little.

Seeing him so flustered made him blush, almost embarrassed that he couldn’t keep his act together. 

He gave you the phone in the end, and you put in your number and the name y/n💕, giving him the phone back and leaving, kissing his cheek as you passed by him.

Lando felt like he was dreaming as he felt your lips touch his skin, however briefly the contact had been. And unbeknownst to you, you were biting your lip and blushing as you walked away from him, eagerly waiting to get a text from him. 

And thankfully, it was merely an hour later when your phone dinged, and the butterflies started acting up once again.

♡♡♡♡♡

The moment of your first date with Lando had arrived after texting back and forth for a couple of days, and it was safe to say that the both of you were freaking out. 

You, on one hand, were freaking out because it felt like you hadn’t been this excited about going on a date in forever. Lando, on the other hand, was freaking out over wanting to make sure he didn’t screw things up the second time around. 

The nerves that he felt as he waited in front of your apartment building were nothing like he ever felt before. He hadn’t even been this nervous when you two went out the first time all those years back. But as he stood there, flowers in hand and yet another gift in his pocket, he couldn’t stop fidgeting.

That was until you finally appeared, dressed in his favorite dress of yours, sandals and curly hair, smiling from ear to ear when you saw him waiting for you.

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t decide what to wear. Have you been waiting long?

Lando’s brain froze for a split second. Had he been waiting there so long that he didn’t even notice you had been late? Taking a quick peek at the watch resting on his left wrist, he realized he had been standing in front of your building for more than 20 minutes.

“Um, no. Just got here like 5 minutes ago” he lied, content when he saw the relieved smile you gave him. “These are for you” he said, holding out the flowers towards you. 

You took the bouquet from him, blushing once you noticed that he had bought you your favorite flowers.

“How did you know these are my favorites?” you asked, bringing the flowers up to your nose and inhaling the sweet aroma.

He shrugged, and left it at that. He couldn’t really tell you how he knew they were your favorite, so he figured he shouldn’t say anything else.

The night went by beautifully, the conversation flowing as if you had known each other your whole lives. The laughter you shared was natural, you felt so at ease while talking to him.

As the end of the night grew closer, you were walking hand-in-hand through the quiet streets of Monaco, a comfortable silence between the two of you. You had never felt at ease with anyone else in your entire life, yet here you were, feeling more at home with Lando than any other person in your life besides your family.

“Thank you for tonight” you said, smiling sadly once you arrived in front of your building. 

Lando smiled, stepping closer to you.

“It was my pleasure” he whispered, the distance between the two of you almost non-existent.

He looked you in the eyes as if he was asking for permission, and the second you nodded he leaned in and kissed you with everything that he had, making your knees go weak and almost buckle.

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and started playing with the hair at the back of his head, almost accidentally letting out a moan at how good his lips felt on yours. Every inch of your body was on fire, your senses tingling as you got lost in the feeling of Lando.

Lando, on the other hand, felt a mixture of emotions. Even though he had been waiting for this moment for so many months, he felt guilty. There he was, using the fact that you had no memory of your past relationship to win you back. Was he being selfish?

Should he tell you the truth about the past?

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[yaksha-lover]

Imagine being stuck between your not-boyfriend Leona and your dearest friend Malleus.

Things start out casual between you and Leona - you promise each other that you won’t catch feelings. There are endless reasons you two can’t ever be in a relationship: Leona’s the last person to want a commitment to anyone or anything, he’s a prince, you’re still planning to return to your home world. You agree to a few nights of fun whenever you both have time, eventually planning to go your separate ways without anyone ever finding out. Only things never work out that way.

One day, Leona stops leaving Ramshackle as soon as the two of you are finished. He stays and you make midnight snacks and actually talk. The late-night conversations show you a different side of Leona. You think the previous events of the night put him in a good mood, one where he’s willing to tell you stories of the Sunset Savanna, of his childhood.

Suddenly, the two of you are sneaking out of NRC on secret dates (neither of you call it that, but the dinners and sights he take you to are hard to dismiss as just a friendly get-together). It’s exhilarating while it lasts, the secrecy of this love affair. When it’s just the two of you, out where no one knows you, it’s like living in another universe where you could actually be together; there’s no mention of his royal status or your return home, there’s only you and him.

It’s hard to separate the ‘you’ that made the promise from the ‘you’ that knows the way Leona is when no one else is there for him to keep up appearances. You make a mistake; he’d huffed about holding your hand on a secret outing before, but ultimately he’d conceded and let you tug him along to places. This time, with an audience of the other housewardens, he isn’t so willing to forgive your little mistake.

Your attempt to take his hand and lead him out of the classroom is met with a fierce glare and him yanking his hand out of yours. You know it’s your fault - you should’ve known better than to break the rules that you agreed to, he’s not your boyfriend after all - but the sting of his rejection and the words of venom he spits at you have your chest squeezing tight enough to leave you rooted in place. Vil even stops to pat your shoulder on the way out, his pity at your rejection evident in his voice.

You think you might love him. The feeling is suffocating, nothing like you’d ever thought falling in love would be like. You’ve doomed yourself - Leona’s been clear about his intentions from the start - and still, you dared to hope that the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear meant something.

You never told Malleus about your relationship with Leona, but you never had to; he already knows. He’s far more observant than most give him credit for. What else can one do but listen when they have no one to talk to? No one, that is, until you. He notices the changes in you during each successive club meeting. The cycles of elation and heartbreak were easy to spot in your small grins and deep eye bags.

He’s a bit heartbroken himself when he first realizes it. He thought it was no secret that he was interested in you, but you remained oblivious despite his attempts. He comforts himself with the thought that this is just a temporary thing - a relationship never meant to last more than a change of seasons.

Eventually, when the sadness becomes too much for even you to hold in, you confide in him. That day, you cry into his arms and for the first time, he wishes to hurt Leona Kingscholar. Despite your insistence that this is not Leona’s fault, Malleus knows better.

It’s clear to anyone that Leona’s feelings for you run deeper than you know. Even before you two began this secret affair, everyone had known the way he looked at you, the way his eyes would linger. Now, his love for you is obvious in the way he takes care of you, the way he glares at anyone willing to come within a two meter radius of you.

It’s because he knows Leona has feelings for you that he hates him. Because his inability to express them sends you crying into Malleus’ own arms every time. You deserve better than someone who isn’t willing to show you how they truly feel. And yet, you never stop. You can’t resist him, Malleus supposes.

It hurts him, when you cry into his chest night after night. How cruel are you, to cry to him over another man when he has spent many nights simply trying to suppress his own feelings for you? He knows that you would never do this to him, if you knew about his feelings, but he can’t bring himself to tell you. He would rather stay by your side as a friend than lose you trying to become more. Malleus keeps that thought close to himself on the nights he’s alone and forced to wonder if you would’ve chosen him had you met him and not Leona first.

Malleus doesn’t know that you’ve thought the same, convinced that the dragon prince would never think about you that way. At first, you’d only really been interested in Leona, but the more he pushed you away and the more time you’d spent with Malleus, the more you began to see him in another light. You only become more and more confused about your feelings as time goes on.

The last time you’d seen Leona, you’d finally broken down and told him your true feelings. That you couldn’t do things casual anymore, that you’d longed to be with him as a real couple. You felt guilty also mentioning your growing feelings for Malleus, but in the end felt it was necessary to be entirely honest to him. You’d asked him to say something, to make a decision.

Leona hadn’t said a word, only staring at you in silence until you couldn’t take the feeling anymore and fled from his room. In a way, you felt that his silence had spoken for him and ended anything you thought existed between the two of you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell Malleus about it.

You have no idea how you make Leona’s heart ache. How much he cares about you and much it hurts to see your sad face when he has to pretend that he doesn’t. Old habits die hard, and Leona’s past makes it difficult for him to openly care about anything. He never wanted to make you feel like this - he wants to love you publicly, but his pride takes over and leaves him pushing you away.

He knows he sabotages all his chances at happiness, but Leona won’t let himself lose you. The next night, he shows up to your door, wearing a suit and flowers in hand (the most effort he’s put into anything in years), prepared to finally tell you of his feelings and ask you on a real date. He feels his heart sink when you open the door and he spots Malleus sitting at the coffee table behind you.

Only an hour earlier, Malleus had decided that he couldn’t live like this anymore, not telling you of his feelings. He’d also shown up at Ramshackle, asking you to talk. As he told you his feelings for you, you hadn’t said much, looking more surprised than anything. It was as he was waiting for your answer that the doorbell rang and Leona appeared on your doorstep.

The two men stare at each other and then back at you.

You have a choice to make: the handsome lion who’d won your heart during passionate nights or the beautiful dragon who’d been there for you all along?

[cameronspecial]

A New Kind Of Normal (Part 2)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Cocaine Hangover and Attending Sobriety Resources

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Rafe wakes up the next day remembering his mistakes and realizes he needs to change.

Masterlist

The massive headache he has from the cocaine he did last night makes him question why he does it in the first place. Jaw pain is not unusual for him thanks to the substance, but it still doesn’t mean it can’t hurt. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and it helps him clearly see the sweat stain on his pillow. The deep breath he takes brings clarity to last night's events; panic starts to weave through his mind. Y/N is never going to forgive him for going to her house while high and saying what he said. The fury she held is definitely not one he want to meet in court, especially since he built a case against himself. This stress needs to leave him and he knows one substance that would help him relax. It’s the same thing he turns to every time he argues with his dad. He sniffles in an attempt to bring moisture back to his nose, but it doesn’t work. His hand shakes as he tries to open the ziplock bag filled with the white substance. 

And then he thinks about those small blue eyes that match his eyes. The excitement in her voice as she saw her mother. The way her beautiful hair blew in the wind as she ran around the counter. It stops his fingers from going any further. If he keeps turning toward drugs, he will never get to see her again. She’ll never get to know that he is her daddy and that he cares for her even if she doesn’t him. She’ll never get to tell him about her favourite TV shows or food. He wonders if she needs a night light to go to sleep and how many stories she likes to read before bedtime. He doesn’t even know his own daughter’s name. 

He needs to change because he wants to find all that stuff out. He told Y/N that he would’ve changed if he knew about their daughter and he is going to prove that he truly meant it. The first thing he needs to do is get a therapist and get clean. That’s his new goal. All he wants as of now is to be the best father he can be to the little girl. 

