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omgahgase · 19 days ago

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nsfw charthur fic - wolf shifter!arthur

i was reading through some old wips for other fandoms and i decided to take a small thing from twt and turn it into a charthur thing bc i'm mentally ill over them. i was also driven to post this by some users who helped me realize that i can post what i want bc what i create is for me. so, thank you. you have beaten away my apprehension with a stick, and now i am DOING THE DANG THING! i'll most likely post this to ao3 after i find an appropriate title that isn't 'charles taking monster cock'

nsfw charthur fic under the cut. content warnings include: monster fucking, knotting, size difference, a dash of mpreg (but not really), and some sweet fluff to top it all off

Fur sprouts along the length of Arthur’s spine, from his nape down to the small of his back, along his arms and his legs and around his jaw. It spreads like moss on a tree, gathering into handfuls and giving Charles something to hold onto, soft like the down from the underside of a duck, sandy brown like the dirt in Flat Iron Lake. Charles grips the hair between his fingers and fits his face into the hot, stuffy section of Arthur's furry neck as he moans a desperate, fervent sound.

Arthur's cock grows three times its size, the thick girth of his length stretching Charles to a startling point, but his strangled cry isn't out of pain more so than surprise. Charles muffles a desperate mewl of a sound into Arthur's neck, humps up into his belly to ease the ache in his ass, smearing wet and sticky across Arthur's hairy lower belly.

Arthur’s fangs start to take shape too, elongating into razor-sharp incisors that could rip Charles’ throat out, but instead, he bares them and grunts, curls his upper lip into a snarl when Charles adjusts and Arthur sinks in deeper. As he shifts, his eyes change from sky blue to a dull grey then, finally, when Charles removes his face from Arthur's shoulder, a striking, stark white, nearly engulfed by his pupils.

He grows, too. Arthur's frame broadens until he towers over Charles, thick and strong, his back hunched like a predator moments away from devouring its prey. His hands and feet lengthen, extending black, blade-like claws from his nails, and, momentarily, something sharp shoots beneath Charles’ chest. When Arthur shifts, his claws leave the most damage. Their last sleeping pad was shredded to unsalvageable repair, but, thankfully, they're not in their tent tonight, so Charles' worry is short-lived.

He knew Arthur needed a night to unwind, to change away from the overbearing hands of camp, and away from Dutch and his endless list of errands he rattles off to Arthur whenever he gets the chance. The gang knows how Arthur gets when he's not allowed to run free after a stressful few days of hunting and taking odd jobs to earn a few measly dollars, of scamming people into pennies and robbing lonesome stagecoaches in the dark of night. Seeing it fit, Charles took it upon himself to do something for him this time to make up for all the things he does for camp. For all the good Arthur does for Charles.

That’s how they found themselves here, a few miles away from camp, in their own secluded piece of wild where Arthur pounced on him mere moments after they dismounted their horses. He pushed Charles onto his back over a soft bed of grass, divested both of them of their clothes, and licked into Charles with an intensity that he’d be able to feel for days. It took only seconds for Arthur to slip inside his lover and let the animal out of the cage, to hand himself over to that other part of him that he tries so desperately to tamper down.

It took time for Arthur to tell him, and it took even longer for Arthur to show him, but now that they're far past the gentle touches and first times, neither of them really cares where this sort of thing takes them.

"Cowboy," Charles calls out around a scream. He tightens his grip on Arthur's shoulders and squeezes thick thighs around his furry middle as a tidal wave of pleasure pulls him beneath the surface until his lungs burn. Arthur picks up pace, then, fucks into him with intent as Charles scrambles for any sort of coherence that goes beyond his cries of, "Yes, that's it, baby! Oh, Arthur!"

It’s not until Charles feels the fat swell of Arthur's knot kissing his entrance does he finally say 'fuck it' and starts babbling, slurring mush mouth words and pleas of Arthur's name.

Arthur whines deep in his chest as he rises to his hunches, his glowing eyes rooted to the large bulge protruding from Charles' stomach, the mound moving as he grinds his hips against the soaking wet valley of Charles' thighs. Charles’ cock bounces between them, untouched and weeping. Pearly white beads at his dark tip, shining in the moonlight seeping through the trees above. Arthur watches, growling, as he takes Charles in his hand and pumps, the entirety of his palm engulfing Charles until only his head peeks over Arthur’s fist. Charles is by no means small, but just the sight of his cock disappearing beneath Arthur’s large hand is enough to make him throw his head back, his back jackknifing off the ground. He squeezes around Arthur’s length and moans a broken sound into the cool air that has Arthur placing a soothing hand on his waist.

"Charles—darlin'. You’re doin' amazin',” he praises, wonderstruck. “You look so pretty like this."

Arthur speaks from within, raspy and throaty, the voice of the ancients. It's echoey and old as if thousands of people are speaking at the same time, all collectively using their voices to create a rumble so intense Charles can feel it in his throat, in his cock, and where he and Arthur are joined.

And when Arthur comes, his knot fits into Charles so easily. He stuffs Charles until he's pumped full and Arthur knows Charles is tight around him, firm and secure.

"You're gonna carry my pups," Arthur rumbles, his fangs dangerously close to Charles' neck. "Gonna get you pregnant, Charles. My Charles. My, big, strong, beautiful Charles.”

Arthur punctuates his words with a sharp snap of his hips, his clawed hand spreading wide over the expanse of Charles' stomach, over the bulging skin like he's trying to will his words true.

It’s impossible, and both of them know that, but Charles still lets Arthur take him, mumbling dirty promises into his ear like an oath he plans to keep. Charles feels warmth shoot into him, tepid and slick, and he takes it all, winding his arms tight around Arthur's wide shoulders and threading trembling hands through dark fur. He tries in vain to pull him in tighter when they're both already pressed so close together as if he wants to fuse them together entirely.

All it takes is for a fanged tooth to press down on Charles' neck, grazing his tendon for him to come, too, spurting white and sticky up his swollen stomach, his heaving chest. Arthur swoops down to lap at the come spread over Charles' flushed skin, collecting it in his mouth and kissing Charles with fervor.

He doesn't let up until Charles swallows.

And when Arthur's done and he's slowly shifting back, his sanity now under control, he kisses Charles slowly, with a ferocity that's near breathtaking—like he's trying to drink Charles' entire essence, consuming his heart and soul that Charles has already so graciously given to him.

Arthur's knot is still snuggly nestled inside his lover, now smaller than before but continuing its job it was made to do. Charles whimpers a weak, spent mumble of a sound, over-sensitive and tender all over as he moves, getting used to the feeling of the thick sloshing in his lower half. It should be disgusting, the state of himself, but Charles cherishes these shared moments because it’s with Arthur. It’s been years and he still wonders, out of all the people Arthur could’ve chosen, women and men included throwing themselves at him in every town, a creature of the night or not, how he still chose Charles.

And no matter how many times Arthur tells him that—that he's Arthur’s person—Charles will still gawk in disbelief because he'll never understand how he managed to tame someone like him, a man more wild than the wild itself.

Arthur moves atop him, his face now back to normal, no more fur, no more fangs. His eyes are still glowing bright blue, a sign that his knot isn't going down any time soon, so they might as well get comfortable. Charles combs his hands through Arthur's hair, and scratches at the spot behind his ear that sends tingles over his scalp. Arthur bucks his hips on reflex, making Charles cry out, and then he immediately stills, eyes wide.

"Sorry," he mumbles, voice thick.

"Don't be," Charles assures. "You know I can handle it ."

Arthur shakes his head, unconvinced. "I'm hurtin’ you."

"I never tell you to stop," Charles counters, using the remaining strength in his tired body to give Arthur a look.

Arthur ignores him and props himself up on strong arms, eyes roaming over the red lines along Charles' thighs and hips, the raised draw of skin clearly visible in the moonlight. Where the scratches turn angry and crimson, small dollops of warm blood seep out into the brisk breeze, gliding along the length of Charles' wounds. His bite marks aren’t the worst of it, but Arthur still treats them as such, eyes lingering on the teeth-sharp shapes of Arthur’s bite and fangs.

Arthur's expression turns solemn when he takes a gentle hand and trails a finger across the purpling splotches decorating Charles' body, the marks that will bloom into full bruises by morning.

Charles, not liking the flash of guilt taking root in his lover's eyes, grabs Arthur's face in his warm palms and pulls him down for a kiss.

"I'm fine," Charles says, his tone soft, like how it always is when he gets like this. "You could never hurt me."

“You’re always sayin’ that, but look at ya. You looked like you were mauled.”

“Because I was,” Charles agrees, easily, because why deny the truth? Charles isn’t a liar, and he’s not going to start acting like one to make Arthur feel better. Arthur needs to know that Charles can handle anything he throws at him, bites, scratches, wounds, and all.

Charles said he loved him, all parts of him. The good, the bad. The wolf. When Arthur shifted in front of him for the first time, Charles wasn’t scared, nor was he surprised to know that every version of Arthur was beautiful, fur and fangs included. Charles understands that he would do just about anything for Arthur, and that includes braving a few hours of being fucked stupid by a creature in the stories his mom used to tell him to get Charles to behave. Charles never complains, because he never finds an issue with it. Because there isn’t an issue.

Charles brushes their noses together, swoops in for a second kiss, and bites back a smile when he feels Arthur’s breath stutter. “I’d let you eat me whole if you asked.”

“I’d never ask that, ever,” Arthur says, serious and weighty as if he thinks Charles is ready to offer himself on a silver platter.

(He is, but Charles thinks Arthur already knows that.)

“But if you do, then the answer is yes. It’s always yes.”

“You’re so strange,” Arthur snorts. “Who’d willingly give themselves to a wolf?”

Charles thinks about it, then, “Abigail.”

Arthur chuckles and ducks his head into the cozy spot between Charles’ neck and shoulder. He kisses at the bite marks littering his skin as he says, “That don’t count. She’s crazy.”

“If she’s crazy enough to be with John, then I’m crazy enough to be with you.”

Arthur laughs this time, hearty and full and so him that Charles finds himself laughing too, smiling into the soft spot behind Arthur’s ear. He kisses at the birthmark just below his hairline, relishes in the shiver shooting down Arthur’s spine.

“Try again, darlin’. You ain’t any more crazy than you are foolish.”

Charles makes a show of thinking over his answer, making Arthur roll his eyes and prop himself atop folded hands over Charles’ chest, looking at him like a curious puppy.

“Someone who cares about you,” Charles finally says, earnestly, like he’s confessing all over again, but this time with actual words instead of just twisting a fist in Arthur’s handkerchief and planting one on him after a shoot-out.

Arthur smiles, fitting the shape of his mouth over the indents of his fangs on Charles’ body with gentle lips. “So your way of carin’ for me is lettin’ me eat you?”

“No,” Charles says, shaking his head and trailing kiss-bitten lips along the rough scruff of Arthrur’s jaw, “it’s giving myself over to you if you asked. But,” he shrugs, “I’ve already done that.”

“I didn’t ask,” Arthur says it like it’s a wonder and not a true fact.

“You didn’t need to. I wanted to. I’d give you anything if it means you’ll stay with me.”

“Now that, Mr. Smith, is a foolish thing to say,” Arthur huffs. “I’d be with you regardless. You don’t gotta give me anythin’. It’s my choice, bein’ with you. There ain’t ever gonna be another person out there for me. And even if there was, they ain’t you.”

Charles, feeling as if something inside his chest exploded into a supernova, bites back an overwhelming sob and surges forward to kiss him again. They both hum, moving their hands over waists and achy muscles to cup each other’s faces like they think the other might disappear if they didn’t hold on.

But they won’t. Neither of them will because this is the type of thing that leads them here: loving each other in ways neither really understands but they both accept. They love and they question but most of all, they know that they both want to stay together. For as long the lives they live will allow it.

“There isn’t anyone out there like you either,” Charles marvels when they separate, watching as Arthur’s bright blue eyes change from striking to something softer, something more delicate than what a man like him would think he’s capable of. “I’d choose you every time. In every life I’ll ever live.”

Arthur sighs and fits himself cozy between Charles’ thighs and atop his chest. “You think that’s possible?”

“Yes,” Charles answers because he’s not a liar like that. “Would you still choose me?”

“Don’t be actin’ dumb now, Charles,” Arthur jokes. “You’re too smart for that.”

Charles grins into the sharp line of Arthur’s jaw, feeling his lover’s smile stretch wide over his face.

“If you wanna make me stop, you could always just marry me.”

Arthur laughs. He laughs and shakes and snorts an ugly, goofy sound into Charles’ chest, his hair a rat’s nest tangle and cheeks flushed to the yards, and Charles thinks he’s never looked more handsome than he does right now.

“I will not take that as a proposal, not when I’m still inside ya and we’re buck naked in the woods.”

“But someday?” Charles asks, hopeful in a way he has no control over when they live the lives they have. It’s a silly, foolish little dream that he thinks about more than he wants to admit, and has only voiced a handful of times over the years they’ve been together. It’s frivolous and laughable and he shouldn’t be asking Arthur something so serious so casually.

But, when Arthur kisses him, when he holds him close and embraces him tight, when he says a breathy little ‘yes’ in between every swipe of his tongue, Charles starts to think it’s not just a silly, foolish dream.

“Yes,” Arthur says as he kisses him hard and makes love to him soft.

“Yes,” Arthur says as he rolls them over in their bed of grass, gazes up at Charles like he’s a wonder.

“Yes,” Arthur says as he leans up into Charles’ space that hasn’t been his own in quite some time now.

Arthur kisses and caresses and repeats the word against Charles’ lips like it’s a fact and not just an agreement. Like it’s an oath he plans to keep.

#charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #idk man i just saw a vision of charles taking monster cock and i was struck dead #also them being so soft with each other after fucking is so dinluke core idc what y'all say i WILL find a way to link my two fav ships #omgahgase writes

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str8aura-no-not-that-one · 5 months ago

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unfinished unused str8aura story (tw for mild descriptions of violence and blood)

I wake up tonight, at an unknown time (I know it must still be night, for I remember I left the window shutters open, and the room is still pitch black), to the sensation of a metal blade being drawn across my throat. My skin and muscles are being split open, exposing the vocal cords and larynx underneath. My airway is currently leaking, and I will be dead in a matter of seconds.

Which sucks. Let's unpack that for a moment.

I'm in college right now, and my roommate arrived rather late, a few days after I had already begun settling into classes. I didn't really get to know him, but from what I gathered, he seemed like a perfectly kind and charming individual. Clearly that is not the case; I suppose it's entirely possible the lock on my door was picked, or perhaps someone broke the window and slipped in, but Occam's razor tells me that my roommate has for some reason decided to murder me in my sleep. Why, I don't particularly care. Leave that to the police; this is about me, not him.

So, death. That which is rapidly approaching me as I lay here in my bed, cradled by my killer. I have never deluded myself about death, any more than all of us do at every moment; were we to only think about this inevitable fate, every moment, we would scarcely have time to do anything. It is for the betterment of our lives that we delude ourselves about it, at least partially, which is why it is always so surprising when it happens.

We all would, at the very least, like for it to happen later rather than sooner. There are no plans which death wraps up in a neat little bow; it never comes at the perfect point to end your character arc, like in a movie. It only derails and destroys that which you had previously set up. I wanted to be an actor, an artist, all the usual things people my age want to be. None of that is possible now, and I have been prematurely brought to the end, everything screeching to a halt.

I suppose at that end of life, the last thing we do is fling the memory of us forward, like a javelin, and see how far into the future it lands. My friends and family will grieve, of course, but they will die someday as well; without a fame or reputation to precede me, that javelin will only land a half century or so into the future. Pitiful, considering.

Of course, there was no guarantee it was ever going to get that far. I should consider myself unlucky for this fate, but it is important to remember everybody is lucky; the fact that we continue to live, when our skin is paper and our bones hold the consistency of breakfast cereal, is miraculous. I especially realize that fragility now, feeling the knife press into my voice box- How much must this knife have cost my attacker? Ten, fifteen dollars? Is that a low-ball? I've never bought a knife. Comically small, in any case.

There is some injustice in dying so young, but it pales in comparison to the real injustice here, which is that I'll be buried like some stooge. Damn those who wish for their bodies to be shoved into a box and thrown downstairs. In life, nobody asks you for your funeral plans; You have to go out of your way to tell them to someone, at an age when people expect you to die, and then have to hope they listen. I did neither of those things. I'm barely an adult. Who was I supposed to tell?

What I really wish could happen to my body is for something to eat it. A tiger, or a lion, or a wolf- Something cool. Perhaps it sounds hippie of me, but it truly is what I wish. As it stands, my body helps nobody. Nobody will benefit from a decrepit sack of meat and bones, except perhaps the earthworms, and I certainly don't care to give back to them. They have enough as it is. Feed me to the beasts, and pass my life on, I say.

Not that I'll have any chance to exercise frustration at this injustice. The mature thing to do is to stop caring, in this final moment of life.

This final moment of life is lasting quite a long time. Can you imagine if it never ended? There is no Heaven, no Hell, no afterlife; when someone dies, they become trapped within the moment of death, their final agonizing pain, for eternity.

Wouldn't that be so stupid? If I read that in a book, as canonical fact, I would be enraged. What a hack this author is.

Then again, the author of my universe, whoever that may be, killed off someone clearly intended to be the protagonist within two decades of screentime. Maybe my author is a hack.

I say protagonist in jest, but it is naturally what we all hope for. I'm not insane for thinking that, right? I do enjoy solipsism, but it has always been with the unspoken hope that it will never be put to the test like now. If I die, and the rest of the universe is all a figment in my head, then surely this death has brought with it the apocalypse. And if so, why would my brain choose to off itself in this way? Am I stupid?

No. If solipsism is real, I would surely live into my tender eighties, be rich and famous, and then never die. Better men than I have believed themselves to be the sole owner of reality, after all.

The difference is they didn't see things like I do, through my eyes. Unfortunately, before too long I won't be seeing things at all.

(I sort of hope and dread it at once. Death is still not preferable to this agony I endure, but an answer would be.)

So then perhaps reality does not run on the wetware that is my brain. In hindsight, what would it have? Something external needs to contain it, after all. A first person shooter does not run on the brain of the protagonist, it runs on a computer.

Does that grant me immortality then, if my thoughts, feelings, and experience all existed on something external outside reality?

I doubt it. Knowing my luck, reality is a computer, and I'm a file that's just been deleted.

Actually, that's not true. Knowing my luck, Hell is real, and I'm going there. I've never been particularly religious, but I truly cannot imagine a more horrific ending to this life then to find out the televangelists were right. Being queer does that to you. Would being a WASP for some pithy handful of decades have been worth it, for an eternity in the good place? Do I not also wait agonizingly through my peas and carrots before receiving my chocolate cake?

God, I could go for some cake right now. Shame my throat has a hole in it.

Nah, that's not it. There's my resolution; if Hell is real, and I go there, I'm going to steadfastly pretend it isn't, just to piss everyone off. I had my life stolen from me, the least I can do is make it everyone else's problem.

So that's the worst case scenario. What's the best, then? Let us imagine for a moment that Heaven is real; I receive an eternity there as a reward for good behavior. An eternity is a long time. Surely I'll have done everything there is to have done within two heaven-decades, without such stupid things as 'eating', 'sleeping', 'shitting', and 'working' to distract me. And then what? Do I forget it, and start again? That's going to be a real pain if I end up looping my actions, over and over again, forgetting each time, but I suppose I wouldn't remember it well enough to care anyway. That could be fine, I guess. Not Heavenly, but fine.

If that is best, the reward I get for living, I'm not very impressed.

I don't know what would impress me.

It is, admittedly, hard to think right now. Due to the hole and whatnot.

I guess I'll find out soon enough.

With a little luck.

#my posts #writing #short fiction #longpost

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fandomtherapy44 · 1 year ago

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castiel x reader

Summary: This story is from the perspective of Y/n Winchester. The sister Of Dean and Sam. We will be starting from season four since sadly we did not get Misha Collins as Castiel throughout the whole series. It will start off as a friendship, but it will grow more as the series goes on. I will be skipping some episodes even though they are great episodes they do not push the story forward. I am so excited to get to write this since they are not many Castiel X reader stories out there. Okay without further due Love War & Grace enjoy the Story.

Paring: Castiel X Reader

Word count: 6,027

Warnings: Some language, Typical Supernatural violence, creepy men, small sexual comments, Spoilers for season four of Supernatural

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Chapter four: It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

Y/n’s POV:

These last few weeks have been Interesting to say the least. I mean first we had a case in Pennsylvania that turned out to be a shapeshifter that was imitating old classic monster movies. I felt kind of bad for him and also to see Dean in that costume made me laugh for an hour after we saved him. Then Dean got ghost sickness yeah it's a thing, had no idea either.

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And here we are in this town investigating a man who died from choking on razor blades from eating candy. Then my birthday is in a couple days so no reason to celebrate there. “Now how many razor blades did they find?” Sam asked Mrs.Wallace. Dean and I were looking around for hex bags. “Two on the floor, one in his stomach and one was stuck in his throat. He swallowed four of them. How is that even possible?”. She said sobbing and they have a kid too, poor family. “The candy was never in the oven.” She said to dean as he was sticking his head in the oven. “We like to check every possibility Mrs.Wallace. To make sure we don’t miss anything. And we are truly sorry for your loss.” I said to her trying my best to be there for her. “Thank you really.” She said with a bit of a sad smile to me. “No problem.” I said back with a kind smile. “Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy?” Sam asked her. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I just – I can’t believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?” She responded and she's right it doesn't usually happen but some bitch decided to attack this family.

Then Dean showed the hex bag that he found. “Mrs. Wallace, did Luke have any enemies?” Sam asked. “Enemies?” She answered with confusion. “Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?” “What do you mean?” “Co-workers? Neighbors? Maybe a woman.” I can not believe he just said that. “Are you suggesting an affair?” She said upset. “Mam I am so sorry for these two” I said as I grabbed both Sam and Dean by their ears and pulled them out of the house. “ ow ow! Y/n” They both said. “Good I hope it hurts, her husband just died and her child is fatherless. Have a little more sympathy” I said as I slammed the door behind and walked back to her. “So sorry for their behavior, sometimes men will just act.” I said to her. “I mean do you think he's right that he could have had a secret woman” She asked me with fear in her eyes. “No no I look around in this house and I feel love.” I said back holding her hands.”Thank you really you are so kind. Your mother raised you right " Right mother."No need to thank me, I know how it feels to lose someone.” “I mean I think If someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better way than a razor in a piece of candy he might eat?” “You're right, my partners and I appreciate your time.” I walk out with determination to find this bitch.

“Y/n wait wait!” Both boys try to catch up with me. “Let's go, we have a witch to catch” I said as I got into the Impala. They look at each other with knowing looks of why I'm extra focused this week.

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Sam and I are researching in the motel room while Dean is checking out Luke’s background. “Really? After that guy choked down all those razor blades?” Sam asked Dean as he was eating a piece of candy. “It’s Halloween, man.” Dean answered, flopping down next Sam. “Yeah, for us every day is Halloween.” “Don’t be a downer. Anything interesting?” Dean asked. “Well it was a witch for sure but not a typical one check out this hex bag.” I answered pointing to the bag. “Hmm, no?” I smile at that. “Goldthread, an herb that’s been extinct for two hundred years. And this - is Celtic, and I don’t mean some new age knock-off. It looks like the real deal, like 600 years old real.” Sam said, picking up the coin. Dean picked up the small charred bone.”That would be the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby.” I said to him as a matter of factly.” Ugh” he dropped the bone. “Relax man, it’s like, at least a hundred years old.” Sam said to him, trying to make him feel better “Dean’s right it might be old but it is still a dead baby’s bone.” I said looking at them both. “Witches, man, they’re so friggin’ skeevy.” Dean shurred. “Yeah, well it takes a pretty powerful one to put a bag like this together. More juice than we’ve ever dealt with, that’s for sure. What about you? Find anything on the victim?” Sam asked him. “This Luke Wallace? He was so vanilla that he made vanilla seem spicy.” Dean answered. “I knew he was faithful.” I said. Sam scoffed at our lack of leads. “I can’t find any reason why somebody would want this guy dead.” Dean said to us.

“Well I'm going to get some ice since nothing is happening right now.” I said getting my jacket. “Wait there's a witch on the loose and you want to go get some ice?” Dean asked me with disbelief. “Dean I am about to be 23 I can take care of myself but thanks.” I said walking out of the room slamming the door behind me.

Deans POV:

“I just wish she would talk about it with us.” I said to Sam. He scoffed.”Right dean like we talk about our feelings all the time. And in this situation I don't blame her. I mean If I was her I would do the same.” Sam said, looking down sadly. “I mean it was not her fault that mom died and on her birthday she was a baby and for dad to tell her that, I have always wanted to shoot him for that.”Dean said with a little anger. “I hope one day she realizes it.” “Yeah me too” Sam said back, both feeling bad for their little sister.

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Y/n’s POV:

It’s almost 11:00 and I told the boys I was getting ice over three hours ago. They must be worried but I didn't care being drunk and sad. “What’s a fine piece of ass like you doing here alone” I look over from my drink to see a skivvy looking man leaning on the bar staring down at my chest. “First of all if you're going to hit on a woman try to at least keep your eyes up and second I'm drinking alone in peace not looking for seven seconds in heaven.” I said looking down, getting up to leave, referring to his nether regions.”OH YOU BITCH.” He goes to grab my arm as I turn around to kick his little weiner. But someone else stopped him.”I believe the woman said no.” It was Cas pinning the man's arm behind his back.”Ow ow okay I’m sorry.” Cas lets him go. I still kick him down.”Remember this the next time you think of grabbing a woman.” He shakes his head and runs away like a coward. I look back at Cas. “Thank you Cas but I could have handled that.” “I know you could have but I still felt like stopping him.” He responded. I smiled at that. “I'm happy to see you but why are you is there something wrong?” “No, I just felt danger for you” He said. “Yeah about that, how did you know?” “We're connected.” I look confused.”Since I was the first angel to respond to your prayer I have a trace with you. It's like that for all angels.” “Oh well thank you, would you like to walk back with me to my motel room?” I said walking out of the bar. “It would be faster if I flew us there.” “Yes it would but the air is good tonight and a beautiful sky to pair it plus I need to sober up a little more before I deal with Sam and Dean.” We start talking while walking.

”Y/n if you don't mind me asking why you were drinking.” “It’s my birthday in three days.” “I'm confused, don't usually humans celebrate their birthdays with joy and gifts?” I chuckle at that. ”They do but my birthday is also my mom’s death anniversary.” He looked at me.”It was my one year old birthday and mom was tending to Sam and I cried. She came to check on me and I was fine. She went back to Sam to see old Yellow eyes standing over Sam’s bed.” “So if I hadn't cried my mom could still be alive.” He stopped walking, staring at me with sadness in his eyes. “You were a child” “My dad didn't seem to care as we got older and didn't celebrate my birthday. I started to ask why and he told me I think he always blamed me.” “ Y/n you are not to blame” “Thanks Cas you're sweet but I can't change the past that's why I try harder for the future.” We reach the motel. “Thank you for walking with me Cas good night.” “Good night Y/n/n” As we said our goodbyes I had the urge to hug him but I didn’t.

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As I try to sneak back into the dark room the lights turn on with both of my brothers sitting next to the lamp. “Well, well, well how was your ice y/n?” Dean asked me with sarcasm while Sam just sat there with that face of I’m disappointed in you. “It was great, actually I'm pretty tired so tell you in the morning all about it.” I turn to my room when Sam stops me.”Y/n we were worried for you when there's a witch on the loose you don't go missing for three hours.” “Look guys, I appreciate it but I'm not a little kid anymore. I will spend my shitty birthday how I want to.” They both look like they want to say something and Dean goes to but he gets a phone call. “Hello yes this is Detective Plant yes we'll be right there.” Dean goes to walk out. “There's been another strange death.” Sam and I follow him.

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We walk downstairs to teens talking to cops about what happened. Man teen hood I miss it sometimes, the world just felt lighter back then. The main witness who was the friend of the girl who lets just say got a facial she didn't ask for. Tracy the friend is telling her account to the cop. I walked up to her. “Hi there, detective smith” I flash her my badge.”Your friend didn’t happen to know a man named Luke Wallace?” I asked her. “Um, who’s Luke Wallace?” Tracy answered with a little bit of confusion. “He passed away yesterday.” Sam and Dean are looking around for another one of the special blend hex bags. “I don’t know who that is.” Sam finds one under the couch cushion. Damn it another innocent person gone. And I couldn't stop it.

========================================================================

All three of us are now researching this. “I’m telling you, both these vics are squeaky clean. There is no reason for a wicked bitch payback.” Dean said to us. “Maybe cause it’s not about that.” Sam said, putting his book down on the table for us to see. “Maybe this witch isn’t working the grudge, maybe they’re working a spell. Check this out.” I look at the page and if this is what is going on, then we're screwed.”Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st.” Sam read. “Halloween.” Dean and I both say looking at the book.

“Exactly.” Sam agreed. “What the hell are the blood sacrifices exactly used for?” I said a little mad and fearful. “Uh, if I’m right, this witch is summoning a demon, and not just any demon – Samhain.” shit “I read all about him when I was first reading about demons. Samhain is the damn origin of Halloween. The Celts believe that October 31st was the one night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, and it was Samhain’s night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago.” I told the boys.”So even though Samhain took a trip downstairs, the tradition stuck.” Dean said. “Exactly, only now instead of demons and blood orgies Halloween is all about kids, candy and costumes.” Sam added on to what I said.”Okay, so some witch wants to raise Samhain and take back the night?” “Dean, this is serious.” “I am serious.”

“Dean, this ritual can only be performed every six hundred years.” I told him. “And the six hundred year marker rolls around…?” “Tomorrow night.” Sam answered but I wish he was wrong. “Naturally.” Dean responded with his regular sarcasm. Dean looked down at the page and saw the illustration of Samhain. “Well it sure is a lot of death and destruction for one demon.” “I sadly have an answer for that too, That’s because he likes company. Once he's raised, Samhain can do some raising of his own. Ghosts,Vampires,Werewolfs the whole shambang and yes Dean even Leprechauns.” “Look, it just starts with ghosts and ghouls, this sucker keeps on going, by night's end we are talking every awful thing we have ever seen. Everything we fight, all in one place.” Sam said to add on more. “It’s gonna be a slaughterhouse.” Dean was right, it would be, what a great early birthday present. I guess it's consistent with my life at least.

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Dean and I are in the Impala watching the Wallace house and of course he's eating all the candy as usual. Good thing I saved my own stash. “You know you're going to get a stomach ache with all that candy.” I told him. “No, I have a stomach of steel little sis don't you worry.” “Okay don't say I didn't warn you.” Dean smiles at that. “Y/n about what you said about your birthday I want you to know that Sam and I would never blame you for what happened and that dad was a dick for telling you the way he did. You are one of the best things that has ever happened to Sam and I. When I found out I was going to have a little sister was over the moon Sammy too.I think Sam and I would be dead without you.So this is to tell you that we are sorry that you felt like this and that we will celebrate anyway you want even if you don't want to celebrate we will always love you no matter what." When he finishes, tears are falling out of my eyes. I hugged him. “Thank you Dean.” “No need to thank me.” We let go and Dean gets a call.”Hey.” “Awesome, yeah, I talked with Mrs. Razor Blade again. I’ve been sitting out in front of her house for hours and I’ve got a big steamy pile of nothing.” I slap him on the arm for the razor blade name. “Yeah, well I hope we find ‘em soon cause I’m starting to cramp like a –” “WHAT THE FU-” I said. Because there is little miss Tracy being all friendly with Mrs.Wallace, yeah I don't know the Wallallces my ass.

========================================================================

Sam,Dean and I are now at Tracy's school. Apparently she had a violent experience with a teacher here. Damn, choosing a pretty high schooler for a six hundred witch is smart. I hate that. We walk in the art classroom and see paper mache masks hanging from the ceiling. Dean stops to stare at them. “Dean you okay?” I asked him. “Of course I am, I'm ready to catch this bitch now where is this teacher.” I got that feeling again that he's lying. The teacher walked in carrying art supplies. “You agents wanted to talk to me.” “Ah, Mr. Harding.” Sam said as he shaked his hand.”Oh, please, Don.” He then shaked our hands.”Even my students call me Don.” “Yeah, we get it, Don.” Dean said annoyed. We pull out our badges.”I’m agent Getty, this is Agent Lee and thats agent Smith. We just had a few questions about, uh, Tracy Davis.” Dean said to Don. “Uh, yeah, Tracy, uh, bright kid, loads of talent. It’s a shame she got suspended.” “ We heard that you two had a… uh, violent altercation.” I said to him.

“Yeah, she exploded. If Principal Murrow hadn’t walked by when he did, Tracy would have clawed my eyes out.” “Why?” Sam questioned. “I, uh, you know, I was only trying to rap with her about her work. It had gotten inappropriate and disturbing.She would cover page after page with these bizarre cryptic symbols, and then there were the drawings.Detailed images of killings, gory, primitive, and she would depict herself in the middle of them, participating.” Oh wow.”Symbols, what kind of symbols? Uh, anything like this?” Sam showed him the old coin. “Yeah, yeah, I think that might have been one of them.” Great, just great.”You know where Tracy is now?” Dean questioned him.”I would imagine her apartment.” “Her apartment?” I said surprised. “Yeah, she got here about a year ago, alone, as I understood it, as an emancipated teen. God only knows what her parents were like.” Great more goose chasing.

====================================================================================

We checked the apartment and no witch was in sight. We pulled into the motel parking lot. Sam walks over to Dean's side.”So?” “Tracy was nowhere I could find. Any luck with her friends?” Sam asked. “Nah, luck is not our style. Her friends don’t know where she is. It’s like the bitch popped a broomstick.” I said as we started to walk to our room. And a kid walks up to us as an astronaut. “Trick or treat.” The kid asked. “This is a motel.” Dean said rudely “So?’’ “So we don’t have any candy.” This is one of the many reasons I keep my own stash. “No, we have a ton in the uh…” “No we dont he ate it all” I told Sam and we both gave each other the look of this is really our brother. “Sorry kid, we can’t help ya.” “I want candy.” “Well, I think you’ve had enough.” I do a double take at that line. I slapped Dean on the head. “Here you go kid” I gave him my entire stash, some pieces being Dean's favorite. “Have a great Halloween” I smiled at him .”Thanks mam” He gave me a smile back. “You had more candy?” Dean asked me offended.”Well I thought you had enough.” I said giving him his own medicine back. He gave me his bitch face. We enter the motel room and Sam goes first.”Who are you?!” Sam shouted holding his gun at the stranger which turned out to be Cas.”Sam! Sam, wait! It’s Castiel.” I said as I brought his hand down then I looked over to a man just standing staring out the window.

“The angel” Sam suddenly lets go of his guarded pose. “Him, we don't know” I said, nodding at the man.”Hello, Sam.” Cas Said to him and Sam looks like he’s meeting a celebrity.”Oh my God – er – uh – I didn’t mean to – sorry. It’s an honor, really, I – I’ve heard a lot about you.” Sam holding out his hand for cas to shake it. Castiel looks at Sam’s hand like he isn’t sure what to do with it. Sam shakes it a little, and Castiel finally understands and puts his right hand in Sam’s. “And I, you. Sam Winchester – The boy with the demon blood.” Damn that's one way to say hi to someone. “Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities.” The man facing the window speaks. “Let’s keep it that way.” “Yeah, okay, chuckles.” Dean said to him. “Who’s your friend?” I asked Cas. He didn't answer that . “This the raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?” He asked Dean. “Why?” “Dean, have you located the witch?” “Yes, we’ve located the witch.” “And is the witch dead?’’ “No but we're close.” I said. “We know who it is.” Dean said, defending us. Cas walks over to our bed table.”Apparently the witch knows who you are too.”

He said picking up a hex bag. “This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or all of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?” My brothers and I look at each other.”We’re working on it.” I said to Cas. “That’s unfortunate.” “What do you care?” Dean asked and he's right why would the angels care. “The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals.” Oh shit. “So this is about your buddy Lucifer.” Dean responded with sarcasm. “Lucifer is no friend of ours.” The man spoke. “It’s just an expression.” I said to him, “Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs.” Cas said to us seriously. “Okay, great, well now that you’re here, why don’t you tell us where the witch is, we’ll gank her and everybody goes home.” Dean said in his usual fashion. “We are not omniscient. This witch is very powerful, she’s cloaked even our methods.” Cas said to us back. “Okay, well we already know who she is, so if we work together –” Sam said, trying to calm down the people around him. “Enough of this.” The man spoke again very rudely.”Okay, who are you and why should I care?” Dean asked him.

“This is Uriel, he’s what you might call a… specialist.” “Specialist of what?” I asked with concern. “You – all three of you – need to leave this town immediately.” He said back. “Why?” “Because we’re about to destroy it.” What the Hell? “I'm sorry I thought you said you were going to destroy the town.” I said, trying to laugh it off. Cas can’t look me in the eyes. “I did.” I can't believe this right now. “So this is your plan, you’re gonna smite the whole friggin’ town?” Dean asked mad.”We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved.” Cas said back very casually.” Cas do you know how many people are here? There must be a thousand.” “One thousand two hundred fourteen.” Uriel said, looking at me. “And you’re willing to kill them all?” I said staring, not backing down. “This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city.” Great, just great we have psychopath with us.”Look, I understand this is regrettable.” Cas said to us. “Regrettable?” I question how he is even okay with this. “We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already.” Hell no I am not about to let hundreds of people die including kids because angels messed up. “So angels mess up and families have to die for it.” I asked Cas.

“It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here.” “Screw both of you, the bigger picture!?There are kids here, Castiel.” “Right, cause you’re bigger picture kind of guys.” Dean said, jumping in to back me up. “Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell rises with him. Is that something that you’re willing to risk?” Cas asked us back. “We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die.” Sam said to join in with his siblings. “We're wasting time with these mud monkeys.” Uriel said, Oh, so he wants to call names. We will call names.”I’m sorry, but we have our orders.” Cas said, trying to justify this. Sam just looks betrayed.”No, you can’t do this, you’re angels, I mean aren’t you supposed to – You’re supposed to show mercy.” He said with disbelief. “Says who?” Uriel questioned, sounding annoyed.”We have no choice.” Cas said to us. “Cas of course you have a choice, we all do. You're telling me you never questioned an order?” I asked, staring at him.”Look, even if you can’t understand it, have faith. The plan is just.” He responded back.”How can you even say that?”

“Because it comes from heaven, that makes it just.” Cas is just so sure it's a little scary.”Oh, it must be nice, to be so sure of yourselves.” Dean said, jumping back in.”Tell me something, Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?” Damn Cas. I jumped in again.”Well sorry chicken wings. You won't be killing a whole town today.” I said while looking at uriel. “You stupid little girl, you think you can stop us.” He said getting closer but I'm not backing down.”No, but if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting him out of hell. I figure he's worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste the golden boy, go ahead, see how he likes that.” I said nodding at Dean. “I will drag him out of here myself.” “Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something.” Dean said. I look at cas and really stare into those damn blue eyes for me to let him know. “We can do this. I know we can find the witch and kill her. Those families deserve a fighting chance.” He stares right back.”Castiel! I will not let these peop–” Uriel tried to speak up. “Enough!. I suggest you move quickly.” “ Thank you Cas really.” I put my hand on his shoulder and let it linger for a sec. It felt so warm. I turn to my brothers. “Let's go catch a Witch.!”

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Castiel’s POV:

Uriel and I are at the park watching the children play. “The decision’s been made.” I said. He laughed at that. “By some mud monkeys.” I don't understand him sometimes.”You shouldn’t call them that.” “ You don't want me saying that because you're sweet on that Winchester girl.” What no.”Of course I'm not. I'm not even fully sure what that means. It's just she’s one of my first prayers ""Castiel you will learn that humans are not worth your time all they are savages, just plumbing on two legs.” “You’re close to blasphemy.” Uriel sighs at me.”There’s a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here.” I sit down next to him and he sighs again.”And any rate, it’s out of our hands.” “It doesn’t have to be.” “And what would you suggest?” “That we drag Dean Winchester out of here and then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map.” “You know our true orders. Are you prepared to disobey?” Uriel just looks at me. Sweet? What does that even mean? I would do anything to protect her but that’s just what angels do for all their prayers right?

Y/n’s POV:

We found out that Tracy was not the witch but in fact her teacher damn plot twist. We head downstairs in the basement and see him about to stab her. I shoot him full of lead. We get her down from her rope. “Thank you, he was gonna kill me! Ugh, that sick son of a bitch. I mean, did you see what he was doing? Did you hear him? How sloppy his incantation was?” Wait what? “My brother –” Oh shit. We go for our guns again but she knocks us back with a spell.”Always was a little dim. He was gonna make me the final sacrifice, his idea, but now, that honor goes to him. Our master’s return? The spellwork’s a two man job you understand, so for six hundred years I had to deal with that pompous son of a bitch. Planning, preparing, unbearable.” She was getting a chalice and went over to her brother I guess, and used a knife for the bullet wound to bleed into the cup. The spell is still working to keep us down.

“And you get him with a gun, uh, love that.” She said to me man I hate my gun right now. “You know, back in the day, this was the one day you kept your children inside. Well tonight you’ll all see what Halloween really is.” She puts the chalice on the table and starts another spell while she does that Sam gets blood from Don and smears it on our faces. I see what he's doing. She finishes the spell and the ground cracks open for black smoke to rise up for it to possess Don’s dead body. He gets up and we hear kissing sounds oh God I'm so sorry. “My love.” “You’ve aged.” “This face… I can’t fool you.” “Your beauty is beyond time.” Then we hear a neck snap that was cold, loved and died for nothing. “Whore.” Samhain walked and stopped in front of us but did not do anything. “What the hell was that?” Dean questioned Sam. “Halloween lore. People used to wear masks to hide from him, so I gave it a shot.” “You gave it a shot?!” “Well good thing he hit the bulls eye.” I said getting up.

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We’re driving to the cemetery when Sam speaks. “So, this demon’s pretty powerful.” “Yeah.” Dean and I both said. “Might take more than the usual weapons.” “ Sam, no you can't use that, it's not good.” I said to him knowing he was talking about his physic powers. “Y/n’s right. Don’t even think about it. Ruby’s knife is enough.” Dean agreed with me. “Why?” Sam questioned. “Well because the angels said so for one –” “I thought you said they were a bunch of fanatics.” “ They are but Cas is right about this. I trust him.” “I don’t know, guys, it doesn’t seem like they’re right about much.” I mean he's right they were going to kill a whole town. “Well then forget the angels, okay? You said yourself, these powers, it’s like playing with fire.” Dean said. He picks up the demon knife and hands it to Sam “Please.” Sam takes the knife but does not say anything. I hope he realizes that we just care.

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We walk down into the crypt to a lot of teens locked in. who would want to party next to dead people teens man. “Help them.” Sam said to dean and I. “Wait no we cant let go by yourself!” I said. “Do it!” He runs off after Samhain. Dean and both look at each other. “Get back!” I yelled at them and raised my gun to shoot the lock off. The cage opens and they run out just as they do the grave doors crack open and zombies come out. “Bring it on rotters “ I said as I went and stabbed the zombies. Another one comes up behind and I go to stab it and it goes right through her. “Dean we got ghosts too!” I said as she threw me back. “Zombie ghost orgy huh? Well, that’s it, I’m torching everybody.” He said he grabs the fuel and lighter and lights all of them like the fourth of July. We run after Sam and come in to see him using his powers Damn it Sammy. But he's successful and Samhain is sent back to hell. Sam looks at us both with guilt in his eyes.

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I am walking in the woods trying to clear my head about everything, not just Sam but tomorrow. I hear wings flapping and turn to see the angel I didn't want. “Tomorrow. November 2nd, it’s an anniversary for you. But not just an anniversary a birthday. “ I scoff at him holding myself back so as not to hit him.”Your point being Uriel.” “My point is that you and your brother keep on getting in my way.” “Sam using his powers and you distracting Castiel.” “Distracting Cas? What the hell are you talking about.” “Don't you take that tone with me Girl. You don't think I don't know how many times you pray to him or he just comes.” “I can't control what he does. And he is not your dog so stop trying to control him.” I said and he did not like that as he came even closer. “The only reason you’re still alive with your brother is because you’ve been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you’re worth, one word. One, and I will turn you to dust. As for your brother, tell him that maybe he should climb off that high horse of his. Ask Dean what he remembers from hell.”

With that ending he flies away. What Dean remembers? I knew he was lying, oh Dean. I hear wings again. I'm ready to swing this time but it's Cas. “What do you want?” I said as I kept walking as I was still mad at him. “I wanted to make sure you were okay” I can’t believe him “Cas you can't do that, ask if I'm okay when you were about to kill everyone here.” “Our orders –” “Enough with these orders, did you really want to do that?” “Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever Dean told us what to do.” what? “It was a test, to see how he would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say.” “So he failed, you know what if we had to do it all again I'm one hundred percent sure that we would make the same choice. This town these kids that are breathing right now are still here because of my brothers and I.” He looks at me. “You misunderstand me, Y/n, I’m not like you think. I was praying that you guys would choose to save the town.” “I was hoping you would Cas.”

“These people, they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that’s not an expression, Y/n, it's literal. Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” I smile at him so happy right now. “Of course you can Cas, you can always tell me anything. ""I’m not a… hammer as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore.” “Cas it's normal to feel that way, that means you care to stop when someone tells you to kill an entire town.” I finished. He looks up at me and I can see a small smile? “Happy birthday Y/n I'm sorry I don't have a gift for you.” “That's okay Cas you already gave me the best gift of all. You told me you care.” I look at him. “Good bye y/n” “Bye Cas”. He flew off and with me having the most happy I've been on my birthday I have in a while.

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That's it hoped you liked it! Excited for the next few chapters we meet Anna. Sorry, this took long some things happened I also went to the SPN convention and Mark Pellegrino gave me a hug!

#castiel x reader #castiel #castiel x y/n #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #team free will #spnfandom #supernatural #Supernatural Season 4 #castiel x you #Castiel x reader series masterlist #bobby singer #bobby spn #cas spn #cas x reader #cas x y/n

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kiankiwi · 2 years ago

Text

An Absolute Tantrum - continued

Summary: You take care of Elvis and his sore throat after you get him home from the studio (someone requested I continue my last tantrum piece)

Elvis groans as he stirs against the leather back seat of your car realizing he'd fallen asleep and he's being pulled out your car. "I know, I know. Mama's so sorry lovie. But unfortunately you're such a big boy I can't carry you in." Elvis grumbles, shuffling along inside with you, "not a big boy. 'm little mama." You smile, placing your hand on Elvis' ushering him into Graceland

Once you get him inside and close the door, Elvis makes a beeline toward the first seat he sees and curls up on the couch, refusing to get up. Apparently going all the way up the main staircase to the master bedroom is too far for him right now. You sigh, realizing how ill he probably really feels and card your fingers through his hair lovingly. Elvis sighs relaxed, his eyes staying closed. "Baby, don't you want to go upstairs to Roxy and get cozy?" He groans. "No mama, S'eepy." You nod. You can't force him to go upstairs if he doesn't want to. You certainly can't carry him. No matter how much little Elvis would to be parked on your hip as he followed you around Graceland.

"Alright lovie. Sleep well." You whisper and leave the room, getting all the medicines and ingredients together to make Gladys' famous chicken soup.

*The Next Day*

Poor Elvis didn't awaken till the next morning. And the poor thing felt even worse when he awoke. He felt like he was swallowing razor blades, he had a cough and he was now stuffed up.

You were reading in the kitchen when you finally saw Elvis again. Upon finding you, he dropped to his knees and placed his head in your lap, whimpering. "Feel yucky, mama." You sigh, quickly feeling Elvis' forehead for a fever.

"Oh, I'm so sorry baby. C'mon bubba, let's go get you some tea." He nods, holding his hand out to you as he walks with you to the kitchen.

You had managed to get him to drink a cup and a half of tea and it seemed to help him a bit but since he had been coughing a bit now and he was also complaining of a headache you had decided it was time for some medicine.

Dr. Nick had given you a liquid tylenol to be given by syringe for whenever Elvis was sick in headspace so that's what you had planned to give him. But unfortunately, he had seen you loading up the syringe with the red gross liquid.

"No, mama. Mm-mm." And with that he sealed his lips shut and refused to look in your direction as you came at him with the medication. "I know it doesn't taste good bubba but it'll be done so quick and it'll make you feel so much better.." He shook his head. "Mm-mm."

You had attempted to poke the syringe through his pursed lips but any time the syringe came toward him he'd move out of the way in any direction, the rascal.

"Elvis. Honey, please be a good boy. You need this medicine bubba." He shook his head, eyeing the red medicine in the syringe. You sigh. "Bubba, the faster you take this the faster we can go take a bath and then watch your cartoons..." His eyes soften at the compromise. "'Toons in the baf?" He asks. You nod with a smile. "I think that can be arranged... only if you take your medicine though."

Hesitantly, Elvis opens his mouth for the oral medicine. "Good boy, baby. Thank you." He grimaces at the taste. "Swallow it lovie and we'll go upstairs." He swallows the medicine and proves it to you by sticking his tongue out as he opens his mouth wide. You smile. "Good job, E. Now c'mon." He nods taking your hand

Two hours later, after a long 'baf' and a few cartoons, Elvis was snuggled up in bed with you with a bowl of chicken noodle soup on a bed-in-breakfast tray. His eyes lit up when you had told him it was his mama's recipe.

Elvis eyes the spoon, nervous to ask for what he wants. "Mama, could you?" You nod. "Sure, lovie." You spoon him a few noodles but to your surprise he yelps and spits it back into the bowl. "Ah, mama, ha!" (As in hot)

You tsk. Of course you had forgotten to blow on the hot soup and possibly burnt Elvis' tongue. "Oh did mama forget to blow on it. Mama's so sorry love. Here." You spoon up another mouthful and make a big show of blowing on it before offering him the spoon again. He accepts it that time.

"T'ankoo for caring for me." Elvis murmurs as you two are laying together later. You play with his hair and peck his forehead. "Of course bubby. That's what mamas for. I love you E." He smiles, half asleep. "Love 'oo too." He whispers.

There we go :) I really enjoyed this one and I think it turned out super cute @arianatheangel-girl thank you for the request! If you have any more please let me know! <3

@mooodyblue @ellie-24

#my writing #kiwiswriting

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ladyvittoriahale · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome To The Circus

All too familiar were the walls that he stared at now; dark, grime stained, with a single dull light hanging over the table so rusted from the age that Evian was shocked it still hung. Even now, decades since he last lurked in this most beloved of places, he could smell the blood in the air; it sparked his senses to life as his eyes traveled the room.

It was there, in the center of the room that his greatest creation sat. His crowning achievement and his biggest failure. The creature peered at him from where she was coiled on a stool, grey orbs staring him down near lifeless. She looked older now; taller, more lean muscle and sinew showing in her bare arms, her face watching him emotionlessly like an animal in a zoo exhibit. Still, age had not touched the things that had drawn him at the start; long black hair like a curtain, that calculating look, and the way she was currently waiting like a predator to pounce on him and rip his throat out.

"Long time no see-"

"Shut. Up." Ah...there it was. He could hear it, simmering and rolling beneath the surface. That extremely explosive anger that he had so carefully cultivated.

"Come now Little Raven...do not be this way with dear old Dad."

"YOU ARE NO FATHER OF MINE." The words came flying from her as the energy in the room sparked to life like the gears of a machine. Her body sprang from the stool, marching itself over to where the disgusting puppet he was piloting. He let out a laugh as he felt the firm hand crushing his throat; her razor pointed claws biting into the skin, tearing at him as her fangs bared at him.

"And how do you know that I am not walking right now in Dear old Daddy's animated corpse? Hm?"

Evian watched the look in her eyes darken for a moment, felt the ripping began in his neck as he began to spurt giggling again. And then, the look he hated. The disconnection. The apathy. In moments infront of him the predatorial rage was snuffed out, the fear permeating from her was utterly gone. And in it's place was a person he despised. She peered down at him with an odd, distant look...and then realized who he was. "You're right, we don't..."

Evian felt the magic creeping into him like a subzero toxin. It was slow and agonizing, it felt like having each cell slowly freeze and die, starting with the blood vessels. He felt it take over every square inch of puppet, encapsulating his very essence as she slowly snapped the bonds holding him within like a sadistic playtoy of sinew. "But we know one way to find out Locke." When the master felt his student surpass him was the moment that a blade plunged into his chest. A final severance of him from the puppet as the life was snuffed out, and he was dumped within the blade. Into a great expanse of nothingness, echoing on for eternity; and as he tumbled down into the nothing, he heard her joyful echo within his head. "Now, it's my turn."

