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grandmother-goblin · 11 months ago

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Field Study - Chapter 4

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to fight off the feelings that stir within him whenever he was around Cas, Astarion wanders off into Ethel's swamp alone and nearly loses his newfound freedom.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 5.1k

Chapter Tags: Canon-typical violence, Astarion has something like a panic attack, hand holding, kissing.

Mercifully, mosquitoes seemed to have little interest in vampire blood. They were far more interested in Wyll than anyone one else, which eventually resulted in the warlock simply applying frost armor to himself and watching the bloodsuckers fly happily to their icy graves. Astarion wished he could do the same, given how the tiny pests kept buzzing around his ears like a jewelry merchant working on commission, their sales pitch to those with sensitive ears was almost as bad as their bite.

They weren’t even in Auntie Ethel’s magically beautified swamp anymore; the illusion wore off the second Shadowheart took one look at those bloody sheep. Perhaps if the illusion had stayed, the mosquitos would stop harassing them. Leave it to a hag to disguise a fetid bog as some idyllic wetland.

Oh. That was another fun revelation: Auntie Ethel was a hag.

Not in the withered-old-crone-who-fights-pigeons-over-breadcrumbs way (though that may have been true as well), but in the way she was a dangerous Fey creature that no one in their right mind should mess with. Especially not on the hag’s own turf.

Apparently, Cas did not get that memo.

Either that or she was quite out of her mind.

The discovery of Ethel’s true nature did not seem to bother Cas even the slightest. It was almost like she already knew. Just like she did when Astarion confirmed her suspicions about his condition those nights ago. Suspicions even the Blade of Frontiers did not voice aloud. Though no one said a word, Astarion knew Shadowheart and Wyll thinking the same thing he was: Cas was hiding something.

As for what that something was, he had no idea. Whatever it was, Astarion became more and more convinced that Cas was not just some ranger from Neverwinter like she had claimed. Even if the others thought she was lacking in general intelligence, there was an undeniable, quiet wisdom in which she carried herself. Calm and experienced. The kind of knowledge that couldn’t come from books or a classroom.

An hour had passed since Astarion and Cas took over night watch. In order to keep two people on guard in their temporary camp, Astarion and Cas took their meditation early so Shadowheart and Wyll could get at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was a long night shift, but it seemed like the best option. They all needed to be well rested in case their meeting with Auntie Ethel went sideways.

Plus, it meant Astarion got some alone time with Cas.

Moonlight seeped through the canopy of leaves above where they rested, providing their sole source of light. A campfire was too risky. Although they chose their temporary camping ground wisely, they simply did not know the area well enough to forgo any extra precautions. Hence the double guard duty.

Though it would have been far more effective for Cas and Astarion to stand watch on opposite ends of the camp, they found themselves drawn together before long. Long conversations under the moon and stars had started to become their thing. They did not have any wine with them, but he could think of more than a few ways to make up for that.

With his chin resting on her shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her and traced tantalizing circles around her hip with his thumb, watching with quiet fascination as she worked on her field journal. A pencil drawing of the tadpole, almost exactly as he remembered it, emerged from the page with all its horrifying glory. By all accounts, it was beautiful artwork despite the subject matter. The colors she chose were ones he wouldn’t have expected, but they worked in harmony to bring out a lifelike quality in the work. Each line was precise, purposeful, and Astarion found himself deeply enthralled in the process.

Astarion brought a finger to the corner of the page, far from the bulk of the artwork. “You draw stuff like this for a living, right?” he asked. “For your vampire friend’s research.”

Cas gave an affirmative hum. “Whenever Eroc or my brother need illustrations for their work.”

“And their work involves creatures like this?” He tapped the drawing of the tadpole in the center of its razorsharp maw.

A shiver went down his spine. That thing, and its teeth, still lurked in his skull. Waiting. If it could see the drawing, perhaps it would be flattered enough to let them live. Unlikely, but the idea of the tadpole having a thimble of vanity almost made him smile.

“This is the sort of stuff they’d be interested in.” Cas swiped her palm lightly over the page, dusting away any debris her pencils might have left behind. “But no. Not this specifically.”

Deciding he no longer wanted to dwell on the beast, Astarion averted his gaze to Cas’s neck where his twin puncture wounds were still proudly on display. All purple and red against her rich copper skin. The sight of it filled him with a surge of primitive pride. Marking his territory, as it were. Any man, woman, or vampire would think twice before encroaching on her.

His lips skated carefully over the bruise, earning a soft but surprised gasp and a trail of goosebumps in his wake. The hand on her hip slipped just beneath her tunic, where soft skin pressed into his touch. With a rakish grin he asked, “Do you ever draw nudes?”

A puff of laughter escaped her lips. A delightful sound that made his stomach flutter for reasons he did not want to think about. “Are you volunteering?” She set the journal aside and leaned further into his touch. Their bodies melded together from shoulder to thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Only if you’re naked too, my dear,” he teased, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke.

Cas smiled as she let her head rest against his shoulder and he could smell the faintest hint of lavender in her hair. Quietly, she picked up his hand in hers, her thumb tickling the center of his palm as she studied it.

Astarion furrowed his brow. “What are you doing?”

“You have nice hands,” she said and then she laughed. “Is it terribly dull of me that I would rather draw your hands than a nude?”

No. Not at all. He actually found himself rather curious about what those drawings would look like. Not that he would admit it. “You know, there are plenty of people who’d die for the opportunity to get me naked,” he said instead.

In fact, plenty of people had. Gods. He didn’t even want to think about it more than he had to.

She bumped him good-naturedly and said with a little laugh, “I’m not that desperate.”

Part of him thought to bring up how eager she had been the other night in his tent, but he didn’t want to risk embarrassing her. Not only that, but he had just realized something: he and Cas had been sitting together for almost an hour. Touching. Yet she didn’t make any move on him save for touching his hand.

In fact, when he listened for her heartbeat he found that it was calm. Cas was entirely relaxed sitting next to him. No flutters of anticipation, no changes to her breathing. Hells, she barely reacted when he had kissed her neck.

Most people he seduced would have taken that opportunity and run with it.

But Cas seemed perfectly happy just chatting with him.

He swallowed as a pang of something rattled in his chest. Something warm, pleasant, and safe that his body desperately tried to shut down with every bit of coldness it could muster. When the warmth dissipated, so did the icy fear, leaving behind that comfortable and familiar numbness.

Perhaps he needed a bit of space. Just a bit of time to himself so the feeling didn’t threaten to come back.

Astarion cleared his throat and sat Cas upright so he didn’t topple her over when he stood. “It’s been a while since we last did a patrol,” he said, just to give himself an excuse. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no,” he said before she could get to her feet. “You did the last one. It’s my turn.”

Cas frowned, a mixture of confusion and concern on her face. “Okay.” She drew out the word and averted her gaze, seeming almost embarrassed. “Just don’t stray too far. There might be worse than redcaps out there.”

He brushed off her concern and excused himself, leaving her looking a bit like a kicked puppy, but he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it. He had to get a bit of air. Just a moment to himself to get his emotions under control.

What in the Hells was wrong with him? Cas was nothing more than a pretty face. He had spent time with hundreds of beautiful people over the centuries. Those people, however, did not cause damn butterflies in his stomach.

It almost felt like he had an actual friend in Cas. Like she didn’t see him as something to be used. But he knew better than to get his hopes up. Chances were that Cas was just like everyone else. She just hadn’t revealed her true colors yet.

He needed to get a grip and focus on the task at hand: patrolling the outskirts of their secluded campsite.

Before they went to sleep, Shadowheart and Wyll mentioned that the campground seemed quiet and secure. So far, nothing proved them wrong. Crickets chirped and an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Active animals were always a good sign. It was when things got quiet that there was reason to worry. About a hundred meters away from the campsite he started again on the path he walked at the beginning of his shift, listening for any suspicious noises and watching for shadows. The night was blissfully calm and gave him some space to think.

Astarion ran his hands through his hair and laced them behind his neck, releasing a long breath between his lips. From the first time he laid eyes on Cas, he was physically attracted to her. That much was undeniable. He’d been with plenty of gorgeous people. Most of which he never had the luxury of getting to know. The chance of any of his relationships (if one could even call them that) turning into something more was always an impossibility.

Cazador would end it, one way or another.

With a grimace, Astarion recalled a sweet young man he had tried to spare and how Cazador punished him for it. Any sort of attachment always came at a cost higher than Astarion was willing to pay.

It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

But for the first time in centuries, Astarion had the chance at something real. An actual relationship that meant something more than a meal for his master. A relationship he could damage so easily if he wasn’t careful.

Astarion didn’t want to lose Cas’s trust or, dare he say, friendship. He didn’t want to hurt the first person in centuries who actually seemed to give a damn about him. Who asked about his day, who cared about his thoughts, wanted to know his feelings, and took extra steps to ensure he was okay. He liked having someone care about him. But it scared the shit out of him. It was only a matter of time before Cazador ripped it away just like he did everything else.

Dousing the fire that ignited in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Cas was the smart thing to do. But as much as he tried, he didn’t think he could do that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. After tasting her blood, tasting her lips and the salt of her skin, he was fairly certain that fire in him would implode before burning out.

Astarion stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to focus on his surroundings, but that focus quickly returned to the muddled mess in his mind. Cas was supposed to be just like any other target he had seduced. She just had to fall for him, and he had to somehow stop whatever feelings she stirred within him.

Had he not been so caught up in his own head, he might have heard it. The whisper of a spell, or the shuffling of dirt beneath the caster’s feet. A chilling sensation struck him in the middle of his chest, spreading through each and every vein from the tops of his ears to the tips of his toes.

The ice in his stomach wasn’t just the result of magic. It was from the cold realization that he could not move.

Fear crept and coiled around him like a venomous snake. With every ounce of willpower he had, he begged his body to move, to do something, before it could strike. But it was as if his body had betrayed him, under the command of another. Panic seized his heart.

No.

No, it couldn’t be Cazador. Cazador would never trek so far from Baldur’s Gate. And his control felt nothing like the magic that enveloped him now.

Footsteps approached from his right and a stocky, disheveled, man appeared in his periphery.

A Gur.

Of course it was a fucking Gur.

“With how smoothly that went, you’d think I was the Huntsman of Neverwinter,” the Gur said, his voice deep and jovial. “Old man Gandrel could take a few pointers, eh?”

If Astarion could use his tongue, he’d make some comment about how adorable it was that the Gur thought he was even a speck of dirt compared to the greatest monster hunter in recent history. Still, he tucked the nugget of knowledge away. The Gur was overconfident, that much was clear, and overconfident people tended to make mistakes.

The Gur pulled out a length of rope and manipulated Astarion’s hands behind his back. “Holding spell always makes this part a bit easier,” he said conversationally as the rough rope bit into Astarion’s skin. “Unfortunately, it won’t hold long enough to get you back to Baldur’s Gate, but that’s what old fashioned rope is for.” With a grunt, the Gur tied off the rope and somehow made the binding impossibly tighter.

The feeling in Astarion’s fingers was already fading when the Gur came around to his front, finally looking his prey in the eyes. Astarion willed his body to do something, to spit in his face or throw a punch. The holding spell held firm. Heat built behind his eyes and white-hot rage dripped from his throat to his stomach.

Not like this.

Not again.

With a sympathetic tilt of his head, the Gur produced a wooden dowel with leather straps on either side. A bit. To keep him from screaming. “It’s nothing personal, Astarion. Almost feel bad taking you away from your friends because you won’t find such pleasant company where we—”

An arrow ripped away the rest of the sentence as it tore through the Gur’s cheeks clear to the other side. Then a second arrow pierced the man’s skull in silent fury.

The holding spell released so suddenly that Astarion fell to his knees like a child’s discarded rag doll. Mere feet away from him, the Gur collapsed, eyes open and unblinking as blood dripped from the metal arrowheads.

Cas called his name breathlessly. Her bow clacked against the arrows in her hands as she rushed to his side, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. She pulled the dagger from her hip and sliced through the rope like she had done it a dozen times before. When the ropes fell away, she checked him over with careful yet efficient hands, feeling for injuries in his vital areas. Then she knelt in front of him with her eyes wide and wet.

Words were tumbling out of her mouth, question after question, but Astarion could not bring himself to focus on them. Nor could he bring himself to answer.

Just like that, he was almost captured. No warning, no time to prepare. His freedom, gone in the blink of an eye. Not just a reminder but a remembrance of his past life, like his mortality stolen once more with false promises. Images of blood, the face of a wicked devil…

No, things were different from before.

Cas had come to his rescue. And she was the furthest thing from a devil.

There was a ringing somewhere in the depths of his ears so loud it was nauseating. The cruel smiles from his longtime sadistic master did not rule over him at this very moment, though the scars from years of abuse and neglect screamed as if ripped anew.

The worry in Cas’s deep brown eyes quieted his internal storm. He began to take calming breaths, trying to make sense of these swirling emotions that felt vaster than any damnable ocean. He couldn’t make sense of the movement of her mouth as he focused on the light freckles dusting her cheeks.

Like the blood spattered across the ground, small specks of himself were all that were left from his last encounter with a Gur. Nothing could truly compare to the night Cazador “rescued” him. Yet it was the only comparison he had to draw from. For better or worse, the only reason Astarion walked the mortal planes was due to Cazador.

Cazador was the only person who had ever tried to “save” him.

Until Cas.

He felt her trembling fingers, ghosting over his cheekbones, as the warmth from her palms settled into either side of his face. Gentle. Caring. Greater concern welled in the depths of her pupils as she brushed the pad of her thumb across his clammy skin.

“What can I do to help?” Cas asked, the stark calm in her voice reducing the deafening alarm in his ear to a niggling warble. She repeated the question but her words drowned in the torrent of emotions cascading through his mind.

If Cas hadn’t shown up when she had… Astarion pushed the bombardment of dark memories aside that had tormented him for decades, drowning them out with Cas’s light. Based on what the Gur had confided, bringing him back to Baldur’s Gate alive meant the only thing awaiting him was a fate worse than death. Numbly, Astarion wrapped his fingers around Cas’s wrist, feeling her steady pulse beneath his fingertips, willing his own heart to fall in beat with her metronome.

“Please say something?” Cas laced her fingers with his. “Just so I know that whatever spell he used is completely worn off.”

Closing his eyes, he took another deep breath. “Thank you,” he said. And for the first time in centuries, he truly meant it. Words would never be enough for what she just did for him, but at the moment, they were the only thing he could give.

A small smile spread across her pretty lips and she threw her arms around him. The scent of her leathers couldn’t completely mask the metallic smell of blood, but it helped ground him. With Cas’s arms around him, he felt… almost safe. But feeling something and knowing something were different things entirely.

As long as Cazador was around, he would never be safe. And neither would she.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” she said, her voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “If you had just disappeared like that I— I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Look for me, I hope.” He tried to make the words sound lighthearted, like the past ten minutes were nothing more than dust in the wind, but his voice betrayed him with a crack.

Damn it.

Without even thinking, Astarion wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into the crook of her neck. The warmth of her body and her even breaths provided comfort he never would admit to needing.

Astarion wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. It could have been a few seconds or maybe even a minute before he forced himself to let go. Hugging wasn’t something he normally did. At least, not without a goal in mind. Certainly never for comfort.

A bloom of unfamiliar warmth grew in his chest. It felt… nice to be cared for. It wasn’t a feeling he could ever allow himself to get used to. It was temporary. Just like Cas.

He had to remember that.

Cas gave his shoulders a friendly squeeze before she let him go and said, “We should search the body and head back to camp.”

Instead of saying anything, he just nodded numbly.

They didn’t find much on the body besides hunting supplies. No note. Nothing to identify the man by and nothing to give them any clue who had sent him after Astarion. Though deep in his gut, Astarion suspected he knew exactly who would have sent a Gur after him. Cazador probably found the idea hilarious, given his history.

He and Cas patrolled the remainder of the perimeter together in silence. Astarion simply didn’t know what to say. What words could possibly suffice for what Cas did for him that night? Protecting him without a hint of hesitation, killing a man for him. It wasn’t something anyone had done for him before.

Even with a bit of time and distance from his encounter with the Gur, adrenaline pounded in his veins with nowhere to go. Fight or flight, he did not get either option. However, his body did not seem to get the memo. It was as if it was still waiting for something else to happen. Another monster hunter, a mind flayer, some threat bigger than an owl hooting away in a nearby tree. But the night was calm once again, even if Astarion wasn’t.

When Cas turned to go back to the campsite, he found himself reaching for her hand. For whatever reason, he wasn’t ready to go back. Wasn’t ready to sit at camp with nothing but his thoughts and quiet conversation. Not when everything in his head was still so loud. Not when his body still did not feel like his own. He didn’t want to be around people who were just waiting for a reason to turn on him just for what he was.

Cas raised a brow at him, but did not retreat from his touch. “Is everything okay?”

He owed her. He owed her more than she could ever possibly comprehend. And he didn’t like to be indebted to people. Especially when he didn’t know what the payment would be when it came due.

Yet the last time he had offered to repay her, she told him that he didn’t owe her anything. Past experiences told him not to believe her, but he certainly couldn’t let her know that. He also knew better than to put the offer out there again. It would not do him any good considering how she had rebuffed the suggestion of a quid pro quo before. In fact, she might even find the idea insulting.

Most polite people didn’t like the idea of exchanging favors for sex. Or at the very least, they didn’t like it when it was stated so plainly.

Astarion placed his hands on her hips and turned her towards him. “I don’t want to go back to camp just yet, darling,” he said and stepped in close to her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. “I just want to be alone with you for a little while longer.”

Cas rolled her lips and glanced towards the tents in the distance. “We’d be alone at camp,” she said. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

The response was so innocent, it almost made him laugh. “No, my sweet.” His hand drifted from her hip down to the swell of her backside and his lips brushed over hers when he spoke. “I just want a moment with you.”

Just with Cas. Cas had somehow become a calming presence in his life. Someone who accepted him completely for what he was. Maybe even for who he was.

Whatever he had with Cas wasn’t something he wanted to just let slip away. He wanted her reasons that went beyond wanting to pay a debt, perhaps even beyond the protection she could provide him.

He was actually kind of fond of her.

And he was beginning to believe that she might be fond of him as well.

He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face close to his, her breath was warm against his lips and the inches between their mouths was reduced to a paper-thin sliver. “Stay with me.”

Just a moment for the two of them. With the woman who stirred some long dormant feelings back to life. With the woman who saved him. The woman he couldn’t dare let himself fall for; no matter how she made his heart pound against its cage.

Slowly, he closed the distance between them as he covered her lips with his own. A soft groan filled the air as her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, her smaller frame pressed tightly along his front. Each breath they shared quieted the mess within his mind, and he found himself lost in the sweetness of her mouth.

Overcome with the need to get closer, to feel more of her, he lifted her against him just long enough to walk her backwards to a nearby tree. The sounds of night that enveloped them, crickets chirping and the cool breeze rustling leaves, faded as he claimed her mouth with his.

Kissing her was as sinful as it was saccharine. Her lips were lush, indulgent, and demanding all at once. His fingers tightened in her hair as her tongue licked into his mouth, igniting a fire low in his belly. A fire that had been present ever since their first kiss but laid waiting to be coaxed to a blaze.

More than anything, the kiss was pure. Honest. Like nothing he had experienced before, yet the solace brought by her lips overpowered the fear that accompanied every good feeling he had. Her arms wrapped around him, pressing their bodies so close he could feel her pulse, her every breath, the swell of her breasts and the sensual heat gathering between their bodies.

The need to get closer turned desperate, but the comfort she provided never abated. His teeth, his fangs, grazed her lower lip, careful enough not to break the skin but by no means gentle. The soft moan in her throat told him all he needed to know. She trusted him. Even with his fangs against her skin, playing on the edge of biting her, she trusted him.

It was too much.

Cas rolled her hips, the delicious friction against his hardened length teasing him. Just a few layers of clothing were all that stood between him pressing inside her, and she knew it. Her slender, demanding, fingers slipped into the waistband of his trousers and tried to pull him impossibly closer. Like being pressed up against a tree beneath him didn’t quite satisfy her.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough and it was too much all at once. The pounding of that pesky organ in his chest, the hot flush on his cheeks, the fire in his belly… he actually wanted this.

When was the last time he had wanted to take someone to bed? He had been on his back thousands of times, faces and names a blur, just forcing himself to get the job done. To do Cazador’s bidding in whatever way the bastard wanted.

His own wants, his enjoyment, never even factored into it. Sex was just one of the few weapons he had at his disposal. It was about doing what he had to to survive.

But with Cas, it wasn’t about survival. It was something else entirely.

“What’s wrong?” Cas’s voice broke through his thoughts and her hand cupped his face. “Do you want to stop?”

It was only then he realized that his hands had frozen where they had gripped her thighs. In fact, he didn’t even remember wrapping her legs around his hips. Or did she do that?

Normally when his mind drifted off someplace else similar situations, he body went on autopilot. It was all muscle memory. But he never froze.

What in the Hells was wrong with him?

Astarion shook his head. Under most circumstances, he would have been relieved to stop. But at that moment, stopping was the very last thing he wanted to do. Instead, his traitorous mouth said, “We probably should.”

Not because of her, yet it was completely because of her. Out of all the people he had been with over the centuries, none brought anything other than a sense of self-loathing and disgust. But it was different with Cas and it scared the shit out of him.

Of course, he would never tell her that.

“If we continue, I’ll have a hard time stopping myself from getting another taste,” he mumbled the lie into the crook of her neck, inhaling that scent that was uniquely Cas. Like leather and lavender, feral and feminine. He covered a pulse point on her neck with his lips and nipped the skin. Just hard enough that it would leave a little bruise and he couldn’t help but laugh when she returned the favor.

With one more kiss, she detached herself from him. No insistence to continue. No shame. No insults to his masculinity. “I understand,” she said with a sweet and sincere smile. “You do what you need to do.”

Astarion took a step back lest he act on his sudden impulse to kiss her again. It wasn’t the right time. As much as his body craved to feel every last inch of her, he couldn’t with his current state of mind.

Stopping was the right thing to do.

“I should probably find something to sink my fangs into,” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out to her again. “Will you be alright watching the camp while I hunt? It shouldn’t take long.”

The idea of going off by himself after everything that happened that night didn’t appeal to him, but being alone was far less frightening than confronting whatever feelings being around Cas stirred up.

Cas didn’t seem to like the idea either judging by the crease that appeared between her brows. But she nodded. “Be careful,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for you back at camp.”

Resisting the urge to pull her into another kiss, Astarion stalked off into the woods, halfway convinced the only way he could get Cas off his mind was to do something reckless.

Fighting a bear would likely do the trick.

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#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #field study bg3 fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gale 3

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hetalianskywalker · 7 months ago

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Day 8: Choosing to Help

Pairing: Mer Vaughn x Jedi Reader

Summary: Sometimes helping is more than worth the danger.

Author’s Note: So I know I haven’t given much detail on the Jedi in this AU. And that will change in tomorrow’s fic. So sorry if anything is confusing here because of that. Hopefully, there isn’t. Also, when you see the prompt… get your mind out of the gutter. It’s not gonna go down that route. 🤣

Warnings: some references to war trauma and this world’s version of order 66. But I think that’s it.

Word Count: 814

Prompt: A squid with human eyes must not be harmed, thrown back as quickly as possible. I’ve seen too many good fishermen cursed to let it happen again.

Prompt 3062 by deepwaterwritingprompts

The whole fishing boat goes deadly silent when they see what was in your hands. The massive fishing net had been pulled onto the deck. Among all the fish, you had seen the wriggling tentacles of an oddly colored squid; it was white and blue with a little bit of orange. You had slowly picked it up only to be met with a pair of brown human eyes. You just stood there unmoving and soon the whole crew stood around you with a meter of distance.

A gunshot draws you all out of your almost trance like state. Your captain stands with his flint lock pistol aimed at the sky.

“Don’t hurt it and throw it back.” No one moves. “Now! Do you want to be cursed!?” They all scramble out of your way as you dash to the railing. You hold your arms out to drop it in the water only for the tentacles to wrap around your arm. You hear the other sailors gasp behind you.

To your surprise though, it’s gentle and it looks at you expecting something. What’s worse is that you know exactly what it wants, but you can’t blow your cover here.

“Please let go.” You plead. It blinks at you for a long tense moment before it does just that. You let out a sigh of relief as the ship immediately begins heading for shore.

You have never had so many good luck charms thrown at you. The Mer who show interest like that don’t just give up and they all know that wasn’t the end. The Captain is just relieved he was able to save your life. However, for the safety of himself and the rest of the crew, he asks you to find different work. You are a bit annoyed but you don’t hold it against them.

And they are right this wasn’t over; you soon see that squid in the river that ran along the road home. You shiver, but don’t shrink away from it. In fact, you kneel down at the sandy river bank as he comes up to you. This river connects into the ocean you remember as he stops in front of you; you should have taken another way home.

“If I do this for you, they’ll know I’m here.” You want so badly to turn him away, but the pleading look those eyes give you makes you cave. You had seen and felt so many men with those same eyes die around you during the war. Even after your Mer clones tried to kill you, their dying cries on the battlefield still haunt your dreams.

You extend your hand out into the water and softly begin to chant. The squid swims up to you and you feel the slimy skin under your fingers. He waits patiently as you slowly transfer your raw magic to him; even with all your Jedi training, bringing suppressed magic back to the surface is difficult. You close your eyes, trying to increase your focus; you have to hurry.

A loud gasp of an all too familiar voice fills the air and you stop chanting. Your vision swims and the Mer clone’s arms barely catch you before you hit the shallow water.

“Easy. I got you, sir.” You laugh even though it makes your head hurt. You cuddle into him. You shouldn’t after what had been done to you by his brothers, but you have been alone for what feels like forever. It is nice to be held again.

“I’m not a general anymore.” You say softly. You feel him slowly get to his feet, but you can sense his uncertainty. You slowly examine his blue and white armor, recognizing the famous battalion color. “You have been stuck inside a squid since before the end of the war huh?”

“The war is over?” You have a lot to fill him in on and very little time to do so. The Inquisitors will be here soon; you know it.

“We need to run. I am now a wanted fugitive and you are property of the new empire.” You can sense his confusion and fear, but he hold you to him protectively. You could cry; you haven’t felt protected and safe in a long time. Slowly, you look up at the orange and white helmet, recognizing the pattern from an old friend. Those brown eyes from earlier meet yours and you can see black curls with blue tips sneaking out under the helmet.

“I’m Captain Vaughn.” He begins moving quickly toward your home, going the direction you had been headed before. “Gather your strength. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Once you grab your kyber sword, you and Vaughn steal a small ship in the dead of night. He is able to activate the runes to get the ship in a hyper current just as your Inquisitor executioners arrive.

#star wars #th clone wars #captain vaughn #clone trooper vaughn #captain vaughn x reader #rare clone x reader #mermay #mermaid au

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randomwriteronline · 8 months ago

Text

"Pohatu!"

Huh.

Lewa sounds... Worried?

Something must have happened. Hopefully it wasn't a Makuta attack. It'd be weird if neither Krika nor Pohatu were there to fight with their siblings - although the Toa have no reason to believe their brother of Stone has any business with the Brotherhood beyond knocking their masks into the bog water with a roundhouse kick, so really there's nothing to worry about. If he mentions he met a Makuta they'll likely assume he simply came across one and was briefly busied with not being pummelled into protodermis hummus against the nearest tree.

He touches down bouncing once, twice, to slow his momentum before he comes too close to that coward's trap; his Le-brother lunges for him to wrap his arms tight around his neck in a nearly suffocating hug.

His own limbs encircle the other's back in a lukewarm embrace, half stunned, half puzzled.

Alright. Something has happened.

The question now is, frustratingly: what, exactly?

"Where have you been?" Onua, for once, is quicker than him and gets to ask first. He sounds almost... distraught.

Pohatu turns to him with the unpleasant feeling of being in the dark about something squirming familiarly around his heartlight: "Swamp?" he replies a little dumbly pointing behind himself. "There aren't that many places to be down here, I met a big bugger-"

"All these years?" Gali continues. She is not talking about the swamp. She is worried, heartbreakingly worried, just as much as her brothers. "What happened to you? Where were you?"

Kopaka says nothing, but he looks at him. His eyes seem guilty.

Pohatu looks back at him in earnest confusion.

"The Codrex," Tahu visibly struggles as he searches for the correct string of words in his choked up throat for a moment, torn between reaching out with his hand and holding back.

The fog clears instantly.

"You weren't in the Codrex," he tries. "You weren't with--"

Pohatu shoves Lewa off of himself with a stiff thoughtless movement: "Ah," he says. "Good."

The other five blank.

Something shifts in the world around them and tilts it all askew, paints the air with a strange imperceptible color that makes their heads light, their footing unstable, their eyes unfocused. Their Stone brother is the same - his silhouette has been changed by the adaptive armor but he looks the same, they recognize him, they know him, right? He is still their sibling, he is still the same, the exact same, in his usual body with his usual gaze and his usual voice, but then why - why does this Toa look nothing like him?

Tahu flinches when his shoulder is grasped.

"Do you remember the energy storm?" Pohatu asks, sounding the exact same and yet completely, impossibly, horribly different.

"What?"

"Do you remember the energy storm?"

"Pohatu, I - you - where, how did you-?"

"The energy storm, do you remember it?"

"You weren't with us, all this time- how did you get to-"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!"

They recoil.

Pohatu doesn't shout like that. Pohatu doesn't speak like that, quick and far too straight to the point. Pohatu doesn't grind his fingers that hard into what little of a shoulder a piece of armor might expose. Pohatu doesn't stare that harshly. Pohatu isn't that furious.

"The energy storm!" he insists, snarling - Pohatu doesn't snarl - "Do you remember that!"

"Yes," Tahu spits out.

"Good!" and his tendons hurts when they are released.

Pohatu doesn't stand like that. Pohatu doesn't look at his siblings like that - with a growling scowl so sour it almost makes their stomachs twist. Pohatu doesn't look like Takanuva does since a shadow leech bit him, he doesn't look like the Shadow Matoran, he just looks like himself; but Pohatu doesn't act like that.

He gives them all a quick glance, looking for confirmation on their faces beyond the stunned concern. The storm's mention and his cold eyes seem to do the trick as he catches small affirmations.

"Call it a feeling or a hunch or what you will, but something tells me there's going be another one coming down soon," he tells them with that voice that is his own yet doesn't sound like him - to them, at least, because they had yet to hear this facet of it which he's allowed to stew silently with the rest of his bitter fury. "And it'll turn Karda Nui into a nice big open air common grave, if you five keep sitting around this chunk of metal waiting for our little siblings to get fried out of the air like Nui-Rama."

The information takes a moment to sink in.

He watches their eyes widen, understanding dawning within them. They know now as they knew then what an energy storm is, what it means, the destruction it brings.

They begin speaking, they ask him how he knows - he answers harshly, flippantly, relishing in how they wince back as if stung or bitten each time he responds to their kind tones with hisses and growls that are so deeply wrong to their audio receptors - they start planning, and he retains no information whatsoever of whatever Tahu starts prattling about (a strategy, of course, because he is the leader, and a leader makes strategies and plans escapes and runs away when the ship begins sinking) because he sees his foot shift, he sees his hand beckon the rest of them towards him, he sees him make his way toward the inside of the Codrex, and white hot rage bursts out of him in a shout that he can't hear himself.

He can only tell he's shouted because his body is tense as it leanse forward, his lungs are empty, and his disgustingly spineless siblings are shaken and terrified as they turn to him.

He's not letting them escape on their own this time.

"None of you will be doing anything until we get the Matoran out of here!" he roars again. "Especially getting into that thing!"

"It could hold answers - helpful tools," Onua speaks in his warm enveloping tone. A hand reaches out for him, to soothe him, to try and calm him, return him to his normal self--

He's swatted away sharply, so hard that his wrist hurts.

His brother glares venomously: "It doesn't," he decides snapping back at him, "You're just trying to escape again, aren't you?"

"Again?"

"Don't play dumb with me! You said you remembered!"

"But it wasn't--"

"We're doing it my way this time! And you'll better comply or upon the name of the Great Spirit I swear I'll crack that infernal machine open like a Pokawi egg if you try to set a single foot in it!"

"Pohatu!"

He has no idea who is speaking: the voices and masks and colors melt together, his head spins, the heat of his anger turns his thoughts into a tangled mess that starts wrapping tight around his lungs to squeeze every breath of air out of him; so he flies away, diving briefly into the swamp, terribly close to the water, before rising back up along one of the trees, towards the stalactites.

(Somewhere far away a chunk of stalagmite blows up, scaring the wits out of Bitil. As his heartlight flashes madly the Makuta curses the Toa of Stone under his breath.)

Someone calls for him.

He ignores them and continues flying.

He's so furious that he nearly crashes through the branches.

A sense of nausea builds up in his throat like vomit.

The voice reaches him, shouting his name almost right in his audio receptor: his arm is grasped, wrenched up, his body unbalanced and turned upside down. He twists in the air aimlessly for a few seconds before he manages to stabilize himself again and regain his bearings enough to search for whoever jumped him.

Gali floats slightly above him, her eyes disbelieving and hard behind her mask: "What is happening?" she demands to know.

Pohatu glares at her. Then, out of nowhere, his brows unfurrow, his face softens, he breaks into his easygoing smile: "Nothing," he blatantly lies with his playful tone and no intention of masking his rage nor his sarcasm behind it, "Nothing ever happens. Didn't you know that, sister? This afternoon we're going to have a tea party with the Makuta and wait for the energy storm to decide the air is a bit too brisk to come down this week, and then tomorrow we'll all attend a nice Kohlii match the Av-Matoran are setting up with the Piraka as the referees."

"Stop it!" she shouts. His little show unsettles her immensely, and the fact only makes him glad. "What's happening to you?"

He laughs: "Nothing, I told you," and he does a little loop to keep from shattering a fallen stalactite in half, "Nothing ever happens to me! Why would anything happen to me?"

It scares her even more. "I said stop it! You're not like this!"

Oh, he isn't?

He isn't like this?

If she knew. If only she knew.

She would hate him as much as he hates her again.

"What's wrong with you, brother?" she cries. She really does sound like she's going to sob. "What happened to you? What is making you act like this?"

Oh, but didn't she say she remembered?

Didn't they say they remembered?

Liars. Liars. Liars. The bile surges back to cover his eyes, to coat his mouth with its horrid taste. He can barely breathe.

"Nothing!"

"It can't be 'nothing'!"

"I said, it's nothing!"

"Pohatu, please!"

He thinks of driving his hand right through her heartlight.

Gali watches her brother stutter, suddenly frightened by something she cannot see nor hear not imagine, she watches him lose height for only a moment in which he seems to plummet into the bog below: before she can fly down to his rescue he spins up again, twirling away from her. She follows his trajectory until he lands, heavy and tired, on a sturdy enough branch.

He hears her touch down a few steps away from him much more gracefully. Keeping his eyes shut at least spares him from having to look at her.

He is a Toa. He has a code to follow. Even when it's hard.

Even when it would make it all so much simpler.

Even when it would be so deserved.

But he is a Toa.

Not a Bohrok.

Not a Rahkshi.

A Toa.

And he doesn't want to kill.

"Pohatu," she calls again, so gentle, so sweet. Her hand sits on his shoulder, pulls away slightly when he flinches at the contact, lays once more with an even lighter weight. "Brother, I'm begging you. Speak to me. Share what hurts you."

You know exactly what it is, sister.

All of you do, and you pretend otherwise.

You left me. You planned your escape and went through with it.

You left me to do the work of six Toa alone because you were too scared of dying like the Matoran you didn't care for.

It was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it? It must have been. Otherwise it makes no sense. I was never part of your escape either, was I now. Because I was never as good as any of you.

You left me. You left me, and you planned to leave me. You didn't tell me anything. You didn't care if I would have looked for you while I was dying. You didn't care if our little brothers would have called for you. You left us all to die and you planned for it. From the start.

You disgust me. You left me. You left me. You left me.

"I'm worried," he says, because that too is true.

Gali's arms embrace him kindly, pushing his head to lay on her shoulder. He'll let her believe the shiver that courses through him is out of a need for comfort instead of repulsion.

"We'll get them all to safety," she whispers. Her tone is soft, almost lulling him to sleep.

"When?" he asks. He feels so tired. "Is there even enough time?"

"There will be," his sister reassures him as her hand cradles his nape. "I promise they'll all be on their way to Metru Nui before the storm can start forming. We'll make sure of that. Me, our brothers, and you. United, it won't take long."

It wouldn't have taken long back then either, he thinks, but the bite in his thoughts is too weak to voice them. He is so tired. So exhausted from his anger. Gali is so comfortable. So kind.

It's a trick.

It's all a trick.

He has to remember that.

Anger helps him remember that.

His siblings hate him.

It's all a trick.

Just a trick.

The stuttering sound of a pair of rockets approching them has his sister turn slightly. Her grasp on him loosens, and he pries himself away from her hold despite some traitorous speck of his mind begging to be allowed to lean on her. It's a trick, he chastises it as he finally opens his eyes to see who's coming: just another dirty trick.

Lewa touches down almost next to them, jittery and anxious. He looks at Pohatu with a certain fear behind the goggles of his mask.

His brother replies to his frightened gaze with silence.

He and Gali speak - of what, Pohatu can't tell. He's so tired. When at last he forces himself to be mentally present to the conversation, it seems they have reached an agreement.

"I will reassure our brothers, then," she says. "We'll be there to help you before you know it."

"Heartthanks, Watersister," Lewa nods relieved.

They watch her disappear downwards again. So it seems they will be handling the first few evacuations on their own, and then the others will join them.

It's good to see they have a bigger sense of duty than they used to.

Or at least, that his rage scares them more than death.

Fingers grab him before he can lift off, in an unsteady grip: "Pohatu," his brother calls with a trembling voice.

When he turns to finally face him fully, Lewa looks at him no different than he did when he first arrived on the branch: frightened, concerned, jittering. He grasps his forearm with both hands, like he's afraid he'll slip away from him.

"We need to go," Pohatu tells him simply. He is so tired.

"You," his brother begins softly, but it takes him another moment to word his thoughts properly: "You... How... Are you?"

"Tired."

"Are there - offvoices, like the mindkraana, in--"

"I am just tired. Let's go."

He winces hard at the harsh words, but he holds onto him still: "Stonebrother - you were... You weren't with us. In..."

"I wasn't. Let's go."

"Wait - wait, please..."

He sighs. He feels so tired. So tired. Why is he so tired.

"If you weren't... If you..." Lewa struggles. He is deeply worried. For him. "Where... What... Happened, to you? During all this time?"

His legs ache and twitch to kick him off this blasted branch. His body screams at him to knee the Air Toa in the torso hard enough to cave his armor into his lungs.

But the building bitterness hemorrhaging from his every joint after he allowed his tightly compressed rage to blow out of him is eroding his strength the more poisonous it becomes instead of fueling him as it has so diligently done for the past one hundred thousand years, and he is so tired.

"Now isn't the time to talk about this," he snaps.

"But it will be?" his brother insists.

He is so, so, so tired.

"Later." he concedes. "Once all this is done."

"Heartpromise?"

Somehow, he manages to fake a convincing smile: "Heartpromise."

Lewa smiles back at him, heartlight a little lighter.

They lift off together.

#bionicle #pohatu #gali #lewa #onua #tahu #kopaka #random writing #orpiment au #(dancing a merry little dance) pohatu is FUCKING PISSED #i hope the progression of his anger and its intensity through the chapters feels natural #and i hope it comes across that the way he handles it (keeping it hidden and then releasing it explosively) is so strong and unhealthy #that it actively physically makes him sick. which is why he is so tired by the end #in all of this the nuva have no idea what is happening to their brother and are honestly afraid for him #theres so many ways to get mind controlled in the matoran universe - whos to say somebody took hold of pohatu and turned him against them?#they want to help him so very earnestly and hes so stuck in the narrative hes spun where they hate him and he hates them #i am beating the shit out of all of them with hammers

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silversiren1101 · 1 year ago

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👕👀 if that's alright? totally not gonna try to base an actual outfit later of off this to go out nope dfgdfg

YES ABSOLUTELY - a portal opens up between universes and realities... Thedas and Golarion suddenly within reach of one another... Mino looks through the portals and sees one of the most gorgeous creatures even in her life: Sarikh Surana...! Everything about his grace and fashion sense, from his armor to his Orlesian gala dresses...! She would like to invite him to a private lunch so to meet one another, interdimensional dignitary that he is!

Top AND Bottoms: First thing is that she absolutely knows she is finding him a dress or skirt - or something similar. She's seen him in that one butterfly dress and it was hauntingly beautiful. That being said, this is simply a lunch date! Also it's quite hot in Cheliax, so she's found something light and airy that'll compliment his figure AND those to-die-for red tresses. She noticed he often sports a plunging neckline, so this over-length shirt with exactly that, puffy sleeves, and tied together with this green belted wrap skirt will work wonders! It'll call back to his elvhen heritage and usual wardrobe, while being a little cooler for the heat and a little more modern.

Shoes: Mino took a look through your wardrobe and found all sorts of cute shoes! She also noticed the lack of heels, but is pushing these Sarikh's way anyway. They may be a little too high of a heel, so she'll happily have them mended to be lower if needed! The brown ribbon laces are just too cute, and will work wonderfully with the white and green colors above!

Hair/Hat: Sarikh your hair is GORGEOUS! Mino doesn't want to cover it up in anyway, only draw even more attention to that stunning red. She's picked out this gold comb with green jewels to tuck into your hair. It'll further compliment the asymmetrical look and bring out your hair color even more.

Other Accessories: Does Sarikh even need any more accessories? He's already beautiful as is! Mino is hesitant to add anymore, not wanting to overcomplicate the fit, but she does love these little winged earcuffs. They'll be modified to fit his ears, of course, and they call back to his own knightly order with the griffon wings (she would talk his ear off forever asking questions about the Grey Wardens you know). She also found these leather hand covers with a nature motif that will work with the rest of the earthen tones in the outfit!

#ask meme #ask game #oc: sarikh surana #mino asking infinite questions about the grey wardens and falling in love with them and immediately knowing sarikh is a good friend #she'd ask so much about Duncan too! and the rest of the companions hehe #we can also get Sarikh some leggings if needed! I excluded them here since the gap between the hem and boots isn't very wide #outfit ask

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wild-karrde · 2 years ago

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I’m back again 👀. Last one from me for this fabulous 400 followers celebration!! What aboutttttt Gregor + “I’ll take that bet”?

OK OK OK SO TJ I MADE IT REAL FILTHY I HOPE THAT'S OK. Also, since I am unable to help myself, I put all of my OCs from the 28th Combat Wing in there. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

Pairing: Gregor x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE - slight exhibitionism, fingering, implied PiV, language, Gregor's a menace)

The bass of the music in 79s was damn near deafening when you stepped inside the bar, immediately spotting the magenta and grey paint of the 28th Wing’s armor in their favored booth against the wall. What stood out more was the yellow hatch marked commando armor sitting amongst them.

Fucking Gregor. Dammit.

Maker alive, he was infuriating, but you weren’t about to let him ruin your night out. You had to cash out on all of the booze Chuckles owed you at some point, and he was so rarely planetside, your opportunities were limited. But why did it have to be the night that asshole of a commando was also around?

You’re not sure what exactly about Gregor gets under your skin. Maybe it’s his cocky smirk or his stupid hair or that ridiculous giggle that sounds like an inebriated fathier whinnying. Or maybe it’s the way he seems entirely unbothered by you. No matter what it is, Gregor’s got you figured and loves to dig his finger into that wound whenever he gets the chance. He’s already spotted you from across the room, raising an eyebrow as you start heading in his direction.

Not tonight, asshole.

You square your shoulders, swaying your hips a bit more than necessary. None of them have ever seen you out of your mechanic’s jumpsuit, and you’d picked your favorite (and only) dress for the occasion. After all, you deserved a little bit of attention. And maybe a good lay. If you could find one.

Gregor says nothing as he sips his beer, but his eyes never leave you, raking from your toes to your eyebrows as you nudge Chuck and slide into the booth next to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m saving this seat for some greasy mechanic I owe a few drinks to,” Chuckles teases.

“Oh, my apologies. Mind if I keep it warm until she gets here?” you joke back, playfully ruffling his mohawk, which is currently a deep purple color.

Crater rolls his eyes while Stones leans over, whispering that you look very nice, making you duck your head bashfully. Chuck flags down a waiter droid.

“What’ll it be, Bolts?” he asks, invoking the nickname he’d given you.”Just don’t break my non-existent bank account.”

“I’ll have a whiskey, please,” you request. Gregor raises an eyebrow again.

You feel annoyance tighten your chest. “What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Just didn’t peg you for the whiskey type.”

“Oh, do enlighten me as to what type you thought I’d be, Captain.”

“Alright, alright, your seat’s not even warm yet,” Chuck mutters. He leans closer, speaking directly into your ear. “What is your damage with him?”

You sniff. “Nothin’. I just asked a question.”

Chuck rolls his eyes before sliding the whiskey in front of you. “Just drink this so you’ve got less of a stick up your ass.”

It doesn’t take too many whiskeys before you feel yourself start to relax, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. You laugh at Chuckles’s terrible jokes, chat with Crater about the last bolo ball game, and even get Sticks to come out of his shell a bit. The entire time, you notice Gregor’s stealing glances at you, and your confidence grows.

Let the bastard look.

You lean forward to take another sip of whatever drink Chuckles has ordered for you now. You let your cleavage rest on the table as your tongue wraps around the straw, pulling it between your lips. You glance up in time to see Gregor watching you over the rim of his glass. His eyes are on your breasts, but they quickly flick up to meet your gaze. You roll your eyes at his obvious leering, leaning back into the crook of Chuckles’s shoulder. He seems somewhat surprised, but doesn’t move to pull away. Gregor says nothing, but something in his eyes seems to flare for a moment.

You’re imagining things.

As the evening progresses, Crater graciously excuses himself to head back to the barracks and catch up on some reports. As soon as their commanding officer disappears, tongues loosen, and suddenly the conversation turns to romantic encounters. Unfortunately, the boys haven’t spent enough time planetside to rack up anything too salacious, so it isn’t long before you become the target of the conversation.

“C’mon, Bolts. What’s been your wildest night?”

“A lady never kisses and tells.”

“Who said anything about kissing?”

“And since when are you a lady?” You elbow Chuck for that comment, shooting him a glare.

“Oh, come on. There has to have been something that you’d consider memorable.”

You shrug. “Not lately.”

“No game or nothing worth writing home about?”

“You guys sure are nosey.”

“We’ve got to live vicariously through you, Bolts.”

You laugh, growing bolder as the liquor in your stomach warms you. “There was a guy a few weeks back. He did his best, and it was probably better sex than I’d had in a while, but that’s not saying much with the losing streak I’ve had going. Thinking of giving up and just going with the battery-powered lovers from here on out. At least then I get to finish.”

Stones groans in despair for your lackluster love life and Chuckles cackles loudly. “You sure do know how to pick ‘em, Bolts.”

You shrug. “It’s been a struggle.”

“Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.”

Gregor had been quiet for the last little while, but that comment from him draws your attention. And your ire.

“And what would you know about making a woman cum, Captain?” you sneer.

He grins cheekily. “Plenty.”

“I bet you couldn’t make a woman orgasm if your life depended on it,” you bite back.

Gregor swirls his whiskey in the light, watching the legs of the liquid trail down the side of the glass.

“I’ll take that bet.”

Your eyes lock onto one another, and for reasons you can’t explain, you feel heat pool between your legs. You adjust in the booth, and while the others are guffawing about something else Chuckles said, Gregor notes the way your thighs rub together. He smirks, and you feel that anger flicker in your chest, along with something else. After another few minutes, you excuse yourself, unsure of where you’re heading.

Just need to get away from him for a minute.

Your feet carry you towards the back of the bar where it’s dark. You pass plenty of bodies pressed together, panting, sweating, and moaning in the darkness. Suddenly, you feel a hand in the small of your back, pressing you towards one unoccupied corner that’s far from any prying eyes. You whirl to find Gregor smirking down at you.

“I-I was looking for the ‘freshers,” you mutter.

“Now love, I don’t think that’s true at all,” he responds. “I think you were looking for trouble.”

You regain your bearings, scoffing at him as he backs you into the corner. You feel the heat grow between your legs, and you hate how your panties are sticking to you as he pins you against the wall, one arm braced against the wall. You jut your chin out defiantly.

“What do you want, Gregor?”

“Same thing as you.”

“And what’s that?”

He chuckles before leaning closer to you, his voice raspy in your ear. “To make you cum.”

You snort indignantly, but your legs are trembling.

“The question is,” he continues. “How best to make that happen? Are you one of those lovers that wants to be taken roughly, with me buried deep in that sopping cunt of yours while I hold a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet? Or do you need me to build you up more slowly, take my time until you fall apart?” His fingers trail up your thigh, slipping under the fabric of your dress before digging into your skin slightly. He presses forward, slotting a knee between your legs, and your breathing quickens. His eyes are watching you as his fingers find the hem of your panties on your hip, and he twists the string of delicate lace around his fingers.

“Now this feels like something you were hoping someone would take off of you tonight. That the case, love?”

You swallow hard.

“You want me to take these off of you?”

“No.”

He pulls his hand away immediately, clearly thinking he’s misread things, but you lock your fingers around his wrist. His eyes find yours in the dim lighting, the question in them apparent.

“I want you to make me cum with them on.”

His trademark smirk reappears, his fingers slipping back under your dress, drifting between your legs to press your clit through the thin fabric.

“All worked up just from thinking about me? You’re practically soaked,” he murmurs.

“You talk a lot,” you mutter.

He chuckles against your ear. “I think you like when I talk.” His fingers find the hem of your panties between your legs, and you feel him push the lacy fabric aside, tracing through your dripping folds. “I think you like hearing all the ways that I think about fucking you, and trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot.” His first finger finds its way inside you, and you gasp, hitching one leg over his hip as your hands fly to his shoulders to find purchase. Gregor’s watching you as your lips part, your head thunking back against the wall as he slips a second finger inside you.

“That’s it, love. Let go for me. Let me take care of you.”

“I really don’t like you,” you try to snap, but it comes out more of a whine.

He chuckles. “I think you want to dislike me, but that’s becoming more difficult.”

Your reply dies on your tongue, replaced by a gasp. His fingers are so thick and deliciously calloused. When they finally find that spongy place inside you, you dig your teeth into your lower lip to stifle a moan. He crowds you further against the wall, bearing down on that place inside you. “None of that now. Let me hear you.”

“Fuck you.”

“I might let you if you’re nicer,” he teases.

You dig your nails into the back of his neck, and he gasps lightly before he nudges the strap of your dress aside with his nose and bites down on the flesh of your shoulder. You groan out his name.

“Gregor.”

“That’s right. You like this, don’t you? Being back here where anyone could see you falling apart on my fingers. You want them to watch, hm? I could call the others over. Have them watch while you finally get what you deserve.” You whimper, clenching around his fingers as he slips a third one in. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You’re filthy, love. Maybe another time. Right now, I want you all to myself.”

You’re practically riding his palm right now, the man you’ve hated for months, but Maker above, you’re not about to stop. The music is faint enough back in this corner that you can hear the obscene wet noises coming from between your legs. You’re both sweating, foreheads pressed together, panting in each other’s faces.

“Gregor, I’m close.”

“I know you are, love. Be good for me and soak my hand, yeah?”

You glare at him with heated eyes, mustering your last bit of defiance. “Make me.”

He sucks at the place just below your ear. “With pleasure.” With that, he presses against your clit with his thumb, circling slowly with just the perfect amount of pressure. You fly towards the edge and topple over, your vision whiting out as you cum hard. Gregor presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your scream, and you bite down on his bottom lip as you ride out your high. When the aftershocks have finally subsided, you slump against the wall as Gregor pulls his hand from between your legs, and he holds you up, resting his chin on your shoulder as he pants against your skin.

“I… still don’t like you.”

He chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that, love.”

When your breathing finally steadies and your legs become usable again, he stands back, watching you as you straighten. You try to recompose yourself, smoothing your hair, and he grins. You roll your eyes at him, and he chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Looks like I won that bet.” He kisses you on the cheek, which infuriatingly makes your face flush with heat. You glare at him as he turns to leave, but you grab his arm again.

His expression is puzzled, and you relish in it as you step closer to grip his rock-hard length on the outside of his pants, making him gasp. You whisper directly into his ear, ensuring only he’ll hear.

“Wait five minutes and then follow me outside. I’ll have a cab waiting.”

“What for?”

You kiss him, running your tongue over the inside of his lip before patting his cheek, enjoying the way he groans and the surprised look on his face.

“Double or nothing. But this time you can't use your fingers.”

A/N: This ficlet got re-written and turned into a multi-part VERY SMUTTY series you can find here: The Blitz Series

Thanks for participating in my 400 Follower Celebration!

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sangrefae · 1 year ago

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FFXIV WRITE 2023: DAY EIGHT (SHED)

link to the ao3 post for my entries | day five | day six | day seven

shed [verb] - (of a mammal) to lose hair or fur as a result of molting, disease, or age. - wolguydesan + wolzero implied. set after 6.4. 619 words.

The first warm day of spring comes sooner than predicted, a welcome balm to the still-frayed nerves of those affected by the Final Days. It's as if the star itself is singing a song of hope to rejuvenate its inhabitants—though, Sanson concedes to himself, he might also be a little too influenced by all of the bards he's surrounded by as of late.

Two of said bards snap to attention as he approaches them, saluting to him as is usual before he waves to put them at ease.

"I assume Lieutenant Thildonnet isn't here yet?" He inquires, voice dry in its exasperation. One of the recruits only has a moment to look hesitant before a familiar voice comes from behind his head.

"If I'm here before you, does that mean I get to call it and enjoy this fine day without any teaching?" Sanson scowls, cheeks coloring as he turns to regard Guydelot. The bard is smirking like a smug fool, as usual, holding his harp loosely in one hand as he reaches out to pluck at something on Sanson's jacket.

"No, it does not—hey!" He swats at his hand lightly before continuing, "No, you still have to teach today. Just because you're early doesn't mean that you get to…"

Slowly, Sanson trails off as he registers the tuft of fur pinched in Guydelot's fingers, face growing redder once he recognizes it. It's a dark blue-gray, the lightest bits of yellow on the tips, and much to his horror more of it comes off on his glove as he swipes where Guydelot had touched. Guydelot's expression only grows mirthful as he watches.

"I wasn't early, Chief. It's half past the eighth bell," he informs him.

Sanson feels as if he's being set alight.

Only staring at the fur a split second longer, he spins back around and begins barking orders to the recruits, with them hurrying to obey. Guydelot leans with his arm on Sanson's shoulder as they escape, ignoring how he fumes as he twirls the tuft between his fingers.

Zero takes the water skein Estinien offers her gratefully, taking deep pulls from it in between panting breaths.

Their training has become something of a ritual for them, taking the mornings to spar alone from the rest of the Host and in their own private space given to them by Vrtra in Radz-at-Han. Though Thavnair did not change much between the seasons, the alchemists had informed her that it was turning to spring; she understood it to signify how much time had passed, her strength only growing with each day.

Neither of them say anything as they recuperate from their latest match, not exactly conversationalists. Still, it's a companionable silence, Estinien only giving a grunt of thanks as Zero passes back the skein to him and he takes his own drink.

"Didn't know you have red hair," Estinien breaks the quiet, only after gulping down the rest of the water.

Zero stares at him blankly. "My hair is not red."

Wordlessly, Estinien reaches forward to pluck at the fabric wrapped around her neck, an element she still stubbornly clings to wearing despite having traded out her regular armor for lighter clothes. He draws back to show her a single long hair, wiry and straight, and, indeed, bright red.

"That's Remember's" she says, bluntly. Estinien looks at her, expression unreadable.

"And how exactly did their hair get onto your scarf?" Zero couldn't place the tone in his voice, though others better versed in such things could say it was teasing.

In lieu of answering, Zero stands again and reaches for her scythe. Estinien makes another noise to himself, amused, but doesn't push it as he stands to join her.

#ffxiv write 2023 #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv writing #elinor sumarlioi #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #cave scribbles #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #remember abnegation #zero ffxiv #wolzero

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redhoodsbf · 2 years ago

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| FLEETING MOMENTS.|

✰ ship: (Pre-relationship) Jason × Kyle.

✰ summary: Jason looks back on the past, on a concerning sunset faded memory.

✰ words: 920+

✰ tws: Physical contact, Implied suicidal thoughts? (In 1-2 passing comments and aren't brought up again.)

✰ notes: I just wanted to finish this and never look at it again. This is to showcase their relationship before they were even friends, and so there's some passive aggressive interactions here 'nd there.

Jason never liked looking back on the past. The way memories would carved into him like the scars littered across his body. In his mind, this was because there was nothing to be fond of in it—nothing more than a reminder.

Maybe having such a relationship with one of the most important parts of life was unhealthy, but it wasn't like that stopped him before.

And yet, when his mind would begin to wander—despite better judgment—he'd sometimes entertain it, and with his luck, it would bring up things he didn't even know he was burying.

The weather wasn't anything abnormal that night. Gray clouds were floating high in the smoke-filled skies of his city, ready to cast them in another thunderstorm. Though, considering it was Gotham, he wouldn't have been too surprised if the sky suddenly turned green.

Though through it all, the space between gave sight to the morning sky that was beginning to wake.

He was walking up stacks of staircases, made only more unpleasant by the cold air that was slipping through his armor. His helmet filtered it enough for his lungs not to freeze.

When he reached the end, a red door greeted him. A sigh was swinging off a hinge; plated into it with flayed text were the words, "Do Not Enter."

He went right ahead.

The roof was layered with trash. Barely a few steps in, and he had to walk over a shattered bottle.

Bright yellow caught his eyes. A costume as obnoxiously colorful as his brothers' stood out against it all.

To this day, he still doesn't know what's more unbelievable: the fact he actually found him in the first place or how he caught Shock practically cradling himself while on the edge of the rooftop.

He knew nothing would come of it, but the sight didn't sit well with him nonetheless.

Carefully, he walked up closer to him, and in that silence, a thought crossed his mind: It shouldn't have been this easy; it never was before.

Maybe he wanted someone to find him, but that didn't make sense either. It was the same guy who had kept both a physical and emotional mask up since he joined the team, with no sign of stopping anytime soon.

Not that Jason could've faulted him for that; it was one of the few things they shared in common.

"And here I thought you'd be halfway across the city by now."

Quiet never was a guarantee when it came to the two of them, but Shock wasn't too eager to play his part, leaving Jason without a reply.

He ran his gloves over the concrete, tapping his fingers on it repetitively. He heaved a deep sigh moments later.

But he still didn't say anything.

"You know, I've spent the whole night looking for you."

Jason tried to clear his throat of the burning sensation crawling its way up, but only brought more of his attention towards it. He wasn't sure what exactly to do, so he did what he knew best. Right behind him, he took a finger and flicked it on the back of Shock's head.

"Not as chatty as you were earlier, huh?"

Someday he has got to learn not to mess with metahumans so much. That morning wasn't it.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, but only to push him away. In the blink of an eye, a masked face was inches away from his own. The voice that came was as static as Jason's own.

"Did you just come here to taunt me?"

As hushed it was, it was more than Jason was hoping for, and so he held his ground.

"The two back at base were getting worried."

He held up a hand in the air and said, "B was seconds away from bursting out the roof just to look for you."

"Red told me to do something about it, or, y'know," He brought it back down just to make a slicing motion across his throat. "Else."

Shock only hummed in reply, and then the silence returned. He made sure to ruin that quickly.

"Right, well." He slapped his hands together, slowly letting one slip into the scarred palm of the other. "Why don't you get down from there," Jason held out a hand, "And come back with me?"

The speedster stared at him for awhile, long enough that Jason was convinced that it was just another of one of their staredowns. As if to spare him of anymore awkwardness, a heavy breath finally came in turn.

His words started with a stutter and stayed that way until he cleared his throat, speaking slowly. His voice was strained.

"Just—just want some peace and quiet for a second, then I'll come back."

And with that, he turned away. Jason followed his line of sight to the rising sun.

It was leaving the sky in hues of orange and gray. A moment of peace and beauty in the otherwise poisoned skies of his city. Yellow was blossoming from the mass, yet nowhere near as bright as the other's suit.

Jason leaned forward on the railing, resting his arms down beside Shock.

With his sight trained on the sunset ahead, Jason took advantage of that moment to look up at him. The stitched-on smile embedded into the other's mask lied low, edges ripped and burnt from their previous missions.

But at least he actually seemed content for once.

"I'll be waiting right here, buddy."

#something from awhile ago that I. forgot #writing.exe #robo.txt #[🦇]: i've been bamboozled!#with that of the way. hi :)

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absurdthirst · 3 years ago

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Hi Keri! I love love love your blog and your wonderful headcanons ❤

Being a plus sized girl myself, I love your headcanon "When you are a plus sized gal", but a bit sad it's only Din, Ezra, Pero and Oberyn. Would love to see how Marcus Pike, Zach, Javier and Max Philips too. But only if want to write something for them, of course 😁🌸

When You Are Plus Sized Gal:

**So the first four are repeated from the original HC, but I added them on to the others to make it a complete list.

Mando: He is obsessed with your softness. You are so different from him. He is covered from armor from head to toe. He is often viewed as hard and unyielding so there is something about the way that his fingers dig into your flesh and his hardness is cushioned by your softness that he is just in love with. Even thought you are soft, you are no delicate flower and can handle the hard way that he thrusts into you, groaning and putting his full weight on you. However, he loves the softer moments. When he’s out of the beskar and laying next to you, touching as much skin as he can with his own. He will sleep on you if given half a chance, surrounded by your softness.

Ezra: Ohhhhhh this man loves every gorgeous inch of you. He will coo and flatter and do everything he can to make sure you know how much he thinks you are magnificent.His loquacious nature works to his advantage, you never feel more perfect that when he has a big handful of your body in his grip and watching your body move from the force of his thrusts. He is another one that will want to be surrounded by you. Happily resting on your breast, although he loves when you sleep on him. Waving away your concerns and assuring you that he adores the pressure of you on him.

Tovar: Tovar love him a good sturdy woman. Strong and in good health, the fact that you are a plump thing just lets him know that you are well fed. Plus he loves the fact that you can take his roughness, balance it out with your softness. He loves how he doesn’t have to worry about manhandling you in bed, or against the wall or on the table that he’s had to fix several time when it didn’t hold up under his vigorous pace. He is another that loves to be surrounded by your softness, your generous ass pushed against his cock as his arms wrap around you. Tovar throw his leg over your thighs while sleeping, his own personalized body pillow. (He’s grumpy as fuck when he doesn’t get to sleep with you)

Oberyn: Let it be known that this man adores men and women of all kinds. Shapes, colors, whatever. The Red Viper finds all forms pleasing and your plump and luscious one is no exception. He delights in the bedroom activities and enjoys watching the self confident way you navigate through the excessive bodies in the bed. He loves the way your thick thighs shake when you are riding him, or they are framing his head while another is on his cock. He loves the waves your skin makes when someone is pounding into you from behind and you are moaning out you pleasure. But he also loves when it is just the two of you. Hands stroking your skin, trialing along your stretch marks and don’t you dare protest, he loves them.

Marcus Pike: There is not one inch of you that Marcus doesn’t enjoy. That extra weight on your thighs, oh that’s just his rainy day pillow for him to lay on while the movies plays. Extra soft stomach? Make for him to kiss his way across and whisper about how you always feels so warm and soft. He is always there to give you an extra compliment when you are chewing your lip and staring at the mirror in discontent. Coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist to remind you that he loves you just the way that you are and nothing is going to change that. And then he’s going to strip off whatever outfit is making you look at yourself like that and show you exactly how much he loves your body.

Agent Whiskey: Lordy, Jack loves your supple shape. Ass slapping every time you bend over. He also like pinching that little roll on your stomach. He’ll stop if you don't like it, but for him, it’s just a thing that he loves to do. Grabbing handfuls of you. He likes that extra weight. High key starts pouting when you talk about diets, you don’t need them. If you want to exercise, he can take you in the bedroom and get you all kinds of hot and sweaty. Those are the days that he goes all out, your thighs are burning from riding him and he’s praising how good you are keeping your seat on your cowboy. Groping your hips and moaning to ride him harder, he wants to see you jiggle on top of him. Nothing makes him cum faster.

Javier Peña: Javier doesn’t say a word, he never comments on your weight or the extra pounds that you have. But lord does he fuck you. He makes sure that you have no doubt about how hard you get him, treating you just like he would the skinny girls he fucked before. He’s digging his fingers into your ass and honestly? He loves the extra cushion, feeling like he can go that much harder and not break you. Loving the way that ripple effect looks while he plows into you. And love bites? Jesus, you will wear this man’s teeth marks for days.

Zach Wellison: Maybe it’s a small hangup for not knowing where his next meal was coming from or hating that nagging ache of hunger pains, but sometimes it feels like Zach likes you chubby. He’s not the type to encourage you to eat less. Never. It’s always ‘have a bit more’ or ‘I picked this up for you, it’s your favorite’. Obvious trauma aside, he does love your softness. The feeling of being next to you and wrapping his arms around your thicker waist and pulling your push ass back against his groin is as much a feeling of coming home to him as it was when he got that first apartment that came with his job as the building maintenance man.

Dave York: Listen.....this man knows what he likes. He likes fat asses, he likes bigger boobs, he just like bigger. Sure, he’ll look at any ass that is presented, he’s appreciative of the view, but there is something about that thicker girl that makes his cock strain against the band of his sweats. He comes home from his run, sweaty and out of breath to find you bending over the dishwasher. The material of your leggings pulled tight across your ass and fuck, it’s a better view than that girl he had give the double take to. His soft cock rapidly swelling and all he can think of is grabbing your hips and sinking into you until the pillowy softness of your ass is against his hips.

Catfish: Frankie is a sucker for thick thighs. Loves them wrapped around his waist, around his head. Definitely loves using them for pillows and falling asleep on them. There is just something about it. The softness of your body. Whenever you complain about it, he huffs. Rolling his eyes at you and taking your hand and pressing it against his semi. Something that is nearly a constant state around you. “Don’t give me that bullshit, babe. You are sexy.” He murmurs, licking his lips and there is a spark in his eyes when he flashes you a grin. “Want me to show you?”

Max Phillips: He’s got more warmth. Vampires don’t regulate body temperature very well unless they have had a fresh meal so he LOVES your bigger proportions. Would actually let you sleep on top of him and be as happy as a bug in a rug. When you refused to sit on his face, he scoff and bodily lifted you up until you were smothering him. He’s got super strength, sugar tits. You aren’t going to hurt him. And don’t you know that some extra fat just makes you more delicious?

Marcus Moreno: SMOTHER this man please. Just lay on him and press him down into the couch. He loves it. It’s not that he wants you to be chubby, but he’s not wanting you to go on some diet. As long as you are healthy, a few extra pounds doesn’t bother him in the least. There is something magical about the way that your body cradles his. He likes rocking into you slowly and feeling every inch of your body against his. Kissing all over you is another favorite activity of his.

Max Lord: You would think that for all his worrying over power and status that a bigger girl would be off the table for him. This is simply not true. At all. He’s always been attracted to a woman with a thicker frame and he loves the curves of your body. Burrowing into your soft warmth is like that comfort and love he wishes he’d had as a boy. Your body works him up to a near frantic state quickly and he will never not be an interested spectator when you are changing or in the shower. Also loves being the little spoon.

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lovelybarnes · 3 years ago

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saudade- l. laufeyson

pairings: loki laufeyson x reader, mentions of other loki characters warnings: loki tv show spoilers, probably tva inaccuracies, mobius being trusted even though i don’t actually trust him lol, mentions of death, tears, a little sad angst but happy ending, ooc characters?? possible mistakes because i can't read this again skjfj about: requested, DF26 with TVA Loki running into the variant of his dead spouse a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i loved writing the last scene so much

loki has narrowly avoided the tva for years, opportunities much better than this and chaos a lot more chaotic than this have already been caused and passed. so the how and why he has been taken in at this very moment- while he’s eating at one of those fast food places you used to like- is very, very unknown to him. he should know, however; you’ve explained to him the tired concept of time traveling many times before, although the most important things were told to him when he thought you a mere mortal like the rest- something you were not- and could not possibly know something he didn’t- also something very untrue.

but the reasoning for his capturing is not at the front of his mind- although close- his main objective staying on how to get out of this unknown place and go back to looking for you- whether the fragile fabrics of reality and string of the timeline fray and break or don’t. he knows it possible, having seen the avengers do something similar, so why can a god like him not?

he’s ripped many holes, and he supposes the consequences for them are finally catching up to him, a lot sooner than he’d like. in another world, he’d already have you, and, with you by his side, you both would’ve been out long before, or never captured at all. although, he supposes, in a perfect world, you never would have been taken away from him in the first place.

he knows stopping for food he didn’t even necessarily need- or, really, like- was not a smart decision. he’s realizing exactly how not-smart of a decision it was with every passing second that the fools in armor drag him along the halls. the stop wasn’t needed, much less planned, but the memories the greasy food and dirty restaurant brought were too pleasant- a break full of you in the nonstop mission to find you. he could nearly feel your fingers touching his, hear your voice urging him to at least try and your bubbled laugh when he cringes. the fizz of the soda had made him grimace like the first time, except there was no you to giggle at it.

loki nearly thinks it was worth it. nearly.

when the guard shoves him into another room, loki takes a second to examine the exits, barely noticing the man at the desk. the person next to him pushes him further, dropping the tesseract and various stolen pym particles on the desk. loki takes note of where the man puts them so he can steal them back.

the guard stops with him in front of a small elevator, pulling a lever and waiting. loki looks at them, “where am i? get me back right now, i have things i must attend to.” the guard only looks at him, and loki scoffs, “i am loki of asgard, god of mischief and trickery, believe me when i say there will be deadly consequences if you do not do what i ask.”

the guard huffs a small laugh, “i’ve heard that before. we’ll see.”

the doors in front of him part, opening to a room he’s rammed into. he looks back the guard, one foot already out when he’s suddenly back where he was, watching as the entrance closes. he senses the machine before he can have a good look at it, a claw that he’s seen too many variations of beginning to poke at the fabric on his shoulders. he swats it away, standing tall as he glares at the smiling machine. “absolutely not! this is high tech armor, only few of this exists.”

the tech on the machine turns the grin into a frown, pulling back the talons and instead extending another apparatus that scans at his clothing, removing them with a yellow glow until he’s completely bare. he looks down at himself before looking back up at the face, pointing a finger, “now what-”

his words are cut off when he falls through the opening ground, falling onto the bottom room, now dressed in an uncomfortable tan jumpsuit, orange letters reading TVA on the left breast. a bored man in front of him pushes a pile of papers to him, “please sign to verify this is everything you’ve ever said.”

loki ignores his words, pushing it back, “i need to find someone, stop the absurdity.” the man only blinks as a machine whirrs, printing a piece of paper he reaches over to take and place on top of the pile. he hands loki a pen, “sign that too.” loki frowns, “did you not hear me? i have important things to do.” the machine does it again, and the man repeats his motions and shakes the pen in his hand. “that, too.” the god only sighs in frustration and signs, slamming the pen down before he’s dropped again.

another man greets him in a monotone, not even looking at him while he reads off the clipboard in his hands, “please confirm to your knowledge that you are not a fully robotic being, were born an organic creature, and do in fact possess what many cultures would call a soul.” loki’s eyebrows furrow, “i’m not a robot- how many people don’t know?”

“thank you for confirming, move through,” he requests. loki glances at the machine in front of him before stepping through it, a small picture printing after he’s on the other side. loki catches vibrant orange and red with hints of green that overcome any other color. “through the door, please.”

he encounters the same guard from before with a frustrated glare, leading him to what looks like a courtroom, a woman sitting in the middle, reading off a file. “variant L4293, aka loki laufeyson-l/n, is charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. how do you plead?” loki tilts his head at her, “madam, a god- i don’t plead.”

the woman sighs tiredly, “are you guilty or not guilty?” loki’s eyes thin as he observes her. “guilty of… trying to find my wife, yes. guilty of being extremely frustrated, yes. guilty of whatever it is you’re accusing me of, no. not guilty.” loki’s hand curls, trying to use his abilities inconspicuously but dismayed to not be able to. he tries again, only to come up empty as he realizes what is happening. “magic powers are no good in the tva, mister laufeyson,” the judge says absentmindedly. “i prefer l/n,” loki diverts simply, unknowingly catching the attention of one of the attendees. the judge barely acknowledges him, about to say something else before a man jumps up, hand raised, “wait, wait- uh, i have something to add to this. before the court makes a decision.”

the judge tilts her head at the man, pursing her lips before sighing and letting him approach the bench. loki leans in to try to understand the whispers that are exchanged, ending in the judge sending one last look his way before letting him go. “the court finds you innocent- and under agent mobius’ responsibility,” she clarifies, looking at the man and watching him nod quickly. she slams her gavel and motions for the man- mobius, he assumes, to take loki. he stands and awkwardly bows, before going over to loki and raising an eyebrow, “don’t betray me,” he says, words too true to be something playful. loki’s head tilts to the side in slight confusion, watching as the man begins to walk, pausing to urge loki to follow him.

loki ignores the activity through the windows of the hall, choosing to concentrate on mobius. “why did you do that?” he wonders aloud, suspicious eyes following him as his head peeks into halls. “let’s just say it’s a favor, although you’ll be on thin ice forever.”

“favor for whom?” mobius doesn’t answer, turning a corner. loki exhales sharply before following him, continuing to pry as he briefly heeds his surroundings. the sight of a woman in a suit much like mobius’ catches his eye, her back to him but he recognizes the shape of her shoulder and the color of her hair. he looks away, pretending to concentrate on the clock thing on the television but actually chasing the overfamiliar features to a face.

the sound of your voice- something he hasn’t heard in an obscenely long time- craved for so much longer it seems like a lifetime, snaps his attention to what surely must be a cruel joke. he can tell it’s you now. you’re standing there, head tilted at the same receptionist man and chuckling exasperatedly, “come on, casey, we’ve been over this. a fish and a lion are not the same thing-”

“but a lionfish-?” casey asks, and loki is pushing away the guards already, because you’re there, you’re solid and laughing like you used to and you can’t not be real. he can distantly hear mobius’ voice telling the guards to let him go as if loki hasn’t already taken care of that, walking over to you with quick and quiet footsteps. his fingers circle around your wrist first as an assurance, and when you turn, hand still in his, eyes widening when you notice who he is, he pulls you into him completely. your arms wrap around him barely seconds later, finally registering the person in front of you as you squeeze him. “loki?” you whisper, inhaling the same familiar scent of him that you haven’t had in what seems like forever.

“i missed you so much,” he says, hands wandering over your back, touching your arms and your shoulders and your hips just to touch you. “me too- i didn’t- i thought i would never see you again.” your tears are falling on the fabric of his jumpsuit, small tearful gasps escaping your lips while you tug him as close as you can, tangling your fingers in his hair and shutting your eyes at the familiar feeling. “oh god, you’re here-”

“i missed you so much,” he repeats, and you finally notice his words, realization like electricity, making you tremble and sigh softly. “what does that mean?” you question, already fearing the answer and already knowing the effects: the mess of his usually kept hair and the red tint of his eyes, like a sheen of sadness that stains the color of the eyes you have missed for so long. loki pulls away from you only to look at your face, trace the shape of the lips he’d spent hours of the morning pressing kisses to, memorize the curve of the nose you’d scrunch in a laugh when thor was a victim to one of his tricks.

“i have been looking for you, darling,” he murmurs, fingers running over your fallen tears while you notice the shine of his eyes, the tears that enhance the love he has for you. “because i’m…” you don’t want to finish your sentence, and you can tell loki doesn’t want you to either; he scans your features, small smile peeking through the shock and grief.

“i didn’t… mobius didn’t show me that, i thought-” your eyes flicker to the man before settling back on loki, the weight of the ring he’d given you feeling lighter now that it had found its pair. the various eyes on you don’t go unnoticed, and neither does the look mobius sends to the rest of the workers, indicating for them to go back to work. the cold of loki’s skin is comforting to the touch of your warmth, and you find yourself back in the summer afternoons where you would settle with your husband to read books, rubbing cool fingers on the hot of your skin when you felt suffocated by the heat of the sun.

another tear slips from your eyes when you realize you don’t have to imagine anymore, there’s no need to search for your memories and shut your eyes for them to run over you. your lips are on his when you can’t help it anymore, eyes squeezed close and salty tears dropping from your chin when it finally settles that he’s here and he’s yours and he’ll never be gone again.

he’ll make sure of that.

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xreaderbooks · 4 years ago

Text

Part of us

Request: Could I request a Sirius x reader where the reader is maybe a year younger and his or regulus childhood best friend and she gets sorted to gryffindor so she becomes a target for bullies so Sirius and the marauders takes her under their wing....a few years later she gets hurt and Sirius gets super protective and confess his feelings....angst and fluff??

Pair: Sirius Black x reader, Platonic! Marauders x reader, Platonic! Regulus Black x reader

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Language

A/N: So this is my first request... I don’t know if I did what you imagined justice but this is what I came up with and I really hope you enjoy.

Masterlist

When you were placed into Gryffindor you thought it was a mistake. There was no way with your long line of Slytherin pureblood, that you'd be a Gryffindor. Not that you thought there was anything wrong with that. You never cared to live up to people's expectations or what people thought of you, even though your parents did. And despite your family's attempts at making you see their way, you never could. There was no superior bloodline, you were all equal. But you played your part so you wouldn't hear the lectures or deal with all the drama. You didn't partake in the bullying or the maltreatment of muggle-borns or half-bloods like every other pureblood; you didn't see the need. You kind of just stood by or left whenever your friends would tantalize others.

However, when you got sorted you weren't the silent one while others bullied and tortured others who weren't deemed worthy in the eyes; you were the one getting bullied. The first few years you wanted to fight back but eventually, there were too many for you to handle. So you just dealt with it. At the parties that the pureblood families had thrown-- which your family was invited to-- your parents had advised you to try to blend in and not draw attention to yourself. For the most part, you did.

Regulus, your best friend tried to get you out of your shell. You tried to convince him that it wasn't you but your parents. You would've love to enjoy yourself at the parties, being dressed up and all that. But with your situation, you couldn't afford to make a fool out of yourself, and drinking firewhiskey in different rooms or sneaking off to where your parents couldn't keep an eye on you, wasn't a good idea. When you and Regulus were older your parents had set an arranged marriage between you two. Uniting rich and powerful families and all that. But You and Regulus were just the best of friends, always together. And just like everything else, that had to change. You now had to find ways to see each other in hidden places. Never to be seen together in front of students or staff in case it would get back to your parents. In Hogwarts you ignored each other, magically passing notes to update each other on your well-being. It was tough but you managed. Regulus was your only friend after all.

~~~

It was just another day at Hogwarts, You were avoiding Bellatrix Lestrange. Your main terrorizer. She had a group of Slytherins trailing her. Ever since you got sorted into Gryffindor every pureblood who was in Slytherin, taunted and teased you to no end. They jinxed you and called you weak. Saying things about how you weren't one of them. You knew that much but you didn't need the constant reminder.

Bellatrix and her group were right behind you as you were walking to the Gryffindor common room. You cursed in your mind, they saw you.

"Going somewhere L/N?" You ignored her. "You know it's rude to not answer your superiors."

"I'm not trying to bother anyone Bellatrix." You sighed but kept walking.

"Your presence alone bothers me." She sent a spell your way to catch your attention.

"Are you crazy?" You turned to face her, Your voice raising a bit. An amused smile played on her lips, she tilted her head to the side.

"You have no idea what crazy looks like Y/N/N." She stalked towards you in a predatory way.

"We grew up together Bellatrix," You slowly backed away from her so as to not set her off. "Name-calling and pranks are one thing but curses..."

You didn't know what you did to cause the special attention that others like first years or Muggle-borns got from Bellatrix. Sure you were never that close, you always got along better with Andromeda than Narcissa and the former, but never would you have thought that you'd be on the receiving end of her fury over blood status. This was outrageous you thought to yourself. How could anyone be this upset over what house people are in?

"Don't worry, after a while, they won't hurt." Your blood started to rush through your veins and a shiver ran down your spine. You stopped walking backward when you bumped into something behind you. A pair of arms held you to keep you steady. You turned around expecting another one of Bellatrix's "friends" only to be met with a tall, shaggy-haired boy.

Sirius Black, your best friend's older brother, who just so happened to be in your house. Relief washed over you. You were no longer outnumbered. Sirius and his group of Marauders were there. Surely they wouldn't just walk away from a fellow Gryffindor in trouble. Of course you never really had an affiliation with them besides the same color robes but they were good people, weren't they?

"We heard something about pranks?" James spoke.

Bellatrix scoffed, "This is none of your business Potter."

"Well Bellatrix considering how Y/N is a member of our house, it does make this our business," Remus replied. She cackled, "How fitting the two blood-traitors in one pitiful little group." She signaled the others to follow her and walked away.

"Are you alright?" Sirius asked, not letting go of your shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"C'mon we were just going back to the common room." He let go of your shoulders but tugged on the sleeve of your robe to follow them.

"What did you do to cause the wrath of crazy over there?" James questioned. He led the way to the common room, you kept your distance not really trusting any of them. Their reputation for being the school's signature pranksters didn't ease your mind as you walked with them. You never held a conversation with any of them before today, maybe a few with Remus but he was the only sane one out of all of them, it made sense that you were wary of their presence. Who knows what they had planned.

"Does anyone have to do anything at all to provoke her?" Sirius snorted, you gave him a questioning look and he just shrugged.

"No, I suppose not."

"Well Y/N I guess you could call yourself lucky your knight in shining armors were there to save the day." James' cocky smile written on his face assuming he was right.

"Although I appreciate the help, I could've handled myself." You stepped into the portrait hole, anxious to get back into your dorm room and take a nap.

"Not against all of them, you know sometimes you need to run in a pack L/N, you could get killed without one."

"You make it sound like we're wolves," you stated, each attempt to get back to your room was failed by every comment James made. What was his point?

"Some of us aren't," Sirius commented. You noticed Remus got tense and slightly shook his head.

"Point is Bellatrix and her groupies aren't going to quit bothering you and we want to help." James offered.

"What's the catch?"

"Why does there have to be catch? We want to be your friends." Sirius answered and plopped down on the chair across from the couch where you were sitting. You gave him a dead look. "Just think about it, hm?"

"Whatever." You got up from your seat and went to your dorm to take your well-needed nap.

Later that night you went down to the common room to read by the fire until you fell asleep. You felt like you'd only closed your eyes for 2 seconds when you were rudely awakened by Sirius.

"What?" You hissed. His mischievous grin made you want to slap him.

"You're coming with me." He took the blanket that you had wrapped around you, off.

"No." You said simply, reaching for the blanket again. Just as your eyes were beginning to close again you heard him say, "Yes."

He lifted you in his arms and you dramatically fell limp. "What the hell." You groaned loudly.

"Shh you're going to people up," You glared at him.

"Maybe they should wake up since I'm being kidnapped!" He rolled his eyes. You jumped from his arms so you could stand on your own.

"Where are we going?" You asked, Slowly recovering from being awoken.

"You'll see." That was all he responded as he continued to guide you out of the portrait hole and through the halls. You were anxious, in all the years of Hogwarts you never went out past curfew so you didn't know the chances of being caught and getting in trouble.

"Sirius, Filch may be out here." You warned.

"We'll be fine Y/N/N just trust me."

"I don't trust you that's my problem." You muttered. He turned around and looked at you. His piercing grey eyes shining in the darkness. He pulled out a long cloak from who knows where and wrapped it around the both of you, causing you to be closer together.

"This will keep us hidden so Filch won't catch us." The weight in your chest lifted and now replaced by butterflies. You inhaled sharply at the close proximity.

"You alright?"

You nodded, which gave him the confirmation he needed to continue, "Let's go."

When you made it to your destination you gasped. The astronomy tower, "Wow" you whispered, shedding yourself from the cloak. The night sky hadn't looked as beautiful as it did at that very moment. You've been here for class but you've never seen the stars so bright, you wondered what special cosmic event it must've been for the night sky to look the way it did.

You whipped around remembering who you were here with, you crossed your arms, "Why did you bring me here?"

"I can't take you sight-seeing now?"

"I had this class yesterday, this is hardly what I'd call sight-seeing." You arched a brow upwards. "Besides we're not exactly friends..." He gasped and feigned hurt by putting a hand over his heart.

"After all we've been through?" You rolled your eyes. He continued, "I was hoping we could change that. The boys and I have noticed you've been struggling socially and don't really play well with others, but I've seen the way you interacted with my brother before Hogwarts and you enjoy the company. I had to wonder why is it that you don't have that many friends?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but since I got sorted into Gryffindor my old "friends" and family haven't been that accepting considering the fact that they're all Slytherins, I mean you should know how it is." You sighed and took a seat resting your back against a wall facing the night sky. "The people I used to get along with, well, their parents don't want them to spend time with me. As for not having friends in our house, nobody has tried to get to know me, they just assume I'm like the other Slytherins even though I was placed here for a reason." You scoffed, people truly were ridiculous. "It sucks cause every side thinks I've chosen to be apart of what they go against when in reality I'm not apart of anything."

He stared at you, you then realized that you went on a full-on rant and nervously looked down, picking at your nails. He'd been silent the entire time listening. It was nice, "You could be apart of us."

You were skeptical, "Sirius this isn't funny." You moved to get up.

"It's not a joke Y/N." He chuckled.

"You're not being very convincing right now."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"We've barely spoken to each other in all these years of Hogwarts, even before Hogwarts!" you threw your hands in the hair. "I went over your house for playdates with Reg and never had one conversation. You and your friends have a reputation for pranks, How do I know this isn't one of them?"

"Because I'm not trying to prank you Y/n, in fact, I'm trying to help you. We all are." He put his hands on your shoulders to get you to look at him. "I know how it feels to be all alone in a world like that. To be in an environment where you feel uncomfortable with those people. Knowing all the wrong things they say and not being able to say anything because they'll disown you."

"The difference between you and me is that you got out." You shoved his hands off your shoulders. "Not all of us have a James."

"Y/n-"

"I'll think about it." With that, you left, not caring if you were to get caught.

If you were being honest the reason why you didn't want to be friends with the marauders was that they had 3 years to be friends with you, you knew Sirius from years prior. Why didn't he come to you sooner? Knowing you had been friends with his little brother. He just sat there and watched while you spent the first 3 and a half years of what should've been the most fun years of your life at Hogwarts, lonely and sad. If his defense was that he could sympathize with your situation and that he wanted to help; why didn't he approach you sooner? Also, you might've been a little bitter about him having a place to go to while you still had to stay with your parents.

~~~

You did think about after that Night with Sirius, you decided you give them a chance. You wouldn't be cornered alone anymore or hopefully cornered at all. You would have a group now. You also thought it was great that you had someone you could relate to in the group and someone that you somewhat knew. You never thought that you'd be actual friends with your childhood crush, even if that was your best friend's older brother and you'd spend more time in his house than your own most days; but here you were.

Being a part of the Marauders was fun, you were practically family now. They let you in on their little secret; with Remus' permission of course. They informed you of his full moon situation. They offered to help you become an animagus, which you denied, you didn't want to deal with all of that. You helped James with Lily, it wasn't easy but it worked somehow. You would help them with their pranks. They pulled pranks on the people who used to bully you all the time which you appreciated greatly. It was nice knowing they had your back and they knew you had theirs.

Nobody messed with you now and you gained a few more friends now. Lily, Alice, Dorcas, and Mary. It was all great. Except for your growing crush on a certain Marauder. With every moment you spent with him your heart swelled, it wasn't a great idea to get involved with him in that way. You were his brothers best friend, he'd seen you grow up, and took you under his wing when you were in need (you always thought even if he truly wanted to be your friend, it was a sort of favor for Regulus since he couldn't be there) there was no way he would be interested in you. But you had always hoped.

You remembered one Christmas that your parents had forced you to go to a party that the Malfoys would throw annually. It was terrible. You didn't have your friends there with you and Regulus couldn't talk to you with his parents watching. The blacks were suspicious of you spending more time with their son, who they disowned and like every other parent at that party, they didn't want Regulus to associate with you. So you were alone again. The only perk of this entire thing was you didn't have to completely show your face since it was a masquerade ball theme.

Evan Rosier came up to you, your eyes narrowed and you tilted your head in question. "Shame you spend your time with those blood traitors Y/N, I would have asked you out."

"I think I lucked out on that one Rosier." You took a sip from your drink shifting your gaze to somewhere else.

"You filthy little-"

"Careful what your next words are, my friend, I don't think Mummy and Daddy would appreciate it much." A voice that came from behind you said.

"You are not even supposed to be here, Black."

"Sirius!" You threw your arms around his neck, he wrapped his around your waist. You heard Evan scoff and leave.

"Y/N darling, have I told you that you attract way too much trouble."

"No, but I'm starting to think you're right." You pulled away from him, realizing that you were in the eyesight of your parents. "What are you doing here? Your parents will kill you if they see you here."

"I couldn't let you come here alone, with all these people." He looked around with distaste.

"Alright well, we have to find a more private place so you won't get caught." You grabbed his hand in yours and led the way to the maze garden.

"Y/N if you wanted to get into my pants, all you had to do was ask." He wiggled his eyebrows, You shoved him away. "Gross."

"Okay so I didn't tell you this but James and I are breaking you out of here."

"How the hell are you planning on doing that?"

"Easy, a distraction." You were about to ask what the distraction was when you saw a stag through the windows. Screams of the people were coming from the inside. You put a hand over your mouth to cover your smile. You did not expect that at all. Sirius retook your hand and pulled you deeper into the maze when the guests were filing out.

You stopped when you were finally in the middle, there was an enchanted fountain spewing water. you had a rush of energy and laughed. Sirius was looking down at you.

"Where'd James go?"

"He should be coming soon." He replied. It was quiet for a while before Sirius scooped up water from the fountain and threw it at you. You gasped, "You asshole!"

You dipped your hand in the water and flicked it at him. This started a war between the two of you. You ducked behind the fountain and threw water at him whenever you got the chance and he did the same. It wasn't until you heard footsteps coming that you stopped.

"Y/N?" You remembered that voice, you whipped around quickly and almost fell into the water if it wasn't for Sirius who had put a hand on your back to catch you.

"Reg?" He ran to you and wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and twirling you around. Once he put you down he pulled you away at arm's length to observe you.

"You're wet." He stated, confused.

"Water fight." you smile into the response. He laughed and threw his head back.

"Only you." Sirius coughed, you almost forgot he was there.

"Hello, brother." Regulus nodded to him. "It's been a while, I've missed you."

"Have you?" You gave Sirius a look, now was not the time. This was the first time you've seen Regulus in months, years even. You didn't need them to argue.

"We should talk." He suggested, You agreed and strolled along the maze with Regulus, noticing that the guests have all returned inside.

"So you escaped your parents." You started talking.

"So I did." he glanced at you. "But only for a bit, they'll start to wonder where I've gone. I just needed to see you."

"Yeah me too."

"I just wanted to let you know that I can't write to you anymore." Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Why not?"

"It's not safe."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just know things are about to get serious and dangerous and I have to do things that I know you won't agree with to keep you safe."

"Reg, I-I don't know what you're saying."

"Soon enough you will." He stopped walking. "I needed you to know before I cut ties with you, that I love you. You're my best friend and I never want you to get hurt." You felt the tears forming.

"I love you too." He caresses your cheek and kisses them both before saying his final Goodbye. You were left standing there trying to decipher his words.

Eventually, you found yourself back where you and Sirius were playing with water. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain. He stood up when he saw you and your tearstained cheeks. He wrapped you in a hug.

"I'm glad you came." You whispered, hugging him back. He kissed the top of your head and told you that it was time to go. You went to James' house, you spent Christmas and summers there from then on. You never returned home. You slept in the guest bedroom and Sirius stayed with James in his room. Your parents sent you a letter telling you that you were no longer welcome at their house since you chose to associate yourself with bad company that was ruining their reputation. You didn't care much about it, knowing you had a better family now.

It wasn't until you graduated from Hogwarts that you figured out what Regulus was talking about. The war was getting more serious, Lily and James had to go into hiding, you and Sirius had joined the order, you became partners on missions, your bond growing more and more every day.

~~~

"There's too many of them Y/N we need to go back to headquarters!" Sirius yelled over the sounds of fighting. This was supposed to be a quick mission to find out where Voldemort was going to attack next. Hopefully saving a family and your best friends. But as always nothing went according to plan, you didn't drink enough poly juice potion that let you take the face of a death eater that you and Sirius had captured. You didn't bring the flask with you so in the middle of asking questions you transformed back into your true form, which then brought on the fighting.

"No! You go and get the others," A curse was sent your way, you blocked it. "I can fight them off in the meantime!"

"There's no way I'm leaving you with all of these death eaters!"

"Well I'm not going, we just need to catch one and get the information we need!" You continued to duel with Evan Rosier who was easily blocking all of your offensive spells. 'Shit' was all you thought. Six against two were not great odds and you were getting tired. Sirius made a point of retreating. If you were to leave now, you lost the element of surprise and they would be expecting you next time. That or they would retaliate. Great just great, all because you forgot to bring extra poly juice potion.

"Now is not the time to play hero, we can try another day." He took your hand and apparated you to a random alley in another part of London, but not before you were struck with a stinging spell.

"Fuck-" Tears stung in your eyes, Sirius was rushing towards you screaming your name.

The next thing you know you were waking up in a bright room. You assumed you were at St. Mungos. Memories of the moments before you were brought her played in your head. You slowly opened your eyes you turned your head to the sound of snoring. Sirius was sitting in a chair beside your bed. Despite feeling like shit you decided to throw a pillow at his head to wake him up. He sat up quickly, eyes wide staring at you.

"What the fuck?"

"Even when you're asleep you are annoying."

"I'm sorry I was up all night taking care of your dumb-ass."

"Apology accepted." You broke into a smile when you saw his face. He was so...serious. You could never let go of that joke.

"I'm not joking around, you were bad like so bad I thought I lost you."

"Siri-" You sat up in your bed.

"No Y/N I don't think you understand how serious this situation was. You had seizures and might've slipped into a coma. You've been in and out for days now." Your smile faded. "I-I thought I was going to lose you and I can't, not you." He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Sirius, we all get injured, it happens. It's apart of the job."

"Yes but you're different."

"How? How is it any different than if this were to happen to Remus or James or any of the others?"

"Because I love you!" You tried to process his words. He searched your eyes for any response but you were in shock. He spoke softly, "It's different from the others because I am in love with you. I have been for a while.

"You don't have to say it back, you probably don't-" You grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and kissed him.

"You're an idiot." You kiss him once more and looked him in the eyes and said "I'm in love with you too."

Tags: @divergirl99

#Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #sirius black imagine #sirius x you #Remus Lupin #James Potter #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #sirius black x y/n #Lily Potter #Lily Evans #regulus x reader #regulus imagine #sirius and regulus

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anthemxix · 3 years ago

Note

I had an angsty interesting idea and thought you’d maybe like to hear it (since you’re a fan of Wars and Time bonding)

Time and Warriors get separated from the group and are fighting a big ol’ horde of monsters when Time gets hit hard. Like, he-needs-a-fairy-NOW hard. And Wars knows he can’t protect Time while fighting off all these monsters, he’s horribly outnumbered without him, he needs help, he needs more power-

Then he remembers the Fierce Diety mask.

anon, thank you for thinking of me!! i do adore these two bonding! <3 hope you enjoy this little thing i wrote~ uwu

The realization that this ragtag monster horde was capable of implementing a coordinated battle plan carries myriad unsettling implications, but Warriors puts all that aside for later consideration. Right now, he’s rather more preoccupied with his other realization: he and Time are kind of fucked.

Separated from the other heroes by the latest portal (and maybe that was all part of the enemies’ strategy, too?), Time and Warriors are severely outnumbered, two to two dozen. The only reason they haven't lost already is because they've managed to stay back-to-back, fighting together fluidly, watching each other's blind spots. Everything they're doing is purely defensive, purely reactionary, and their stamina is quickly getting whittled away by endless waves of brutal attacks.

And maybe their draining stamina is why there's a slip-up. Warriors hopes that's why there's a slip-up, because he can't bear the idea that his carelessness caused whatever just happened behind him to make Time shout in agony.

Warriors whirls around just as Time crumples to his knees. He steps in front of the Old Man in time to block the heavy stroke of a darknut's broadsword. The blunt impact forces him back half a foot. He grits his teeth and smashes his shield into the darknut's helmet as it winds up for another strike. Armor rattling, the monster stumbles back, briefly stunned.

Swinging around, Warriors throws out his shield against the thrust of a lizalfos' spear, but both weapon and shield collide instead with a translucent blue wall that materializes between them. Sapphire-colored and diamond-shaped, the sudden barrier surprises Warriors for a second before he remembers a child casting the same spell on battlefields some years ago.

"Can't hold it for long," Time says, voice strained, as he presses one hand against his side. Warriors drops down next to him, ignoring the sounds of baffled and angry monsters pounding on the barrier encasing them, and pulls Time's hand away to reveal a terribly deep gash.

Time coughs, and a trail of blood mars his chin. Cursing, Warriors carelessly rips a swatch from his scarf and stuffs it into the wound in the hopes of slowing the bleeding.

"Give it to me," he blurts before he knows what he's saying. His conscious mind takes a moment to catch up to his mouth, but then he feels it. Beneath the clean, blessed magic that Time exudes beats the pulse of something darker, something that wormed into Warriors’ mind without him even noticing.

Suddenly, Warriors knows with certainty how this fight is going to end. He reaches for Time's satchel without awaiting an answer. The Old Man clamps a surprisingly firm hand onto Warriors' wrist.

"No," he says, the tremble in his voice belying the sternness of his tone. "I won't allow it."

The magic, which feels like frenzy barely contained, wraps more securely around Warriors' heart. He wonders how it leaked into him without his consent, how it made him its pawn before he even considered using the mask.

"It's our only choice." Warriors drapes his other hand on top of Time's. The barrier around them flickers, disappearing for half an instant.

Time retrieves the mask from his bag without looking, like he knows exactly where it is. In the open, the mask's alluring magic is more potent. It feels like chaos masquerading as calm, like a threat camouflaged as salvation.

"I could do it," Time weakly offers, even as more blood beads on his lips, as more color drains from his wan face, as resignation clouds his eye.

When Warriors' fingers graze the mask's smooth wood, a shock runs along his spine, prickles the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. The faded red and blue lines that mirror Time's remind him that dabbling with something this powerful has irreversible consequences. In an odd moment of detached lucidity, Warriors recognizes that after he puts on this mask, his life is never going to be the same.

But as he takes the cursed object, he looks down at Time's weeping gash, poorly plugged by blood-drenched scraps of scarf, and feels at peace with his decision.

"I'll be fine, Sprite," he says. "Just promise me you'll be fine, too."

As Time's spell withers and the blue diamond barrier shatters, Warriors puts on the mask.

He's dropped into an abyss that somehow feels both bottomless and claustrophobic. He can't see or hear or touch any more, can't feel his body or what he's doing; he's confined to his mind, condemned to an inky, oceanic emptiness that is filling up with poisonous magic. The deity's overwhelming presence invades more and more of Warriors' mental space, grappling for control.

And it hurts. It's agonizing, the way the subjugating magic bleeds into his every crevice, sunders him at his seams. Peels him apart layer by layer. Breaks him down to his basest pieces. Divides. Consumes.

Rational thought disappears; his darkness is lit only by instinct now, and his instinct tells him to fight. So Warriors resists. As puny and piteous a creature as he is compared to the deity's wrath, he resists, struggling to retain a foothold in his own mind.

And just as abruptly as this hellish internal fight begins, it ends. Full consciousness slams back into Warriors with merciless force. The world seems like a hazy mess of colors and light that he can't decipher. His body feels foreign, and he can't distinguish, spatially, where he is, what he's doing. He thinks he's standing--no, he's falling--

Warriors tumbles back into something solid. Someone solid, who secures their arms around his middle and lowers him to the ground. Dizzy and muddled, he squints up at the concerned face hovering above him. Twilight. The Rancher's mouth is moving, but the words are distant and incomprehensible.

Simply holding his head up is a strain, and Warriors lets himself go limp in Twilight's arms. Through blurry vision, he can see the signs of a massacre: the decimated remains of all those monsters, strewn around the battlefield. He vaguely registers Twilight's fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse, and Twilight's hands running along his limbs, his torso, feeling for injuries.

There's a swirl of red and pink in his periphery. Legend, not bothering to conceal his concern, appears on one side of him. He's speaking, too, and though the words sound a bit clearer than before, Warriors still doesn't understand. Exhausted, he doesn't worry about it, and lets his eyes slip closed.

Twilight and Legend's conversation drones over his head as comforting white noise, and the Rancher's steady breaths begin to lull him to sleep. Then something tugs at his hand, and he pries his eyes open, annoyed, to see Legend trying to take the mask from him.

Warriors blinks down at the cursed item, surprised to see it still clasped in his fist, his unyielding fingers coiled through the eye holes.

"Let go of this damn thing, Pretty Boy," Legend says when he sees Warriors' eyes are open. The Captain can't decide if Legend's voice is actually quiet or if it still sounds weirdly far away. Regardless, he loosens his hold and watches Legend take the mask, grimace at it with a mix of revulsion and anger, and artlessly toss it out of view.

"Captain?"

Turning his heavy head, Warriors finds Wind kneeling at his other side. His expression is all unrefined concern, the watery eyes and exaggerated compassion of a child. Warriors wants to comfort him, but he can hardly move at the moment. He supposes speaking is out of the question, too.

"Are you okay?" the Sailor asks, taking up Warriors' hand in both his own.

Getting no reply, Wind glances between Twilight and Legend. "Why isn't he saying anything? He's okay, isn't he?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Twilight replies. It's a stilted, rote response that holds little conviction. Warriors thinks that should bother him, but he's too tired to care.

"What about those?" Wind says, nodding towards Warriors.

On reflex, Twilight brushes his fingers against the Captain's cheek, looking sadly at whatever is there. "The magic imprinted on him, but he wasn't changed for long. The marks will fade."

Marks? Warriors tunes out the rest of the conversation, trying to deduce what marks they're referring to--until he pictures the red and blue lines tattooed onto--

Time. Warriors twitches, wanting to sit up, wanting to ask after the Old Man. