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rotshop · 3 years ago

Note

i don't remember if i requested this before...i think i did, but maybe i just wanted to request and that's what i remember. so, sorry if it's already in your inbox, my memory is not working :(

okay so like...Jeb and Audi x Sheriff!reader (separately)? like the reader has the role of Sheriff in the story...it's your choice if they still have the sheriff aesthetic or if it's something different. sorry if it's too specific.

(tagging my sideblog so i dont miss the response @ribbons-tag )

i BELIEVE that this may be the rq you previously sent !! in that i only seen Audi's name . so . i only wrote Audi . SO this time around i'll just do jeb ! hope this is good enough . lol . reader's written to be a touch more suspicious of others to lean into the sheriff bit a little more .

[ tw ; implied / suggested reader death at the end but they're fine thru madness typical logic , violence is talked about but never REALLY happens in depth ]

-Jeb's never been too much of a people person. Sure, he's worked with a few people before, but that was mostly because he needed to and knew them relatively well. He's not one for readily joining alliances or making them. In his mind, it can just pose a greater threat to him in the long run than it's really worth. However, there's an exception to every rule.

-He really isn't sure of what even made him change his mind. Maybe he just figured he could use someone who was more of a people person to help allow him a greater reach (sure, he could intimidate people into giving him the supplies and materials he needed just fine, but it was much easier to just have some sort of 'friend-of-a-friend' discount). Maybe he thought there was some sort of special talent or charm to you that would help him out. More self indulgently (and shamefully / stupidly), maybe you were just really interesting to him. It's not uncommon for him to take up a hobby in watching how people respond to and interact with their environments and situations, something about seeing people's different approaches is just fascinating to him, in a way. Your cautious (if not a touch paranoid at best and cowardly at worst) approach to things could be something of amusing to him.

-Either which way, by the end of the night you'll end up having had a relatively ... awkward, business deal of sorts.

You were just finishing up a drink of yours. There'd been some sort of win worth celebrating in your little group and you were in a relatively safe enough part of town to feel confidant to let loose for a bit. The lot of you were well-liked enough by the bartender that you could wander and mingle without too much scrutiny. Most of your group made themselves busy with one another, talking about whatever recent success there was or more unrelated small-talk, taking the time to settle for a bit. In your eyes, it was well-deserved with how much you'd been struggling to get this bunch together and accomplish much. It wasn't exactly easy to start a company of sorts in a nevada where you couldn't trust most people and could get wiped out by a bandit ambush at any moment.

Slowly but surely, people had started to dwindle. With a little wave or reassurance of seeing you the next day, they'd make their way towards the door. The number of people had trickled down from a small crowd, to a bunch, to just a few of you left. You didn't mind, they were probably tired by this point anyway, with you not following too far behind in that regards. Despite that, you didn't exactly want to leave just yet- wanting to soak in some sort of rest and normalcy for a bit.

Granted, it was a little harder to have that once you noticed crimson eyes trained on you from some corner of the bar.

You did your best to not let on your noticing, it was better to be smart and play dumb than to be dumb and try something 'smart.' Sure, you couldn't exactly place what group this person might've belonged to (or worst case who might've hired them), but it wasn't exactly too out-there to think you might have some sort of minor price out for you. But .. you couldn't really think of anyone who would have it out for you so much so as to pay for your downfall- sure, bandits and fanatics weren't exactly your biggest fans but they didn't exactly have the funds or supplies to go pay for your head. Maybe it was just some sort of 'getting rid of competition early' type of thing? The again, you weren't really well known enough to really be deemed a full on competitor. But of course this is Nevada, maybe you just had really bad luck and you happened to piss off some random ultra-powerful group or individual who had it out for you and this was their chance to-

"Excuse me, you're the uh ... sheriff, correct?" You'd blinked hard at that, whipping around to look at the source of the question. Red eyes stared right back down at you, lack of emotion in them giving you even less to work with in your little theory.

"I mean- not really, but I suppose you could call me that," you'd answered with a little shrug, hoping it was enough to placate them. Unless, it was the entirely wrong move and what you should have done was lie completely.

"Ah. Well then, I hope you don't mind my intrusion, I was just wondering if we could talk business. Of course, if you're uninterested than I can leave you be." You couldn't help the way tension left your shoulders at his response. Sure, it could definitely be some sort of threat or lie but .. you'd imagined someone wearing a halo would be a bit more theatrical or dramatic with their life-ending business, maybe not stab you in the middle of a bar over work-talk.

"You're no bother at all, take a seat Mr. ..." You'd trailed off, hoping they'd finish for you.

"Jebediah."

"Jeb," you'd bluntly shortened, "Take a seat, Jeb."

-Honestly ... he really was not expecting to get too attached to you and yet, he very much so does. It's nothing too personal, you can tell there's an almost clinical way he interacts with you at times. You'll find him quietly looking over your shoulder or listening from the corner while you're telling a handful of your crew about some mission you'll need them for. He looks entirely disinterested and in all honesty it does make you a bit . maybe sad's too harsh a word but you definitely don't appreciate it .

-This is flipped on its head pretty quickly once he approaches you and mentions some concern he has about your plan, offering some sort of alternative that sounds safer and more successful. If you ask why he hadn't just brought it up then, you won't get any real concise answer other than a shrug (which only raises more questions to you, really).

-He keeps his distance for a pretty long time, only really talking to you for brief periods of time whenever he can find some sort of privacy with you. It's a tad funny to you (and others) how he almost seems to follow you like some lost puppy. You do your best to curb this by talking to him first a little more often, asking for his thoughts on something you've got planned out either ahead of time or as you go about telling whoever needs to hear it about it. You trust his input enough to not worry too much about him doing anything that'd definitely harm anyone in your group. If he wanted to knowingly kill anyone, he would've done it a long time ago.

-That and you're pretty sure he could've just wiped you all out himself. Sure, you've really only seen him fight a handful of times but ... what you saw was enough to make you (maybe a little harshly in your excitement and astoundment) grab him by the shoulders and ask him 'hey what the FUCK.' Even though he doesn't particularly enjoy being shaken, he can't help but be amused at how much wonder you seem to have about what you'd just seen. If he plays it up just a tad just to see you try and (affectionately) call bullshit on his claims or just be plain stunned, then it's really no harm is it?

-Speaking of him fighting, you really only ever see it in a few ways. The little business deal you worked out with one another really just has him around you for the most part (though, you weren't expecting him to stick to you as much as he had), he can go do his own thing of course and you'll help him out in that endeavor, but he's essentially a bodyguard of sorts. Since you've been making your way up and steadily growing more and more power, other's have started to take notice of you more and more. More than a few times has someone just barely missed you with a gunshot. More than a few times has someone (Jeb) yanked you out of the way of a hatchet. More than a few times you've laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling while Jeb crouched down next to you and waited for your life to stop flashing before your eyes again.

-Over time, he finds himself growing fonder and fonder of you. The first thing he'd really noticed was your people skills- you had a way of turning people to your cause and getting them on your side that he'd never really seen before. Even seeing you interact with the ones you've had with you from the start can be almost soothing in a way. It's nice seeing a leader who's got some compassion for those 'below them' for a change. He finds himself enjoying your company more than he'd expected. While your friendliness and lax disposition had initially thrown him off, it's warmed up to him a lot. He doesn't even realy know when you'd managed to regularly make some comment that could get him to laugh. All he knows is that there's a point where you're out celebrating another victory for you all and you're smiling and he is too and there's an odd feeling in his chest when you turn to look at him with that same brightness and genuine pride for your lot's achievements.

-Obviously, the 'lone-wolf' thing he has going doesn't make him anything of a romantic. He's entirely unsure of what to do when he first realizes 'oh hey I have a thing for them don't I.' As far as he's concerned, if he ignores it than it can't risk everything like it otherwise would. He's wrong, he finds himself lost in thought over it far more than he'd like to be (and really it only stresses him out more when that just puts you in more harms way, considering people certainly like almost killing you from a distance where you don't notice them). It eventually boils over to where when you're having some typical late after-work conversation with him in your office he just kind of. interrupts the topic at hand to ask if you like him. If you weren't busy processing his question maybe you could laugh a bit at how abnormally tense he is.

-if you're here than obviously you say yeah. Again, you could laugh at the sigh of relief that leaves him at your answer (and you do when he's pulling you into a tight hug, he just hides his face in the crook of your neck in response).

-Onto more misc. hcs YIPPEEE !!!!!1

-People very much so notice the dynamic the two of you have and expected something to be going on between the two of you long before you two officially said anything. It's something of an inside joke between your employees to fake-gag or give knowingly-annoyed looks to one another whenever the two of you are 'suddenly' interacting with one another in a situation that doesn't call for it. The moment Jeb's perking up at something you said or you're looking over your shoulder at him someone's already biting back a snicker and looking away. Neither of you understand it. Nobody will explain it.