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tswaney17 · 3 years ago

Text

Ice Skating

So, I was going to attempt to do the Elriel 25 Days of Solstice, but life is just chaotic right now. And seeing how this is already three days late... 🙈 I may try and pick some random prompts to do and sporadically post them throughout the month, but I can’t guarantee them, nor them being posted on the right date. It’s been hell these last few months and it’s not slowing down. Anyways, please enjoy these totally cheesy, fluffy ice skating fic that I wrote in like two days, barely edited, and I don’t really like but I’m posting anyways. 💙

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: brief language and mild NSFW thoughts.

Word Count: 1,262

Azriel was sitting on one of the benches next to the ice rink, watching his best friend fly across the ice, brown hair a torrent behind her. Beside him sat a pair of unused skates, purchased by her in a feeble attempt to get him on that godforsaken frozen pond.

He was good at many things, playing the piano, tearing up the lacrosse field, or breaking down the most complicated trigonometry problem. But standing on two thin blades on slippery ice—nope. He just couldn’t do it.

Elain came sliding to a stop in front of him, stepping outside of the rink. Her face was positively glowing, smile radiant.

Gods, he had loved her for years. And he was such a chicken shit for being so damn afraid to tell her.

“Are you just going to sit here like a bum all night?” she asked, cheeks pink from both the cold and her exertion.

He raised an amused brow at her. “You’re well aware of my lack of coordination on those razor blades you call skates.”

She snorted in the most adorable way. “You have all coordination and talent in the world, but put you in a pair of skates and you’re just a dandelion in the wind.” Elain stepped forward, putting on her best attempt at a sad face.

Az tensed. “No, El. Don’t you dare,” he started, holding his hands up. He was a sucker to that face; it could get him to bend to her will as easily as breathing.

“Come on!” she whined. “Why did you even agree to come if you weren’t planning on skating.”

Azriel leaned back on his palms. “Because you’re my best friend and I enjoy watching you have fun.” And because he couldn’t say no to her—not really.

“It’d be much more fun out there if you’d just get up off your ass,” she teased. “I promise to hold your hand the whole time.”

He smirked. “That’s more of a danger to you than a safety net for me.”

Elain laughed, eyes sparkling.

Fuck, she was stunning. He really needed to get a grip on his emotions, lest he do something stupid. Like, kiss her.

Mischief danced in those gorgeous golden-brown eyes. “I think I can handle it. Please come skate with me?” Again, those damn puppy-dog eyes as she reached forward and took his scarred hand—such a contrast to her perfect ones, dusted with calluses from her hours spent gardening. She really was using everything in her arsenal tonight.

“I just ate a package of M&M’s. I need to wait an hour before getting in.”

“The water is frozen your sarcastic butt. And it’s an ice rink, not a swimming pool.”

He groaned knowing his will was slipping. “Fine! But if I break an ankle, you’re going to be my personal nurse until I can walk again,” he stated, taking a swig of his hot chocolate.

“Deal, but only if I can wear one of those sexy little nurse outfits.”

Azriel choked, staring at her wide-eyed. Did she just… Was she flirting with him? His cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Fuck, now he was picturing it. Elain in a slinky little nurse costume, her hourglass figure on full display. A short skirt stopping at the top of her perfect thighs—her fucking gorgeous, round ass. He tried to shift subtly in his seat, praying he didn’t pop a boner here and now.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back, leaning back to rest her elbows on the little wall around the rink.

He wiped the hot chocolate from his mouth, tossing the cup in the trash. Giving her a once over—because he was a glutton for punishment—he murmured, “You’d look good in it,” before he shucked off his boots and pulled on the pair of skates.

Glancing back up, he caught Elain staring at him, cheeks flushed with color. “What?”

She blinked, shaking her head. “Nothing.” Holding out her hand to him, Elain hauled him up onto unsteady feet. Azriel wobbled dangerously, but she situated herself under his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Getting him onto the ice was a feat in itself.

Elain was desperately trying not to laugh, but her shaking form pressed into his side told him everything.

“Laughing at me isn’t helping,” he muttered as they glided on the ice.

She chortled, covering her mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry! You just remind me of newborn fawn right now.”

He glared down at her. “That’s it, I’m done. I am not going to stand here and take your teasing,” he said dramatically. Twisting to glide back towards the edge of the rink, his foot slipped and they went down onto the ice.

Elain yelped as he took her with him, but Azriel reacted, cradling her to his chest and taking the brunt of the fall flat on his back.

He grunted upon impact, head thumping frozen ground and leaving him dazed.

“Azriel!” she called, though it sounded fuzzy—like he was underwater. “Shit, Azriel, are you alright?”

A chilled hand pressed to his cheek forcing his eyes to blink open. Twinkling lights gilded Elain’s unbounded hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She reminded him of an angel coming down from the heavens above and for a split second, he wondered if he was dying. Snowflakes dusted her hair.

His eyes refocused on hers, golden hues glittering in her brown irises. Without so much as a second thought, he slid his fingers into tresses, feeling the soft, silky strands slip over his skin.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t move, let him touch her how he wanted to.

And then he tilted her head up, and brought her lips down to his, kissing her so softly, so magically, Azriel was sure this was some dream he cooked up in his imagination. Her lips were soft and warm against his.

But Elain was responded eagerly, giving it back to him with just as much intent. She slid her knee down his hip into the ice to get more leverage to kiss him properly, sighing into his mouth. Her nails dug into his chest and shoulders, and when she pulled away, she was grinning. “Finally,” she breathed

Azriel stared up at her. “Finally?” he spluttered.

Elain laughed softly, shaking her head, her hair a curtain around them. “I’ve only been waiting for years for you to finally make a move. You are so oblivious, Azriel, I swear to the Mother. I’ve been sending you signals for years, hoping that one day you’d see it and actually do something about it. The constant touching, me baking for you, cuddling while watching movies.”

He stared at her dumbfounded. “I thought you were just comfortable around me…”

She rolled her eyes in utter exasperation. “I was more than comfortable around you, Az.” Then they were kissing again. Kissing like they were dependent on each other’s oxygen, ignoring the huffs of other skaters having to go around them on the ice.

He wasn’t sure how long they were on the ground for, but it was long enough for one of the rink employees to skate over to them and ask them if they were okay and to leave the arena if they weren’t going to keep it PG.

Scrambling off the ice like a pair of giggling teenagers, they returned their ice skates in favor of making out back at Azriel’s apartment, on the comforts of his couch and between his sheets.

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA

It's curious.

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?

This is too good.

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

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soggy-platee · 3 years ago

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It Goes Both Ways

Rating: M (Somewhat graphic talk of injury)

Pairing: Din x GN!Reader

Summary: You take a hit for Din, feelings and angst ensue.

Note: Hello sorry this is literally all angst, a tiny bit of fluff. I can't stop myself, I just love the whole "feelings being revealed through injury" trope. If anyone wants, I was thinking about a smutty part two to this one! Let me know. Also, y'all were so kind with Doubt, so thank you!

...

The fight went bad from the second it started.

Well, before that, if you were being completely honest. Everyone in the cantina had been too still, too tense when you and Mando entered. It was so clearly unnatural for the usually boisterous atmosphere of a Nevarro night.

Yet somehow, you both missed it.

The kid was really to blame. He had been a ball of energy all night, practically bouncing off the walls of the hull while you and his father did everything in your power to get him to calm down. You were both annoyed and tired as your set out to meet the contact, should have known there was no hope of success. When the eight men in the cantina converged on you both, you were immediately thrust into the defensive. Exactly where you knew Mando hated to be. You had taken down several attackers, using your blade to slash and hack until it broke off in the chest cavity of some blue creature. You had lost just a moment as you attempted to wrench the hopeless blade from the now lifeless corpse, but it was enough time for a rough tug to pull you to the ground and a heavy weight to climb on top of you. You remembered the previous night almost fondly as opposed to the impossibly tight grip on your throat now.

Your fingers dug into the hand around your throat to no avail as the man- a Twi’lek, you now realized- bared his teeth down at you. Hot breath brushed over your face and you grimaced even further. Eyes rolling, you managed to steal a glance at Mando who was engaged in his own battle. There were two on him, one managing to get Mando’s arms behind his back in a tight hold while the other approached with a raised blade as you looked on. Fear shot through you at his vulnerable position and you doubled your efforts.

Your fingernails finally caught purchase on the arm that held you down at the same moment you bucked your hips with everything you had. A hiss came from above as you managed to pull one leg above the hips holding you down. Twisting hard, you flipped the man into the floor at full speed, his cheek cracking against the hard dirt. On your hands and knees now, you whipped your head up to see the armed man raise his blade and prepare to strike at Mando’s exposed neck. The fabric of his cowl would do nothing to stop the glowing, razor-sharp weapon that was mear inches from him now.

You shot up, your boots digging into the dirt as you righted yourself directly into a sprint. It happened in a split second. You reached Mando just as the blade completed its arc, half-throwing, and half-pressing yourself in front of his armored chest in a protective stance. You followed your first instinct, forearm coming up to block the blow.

White-hot pain bloomed along your arm, reaching all the way to the bone, as the blade cut through you like butter. Gasping at the initial shock, you managed to get a gut punch into the man in front of you before dropping to one knee. You clutched your forearm, trying your hardest to not collapse and curl up right then and there. You dimly registered fighting directly behind you through closed eyes, hoping to God it was Mando dealing with the last guy.

No offense to him, but you felt like you had done enough.

A wave of nausea came over you as you dared to open your eyes, taking in the bloody mess that was now your arm. The cut wasn’t overly long, but it was deep. You knew you had felt it hit bone, but jeez, you didn’t think you would be able to see it.

A blaster shot from behind you gave your enough adrenaline to rise on unsteady feet, turning to see Mando with his arm still raised, blaster smoke rising from the body of the final hostile in the room.

He turned to you with an immediacy that made you sway, the speed of the movement causing another wave of nausea to rise up. You doubled over as he approached, pressing your good hand to the back of your mouth. He was mumbling something as he approached you, Mando’a you would realize later. His hands found your hunched shoulders as you finally heard a word you recognized well,

“Cyare-hey, hey, look at me-”

With your hand still planted firmly over your mouth, you glanced up at him. You were taken aback by just how shook up he looked, even underneath the armor. His hands were tight around your shoulders, almost bruising you with their intensity. His chest was heaving, but it couldn’t be from the fight now. His voice nearly shook.

The pain almost blinding you was nothing compared to the icing feeling that crept down your spine at the sheet panic he was radiating. It wasn’t right, you had never seen him simply break like this.

You had seen him trembling underneath you, above you as he came, but he was still always in control when you were together. This was different.

This was frightening.

His hand pulled up to cup your jaw as you faced him, tilting it back and forth, frantically searing you even though the source of your pain was obvious. You wanted to say something, anything, to get him to calm down. But when you managed to pull your hand from your mouth, all that escaped was a low groan of pain.

Well that didn’t work, you thought faintly before your face collided with Mando’s chestplate, blackness overtaking you a second after.

…

The swaying was what woke you. A constant, fast motion shook you all over. Most pertinently, it was shaking the hell out of your arm. Something was wrapped around you, holding you close to a hard metal surface.

Why did it hurt again?

Ah yes, the cut.

The cut. The fight.

Mando.

You forced your eyes open, instinctually pulling away from whatever was retraining you. A gruff voice spoke to you as you turned your eyes to face the dark fabric of Mando’s chin.

“Stop.”

His faceplate didn’t even turn to you, just one word directed outward to the now-dark street ahead of you. He was carrying you through the town bridal style, your damaged arm tucked up into your chest as your calves swung with each footfall.

The memories of the night flooded back to your in greater detail, mainly your injury. An injury, you now noticed, hurt a lot less than it had...a few minutes ago? An hour?

Your confusion formed a question. Fighting the dryness in your voice, you huffed out, “How long was I out?”

“Not long.”

Another short answer, again not facing you.

A frown tugged on your lips, brows furrowing. Had something happened you didn’t remember? Why was he suddenly pissed at you? Finally, you glanced down at your arm. Wrapped in several bacta patches, secured with more bandages.

When the hell did that happen?

“Cantina had supplies”

Sometimes his ability to read you pissed you off.

You finished the trip in silence, doing your best to let off a pissed-off vibe. It was childish. You knew how to communicate, you knew Mando hardly ever did. But you were tired, hurt, and you didn’t know why that was such a huge problem to him. You had saved his ass, anyway.

You should be the pissed one if anything.

You approached the Crest’s ramp and you prepared to be set down, tensing your legs and starting to push off his chest with your good arm.

His grip simply remained firm, however, showing no indication he would be letting you down. You twisted your head in an attempt to look him in the visor, confused as all hell. His face remained stubbornly to front, much to your continued irritation.

You pushed off him a few more futile times, wiggling your hips in an attempt to loosen his hand around your knees.

Nothing.

You just slumped in his arms then, waiting for what seemed like the world’s slowest ramp to hit the ground.

He stomped into the ship and didn’t set you down until the ramp started to raise. His demeanor still remained stony, but he set you down with a gentleness only reserved for you and the child. He steadied you as your feet hit the ground, but his hands pulled away as soon as he confirmed you could stand alone.

Before you could even speak, he was gone, heading to the ladder of the cockpit.

That was it, you had absolutely had enough.

You threw your good hand in the air before shouting across the silent hull.

“Yeah, thanks for the ride, I’ll just go fuck off then.”

It wasn’t your best line, but you were pissed. And confused.

And hurt more than anything.

To your credit, the words were enough to stop him, hand on the first rung of the ladder. You stood expectantly, breathing heavily from your words and your injury.

Silence.

You made an incredulous sound, turning around and folding your arms to the best of your ability.

“Leave it to me to fuck up and save your ass, my bad, it won’t happen again.”

You winced as the words left your mouth, it was mean. It was terrible. You didn’t mean it. You would lay down your life for him at any moment and he knew it. Well, you thought he knew it. You thought he would do the same for you, too. But here he was, acting like you were a liability. Like he didn’t care about you at all. It made you defensive. Maybe you misread things between you too. Maybe you were just sex to him. Maybe you didn’t go any further.

That was fine, you could handle that. You just needed him to tell you, and not do whatever this was.

Leather creaked as his hand tightened on the metal with your words, but silence persisted. The fight in your was waning as your thoughts continued to run wild.

Your next words came out more defeated than aggressive, “If I’m an issue, just tell me. I’m gone.”

That sparked something in him, hand flying off the ladder as he whirled to face you. The movement caught you off guard, combined with the weakened state it made you stumble back a step Then another, then more as the suddenly fervent Mandaoliran stalked toward you across the hull. Your back hit the wall before he finally stopped a foot away from you, helmet tilted down at you as his shoulders rose and fell with deep, ragged breaths.

His helmet searched you, looking you up and down while his hands came to hover near your shoulder. He didn’t touch you, however, simply grasping at air several times in contemplation before fisting them once more at his side.

“Of course you’re an issue, you are the issue -my issue.”

His tone was unreadable, half-angry, half-desperate.

You gaped like a fish in his face, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Where was this coming from?

Your silence rushed him forward. Pushing a finger into your chest, he rambled, “You did fuck up- saving me. I didn’t want you- you shouldn’t have- I didn’t need it.” He spat the final words, but there was something underneath it, far too similar to his tone earlier, his panic.

Still, his words reignited your anger and confusion. “What do you mean you “didn’t need it”. That knife was going for your neck!”

He threw his head back, hands coming up to grip the sides of his helmet.

“Exactly! A knife which you jumped in front of, with no plan, no defense. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I didn’t want you to die, idiot! What the hell did you think I was thinking?”

He stumbled, whatever retort he had dying soundlessly on his tongue. Then, he spun from you, crossing his arms over his chest as he did. His next words were quiet, dismissive but firm.

“I didn’t ask for that. Never do that again.”

You literally could not comprehend his train of thought. Did he want you to just let him die? You grabbed his shoulder with your good hand, trying to force him to face you to no avail.

“You don’t get a say, you don’t have to ask. Don’t you get it? If I want to take a hit for you, that’s on me.”

He rounded on you once more, helmet coming so close that it nearly made contact with your forehead. “You don’t get to make that choice”, he growled, low and urgent.

Oh, now that was fucking golden.

“What? I don’t get to make my own choices with my own life? Is that what it’s come to now? Clearly, you don’t trust me, but I at least thought you could afford me my own autonomy.”

Finally, his hands came up and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you with intensity as he shouted in your face.

“Would you just listen to me? I won’t- cannot lose you. Not for me. Not ever.”

Your shoulders tensed in his grip and your eyes shot wide. His words startled you, the meaning washing over you in steps. They first relived you, convinced you that you felt the same way about each other, regardless of the fact this was the first time you were both voicing such outright feelings. But they also struck that same anger in you.

“So you get to protect me but I can’t do that same for you?”. Your voice was calmer now, eyes searching his visor for some sign he understood how unfair- if touching- his words were.

His hands loosened on your arms, shoulders dropping from their tense state. His helmet dropped from your gaze, swinging loosely before he sighed, “...Yes.”

His voice upturned at the end, almost in question of his own words. Of course. He knew how stupid it sounded.

Anger left you at his defeated look, head hanging between his shoulders. You raised your good arm, slowly placing your fingertips on the bottom of his helmet. He tensed for a moment at the touch, but you pushed gently enough on the metal that he simply followed your guidance. His visor came to face you once more, the blackness reflecting the look of concern in your eyes. You could only imagine that his held the same look.

Gloved fingers found your bad arm, still drawn tightly to your chest. They brushed over the patches gingerly, making their way to your hand and intertwining with your own digits. Your eyes fluttered at the touch, the familiar feeling melting away the residual pain like water down a stream.

He sighed heavily, before speaking with a subdued sincerity.

“You make me so fucking scared, pretty. I’ve never-I didn’t know that feeling until you and the kid. I can’t focus on anything else. I can’t lose you- can’t live without you.”

His fingers tightened around yours as he spoke, and your soft smile was reflected in silver back at you.

“Do you not think I feel the same thing, feel the same way about you?”

He gave your hand a squeeze before breathing, “...I do.”

Your smile faltered at his admission, worry coloring your next words.

“Then why do you think I could live without you?”

It was times like these you cursed his helmet, his creed. You wanted- needed to know that your words were getting across to him, that he understands just how fucking much he meant to you. While his face was unreadable, a short breath through the modulator and another sharp squeeze of your hand told you that you had hit the mark.

You took a deep breath before saying, “Listen. We protect each other. Equally. That’s how this works. You can’t stop me. So if you want to keep me out of harm’s way, then you have to keep your own metal-ass safe, yeah?”

You swore you heard a chuckle from underneath your helmet at your comment, and you broke into a grin. You pulled your good hand from his and placed it behind his helmet, tugging it toward you and resting the cool metal on your forehead. His hand mimicked your position, coming up to intertwine with the hair at the base of your neck.

You let your eyes slip shut before saying, “Do you understand now, dummy?”

His hand gripped your hair tighter, pressing your closer. His words were thick when he spoke, “I do.”

You released your grip on him, righting yourself, but his hand simply slid down your back. He still held you close when he said, “And I’m sorry… for the way I acted. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. I was just…”

He faded off, but you knew where he was headed. You chuckled and flashed another smile, “It’s alright, make it up to me by taking the next knife, huh?”

The usual huff of laughter at your stupid comments didn’t come however, his helmet simply tipped down to take you in, hand tightening on your lower back.

“Actually…” he started, voice growing lower, softer, “I had another idea about how to make it up to you”

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

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Midnight in Venice

Pairing: Bucky x reader (mob!bucky AU)

Word Count: 940

Summary: You run into some trouble but you know Bucky will show up....

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club Bucky Barnes Character Appreciation Day and mob!bucky. I think this might be the first time I’ve ever written mob!bucky so I’d love your feedback! I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤ PS my amazing and gorgeous divider is by @imerdwarf Thank you so much! And thank you @nerdypinupcrystal for showing me that scene from ‘The Gentlemen’ and giving me some inspo!

Warnings: in the beginning it’s a bit angsty- being held captive, light fighting and violence, gun shots, but then it’s soft and sweet and full of love and kinda romantic :)

The pain in your cheek was nothing compared to the disgust you felt at the man pressed behind you, his slimy hands gripping your hair hard as he held you down against the desk. You had to stay calm and be patient. You had a plan in place in case your husband was late. But he was never late.

Filthy words flew from your assailants’ mouth and you inwardly cringed when he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I know you think your white knight is coming, but he ain’t sweetheart. You’re all mine.”

With a growl he rocks his hips into you, and you feel the bile rise in your throat. You’re thankful for the clothing still separating you as well as the training your husband insisted upon, which you hoped to put to good use soon. Another yank to your hair and you can feel the blade of the knife glide over your cheek, the razor-sharp edge stinging your skin.

You know you don’t have much time. Calming your breath, you quickly assess your surroundings and the man’s position. With one last inhale you bring your heeled foot down hard on the man’s shoe and in the short time he releases you, cock your elbow back and into his nose.

The crunch of bone is satisfying as you hear his loud yelp and you swiftly spin out from under him and back toward the door. He is on his feet with the knife in hand quicker than you had hoped but as you inch closer to the door your nose picks up on the faint scent of something dangerous and you hear the melodic whirr of metal.

With a smirk and a smooth step to the side, you are out of harms way when the door flies open to reveal your husband with nothing less than a murderous look on his face. He handles his Colt .38 Super with a skill that turns you on, working the pistol with such deftness your assailant is dead with a bullet between his eyes before you can let out the breath you were holding.

He rushes over to you and crushes you to his chest, smoothing his hands down your body and feeling for any injuries. His metal fingers cup your cheek, brushing over the dried blood before he crashes his lips to yours.

The kiss is hungry and hurried, Bucky’s grip on your waist like a vice. His gun digs into your hip and you moan into his mouth, parting your lips for his tongue. He pulls away, breathlessly whispering, “come on doll face. I need to get you out of here.”

He takes your hand, and you rush into the cool night air, your heels clicking along the cobblestone street as Bucky rushes toward one of the small docks. An old man waits by the gondola, smiling when he sees the two of you heading his way.

Bucky kindly asks him for a ride and pulls you onto the boat, his eyes scanning every person you pass. Once you’re safely out on the waterway, he pulls his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and gently dabs at the cut on your cheek.

“I knew you would come,” you tell him, placing your hand over his. Bucky pulls you into his lap and delicately traces the outline of your jaw, pushing some matted hair away from your face.

“I’ll always come. Nothing could ever keep me from you.” He whispers the words against your lips before kissing you, the gentle lap of the water against the gondola the only other sound you hear.

The lights of Venice dance over the calm water as you make your way down toward a hotel for night. “I think you’re going to like this place,” he says with surety.

When the boat stops, Bucky takes your hand and helps you up and onto the dock, tipping the old man well. His metal arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his side as you walk toward the lavish hotel.

Once inside, Bucky speaks to the manager in a hushed voice before several employees rush over and offer their assistance. Bucky rattles off some demands in Italian and you smile, silently thanking him for requesting some of your favorite things.

The room is spacious and elegant with a view to die for. “It’s gorgeous Bucky, thank you.” You walk over and smooth your fingers down the front of this suit jacket. The material feels decadent under your touch and you ache to peel it off him piece by piece.

“Care to join me in the shower?” you ask, lowering your lashes and toying with the buttons. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses over each knuckle. “I’d love nothing more,” he purrs before turning you in his arms and slowly unzipping your dress.

The fabric falls to the floor in a heap at your feet, your skin pebbling under his feather light touches. You carefully unbutton his suit jacket, pulling it from his shoulders and draping it over the bed. The small buttons of his dress shirt are pulled tight over his broad chest as you work your way down, pulling the silky fabric from his pants.

His eyes never leave yours as you quietly undress him. His rings are the last things you take off, except for the one on his left ring finger. The gold band glitters against the dark gray metal, perfectly matching the intricate lines that detail his arm. It has never come off his hand since the day you put it on. And it never will.

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @breezy1415 @skkye @drabblewithfrannybarnes @la-cey @white-wolf1940 @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @loricameback @lorilane33 @lookiamtrying @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @nerdypinupcrystal @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader fluff #mob!bucky fluff #mob!bucky au #bucky au #bucky barnes au #bucky imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky drabble #bucky barnes imagine #hbc character appreciation days #hbc bucky barnes appreciation days

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anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya · 3 years ago

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Wager - Roope Hintz

A/N: Guess who was talking and came up with this idea? Yes, we did @nhlandotherimagines. Goth Barbie is still in progress do not worry!

Word count: 1175

I pout for about the 30th time in the last hour. I sit comfortably on the couch with Roope’s head placed in my lap. The tips of my fingers brush the sides of his face, tracing the outlines of his facial hair. I scowl at the abomination above his upper lip.

“Stop frowning or you’ll get wrinkles.“ He mumbles with his eyes trained on the TV.

I scoff, not taking my eyes off of his beautiful face. “There are worse things than that. For example this thing.” I tap his mustache.

“Babe I know you don’t like it and neither do I, but I have told you. I lost a bet and now I have this.“ He gestures with his hand towards his face, shrugging his shoulders.

“A really dumb bet, might I add.” I scold him again for the stupid wager he took up.

“It’s you who’s dating a dummy.“ Moving his shoulders once again, he grins, biting his lip in the process.

Sighing loudly, I keep on complaining. “I get the haircut. As much as I miss the pig tails I get it, but why the hell this barbarism?”

At that he laughs with his entire body, making a smile stretch on my lips. “Barbarism? Babe, it’s just a mustache.” He shakes his head and looks up at me. “Just one month and then it’s gone. I promise.” He turns his head and kisses my palm, his blue eyes pleading with me.

“You better.“ I mutter bitterly, to which he only chuckles again.

I turn around reaching for the warm body with my eyes closed, only to be met with a cold and empty side of the bed. I groan into the white pillow, pouring my entire heart into the sound leaving my throat.

“Oh, you're up.“ A deep voice states. I make grabby hands towards the source of the sound not moving any extra inch. The bed dips and his arms engulf me.

“Where were you?“ I ask, placing my head on his chest. One of my hands reaches up to caress his face when my skin makes contact with something it shouldn’t. My eyes snap open and I lift my head from his chest. “Roopeli.” I whine at the sight of his mustache. “It’s been a month.” I pout, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

“I was waiting for you to wake up.“ He says, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Why?“ I furrow my brows in confusion.

“So you could shave me.“ He states. “Please.“ The word comes out unsure, as if worried he has overstepped.

“Yeah, okay.“ I say softly with big eyes, in complete awe at his request.

Taking my hands, he slowly stands up making me follow his actions. He leads me to the bathroom and lets go of me, only to step towards the cabinets and begin his search for his razor. Meanwhile I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub, watching him with complete and utter love.

He fishes out the razor and some shaving foam, and turns to face me. Motioning for me to come closer, I take a couple of steps to stand right in front of his beautiful face. Putting the accessories on the counter, he then leans down place a soft kiss on my forehead. Grabbing my hips, he lifts me up, placing me onto the counter. Stepping between my thighs, he places both of his big palms on each side of my body.

“Are you ready?” He asks, leaning in. I nod my head with a smile, which he gladly returns with one of his own. He places another kiss to my cheek and then hands me the bottle of foam. I spray it onto my hands and then spread over his cheeks. I lock my legs behind his back and give Roope an innocent look to which he merely raises his light eyebrows.

“Would you spray some more onto my hands?” I ask, my palms facing up. He chuckles and does just as I ask. He even adds a small dot on my nose, at that I jerk backwards, letting out a displeased squeal. He lets out a chuckle at my ridiculous antics, to which I let a huge grin spread on my lips.

“Don’t forget I am the one with the razor here.“ I tell him as I cover his terrible mustache with foam.

“Would you purposefully cut me babe?“ He asks, feigning hurt.

“Of course not, but it’s a fair warning.“ I say. “Just in case you know?“

He shakes his head and I turn to wash the extra foam off of my hands. After drying my hands off on a fluffy blue towel I grab the razor, inspecting it.

“Don’t stress about it. If you cut me, it won’t be the first time I got cut while shaving.“ His large fingers caress the side of my face. I look up staring deeply into his bright blue eyes.

“I don’t want to cut that pretty face of yours, though.“ I sigh, running a hand through his short blonde hair.

“You won’t. I am sure you’re gonna do great. I trust you.“ He smiles, looking incredibly ridiculous with his face covered in light blue foam.

“Okay.“ Taking a deep breath I raise my hand to his face. Placing the razor to his skin, I slowly drag it down. Seeing I have done no damage I smile and turn to wash the razor, going for another stripe. I spend extra care at getting rid of his mustache, not wanting to get his pink lips busted.

It’s when I am almost done do I scratch his chin with the blade. Cringing immediately at the painful grimace he tries to hide.

“Oh my, I am so sorry.“ I exclaim loudly, covering my mouth with my hands. “Oh shit. I am really sorry. Fuck.”

“Kulta, it’s okay.“ He gets a hold of my wrists, successfully stopping my panicked ramble. His thumbs rub the skin of my wrists, calming me down. “Want to finish it or should I?” He asks gently.

“I don’t know.“

“Come here.“ Still holding my hands he drags me to the edge and I jump down. He turns me around wrapping his palm around the hand that still holds his razor. “Let’s finish this together, okay?“ He asks, staring into my eyes through the mirror. I nod weakly. He uses his free hand to boop my nose and get some foam on his finger too. He then boops his nose, just to make me giggle. And I do, letting him use my hand to shave himself.

After he’s done, he washes his face while I search for a disinfect to tend to his wound I have caused. I dab his chin gently, then turn to hand him his aftershave.

“Not too bad for a first timer babe.“ He says, kissing my cheek.

“Please, I literally cut you.“ I scoff at his praise.

“Worth it.“ He shrugs with that dorky smile of his adoring his face.

Translation:

Kulta - honey/babe (literally gold)

#roope hintz #roope hintz imagine #roope hintz fanfiction #dallas stars #dallas stars imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction

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whump-tr0pes · 3 years ago

Text

Honor Bound 6 - 9

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: post-rescue, referenced starvation, scars, referenced attempted murder, noncon body mod, referenced nonsexual noncon nudity, PTSD, referenced noncon (that didn’t happen), self-blame, flashbacks, hallucinations, unsure of reality

For those of you who pointed out I forgot about Zelda in the last chapter with Vera... thank you!!

There was a sense of warmth to the light in the bathroom. Gavin could almost feel it on his skin like the brush of a breath, like the sun on his face. It was nothing like the cold light in the basement. Nothing. Even as his head felt both too heavy and too light at the same time, even as his stomach adjusted to the feeling of being full, he felt the light pressing into his eyes and felt real.

He felt safe.

He could still taste what he’d eaten for dinner, savory and sweet and sour, peanut sauce and chicken and noodles swirling together in what may have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d only been able to finish half before he’d sat back, feeling almost too full to move. But Gray said that might happen. Gray said it might take some time for his stomach to get used to eating enough.

He met his own eyes in the mirror. There were dark circles marking the skin beneath them, and the shadow of a bruise on his left cheek where Schiester had struck him as he dragged him to the gallows. His lip was split at the corner of his mouth. He pressed his tongue to the spot and winced at the burst of pain and the coppery taste. The scars on his face were carved deep, now, puckering the skin around them on the bridge of his nose, across his left cheek, and from the corner of his left eye to the hairline at his temple. The lines were reddish, almost purple, like they had been when they were fresh. It had taken three surgeries with the best surgeons in his parents’ region to make the skin lay flat, before. His face would look like this forever now. He was marked like this forever.

His gaze dropped to his neck, to the ring of worn, weeping skin where the collar had rested. There were spots where the skin had been rubbed raw from the constant pressure, from Schiester dragging him into place and holding him down while he hurt him. Gavin bit down hard on his lip as he tried to look away from the marks there. As he did, his fingers brushed the scars on his right forearm.

Stormbeck.

He shivered.

“You ready?” Vera croaked behind him. He jumped.

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, turning to look at her. She was staring off to the side, her eyes unfocused – as if she couldn’t make herself look right at him. His throat tightened, and he raised one hand to run through his hair. It still smelled like the family’s shampoo. He let the scent wash over him, calming the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yeah, Vera.”

“Good,” she rasped. She stepped forward and plugged the sink, then grabbed the electric trimmer from the counter. “Um. Are you good to, um…” She blinked, and her throat bobbed. “You good if…”

“I can bend over the sink,” Gavin said softly. “That’s… th-that’s fine.”

Vera raised her eyes to his for the first time since…

She’s not a monster. She’s not going to hurt me.

“O-okay,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. “Good.”

“Vera,” Gavin murmured, and reached out to take her wrist. Her gaze flicked down to the scars on his forearm. She shivered and looked away. “I’m not… Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I… I didn’t have to… He never…” Gavin blew out a shaking breath.

Schiester never bent me over anything. Even though I—

Gavin winced at the thought that followed: even though I deserved it.

But he did. Every moment of what happened was recompense, come too late to save any of the twenty-three lives he’d ended before he ever met Isaac.

Vera chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded again. “M’kay,” she murmured, her gaze faraway. “Good.”

She reached for a spacer and slid it onto the blade. Her hands were shaking. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned over the sink, bracing his elbows on the counter. He shivered at the cold ceramic against his forearms. Bent over like this, the collar of his shirt brushed against his face, and he caught Isaac’s scent with his next breath. The trimmer switched on.

“You still sure you’re okay with this?” Vera said, her voice oddly distant. “I mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured against the counter. “I don’t… I don’t want to look like… him.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the bathroom was the sound of the trimmer, and the sound of Gavin’s breaths against the counter. Then, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and the spacer touched down a moment later.

Gavin jerked. There was an electric razor against the back of his head, his hands were tied behind him, he was naked and on his knees on the linoleum washroom in Schiester’s basement. One of Schiester’s men was holding the razor to his head – “he used to cut hair, in his previous life,” Schiester would say, “back before your family destroyed everything good about the world” – and every now and then Alvarado would look at the picture Schiester was holding up for reference, a picture that Schiester would force Gavin to look at while whispering in his ear, “that’s your father, that’s the man who destroyed my life, that’s the man you are, and you’re going to die when I’m finished with you, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, Stormbeck—”

“Gavin?”

Vera’s voice.

Gavin sobbed weakly, trembling, his knees pressing against the tiles of the bathroom. His wrists burned like they were tied. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking tears out of his eyes. Vera’s gentle hands settled on either side of his face and eased his head up so she could look at him.

“Gavin,” she said again. “Gavin Uriah. You’re okay.”

Gavin’s heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs burned with every inhale. He reached out and grabbed at her wrists. She released him but his grip tightened, and she hesitantly cupped his face again. Gavin’s gaze darted around the small bathroom as he gasped.

“V-Vera…”

“Do you need me to get Isaac?” she said evenly.

Yes.

No.

Gavin wet his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “N-no,” he wheezed. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard. His neck felt so strange without the collar. “I d-don’t want him… seeing this. Please, Vera, don’t… I c-can’t hurt him, he… he hurts when, um, wh-when I hurt.”

Vera sat back on her heels and brushed Gavin’s tears away with her thumbs. “Yeah,” she croaked. “He does.”

“I…” Gavin dragged in another slow breath. The room wobbled around him and his eyes darted around the bathroom. No hose in the corner. No cold white light above him. No rope on his wrists, no knife at his throat, no men holding him down, no collar on his neck, no icy blue gaze on him.

Safe, like Isaac said. Safe.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Um…” He gripped the counter and dragged himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. Vera staggered to her feet beside him. “M-makes me think of, um… of… him… cutting my hair, and…”

“Shit,” Vera breathed. “I mean, I can… I can try and do it with scissors, I’m shit at it, I mean… you’ve seen Sam’s hair when we’re on the run…” She huffed out a laugh. It sounded forced.

Gavin shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “I… I mean, that’s going to… feel similar, too. And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t just… n-not have a haircut ever again, I…” He raised his gaze and met Vera’s eyes. “Please,” he whispered. She blurred with his tears. “Please. I don’t want to l-look like him.”

Vera’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “I don’t particularly want you to look like him, either.”

It felt so unreal, the half-hearted laugh that bubbled in Gavin’s chest. Everything felt real, and unreal, a dream and a memory and a thing that was actually happening, all at once. Shaking, he pushed out a breath and bent over the sink once again.

“Just talk to me,” he murmured. “Just… just t-talk to me. I want to hear you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said gently. “Can do, Uriah.”

Heat bloomed in Gavin’s chest at the name. The trimmer switched on again. He drew in a deep breath through his nose.

“I’m gonna talk about my puppy, because I’m fucking obsessed with her,” Vera said. Gavin could hear the smile in her voice. This time, when the spacer touched the back of his head, he latched onto her voice, let it pull him out of the memories that threatened to suck him in. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sink. The white porcelain reflected the warm light above him. His fingers gripped the counter like he would go tumbling off a cliff if he let go.

“So her name is Zelda,” Vera said, her voice sounding a little stronger. She drew the trimmer up the back of Gavin’s head. He shivered with the sound, the sensation. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold still.

“Y-yeah?” he croaked. His fingers ached from clutching the counter.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a German shepherd. I got her from someone east of the farmhouse in this place called Eden. This lady breeds shepherds as like… her job.” Another pass of the trimmer across the back of his head. “She breeds them specifically to avoid their hip problems, and for temperament. I told her I wanted a chill dog, but I’ll probably still train her to guard the place.”

“That sounds nice,” Gavin said. His throat still felt raw from screaming, even after—

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d been dragged from the basement.

If I’m not still there—

NO.

“Yeah,” Vera said with a chuckle. “She’s at home right now. I figured dinner might be a little much for you, and I didn’t want to add to that with a crazy puppy.”

“Dinner was good,” Gavin said weakly. “It was… it was good to see everyone.”

“Everyone was glad to see you, too,” Vera murmured. “I mean…”

“Edrissa doesn’t have to be happy to see me,” Gavin said. The trimmer paused in its path across the top of his head. Locks of his dark brown hair lay in the sink. “She doesn’t.”

Vera drew in a deep breath and let it out. The trimmer moved slowly across his hairline. He lifted his head to give Vera easier access. As he did, he felt the cold press of her teeth against his neck, the white-hot agony as she tore through his throat, the pulse of blood on his skin as he fed on his flesh. He shuddered and whined softly.

“I’m… I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight,” Vera said. “She—”

“It’s… not that,” Gavin gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ahh…” Sharp teeth flashed at him in the dark and his eyes flew open.

“Hey,” Vera said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him up. “We can—”

“I just want to finish this,” Gavin rasped. He stayed bent over the sink. His breath riffled the short, single bits of hair on the porcelain. “Please, Vera.”

Please.

Everything he was feeling, felt like memories. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. There were no cold blue eyes watching him.

This was real. It had to be real, or else…

There was a long pause. Then, the gentle touch of the trimmer against his temple again. “Alright,” Vera murmured. “I’m almost done anyway.” She drew the trimmer across his forehead, down the other temple, around his ear. Back and forth across his head, sending showers of tiny bits of hair into the sink. Gavin scratched at an itch behind his ear. Vera did one more pass with the trimmer and then shut it off. Gavin looked into the sink, breathing slowly.

“Gavin?” Vera murmured. “You… you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. “I’m… I’m here.” He half-stood, until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder again.

“Hang on,” she murmured. She gathered the clumps of Gavin’s hair from the sink and pitched them in the trash can. “Just a second. You don’t want bits of hair all over you, believe me.”

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. He remembered all too well the incessant itching after the first haircut, how Schiester had laughed – and how Schiester had decided that from now on he’d have Gavin’s hair cut in the room where he was washed, naked and freezing and ready for the hose when he was done. Gavin shivered as Vera turned on the tap and guided him closer to the sink until his head was level with the stream of water.

“Just real quick,” Vera murmured. “Just to get all the hair off.” She poured a handful of water over the back of Gavin’s head and gently scrubbed. “Yeah, there was still quite a bit left.”

Gavin forced himself to stop gripping the counter. He reached up, too, and scrubbed his head under the tap. He flinched when a stream of water rolled from his forehead and down his nose.

“I think that’s probably good,” Vera said, and shut the tap off. She gently eased him up. “Here…” As he stood upright, she wrapped his head in a towel and scrubbed at his short, wet hair. She pulled the towel away and dropped it to the floor.

Gavin felt a wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so… young. He looked years younger than when he’d been taken, even with the bags under his eyes, with the sallow tone of his skin. He reached up and ran his fingers through the short, soft hair. His gaze wandered over himself and he took a deep breath.

“I… d-don’t look like him anymore,” he murmured. His eyes smarted.

“Nope,” Vera said, popping, the p. She shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “No. You don’t.” Her lips quirked a bitter smile. “Now I can look at you. Thank god for that.”

Gavin nodded absentmindedly as he ran his hand through his hair, short enough to almost be fuzz. The scar on his forearm caught his eye and he dropped his arm. He shifted his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“Ready to go join the others?” Vera said gently. “I know they’ll want to see the new haircut, too.” This time, when she smiled, it was easier, brighter. Her shoulders weren’t so tense and pulled up to her ears. Her hands weren’t shaking as much.

Gavin chewed his lip and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Not, um…” He cleared his throat. His skin ached for Isaac’s touch, and the thought of seeing Gray and Sam made his eyes brim with tears, but… he just needed a moment.

He needed to look at himself and see someone who wasn’t his father. He raised his gaze to the mirror again. He could only see his face; the rest of his body was cut off by the bottom of the mirror. His throat tightened.

“Okay,” Vera murmured. “Well… okay.” She turned towards the doorway, then paused, turning back. “You… you want the door open, or closed?”

“Open is fine,” Gavin murmured, his hand drifting up to feel the divots of the scars on his face. The scars Schiester had torn open again – after Isaac put them there, more than a year ago now.

Vera nodded once. “Okay. Come join us when you’re ready. We’re all…” Her eyes swam with tears. She pressed her hand to her chest as she swallowed hard once, twice. “We’re all really happy to see you.” Her voice was ragged.

Gavin wrapped his arms around his chest and nodded. “Th-thanks, Vera.”

Vera chewed her lip, then turned to go. She went around the corner to the living room at the front of the house, where Gavin could hear quiet conversation, the occasional burst of tight, tense laughter.

Gavin slumped forward and pressed his face into his hands. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. He scratched at the needle marks on the inside of his elbow, his other hand pressing into his eyes, smearing his tears across his face. It felt real.

It all felt real.

Gavin drew in a deep breath and raised his head. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was a figure – something that looked just like Edrissa.

Slowly, he sat up straight, understanding crashing bright and powerful through his blood. Her clear, ice-blue eyes bored into him, her mouth twisted in hate. Her pale blond hair was pulled back away from her ghostly-white face. His gaze flicked to the knife held tight in her hand.

He couldn’t catch the sob before it made its way out of his chest. The tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks like blood.

I knew it. I knew it.

Gavin reached up to pull at his hair, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. The short strands slipped through his fingers. Dread slid into his heart, dull and slippery. Right on its heels was despair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off the specter in the doorway that peered at him with cold blue eyes.

“H-hey, Schiester,” he croaked. “You… you really had me going on this one.” This time, he couldn’t muffle his sob as the specter stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind it.

Continued here

@womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @inkyinsanity, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @pebbledriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump, @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather, @butwhatifyouwrite, @carnagecardinal

#honor bound 6 #whump #recovery #starvation #scars tw #noncon body mod tw #past torture #noncon nudity tw #PTSD tw #noncon mention tw #self-blame tw #flashbacks tw #hallucinations #Gavin Uriah lives #Zelda the puppy #unreality tw #Edrissa: Problematic Sadist Extraordinaire

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paellaplease · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I see you're taking requests! If it hasn't been done yet, could you do aspectabund with Revali please? I love your writing <3

2. aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

pairing: revali x reader

summary: he knows you’ve been avoiding him and he can’t seem to figure out why.

Shaking the snow from his feathers, Revali surveyed the layered red rock of Mount Agaat with a scrutinizing gleam in his eyes. The reconnaissance flyby over the ice covered peaks had proven successful, with him safely scouting out several bokoblin camps under the cover of cloud.

Mindful of the tripwire, he entered the makeshift campsite to find you and the Gerudo Chief conversing quietly by the fire. You appeared in deep contemplation, and out of respect (and perhaps partial curiosity) he made no move to announce his arrival.

Urbosa crossed her arms, turning to you with a sly smile adorning her lip. “You can’t keep dancing around each other forever.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, fiddling with one of your winter gloves. “It’s highly likely he won’t understand anyway.”

“I’m sure his feelings on the matter are not as dissimilar as you think. Besides...” She leaned forward, whispering something into your ear.

Warmth creeping up to your cheeks, your face was in your hands in an instant, body leaning forward as Urbosa let out a short laugh at your exaggerated reaction. Cute.

The mortified groan you gave in response made him chuckle, finally alerting you both to his presence.

The Gerudo Chief angled her head and gave a brief nod in his direction, most likely having sensed his presence ages ago. In stark contrast, you quickly spun in your seat, mouth agape.

Nearly falling from the log, Urbosa reached out to snag the hood of your coat, saving your face from smashing into the dirt ground. Revali tsked, you should really be more aware of your surroundings.

"Revali!” Immediately, you bit down on your lip, schooling your face into something more subdued. “Welcome back."

Tilting his head, he found it odd how difficult it was for you to maintain eye contact. Your cheeks were darker at this point, the tip of your nose slightly red. His wings itched to readjust the scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. Perhaps you were cold. That won’t do.

"Did I miss anything?" He asked, looking pointedly at Urbosa.

He would never admit it but the Chief maintained a steadfast poker face. “I have nothing to share.” Standing up, she moved to add more kindling to the fire. “No monster has dared approach us yet.”

Judging by the impressive blades hanging from both your hips, he wasn’t surprised. Rubbing at his shoulders, he swiped a wing over the rocky expanse before them. “Good. And thanks to me, we now have a greater chance of avoiding them on the way up.”

He didn’t miss the way your body froze when Urbosa offered for him to take her seat. Not seeing any issue and assuming it to be a response to the cold of the mountain, he acquiesced.

The mission was completed without a hitch, the swing of your blade delivering the killing blow to the fierce lynel that guarded the peak of the mountains. Revali tried not to stare as you cleaned your blade on the snow, ignoring the errant beat of his heart as you turned to smile at him, skin still flushed from the heat of battle.

“It comes to no surprise that you are the Gerudo Chief’s apprentice.” He nodded, unable to hide the hint of admiration in his voice.

Tugging at the sleeves of your flowing blue jacket, your eyes were wide and shining, mouth close to admitting something profound and important. Revali kept his beak shut, waiting for you to say what you needed, disappointed when all it came to be was a simple “Thanks.”

You then proceeded not to speak to him for the rest of the week.

It was a shame really, you were one of the few allies he could stand for more than five minutes. The Rito thought you were diligent; a fighter that could tame a tempest, and most of all a worthy opponent when it came to the odd verbal sparring match.

Never had you shied away from a challenge, especially one posed by him. He was invested in your progress, secretly standing guard on the nights you would sneak out to train, ensuring that no person nor creature would disturb you. What's worse, a part of him honestly thought that you had begun to consider him as something close to a friend.

And now...

“I’ll scout the area!”

Revali sighed as he watched your retreating form once again, the remaining Champions looking at each other with equal confusion at your sudden disappearance into the forest. He didn’t know what your problem was, and honestly one more day of these mixed messages was going to drive him insane.

Slipping past him like water, you evaded him at all costs. Taking your meals alone or with different people, changing the location of your training sessions, waking up unbearably early or extremely late.

Then, on day eight of this madness, he found you sparring with a particular golden-haired knight that he couldn’t stand. That was the last straw.

“Fight me,” he said to you, uncaring of the other knights on the training field that stopped to stare at him approaching. The sword in his wing, though blunted, felt foreign and heavy. Long has it been since he last held a blade like this.

Taking off your helmet, you rubbed at your eyes to see if it was truly him. “Revali?” Funny, that was the first thing you’d said to him in days. “Where’s your bow? Ah, it seems you’ve forgotten.” You were already in the process of collecting your things. “Perhaps next time. It wouldn’t be fair if you had to fight me with a sword, after all…”

He scoffed, watching as you turned to leave. “Oh, so you plan on running away again like a scared fledgling?”

The training sword sailed past his head, missing his cheek by only a fraction. You didn't give him a second to flinch.

Revali side-stepped away, making a move to swing his sword at your back. Feet sliding, you blocked it with ease, sword already there to intercept his own even before it completed its arc through the air.

Experimentally, he pushed back on the blade. Dead still, it refused to budge. He tilted his head to capture your eyes, thrilled to see the burning embers behind them, all passivity long abandoned. There you are. “Nice to see you,” he grinned wryly.

Both of you separated quickly. Circling each other, his eyes took in the determined clench of your jaw and the steady rise and fall of your chest, waiting for when you’d launch yourself forward again.

"Not bad," you smirked. “Another one from that bag of tricks Chief Kamori taught you?” Your confidence in the moment was rather enthralling. Once again he found himself memorizing the planes of your face, reveling in the way your emotions would flit past—clear as day.

“Just you wait til I’m in the air with a bow in my hand."

"That's surprising!" You grinned, teeth sharp. "Didn't think the Great Revali was so reliant on keeping to the skies.” A cloud of dirt was kicked up as you propelled yourself forward. Taking the hilt with both hands, you raised your sword to strike heavily down on his head. “But isn’t it pretty when he finally comes down to your level.”

With a grunt, Revali barely had time to strengthen his stance, bringing his blade up to block your attack. The clashing of swords sent his talons skidding back on the dirt, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight of the blow.

“You’re insane!” He laughed breathily. “That could have cleaved my skull in two.”

“I knew you’d block it.”

The fight soon became the only other sound in the training field, many of the knights having left to complete their drills somewhere else. Even that quiet Hylian was no longer there, taking his leave once confident you could hold your own.

Of course they can defend themselves. He wanted to call out in mocking arrogance. And if they ever were in trouble they wouldn’t need you anyway. Because I’m here.

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself at him again, delivering several attacks in a series of sweeping motions. Revali found himself having to focus intently on each one, blocking one after the other, eyes following the movement of your arm in an attempt to anticipate where the blade would next appear.

As such, he doesn’t notice the sweeping motion of your leg, the action sending him falling backwards into the ground.

Unlucky for you, the Rito had known the feeling of falling all his life. And before you had the chance to step away, he discarded his blade, reaching out to drag you down with him.

The air was knocked out of him as you landed painfully on his chest. Your sword slipped from your hand, clattering to the side. Revali pushed it further away when you tried to reach for it, trapping you against him with his other wing.

Stilling, he could feel the rush of your heartbeat against his own. From on top, you glared at him. “Let me go, fights not over.”

“Call it an intermission, darling.” You went red at that, smushing your head into his chest so as to hide the wild blush on your cheeks. “This fight is on hold until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me this whole week.”

“Because you’re…”

“What was that?” He said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Because you’re you!” You finally let out. An angry scream left your throat, except because your face was still pressed to his front it came out as muffled and rather adorable.

Revali rested his head on the ground as he exhaled, finding peace in the never ending sea of blue stretched out above you both. “Well,” he said, interrupting the little breakdown you were having. “Of course I’m me, there’s no one else really. Unless you’ve met another Rito of the same name with razor sharp wit and devilishly good looks.”

You huffed a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at him. This close and he could see the fan of your eyelashes and the kiss of the sun on your cheeks. It took everything in him not to reach out and trace the line of your mouth, wondering if your lips were as soft as they appeared.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I like you, silly bird.” Blinking, you gazed at him with utter softness and sincerity. “And I apologise for running. I intended to tell you earlier— on the mountain. But self-doubt got the best of me and I didn’t want you to stop being my friend if you didn’t feel the same.”

Revali’s wings fell to his sides as you shifted, propping yourself up with both your arms. “Guess there’s nothing to worry about now that it’s out in the open.” A watery laugh escaped from your lips when he said nothing. “Come on, Revali. Say something. Or at least stand up so I can kick your ass.”

His arms were around you once again in an instant, crushing you to him in a tight embrace. “Rito, if this is some kind of trick to knock me off my guard I swear…” He could feel your smile as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

“I like you too.” He shook his head, poking you in the side and smiling when you yelped in response. “You are amazing and skillful. I enjoy every moment I spend with you. Though you overthink too much. Alas, but the curse of one so perceptive.”

“Still don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.” You mouthed into his neck. His feathers raised at the feeling of your warm breath against him. “Though I’m extremely relieved that Urbosa was right.”

Revali thought back to the mission at Mount Agaat, wondering what exactly the Gerudo Chief told you back then. “Right about what?”

“That you can’t take your eyes off me, even if you tried.”

