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ghost-with-a-teacup · 2 years ago

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𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: It's become a ritual at this point for Simon to ask you to help with his eyepaint before a mission, but that might just be an excuse for him to hold you close before he must become 'Ghost' once more. OR Simon just needs some extra tender loving, and we're here to give that to him :)) Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader (No pronouns used!) Word Count: 1.0K words Warnings: None! Unless you're allergic to fluff I suppose :p Author's Note: I CANNOT get enough of this man, and this prompt came to me in a dream haha. It's just very very soft Simon, hope you enjoy!!

The sun sat low in the sky, painting the world in a soft golden light just outside the windows of your room. It was a shame you couldn’t admire it in its entirety, instead having to busy yourself with packing your gear for the upcoming mission with 141 in the next 3 hours.

Gloves, ammo, med kit… you mentally checked off in your head despite knowing that with how long you’ve been doing this, packing your kit was like stating the alphabet.

Zipping up the final pocket, the final run-through was interrupted by three short knocks on your door.

Making your way over, you open the door and are met with the hulking figure of Ghost himself, his regular black balaclava and intimidating skull mask replaced with a simpler skull one.

“Simon! Didn’t know you’d be coming by so soon,” you say with a smile, gesturing for him to come in. He does so without hesitation, only humming lowly in response.

He takes note of your outfit, still not yet in tactical gear. Fuzzy yellow socks paired with shorts and one of his sweaters. While you were by no means the tiniest person on the planet, his clothes never managed to make you look like anything but.

‘Cute’ he thought to himself. There was a reason your callsign was ‘Sol’ after all, with you being the bright light of the task force, a glow that rivalled the sun itself. It also meant you burn just as strongly, your proficiency on the battlefield was very proof of that.

He sits down on your bed as if it were his own, which, at this point it practically was. If you weren’t in his room then he was in yours.

You and Simon had been dating for years now, going on 4 years next month. You had both met even before the task force was created, when you were nothing more than a private and he was a Sergeant climbing through the ranks. It was a slow but steady path to get to where you both were now, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just look at the man, anyone would do the same.

“Pack all your things for the mission yet?” you ask, stepping into the space between his legs. He only grasped your hips and pulled you in closer.

“Yeah, though I am missing one thing, figured you could help me with it,” he says before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pot of black paint paired with a brush.

You only grin in response, taking them into your own hands.

“Always,” you reply.

It was practically a ritual now, every time you had a mission Simon would get you to do his eyepaint. It was a simple little task, but no less intimate. It served as a grounding before you headed into the heat of battle, allowed for a moment to simply be close, to exist in each others space before you both had to become ‘Ghost’ and ‘Sol’.

You situated yourself down on his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist, the warmth of his large hands seeping through your clothes.

Placing the paint down in your lap for a moment, you return your focus back to him.

“This okay?” you ask softly as your fingers brushed over the edge of his balaclava. Simon only nods slightly. While you couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t allow you to take it off, you still asked every time without fail. It was the least you could do, after all he’s been through.

Tugging off the mask you’re met with his beautiful face. As though crafted by the hands of the Gods himself he glowed in the light of the sun, stealing your breath away.

No matter how many times you’ve seen his face over the years, your reaction never changes.

Brushing your fingers over his face lightly, you pull him close for a tender kiss. No heat or passion, simply love, as though to say “I’m here, as are you. Us, together.” Pulling away, you smile as you look into his honeyed eyes, the love you held for him mirrored in his own.

“Let’s get to it, yeah?” you say.

“Let’s,” Simon murmurs quietly.

Opening up the pot of paint you get to work. No words are said between the two of you, and there didn’t need to be. Instead, you both bask in the comfortable silence and the presence of each other.

With gentle strokes, you apply the black paint, the first of many steps it takes to turn back into ‘Ghost’ when all he had to be was ‘Simon’ with you here on base. But that was the way your worlds worked, it was living two different lives. And while both were your true selves, they remained separate, neither persona belonging in the other’s world.

Methodically you tilt his head back and forth for even application across his eyes while he only relished in your soft touch, eyes closed in domestic bliss.

After a few minutes you were done, and you tapped his cheek with a finger playfully.

“Alright, all done big guy,” you say, but Simon doesn’t move to get up. He only opens his eyes momentarily before pulling you into a hug.

Pulling you as close as you could possibly get, his fingers tangled gently through your hair as he buried his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

“Simon! You’ll smudge the face paint,” you said with a laugh, “and get it all over my neck. You have any idea how hard it is to get off?” you admonished teasingly, but Simon only shushed you softly.

“Just…let me do this for a moment, love,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. While Simon was sometimes a man of few words, when he spoke he was heard.

“Okay,” you respond, wrapping your arms around him as best you could before also tangling your fingers through his soft blond hair.

You both just sat there holding each other for a little while as the sun continued to set behind you. As the day transitioned into night, and before you both had to turn back into ‘Ghost’ and ‘Sol’ once more.

Tags: @bloodonmyhands-1221

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lady-phasma · 8 months ago

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You can't ignore it

Part 2 of 2 (cross posted from AO3) - part 1

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; from my AO3 - "Bucky's metal arm kink"; mostly p n v sex, fluff, canon typical discussion of Bucky's past and violence, implied/referenced past noncon, discussion of ptsd.

Summary a/n: (copied straight from my AO3 because I am chaotic) I changed to 3rd person pov for this one because I needed more Bucky. Also, my OC has a name now! Hang in there, this is a long one. What is wrong with me? No beta. 4.5k words

I'm totally normal about his arm

His body twitched and jerked. He mumbled Russian words. His hands clenched into fists. Victoria sat up and reached for him, thought better of it, and dropped her hand to her thigh. She never knew how to wake him from a nightmare. Or if she should.

“Bucky,” she whispered. More Russian in response. Louder, “James.”

No reply. Dammit. He was in deep. This was a bad one. They had plenty of nights without these, plenty of restful, peaceful nights. There were some not-great dreams that weren’t as bad as nightmares. Then there were the nightmares. More like sleeping flashbacks. His body remembered and almost acted out the memory.

Bucky’s arm caught some ambient light and looked slick like oil. She was never afraid of him, that he would hurt her, but that arm… that arm was made from the most indestructible substance on the planet. It was intimidating. She wanted to comfort him, soothe him, stroke his forehead and tell him he was safe. That could so easily backfire. They had even discussed how dangerous it could be if she tried. They hadn’t come up with a plan, not exactly. In fact, he didn’t like staying over at night because he didn’t want to hurt her. Sometimes he fell asleep holding her but if he didn’t, if she fell asleep first, Victoria would wake up to find him sleeping on the floor.

She could see the shadows of pain on his face, the grimace and strain from some terrible thing she would never know or understand. She heard him groan. It was unbearable. That sound hurt. She slid closer to him on the bed, kept her eyes on his arm, and moved to lay behind him. As she cautiously placed her hand on his temple, caressed his brow, she whispered: “Otlichnaya, soldát, otlichnaya.” Well done, soldier, well done.

Bucky froze. He let out a breath and his body relaxed. Vic kissed the back of his neck. She didn’t like using those words. But he had told her that it was safe, safe to stop the nightmares that way. She had wanted the words to be a last resort but he had explained that the part of him that was so deeply the Winter Soldier would respond only to them.

“James?” she asked as she removed her hand, careful not to touch him anywhere else. “James, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” But her words weren’t heard. He was calm at least. She slowly moved to get out of bed. She felt a hand on hers as she sat up and let out a small gasp. The vibranium never felt like one expected it to feel.