-He's not one for PDA so don't expect too much in that regards. However, when you both get some time alone (usually in one of your rooms or in your office) then he's a tad clingier. He mostly defaults to holding your hand but he's partial to just holding you close in general. Whether it's him holding you with a hand rubbing your back and you resting your head on his chest or him hugging you from behind while he rests his head on top of yours- do expect him to be close in some way. He tends to just refer to you with whatever 'title' of sorts you hold (namely sheriff, despite how that . really isn't your job at all . you have no idea how that got stuck to you), even if you insist he can just call you by your name. He still calls you Sheriff. Likewise though, he'll refer to you as 'dear' and 'darling' in private more commonly, that or a shortened version of your name if possible. If you jokingly start to lean into the sheriff thing and """ironically""" call him Sugar he will not complain.

-all in all. please stop nearly getting yourself killed its scaring him. YEAH he can bring you back but its not an entirely pleasant process for either of you. (but, of course, Nevada is Nevada and luck only runs so long. Again going of the White Hank interp. of Sheriff, do expect that there's some sort of a 'oh hey we both have the same thing going on with stitches' between the both of you. If he starts placing little kisses on them more often than uhh lol wdym no he isn't <33 he just HAPPENS to do it repeatedly by COMPLETE CHANCE .... )

#rot writes #jebus x reader #jebediah christoff x reader #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”

You smile. “Lovely.”

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.

-=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement.

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes.

Fuck yeah.

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.

Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”

There we go.

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

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the-blackdale · 4 years ago

Text

QoAaD in-betweens

Kit and Ty in the shadowmarket

Headcanons

Long post warning ⚠ ( I got carried away 😅)

✰ what could've happened in one of Kit and Ty's visits to the shadow market ✰

It was just past midnight, they have been wandering the market for nearly an hour with no luck. no one was ready to sell them necromantic supplies because quote we dont do buisness with shadowhunters unquote. Kit should be happy that this necromancy plan was failing, but the problem was ,that it made Ty sad, which intern made Kit sad. He has to do something about this .

They were in the dark magic sector of the market, Ty was beside him with his headphones on and checking the list of ingredients they needed. Thats when he saw Big Ben's shop. Big Ben was a werewolf who often bullied young vampires and mundanes in the market. A plan started forming itself in the back of his mind.

He turned to Ty, and told him his plan. Ty was quite confused,"why would we shoplift when we can buy it ?" "Because its fun Ty !! And he used to bully me when I was young,this is payback." "But.." "Ty pleasseeee....."

After some pleading, Ty agreed. no one could resist Kit when he uses his special puppy-eyes. The plan was simple.

Ty went to Big ben's shop and started looking around like a curious customer, He pointed to something in the back of the shop and that was Kit's cue. As soon as Ben turned around, Kit made his way to shop and extended his hand to grab the small vial labelled as 'incense from the heart of the volcano'.

He was about to put the vial in his jeans pocket, when he felt someone knock into him from behind. Damn the crowd today. He lost his balance and grabbed at the fairy lights which were dangling in the front of the shop. He could see Ty reach out towards him, but he was too late. Before Kit could realise he crashed into the table where all the fancy glass orbs were kept, and heard them all crash in a deafening tone to the ground.

Big Ben turned at the noise and saw the vial in Kit's hand.He started to move towards Kit, screaming things like "bloody thiefs". Ty who was at first shocked by the noise recovered quickly and knocked over a plotted plant off the counter which, thankfully, landed on Big Ben's feets.

They exchanged a panicked look and started running like no tomorrow, Kit in the front pushing people apart to make way for them. He saw other customers and shop owners look curiously at them, but it was a normal thing at the shadow market. He could her Big Ben screaming at them from behind, he was limping a bit, and occasionally jumping up and down clutching his injured leg with both his hands, it made his look like a kangaroo, and Kit couldn't help but burst out laughing at the thought.

They were still running when they reached the fairy section of the market, it was quite crowded and they have lost Being Ben somewhere in the way. Kit glanced behind him to check on Ty, his hood was up and his headphones were on his ears. His hair was all disheveled from the running and his face was flushed, he also had a smile on his face which caught Kit's breath away. That smile was missing after livvy's death, it was like there was no sunrise in Kit's life.

Kit was too distracted by Ty's smile,cause next he knew, he was knocking into someone who was holding a huge painting in front of their face. Quite clumsy for a shadowhunter. He stumbled backwards and crashed into Ty, who intern lost his balance and they both fell into a table which held many different kinds of candies and fairy fruits.

He could hear the screams of many fairies, which to be honest, were really shrill. The bowls were made from fairy wood, so thank god they didnt broke, but the candies were scattered everywhere.

He landed with his ankle above Ty's foot, and he had somehow managed to grab onto Ty's left sleeve when he was falling, which was a bad decision both because Ty doesnt like being startled, and Kit took Ty down with him when he was falling. He quickly left Ty's sleeve and looked up at the fairy who was selling those candies, they were shouting something is a language, which Kit was glad he didnt understood.

Ty was the first to recover, He stood up and extended a hand to Kit. Kit gladly latched onto Ty's hand and let himself be pulled up. The fairy was still shouting at them and making weird hand gestures at all the mess that was made of their candies. Kit glanced at his and Ty's linked hands . Ty's hands were soft and warm, they fit perfectly with Kit's.

Ty pulled lightly at Kit's hand to get his attention. wow, he really had zoned out in the middle of a mess thinking about his and Ty's joined hands. When Kit looked up at Ty, he had a mischievous grin on his face, Kit couldn't help but smile, he understood what Ty was trying to say.

they started running again, this time with Ty in the front and their hands still clasped together. Ok, he needs to stop thinking about his hand in Ty's, it was distracting ! They passed various stall with fairies in them, but no one payed them any attention.

Ty rounded a corner pulling Kit with him as they entered a small alley which was separated from the market by a beaded curtain. The noises from the market were muffled here, so Ty removed his headphones. Kit ignored the way his heart crumpled when Ty pulled his hand away from Kit's.

Ty bend over and put both his hands on his knees, he was breathing heavily but also laughing, this was the most fun he has ever had !! Kit was leaning against a wall, also breathing heavily but still with a smile on his face. They looked at each other for a moment and doubled over with a new wave of laughter.

when they could finally breathe, Kit took the vial of incense from his jeans pocket and threw it towards Ty, who expertly caught it and added it to their shopping bag with the other ingredients.

He was about to suggest that they walk to the main street where their Uber would pick them up, when Ty said," I got something for you".He reached into his hoodie pocket and took out a handful of candies. Rose flavoured. "I picked them when we crashed into the candy table" at that he looked down and Kit would've said that he was blushing if his cheeks werent already flush from all the running " I noticed you have a sweet tooth and thought that you would like these."

Kit couldn't help but smile, his heart was full of happiness and something else he couldn't pin point. The mere fact that Ty noticed was enought to turn him into a blushing teenage girl with a crush.

Ty was there, slowly breaking down everything he used to believe about his life and replacing it with something as beautifull and pleasant as a dream. Yet so real. It was like Ty set free a bunch of fireflies in his dark world and everything was suddenly glamorous and worth fighting for.

in this moment, in a deserted back alley with dull lights and muffled noises of a crowd, Kit fell a bit more in love with Ty, and Ty fell a bit more in love with Kit.

Tagging some moots,hope yall dont mind: @ghafa-dale @niathesanctuary-bolastair-kanej @autumnangel20 @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @eutonyinwhisper @queenlilith43 @pink-party-dino @clarys-heosphoros @neo-lightchild-decafineator @will-herondale-my-beloved @dark-artifices-only @gabtapia

#headcanons #kit x ty #kitty #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #TDA #QoAaD #qoaad #shadowhunters #TSC #hope yall like it 👉👈#the wicked powers

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gayerthantheewrites · 4 years ago

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Hi hi i sent a request earlier but tmblr said it didnt send so im doing this again,,I saw ur post about 3 things smth and I wanted to request if its still open 😅

I tend to ignore people during morning(particularlly when i dont feel like talkin), I close my eyes when Im upset/trouble(particularlly when I feel like crying) and I like cute plushies + bokuto + puppies.

Sorry for this if its too detailed or smth and if your not accepting request anymore, ignore this JSKDKSKSKSKS I look forward to your future contents btw💕💕

𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐞;

➽ 3 things + 𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 + puppies

a/n: hello nonnie!! don't worry ur pretty little head, your request was fine!! i'm sorry this took so long tho,, thank you for waiting!! baby boy bokuto is onuv my comfort characters and writing this was like a relieving breath of air :') enjoy!