——

“I’m Rafe and I am an addict.” The other members of the meeting all retort with the typical anonymous meeting greeting. He didn’t think he had a problem, but his therapist begged to differ. She says that if he really wants to be in his daughter’s life, he has to show Y/N that drugs aren’t more important than their daughter. “I started using it when I was in my senior year of high school,” he starts to explain. “Most parents say they don’t have a favourite when their kids ask, but my dad was different. It was always clear to me that my younger sister was his favourite. No matter what I did, Sarah was the perfect one and I was the worthless one. Coke was the only thing that made his tiny voice in my head stop.” The group gives him sympathetic nods. They wait for him to continue, “I think that’s all I’m going to share for today. That’s all I need to get off of my chest right now.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Diana thanks. The meeting goes on and Rafe listens intently to the others’ stories. Listening to their journeys, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the signs of his own addiction before. The clacking of chairs folding finds his ears as he helps clean up. He doesn’t hear Diana’s footsteps as she approaches him, “So what made you decide to get sober if you don’t mind me asking?” He looks at her and finishes putting the chair he is holding away. “No, I don’t mind. Um… I recently found out that I have a daughter. I didn’t react so great when I found out that she was kept a secret from me, so I realized I needed to get better for her.” 

“It’s good that you realized you needed help. What’s your little girl’s name?”

“I actually don’t know. I was too high to ask. Another reason why I need to get sober is so I can get to know her.” 

“I see. Well, if you need a sponsor, I would be more than happy to help. I’ve been sober for three years. I know how difficult it can be to try to change.”

“That would be great. I’ve been sober for a day and I’m already struggling with it a little bit.” 

They exchange numbers before Rafe goes on his way to his next meeting of the day. 

——

Anger management right after a narcotics anonymous meeting may not have been the best idea on Rafe’s part. He really did want to get better, but with therapy, he has been doing a lot of talking about his feelings and it is exhausting to him. “And what do you think your anger triggers are, Rafe?” Corey asks, leaning forward in his chair. Rafe feels irritation fill him, “If I knew, then why would I be in anger management?” The look Corey gives him makes Rafe feel like he is receiving a warning from a parent. 

He cowers a little under the look. “Okay, I’m sorry for being snippy. But I’m hoping that I can figure this out. I want to figure out what makes me angry and how I can express that anger in a healthy manner,” he reasons. Corey agrees with his statement, “That’s exactly why I am here to help. Why don’t we talk about times you were angry?”

“The last time I was angry was when I found out that someone I slept with five years ago had my baby and didn’t tell me for five years.” 

“Right and were you more angry about the lie or the fact that you had a kid?”

“I am more upset by the lying. I told myself that I would be a better parent to my child and she didn’t give me a chance to do that.”

Rafe feels nervous with Corey’s eyes on him; today is the most he has been vulnerable since the night he met Y/N. “That is very angering. Now, how do you think you could’ve managed your anger?” Corey pushes, moving one leg over the other. Rafe takes a second to think, “I should not have gotten high that day. Instead, I should’ve opened communications with her. She tried to talk to me before I ran off, but I didn’t give her a chance.” “That’s right, Rafe. This is a very good start for your first session,” Corey applauds. 

——

The blast of music can be heard from outside the front door. Rafe has to laugh at the off-key and incorrect lyrics that are sung about five seconds too late. His daughter might look like his twin, but she seems to have inherited her mother’s musical abilities. He pauses as his fist lifts to knock on the door. The two girls in the house have their own lives. They already know how they fit into each other’s lives and he could off-balance their equilibrium by worming himself into it. He can’t mess up being a father if he isn’t in her life. But then he also couldn’t be a great father if he just left without trying to make things right with Y/N. 

He shakes off his anxiety and knocks on the door. The singing stops and the music dims. He can hear her footsteps approaching the door. Vanilla. It seems to haunt him whenever he is around her. He is glad fear doesn’t flash through her eyes when she sees him. He wouldn’t be able to handle knowing he caused her to feel that way. 

Her hair falls over her shoulder as she looks over at their daughter behind her. “Stella. Why don’t you go play in your room, Baby?” Y/N suggests, blocking Rafe from the little girl’s sight. Stella shoots up from the couch, “Okay, Mommy.” Her little running legs slowly down at the calling out from her mother to walk. With Stella out of earshot, Y/N finally gives him her full attention. “So her name is Stella. It means star, doesn’t it?” he thinks out loud. She slowly nods her head, “Yeah, I thought of it when I was stargazing while I was pregnant. Plus, my grandmother’s name was Luna so I thought it was a good homage to her. Rafe, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you again unless you were suing me.” His hand moves his watch face back and forward on his wrist. He doesn’t want to look her in the eyes. 

“It’s a beautiful name. And you did make it clear. I want to apologize first. I shouldn’t have shown up to your house high. I probably scared you and Stella, which I never meant to do. 

“Apologizing won’t fix the fact that you came over high while my daughter was in the room.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But seeing our little girl, Y/N. I never thought that I could feel so much love for a person I didn’t know before. It made me realize that I need to change. So I started going to NA, anger management and therapy. I want to be mentally healthy. For Stella.” 

He can see the way she is processing his words and it gives him hope that he has a chance. “Rafe, I’m glad you are trying to get better. I really am, but I don’t know if I can trust you. You haven’t shown me that you are responsible enough to be Stella’s father,” Y/N explains and she doesn’t want to admit that the sad look on his face causes her some pain. He finally has the courage to look at her, “I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to show you that I am serious about being there for her. I’m hoping that if I stay sober for a month, you might consider letting me meet Stella as her father.” The silence that comes from Y/N absolutely kills Rafe and he feels like time is dragging on. “Okay. Stay sober for a month and Stella can meet you. But I want to meet you every week to get to know you more to make sure you are someone who can be around her,” she offers.

Rafe’s smile fixes the pain she felt before. He throws his arms around her to give her a hug, “Thank you so much, Buttercup! Can you do dinner tomorrow night?” That nickname. God, she didn’t think she could feel this many butterflies in her stomach at a simple name. She remembers why they are having this conversation and removes herself from his arms. “Dinner feels too romantic. How about lunch?” she counters. He gives her a thumbs up as he walks backwards toward his truck, “I can do lunch, great. I’ll pick you up at twelve. See you tomorrow.” 

He gets in his car and starts it. As he does so, he feels a pang shoot through his heart. She didn’t like the idea of going on a date with him, which tomorrow wasn’t going to be. He doesn’t know why he feels that way about it. He shakes off the feeling and focuses on the road.

——

Given that they are here because of Rafe, he offered to pay for lunch. They had decided on a small cafe near her house. “Were you able to find a babysitter? I can pay them for you if you need,” he states, playing with the food on his plate. She shakes her head at his offer, “My brother is watching her, so you don’t need to pay anybody. I certainly don’t need you paying for anything else either. I’ve been able to provide for her just fine so far.” “Right, right. I’m not saying that you can’t take care of her. I just want to make up for not being there for the first few years of her life,” he clears up. She takes a bite out of her sandwich, “You don’t need to make up for not being there. I knew where to find you and it was my choice not to tell you.” 

“Right…So you have a brother?” 

“I do. I have two actually. An older one and a younger one. How about you? You have a sister, if I remember correctly.”

His heart flutters at the fact that she remembers him talking about Sarah. He looks up to see that her attention is fully on him, “Yeah. I have two younger ones. Sarah and Wheezie.” “Wheezie. That’s an interesting name,” Y/N tries to pretend it isn’t strange. Rafe chuckles at the look on her face, “It’s a nickname, Buttercup. Don’t worry.” “Of course, I’m glad your parents had enough reason not to make that her legal name,” she jokes. Her beautiful smile that Rafe loves has returned, “Me too.” “How are you feeling about being sober so far? Any withdrawal symptoms?” she worries. He feels a twitch in his hand at the mention of his sobriety, “I’m not going to lie. It’s hard. I’m always tired, I’m more hungry than normal and I feel an unpleasant itch throughout my whole body. Not to mention the need for the drug is driving me crazy. But then I think about Stella and remember what I am doing this for.” 

The corner of her lips turns upwards at the thought of Stella helping Rafe stay strong. He must truly feel a love for Stella if she is helping anchor him during these trying times. “That’s good,” she says. “Button, I know I said I didn’t want to see you again, but if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, you can come to me. I know that addictions can be hard to overcome and I can see you really are trying. I want to help so Stella can meet her father.” The genuine care in her voice brings tears to his eyes. He barely knows her, yet she has shown more belief in Rafe’s abilities than Ward has in the twenty-six years that Rafe has been his son. Plus, using the nickname she gave him all those years ago must be a good sign that they are on the right track. “Thank you, Buttercup. It really means a lot to me that I have your support.” 

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it. 

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves. 

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady. 

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon. 

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull. 

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set. 

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right. 

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped. 

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him. 

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything. 

The two of you, like grief and the mountain. 

-

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself. 

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be. 

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled. 

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking. 

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs. 

A friend, indeed. 

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots. 

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?” 

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were? 

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face. 

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one. 

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you. 

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship. 

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand. 

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe. 

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk. 

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small. 

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can. 

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts. 

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down. 

“What’ve I told you?” He barks. 

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian. 

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame. 

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his. 

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate. 

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially. 

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years. 

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly. 

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face. 

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins. 

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest. 

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes. 

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go. 

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.” 

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.  

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company. 

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night. 

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated. 

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue. 

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half. 

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man. 

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly. 

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep. 

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it. 

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward. 

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears. 

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal. 

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.  

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here. 

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

-

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions. 

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber. 

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons. 

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now. 

Your desire. 

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?” 

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still. 

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again. 

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher. 

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically. 

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now. 

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor. 

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that— 

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man. 

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive. 

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand. 

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting. 

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words. 

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive. 

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust. 

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want. 

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does. 

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.” 

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs. 

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh. 

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you. 

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display. 

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury. 

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence. 

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.” 

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him. 

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact. 

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls. 

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him. 

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand. 

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears. 

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard. 

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter. 

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before. 

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it. 

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

 If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him. 

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

-

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String. 

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other. 

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid. 

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you. 

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight. 

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath. 

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles. 

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself. 