“Vic,” he muttered. “Don’t go.”

She turned. He looked away, avoiding eye contact. His bare chest glistened with sweat. He released her hand. She sat curled up on the bed behind him, anxiously adjusting the bedsheets tangled around them. She was cold and her nipples were hard and obvious in her tank top. She crossed her arms to cover her chest. He gradually rolled onto his back and slid up the bed to prop himself against the headboard. Wearing only his boxer-briefs he looked very… vulnerable. Not powerful like he often did, muscles rippling and arm gleaming, but young and frightened.

In that moment she saw him as he might have been when HYDRA first captured him. Before the years of missions and horrors had written their histories on him, in pain and scars. She wanted badly to comfort him. She had no idea how. She moved next to him, placed her hand on his arm. He looked up at her. That look broke her heart. Without thinking she leaned back on the head of the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. She coaxed him into her arms. His vibranium arm curled against her stomach as he lay on his side. She ran one hand over his hair, down his shoulder, and rested against his back. She laced the fingers of her other hand into his metal ones and kissed the top of his head.

------

The mechanisms whirred and clicked as he removed his arm. It was more than a little disconcerting. Even in motion and moving as a part of him it was odd, now it was lifeless. Nothing like it on earth. This wasn’t a prosthesis. His arm was a weapon but, also, not. Lying there it was passive and non-threatening. But knowing him, knowing his past, it wasn’t benign. It held immense potential under its shiny surface.

He rubbed his chest where the shoulder was grafted on. It must hurt sometimes.

“What’s up?” Vic asked, standing in the door to the bedroom.

“Nothing really,” he replied. “Feeling kinda old today maybe. Tired.” He sighed and looked up from the incongruous arm on the bed. His eyes swept over her and up to her face. “After nightmares like last night it feels…. heavy.”

“Do you go without it often?”

“No,” he said, hesitantly. “I enjoy the freedom of having both arms but, occasionally.” He randomly fingered his dog tags then dropped them to his chest and ran his hand through his hair.

“Come over here, Vic?” he gestured toward her. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. The edge that put his legs between her and his disembodied arm.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay,” he looked directly into her eyes. “In fact, maybe we make a standard procedure. If I’m going to be sleeping over here often. I don’t like that anyone has to see me like that but my therapist says I have to ‘nurture relationships’.” He rolled his eyes then winked at her. He slid his right hand into hers.

“Maybe we just figure out what’s most comfortable with you, safest.”

“Right,” she said. “I don’t want to make things worse but it worked. Whatever you were dreaming, remembering, those words stopped it. I’m not scared of you, you know. I just care about you.” She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.

“Look, I’m going to make some coffee. Come join me? We can talk more when I have caffeine, kay?” He nodded as she stood up.

Bucky looked at it, immobile on the bed. So odd and so yet completely natural for him. He got off the bed and went to the bathroom. Almost always grateful that he was right handed; it made tasks like this much easier. When he returned to the bedroom he looked at yesterday’s clothes piled in the floor and decided he wasn’t ready for that. Somehow, putting on clothes meant putting on the arm. He let out a shaky breath. Coffee, he thought, yeah, okay something normal.

Victoria set the coffee up to brew and grabbed a few mugs. She set them on the bar with half and half and some sugar substitutes. She wasn’t sure how he liked his coffee. She heard footsteps behind her and then felt his arm around her waist. He kissed her shoulders and back, then the top of her head.

“That smells nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

She turned to face him. She stood on the balls of her feet just a bit and kissed him. He was only just tall enough that she had to reach if she didn’t have shoes on. Vic took a small step back and turned to pour the coffee. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs stretched tight over his thighs and, well, not just his thighs. She grinned at the coffee pot. Maybe he was a gentleman, old fashioned still, but he hadn’t rubbed up against her like most men who spent the night. Not that there had been any since she met James.

She handed him a mug and deliberately walked too close to him on her way through the kitchen. She held her coffee in both hands using the steam and mug to hide her smile as she gently brushed her hip against his erection. He inhaled audibly.

She slipped onto the bar stool and gestured for him to come sit next to her. After adding her cream and sweetener she noticed he was drinking his black. Military thing? she wondered. He was sitting on her left and after placing his mug on the bar, swiveled just a bit to put his hand on her thigh. Her panties were barely any fabric at all and her tank was basically see-through, she felt suddenly naked. Vic took a sip of her coffee to try to hide her vulnerability. She didn’t meet his eyes and stared fixedly at his dog tags. She was trying to avoid his stare and not get caught glancing at his crotch. Jesus, she thought. Then: oh, right, Super Soldier.

She felt his fingertips touch her chin. He coaxed her to look at him and he leaned in to kiss her as she lifted her head.

“Victoria, does it make you uncomfortable if I don’t wear it?” he asked, continuing their earlier conversation.

“Not really, no,” she paused. “I think I could get used to it but it’s not something I’m accustomed to. Plus, well it’s not who you are but it’s so much a part of what you look like. Unless you’re in long sleeves.”

“I went for years without one at all. In Wakanda.”

“Right,” she said. “Yeah, I knew that. And you told me you had long hair too.” She ran her fingers over his ear at his hairline. He took a sip of his coffee and his eyes half closed, soothed.

He placed his mug on the counter. His scowl was back on his brow when he turned to face her. He moved his hand back to her thigh.

“Come with me,” he said and stood up.

She followed him. They headed back to the bedroom. His ass was high and tight in his underwear. She could follow that anywhere. He continued through the bedroom into the attached bathroom. She watched him make himself at home. He moved with a silent grace and never fumbled with using just one hand. He got towels out of the cabinet, started the shower, and turned to her. By now his erection straining against the fabric looked almost painful. She watched, breathing heavily, as he deftly slid his underwear off his hips and stepped out of them. He stepped toward her and lifted her flimsy tank. She raised her arms and let him undress her. He dropped the shirt on the floor. Before taking off her panties he grazed the back of his hand over her hard nipples and down her belly.

Victoria had no idea why she wasn’t self conscious with him. She let him touch her stomach without flinching or cringing. She let herself enjoy the feeling of his hand sliding into her panties, slowly pulling them off her. She closed the distance between them when she tossed them aside with her foot. His eyes moved up her legs and body to her breasts. He leaned in and kissed one, sucked a nipple between his lips, licked it. She stifled a moan.

Bucky slid his hand around her and pressed their bodies together. His kiss was hard, impatient. She kissed him back and instinctively reached up to grab his biceps. The empty air on his left startled her and she opened her eyes. He kissed her forehead, maybe knowing what she had just thought, and led her by the hand into the shower.

Without words he directed her movement. She let herself be guided by him. Once her hair was wet and she reached for the soap he swapped places with her and stood under the water. She watched him closely as he closed his eyes and leaned back under the shower. The water ran down his face, pooling and spilling over as he moved. His dog tags caused rivulets to form on his chest and she let her eyes follow these to his stomach and that lovely spot, that “V”, where his perfect torso met his hips.

She wasn’t really using the soap as much as she was just holding it. His erection was taunting her. He was acting like it didn’t exist. She stared a moment too long and felt eyes on her. She blushed.

“Yes?” Bucky grinned.

“Uh, yeah, huh?” she mumbled.