!!: ambiguous au, implied college, gn reader

w: self-consciousness in beginning, awful judgement over people, it's brief and not the focus tho, just kinda so 's all good :'))

requests: open <3

They say Bokuto Koutarou was many things: assuming, barbaric, shallow and maybe self-satisfied. Everyone had an opinion over the campus’ golden boy, but these, and more were what struck him harder than the compliments that reached his ears. It put a stain on his mind. He became more aware of his actions and thinking. If the slight change in his posture was obvious, no one had given him away.

Bokuto Koutarou had become conscious.

And today, if he was any younger, he’d be quick to voice his denial. He’d disagree and prove himself, say it was simple misconception. But like everyone else, he grows. Which is why today, he is well past that; Bokuto Koutarou had better things to do than correct shallow judgement said to define who he is.

So what if they thought he was assuming?

If keeping his words to himself as he got to class, because he sensed your mood that morning was assuming, maybe he really was. As he sat there, a few spaces beside you, quiet and content, maybe it was true. Already knowing how you feel without you needing to communicate, to tell him you didn’t feel like socializing early in the day, Bokuto could say he was assuming.

And if Bokuto was barbaric, perhaps he could agree to that. As he frowned at the sight of you scrunching your eyes closed, your eyebrows heavy, unspeaking, and the shine of brine in the corner of your eyes maybe he was barbaric. Barbaric for wanting the reason you’re upset to be taught a lesson, a lesson he’d personally give. Barbaric as he shook his head disapprovingly, yet as he invites you in his arms that you accept, he looks anything but. Big, barbaric Bokuto whose arms were massive, whose touches were as delicate as a petal, he pulls you to him and engulfs you like a safety net. Maybe he really was barbaric, as he thought of how to speak to that person to not upset you any further.

But he thinks he’d most agree to being shallow. Shallow, shallow Bokuto as he scanned the many items on the specific isle. Skimming the pads of his fingers on the fabric, trying to find the one he liked that you’d like too. Shallow as he pedalled to the till, smiling up at the cashier who seemed a bit amused over the adorable stuffed toy Bokuto laid on their counter, and a few snacks and beverages he knew you’d like. If shallow meant putting a smile to your face with gifts he laced his heart with, price be damned, then shallow is he.

And as Bokuto sits over the mattress with you, whose form was enveloped by the comforter, he agrees. He can finally feel the apples of his cheeks climb up further to his eyes when he finally saw the loose curl of your lips. He can feel his eyes shine as you lay a gentle gaze on him. He could burst with accomplishment any second now, but you postpone his combustion once you lay both your palms over the sides of his face to pull him closer, to lay a soft kiss on his temple. All your love, emotion, appreciation and acknowledgement secreted by the touch of your lips to his skin, and he felt everything swelling in his chest. His eyes water as he clutches on the hands you placed on his face. He hiccups and you chuckle, on the verge of sobbing too.

He whole-heartedly agrees. Maybe Bokuto Koutarou truly was self-satisfied, if the feeling of achieving your love was his greatest accomplishment of all.

“Wouldn’t if be cool if.. we get something that looks like this,” he points at the newest addition to your collection of stuffed animals. “ but it moves?”

“...you mean a puppy?”

“Puppies, actually but yeah,”

Yet to be completely honest? He could care less about being portrayed as assuming, barbaric, shallow and self-satisfied. He knows what defines him, and he doesn’t owe them an explanation, let alone change. Bokuto Koutarou knows his worth, and he could thank the both of you for it.

It’s time to begin, isn’t it?

I get a little bit bigger, but then I’ll admit

I’m just the same as I was

Now don’t you understand

That I’m never changing who I am

— It’s Time, Imagine Dragons

; anon u're lovely!! i look forward too!! so sweet u r,,

; i just,, rlly love bokuto and i hope i did him justice,, now back to calculus!! part of the warm-up/match-up event <33 requests are open!

tagging: @neoheros ilysm how r u

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bitchapalooza · 4 years ago

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Romano :)

First impression

Early fandom, I really did just jump right into fanon portrayal. Asshole. Conceded. Lazy. Ect. I actually disliked him. I didn't hate him, but I did dislike him to a degree.

Impression now

Oh no yeah I hate him, you guys should know this by now.

Jk jk, I love him, obviously! After actually looking into his character and analyzing it, he's complex and well written, when before I thought he was just a poorly written character. It's pretty obvious he has some serious issues to him, one of which could be intentional or unintentional emotional abuse from those around him or specifically from Rome— I say this because most of what he does, putting himself down and having low effort and cowering behind his brother/others during conflict, could be a result of such kind of abuse. You really don't get that way randomly. Through his interactions with his younger brother, I can tell he deep down wants to actually make a connection, its just he doesnt know how. Its in his nature, most likely learned nature, to push people away so as to not mess things up and lose them. But really he does want to get close to people. As shown with his interactions with Spain, both younger and older, and America.

Favorite moment

SO MANY TO CHOOSE.

Its a tie between:

Him asking Spain for fun stuff to do with the ladies, specifically bullfighting, and then Spain responding with saying he'll be the bull. I like it because it really does display how Romano's view and relationship with Spain has progressed since he was a child when he absolutely detested Spain. Thats growth :)

And then there's when Prussia reaches out to a crying Romano. He cheers him up and then they try to make a movie together. It doesn't work out but it was a nice character detail and interaction nonetheless!

Idea for a story

Oh I have tons.

I have a scrapped three part story for all three Italy brothers, each one focusing on one brother. The first part would have been Romano's. He and his brothers lost their parents to a home evasion gone wrong, to which they were hiding in Seb's nursary/shared bedroom(amongst all three of them) closet that was left alone(what would baby stuff be worth anyway?? It was an unspoken fact that his parents told the robbers they were away at their grandparents). It was Romano's self assigned job to make sure his brothers were then safe after the crooks left; his several months old baby brother and deaf little brother(I wanted to explore how to write a deaf character at the time). After all thats done, it shifts to modern day where Romano wakes up from the dream as described above, an indication he bears a great deal of trauma over it despite what he stubbornly says. I reveal he's a pediatric nurse and he's currently taking care of his grandfather with alzheimer's(again, was trying to explore things) while simultaneously dealing with his now rebelling teenage brother and preparing for Vene's return from a semester off from college. He also had his relationship with Spain to maintain, to which he also is looked at as a kind of father figure by Spain's six year old son. It was a lot to deal with for one person. The message for his story was supposed to be Mental Health First as his nelgected trauma would be a significant factor into why things were falling apart near the climax of the story before completely collasping then being solved once he takes that big step into recovery such as seeing a therapist and actually communicating with his family.

Unpopular opinion

I've already stated it all before, but Romano isn't stupid nor is he not creative. I believe he excells in science and math more, as well as astonomy as side hobby/interest. I think he's just better at sculpting than drawing/painting too. He clearly compares himself to, who he refers to, his more successful brother Veneziano, plus others around him and puts himself down quite a lot. So he most likely has imposter syndrome.

Favorite relationship

It kinda varies in context.

In canonverse, Its Romerica. @thatsamericano (hope you dont mind the tag) has a lot to do with why tbh. They just work really well together! Every canon interaction is like a hug to my soul! I feel as though America hypes Romano up A LOT. Like Romano sets out to do something but then gets anxious about it. So America swoops in and lists all the obvious pros and few of the cons just to make it seem legit(whisch it always is either way). Meanwhile, I think Romano actually keeps America grounded to reality? America is a dreamer and seems to act on impulse a lot. Romano is the opposite. Before America ever sets out to do something extreme that might not actually pan out, Romano might sit down and get him to talk it out and write everything down. Then they'd go through together and cut things so its more realistically reachable and doesnt end in America's dissapointment.

In a human au, its Spamano. I tend to like Spamano in the context of established relationship and just general partner stuff. I've never really branched out of this comfort zone, however. I think their personalities mix really well together. Its the grumpy one with the sunny one! I can see Spain being the early bird and making Romano a surprise breakfast before work begins. He probably gently wakes Romano too so hes still not so sleepy later on. Then theres Romano who's probably the type of partner who checks in on Spain on his schedualed breaks, when hes not also working of course. He just strikes me as the type who likes to know his partner's overall health and mood and likes to hear how things are going for the day so far, even if he wont admit it.

Favorite headcanon

Trans man Romano baybie✌

He's had top surgery already but he's waiting a little bit for bottom surgery. He's a little nervous and not entirely sure he's ready to go thru with it yet. But to combat his bottom dysphoria, he uses a packer or just lounges around the baggiest sweat pants he owns.

#ask #ask game #hetalia #hetalia romano #tw emotional abuse

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gnarf · 4 years ago

Text

Gnarf’s 2020

and what a fucking year that was... Anyways, let’s talk about the good things, shall we?

I made it through 2020 alive and without going insane! Yay! So lets see what else I did. (This is a long post)

In the beginning of 2020 I said I won’t participate in many fests. Only three or something like that. Lets check how that went!

Fests Gnarf participated in: 9

@lockdownfest @lcdrarry @hd-wireless @hpfluff-fest @hd-hurtfest @hd-fan-fair @hd-erised @gameofdrarry in drarropoly @wireless-festive-minifest

Haha yup, three. Sounds legit. I also wandered off to try if I can art! No worries, I gave that up :D Mad respect to all Artists, arting is exhausting and the progress is too slow for me.

If you really want to check out my attempts, here’s what made its way onto AO3:

Dont Blink! for LCDrarry, it includes the Angels from Doctor Who and was a pain in the arse.

If you knew... was made for H/D Wireless and has the armiest arm i ever saw, very proud of that one. Its also the last thing I made.

Home Sweet Home was also made for H/D Wireless, and the first bigger art piece I tried my hand on.

A muffled groan which is rather explicit and I entirely forgot about making it :D it has a ficlet going with it too.

(I think theres other Art stuff here with the tag #gnarf draws or something)

I reached my yearly goal of writing 100k words once again!

Fics and Ficlets I wrote this year: 20(ish)

Better Side of the Bed (Lock Down Fest, T, 2k)

It was all Malfoy's fault. Harry could be at the Burrow right now, but instead he was trapped in Malfoy's tiny flat. All because that dick couldn't stop bothering him about a stupid life debt he didn't even care about.

Doing What's Best (G, ~800 words)

Lucius looked down at the little bundle currently sleeping in Narcissa's arms and felt terror shoot through his body. A little boy, his hair so white it was nearly invisible. Born only a few hours ago, taking his first breath in the light of the rising sun. Narcissa had whispered a welcome, her eyes wet, her smile bigger than ever. But they both knew, even though temporarily safe, he really wasn't. Draco was born into a world ruled by war. If only it'd end soon.

I better be hallucinating this (T, 3.8k)

After the war Draco Malfoy is sentenced to Azkaban for a really long sentence. Apparently aiding in Dumbledore's death overrules any argument Harry could put up for him. After the trial, as the days pass by, Harry is more and more outraged at the sentence. He can't stop obsessing over the fact that Draco Malfoy saved his life and aided him during the war and is very much capable of redemption. Not to mention that Malfoy has always been a delicate git and would never survive Azkaban. After a few weeks obsessing Harry decides that Malfoy indeed can't remain unjustly in Azkaban and starts to plot a way to break him out of jail and hide him in Grimmauld Place. When Hermione finds out she's not amused. Ron is horrified. Draco still thinks he's hallucinating.

Keep Holding On (Wireless, M. 33.333) A collab with @maesterchill who surprised me with lovely art for it!

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget. Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on the request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state. Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse. Making new allies, and losing old ones along the way, will hopefully be worth it in the end.

Age is just a number (Fluff Fest, T, 1.5k)

Married for decades, their life is perfect. Until Harry gets a call and hears the following words: "Mr Potter, we caught your husband stealing ten large packs of King Sized condoms."

There was still hope (Hurt Fest, M, 3.1k)

Draco winced as pain shot through his leg with every step. This secret, back-alley laboratory had been his last chance, last hope, to find the potion. But nobody had it in stock, and there was no time left to brew it himself. Panic was slowly overtaking his entire mind as he crept out of the store and back to the nearest alley to Apparate back home. He already felt off, and it was still early in the day. Of course this thestral-shit had to happen to him, of all people. As if life wasn't bad enough for him already.

Desire (E, 1.7k)

"Auror Potter, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here. What can I do for you?" "Stop the show, Malfoy. There's no one around, and I'm not here as an Auror." Draco watched Potter move closer until they were nearly nose to nose, only the small counter of his shop kept Potter at distance. Potter's eyes were dark with something Draco couldn't exactly name, his face was flushed and the air surrounding him felt somehow static. Draco felt the urge to lean further over his counter, to drink in his sight, to touch the man on the other side—but he didn't.

Drarropoly 2020 currently holds 7 ficlets and is in a Series. The highest rating is Mature and its 3.2k in total at this point.

Let's not wait for France (Fan Fair, T, 17.7k)

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy. An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw. Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

Love letters for the oblivious (Mini Wireless, T, 716 words)

Draco had gotten the strangest letters all week long, which wasn't what anyone needed at Christmas. Especially not him. Either someone was taking the piss, or he had a very dumb and inefficient secret admirer. And Draco didn't know which would be worse.

Double-Booked (Mini Wireless, T, 2.1k)

Finally, peace and quiet, and— "Malfoy?!?" Or the one where Harry thought he could enjoy a quiet Christmas far from everyone, just to find out that the cabin he had booked already accommodated another guest.

The best Christmas he ever had (Mini WirelessT, 1.9k)

Christmas had never been less appealing to him than this year. That was until Arthur Weasley showed up at his door, dressed as Santa, inviting him to the Burrow.

Anon Fests to be added

Whoever made it to this point: yoooo! Friend! Lots of love to you! I also got tagged in many get to know me posts, plenty of love in my Inbox giving me love slaps left and right (honestly, im bruised, stop slapping me), amazing person awards, top 5 fics, and whatever you can think of.

To make up for not answering most of them because I’m a horrible person:

My favourite colour: purple My age: I’ll be 30 next year in April, I expect gifts, I don’t accept first borns My favourite trope: eight year My favourite animal: cat My favourite ice cream: Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough Here’s my writing Playlist, it’s the worst you’ll ever see, and yes, I use YouTube, I’m old.

Other things that happened in 2020 that made me happy:

I kicked out my mentally/emotionally abusive partner of 7 years in January

I kept my grandma alive through this *waves hand at world*

I was able to share my birthday cake with my family becaus I got to leave my first quarantine a few days before my birthday

I got to keep my job

I found a lot of lovely friends in this fandom, and got to keep them through this year

My cats are their usual little jerks and actually enjoyed me being at home due to the raging pandemic

I finally cut off my hair

I’m about to hit 3.5k followers here and I love you all

I’m also tagging everyone who sees this and wants to do something similiar! Show us what you did in 2020, the things you’re proud of, and the things you loved! Let’s spread some happy for the end of the year 💜🥰

#gnarf writes #gnarf draws #gnarf rambles #personal #gnarf's 2020

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hela-avenger · 5 years ago

Text

poison & wine- part 31

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1394

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: And so it begins again! GAH, another cliffhanger and another... well, I guess you’ll have to read to find out. Be nice to me in the comments pls. I was the one who had to write this!

poison & wine masterlist

Loki stops before you’re able to reach the royal hall. You refrain from asking him why as you catch the serious look on his face. It was enough to tell you that he was worried about what you two were about to walk into.

“This the point of no return,” Loki whispers. “No going back the moment we step inside that room.”

“If you’re trying to ask me if I’m having second thoughts, I’m not,” you assure him. “So tell me, what exactly am I walking into?”

“As usual, we will be the center of attention,” Loki answers. “There will be food, wine, and more, but essentially we will be the idol of affection of the people of Asgard. They will be fawning over us with well wishes and gifts.”

“I like gifts.”

“Of course you do,” Loki chuckles. “Sadly the gifts will have to be turned into the royal treasury but if you see something you like I’m sure I could find a way for you to keep it.”

“I don’t think any gift can compare to the one you already gave me,” you tell him. “My father’s office… I didn’t even realize how close he was all this time.”

“Took me some time to find it,” Loki answers. “Your father stayed in the palace in between his travels, but the office held all of his personal belongings. Everything inside it is yours and you may come visit it anytime you’ll like.”

“I will take you up on that offer as long as you’re coming with me.”

You smile up at him hoping for him to continue the banter along but he’s silently staring at you. There was a softness to it and you wonder how long he’s been looking at you like this and you’ve been missing it.

“Loki, I…”

...love you.

You find yourself stopping knowing this wasn’t the time nor the place to be confessing your feelings to him. You were about to walk into the most stressful and trying times of your lives and you couldn’t put it on the line now.

“...I’m ready, if you are.”

Loki nods and offers his arm for you to take. You nestle closer to him as he escorts you down to the royal hall. The guards are quick to open the doors for you announcing your presence for all the court to hear.

“Prince Loki of Asgard and his fiancee Lady Y/N of Midgard.”

You’re met with loud cheers and applause as Loki leads you to the thrones that were set front and center in the room. King Odin and Frigga were seated nearby with their own matching thrones.