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

 Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

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[xoalin4]

VIKING!NIKTO

I am so, so sorry this took so long. Haven’t been in the best mood lately and lost motivation to write. But I got a little baby birdie the other week, he is three weeks old now and I am in a better mood.

So here is the Viking!nikto hc (or half story, I don’t really know where I was going with this but I tried) Sorry if it isn’t how you hoped/would have liked.

WARNINGS: Non-con?/dub-con?/kidnapping/unwanted touching/murder/blood/mention of slavery?(They are Vikings after all)/mention of rape(not directed at ‘user’)/piv.

Again, deeply sorry it took so long. And forgive me if any mistakes in the writing

Nikto wasn’t a kind man, killed many too much people in times that wasn’t needed. But the king always forgave the violent Viking, he was a good fighter after all, he would be needed in raids or wars to come.

Despite his often violent actions, he was quite popular amongst the women. He had a good body, he was strong, a good fighter and he was decently good looking, and he was just really good with sex. So it wasn’t a surprise to know he had most likely fucked half the women in his village. After all, who is he to deny a woman that comes to him asking for some pleasure?

He often had sex to release some of his pent up anger which seemingly spawns out of nowhere, in a less violent way. He had a few acquaintances, he wouldn’t dare call them friends, he just tolerated them the most. So he was well known in his village for being a woman pleaser and a skilled fighter.

He enjoyed the attention— not all of it, he hated when too much attention was on him. He only wanted people to know who he was, what he has done, and fear him. Nothing more than that. But he didn’t mind the attention from the women, he loved that, and he thrived in it, knowing that he can always get a woman to let him pound his cock into.

That was until that one, fatal day. The day where he was no longer the same person— fuck, he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He could barely feel his hands that much anymore, his face felt stiff, the skin melted together in parts, burnt. His body littered in scars, burn marks from when they had thrown a torch onto him. His face, he doesn’t even want to look at it. Hates seeing it in the reflection in the lakes he cleans himself in, hated seeing the fact that his mouth was in a permanent snare.

He would do anything, take all the pain in the world, if it meant his face would be normal again. He doesn’t even know how he is alive, he swore he had died that day, he wishes he did, then maybe he would have been spared this life of pain and humiliation.

It’s funny how much scars can change someone, mentally and physically. He heard things, people, more than one, or is there just one? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, the peace of death or the feeling of killing someone with his bare hands again, both sound pleasing.

He didn’t get much attention from women that much more, often times they looked disgusted or scared. It was funny in a way, how people easily give up on someone after their looks change. He can’t blame them tho, he would be disgusted too. The men didn’t seem to care that much for it, they seemed quite pleased in a way, they got more women after all.

So he wears a mask to cover his face, save him the humiliation. It was uncomfortable but he got used to it quickly, it put more weight onto his body as it was metal. But he felt comforted in a way, the mask was now his face, less gruelling, less hideous.

Kill, Kill, Kill. That was the only thing going through nikto’s mind, kill them all, his axe piercing through a man’s back as the pain had tried to run, blood pooling out of his mouth as he drops to the floor. Nikto chest rising fast and heavy, his eyes wide and pupils small in an almost animalistic way. He loved this, the blood, the screams, the horror of it all.

On to the next, another man dead, another life taken by nikto’s hands, or axe in other words. Blood splattered on his mask, hands and axe dripping with it, the ground red as screams go off around him. A raid, he loved them, loved destruction, loved the fear in the people’s eyes as Vikings raid their land, taking the women and some of men to use as slaves, slaughtering the people that resided here.

Nikto wasn’t really into all the kidnapping shit, he was there for the death, none of the rape and slavery stuff. He wanted to kill people that’s all, that’s the only thing he is good at. But when he saw you, something changed in him, he completely forgot about the man he was currently killing, his axe logged into the man’s side as the man cries in pain on the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were.. beautiful. Okay, maybe not the number one beautifulest person, but on the Gods you were the beautifulest he has seen.

You were different, instead of crying and pleading on your knees like the other women, you had a knife in your hand, stabbing it into the neck of one of his village buddies who was trying to grab you. I mean, sure, he has seen women kill in his village, a lot actually, a couple were in on the raids. But it was different coming from you, you dressed differently from the women in this village he was raiding, you looked odd compared to the other women.

You were trying to protect yourself and get out of the village, but the other people that were running were in your way. He never found the idea of taking a woman for himself that pleasing, he used to get them all the time, but that was years ago, when he actually had looks. But Gods be dammed if he was going to let this opportunity go. Taking his axe and logging it through the man’s skull, shutting him up.

Walking over to you, his eyes locked onto your form and yours only, pushing some of the people out of the way, he needed to get to you, it was as if his body willed him to do that and that only. He watched as you saw him at the last second, turning around and trying to stab him. But completely failed as he snatched your wrist, he picked you up hoisted your body over his shoulder, as if you weighed nothing. You didn’t! Not much to him anyway, you were easy to carry. If he ignored your squirming around and your fists hitting his back that is.

Oh, oh you were perfect, perfect for him, if only you would stop screaming and crying that is. He is going to give you a good life, back at his small house tucked away in the trees, away from the village, but in his home. A little trophy you were, a feisty one that is, but hey, he always liked a bit of a challenge.

Tho he hadn’t anticipated the fact that you wouldn’t be used to the weather in his village, it was almost winter, and soon snow would cover every part of ground. Back where he had saved you kidnapped you you didn’t have snow, you had cold weathers but not this cold. You were freezing your ass off, teeth chattering and fingers numb.

Nikto and his horrible ability to look after anything that is alive, he forgot to get you extra clothes for your small, weak body. You had gotten sick within the first week. And now nikto had to go back to the village and try to get some herbs and thicker clothes to keep you warm, he wouldn’t want his slave to die just yet.

Thankfully he had managed to help you over your sickness, getting you back to health. Tho, that is where the problems started. He kept his house warm, gave you thick clothes and even offered to help you warm up (tired to have sex with you). He fed you, decently enough. He kept you warm, gave you a house to live in, didnt try and force himself on you yet. didn’t give you your own bed sadly, you had to share one with him. But other than that, he had given you everything you could have possibly needed!

So this is how you repay him, by smashing the leg of the wooden chair that was in his house over his head when he had came through the front door. Using the fact he had stumbled over and grabbed the back of his head in pain as your advantage, and running out the door. Stupid thing to do.

A man like him only had so much patience, and he just happens to have little of it. But he had tried to be patient with you, he was slow with everything, didn’t go overboard with touching you, even tho he wanted nothing more then to stuff his fat cock into your cunt the moment he saw you.

So why did you have to run? Had he not given you enough stuff to keep you here? Had he done something wrong? Possibly not! He saved you from that stinky village you were in, saved you from working at that farm, around shit and mud. Given you a home to do nothing, no work, nothing but to please him in.

So why?

He had asked himself as he trailed after you, did you really think you could get away from him? Or were you just stupid? He could see your footprints in the show, trailing out into the forest. His head was bleeding, making his shirt become dark coloured, and he felt a bit dizzy. You had a strong hit, that was for sure, left a painful ache in his head. He couldn’t let you get away with that, no, not after everything he has done for you.

It was easy to find you, well you gave him a bit of trouble, you had gotten pretty far in the amount of time you left, farther then he thought you would make it. But he knew the forest well, knew where everything was, knew where to look, so it didn’t take him long.

You had run though the cold forest, the snow slowing you down a bit, luckily it wasn’t that thick, because holy fuck it was hard to run in it. You were panting, lips turning blue and face stinging, it was freezing and the wind didn’t help. You didn’t even know where you were running, but you didn’t care, as long as it got you away from that lunatics place.

Did he really think you were going to stay there? Think you were going to fold and bend over for him since he gave you food and clothes? By the Gods no, absolutely not. You couldn’t even understand him! Only the simple words he knew how to say so you would understand, ‘eat’ ‘sleep’ ‘stay’ and a couple others.

You hated it there, he was creepy and old, a stinky old man! That is what he was, forcing you to lay in the same bed as him, wrapping his arms around you so you are immobilised and unable to move. Having to feel his strong chest up against your back, breathe against your shoulder as it passed through the mask he wore. Hands occasionally moving to touch your thighs or to straight up grope your tits

Not to mention when he baths you, he was kind enough to warm the water by boiling it but that wasn’t the point! You had tried to argue with him, tried to tell him to get out of the room or to turn around so he wouldn’t see you. Which he definitely understood what you meant but didn’t care, forcing you into the wooden tub, naked and exposed. Luckily you had managed to convince him to let you clean yourself instead of him doing it.

Like hell you were going to stay in that place, he even had this weird dog looking thing— definitely wasn’t a dog. But you didn’t know what it was, but it was just as creepy and scary as him. And it stunk! Talk about being related to a mutt, no wonder they got along. But this wasn’t the time to think of that, you had to run, get away remember?

Yes, that is what you were supposed to do, run, escape and never return to that maniacs hut. You weren’t supposed to feel a hand grab the back of your neck, nor being thrown into the snowy ground as a tall figure stands over you. This wasn’t how it’s supposed to go! Why can’t the Gods give you at least some luck? Did you upset them with something? Because you would beg and plead for how ever many years it’ll take if it meant they’ll spare you from the absolute, horrifying glare this man is sending you.

He was pissed, no, more than that, the man looked like he was about to rip you apart limb to limb. You wanted to take back what you did— say that you’ll be good and please him if it meant he wouldn’t drag you back by your hair and chain you up outside his place like you were a dog, out in the freezing snow with noting back a thin, stinky, dress. You really do wish you hadn’t done that, should have waited longer maybe, when he wasn’t in the house.

But no, now you were suffering the consequences. At least he didn’t beat you to death like you half expected he would have done when he had dragged you back, tho you half wish he would if it meant he wouldn’t leave you outside for hours in the snow until it felt like your limbs were about to fall off.

You were so, so cold, lips bluish purple, hands numb and you could barley feel your feet! His house was mere feet away, but you couldn’t get to it, the chain around your neck keeping you tired down to a wooden stake outside. Your eyes half lidded and you felt as if this was your end, you time had finally come. At least you would get to see your family again, because you doubt they managed to escape the Vikings.