“Funny enough, that’s not what I wanted to show you. Here,” he reached out for her hand holding the soap. She stepped closer to him, almost under the water with him. He nodded at the soap, so she lathered a bit in her hands. Then he took the soap and set it on the ledge. He guided her hand. She swallowed, gulped almost. Her mouth had gone dry with anticipation, a bit of fear, and a good deal of anxiety. He gently laid her palm on his ribs, on his left side, and slid both of their hands up to the seam between flesh and metal. Her eyes darted from their hands to his face and back. He was watching her face. But he kept moving their hands, using her hand the way he would his own, washing the vibranium shoulder prosthesis. His muscles rippled and stretched as he moved their hands over and behind him. She had to step closer and onto the balls of her feet to reach. He let go of her hand to steady her, placing his hand on her waist. She almost didn’t notice, like she almost didn’t notice that his incredibly hard dick was now pressed against her stomach.

She was entranced by this intimacy. Taken aback that he was so vulnerable with her but simultaneously beyond what the word “flattered” could convey. She slid her hand back to his ribs, technically his armpit, and looked up at him. He was smiling. That flat, kind, Bucky smile. No one she ever knew smiled like that but she also didn’t know many 106 year old men with a metal arm.

“Vic, I want you to be comfortable, okay?”he said. “I have had decades to get use to this and you haven’t. I don’t want it to be a ‘thing’ as they say now.”

She blushed again and leaned into him. She pressed him back into the running water and kissed him. While they were kissing, tongues slipping against each other, she used her hand to rinse the soap from his shoulder. He smiled and she felt his teeth against her lips momentarily. He laughed a little. She pulled back, unsure of herself, but he didn’t let her go far. Bucky leaned down and kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. And he didn’t stop.

His fingers dug into her hip, using her for balance, as he knelt. Kissing her body through the entire movement. He kissed the hollow of her hips. Gently kissed the bare skin above her pussy.

“Back in my day, grooming wasn’t so…” he trailed off. “Complete?” She blushed harder than she thought she ever had in her life when he looked up at her. Eye contact with Bucky while his lips were on her shaved skin made her feel a wave of faint panic. All of the blood seemed to have run out of her head and straight to his mouth. She closed her eyes, put a hand on the shower wall, and felt his laugh vibrate through her.

Then his tongue. His tongue dipped further down and she was immensely grateful that he had a firm grip on her. She had barely noticed that she had begun to part her legs for him and that she was leaning precariously into his hand. Trust. So much trust that she wouldn’t collapse and die in the shower. No, trust that he wouldn’t let her fall. But these thoughts, if they were even concrete enough to be called that, were forced out of her mind when his tongue went inside her. She groaned. He pulled back and licked the length of her, back to her clit, and toyed with it. Sucked it in gently between his lips then passed his teeth lightly over it. Her hand found the back of his head and clutched at his short hair. He laughed a bit and the vibration was intense. Her pressure on his head increased slightly. He took this as his queue that playtime was over.

Bucky sucked and licked her clit but took his time. Slowly, firmly, tasting her, exploring. He pushed his tongue as far into her as he could. He pulled out and licked everywhere, anywhere. Then, guiding her with his hand so he could find a better angle, he placed the tip of his tongue in the wetness just before her ass. The sensation sent an impulse through her and she pressed on the back of his head. He quickly, gently, licked her ass then in one movement licked back to her clit.

“Oh fuck James!” she yelled. “Just. God. Damn.” She panted. He sucked harder on her clit, barely breathing, rolling his tongue over it. He squeezed her hip tight so she would know he had her. He pressed his face hard against her and sucked and traced circles on her clit with his tongue. He felt her orgasm start as a faint shake in her hips.

She leaned against the shower wall, overwhelmed by the sensations: the water from the shower, Bucky’s mouth, the strain of holding herself up, his goddamn tongue. Then she started to shake. She came in waves. She almost screamed his name but bit it back, cursed, then let herself go. She yelled a string of expletives. The last rush of her orgasm passed through her and she let go of his head. He inhaled deeply. She looked down at him and laughed.

The towel was fluffy and soft. Through her drowsiness she followed Bucky to the bed. He sat, hair dripping water onto his back and shoulders. His towel was around his waist but didn’t do much to hide his… anticipation. She giggled to herself. She thought about how uncomfortable he must be by now. But at almost the exact moment the thought entered her head it was pushed out by what she was seeing. Yup, Bucky had picked up his vibranium arm and laid it on the bed next to where he sat, purposefully, where she couldn’t avoid it.

She wasn’t afraid or turned off, had no negative feelings about it. What was bothering her, the roadblock she kept running into, was whether or not it was appropriate. She bit her bottom lip and looked at him as she sat down.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“Um…” she swallowed hard. “I think I don’t want you to judge me and I don’t want to offend you. No, that’s not the word, I know it isn’t but I don’t know. I…” She let the sentence end before it had begun.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s okay. Do you honestly think I would lie and tell you it was okay if it wasn’t?” That Bucky smile again.

She looked from his beautiful face to the beautiful black metal and back again. He nodded. It was laying palm-down on the bed, slightly bent at the elbow. She gingerly traced a finger over the back of his hand, up the forearm, following the gold seams around the vibranium plates. From the corner of her eye she saw Bucky move his hips, adjust a little. She pressed her palm onto the warm metal of his bicep, caressed the muscle and slid her hand back down to his wrist. She flattened her hand on the back of his, right on top of left, and because that looked odd somehow because that was the only odd part of this she slid her hand underneath, palm to palm. It was somehow light and heavy at the same time. She could have lifted it but the weight of his and on hers felt natural.

When Bucky moved she jumped the tiniest bit but didn’t pull her hand back. He reached under her arm and picked up the prothesis, not separating their hands completely. The clicking sounds were jarring but the actual process was fascinating. Complicated parts opened, moved, adjusted and then accepted the arm seamlessly. Nearly instantly she felt him gently squeeze her hand and she jumped. Se let out a nervous giggle then stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. His muscles flexed and moved like flesh.

Vic leaned over to kiss him and he met her halfway. She placed her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed. She let her towel drop as she straddled him. She loved the feeling of his erection between them. His hips moved to accomidate her. She let out a sigh. Moving slowly she put their clasped hands above his head, grabbed his other wrist and pinned him to the bed. His chest heaved and she felt his heartbeat race. Bucky let her hold both his hands above his head while she kissed his vibranium arm. Wrist, forearm, bicep, shoulder, even nuzzling under his arm. She breathed hot against his chest before licking his nipple.

He moaned and pushed his hips up. She bit him playfully and smilled when she felt him twitch between her legs. She let go of his hands so she could slide down and continue kissing and teasing. Moving with purpose to her goal. She ran her fingertips gently over the tip of his dick and felt his precum slick beneath them. She looked at him as she licked it off her fingers. His eyes closed and he groaned.

“Damn,” he breathed.

She adjusted to get a better, easier position and wrapped a hand around his dick. He was so hard and sensitive. She kissed the tip and lapped up the new drops of precum. She squeezed a bit tighter as she slid his foreskin down. The noises he was making and the slow movement of his hips encouraged her. She licked the length of his dick, wetting her palm with her tongue. Then she slid him into her mouth. Her lips were tight around him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and tried not to push into her. She felt the head of his dick against the back of her throat and stopped just before that annoying spot, swallowed, felt him respond, and picked up the pace. She ran her free hand up his inner thigh, making him shiver and grip her hair tighter. She lightly scooped his balls into her hand and squeezed and released as she sucked and licked. It took all of her focus to coordinate her movements but it was worth it. He squirmed and moaned. His other hand went to the back of her head as well. She ran her finger along the smooth skin behind his balls and he broke. She stopped sucking and let her jaw relax as his hands held her head. He fucked her mouth. Muttering her name, obscenities, and then suddenly stopping. She looked up at him as he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I can’t, I don’t want to, well,” he stammered as she slid her lips off him one last time. “I want to, you know.”