#revali x reader #revali botw x reader #revali/reader #revali #revali botw #botw #rito #botw x reader #monkey brain: revali with sword #mutual pinin with a hint of hot fightin #liberosis part 3 coming soon i just needed to get this off my chest

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thecolordemon · 4 years ago

Text

Short story: Belphegor kills MC

This is a angsty and sad short story about the MC during their dying process after Belphegor hurt them so bad...

⚠️❗Angst, Sadness, mentions of blood, wounds and death❗⚠️

Title: "I forgive you"

The nightly silence in the House of Lamentation was broken when Belphegor pushed you against a huge vase. The fragile object crashed to the ground and shattered into million pieces. The fragments on the black marble looked like spilled stars and there was a strange beauty in it. But you couln't care less about it right now because you couldn't breath. The marks which Belphegor's rough tail left on your sore throat just seconds ago were bright red and the sensitive skin was on fire.

You fell to the ground after your harsh collison with the vase and a painful gasp left your lips when the sharp shards burried themself deep inside your pink flesh. The pain was hot and jolted through your whole body like a lightning bolt. Crimson copper oozed from the many jagged wounds inside your palms and colored the floor like red rain. Your breath hitched in your throat and inhaling air was like swallowing knifes down your trachea. It felt like a hot blade sliced right through it and the pain made you feel nauseous.

Belphegors laugh ringed inside your ears from the room behind you. Sounding like a dark curse. "You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren't you?" His evil snicker dripped from delight and you could hear his footsteps coming closer. "It's your own fault if you trust a demon. Don't blame me for your current situation, MC." His sing-sang voice scared you to death and you tried to crawl forward and away from the door. Away from the gates of hell... "That's all your fault."

But your hands couldn't carry your own weight and that's why you collapsed on the ground again. The adrenaline throbbed inside your ears and the sharps just pressed in further. Shakly you robbed forward and tried to get up on your knees. The fragments cut all through your clothes and left hurtful cuts all over your arms and legs. Some of them even sank into your kneecaps and made you cry out in pain.

Right at this moment Belphegor's long tail shot forward and wrapped itself around your left calf. All it needed was just one strong pull and you were on the ground again. Belphegor stood in the doorframe, all tall and drunk with power, when he dragged you over the black marble, over the the whole mess of broken glass and towards himself. He laughed like a maniac when the cutting continued and you cried because of the stinging pain. Being dragged all over the sharp shrads felt like you were being dragged over jagged gravel. Your legs already started to bruise from the impact before. The demon towered above you like a predator above it's prey and the sadistic grin on his lips bared his razor-sharp teeth.

"You smell delicious, you know that? Your blood really makes it even more fun." Now you laid right in front of his feet and his tightly wrapped tail cut of the blood supply to your leg. It already started to tingle and to feel weirdly numb. "Please-" you begged and the words stung in your throat, your voice being nothing more than a raspy whisper. "Please don't do this-"

"Oh MC, begging will get you nowhere." Belphegor kneeled down next you and grabbed your chin harshly. His dark, pointy nails burried themself inside your flushed cheeks and they drew blood. The smell of iron filled your nose and made your stomach twist with desperate protest. Tears watered in the corners of your eyes and dribbled over your flaming hot skin. Belphegor grinned and his rough tongue slid over your overheated flesh, catching all of the tears. He left sticky stripes of saliva on your right cheek and grinned even more when you crunched your nose in disgust.

"Who do you think you are to make such a face..." He licked over the red stains of blood that oozed down from your abused face. "You should be more grateful towards me, MC..." Suddenly his fist shot up and hit you violently on your right eye. You screamed in pain but he covered your mouth to shush the noise. He wanted to enjoy the show and he did not want to be interrupted too early. The hammering pain made you quiver and you were sure you heared some of your bones crack. You couldn't even see rigth with the eye anymore. Everything was a pounding, hurtful, black and red mess-you were pretty convinced that all the blood vessels in your right eye did burst because of the impact of his fist. But you were still losing tears.

Belphegor laughed louder as he examined your face closely. "Such a fragile creation! Useless! Utterly useless!" He laughed uncontrollably and his shoulders were shaking because it was so strong. His lilac eyes were those of a madman and he let go of your face with a painful twist of his wrist. His tail loosened a little bit and you were able to free your leg. You pulled yourself up but because of the lack of proper eyesight it was hard to keep a solid balance. Within mere seconds you grabbed one of the bigger shards and threw it at Belphegor. The demon flinched and dodged the thrown weapon which caused him to back away into the room from where he came.

Without looking back you stumbled away as fast as possible. The fear blinded you and all your nerves were on edge. You could hear him roaring viciously and staggered around the corner of the next floor. The pain was nearly taking over your body but you had to move further!

I can't give up- I can't- If I stop,I'll di--' Your legs gave in and you fell to the ground. The glass splinters pierced nerves and, muscles and caused your wounds to vomit even more blood. Like an hurt animal you crawled over the rough carpet beneath you. But you had to get up again-otherwise-

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!!"

The blank anger in Belphegor's voice triggered you so much that you got up again. Fear can be a motivation-. You could feel a strange mixture of tears and something else dripping down from your abused eye and had to struggle with the feeling of throwing up. "-help-" you breathed out as you stumbled rashly along the never ending floor. "Somebody--help-" The beast was approaching. His thumbing steps were coming closer and closer within seconds. Furniture crashed behind you and a broken picture frame missed your head with mere inches/centimeters. You limped faster and wanted to scream but just as you opened your mouth, a heavy and powerful body smashed you to the ground.

You hit your head very hard on the black marble and again you heared a sickening cracking sound. You could feel something running down your neck, how something agglutinated your hair... You blinked dizzily and had a hard time to stay conscious. Your whole head was overwhelmed by the hot and dull throbbing pain and little black spots danced across your, already bad, vison. The heavy creature on top of you was growling dangerously and the monstrous shadow fell on your demolished features. It was hard to breath-

"I'll kill you, you know?" Belphegor's voice was a dark snarl and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin on your throat so carelessly that he drew more blood. "I'll will erase you from all the three realms and your soul will perish-" His hot breath made you sick and your weak attempts to push him away from you failed miserably. The power within you faded faster and faster... You wanted to say something but the words were like lava, heavy and gooey-You couldn't even understand them yourself.

"Don't you dare to look away MC! I want to see your eyes when their light fades away-" He laughed maniacally and grabbed your jaw violently. His nails dugged deep inside your chin and you could feel them claw over the bone beneath the skin. The hammering pain got more awful as his other hand slid to your hips to hold you in place. You tried to kick him away but your legs weren't listening to you anymore. His tail twitched threateningly above his head like a agressive snake and whipped through the air. It was hard to focus on anything else but the thickening atmosphere around both of you. The danger was so present, that it seemd like you could cut it with a knife. Belphegor hold your head in place with the other hand and his eyes glistened crazily and were glassy. It seemed like he wasn't there anymore...Like something overtook his body...

That wasn't the demon you knew-

"B-Belphie---pl-please-" you breathed. "Shh...don't waste your last breath, MC!" he replied happily. This was the biggest fun he had in years...He longed for this! "We were friends-" You could taste iron in your mouth. "Oh no. We never were friends. You're just a toy that I mobilized for my purposes." His lilac eyes pierced your dizzy vision and his long tongue curled in excitement. "I trusted you-" you whimpered. "Bad thing to do...Good bye, MC." And with this words he pierced your soft body with a harsh snap of his tail.

You wanted to scream but the only thing that left your lips was a sore whimper and a deep, aching breath of air. It felt like someone knocked the wind out of you and your lungs screamed in terror. Belphegor's tail was burried deep inside the pale flesh of your body and when he pulled out, he left a deep, bloody hole. Your heart went on a rampage and pumped the blood with all it's remaining energy through your veins. Calling out for help... It was like your heart was crying. It cried red tears of broken hopes and shattered promises, tears of despair and a lost love...

You didn't knew what hurt more...The fact that your life slowly faded away into the dark or the horrible reality that you've been so wrong about Belphie? Your hearbeat got weaker...you felt kinda cold and breathing in felt like inhaling razor-blades. "B-Belphie-" The demon above you frowned at your desperate whines. "Don't call me like that!" That was a thing only his twin was allowed to do, just him and nobody else! "You know nothing, you hear me? Your death means nothing to me! You're just like every other human being in this world."

Now, with your physical form broken, he tried to hurt you otherwise. And in a way more personal way. He was aiming for your psyche. He tried to break you in every possible way. He showed no mercy. He had no mercy. He was a wild beast driven mad by hatred and bad treatment. You winced and tried to calm your breath. "If-my death means nothing-then why are you-so eager to kill me anyway?" Belphegor blinked in confusion. "What's--the difference?-" You managed to look the avatar of Sloth right into his eyes. He stared at you like you insulted him. You could see his thoughts wild'n behind his head. He tried to find a valid reason. He tried to think of a justification why it would help him to kill you.

But there wasn't a valid reason. You helped him. He knew that. Without you he would be still stuck in the attic-locked away from the world like a caged animal. "Can't you see that you became the monster that Lucifer feared you could be?--" You coughed and spit blood all over your lips. Your breath lacked of power and the words sounded pretty slurry. "Shut up-I'm not a monster-" You interrupted his denial. "You are. -but that's okay--" You closed your eyes and hot tears poured over your lashes and cheeks.

You cried harder. "I forgive you-"

Belphegor's eyes widdened in shock and his fangs grew even sharper. Anger darkened his face like a dark cloud. "NO! YOU CAN'T FORGIVE ME! DON'T YOU DARE!" He grabbed your wrist and twisted it back in a sharp motion. Your bones cracked under his strong grip and you screamed in pain when he broke every single one of them. Your hand fell limp. Belphegor growled hatefully into your face. "You.won't.do.that!" His pupils were narrowed strongly and that made him look even more crazy.

This was his perfect moment, he wouldn't let you ruin it!

"You're nothing! A mere human like you does not have so much power over me! No one has! Your dumb and naive! Your dumb and naive if you think your stupid little words affect me!"

He was going insane. How could you not hate him?! How could you not beg for him to stop this torture?! Why were you still undermining his authority even though you were dying?!

You cried more and couldn't stop yourself from feeling sorry for the him. He was so lost in anger, so lost in his own mind that he lost all references to reality. "I forgive you, Belphie--"

"NO!" he roared and trew you across the whole floor. Again you hit your head hard but that didn't make such a big difference anymore. You were feeling awful anyway...

Belphegor kneeled on the floor, several metres away from you, crouched over and quivered like hell. His whole body shook from his jagged cries and his hands fisted into his bluish-grey strands of hair. His nails clawed over his face and left red stripes. He was fighting against himself, against the effects your words caused. It was like you put a spell on him and he tried to fight it off.

You were laying on your side and watched him apathetically. The blood colored the whole upper part of your uniform and stained the floor with it's red puddles. 'That's it...' you thought to yourself. 'It's going to be over soon...I am alone...'

That's when you heared a familiar sound.

Someone was talking-no...Lucifer was talking. You could here his voice growing louder as he came closer. He seemed to discuss something with Mammon. Powerlessly you rolled over to the other side, so that you could look down to the floor beneath you. You were lying on the balustrade on the second floor from which two stairs lead downstairs. Through the little pillars (that supported the railing)you were able to see Lucifer and Mammon coming closer. As you thought, they were busy with discussing something. Both of them totally clueless about the fight of life and death. That was your chance-

"L-Lucifer-" Saying his name was so exhausting... "M-Mammon-" They stopped right underneath the big chandelier but not because they heared your little pleas of help.

"-help-"

Lucifer spoke. "Mammon one last time, I'm not participating in your omnious bets. You'll lose all the money again because you do not learn from your failures." Mammon scoffed. "I'm not dumb, of course I learn!! It was just bad luck!"

You trembled and felt a strange cold approaching you. With your last ounce of strength you grabbed the railing with your good hand and pulled yourself up. It was hard and you had to balance your weight from one abused leg to another. Your body begged you to give in, to fall asleep-to give up-but your mind told you to keep on fighting. Now you were able to look down at Lucifer's raven hair and Mammon's white head. You were so close-

"Lu--cifer-m-mammon-"

One single drop of blood dripped from your chin and fell all the way down. You saw everything in slow motion. The little red drop brushed over Lucifer cheek and landed on his black shoulder pad. Mammon flinched and looked up. Lucifer did the same. When both their eyes land on you, you felt safe for a little moment.

Mammon smiled. "MC what--" He stopped right away when he noticed your terrible state of condition. His smile disappeared and turned into a shocked expression. All the color left his face and he looked like he saw a ghost. Lucifer's eyes widdened in shock, his mouth hung a little bit ajar.

Tears streamed down your face and the salty liquid mixed with blood and cold sweat. But you smiled powerlessly. They would help you-

"--thank yo-"

Suddenly something big appeared behind you. Before you could do anything else, claws digged deep inside your back and threw you over the railing. The next thing you remembered is that the whole room was rotating wildly. It all went so fast. You couldn't even scream. With a loud crash you fell to the hard ground.

Lucifer saw everything in slow motion. Your abused face, painted with dried blood and steamy tears, how hopefully your eyes lightened up when they noticed you, your broken hand which you pressed close to your body like a hurt little lamb...and Belphegor, his youngest brother, as he appeared behind you and hurled you over the balustrade like a doll.

Your fall was endless. But he couldn't do anything. But one thing was for sure. He would never forget the sound your body made when it crashed into the black marble ground. Your hair sprawled out around your head like a fading halo, sticky with blood and nearly all of your limbs were twisted in a sickenly wrong way.

Before Lucifer knew what to do, Mammon already started screaming in terror. "MC--NO--HELP!!!" He ran towards your body and crouched down beneath you. His screaming alerted the rest of his brothers and fast steps were coming from every direction. They all gasped in shock when they saw you laying there. You breath came in thin little gasps and you couldn't move. Everthing hurt so bad...at the same time you felt nothing at all. The crystal chandelier twinkled like a planet made of stars and mirrored your horrible reflection. You really looked awful...

That's you? The bloody mess with a smashed eye is supposed to be you?

Satan, Asmodeus, Leviathan and Beelzebub stared at you in shock. They couldn't move. They couldn't breath. They could just stare at you. Speechless. Hopeless. Clueless.

Lucifer fell to his knees and tried to stop the bleeding. He pulled his gloves off his hands and his long, slender fingers touched every cut, every bruise and every stab wound. "MC--stay with me-please-" His eyes were glassy with tears as he tried to heal the wounds but you already lost to much blood. Mammon sobbed. "MC--"

Belphegor stood on the balustrade and watched the whole thing going down. Pushing you over the edge seemed like the last possible thing to do. He watched how Lucifer failed to stop the bleeding and how your eyes wandered aimlessly over the ceiling. Your chest rose and lowered slower and slower with every passing second. Mammon cried loudly and hold you into his arms trying to protect you. "Dont do this MC-please-YOU CAN'T DIE!!"

Mammon's scream shook everyone to the core. You hiccuped blood and tried to say something but the red liquid drowned the words ruthlessly. Beel had to come forward and pulled his older brother to his chest. The big demon trembled and Mammon fought against his grip-screaming loudly and calling for help. But Beelzebub didn't let him go. He had to protect him. He had to protect MC-

Lucifer couldn't hold his tears back and he cried without any shame. "I'm so sorry MC--I'm trying b-but it's-it's not working--" Your eyes landed on his and he let out a shaky breath. You knew.

You knew you were going to die.

Lucifer embraced you in his arms and he pressed your fragile, abused body to his chest. "Please--someone--get Diavolo-he'll know what to do-he-" His voice broke as he lost his fight against the tears again. Diavolo was Lucifer's last hope--his only hope- After all he declared his loyal devotion to the demon prince. But he wasn't there. Diavolo wasn't there. And he wouldn't make it in time. Lucifer knew that. His brothers knew that. But it was impossible for him to just sit here and watch his beloved MC die in his arms-He had to do something, he-he is the oldest! He has to fix this, he has to find a solution, he-

"l-lucifer-"

His eyes shot back to you. You had lifted your good hand and managed to softly touch his cheek. Your fingers smeared blood all over his skin and the contact made him flinch. "-I'm sorry-" you whispered in a very thin voice. "I-should have-listened-to you-"

His hand found yours and Lucifer sobbed desperately. "MC-stop-don't say that-"

"it's--all my fault-" you explained with rasping breath. It was harder for you to focus your vison and big black spots interrupted the sight. You could feel your own life slipping through your fingers.

"-I'm-so grateful--for everything--you treated me like family-you welcomed me-I'll keep you in my heart-forever-"

Everything was going strangely numb...

You heared distant cries. They were from all the brothers. From all your beloved demons. You felt bad for leaving them. You felt bad for making them cry. You whished you could see them one more time.

Lucifer kissed your fingers softly and held onto you like his own life depended on it. His hands were shaky and he tried to keep his voice calm when he answered you.

"I love you-" he hiccuped and the tears streamed down without a stop.

Everthing was starting to black out.

You smiled sadly. "I--love you too--"

Your heart stopped.

"I---forgave---him---"

Your breathing stopped.

Your thoughts stopped.

Everything stopped.

Your hand fell to the ground. Lucifer could still feel your last touch lingering on his blood-smeared cheek. Time stopped.

And he screamed.

#obey me #obey me short fic #obey me sad #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me lord diavolo #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me story #obey me hc #angst #sad short story #obey me satan #obey me brothers #obey me beelzebub

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wherethewordsare · 4 years ago

Note

Because you said it so wonderfully and i crave more, please my love give me more of this 🥺

”Jaskier saying that people weren't made to be alone and Geralt shooting back something about barely being human anymore”

Pretty please

As always, thanks @kuripon for the beta reading and edits TT~TT

You Gently Gift it to Me: Geralt hated Jaskier. That was to say he hated how easily Jaskier reached for him, how he did not flinch away when Geralt grew close to him or how casually he would touch Geralt’s shoulder, his arm, even his hand. It made Geralt recoil into himself, his skin growing tight and hot where Jaskier’s hands landed, felt even through the layers of armor.

But most of all, Geralt hated how much he craved every single one of those things and how desperately he wanted to push into every touch like it was a lifeline to a drowning man.

He was grateful that Jaskier seemed to understand when the touch was simply too much, never rolling over in the dark to press against Geralt and retreating if Geralt scowled. Though he always scowled, he just assumed there was something particular Jaskier had picked up on. And he never pushed, he never took or invaded beyond that.

Part of Geralt wished he would, wished that Jaskier could hear the way his blood screamed under his skin while they sat around the fire and the world seemed too small and too large until Jaskier would press his shoulder easily into Geralt’s and the tension in his body would melt ever so slowly.

The worst of it though was the too tender look in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt returned from a hunt, battered and bleeding, as if Jaskier himself had been inflicted with the wounds. Geralt wouldn’t let him tend to the wounds, no matter how he hovered or how he fussed or how much he needed those same gentle hands on the parts of him that felt like were breaking into pieces.

This time had been a particularly spectacular fuck up on his part. The cockatrice had a mate apparently and they were smart enough to flank him. He had taken down one while the other sank it’s razor sharp claws into his shoulder and arm. He could barely move it after that but he, by some miracle, still managed to slay the other beast.

Looking down he knew that it was too much blood dripping out of his armor. He had survived worse, but this wasn’t good. Stitching it up was going to be another matter altogether.

When he finally stumbled back into camp, it had taken Jaskier exactly three seconds before realizing what was happening and jumping up to rush the witcher.

“Sit down, darling, come on, right there…” He was nearly frantic, his eyes never settling on one particular part of Geralt as he took in the damage. Geralt could only sit and let the bard ramble at him.

Then he couldn’t. Jaskier was on his knees between Geralt’s thighs, leaning in, deft fingers undoing the buckles of his armor with a kind of familiarity Geralt couldn’t begin to understand. The aching tiredness in his bones warred with his need to escape those bright blue eyes that seemed to pin him in place.

Instead of pulling away, mostly because he could barely move, Geralt schooled his face into the look that usually made Jaskier retreat. The air smelled of fear and blood and salt. When those same eyes met his, they were shining wet and Jaskier was blinking rapidly.

“No, Geralt. Not this time. If I don’t help, you’ll bleed out,” Jaskier said firmly. Geralt’s armor fell away, catching only for a moment against the bulk of his good shoulder and then those hands were on him, tugging away the remains of his ruined shirt.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled in warning. Only when fingers, steady and warm, grazed against his sides did he pull away, remembering himself. Remembering the things he was allowed. Gentleness had never been on that list. He simply couldn’t afford it.

“No, you’ll never reach this one where it is. Just let me help you,” his voice broke and that smell of salt seemed to flood against Geralt’s tongue, hot and bitter and bright.

Still he flinched away, his hand coming up to protect his wound from Jaskier’s prying eyes and prying fingers. He looked away from where Jaskier hovered too close, too warm, and too kind. He felt the tension of it behind his eyes, in his fingertips; the need to reach out and hold screaming in his sore muscles and torn skin.

“I’ve done this alone plenty of times, Jaskier. This time isn’t any different,” he said flatly, tugging the small medical kit of theirs from the bard’s hands. “I don’t need you to do it.” It felt like a lie, one that hollowed him out and rang in his chest. He needed.

Jaskier didn’t move from where he sat, his head tilting to catch Geralt’s eyes. “People weren’t made to be alone, Geralt,” he whispered. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands covered Geralt’s on the kit, not pulling it back but waiting. “You don’t have to be alone. When was the last time you let someone care for you?”

He felt sick and his head swam. He knew his hands would never be steady enough to hold the needle and thread, but still he could not relent so easily.

“I’m not a person,” he snarled, pulling so far back he nearly tipped off of the log completely. “I’m a mutant, Jaskier. I haven’t been a human longer than you’ve been alive.” He tried to roll his shoulders but winced as more blood seeped from the gashes left there.

“That’s a load of shit, Geralt of Rivia, and I don’t care what your ridiculous pride says.” Jaskier’s voice shook but his hands were still steady, not pulling away for once. It was too easy to give in and hand over the pack.

Geralt turned his face away as he relented, unable to watch as those same hands slowly cleaned his wounds, dosed him with potion and poultice and sewed his tattered body back together. He bit down on his inner cheek to stop the stifle the small noises that seemed to bubble up in his throat every time Jaskier brushed away the gore or carefully pressed into his skin.

While he sewed, his free hand rested on Geralt’s shoulder blade, more as a way to soothe than to move the process along. Geralt could hear him humming softly, a tune that was all at once familiar and unknown to him, as though he had heard it dozens of times in a dream.

He wanted to ask about it. He wanted to lean into the warmth of Jaskier’s body and rest while his body healed.

He wanted to pull away and retreat into the dense woods around them and not come out again until he had had a chance to figure a way to discourage the bard from following him. It only took a moment to consider turning around on the path and not seeing Jaskier there for that thought to be banished nearly instantly.

For his part, Jaskier did not flinch away when growled at, did not stammer or falter when Geralt winced and tensed. All he did was continue his litany of soft words and half remembered melodies while his hands never once left Geralt for a moment.

When he was finished, he wiped Geralt’s skin again with what could pass as a reasonably clean cloth before helping him, albeit unnecessarily, to his bedroll. He let himself be maneuvered carefully into the furs, a waterskin pressed into his hand with a gentle nudge to drink. It dawned on him with frightening clarity that Jaskier wanted to do this for him. His chest ached with the want of it.

“When was the last time you let someone care for you?” He had asked with that look in his eyes that made Geralt feel too seen, too exposed. He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him sound pathetic and alone in this world but that answer simply didn’t exist. No one cared for witchers, no one had to. They were built to exist without the need of compassion.

No one except Jaskier, who now pulled his own bedroll close to his but did not lay down. Instead sat up, his hand hovering unsure. Geralt swallowed, his throat tight. Slowly, he lifted his good hand and wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s wrist, pulling it towards his head. For a moment he let it hover there, unsure, until Jaskier leaned down slightly.

“Geralt, I won’t…” He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “Only if you want, but know I’m not going to tell you no and I would never-”

“I know.” It sounded harsh even in his own ears so he tried again. “I know and I want you to.” Geralt closed his eyes as he brought Jaskier’s hand down the rest of the way.

Slender fingers slid into his hair and blunt nails dragged gently across his scalp making his whole body tingle. It felt like heaven and he groaned as everything else faded away.

Above him Jaskier began to hum softly again, that tune he still couldn’t place. He cracked an eye open and turned slightly, making Jaskier’s fingers drag over his forehead and down to his cheek where he let them rest lightly.

“That’s not one of your usual songs,” Geralt murmured. He felt nearly boneless under the attention of those fingers. For a moment he wanted to drag the bard down into the bedroll to feel the weight of him against his chest but that would be asking for too much.

“I didn’t realize I was humming it. It’s not mine, you’re right,” Jaskier smiled, humming through a few more bars. “My gran used to sing it to me and my sisters. I sometimes hum it when you’re tossing and turning.” In the dying firelight, his cheeks flushed. “I won’t anymore if you don’t-”

“No, please,” Geralt turned again, pressing his cheek into Jaskier’s palm. “Please. I-” he huffed. “It’s nice.” He felt his insides quake as Jaskier shifted ever so closer, his hand sliding easily back into Geralt’s hair.

He made no move to press in after that and Geralt was immensely grateful and also deeply disappointed.

He could see himself easily trusting those hands that had pulled him back together, even when they couldn’t see the wounds they darned back together. As he drifted into sleep, Geralt thought that maybe in the morning, he’d like to still feel what it was like to be cared for.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #touch starved geralt #jaskier #geralt whump #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #angst #hopeful ending #jay writes #jay answers #prompt fill for the loveliest of beans #cw: blood #cw: injury

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

I'll See You Again, I Promise [Din Djarin x Reader]

!! SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 2 FINALE. DISCRETION ADVISED. !!

Author's note: Spoilers for the Season 2 finale of the Mandalorian. Just like last time, I wrote this in three hours. The episode literally came out three hours ago. I'm so thankful for how many people liked my one shot based around last week's episode— and as promised, this is a continuation of this week's episode (the season finale). You don't have to read the previous part in order to understand this, but if you wish to read it you can find it here.

Masterlist

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

Taglist for this part: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @dantakuart @yikesdameron @artsyzartsi @karnita-mexicana @multifandomfollower @saavikchekov @what-is-life-in-general @karnita-mexicana @pcrushinnerd @tillytheslytherin @jedinerd27 @queenofspades20

Din Djarin taglist: @alecdamndario0

gif by @cavill-henry

When you saw Din return, holding the child in one hand, and the ancient Mandalorian weapon in the other hand, relief washed over you. Your whole body deflated and you let out a sigh you didn't even know you were holding in.

"Where are the others?" Din asked, his voice gruff as he pushed a binded Moff Gideon to the ground. You gasped when your eyes met with the ex-ISB officer who you knew had given Din so much trauma and hurt. There was a dark and menacing glint in his eyes that you could see right through.

"With Boba on the ship. They didn't think you'd come back," you admitted sheepishly, biting your lip as you cautiously looked back up at Din. "But I believed in you." You desperately tried to search through his visor and locate his brown eyes.

You wanted to cry; your little family had been restored. Grogu had been rescued. You were once more a clan of three. And now, things could be different. You had seen the beauty that was hidden beneath the beskar. You had seen Din for who he really was. You imagined starting a new life with him and the Child, far far away and out of any danger. You could be happy. Of course, you had to deal with Moff Gideon first.

You took a step closer to Din, breaking any remaining distance and placing a hand on his chest. "I'm so glad you're safe." Din revealed with a shaky exhale as you caressed the child. You wanted nothing more than to curl up into his arms and tell him how much you loved him, how proud you were. Grogu was so lucky to have a father as loving as Din.

"We can leave now," you smiled weakly. "We can be free. Go to the lake county on Naboo and start a new life. Live in peace." You had half forgotten Moff Gideon was even there. You just wanted to live in the moment with Din. All you could see was the love of your life holding his child. Everything else in your peripheral vision was a blur. It didn't matter.

"How cute," Moff Gideon's lips curled into a snarl. "The Mandalorian has a lover? What an unexpected twist of events." Din knocked Gideon to the ground the second those malicious words left his mouth, leaving him doubled over and grumbling in pain.

"We don't have time to stick around, we have to go." Din told you, grabbing your hand and interlocking his gloved fingers with yours. You were ready. You were so ready to leave this life behind and be with Din and Grogu forever. It was the happily ever after you knew Din deserved more than anyone else in the galaxy. Before the blast doors could open, the nav system began to beep hysterically, illustrating that a single light Starfighter was boarding the same Imperial cruiser you and your little family were on.

"It's an X-Wing…" you were rendered speechless. Din considered who it might have been. Had Cara comm’d the New Republic from the ship? If so, why was it only just one fighter? Could it have been the likes of Trapper Wolf who had granted Din a favour back when he encountered trouble on the ice planet of Maldo Kreis? Din was truly clueless.

Grogu began to coo and shuffle around, prompting Din to carefully place his son on the floor. Grogu waddled over to you by the terminal, gargling and pointing his finger up at one of the screens. "What is it buddy?" you asked, leaning down and picking up Grogu. Grogu guided you to the CCTV where you saw a cloaked figure emerge from the X-Wing and ignite a lightsaber. Your heart stopped. "Din…" you said nervously, your grip tightening around Grogu defensively. "You might want to see this."

Din approached the small screen and looked closely. "A Jedi?" he asked, although it almost sounded rhetorical. He looked back at Grogu who was already staring up at him. "Did you… did you bring him here?" Din asked the child, his voice breaking slightly. Grogu made a small and indistinguishable noise in response.

"No," you placed a hand on Din's shoulder with comfort. "No, Grogu wouldn't…" you reassured him.

"The seeing stone," Din deadpanned, his gaze not tearing from his son once. He remembered Ahsoka Tano's words. "Grogu reached out with the force and if a Jedi felt his presence, they'd come looking for him," Din turned to you, his body stiff and his voice shallow. "And they've come."

Your lips parted slightly as you turned back to the screen, watching as the mysterious figure roamed through the halls of the Imperial cruiser. Part of you deep down knew that Din was right. It was the only plausable explanation, but that didn't mean you wanted it to happen. You knew it wouldn't be long until you were found.

"Din, let's go," you said with teary eyes, feeling your anxiety bubble up in your stomach. "Please Din? Can we just go."

Din clenched his fingers into a fist. "No." he said sternly, his voice returning back to being gruff and modulated. He was doing what he always did when fear consumed him. He'd shut himself out and go into hunter/protector mode. He'd become the fighter he was trained to be since he was just a young boy.

"Din." you hated the way his name fell from your tongue, sounding needy and desperate, but you were just as afraid. You didn't want to stay any longer. You had what you needed; Din and the child. You didn't need anything else. You could go now.

Din picked up Grogu and nursed him in his arms, holding him close to his chest. Just like always, Grogu curled up into his father, taking comfort in feeling his beating heart, learning the true feeling of unconditional familial love.

The blast doors shot open and the cloaked figure entered the room. Your fingers dropped to the blaster in your holster as he approached you both. The man put his lightsaber away, signifying surrender, and pulled down his hood, revealing himself. He looked slightly older than you, with pale skin with mousy brown hair. He looked like he had seen a lot in his lifetime.

"Are you a Jedi?" Din asked eventually, breaking the silence through the need of confirmation.

"Yes, my name is Luke Skywalker," he introduced with a small nod. You recognised that name… Skywalker, perhaps from old tales, the likes of myths and folk stories. You didn't spend long contemplating the mystery man's identity. There were more pressing matters at hand and so you opted to brush it off completely. "I have come for the child," Luke announced and Grogu turned from Din, his ears cocking at the mention of him and looked at the man with curiosity. "Hello little one." Luke smiled.

Grogu cooed in response before turning back to his father with big pleading eyes. "He doesn't want to go with you." Din gulped, his heart aching. There was no way to be sure, Din could never know exactly what Grogu wanted. But he was aware of the bond he had with his son, now more than ever he was aware. He knew that there was no way his son would want to leave him. Din loved Grogu. Din loved Grogu with every inch of his being.

"He wants your permission." Luke explained, and Din turned back to look at the little green bean in his arms. His… permission? "He is incredibly strong with the force and without learning how to utiIize his powers he can become a danger to those around him… and a danger to himself. It's important that he understands the nature of the power he possesses."

Luke's words became a blundered fuzz in the back of your mind. This was Grogu— this was Din's little boy. When Din looked into Grogu's eyes, he saw nothing but memories. From the pair of them sipping spotchka, to chasing frogs and playing in the hull of the Razor Crest, everything just felt so distant. Din took a deep breath, his finger softly brushing against Grogu's cheek.

"Hey go on… he's one of your kind," Din winced at his own words. One of your kind— something the Armourer had implanted in Din's head all those months ago. "I'll see you again. I promise."

You felt your heart shatter in your chest. This… wasn't meant to happen. It wasn't meant to end up like this. You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something and put a stop to this absurdity. You knew better than anyone that Din needed Grogu and Grogu needed Din. It felt like your throat had closed up, like you could hardly breathe. All you could do was stand there and watch it play out.

Grogu reached up with a small wail, his green claw tracing the curves and ridges of Din's beskar helmet.

Din knew exactly what his son wanted, and right now, Din was certain he wanted it too. Just for once, he wanted to look at his son with his own eyes. Not the eyes blinded by his visor blade, Din wanted the child to know his face. Recognise him. With a hiss and a click, Din removed his helmet. You swore your heart stopped upon seeing him again. Brown eyes, but this time they were glazed with tears and there was nothing you could do about it.

Grogu reached back up and rested his claw over Din's jaw. Subconsciously, Din leaned his cheek into Grogu's hand, never wanting to pull away from his touch. His heart was broken beyond repair.

"All right pal," Din rasped. "It's time to go." He didn't want this. He couldn't do this. But he had to. He had to be strong for his son. He had to be a good father. "Don't be afraid." Was Din's final words to his son.

He placed Grogu down carefully and nodded towards Luke, accepting his fate. Grogu clutched onto Din's leg, not wanting to let go. His little mind was racing with wonder— why can't his daddy come with him? Why must he go alone? The erratic beeps of a white and blue astromech droid were what eventually tore the curious child from his father. Grogu waddled towards the droid and Luke picked him up.

No matter how hard he tried, Din couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat. Everything Din had done so far had led up to the moment, and he wanted to curse himself for letting it affect him this much. He should've been prepared. It's just, he really didn't think this would happen. He really didn't think Grogu would want to leave.

He didn't blame the child of course. He could never blame the child. He just wished he understood. Just before the doors to the elevator closed, Luke spoke up. Unfazed, unbroken. "May the force be with you." he wished. Din ignored the comment. It meant nothing to him. Nothing meant anything anymore. No meaning, no purpose. Luke tapped the key that would shut the doors and Din offered his son once last nod, trying his hardest to break out an impossible smile. When the doors finally closed, Din let out a choked sob and fell to his knees.

You sprinted over to Din, kneeling down and pulling him into you. He cried, hot salty tears falling from his brown eyes and dripping down his face. You pulled his head into your lap and smoothed out his hair trying your hardest to lull him. But you couldn't. You couldn't even bring yourself to comfort him. Your shoulders curled in and you fell limp, whimpering into his hair. You felt completely broken. Grogu was like a son to you, and you cherished him so very much. You couldn't even imagine how Din was feeling.

His little family was no more but he knew that Grogu was going to go on to do bigger and better things. No matter what, Grogu was going to make Din proud.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 #grogu

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