But just as you felt like you were going to pass out, your light in shining armour came out, your kidnapper. You don’t know if you should feel thankful or wish you were left out there for longer. But he had brought you inside, put you into the tub of heated water and made sure you didn’t drown in it as he surprisingly gently bathed you and got you warm. The room was warm, the fire which had warmed up the pots of water keeping the hut lighted and warm.

You didn’t fight him, you couldn’t even, you were too cold, but slowly the warmth was coming back into your body. He had taken you out, dried you, and Brought you to the bed he shared with you. You still felt cold tho, the warm bath didn’t warm deep inside you unfortunately. But don’t worry, he’ll help with that, he’ll make sure you are very, very warm.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t THAT rough, he didn’t tear at your skin and eat you alive like you imagined him too. His hands running along your body, groping at your breasts even as you whimpered and protested, but still too weak to push him away. He looked like a feral beast right now, or just a horny old man. Shoulders rising and falling fast, heavy breathing, eyes wide and pupils dilated, bare hands gripping your thighs as he shuffled between them.

He had such rough hands, and the top part of his pinkie finger missing on his right hand along with dints and burn marks along his large hands. He looked like he didn’t know what to do for a second— had it really been that long since the man got some pussy? Yes, seven years since the the man only used his hand.

He was even shaking! A bulge in his pants, fuck, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drooling underneath that mask of his. He didn’t take it off, and part of you is glad, you didn’t particularly want to see the face of the man who had literally kidnapped you and forced you to live in his home, and now was about to fuck you to help you get warm, after he had locked you outside.

You were scared, terrified honestly, afraid of what this man was going to do to your poor pussy, what this VIKING was going to do to your poor pussy. You had had sex before, with a few village boys back In your home but they were all your age, immature boys who didn’t really know what to do. You didn’t know if he was going to be brutal with it or not, if he would leave your pussy ruined and aching in pain. He was a Viking after all, and from what you read, all of them are rough, cruel, and nasty.

But you didn’t have much time to think about it, because his hand was already down there, spreading your lips to him with his index and middle finger, his other hand holding your waist to keep you put as you tried to squirm away. A cry of— pain? Pleasure? Leaving your lips as a finger thrusted onto you, stretching your walls which left you gripping the fur of the bed. It hurt slightly, the stretch, but at the same time felt slightly good. But then he added two more, which stretched you wider and made you cry out as they thrusted in and out of you. Preparing you, not forcing himself inside like a desperate mutt.

But it wasn’t long until you got the full thing, you hated to admit it, but he was fucking good. Tears rolling down your cheeks as your legs wrapped tighter around his thick hips, his fat cock plunging deep inside your sopping pussy. He was big, a thick and decently long cock, and it was.. how do you say it in the most pleasant way— it was half burnt. Simple as that, a scratchy feeling to it as it slid along your walls, it wasn’t unpleasant, it heightened the experience for you actually! It felt good, and he was hitting all the right places.

You doubt he could feel that side of it tho, but he still felt the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, that was obvious by the way he was panting and groaning into your neck like a dog on heat. Rutting up into your cunt over and over and OVER again. You were so tight, warm, fuck you were perfect for him, you felt so good. A pretty little thing you were, even tho you were a fucking brat and had basically tried to kill him earlier. He would forgive you for that, as this was the perfect apology you could give him, even tho he had taken it forcefully from you.

But you were enjoying it, you were moaning loudly and had tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks. Your hands clawing at his back, leaving scratch marks down his already heavily scarred back. But he would be lying if he didn’t enjoy it, because he did, it felt absolutely fucking delicious to him.

He wish he wasn’t in wearing his mask right now, so he could take one of your bouncing breasts into his mouth, or even to kiss you to shut your moans up. But that will have to be for another time, he wasn’t ready just yet, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be. But he isn’t going to dwell on it that much, not when he had a pretty feisty little lady to fuck his kids into.

By the end of the night, you were definitely warmed up, wrapped in the arms of a large, sweaty man who practically clings to your body. Hands groping your tits as his masked face lays against the back of your neck, the feeling of his semen still leaking out of your swollen, aching cunt. He did leave it aching in the end, but at least it wasn’t in pain.

Ok, I might have gone overboard with it. It honestly wasn’t supposed to be this long, lmao.

Sorry if this was shit, I tried, and took fucking forever to make, I’ll take all the blame for that😔

Please tell me if it’s shit or not and if there is another warning I should put in because I missed something. Thank you for reading of you got this far🙏

[wheredafandomat]

Party girl P2 : Trouble

Mob! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains smut - I wasn’t gonna do another part but here, Ao3 and wattpad are asking and of course I aim to please || Part 1 if you didn’t catch it TW KIDNAP

You regarded the roses suspiciously despite knowing they were from Loki although you didn’t give him your address. Remembering his status, you assumed he had connections and put the flower delivery down to that. Too fixated on the small card in your hand, you had failed to notice Natasha’s questioning gaze as she watched you.

“What’s that?” She asked, snapping you back to reality.

“Roses.” You answered plainly.

“Yeah, from who?” She delved.

“Never mind.” You shrugged, about to pass her before she stopped you.

“Come on, don’t be like that, show me the card.” She requested.

“No.”

“Y/n.” She spoke warningly.

“No.” You repeated, a smile spreading across your face before you broke off into a sprint around the apartment, Natasha quick to chase you. Both of you giggled, petals flying around the living room as you ran into it, circling the couch. When she finally caught you, she took the card from your hands, gasping as she read it.

“L as in Loki? How did he even get our address?”

“I don’t knowww.” You replied, sitting on the couch.

“Did you two?” She asked, clearly alluding to sex.

“Yess.” You smiled.

“Was it good?”

“Amazing” you sighed dreamily “but I told him I wasn’t looking for commitment and that that was supposed to be a one night thing but all these roses look like commitment.” You huffed.

“Or maybe he’s just thanking you for the good night. It’ll stop.” She assured.

“I hope.”

But it didn’t stop. Every day a bouquet of some type of flowers arrived at your door. As the week went on, the apartment grew full of them, the fragrant smell overpowering anything else. Eventually you began distributing them to your neighbours, wanting everyone to enjoy the fruits of your labour so to speak.

When it got to the end of the week, you began noticing a black Rolls Royce situated outside your apartment. At first it wasn’t suspicious considering you lived in quite a wealthy neighbourhood but then you noticed it didn’t move much during the day. The tinted windows made it impossible to tell whether or not someone was ever inside but considering it’d sometimes be in different locations, all still close to you, you assumed someone was inside which meant that they didn’t really leave the car. You felt surveilled, it was evident that whoever was in the car was interested in seeing you as you began noticing it following you around. When you brought it up to Nat, she told you you were being paranoid. So you were being paranoid.

“Is she not the most buigiling thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” Loki hummed contently as he watched you reading from your apartment, his car paired with the lack of privacy from your open curtains offering the perfect view of you.

“Loki, we’ve got business we need to deal with, you can’t just keep—”

“Silence!” Loki interrupted before calming himself down “make no mistake, I am very much aware of the situation however y/n has not yet thanked me for the flowers and I find such rudeness punishable.” He spoke.

“You’re going to kill her? Gosh Loki I—”

“No I’m not going to kill her, perhaps spank her yes” he smirked at the thought “or maybe I’ll have her on her knees begging for my forgiveness” he continued, smirk growing “regardless, my patience is wearing thin, clearly my more subtle approach isn’t working.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have a few ideas.” Loki chuckled.

When you left your apartment this morning, the last thing you thought was going to happen was that a stranger was going to jump out at you, grab you and drag you to his car. Despite your desperate attempts at fleeing, he was too strong, too overpowering. You thrashed and screamed, no one hearing you until you gave up. Surprisingly, you were not carried to the boot and instead had your seatbelt secured by the kidnapper who then waved a bottle of water in your face leaving you confused.

“I’m not a monster.” He shrugged, leaving the water on your lap.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” You questioned. Huffing, the man picked the bottle up before opening it and taking a sip.

“Not a monster.” He concluded, handing you back the water before entering the car.

“Where are we going?” You then asked once he started driving, confused as to what the protocol was for a kidnap.

“Boss wants you.” He answered.

“Boss? What do you mean—” you began to panic before realisation hit you “Loki! Loki did this!” You exclaimed.

“Yes ma’am.” The man confirmed leaving you fuming.

“Let me out.” You demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The man shrugged.

“Fine, I’ll deal with him when I see him.” You decided, crossing your arms.

The drive was nice despite the fact that it was against your will. You eventually learned your kidnappers name, Bucky, and passed time talking to one another. By the time you approached where you assumed was Loki’s estate, your conversation drew to a close.

“Just tell her how you feel and be direct, unlike some.” You advised, your sentence ending venomously as your eyes met Loki’s. Pushing the car door open, you stormed towards him angrily before being stopped by one of his security guards.

“Let her go” he spoke nonchalantly before smiling at you being set down “feisty.”

“What the fuck Loki? What’s this?” You shouted.

“What?” He answered feigning innconcence.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You snarled.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a kidnap, that makes it sound dramatic” he began “in fact, you’re not being held here against your will, I just wanted a thank you for the flowers.”

“Here’s your thank you.” You replied, putting your middle fingers up causing Loki’s brows to furrow.

“That’s not nice.”

“Sorry, I know it was a bit overdramatic.” You agreed, Loki nodding as you spoke “but you did kidnap me.” You reasoned.

“Enough with the accusations, join me for a meal.” He welcomed.

“A meal?” You scoffed.

“I’ve brought the best chef in to prepare us a meal.”

“You’re insane.” You stressed as Loki gestured for you to follow him inside. “Don’t tell me you kidnapped them too.” You mumbled, following him inside.

When you reached what you assumed was the dining room, Loki pulled a chair out before gesturing for you to sit on it. You did so, allowing him to tuck the chair in. In front of you there was a selection of different foods and fruits as well as bottles of champagne. You took a steadying breath contemplating your life choices leading you up to this moment.

“Do you need me to feed you or are you capable?”

You glanced up at Loki who was sitting next to you before narrowing your gaze at him.

“Yes I’m capable.” You answered, picking up a knife and fork. Stabbing at a piece of food, you brought it to your lips before taking a bite. “That’s amazing.” You complimented just above a whisper.

“Only the best for you.” Loki grinned before picking up something. “You must try the pitted olives.” He insisted, using a cocktail stick to pick one up before feeding it to you.

“Mmm, that’s nice.” You hummed before Loki fed you another. He marveled in your sounds of appreciation, growing excited as you closed your eyes, swallowing.

Opening your eyes again, you noticed Loki looking at you intently.

“What’s your game here? What do you want?” You confronted him.

“For you to say thank you.” He answered causing you to roll your eyes.

“Really?” You huffed “a thank you? Cut the bullshit Loki and tell me what you really want.”

“Truthfully” he began, standing up and stepping behind you, his hands finding your shoulders before he began moving them in a way that could only be described as perfectly leaving you melting into his touch “I find myself wanting to please you” he admitted, lowering his lips to your ear to whisper, placing a single kiss just below it “and pleasing someone other than myself isn't in my nature so what is it about you that I can’t get over?” He queried, still gently massaging your shoulders.

“I told you I wasn’t looking for anything long term.” You opined.

“And I said I wasn’t the commitment type” he retorted “believe me, I have tried to get you out of my head. Every night I try to get you out of my head but no one fits me like you do. No one comes close to making me forget that night so let me have one more, here with you, in my bed, my terms and then you can go.” He proposed.

“No.” You quickly answered.

“No?”

“If you want me, you can have me right here, hard and fast and then I leave.” You bargained.

“It’s quite exhilarating, isn’t it.” Loki smiled coyly.

“What is?”

“Being ordered around” he began, lowering his lips to your ear again “I like it.”

Before long, the both of you were on your feet, Loki’s tongue pushing past your lips as he claimed your mouth. His hand was against your cheek as you leaned back against the table, kissing him back just as fiercely. His hand fell from your cheek before venturing down your body and finding purchase between your legs. His skillful hand cupped your pussy leaving you gasping into the kiss as he moved it to and fro. Using his other hand, he pushed you further against the table, ensuring you were stable before falling to his knees in front of you. He made fast work of eagerly tugging your trousers down as well as your panties, pulling them off of you before he was prising your legs apart, hungrily kissing your thighs. It didn’t take long for him to reach your centre leaving you moaning lewdly as his lips latched onto your clit. You ground your hips against his face as he flicked the bundle of nerves with his tongue before flattening it against it. Your head fell backwards, Loki’s name falling like a chant from your lips as he suckled on your clit. He felt you throbbing needily against him as he traced your pussy with his tongue before dipping it into your entrance leaving your legs trembling.

“I’m gonna cum.” You almost cried, legs clamping shut around Loki’s head as he circled your clit again leaving you spiraling into oblivion. “Fuckk.” You panted, reaching your climax.

Barely allowing you time to come down from your high, Loki was back up, freeing his hard length as he pushed you further up the table with his hips. Gripping it, he moved it through your sensitive folds, coating himself in your slick before reaching your entrance. Your eyes met briefly, your gaze daring him to enter you. Hard and fast you said. A small smirk spread across his lips as he pushed inside of you. He didn’t give you any time to adjust. Hard and fast. He bottomed out before slamming inside of you again, the movement leaving the table rocking. Hard and fast. Your eyes screwed tightly shut as Loki’s long cock moved in and out of your sensitive tunnel, every vein well received by your walls. His thrusts were merciless, his growls loud as he bared his teeth, fucking you against the table. Finally, he was back inside of you, where he fit, where he belonged.

“Say thank you.” He spoke, catching you off guard.

“No.” You answered, opening your eyes again.

“Say. It.” He ordered, thrusting harder with each word.

“Noo.” You insisted, clenching your walls around him, both of you granting each other pure, filthy pleasure. You lost all composure, practically crumbling beneath him as he reached between you again, using his thumb to toy with your clit. “I’m cumming.” You screamed, body tensing until you released but Loki didn’t relent, he continued playing with your clit, fucking your overstimulated pussy. “Lokiii.” You begged, needing him to stop, pleading with him to carry on.

“Say thank you.” He answered.

“N-no.” You choked out making Loki thrust harder until things were falling off of the table.

“Thank me!” He demanded.

“Fuckkk, I’m sooo closeeee Lokii.” You yelled.

“Thank me goddamn it.” He insisted, doubling over as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, thrusts growing sloppy.

“Thank youu.” You moaned, voice sultry in his ear as you reached another orgasm, Loki doing the same as he released inside of you.

Time stopped, both of you panting as Loki lifted his head, your gazes meeting again as you mapped one another’s faces. He was sweating, no doubt you were too as your heart rate began to slow. Your lips met haphazardly as Loki helped you to sit up before pulling out of you.

“I-I’m going to shower and then I’m leaving.” You spoke, trying to sound even, in charge.

“Very well” he spoke, handing you the trousers and panties that he previously tore off of you before clicking his fingers once you were dressed, Bucky entering the room “show her to my room.”

“Loki—” you began to protest.

“I’m not following you, don't worry” he interrupted “you can shower in there and then meet Bucky at the front, he’ll take you home.” He explained, turning away from you before you left.

Just over an hour later, Loki returned to his room finding it empty. Noticing that his wardrobe was open he walked towards it, smiling when he saw your clothes hung up on a hanger one of his shirts used to be. Making his way to the bed, he spotted the panties you were previously wearing as well as a note.

Consider me pleased x

But that gif 🥵

Tags:

@lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley @strangelockd @xorpsbane @lovingchoices14 @donaweasley @sailorholly @lokidokieokie

[omkookie]

❤️ Leon's faction ❤️

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Angst, Blood, Murder attempts. 15+ // F!MC.

Chevalier panics when he sees your once pure white shirt turn red. His heart skips a beat as his icy blue eyes search for your assailant, and then narrow down to the man who was holding a bloody arrow– the arrow that stabbed you. Without thinking twice, he ruthlessly cuts the man down. 

He wasted no time before checking on you, and is by your side in an instant. He takes a good look at your wound and notes that the arrow hasn’t pierced your heart, but the area beside it quite deeply. He orders his knight, Lucien, to fetch a physician for you while he lifts you in his arms to carry you toward the Benitoite’s palace infirmary. The sooner you get to the infirmary, the faster you can get treatment. 

This assassination attempt was a grave mistake allowed by Benitoite’s embassy, and Chevalier was not one to forgive. Any harm that was done to you was a grave sin, and Chevalier will never forgive anyone who allowed it to happen. Benitoite’s responsibility is to make sure that no harm comes to any of its guests during the goodwill party. Yet, somehow they were incompetent enough to allow a murder attempt of one of Rhodolite’s most prominent figures, and one of their most important guests… You. 

Chevalier isn’t stupid, and as he seethes with anger he knows that in order to sneak a weapon into the embassy you need to have someone with great power helping you from behind the scenes… and a bastard with great power Gilbert von Obsidian is. 

This is an indirect declaration of war.

Chevalier clutches your unnaturally cold hand in his warm one, and carefully plans his counter attack against Gilbert.  

Clavis is a mess… to put it lightly. He can’t sleep, eat nor drink properly while you lie in a bed wounded. How can he possibly rest when you’re hurt? He spends sleepless nights tracking down the assassin who hurt you, and then blames himself for not being able to do it faster, Because, If he were Chevalier then Chevalier would have already done it and killed the man. 

Clavis beats himself mentally, constantly blaming himself for your critical state and your near death experience. 

Rest assured though, no matter how sleep deprived he is or how much weight he’s lost, He won’t allow himself to die. He has a mission, and that mission is to track your assassin down and take his revenge. His thirst for blood won’t allow him to die. Clavis dreams of the day he finally gets his hands on the man.

He'll show your assassin the 7 hells that no other man can… Not even his genius brother Chevalier. 

While you’re lying hurt, the only thing that keeps him going is his thirst for revenge. He doesn’t even play pranks on Yves anymore, and Sariel worries that this is only the calm before the storm.

When Clavis finally finds your assassin, he comes back to the palace resembling a devil– not even Chevalier has ever been dyed in so much blood. 

Nokto freezes upon seeing your state. His heart feels like it's being torn into pieces as doctors were rushing into the room. He had just gotten back from negotiations with Obsidian– the ones who he’s sure attacked you. There was no doubt in his heart that your attackers must be sent by Gilbert.

After all, No one else was clever enough to get through the palace’s security by using a loophole so small that not even one of the best trained knights would notice…

Nokto can’t outright accuse Gilbert of your assassination attempt. The obsidian prince was far too sleek and left no evidence behind. Plus, accusing Obsidian of something as bad as a murder attempt right after negotiations were made would put Rhodolite in a bad light. The peace treaty between the 4 countries was just signed. 

But… clearly this was the price that Gilbert wanted Rhodolite’s king to pay.

‘If you want to negotiate with obsidian, you need to pay a high price.’ Gilbert’s words from earlier chime through Nokto’s head like bells, and his fists clench by his sides as he feels his blood boil.

If this was how obsidian wanted to play, then fine. He wouldn't hesitate to play too.

Only Chevalier notices the Fiery hatred in his red eyes, and he smirks as if knowing what his younger brother was going to be up to.

Luke’s heart beats so fast he thinks it might rip itself out of his chest as he applies pressure to your bleeding wound. Your blood stains his hands and dyes the white cloth that he used to cover your wound a deep crimson. 

Luke tries to steady his breathing to control his nerves, but he can’t seem to calm down. How the hell could he?! You were just stabbed for fuck’s sake! Nobody can calm him down, and Jin is quickly shoved away when he tries to do so. 

Luke only relents, finally agreeing to let you go and have you looked at by a physician when Jin encourages him to.

But, he still insists on staying in the room so that he can look over you. Watching the doctor stitch you up was a terrible and gruesome side, and his stomach churns as he smells the coppery scent of blood in the air. The scent of your blood in the air… He feels cold, and his fingers have gone numb as he waits for results. Results which are unfortunately not showing up.

The physician snaps him out of his dazed state and notifies him that there’s no positive change in your condition, and that you have only gotten somewhat worse. However, the bleeding from your other wound has finally stopped.

Luke curses and blames himself for not being there to protect you.

He has almost lost you. Now, only the gods know if you will survive or die...

[lyomeii]

you gave them a love letter

: ̗̀➛ tendou (haikyuu), jason todd and dick grayson (dc), arisu (aib)

SATORI TENDOU

-> he believed to be a joke at first. of course he loves you since he met you, but seeing you giving him a small piece of paper full of hearts made him question himself for moments.