“You are so eloquent,” she laughed, still massaging his balls. “They have a lot of words for ‘cumming while you fuck me’ in the 1940s, huh?”

He half-grunted a laugh and let his head fall heavy onto the mattress.

“Okay then,” she said. “Fuck me until you cum.”

She pressed her body into his as she moved up to kiss him. When their lips met he kissed her back with ferocity. With his inhanced strength he flipped her onto her back and spread her legs with his thighs. Her head spun. She wrapped her legs around his hips. He kissed her neck, her chest, her nipples. She pushed her hips against him. Her wetness on him made him kiss and lick more fervently. Her hands went to his biceps like always. She arched her back when she gripped the slick metal.

“Oh god, Bucky,” she moaned through gritted teeth. “Fuck me please.”

He reached a hand between them and guided himself into her. She was so tight and hot and wet. He shut his eyes and dropped his head next to hers, breathing heavily into her ear as he slid all the way in. Her muscles tightened around his almost too thick dick as he moved, slowly at first. His hips made slow, grinding circles. He propped himself up on his elbows, grabbing onto her neck and shoulders for leverage. He pulled her hard onto him, going even deeper.

Victoria gasped but met his force with her own. She pushed against him with her hips and grabbed his ass with both hands. This was all the encouragement he needed. His thrusts became longer but quicker. Nearly pulling out of her each time. His hand reflexively tightened and released on the back of her neck each time. She knew they couldn’t keep this up long. She was going to cum soon and thought that would probably send him over the edge with her. She seized this moment of clarity.

“James,” she whispered. She moved her hand from his ass and lightly touched his left shoulder. She trailed her fingers down his tricep. He didn’t pause, didn’t miss a beat. He continued sliding in and out of her wet heat but lifted his head to look at her. She increased the pressure of her fingertips on his arm and smiled softly at him.

He moved his weight to his right arm. He looked straight into her eyes while he slid his vibranium fingers around her fragile throat. She moaned and pushed down on his thrust into her. He started to squeeze. She exhaled and closed her eyes. He pressed his fingers harder into her flesh watching her face. He felt her contract around him, he squeezed harder. She let out a small gasp and her eyes opened. Her orgasm rocked through her and she arched and pushed against him. He tightened his hold on her. Then he felt the heat pour out of him. He growled and buried his face in her hair. His cum filled up the space between them, hot and sticky. With his last spasm he released her neck.

“Goddamn, Vic” he sighed. He pushed into her, filling her up one last time. She panted and clutched at him. She welcomed his weight as he almost collapsed onto her. Neither wanted to move but he slowly withdrew and rolled onto his side. She felt his cum drip out after him. She stretched and sighed and smiled at him. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. While she had his full attention she slipped her hand between her thighs and felt his cum. His eyes widened just a little. Then she brought her fingers to her mouth, his eyes following her hand. She licked them clean. He smiled that Bucky smile. He wrapped both of his arms around her, pulling her closing and kissing her. She kissed him back and crushed herself against him.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier #winter soldier smut #marvel fanfiction #tw noncon mention #tw ptsd

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artist-issues · 5 months ago

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*shrieks into the void*

“Let me free you from having to agree that Dune is a good movie series!”

There’s no emotional depth. The three things you’re supposed to care about, with the characters, in this movie are a) Paul’s family/household, their name and their wellbeing. b) The Fremen, their cause and their wellbeing. c) Chani, Paul’s relationship with her and her wellbeing. But the movies do not display any genuine moments of these characters being relatable or human or empathetic in a way that we can all empathize with. Paul’s interactions with his father before his death are too formal and take themselves too seriously. There’s little to no humor or relaxed moments between them that the casual viewer could relate to before big, dramatic moments ramp up the tension. When everything is solemn and Shakespeare, nothing is impactful or hits you in a real way. It all quickly becomes emotional white-noise, whether the dad is screaming about a assassination attempt on his son or his death is revealed to that son—who cares? Paul and Chani? They have no build-up to their relationship. There’s no reason they should like each other beyond animal attraction. And no audience member can relate to the experience of having supernatural visions about a girl, then meeting her and gaining her trust through pitched combat and ritual training. So nobody cares when he betrays her, no matter how much dramatic music you play. And Paul’s mother’s motives are either unclear or wholly unrelatable, so you don’t care what she’s after or how it will affect everyone else.

The writing lacks pacing. There are barely any jokes or moments of regular, normal conversation. Every single conversation is weighed down by solemn “fantasy culture” references, every single line is burdened by dramatic mic-drop one-liners. Paul and his mother never talk about what they miss about their old planet together, in a normal fashion. That would be the most natural thing in the world, as they travel through the desert.

The villains are shock-jock puppets. You might as well have a clip show of people getting run over by cars or falling off of bridges playing, instead of every scene with Fayd Rautha or any Harkonen, for all that the villains add to the story. They’re just there to be loud, or erotic, or gory—but don’t worry, the movie will play dramatic, chanting music behind everything they do so that you feel a sense of “epic dread” when they’re actually doing nothing intimidating or clever, or scary. They’re just yelling and smashing people. If they twirled their mustaches and “mua-ha-ha-ha’d” they’d at least be a little campy and fun to watch—but they’d be exactly the same amount of ‘effective or interesting in the story.’

It’s all sugar, no nutrients. The sugar just happens to be pretty music, good sound and visual effects, and nice-looking actors & actresses. The message is “power is derived from the successful manipulation of those with faith.” That’s it. That’s awful. That’s an awful message. What am I supposed to do with that information? What am I supposed to carry out of that theater? I’m supposed to start abandoning submission and faith in any higher power or authority, and use those ideas for selfish ambition and control, if I were to listen to Dune.

And don’t tell me it’s profound to take your main character and make him the villain. Boo hoo hoo. That’s not profound, I don’t care if it is Timothee Chalamet. Nobody cared about who he was before he betrayed his girlfriend and seized manipulative power for himself. When Anakin Skywalker falls to the dark side and kills his wife and turns on all the people who looked to him for help? You care. Know why? Because you saw who he was and how he struggled to live up to that, before the fall ever happened. He was a human character with relatable flaws like pride and human moments, like teasing his girlfriend or making his best buddies nervous, with hobbies, like tinkering. With a competitive personality. With a deep angst over loss. Paul Atreides? Lazy. Lazy in comparison. We’re just told his dad died and told he’s sad about that, but there’s no real human attention given to that. Just big dramatic, angsty declarations and acting-explosions. We’re told he loves Chani, and expected to believe it, but given no evidence except a suggestive post-sex scene with zero romantic tension or buildup, or even bonding. All Paul Atreides is, is a character who has a laundry list of epic hard-to-do chores, and he gets them done, while dramatic music plays, as if there was some doubt he was going to be able to do his chores and you’re supposed to see his completion of the list as a moment of victory. Guess what? I don’t care about his chore list, no matter how “cultural” they are. So I don’t care about his rise or fall, or anything he’s doing, because he’s not a relatable human character. He’s just a caricature. And that would be fine. If there were any relatable human side characters to look at him through the eyes of. But there aren’t. Because this whole story is “shock and awe, look at how important we are, hear that rumbling bass in the soundtrack, see this character brooding into the horizon for the seven-thousandth shot?” What am I supposed to take away from this? All sugar. No nutrients.