“You’re late,” Frigga whispers to Loki with a playful glare.

Loki simply smiles in response and shrugs, unable to offer her more as the first royal family comes to greet them.

You hadn’t realized how many royal families were involved in the hierarchy of Asgard but you had met and received so many that it was hard to keep track on who was who. Luckily for you, you were once again allowed to drink wine which made the whole event tolerable, but with the side effect of allowing your mind to stray away easier. Hence, your immense focus on the prince seated next to you.

Loki was doing all of this with such ease. He knew all of their names before they were announced and he always managed to thank each and every one of them in unique and specific ways. It was mesmerizing to watch and you couldn’t comprehend how his own father could overlook the great work he was showing.

You took a hold of his free hand squeezing it gently earning you a brief moment of his attention in which he smiles fondly at you.

“You’re doing great,” you whisper to him.

Loki’s smile grows even brighter than before.

“So are you,” he whispers in return. “They love you.”

You find that hard to believe but take the compliment anyway.

The next royal family makes their way up to you taking his focus away from you. You didn’t mind enjoying the way he returned to his regal self. It was nice to know that his rare softness was reserved only for you.

Another round of blessings is heard with chests of gold and ornate jewels to further compensate the message.

Loki’s hand was still in yours and he squeezed it every few minutes. You chuckled every time he did it which made you believe that was the reason he was doing it in the first place.

Things finally start to slow down and you look over at Loki to find that he’s already staring at you. You smile at him unable to do much else.

“All rise for the Allfather, Ruler of the Nine Realms, King Odin.”

You’re surprised at the announcement and so is Loki as his grip tightens in your hold.

“I never thought I would see the day when my son, Loki, would find his match,” Odin begins to announce earning a laugh from the crowd. “It has certainly been a blessing for our family to be graced with Lady Y/N’s presence. She has shown pure courage in the face of adversity and has handled herself with care and grace.”

As if on cue, the room erupts in applause eating up his words. You were unsure if he was being honest or not, but it didn’t really matter. His opinion wasn’t something you depended on but you knew it meant the world to Loki.

“I would like to be the first to welcome Y/N into our family,” Odin continues before he waves towards a servant. “And in doing so, bestow her this rare and unique gift that is rightfully hers to begin with.”

The servant appears once more, bringing a small case towards you. You let go of Loki’s hand in order to receive the offered gift.

With all eyes on you, you have no other choice but to open it and amongst the gold tinsel, a small red apple was cushioned in the middle. You pull it out of the case confused at the simple gift until the whole room erupts in loud gasps and murmured talk.

“The Apple of Idunn.”

The smile you had been wearing instantly disappears and you turn to Loki to find him in the same shocked state that you were.

“This is… why would you…?”

You feel a tightening in your chest, a pure wave of panic and pain, knowing that you were holding the reason your father had not come back for you and your mother in your hand. The real reason he was dead.

“Your father wished this for you,” Odin answers simply. “And I would like nothing more for my son to have you for more than a handful of centuries.”

You look down at the apple in your hand having a hard time believing that such a small little thing could have caused such chaos. Even now, it was causing disruption as everyone watched you awaiting your next move.

“No.”

“No?” Odin asks in surprise.

“No,” Loki repeats as he rises from his seat.

The whole hall falls into a silence at the sudden response. You’re quick to place the apple back inside the case unsure of what else to do. Loki had made the decision for you and you didn’t know how to take it.

“Loki…” you call out to him. “What are you doing?”

Loki looks down at you, his mask gone, revealing remorse for you.

“You should go,” he answers. “You shouldn’t have to be here for this.”

It’s not that hard to figure out what Loki intends to do. He was about to confess to it all and all because he wanted to save you from a life of eternity.

“Loki, you can’t…”

“Just leave.”

“What?”

Loki turns back to look at you but the man you knew and loved was gone. A different mask was being worn, one that you hadn’t expected to see on him again.

“Go,” Loki snarls with a scowl. “Just go!”

You hand over the case to Loki unsure of what else to do with it. You tried to ignore the burning humiliation and collective pitying stare directed to you. Grabbing the silk of your skirt, you run out of the hall without looking back.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha @accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer @punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rogerrhqpsody @imsad420@pandacookieowo @justnerdystuffs @hanoi15 @oneprolificqueen @nikki-who-likes-coffee @fandomrelative @nikki419ninja @onedollarduck @help-i-need-a-social-life @ephemeraljade @catsladen @amwolowicz @captainmarvelnerd @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi @defunctcherrybomb

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years ago

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light pollution jack daniels x reader

+++++++++

so this was originally supposed to be a two part story but i didnt like what i had for part two so i had been putting off writing and editing it. but i finally decided that this first part is decent enough to post without part two so it is just gonna be this stand alone oneshot instead and i hope you guys like it (cause honestly im not too sure i do lol)

Age gap/college student

He asks you on a proper picnic date after you tell him party/nightlife/bars aren't your scene. He takes you out in the middle of a beautiful wild flower field for dinner as the sun is setting.

Song: into your arms by the maine

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

i sipped my drink awkwardly as i looked around the bar again. my friends had dragged me here and so far i hated every minute of it. not only that, but i was tasked with being the DD, again. i sighed and set my drink down onto the lacquered table, looking up as i saw a handsome looking man in a cowboy hat approaching me.

"evening."

he said smoothly, tilting his hat to me as he leaned over the chair opposite me. i nodded back.

"evening."

i said softly and he smiled.

"forgive me miss, but i couldnt help seeing how sad you looked from across the bar and figured id come offer my company, if you want it."

he said a little bashfully and part of me felt a little flutter in my stomach.

"actually i wouldnt mind that."

i said, pulling the chair out beside me.

"my friends kind of ditched me."

i said and he nodded as he sat down.

"well im sorry to hear that. im whiskey."

he said offering his hand and i laughed a little bit, shaking it.

"thats an unusual name, im y/n."

i said and he flashed me a wicked smile.

"well i think yours is beautiful, just as beautiful as you."

he said and i couldnt help the giggle escape my body, feeling my cheeks burn under the neon bar signs.

"youre too kind."

i said, looking to my drink and spinning it between my hands.

"so, whats the real reason youre sitting here by yourself?"

he asked and i laughed a little bit. i looked to him.

"im that obvious huh?"

i asked and he sent me an endearing smile.

"yeah, who am i kidding? this isnt really my scene. i mean, dont get me wrong i love drinking, i am a college student after all."

i said with a laugh, looking to him as he studied me.

"i dont think i wouldve gotten through my second year without a little something here and there, but uh, yeah, i dont really do the bar scene. id prefer to drink over like a game night or on a picnic, or something like that."

i said and he sent me a reassuring smile. i shook my head and moved to take a drink.

"that probably sounds ridiculous."

i said and he shook his head.

"no, no i dont think so. i know crowds arent for everybody, and neither are parties. i think it reflects greatly on your character; like you know what matters."

he said and i sent him a bashful smile in return.

"wish more people could see that."

i said, looking back to the table. i sighed deeply before he moved closer, tilting my chin up gently with his finger.

"how would you feel about going on a date with me?"

he asked and my eyes went wide.

"i know this great place by the distillery i work for, remote, away from the city lights, wild flowers that go on for miles."

he said and i held my breath.

"we could, i dont know, picnic, watch the sun go down?"

he asked and i nodded quickly.

"yeah, whiskey, i think id love that."

°°°°°°°°°

I rubbed my hands down my thighs a few times as we made it further out into the wilderness. The conversation had gone pretty good so far but I was still a little nervous. I did really like whiskey though, and I was glad he'd asked me out. And as a bonus we'd been texting back and forth the entire week between the time we met and right now, which made me feel much more comfortable. I smiled at the thought, looking to him for a second as be turned down another back road.

"I'm sorry again this is taking so long, buy hopefully you think it's worth it."

He said, looking to me for a second and I let out a short laugh.

"What's a little wait compared to a date with a gentleman."

I said and I could see him smirk as he kept his focus forward.

"Manners maketh man."

He said nonchalantly and I side nodded, a little impressed. He did have a point. When I looked back ahead my mouth dropped. Just behind the tree line was white and yellow wild flowers that went on forever.

"It's beautiful."

I whispered as he parked the truck, reaching over and taking my hand in his. I looked to him quickly before leaning over and kissing his cheek.

"It's perfect."

I beamed and he just stared at me for a second, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.

"It's jack."

He said and I raised a brow.

"Jack?"

I asked and he nodded.

"Whiskey is just a nickname. My real name is Jack."

I squeezed his hand before letting go and getting out of the truck. He looked a little lost for a second as I looked back at him.

"Well jack, I suggest we get to it, we've only got so much daylight left."

I said he laughed, shaking his head.

°°°°°°°°° As the sun went down I could feel the warm breeze begin to float around us. It made the flowers and soft lush grass bustle about, lifting the corners of the blanket we were sat on. Everything about it felt right though, the atmosphere of it all, jack and I both sipping wine and chatting about ourselves, and then there was the fireflies. I hadn't noticed them before but they made me smile. Then one landed on the blanket beside me. I scooped it up and held it in front of me.

"I haven't seen these guys in a long time."

I lamented, watching crawl over my hand, blinking every once in a while.

"Careful, I hear that light is how they attract a mate, I wouldn't want to loose you to a bug."

He said and I laughed, watching it flitter away and back to the flowers. I looked to him and he smiled.

"I may like most bugs but I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Well that's good to hear, cause I really enjoy your company darlin."

I felt my heart quicken in my chest at his words.

"I've been having a really good time too jack."

He smiled widely at me, rubbing his hands nervously across his jeans.

"Say, would you maybe wanna go on another date? With me?"

He asked and I nodded quickly.

"I'd love that Jack."

#wattpad #x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman golden circle #one shots #imagines #317

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diamondcamefromhell · 5 years ago

Text

Jaskier falling in love~

Jaskier x Reader

Submission by the loveliest @victias 🦋

Hi, I’ve just discovered your blog due to our shared witcher obsession and I love your writing, thank you! I was wondering if you would be willing to do an imagines or short dabble on what jaskier would be like genuinely falling in love as opposed to the lustful infatuations he frequently wafts in and out of. Pretty please

[I really, really hope you all enjoy this one, especially Victias who submitted such a wonderful idea. It was so fun to write and imagine Jaskier in such way, I hope i didnt mess it up!]

[[also couldnt figure out how to do proper posts on the app, had to wake my lap top up, lmao]]

Warnings: None, I think

Word count: 1,207

There was something different about the way Jaskier behaved. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I’ve seen how he acts with other people he takes interest in, I have tagged along with him and Geralt long enough. But somehow, when he was around me, he began to just behave… differently.

I know even Geralt began to notice, as he would just stare at the bard, confused, whenever he would begin showing the difference. I doubt the Withcer minded it that much – Jaskier has gone quieter, over all. He almost seemed more shy.

I began to notice he paid really close attention to my words, not cutting me off, always listening to everything I had to say. I enjoyed teasing him, talking whatever nonsense I could come up with, but he still, took each and every word in. Sometimes I felt like I am speaking the most beautiful poetry, from the way he never seemed to get bored of my words. It was impressive, a silent bard, just listening to whatever I got to say.

I was used to receiving an array of compliments from Jaskier, he loved complimenting everyone about, seemingly everything. Until his compliments became more spaced out. More genuine.

He loved complimenting my hair, whenever I did something different to it, he always noticed. Even if I myself didnt realize it. He also loved trying to find what rhymes with my name best, twisting it around. “Y/N, Y/N" he would sing, quietly, so me and Geralt couldn’t hear.

We still did.

There were a lot of other, smaller things as well. He would flirt with others less, to the point, where he almost didn’t. It was in his nature to be nice to everyone who wasn’t an enemy, but his flirtatious behavior receded.

Needless to say, I was flattered. Whenever his eyes would land on me, Jaskier seemed to find it difficult to look away.

He also began writing more love songs. They weren’t ever directed at me, they were vague, but I began to notice he wouldn’t look at me when singing them. Only a few careful little glances, just to check if I am listening.

Which I always was.

One rainy evening, as Geralt and I were watching Jaskier perform, Witcher confessed to me that the bard has been nicer to him over all. Picking on his less. According to him, our friends attention has been drifting other directions. I couldn’t hide my blush, not from Geralt, who kindly pretended not to notice.

I stare at Jaskier now, prancing around. Many people in the tavern are giving him loving looks, but he doesn’t respond, only a kind smile here and there. His focus is mostly on his lute and sometimes us. I let out a sigh as he finishes his song.

He grabs more ale, bringing it to us, I notice he sits next to me, our shoulders almost touching.

“A toast!” Jaskier shouts. “To our friendship!”

“Friendship?” Geralt teases, looking from Jaskier to me. I glance at the bard to see him blush. I dont remember ever seeeing him do that. My cheeks in response heat up too.

“A toast.” I break the silence, lifting up ale. “To us all.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunts, hiding his smile. I glare at the Witcher, crossing my arms. Jaskier, from what I can tell mindlessly, does it too. Geralt raises his eyebrows.

“Do not say anything.” Bard jumps in, uncrossing his arms. If it’s possible, he blushes even more.

“You two just mirror each other.” Geralts speaks, ignoring Jaskier. “Well, he mirrors you, Y/N.“

“No he doesn’t.” I argue, but Jaskier says the same thing at the same time. Of course, instead of ‘he’, he uses ‘I’.

“Cute.” Geralt chugs his ale down and I fail to believe the Witcher even knows the word ‘cute’ exists.

I look at Jaskier, who while still visibly flustered, is smiling looking at the table. I stand up, taking our empty cups, going for a refill.

When I make my way to the bar, my cheeks almost seem to go back to normal. I take a couple deep breaths in, until I feel someone staring at me.

I sneak a glance at our table, were Jaskier is unapologetically staring at me. I dont think, however, that he notices me looking. His lips move so I know he must be talking to Geralt, but his gaze stays glued to me.

I look away, my cheeks setting ablaze yet again. As the man pours us ale, I feel myself drift, to when Jaskier first started changing.

It happened in a blink of an eye. We were camping, fire barely making our faces visible. Geralt has left us alone, doing whatever he does when he disappears for a couple of hours.

It was the first time Jaskier truly opened up to me. He put his heart on a plate, he confessed how being a bard was always his dream. Not necessarily because he truly wanted to do it, he felt like he sucked at everything else.

He learnt to play lute all by himself. Then he began writing songs. He even told me he loves to always be so cheery and happy because bards are often referred to jokers, royal clowns. He believed he was a fool.

However, since that night, he changed. It felt like he opened up the real him, for some reason in bards eyes, I was worth that. He continued, slowly but surely, opening up about more things.

Stardust by stardust, he was allowing me to see his entire galaxy, instead of just the usual sun.

I drift back to present, glancing at the men again. Jaskier still has his eyes on me, and I doubt he took them off for a second. If I didnt find it cute, it would be creepy.

I sit back next to them, as the night drags on, laugh fills the air, many drunken songs break out. Geralt leaves early, but Jaskier and I stay behind.

Until it’s only the two of us. His eyes capture my gaze, as he curls his lips, heat from alcohol rushing his cheeks. Jaskier, however, didnt drink as much as he sometimes does. I knew he was sober enough.

I respond with my own smile, as he reaches for me, shyly placing his hand on mine. I dont pull away.

“I never imagined I could feel this way, Y/N.” I continue smiling, his eyes lighting up.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?” he pulls back just a little, and I can see him drift in a thought.

“Love always seemed so casual to me. I loved everyone. It was just such a natural thing to me. All the popular love ballads seemed like false tales to me.” He focuses back on me. “And then I met you. And I started writing love songs, more than anything, they began to make sense.”

So that was it. Jaskier was falling in love, the true chaotic kind of love.

I dont think he was changing. He was finding himself in love.

I straighten my grip in response, to see the shy bard blush even more.

“I feel it too.” I reassure him, as the sun rises in the horizon.

#you know the drill #jaskier #jaskierxreader #jaskier x reader #jaskierfluff #jask boyy #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher imagine #jaskier imagine #fallin in love #loved this idea #but im biased #bc i love jaskier #witcher #the best show hands down

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hermits-that-craft · 5 years ago

Text

so i came up with a basic story plot on discord if anyone wants to use it (under the cut)

Basically - Fantasy ish au where stress, grian and joe were kidnaped by watchers and there’s a rebellion

have fun, if you want to write it tag me i would forever be in you debt

So, Stress right? She's a princess of sorts, her family rules over a small area and is kind, though their powers are ice and the area is too far north to produce stable crops year round. She's raised with her siblings, and she loves her area with more of her heart then she can ever say. Visitors - friend and foe alike - say that the frozen lands are the kindest and most peaceful areas around.

However, it doesn't stay that way.

Watchers come and ransack her home, kidnapping her and her siblings before anything can be done to stop them. Stress' parents, although not nearly strong enough to fend off watchers, try their hardest to stop the group from taking their children. Nothing comes of their efforts, but the thought is kind and the price is high. Stress won't know what happens to her parents and people for years, but she knows deep down in her heart that there is nothing left of her home.

The watchers train the teens, or they attempt to. Stress was the only one who did not take her leave through unconventional manors. She survived not through perseverance but through stubbornness, and a fear of dying. Her siblings had one or the other, but not both. None of them would bow to the watchers, but Stress played a careful act of pretending that she did.

The watchers, after deciding that Stress had been trained enough, allowed her to share a room with two other people. Those people were two men who had suffered a similar fate as she did. They had survived where others had not, and now they were chosen by the watchers to room together.

The first few months were tough, Stress had no way of knowing if Xelqua or Poet shared her views and it was clear to her that they didnt fully trust her or each other as well. It was only when, in a moment of stupidity or forgetfulness, Stress sang a song that her sisters would sing that the group stared to warm up to each other. They spoke freely as they could, Poet knowing enough magic to block off the watchers control and Xelqua know enough magic to block any noise from their rooms. Stress told them her real name, and she discovered that Poet is a man named Joe Hills, who hails from a small island that doesn't have a proper name, though he calls the town 'Tennessee' and his house 'Nashville'. He was of noble decent and was a powerful wordsmith, so when the watchers came and ransacked his home they took him as well.

Xelqua, she discovered, was a man by the name of Grian. Grian was chaotic, a prankster and a thief who lived in a large city. His family was rich but not noble of character, and the avian took to stealing things from his home and reselling it to gift the money to any poor people he came across. He was taken as a teen as well, and taught by watchers in a similar way to Stress, with some people who were kidnapped from the streets with him. He struggles to call those people 'friends' after Taurtis and Sam, his closest confidants and best friends, betrayed his thoughts to the watchers, and fell for the watchers propaganda. Grian refuses to talk about what the watchers did to him, but Stress can tell from the scars on his back and his clipped wings that it was something that shouldn't be repeated.

The group holds fast to each other, trying desperately to both stay alive and stay themselves in the hellscape that is the watchers home. Stress plays her role well, as the only person who was raised in royal courts she knows how to bow to someone who does not deserve it. Joe and Grian both struggle, their morals overtaking their abilities to keep themselves out of harms way. It is only after the watchers realise that to hit them where is hurts, so to speak, would be to hurt someone they care for that they learn to act.

Stress doesn't lose hopes, though she knows that the world outside is different to how it was, she refuses to lose her hope. When Grian questions her about it, she tells him that its the only way to stay herself in a place like this. Joe only listens, nodding along but not saying anything, though when he is questioned on it he agrees with Stress. He had been with the watchers for less time than Stress and Grian had, having been taken as an adult, but he also lost his entire family to the watchers.

Stress finds herself considering the two men her brothers, her found family that is there for her, and she begins to worry about losing them. She doesn't want to, she finds it so unfair that she should lose another brother, another friend, to the watchers that killed her family, that she withdraws from them. Of course, they notice, and it doesn't do anything except to make them worried for her. Eventually, through either necessity or through accident, Stress tells them about it. The two men understand, telling her that they consider her a sister as well, and Grian jokes about finally having siblings. The group holds onto each other, that night, letting each other talk over how they feel.

News doesn't come to the group often, the watchers trickling news to them as though they are children that needn't hear about the negative things happening in the world. However, news of a rebellion reaches their ears through the whispers and mutterings that echo throughout the keep. They hold fast to the hope of a rebellion, to the idea of freedom. They don't speak of it often, nor do they think on these ideal, but at night they find themselves dreaming of freedom. Stress sings more, Grian offers to show the two around his home city, and Joe tells tales of the vineyard that he grew up in.

While tales of the rebellion spreads, the small group is forced through tests and experiments that give them more powers that they cannot fathom to use. Stress wakes one morning with wings and the ability to control plants. Joe wakes, a week laters, with wings and the ability to see snippets of the future. Grian wakes with the ability to control water and, to an extent, others minds. The group prays for freedom to come soon, to let them leave without the watchers finding them, or hurting their siblings in their absence.

That freedom comes sooner than expected for Joe, who disappears in the night, leaving his siblings behind without a word. It's too dangerous to take them where he was going, so he kisses their foreheads and disappears into the void-like mist surrounding the watcher's home.

The watchers never mention Joe again, not even blinking when he doesn't appear at the breakfast. They don't bring up 'poet' or hold Stress or Grian accountable for his sudden flight from their cell. Stress and Grian can't, don't, won't try to understand why the watchers dont ask them anything, as the only answer that the pair can come up with is that Joe is now one of the people they lost, part of a seemingly ever-growing number of dead.

Stress stops dreaming of freedom, letting herself harden under the pressure of the watchers. She will not become one of their weapons, nor will she become one of their diamonds, but she cannot let herself sleep while Grian could disappear. Grian stops asking her about tales of her home, and Stress stops singing. Tales of rebellions no longer fall into their ears.

The tests all but stop, and Stress finds herself falling into a dreamless sleep the second she makes it to her bed. She doesn't lose hope, but she doesn't gain any. There is seemingly nothing that can calm her until her head hits her pillow.

It's during one of these sleeps when Grian leaves, a note tucked under her pillow telling her that he'll be back, that he loves her, and that the rebellion is still around.

Stress cries when she reads the letter, holding it close to her before burning it. Once more, the watchers don't mention her brother, and Stress is alone again, dreaming of a freedom that she can't believe will happen for her, of a rebellion she refuses to believe will come for her. Stress can't fall into work, can't do anything as the tests stop happening and she is confined to the room that she was trapped in, food delivered to her by the watchers. Stress draws, grows plants and summons ice that she sculpts into her siblings, biological or otherwise. She lives like that, her life in limbo as she waits for the watchers to decide what to do with her. Whatever the answer is, she will walk towards it with her head high. She doesn't fear death anymore, though she doesn't want to die. She does, however, fear what will become of her if the watchers decide she isn't worth their resources.

One day, news of the rebellion reaches her ears. It's from one of the watchers who brings her food, the one that wears black headphones with blue and red checkers on them, not the cruel one with the rabbit ears. He tells her, an unsettling smile on his face, that "all of the watchers here are leaving to finally squash the rebellion. you'll be safe, once we're back we'll ba able to make you a full watcher as well. congratulations, you're the the only one of your class to succeed!". Stress cries at those words, and the watcher takes them as happy tears instead of the mournful tears that they actually are.

The watchers leave that night, the rabbit eared watcher providing her with three days food an instructions only to leave her rooms if the food runs out. She doesn't believe that the food will run out, but she thanks him anyways. She needs to make a plan to escape before that watchers come back.

The next day, the watcher's building is silent, save for the few rooms that Stress occupies. She sings for the first time in months, perhaps in years, in the empty castle. Any song is worth singing, as it fills the time and the unsettling silence. She sings songs from her home, tunes Grian taught her that the street performers would sing in his city, and ballads that Joe wrote for his home before he was abducted. Her plants flourish as she sings, and her sculptures almost appear to move.

The only thing thats stops her songs and revelry is an explosion, close by the wing of the castle in which she is imprisoned. Footsteps, loud, heavy and armoured, echo down the halls as people run through the castle. Stress falls silent, fear eating at her brain as she tries desperately to hide in a place that neither the watchers, nor any intruders, could find her. Joe had once shown her a small corner in which the stones were loose enough for her to wriggle her way into the wall, and Stress flees into the hiding place, praying that no one will look for her.

The footsteps stop in front of her door and voices echo indecipherably through the hall. Stress can't properly understand what they were saying, but she doesn't have to wait to find out as the door is thrown open, falling to the ground with a loud clang. Stress spies through the crack in the stone as people enter the room, their backs towards her.

There are five people in total, two women and three men. One of the women has blonde hair tied into a long plait down her back, brown pants and a green jacket on. A leather strap goes around her head and Stress assumes its goggles. The other woman is a zombie with green patchwork skin and flame like orange hair, wearing shorts and a blueish jumper than falls off her shoulders. One of the men wears armour thats green, the only thing that Stress can properly decipher from him is that his helmet glows from the front. A different man IS green, with a metal arm and leg and a lab coat over his chest. The final man wears a bright green jumper with a brown vest, and jeans on. The group talks amongst themselves, looking through the room for something thats Stress can't decipher. The man in the armour turns around, and Stress can properly see his eyes through the blue visor. They appear to be purple, marking him as a powerful void walker. Stress holds her breath, praying that he can't see her as the man brings his wrist up to his face.

"We can't find her, can you come here and look for her yourself?"

Stress feels tears in her eyes as the man speaks into his communicator. The two women sit down on the seat that Stress and her brothers would sit on, and Stress can see how the women look. The group, for people breaking into a watcher building, a watcher castle at that, appears remarkably calm, the two women joking around and laughing as footsteps echo through the halls. The green man, along with the the man in the green jumper, lean on the wall, talking to each other as though they had met on the streets and wished to catch up. Stress finds herself longing for that sort of interaction, though she knows that these people could be naught but dangerous to her even if they weren't hunting her.

The footsteps make their way into the building, two people in cloaks entering the room. The cloaks are drawn up, making them indecipherable to Stress, though she knows that they aren't watchers as one of the cloaks is a vibrant red, with the other one being a bright blue. The person in the blue cloak walks to the man in the green armour, as the one in the red finds their way to the two men leaning against the wall. The person in the blue cloak turns around, removing his cloak hood as he looks at Stress, and the woman in the wall chokes out a sob, startling the people in the room.

Joe is alive.

Joe helps Stress out of the wall and she throws herself into a hug with the man, wrapping her wings around the man. The group looks shocked at the pair, and Joe mumbles to her that he's refused hugs from them even after Grian found them. Grian joins the hug as well, the siblings finally reunited. Joe tells her about the rebellion, and how they are fighting to take down the watchers as they make their way to the ship that Xisuma, the man in the green armour, runs. Stress asks where she can join the rebellion. Xisuma laughs and tells her that she already has.

Stress, one day, asks the hermits if she could find out what happened to her home. Joe and Grian both exchange worried looks, though the hermits all agree to go to her the Frozen Lands to see her home, taking Grian and Joe's silences as agreement. Joe didn't tell the hermits that his visited Nashville before he joined them, though he spoke to Grian and Stress of the devastation that was left on his home, how the only thing left of the house his family lived in was the flooring, burnt and bloodied and faded with age. Grian has also confined in Stress and Joe that Evo, the city in which he lived in, wasn't the same when he returned, the people either close to kneeling over due to starvation or unnaturally healthy, glowing in a way that didn't seem normal nor natural. Stress doesn't care for their concern about her home, false hope screaming at her that her cousins or other family members would be there, ruling over the town and lands.

When the hermits arrive, Stress rushes a head of them, ignoring the concern and fear that falls from the groups mouths. But instead of running into the loving embrace of her families arms, Stress arrives to a wasteland covered in ice and ash. Stress bolts down the streets she played in as a child, sliding on ice as she makes her way to the manor that she grew up in.

Instead of the familiar structure that she expected, nothing stands except the door the main entrance. Her families crest, a simple snowflake, that was carved into the spruce wood doors is burnt into the crest of the watchers, a clear message to anyone who found their way to the manor.

Stress collapses at the door, wailing at not only the loss of her family but at the loss of her home.

The hermits find her their, her wailing subsiding into sobs as her new brothers help her to her feet, helping her to make her way to the ship that she had been living in. Nothing feels real, not for a long time for Stress, her hope waning as she realises what had happened to her family. Stress finds herself helping Joe in the medical bay of the ship, her healing magic far more potent than his was, and Stress finds herself enjoying the work. She makes fast friends out of Cleo, False and Iskall as the three of them visit her often, either with injuries or with anecdotes. For most of the hermits, what had happened to Stress' home was something they had only heard of in the stories of refugees, as only Etho, Wels, Grian, Joe and Xisuma truely understood what had happened to her home.

The hermits, the rebels, knew that they had to free more people, and Stress often accompanied Xisuma and Wels on their more diplomatic missions, her title of Princess aiding them as they gather allies. Wels also teaches her how to fight, and jokingly suggests that she should knight him as the knight for her kingdom, as his kingdom is ruled by a tyrant that wants nothing more than to watch her people suffer. Stress does knight him, giving him the status that he needs to get them respect of other knights as the champion of the Frozen Lands.

The next few years are spent in careful planning, Stress, Wels and Xisuma being the kindhearted faces of the rebellion as Cleo, False, Grian and Joe being the hard hitting fighters who invade watcher buildings and burn them down, as Iskall, Cub and Scar gather information about watchers through means that Stress doesn't know and doesn't care to find out.

One day, at a party that Stress, Xisuma and Wels were invited to, and that Grian, Joe and False had tagged along to the two watchers that fed Stress appear, not only looking for a fight but for victims to bring back to the watchers.

Stress didn't feel anything at the sight of the watchers, simply stating that they had been the ones to feed her, though Grian's eyes flashed purple as he laid eyes on them. Of course, the group fought the watchers, Stress helping the people to evacuate the building before she joined the fray.Grian fought harder than anyone else did, throwing himself into the fray when he shouldn't have. The rabbit watcher taunted him, and the one that wore the headphones laughed as Grian struggled to fight them, not letting anyone get close to them. The rabbit eared watcher threw a spear through Grian's wing, grounding the man. Grian doesn't saying anything as the rest of the hermits join the fight, Stress focussing on healing his wing.

"Why would you fight them alone, you dumbass." She asked him, tears in her eyes. "Thats Sam and Taurtis." The second the reply hit her ears, Stress stands, her wings flapping. She holds the spear in her hands as she flies up, summoning ice and vines to the room. Joe helps the hermits to a corner of the room as Stress traps the two traitors in vines and ice. "What do you want me to do with them, Grian?" Stress asks, and the man shrugs, a dark look in his eyes. "They're watchers, they've already sealed their fates."

Stress doesn't remember what happened next, though according to False and Wels it was 'the most badass' thing that they had ever seen. According to Xisuma, however, it was a safety hazard. Stress doesn't really care, though she's prefer that the next time she grow plants in peoples lungs and explodes their veins with ice she wouldn't wake up in the blood and ice of her victims.

The group becomes folk heroes in that kingdom, and they soon find themselves becoming better known in other lands as well as they defeat more and more watchers, before the only ones left are the ones that kidnapped Stress, Grian and Joe.

It took a while to find the last watchers. There was so few left of them that no one, not even Iskall, Scar and Cub could find information on the group, and while Stress, Joe and Grian were being heralded as heroes who defied the odds and survived the watchers, they couldn't rest. Stress would often find Grian planning intricate traps with Mumbo and Iskall, and she'd always have to make sure that Joe wasn't wordsmithing disaster onto their course. Of course, everyone would find Stress fussing over any injured people, to the point where it was obvious that she was too nervous for her own good. It was during one of these sessions with Cleo where the zombie worked out - or perhaps told the ex watcher - exactly what Stress what thinking.

"You hate them." Cleo smiles. "I want them locked up, where they can never hurt anyone ever again." Stress spits, trying to calm herself down. "You want them dead, don't you?" "I never said that!" Stress protests, though in her heart she knows it's true. "Don't worry, I think that they deserve it."

It took Stress a while to convince herself that she wasn't evil for wanting that. Or more so, it took False, Iskall, Grian, Cleo, Wels, Joe and Xisuma a while to convince Stress she wasn't evil for wishing death onto the watchers. But she was never fully convinced, and just when the hermits believed that she had finally believed them, Stress vanished into the night just as Joe and Grian had left her, a note being the only thing she left behind.

She knows where the watchers are, she knows exactly where she needs to go to finish this, and she knows that she cannot loose anymore people to the watchers, to that building, the one that the watchers had first held her and her siblings in. The one hidden in the frozen wastes beyond her home town. It's a long fight, one that she battles alone until she's near dead, captured by watchers once more. When all seems lost, her brothers appear, tearing down the doors and saving her before the watcher can deliver the final blow. Grian tore into the watchers as Joe heals her, and Stress spies the hermits from the corner of her eyes. The hermits battle as Stress struggles to breath, the curse that was placed on her slowly eating away at her energy. Tears prick at her eyes, too tired to even fall out of her eyes. She watches, almost as though she isn't in her body, as False and Cleo deliver the final blow, killing the watcher with a well placed spear to the throat. Energy floods back into Stress as she bolts up, the curse dying with the watcher that placed it.

There are celebrations throughout the world as the hermits make their way across, telling everyone of the good news. Stress, Grian and Joe are shown some of the survivors of their homes, and Stress makes her first speech as queen declaring that the island 'Tennessee' and the city 'Evo' are now states of the Frozen Lands. Soon, the lands that the other hermits were from join the Frozen lands, and Stress makes more announcements welcoming places into her ever growing country. The world changes as people make their way to the Frozen Lands, hoping for the home that is boasted about.

Stress' last declaration as queen of the frozen lands is stunning, a hope filled promise of home.

"I do not claim to know that the future holds, nor do I promise that it will be good, but today I speak to you all, not as a queen, but as a friend. The Frozen Lands is no more. Today, we join the Hermit States. You will chose your leader, not born of blood but of your decisions."

It was not a surprise to anyone but Stress when she was voted in as Empress, with Scar as her second in command. Joe finds home in books of poetry and song, and Grian finds life in regrowing his home into a better place.

Stress finds a family in the hermits, and the hermits find hope in Stress

#stressmonster101 #grian #joehills #joe hills #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #story ideas

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