-> “ did someone asked you to do that?” the words coming out from his mouth are sour and somehow, he still with that energetic and fun expression he always wear with everyone he knows, “ no? you gave to me genuinely?”

-> damn it. he is now a mixed of sadness and happiness, you care about him, you love him and he almost destroy it with his stupid jokes. satori smiled when you told him that as longer he goes out with you on a date, you will forgive it.

-> “ then let’s go somewhere after my training! In fact, why you come with me to the training? I will introduce you as my significant other and coach will let you help there, the old man gots a soft spot for you since you are my lucky charm.”

JASON TODD

-> he wished that you gave him personally. when he came back to life and had those fights, problems and discussion with his family, friends and then resolved with them, living happily, jason couldn’t forget for what you did.

-> you two were closed way before the joker incident, he had a crush on you, but he never knew how you had feelings towards him til he read the letter alfred gave him. the butler told the boy how sad and destroyed you were hearing the news of his death, then you left gotham for good, but not before having a small conversation with alfred and then gave him the sweet letter.

-> he is back now, but for what cost? jason doesn’t know to approach you, you moved on from him and even has a little kid who you recently adopted by yourself, he can’t just show up from nowhere, at least not now. He have to think more about it.

DICK GRAYSON

-> he felt weird, not in a bad way though, yet something inside him is calling him out. he recently found out about barbara cheating on him with his mentor and then move out to bludhaven to begin a new life, but not before having a proper talk with his beloved, you.

-> you two met recently and somehow, you stole his heart way faster than any girl managed. The smiles, gentle touches, homemade food you gave him made him imagine the future with you at his side, but that was ripped apart when you saw him bringing barbara home one day.

-> even with you two never saying “ oh we are dating right?” that was something sparking between him and you, but with that night with barbara at his apartment telling him abou the baby and you hearing, god… dick ruined everything and now you don’t even look at his face.

-> somehow, he called you and requested to met with you at the local diner nearby, he wasn’t waiting you to show up, but you didn’t. Your little brother show up instead and gave him a small package full of envelopes and dates, he recognized those, all those days were when he took you out somewhere and the most recently is the one he brought Barbara home.

-> he read all of them instantly and tears almost ruined the soft handwriting of yours, how could he be so dumb to destroy what you guys had? He will fixed it, he will trying to recover for all the mistake he has done, he will find a way to bring you to bludhaven with him. There is a small chance to everything goes back as used to.

RYOHEI ARISU

-> it’s must be a mistake. How can someone so cool, interesting, hard working and much more be in love with him? There is no way you are in love with him. Like, he loves you and admire you, but he… he never expected to feelings be mutual.

-> you gave him time to read it and he finished, he came to look for you and admit his feelings to you. It a sweet moment arisu will never forget in millions years, how your lips feel against his, your hands around him and the tears almost ruining his face.

-> he really doesn’t know how to do after it, he never took someone out and he prefer to not call anyone to help him, even being in the beach and having privacy is almost zero, so he took you out to his room to talka while laying down in his bed.

-> even with talking with you for what to seems hours and you sleeping next to him in his arms, arisu still doesn’t believe how you love him. This moment and much more events he will experience with you will never leave his mind, he loved you til the end and promise to himself that he will make you the happiest person alive.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

[uhmprobablynot]

The Playlist: Track Eight

People asked me to post early, so here it is! Smut warning!

Tack Seven > Track Eight > Track Nine

The Death of Piece of Mind

I made another mistake, thought I could change Thought I could make it out Schlatt regretted it the instant the door to your apartment closed behind him.

Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid, his inner voice said to him.

Stupid one, for starting with you in the first place. He should have known feelings would eventually develop.

Stupid two, letting his heart race and just the sight of you laying in his lap, a domestic feeling he couldn’t allow himself to feel.

Stupid three, falling in love with you.

Schlatt told himself he would never fall in love again. The first time was painful enough, and this one wouldn’t be any better. His chest heaves as he panics, and his heart breaks as he thinks of you all alone in your bed. The look you gave him as he walked out reflecting in the black every time he closes his eyes.

Schlatt swore he would never fall in love again. But the thought of him coming home to you every day, the thought of him being able to kiss you in public and hold you against his chest whenever he wants, makes keeping that oath hard.

He turns back to face your front door, willing himself to walk back in there, confess everything and kiss you silly, but his arms won’t move. They stayed at his side, trembling as he repeats to himself that he doesn’t love you. Hoping that if he says it enough, it’ll become true, so he turns back around and goes home.

I miss the way you say my name. The way you touch, the way you taste

He missed you. There was no getting out of it. It’s been a month since the last time he saw you, since he walked out on you. It’s been a week since a text message from you lay unanswered on his phone. He knows he should answer. That after everything you two have done together, ghosting you is the least good way to end things. Yet, every time he goes to answer, it feels like he’s going to have a heart attack.

However, when nights get a little too late and a little too cold, Schlatt can’t help but think of you. Memories of him spending hours with his head between your thighs, savouring the way you tasted, the way you felt writhing above him. His hand always strayed under his waistband and he thrusted into his hand, imagining it was your hand, your mouth, your pussy; whatever suited his fantasy of the night. The second it’s over, he’s disgusted with himself.

If you weren’t such a coward, it wouldn’t have to be fantasy anymore. Schlatt thought and degraded himself with.

He misses the little things more, though. Your soft hand against his face, just resting there or moving hair off of his skin. His sweatshirt acting as pajamas as you saunter around the apartment. The way you laughed at his good jokes, the way you rolled your eyes and laughed anyway at his bad. Your hair in the morning. Your scent filling every room you walk into and lingering after you’re gone. The way you held his hand as if it was as easy as breathing, and the way you fit with him like you were made for each other.

It wasn’t hard to realize Love’s the death of peace of mind

Schlatt was going crazy. He knew you were going to be at Ted’s party. Ted told him as much, but he didn’t think it would affect him like this. You’re wearing a dress that he has never seen before. It hugged your body in a way that made you look ethereal in the glow of the dim lights in Ted’s apartment. Schlatt knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about you. It wasn’t fair, not after the silence he’s given to you. He wants to look away; he wants to avoid you seeing him at all. At the same time, all he wants to do is run to you, land on his knees, and beg his way to some kind of forgiveness. But then, you look at him and you smile. Schlatt knows it’s fake instantly. It doesn’t reach your eyes, and it doesn’t make the room warm like your real one does. The small smile is more than he deserves though. Schlatt knows you should yell and curse at him, making him feel as shitty as he knows he made you feel. But you don’t you only smile.

“Hi,” he says, his feet betraying his brain.

“Hi.” You respond. It’s awkward between you, and it makes Schlatt crumple inside. It was never awkward between you too. Conversation and silence were always comforting.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Schlatt can manage. Even though his brain is racing with a million more things to add.

I’m sorry for being a dick

I’m sorry for leaving you naked in bed

I’m sorry for ignoring you

I’m sorry for loving you

He doesn’t say any of that, and you only nod.

“You look as beautiful as always,” Schlatt says and you warm lightly and mumble a thank you. “I lied to you.” He spills.

“What?”

“When I said I wanted to end it - that i didn’t think we should do,” He takes a breath. “That we shouldn’t do anything that we did.” You stared at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“Then why?” You whispered, small and broken.

“I was terrified, am terrified.”

“Of what, Schlatt?” You bit your lip and searched his face, looking for some kind of answer.

“Of breaking a promise to myself.” Schlatt expected you to throw your drink at him, to roll your eyes and say ‘what the fuck kind of explanation is that’. But you don’t. You only smile again. This time it’s your genuine smile, and it blinds him for a moment.

“Do you think you could take me home?”

————————————————-

Your apartment door closes behind the two of you, and his mouth is on yours instantly. The kiss isn’t fast, needy, or laced with any kind of sexual overtones. It’s slow, purposeful, the promise of something new.

“May I please try to make all of this up to you?” Schlatt whispers between kisses. You nod and he walks you back into your bedroom, a path he still has, and forever will, have memorized. Schlatt pulls the dress from your body slowly. With each new section of skin exposed, Schlatt kisses it with such revrencey, like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it.

He walks you backwards until your thighs hit the foot of the bed. He lays you down, kissing you as he does. He stands up over you and pulls his own shirt and pants down.

“God, your beautiful sweetheart.” He runs his hands from your thighs to your chest, then holds your face in his hands. “I missed you,” Schlatt says before engulfing you in a kiss. This kiss is filled with a passion you’ve never seen with him. One that he tries to use to make up for everyone he has missed out on in the past month. He presses a finger into you, beginning to work you open.

The atmosphere is so intamite. Something the two of you have never shared before. Every time you’ve had sex with Schlatt it’s always been fast and burning. This time is just gentle and warm.

As he leans over you and interlocks your hands together as he thrusts into you. With his mouth right next to your ear, he starts whispering soft nothings to you.

You’re beautiful

I missed you

I’m sorry

The knot in your stomach tangles and he could feel his own release approaching too. He speeds up slightly, as do the whispers against your ear. You kissed him as the knot inside you unravels and he follows pulling out and spiling across your stomach.

Schlatt pushes the hair out of your face and presses his forehead against yours.

“I did miss you, and I am sorry, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I do know, and I missed you, too.” You pull him into a kiss, sealing your forgiveness.

[slasher-key]

Nights Like This (Charlie Walker)

Pairing: Charlie Walker x Reader

Warnings: Some Curse Words, Speaking about death, and a little bit of blood

You and Charlie have been friends since middle school. You are really close to one another, maybe even closer than you thought. A few days after the killing of Olivia he comes to check up on you, and make sure everything is okay.

This is my first time writing on tumblr so hope you enjoy!!!

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This was all too much for me. Seeing all of that blood and watching one of my closest friends die right in front of me, and not being able to do anything killed me on the inside. I can’t stop thinking about what that evil bastard did to her.

I sit on my bed holding a picture of Olivia, Kirby, Jill, and I, and watch as my tears drop onto the glass of the picture frame. All I could think about is it should’ve been me. Yeah Olivia had her moments where she could be a bitch, but she was still one of my best friends, and definitely didn’t deserve to die.

I sit there in silence until I hear a small groan come from outside of my window. I tighten my grip on the picture in my hand and make my way to my bay window. You’re not getting me bitch I think. As I get closer to the window, I can feel the sick feeling in my stomach start to rise. I reach for the latch, but I am beat to it by a dark shadowy figure. The door flies open and at first instinct I throw the picture frame as hard as I can.

“OW WHAT THE FUCK Y/N?” The figure says hanging halfway through the window. I then realized, I knew that voice. I run to turn on the the lamp that’s on my dresser. I look back at the window to see Charlie standing there blood trickling from his head.

“Holy Shit, Charlie I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” I say in a pleading tone hoping he will forgive me for my stupid mistake. “It’s fine Y/N, It’s just a little blood that’s all.” He replies touching his head and wincing in pain. Even though he said it was fine I still felt bad so I offered to clean his wound, he protested at first and said he would do it himself, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

We make it to my bathroom. I get the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet and sit on top of the sink. Charlie makes his way in after me and stands in between my legs. I first get a damp cloth and start wiping the blood off of his forehead, and some that trickled down his face. I start cleaning his wound with peroxide, he flinches.

“Ow that hurt fucker, be gentle.” he whines “I am being gentle, stupid.” I reply continuing to dab at his gash.

“I got you pretty fucking good didn’t I?” I ask with a slight smirk on my face. “Yeah you did, I'm starting to think climbing through your window was a dumb ass idea, especially with a killer on the loose” He says laughing at his own stupidity. “yeah it was, and why were you climbing through the window anyways, we have a front door?” I asked genuinely confused.

“well, I tried that first, but your mom told me that I should give you some space.” he says “but knowing me I can’t ever give you space, and I also had to make sure you were okay, I’ve been really worried about you since what happened to Olivia I know you two were close.” he continues “Awwwww Charlie you care about me.” I say in annoying baby voice “Pussy” I whisper with a small chuckle starting to put ointment on the wound and bandage it up. “Shut up idiot.” he replies laughing at my little remark “But seriously, Y/N/N (Your Nickname) I am so sorry you had to go through that, I really am worried about you all the time now, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, because I love you so so much, you mean everything to me.” he says tear swelling in his eyes 

“Charlie you don’t have to worry so much I’m a big girl, I can take care of mys-” I pause thinking back to what he just said “Wait, did you just say you love me or am I hearing shit?” I ask “no you’re not just hearing shit, I am so in love with you I have been in love with you since middle school, especially since our first conversation was about movies. You have always been the only girl I have ever wanted.” 

I was speechless, I sit staring at him lost in thought. He tries to start talking again but I cut him off with closing the gap between us. His hands make there way to cup my face as mine go to his hair, after a while I finally pull away. “I love you too Charlie, I always have and I always will.” I tell him.

I slowly start to get close to his face again, but I guess I was taking too long. “Don’t tease me asshole.” He says kissing me once more before helping me down from the sink. We go back to my room, and he lays next to me on the bed. I get closer to him and lay my head on his chest. I slowly start to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, and right before I am out like. I hear Charlie whisper to himself. “What a fucking night.” he kisses the top of my head before slowly dozing off with me.

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Thanks for reading I hope you liked it!!

[cricket-reader]

Safe and Sound

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: Bucky finds you. Everything goes wrong so quickly (yet again). Can Bucky forgive himself for something he blames himself for?

Warnings: language, canon level violence, death, kidnapping, captive, torture, injuries, Bucky’s self-hatred/negative thoughts, fluff

Word Count: 1830

Prompt: "At least it can't get any worse." | Stairs | Concussion | Hammer

A/N: Day 16 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Part One

Bucky swears up and down that he’s losing his mind.

When he went to find you in the rubble and ruin of the small restaurant, you weren’t there. He practically tore the place apart looking for you before remembering the necklace he gave you. Anyone else would have deemed it controlling. And in any other circumstances, Bucky would have to agree. Giving your significant other a tracking necklace is a shitty and controlling thing to do. That is unless you were a POW for an extremist group hell bent on making your life suck.

And that is exactly what he is, unfortunately. So instead of ripping him a new one like most people would if the person they had only been dating for a few months decided to get them a fucking tracker, you were willing to hear him out. Right now, he thanks every god above you were willing to listen.

He doesn’t even want to know the lengths that Hydra will go to make you suffer for making the mistake of loving him. If he can just get you home safe, everything will be fine.

He hops on his motorcycle and drives to the spot your tracker is. Worries claw at his brain. What if they discarded the necklace? What if this is a set up? What if he doesn’t make it in time? He forces himself to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Worrying won’t save you. Worrying won’t bring you back. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him.

The man that had been delivering punches to your gut and slapping you around froze upon hearing a rumbling sound. Knife in hand, he frowns. “I guess this means we don’t get to finish what we’ve started. Bummer.”

He actually has the nerve to sound disappointed. He sets the knife down along with the other torture devices he had one of his goons bring—which to your horror includes a pair of pliers, a hammer, and many different types of sharp objects. You hear him yell at the men watching to prepare for the Winter Soldier.

You would have corrected him had it been any other circumstance. He is not the Winter Soldier. He is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A man worthy of much more respect than it seems they’re willing to give him.

You see your boyfriend stomp down the creaking stairs. He’s pissed. You definitely don’t envy the men surrounding you.

“Let them go, Warrenson.” Bucky’s voice calm and collected, not betraying any emotion. He hasn’t looked at you which you figure is probably a good thing. You don’t want him to lose his cool just because you’ve gotten a good beating.

“We will. As long as you come peacefully in return. Hydra wants their Soldier back.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. He knew that someday you’d be used as leverage. This is why he should never have agreed to go on a date with you. This is why he doesn’t deserve happiness or love. This is why you are better off without him ruining your life. He destroys everything he touches with his dark, infected soul. Nothing good comes from knowing Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll do it,” he mutters. The heart wrenching protest from you begs him to look your way. You sound destroyed and distraught. No, he can’t look at you. It will demolish any and all of his resolve—what’s left of it anyway.

“Bucky, no! Don’t do this, please! No! I’m not worth it, okay?”

His heart shatters like the most fragile glass or porcelain, his soul crushed with the weight of a thousand suns. How could you say that you aren’t worth it. He’d burn the world for you.

“Shut that bitch up!” a man orders. A sharp throbbing pain erupts at the back of your head. You cry out, and Bucky loses all of his resolve. No one fucking hurts his babydoll and gets away with it. No one.

Bodies dropped like flies in the blink of an eye. Now you have always known that Bucky is skilled, but… well, let’s just say you are surprised.

He rushes over to you and releases you from your restraints. He looks over your body, relief nearly palpable to see that you had no major visible injuries. He had seen the hammer and pliers along with a plethora of knives. He’s just glad he got here in time because if he didn’t… he doesn’t want to even think of what they could’ve done to you.

You saw the far off look in Bucky’s eyes. You knew he is probably coming up with some way to blame himself for all of this. Your hands reach to grab his face. His eyes refocus on you, feeling your gentle hands with their delicate touch. You smile at him, not paying any mind to the throbbing of your skull.

“I’m okay, Buck, it’s fine.”

He frowns. His brows furrow deeply. Nothing about this is fine. He’s sure that your ribs are coloured purple and he can hear a sight slurring in your voice.

“Baby? I need you to tell me if anything is hurting real bad. Did they hit your head real bad?”

“Hmm?” You think for a bit. Maybe they did, you’re not really sure anymore. “I think so?”

“How does your head feel?”

“Mmm… kinda like someone is takin’ a hammer to it. It hurts, Buck… I wanna go t’sleep.”

“No, no, no, stay awake for me, c’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

He hauls you up onto unsteady feet. You kinda just wanna stay there, maybe take a quick little nap. That should be fine, right? But Bucky told you not to. You frown. This is a dilema.

You stumble your way up the stairs and say, “At least it can’t get any worse.”

He smiles, or at least tries to… it’s more like a grimace, at your attempt to brighten the situation.

Turns out you spoke too soon, however.

The stairs groan under you before both you and Bucky are plunging through the wood. You hear a high pitched scream. Then you realise it’s you making that god awful noise.

Bucky curses under his breath as the wood gives way to both your weight. He wraps his body around yours, taking the brunt of the fall. He can’t let you get hurt more.

The wind is knocked out of him as his back collided with the ground. A piece of wood stabs through his torso, and he grits his teeth as you come down on top of him.

“Baby?” His voice is breathy. You whimper, terrified out of your wits. “I’m so sorry, doll. Can… can you reach in my pocket? Grab my phone and dial… dial Sam.”

You reach down and accidentally hit the wood post that’s sticking out of him. His groan is so guttural, even in your haze, your brain panics. You try to look down, but Bucky can’t let that happen. You’re only going to panic more. “Keep your eyes on me, m’kay?”

You nod, instantly regretting it. “Babe?” Bucky questions, seeing you wince.

“’m fine,” you insist, lowering your hand, being more careful this time around.

You make contact with the brick that he calls his phone and pull up Sam’s number. You make a joke about not knowing how to work the old thing, but Bucky thinks you’re serious. He goes to grab the phone, but you indignantly pull it away from his grasp. “Was a joke, Barnes. I’m perfectly capable…”

You were gonna say more, but it is so much work to talk. Maybe you should have convinced Bucky to let you nap. Then you wouldn’t be on top of him in a hole under some stupid stairs.

“Bucky? What’s up? I thought you were on a date.”

“I’s me Sammy,” you giggle. Why are you giggling? Nothing makes sense anymore.

The man on the other end of the phone groans. “Please tell me he didn’t get you plastered. Did you try to out drink him? Cause I tried that once… that was not a fun morning.”

“No… we’re under the stairs, Sammy.”

“Under the stairs? What stairs? Why—“

“You ask too many questions,” you mumble, half of the sentence jumbling together. Black starts to creep into the corners of your vision. “Think I gonna take nap now.”

Sam furrows his brows, hearing Bucky yell at you to stay awake. “Sam! Listen to me, you need to come help we’re both injured—“

You gasp, “Bucky hurt?”

He can’t stop you from looking down. Your gasp is so loud he can barely hear Sam muttering to him over the phone.

“Doll, hand the phone to me,” he demands. Tears form in your pretty eyes, seeing the wood sticking out of your boyfriend.

“But.. you hurt.”

He sighs, “Yes, but I need the phone so someone can save us.”

You nod, tears dripping down your face. Your heart is beating like a hummingbird is in your chest. You press your hand against it, crying out in pain. Your head hurts so bad. So does your stomach and ribs. You just want to go to sleep.