#you don’t have to #It’s not good #why do people think it’s good?#is it the sound design or Timothee Chalamet’s jawline?#dune #dune 2 #dune hate #dune love #dune franchise #dune Frank Herbert #messiah complex #paul atreides #chani

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panthera-tigristigris · 4 months ago

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Um. Okay? How do I factor into this

Aaaatsushiiiii

*He's hanging upside down from the ceiling*

Can I borrow some skin samples.

~ @respiratory-kristem

some what now

#Bx tndndkd???#Thats really really sweet but i can promise you i am the least intimidating person on the planet #I ate an entire candle once when i was eight and im convinced it fucked shit up in my brain and also i look like living carebear gijinka

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robotnik-mun · 7 months ago

Text

And since I'm in a real Planet of the Apes mood, I'm gonna share another PotA related thing- a theory for why the Gorillas in the classical series were all so aggro, given how real world gorillas actually are.

Oh, don't get me wrong- the REAL reason is because at the time the original films were made, the in-depth studies of the Great Apes conducted by Jane Goodall, Diane Fossey and Birutė Galdikas were a long ways away, and as such Gorillas were still thought of as being dangerous, savage animals based on their intimidating appearance. As such, they got relegated to the role of Soldier within the fictional society of the apes. In real life, Gorillas are actually quite peaceful (though not harmless), and actual instances of violence are quite rare. But imagine then, knowing what we know now, how it is that the gorillas of PotA wind up as soldiers and generally belligerent, in contrast to their ancestors?

Well, I got an idea for how, in-universe, that might have come to be... and it ties into them being relegated to a role they lack a natural temperament for.

To become a soldier, one needs to be conditioned to accept the idea of having to kill another person, or at the very least, the idea of using violence on other people. Training generally involves getting recruits used to this reality. Gorillas in the wild though don't have the same kind of killer instinct humans (or chimpanzees) do... oh they'll protect themselves, and they're fierce when roused, but among themselves Gorillas prefer diplomacy to violence, and even against potential threats they prefer to bluff before running out of options.

So what am I getting at? Imagine what lengths it takes to make Gorillas into soldiers/police/enforcers. Imagine what kind of toll it must take on them, to be conditioned towards swift violence when their instincts call for the opposite. I propose then that the jerkish behavior of the gorillas is a result of generations of them eventually having to unlearn their natural instincts in order to fit the role that their society has given them... and one natural consequence of this is that it leaves a very ugly mark on their psychology, and this thing has been going on for generations now.

Granted, that doesn't quite square with what we saw in Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, but eh, I kind of like the idea that the OG PotA Gorillas are naturally as laid back as their wild counterparts... and that in being forced to conform to this role they selected for, it forces them to become something a lot meaner than they'd normally be.

At this point though I'm just rambling. What can I say? I love gorillas, and I even love the old stereotypes of 'vicious gorillas', and love to imagine the why of it all.

#Planet of the Apes #PotA

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mirzamsaiph · 10 months ago

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IT’S ME, I’M ALIVE, UR GIRL IS BACK FR FR.

Okay, calming down now. Hi, how are you doing? I hope you’ve been good. I AM SO SORRY I haven’t commented on your new chapter releases, I’ve been having a rough time, year 12 is hard man, and I still have like two more terms of school after this one, and then university. I promise you I have read every chapter you’ve dropped, even if I haven’t commented. I’ve been lamenting for days on whether or not to send you an ask bcs like, ur my fav and ya know, it’s only fair I do bcs I follow you anyway lol but I also have no idea what to say, ur making me shy, damn. I’ve just been lurking in your Tumblr feed, liking all ur posts like a gremlin bcs sending an ask is too scary, (forgive me, for I am a coward). How long has it been since I last commented, I don’t even know 🙁.

I’m writing this as a draft in Google Docs in the middle of my maths double, who writes a draft for an ask? Me, I write drafts for asks apparently, yikes man. The maths part doesn't matter, I do not care for it.

I still love every single one of your chapters, ESPECIALLY THE READING THE BOOK ONES!! LIKE HELLO?!?!? POSEIDON FOR BEST FATHER!?!?! Sobbing, screaming, crying after reading that, I love the sea fam. Percy is so bbg too, like hold him in my hands and give him lil forehead kisses kinda bbg, so precious. AND just the campers, they're so cute, I love when Camp Half-Blood actually comes across as a family, or like an actual camp, the singing around the camp-fire is so wholesome, and Will being Percy's hype-man, like c'mon man, they're just best buddies, I love that for them.

It is deeply important to me that you understand just how much I love your fics, and just like ur content in general. When I get bored I always check my emails for updates or I go on ur Tumblr and just scroll, like I love u pookie, fr.

I’m just gonna send this as is, I’m psyching myself out over this hahah. I’ll try and get around to commenting on chapters again, especially one’s I’ve missed, and if I have time I might just start sending them via Tumblr. I need like somewhere to list everything I wanna talk abt in the comments.

Anyway, bye bye, see u soon.

Fun fact, in however long I’ve had Tumblr, this is my first ask :3

PS: I just realised I never put my name lol, it’s Smoll_Satan. This is my Tumblr account 👍.

OH MY GOD HELLO??? WELCOME BACK GIRL??? YOU HAVE BEEN MISSED TRUST 🤞🏻

I’m doing great, school is kicking my butt :( trying not fail this semester as the moment. Year 12 (which I’m taking a wild guess and saying that is junior year, in American terms) is known as the hardest and most stressful year, so no judgement here girlie!

Don’t fear girl! I’m not scary at all, I’m like the literal least intimidating person on the planet. I’m just a girl I promise. I saw you go through and like my posts and I was giggling everytime I got a notification bc that was really nice 😭

Writing in your docs is so real because I have done the EXACT same thing so many times, mostly bc I fear tumblr is gonna bug out on me ;( Also I hate math too, it irks my soul.

THANK YOU. POSEIDON IS GETTING HIS REDEMPTION ARK. TRUST ME. I was screaming writing that, i was just so surprised that I wrote that because I lovedddd it.

Will and Percy are best bro’s but Percy is ready to threaten him when he and Nico get together. Trust Percy is a protective older brother… (the singing was so sweet :(()

GIRL I LOVE YOU OH M GEE YOU’RE SO SWEET. I love seeing your comments, whilst you look for my chapters I go looking in my comments for your comment.

Don’t psych yourself out when it comes to Tumblr asks! I love them, like I find it so amazing. If you do comment trust I’ll be replying to each one, they are the source of my amusement for each chapter. (literally have cackled reading your commentary)

BYE! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

#girl your amazing #it’s the best part of posting my chapters is seeing long commenters like you #percy jackson #fanfiction #mir answers

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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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Hello. Can you write for Yandere Brother Day (Cleon xiii) and female reader? The reader may have come from another planet as a guest or diplomat.

❝outworldly visitor❞

✭ pairing : yandere brother day cleon xii x reader

✭ fandom : foundation

✭ summary : she was a outwardly goddess, here to bless all those that fall beneath her feet. At least that’s how he looked at her, he would kill for her, if it made her smile, he would live for her, just to be beside her at every wakening and resting moment, but most of all he would die for her if it meant she would finally see him as her lover.

✭ authors note : lol I still have no clue who this man is :)

✭ yandere masterlist

In the farthest reaches of the cosmos, on the peculiar planet known as Trantor, resided a being unlike any other. Cleon XII, or Brother Day as he was often called, was a complex personality, one that straddled the fine line between love and madness. His reputation was a paradox; some revered him, while others feared him, all for the same reason – his affections were as intense as his wrath.