You don’t remember exactly when Sam showed up. But he is here now with a full team of firefighters and medics. The firefighters extract you both, though it takes more work to get Bucky out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in a hospital. Sam somehow convinced the medical staff to let you and Bucky share a room, knowing that you both need each other.

When Bucky wakes up, he is panicking. His panic settles when he sees you safe and sound in bed. His gut twists seeing the ugly purple bruises on your face. This is all his fault. He should have never got himself involved with you. Your life was better without him in it. He ruined you like he ruins everything.

“Bucky?”

He focuses on your voice. Tears blurring your figure. “Yeah?” He doesn’t deserve to call you any pet names. He doesn’t deserve to call you his. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You can stop that negative self-thinking right now.” You glare at him.

“But—“

“No buts!” you interrupt. “I’m too selfish to let you leave me cause you’re scared you’re gonna hurt me. To be honest, I’ll be more hurt if you leave me than if someone were to kidnap me again. My abandonment issues can’t take much more, so if you–”

“You deserve better–“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want you god dammit! Why can’t you understand that I love you?”

His eyes grow wide at your outburst. And your words. That was the first time you said you loved him. He thinks he could get addicted.

“You… you love me?”

“Yes! I didn’t think you were that oblivious! I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tears form in his eyes. “I… I love you too…”

You smirk at him. “You better.”

Bucky Taglist: @harleycao

Story Taglist: @cjand10 @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @drunkbirdbug

[sp00kymulderr]

#now I’m thinking about disciplining sub!javi over his typing skills 👀

YES HELLO SAY MORE PLS (respectfully)

ohohoh han I can definitely say more:

Javi P x reader

600ish words

reader is a embassy/DEA secretary, period typical sexism, sub javi, dom reader, hair pulling, it's pretty tame tbf, they'd get real nasty later if this was longer tho. Unedited, forgive me.

He had made a big mistake insinuating that your job was easy.

Whether it was a simple jibe or not, you weren't letting that stand. Secretaries here worked hard, and received little for it; at best a passable paycheck to get you through the month, at worst a proposition from a self-important man who thought you were only there to be his eye candy.

The office is quiet tonight, most gone home after another long day. You and Javier though, you're still here. He needed to make up for his comments, and you knew just how to make him do that.

"Here..." you say, sitting him down at your desk and offering him the scribbled document to be typed up. You’d already dealt with this one earlier today, so you knew exactly how long it should take at your better-than-average typing speed.

"Go on then, get typing" You order and he just looks from the piece of paper and up to you. Brown eyes searching yours for some indication that this is a joke, that you're just playing. Even so you both know his cock is twitching in his tight jeans hearing you speak in the commanding tone.

“Come on, I was kidding” Javi sighs. You scoff.

You’re not keeping him here, he could leave if he wants to. He doesn’t want to.

"What are you talking to me for, hm? No time for gossip, Peña. You’ve got a job to do" You tell him, a little cold despite the warmth in your body at the way his eyes widen and his breath picks up. It’s a line you’ve heard plenty of times before, it’s nice to be the one speaking it for once.

When he doesn’t move straight away, you reach out. Your nails gently scrape the back of his neck before travelling up, tangling in his dark hair. You shove the paper closer to him at the same time you pull, making him give a sharp hiss.

“Dios mio” he mutters under his breath, voice strained with arousal. He likes it like this. Loves it, being told what to do, being told off. His days are hard; too many thoughts, too many decisions. Giving that all up to someone else for the night is everything he needs.

“Go on” you lean down, a murmur in his ear. He’s distracted by the soft feeling of your body against his, but he’s also aware of the hand still tangled in his hair.

He wants to please you. Always.

You can’t help but laugh softly. It's especially fun knowing already how slow he is. You've watched him across the office enough times. The slow tap tap of his fingers against the keys makes you smirk. Your fingernails dig ever so slightly in to his scalp. You had completed this document in minimal, no mistakes. He’d be lucky to get past the first few paragraphs within your time at this rate.

“Javi” you tsk, a disappointed sound that makes him gulp.

Disappointing you isn’t an option.

You pull again, harder than before. His head follows back. He lets out a small yelp that turns in to a moan.

“You can do better than that” You admonish. He just nods all pliant and willing, straining to make you happy.

Faster, this time. Just by a little but it’s an improvement. It can’t be easy for him – cock aching hard and making his head emptier as time goes on. But he’s trying for you. It warms you, just to see that.

“Good boy” You smile. He whimpers at the words. Fucking delicious.

You tug once more. Just for the fun of it. Javi holds his breath and then lets it out in one long exhale, trying to steady himself.

“This is easy, right? Show me just how easy, Javier”

[ariicandy]

╭・Being Miles’ Younger Sibling !! PT.2

Pt 2 cause I still got some more in mind 😜😜 gonna do e-42 miles soon but as usual,

Grammar mistakes are here I apologize !!

︎ㅤ︎ㅤ❥︎ ┈ whenever you guys are calling late at night and he is on patrol, the call will either randomly end because he ran into a building/poll or u hear him run into the poll/building with an “ow”. Best assure he WILL need the best phone case && screen protector.

ㅤ❥︎ ┈ he’s probably those siblings that randomly go to your room and dont say anything. It might be annoying but to him, it just makes him glad you’re okay and no one/nothing is going to hurt you when he’s around.

ㅤ❥︎ ┈ nicknames he call you are probably like bro, a shorten version of your name(example bri for brianna, Nicky for Nicolas or Danny etc etc.) and sometimes just do a “HEY” depending on context like he’s gonna show you something he thinks is cool or interesting.

❥︎ ┈ if you share a talent you and miles are both good at like a subject in school, best believe you guys will share test scores and brag who got the highest. A small competition of whoever gets the highest scores gets to go get their favorite snack,food, or dessert while the other has to pay for it. If you both got the same scores then no one gets a treat! But miles being the big sweet brother he is, buys you something to celebrate!!

ㅤ❥︎ ┈ If miles had to save you when he was fighting, he was panicking. He ran over to you after knocking the villain checking if you are okay or have any injuries. Reassure him you’re okay and he’ll finally calm down that nothing hurts or have any bruises on you. Just know he’ll talk about it a LOT.

❥︎ ┈ alternate version of miles saving you but you got Injured(badly or not really your choice!) miles would be running to the hospital and be the first person to show up next to you, even before your parents. They try to calm miles down while he is scared and anxious waiting for your surgery to be done and well(if you chose very bad injury)

or they still try to calm him down a bit in the room with you even tho it wasn’t too serious serious.(not very bad choice)

Either one, miles would still be terrified and panicky because he was suppose to keep you safe as your older brother and as spiderman to his advantage. His heart can finally rest knowing you can leave, best assure he’ll give you the biggest hug and never want to let go.

Mama Morales: “Miles that’s enough let [name] have some space and air.”

Miles: “noo one more minute :((“

ㅤ❥︎ ┈ He’ll probably use the excuse of saving you that time JUST SO you don’t go out alone. He definitely got a bit more anxiety and paranoid whenever you come just a little late home. you- “okay ima head out for a bit!” miles - “Let me go with you [n/n]!” you- “Miles I’ll be fine-“ Miles- “But remember last time I wasn’t with you :((“ You end up having miles next to the whole time you went out

ㅤ❥︎ ┈ If the spot killing you because of “what he did to him” and spot destroying his life being his canon event, miles would never get over it and never forgive himself. I would rather disturb this canon event thing just to save your life even if it means he’ll lose his dad or his mom. He can’t lose Someone who was there for him day 1 or even later on he didn’t tell you day 1, he barley has anyone to talk to about this and his own sibling having to be that sacrifice?? He would rather let this dimension collapse with him or break every possible canon event that evolves around you dying than actually really happening. ㅤ❥︎ ┈ He has had nightmares about you or your parents(Mr. & Mrs. Morales) dying from him failing to save any of you by not trying to do both, saving everyone and saving one person close to you. ( see what I did there😜) whenever he has these nightmares he will go check up any of you by opening the door quietly and slowly to not make noise that’ll wake you up. It calms him down seeing you just peacefully sleeping undisturb by the world.

[suzitaree]

Changing room prank. (S. Sallow x reader)

Sebastian Sallow had always been a mischievous wizard, he was good friends with Y/N and wanted to prank his best friend. He had finally come up with a prank that he believed would make Y/N laugh and appreciate his sense of humor.

He had brewed a Polyjuice Potion and transformed himself into Poppy Sweeting, a sweet Hufflepuff that Y/N was friends with. His idea was to make poppy mean and assertive, something that doesn't suit her at all to confuse Y/N. He had made his way to Y/N's room, feeling nervous but excited at the same time.

As he knocked on the door, he could feel his heart racing. When Y/N opened the door and saw the Poppy standing there, she smiled and welcomed her in.

"Hey Poppy, what brings you here?" Y/N asked, completely unaware that she was speaking to Sebastian.

"I just wanted to say hi and see how you're doing," Sebastian said, trying his best to sound like Poppy.

Y/N turned around to pick out a dress for a dinner she had that evening, and that was when Sebastian realized his mistake. Y/N had been changing and was only wearing black lace underwear.

Sebastian turned around, feeling embarrassed and guilty for what he had done. He knew that he had crossed a line and that Y/N would never forgive him for this.

"What is the matter Poppy? You have seen me get changed before." Y/N questioned.

Sebastian felt his face turn red as he realized how much he had screwed up. The potion was wearing off, and he could feel himself transforming back into himself.

Y/N quickly grabbed her robes to cover herself and turned to Sebastian, her eyes filled with anger. "What the hell, Sebastian!?’’ Y/N snapped.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy like this. It was a stupid prank, and I regret it," Sebastian said, trying to apologize.

Y/N glared at him, still fuming from the intrusion, "You have some nerve, Sebastian. I can't believe you would do something like this."

Sebastian felt ashamed of his actions and knew that he had messed up big time. He tried to make the situation better by saying, "You do look amazing, though."

But his words fell on deaf ears, and Y/N just shook her head before dismissing him from her room.

Sebastian learned a valuable lesson that day, that pranks could have consequences and that he needed to be more careful with his actions. He knew that he had a lot of work to do if he ever wanted to earn Y/N's forgiveness. But couldn’t help the small grin on his face seeing Y/N like that.