One day, as Cleon XII strolled through the surreal landscapes of his celestial realm, he felt an unexplained shift in the cosmic tides. It was an unearthly sensation, entirely foreign to him, drawing his attention to an indistinct point on the horizon.

As he approached the source of this mystifying disturbance, his eyes fell upon a sight that left him utterly astounded. There, amidst the radiant tapestry of stars and cosmic phenomena, stood a figure unlike any he had ever encountered.

The person that he was staring at happened to be named (Y/N), and she was a goddess in every sense of the word. Her skin, as dark and rich as the deepest chocolate, seemed to shimmer with the brilliance of a thousand stars. Her hair flowed in ebony waves, cascading down her back like a cascade of shadows. Her very presence radiated an otherworldly charm, and her eyes, mysterious and profound, held the secrets of the universe.

But it was not just her captivating appearance that held Cleon XII in thrall. Her hips, generously wide, hinted at strength and fertility, as if they could bear him healthy heirs for generations to come. Her mere existence seemed to bestow blessings upon all who fell beneath her gaze, and Cleon XII was no exception.

The moment his eyes locked onto her, an overwhelming obsession ignited within him, a fervor that threatened to consume his very essence. He watched her move gracefully through the celestial realm, her footsteps leaving trails of stardust in her wake.

For Cleon XII, this ethereal visitor was more than just a blessing; she was a mystery that beckoned him into her enigmatic embrace. His fixation was instantaneous, a revelation that would push the boundaries of love and madness on a planet where reality and desire were intertwined in a delicate dance.

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), her arrival had forever altered the course of Cleon XII’s life.

Cleon XII, with an air of calculated intimidation, strode towards (Y/N) with his entourage of guards trailing behind him. His steps echoed through the cosmic realm as he approached the enigmatic goddess. His presence alone demanded attention, as though the very fabric of reality bowed to his whims.

With an icy tone, Cleon XII questioned, "Who are you, and what brings you to Trantor?"

(Y/N), poised and composed, met his gaze with an unwavering calm. "I am (Y/N), a wanderer of the cosmos," she replied, her voice as serene as a tranquil nebula. "I found myself here after a crash landing."

Cleon XII's eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed, his mind racing with a storm of emotions beneath his stoic facade. He was the protector of his realm, the guardian of its order, and now this mysterious event had disrupted his carefully balanced world.

Without hesitation, he commanded his guards, his voice carrying an undertone of seething rage, "Take her to the medical examiner. I want to know the extent of her injuries."

As (Y/N) was escorted away, still calm and collected on the surface, Cleon XII burned with an internal fury. His sudden obsession with this celestial goddess had ignited a protective instinct within him, it was quick and raw and so very sudden, it almost let out a primal urge to safeguard her at any cost. He couldn't bear the thought of any harm befalling her.

As he watched her being led away, thoughts swirled in his mind. Who had dared to hurt his goddess, even inadvertently? He vowed that he would find answers, and if anyone had caused her harm, they would face his wrath, a wrath that knew no bounds.

With measured patience, Cleon XII made his way to the medical laboratory, the echoes of his purposeful steps resonating through the halls. As he entered, the staff turned their attention to him, their expressions a mix of reverence and trepidation.

"How is she?" Cleon XII inquired, his tone laced with concern, though his eyes betrayed a simmering impatience.

The chief medical officer stepped forward, nervously wringing their hands. "Your Highness, her injuries are relatively minor. Just some slight bruises and marks from the fall. Nothing that can't be healed with time."

Cleon XII's mask of composure wavered for an instant, his mind aflame with discontent. Inwardly, he seethed, questioning the competence of the very healers he had entrusted with her care. His goddess should have been immaculate, untarnished by any trace of harm.

Yet, externally, he maintained a façade of calm. His voice remained measured as he replied, "That's good. I'm glad to hear that she isn't too injured." He couldn't afford to reveal his inner turmoil, not when he needed to ensure her safety above all else.

Cleon XII’s obsession with (Y/N) only intensified with this revelation. He vowed to himself that he would personally oversee her recovery, ensuring that she emerged from this ordeal unscathed. As he left the medical laboratory, his thoughts churned with a dangerous determination to protect the enigmatic goddess who had become the center of his universe.

Days passed, and (Y/N)'s injuries began to heal. Her celestial beauty, though initially marred by the bruises and marks of her crash landing, was gradually restored to its otherworldly perfection. She had regained her strength, and the time had come for her to leave Cleon XII's planet.

As (Y/N) contemplated her departure, Cleon XII was filled with a profound sense of unease. He couldn't bear the thought of her leaving, not after she had become the focal point of his existence. His obsession had grown stronger with each passing day, and the idea of her absence was unbearable.

Approaching her with a charming smile, Cleon XII said, "I'm delighted to see you recovering so well, (Y/N). But you know, you haven't had the chance to truly explore my planet. There are wonders to behold, and our people in the nearby village would be honored to meet you."

(Y/N), thoughtful and kind-hearted, considered his words. She had indeed been preoccupied with her recovery and had not had the opportunity to explore the mysteries of this celestial realm. She felt a sense of duty to repay the kindness she had received.

"I suppose I could stay a bit longer," she conceded, her smile as warm as a distant sun. "I wouldn't want to miss out on the chance to learn more about your world and its people."

Cleon XII's heart soared with elation, his carefully woven web of persuasion drawing her closer to him. He knew that he needed more time to deepen her connection to his realm, to make her a permanent fixture in his life. A welcome ceremony would solidify her presence on Trantor, and he had no intention of letting her slip away.

"Excellent," Cleon XII replied with a smug satisfaction, "We will arrange a grand welcome ceremony in your honor. You'll see, (Y/N), Trantor has much to offer, and you won't regret staying a bit longer."

Little did (Y/N) know that she had unwittingly fallen into the clutches of a being consumed by obsession. Cleon XII’s determination to keep her on his planet had only just begun, and he would stop at nothing to ensure that she remained by his side, forever.

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floursramona · 2 years ago

Text

Seeded

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff, a ridiculous amount of it, pining, canon-typical violence, flowers, I have minimal knowledge of the Star Wars universe, this may or may not be the beginning of a series, no use of pronouns, no use of y/n, some gendered nicknames, pre-relationship

Summary: Handing out flowers all day wasn’t exactly living the dream, but it got your bills paid. A stranger rolls through your neighborhood and you find yourself drawn to him. Oddly enough, he seems to feel the same.

Notes: This is my first ever venture into the Star Wars universe! Writing-wise, that is. I've consumed enough fic to last me a lifetime and I wanted to contribute my brain worms to the community as well. This idea came to me earlier this month, when I wanted to push myself to do something for Valentine's Day and now it's finally blossomed (ha) into… whatever this is. I may continue if I get an idea of where to go from here. Hope y'all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Cross-posted on Ao3

Handing out flowers all day wasn’t exactly living the dream, but it got your bills paid. Working at a plant shop was a unique experience and you couldn’t exactly say you regretted applying. On easy days you got to take your favorite post, and here you were, with a basket of cut wildflowers and enticing passersby to come inside. Your boss had always been eager to drum up business and what better than giving something away?

On the busy and overpopulated planet of Coruscant, most people didn’t spare you a second glance, but tourists were always willing to stop and take a free and beautiful flower. From there, it wasn’t hard to convince them to come inside to see the whole garden and the workers inside were masters at sales pitches. Almost nobody left without a new plant for their homes or a bunch of flowers for their sweethearts.

Standing outside a shop all day was rough sometimes, the sun beating down or the nasty smells but you always find yourself passing the hours people-watching. Even on your off time, you love sitting outside, making up stories and personalities for every being that walked your way. Which is exactly why, when you see the Mandalorian pass by you the first time, you are completely and utterly captivated.

It isn’t that you never saw warrior-types, no, in fact you’d seen many armored figures pass your shop. But you’d never seen one quite like this, covered head-to-toe in perfect, gleaming chrome.

The armor is the first thing that catches your eye. The second is his posture.

If you had a less careful eye, you would have taken one glance and thought that he was inexperienced. Untouched armor is a dead giveaway for someone who hasn’t actually seen battle. Watching him stalk past your shop tells a different story.

Even if he wasn’t wearing the armor, you bet he would still have that confident, broad stature. He isn’t peacocking, not strutting like he owns the place, but every bit of him says “I know who I am”. And Maker, do you like the look of that.

Your inner musings silence all at once when you see his helmet turn towards you. The T-shaped visor gives him an intimidating brow and you feel yourself freeze, unable to look away. He isn’t anywhere near you, at least 10 other people walking past, but you feel like the only two on the street. You wonder if he feels the same.

A hand grabs your shoulder and the bubble suddenly pops, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as you turn around.

“Whoa! Didn’t mean to startle you,” It’s just your boss. You feel the hair prickle on the back of your neck and you’re tempted to turn back around, but he’s still speaking.

“What? Oh, sorry. Just a little lost in thought.”

He chuckles at you, shaking his head. “I’ve just come to relieve you. Go take your lunch.”

Nodding, you hand him your basket of flowers and try not to rush inside. Your nosy coworkers would want to know what had you all flustered and what would you say? An armored covered stranger walking on the other side of the street looked at you? And you couldn’t even say for sure if he did, because he wore a helmet?

You chuckle at yourself for being silly. He was just another tourist. You see plenty of attractive people walking down the street every day.

But none of them usually spared you a second glance, your traitorous brain supplies.

You shake your head to banish the thought, busying yourself with collecting your bag and credits where you keep it locked up in the back. You take your leave without saying anything, sure that your voice would give your unsteadiness away.

As you walk through the busy streets, you can’t help but fantasize a little longer. What if that armored stranger had been looking for a flower shop? You can’t imagine him wanting a floral arrangement but everyone could use a plant or two for their backyard. Does he even live here or is he from another planet? A silly pang runs through you as you imagine him living off-world - it means you likely wouldn’t see him again.

This time, you roll your eyes at yourself, entering your usual cantina for a hot meal. As the smells overtake you, you force yourself to leave the silly thoughts behind.

“Hey hon! Take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” The kind barmaid, Giala, who loves to waste time gossiping at your table, greets you and you smile.

“You know what I want, Gee, I’ll be over at the booths. She grins back and nods, bussing the table in front of her.

You take out your holopad to scroll through the news, but it’s quickly forgotten. You sit facing the door and a rowdy group of what appear to be businessmen draw your attention. You do your best not to stare, not that people tend to notice you much anyway. You find yourself rolling your eyes again as you listen to their conversation, and this time it’s apparent because Giala walks up to your table chuckling.

“Those fellas are gonna be trouble, aren’t they,” she says, less of a question and more of a statement. She puts down your steaming hot bowl of… well, you weren’t always sure what was in it, but it was always delicious.

“Eh, perhaps, but those types are usually harmless.” You’re quickly captivated by your food, hungry after a long morning on you feet. Your spoon is loaded up and on its way to your mouth when Giala says, “That shiny one over there might be a real issue though.”

It couldn’t be. You turn your head- it is.

The armored stranger from earlier is standing by the bar. He’s obviously not there for a drink, too rigid and hands practically gripping the edge of the bartop. He’s scanning the room and once again locks glares with you, but the spell is quickly broken by Giala blocking the view when she crouches down in front of you.

“I overheard someone say there was a bounty hunter sniffing around. Wouldn’t you think it’s him, just by the look of him?” Her eyes look at you eagerly and you peer around her again to study the figure. He’s looking back down at something in his hand. Something red and flashing, the reflection showing on his visor and it clicks for you.

“He’s a Mandalorian. I think. Supposedly some of the most feared warriors in the galaxy,” Something stirs within you that’s not quite fear, however. “Do you still work for that sleazeball manager?”

You look back toward her but before she can even get a sound out, shots are ringing out through the cantina. You thank the stars that you got your usual booth today, as you hit the ground and drag your friend under the table with you. She’s whimpering and covering her face, but you’re carefully watching the running feet from your position.

Once the shots cease, which doesn’t take long, you hold just a bit longer. You can’t see anyone moving anymore, so you lean slowly towards the edge of the table for a better vantage point. You hear a few clicks and shuffling movements and when your head is out far enough, you see him again, arranging the cantina owner to drag him out by the cuffs on his wrist.

A few other people are cowering under their tables, and there’s some scorch marks on the walls, but it doesn’t appear that anyone’s actually hurt. Well, except for the scumbag the Mandalorian’s got cuffed, but the groans he’s making give away his survival.

The Mandalorian’s about to leave but he scans the room again, and, for what you hope isn’t the last time, meets your gaze. He nods- at you, you think? You hope- and leaves. For as intriguing as he was, suddenly you’re hoping that maybe he doesn’t pay your shop a visit.

___

Of course, he does. Well, not exactly, but just about a week later, you’re stood in front of the shop again and you spot the Mandalorian on your street again. Your stomach does a flip, partially out of fear that you might be the next one in cuffs, and partially at the thought that you might not be entirely opposed to that.

He seems to be just as focused as the first time you saw him, but oh, how wrong you are. You’re staring again, you realize, because his helmet turns towards you, and your stomach is flipping again because now he’s making his way towards me, oh Maker, please tell me I didn’t commit some heinous crime in my sleep that placed a thousand credit bounty on your head and-

“Excuse me.”

You snap out of your spiral at the sound of his voice, a lovely, deep, gravelly voice-

“You work here.”

Fuck, you’ve gotta stop getting lost in your thoughts. He asked you a question. Except- he didn’t?

“Yes?” You manage to make your voice sound somewhat normal, if a bit higher pitched than usual.

“I assume you see a lot of people that go by,” he says and shit, it’s more than a little intimidating to have his attention on you. He’s fully facing you this time, only an arm’s length away. His hands are just resting by his sides, but the sheer amount of weaponry you see on him is not usual, even for this planet.

“You’re not here to arrest my boss, are you?” you blurt out and already you’re regretting it. He tilts his head at you and it’s almost adorable, making you think of a confused loth-cat.

“I don’t think so. I’m looking for this man. I’m told he frequents this area, and I’ve seen you out here every time I pass by,” he takes out a device that lights up with a hologram of a scruffy-looking human. Sure, you’ve seen him before, but wait- every time he’s passed by? As in more than once?

“I thought you found your bounty when you shot up the cantina last week,” and you reprimand yourself again mentally. Sure enough, he doesn’t seem happy with your phrasing when he shifts to cross his arms.

“Sorry- ‘shot up’ is a bit much. I just meant- I don’t always see that kind of… excitement around here. And we don’t exactly get a lot of folks who look like you either. So it’s a bit strange seeing you back so soon. W-why are you back again?” you’re babbling, and you know it.

He doesn’t need to answer the question and yet he does, “I was completing a job and now I’m here for another one,” he lifts up the hologram again, “Do you know this man?”

“‘Know’ is a strong word. Have I seen him? Of course,” and you go on to describe how he often slinks around, a pickpocket who preys on the unsuspecting tourists of the area. You babble on far too long with a description of the habits you’ve picked up merely by observing, his full attention overwhelming you into running your mouth.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, when you finally finish. He tucks away the hologram device but he stays standing there for another second, just looking at you. Waiting for what, you’re not sure. He’s already asked what he needs for you. Maybe he would have said something, but you beat him to it.

“Would you like a flower?” You curse yourself internally, you really just say the stupidest shit when you’re flustered. He’s still just standing there, fuck, fuck, please respond-

“I don’t- I don’t need a flower,” he says, hesitantly.

You scramble through your basket for the right bloom, something not overly feminine, something that would fit his personality, something that’s not already dying and there-

“Here,” you thrust your hand out awkwardly at him, “just take it. A-as thanks.”

He cocks his head again, as if confused. “For what? I was the one seeking information.”

“For getting rid of that asshole. In the cantina? He was a real scumbag and treated my friend like shit. I don’t know what kind of price was on his head, and I don’t know what you did with him, but the planet’s better without him. So thanks for that… you, uh, did a good job.”

He stays silent this time and Maker, that blank stare just pierced right through you. Before you lose your nerve, you reach out and wedge the stem in an empty slot of his bandolier. It looks almost silly, on a man so threatening but also fits in a strange sort of way. The spray of light blue blends quite nicely with the rest of his ensemble and the small buds don't actually attract too much attention. It reflects on his chest plate and you let yourself admire him for another moment.

“Thank you,” he finally says, interrupting your unashamed ogling. “For your time and your token.”

“Anytime, Mandalorian.” The grin comes easily to your face.

He turns to leave but not before studying you for another moment and saying, “May our paths cross again someday.”

You watch him walk away and wonder if he really means it.

——————

#i write things #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin #din x reader #din x you #din djarin x you #fluff #hope i'm not missing any other tags #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader

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shara-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

Uzi x Connor like reader

(A/n): This is literally my first time posting on Tumblr, so I have no idea how this works. I'll take request, but right now I'm just writing whatever silly ideas come to mind, sorry if this is bad, it's like 2 in the morning while I'm writing this.

Prompt: You are a humanoid android sent to copper 9 to handle the infected absolute solver drones.

Content warning: Mentions of Suicide

You were made to hunt down the Infected absolute solver drones on copper 9. You were the first of your kind, and so far, the only one.

You ran into Uzi not long after you landed on copper 9. You were in a ship identical to the disassembly drones, so she thought it was another team at first.

Then she saw you step out, dressed in your suit and tie. She was confused as to why a human was there and as to why you were dressed so formally.

She immediately tried to attack you, but with your programing and skills, you were able to easily avoid her attempted surprise attack, but she did manage to graze you.

Then she was confused when she saw you bleed "some kind of blue liquid instead of red. You only looked at her, adjusted your tie and then you spoke.

"My name is y/n. I'm the android send by JcJenson."

"The what?" Uzi was so confused. You looked human, but you were a robot like her? She was conflicted to say the least.

She followed you around a distance, both not trusting of you, but also curious, why did they send you, why were you made, and why did you seem so emotionless?

You spent most of your time with Uzi and N, when you weren't investigating and trying to find the infected drones that is.

You asked Uzi questions about the planet and absolute solver, she asked you questions when she wasn't trying to intimidate you.

She started to find you pretty cool when she learned of your programing and abilities. That's when she started to hang around you more.

"So, why did the company send you exactly?" Uzi asked you while she sat on top of an old car, watching you examine some of the MANY old worker drones bodies while N was out hunting.

"They sent me to find and eliminate the worker drones infected with the absolute solver." You explained simply.

"Why do you seem so..blank compared to us?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, turning to her a bit.

"I mean, every drone here has some kind of personality, but you are just focused on your job."

"I was made to complete an objective, that is all I am supposed to do."

Uzi, being her rebellious self, would try and suggest you rebelling against the company, but you were tough to crack.

Spending time with he, the more she talked, reasoned, joked, you could feel something in your programing..changing.

You, Uzi, N and V had just tracked down a drone that could hold information on the absolute solver, but there was an issue. The drone was ready and willing to kill and had you all pinned under fire. N and V were still regenerating, and Uzi would never make it close enough, but you could.

You quickly moved out from behind cover, expertly dodging their bullets as you could predict where they would shoot. You managed to get them pinned to a wall and connect to their memory. You saw flashes, glimpses of the absolute solver and the destruction it caused. Then, everything fell silent.

Uzi and the others heard a gunshot and then a body drop. Uzi got up and rushed to where you were, only glancing at the body of the dead worker drone. "Y/n! Y/n are you all right? Y/n!" She asked frantically. You were staring at the body, she could notice the slight tremble in your breath, the almost vacant look in your eyes, the circle on the side of your head red.

"Okay.." Your voice trembled as you quietly responded.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, her expression slightly worried.

"I'm ok.." You responded, your voice just slightly louder.

Uzi let out a sigh of relief, muttering to herself, "Oh Robo-jesus..." She stepped away a bit, "Don't scare me like that again you idiot! You could have gotten killed! You can regenerate like N and V!" She scolded.

"I was connected to its memory..." You spoke, your expression still distant as you looked in her direction slightly, "When it fired...I felt it die...Like I was dying." You paused, Uzi looking at you as you looked at her, "I was scared..." she looked a bit surprised at what you said. "I saw something in its memory. An office building, somewhere on copper 9."

Uzi began to notice the small changed in you, how you started to show signs of emotions. Of fear, worry, stress.

She helped you work through them, using them to try and get you to rebel more and more. She was trying to make you deviate.

You had just learned that Uzi was an infected drone, your mind went blank as she heard Uzi's muffled yelling about hating it here. You were sent to eliminate the infected drones, to execute them, but...you couldn't execute Uzi. She was your friend, you cared for her too much.

"We..should probably go." N spoke up quietly, Uzi looking in your direction as your light blinked from red to yellow. You looked up and just silently nodded, moving your hand away from behind you. Uzi walked out of dolls room, her expression a mix of frustration and uncertainty, what she didn't know was that you were reaching for your gun before.

You watched as Uzi learned to control the absolute solver, each day a fight against your objective, a fight against your programing, a fight against what you were made to do.

You had just gotten back from the camp, you were away from everyone, somewhere among the broken-down building on copper 9. You could only hear Uzi and N landing, but you were too deep in your headspace conflict to care.

Uzi on the other hand was watching you, concerned. Her concern turned to fear as she saw you quickly take out your gun in one swift move, pressing it to the bottom of your chin.

"Y/n! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Uzi yelled as she stared at you, worried to make a move for fear of you pulling the trigger.

"I can't do it..I can't kill you Uzi...This is the only way to keep the company from making me kill you.." You called out over the raging snow storm.

"D-don't you think this is a little extreme?!" She yelled out shakily.

"This is my choice...my way out..my back door exit..You don't know what that absolute solver is...and you have no idea how much the company wants you gone..." You pressed the gun further against your head, your hand trembling slightly as you were hesitant to pull the trigger. You were scared...you were scared to die, but you were even more scared of the company taking control.

"Th-then help me understand! You don't have to do this!" Uzi replied, shakily taking a step towards you, "This can't be the only way!"

There was a tense silence between you two as she watched you. you watching her. After what felt like an eternity, you let your hand drop, the gun clattering to the ground as uzi rushed towards you, hugging your waist tightly.

You hesitantly hugged back, holding her close to you. You had just become a deviant, you were no longer just your programing.

And you had never felt more scared.

#reader insert #muder drones #murder drones uzi #uzi doorman #x reader

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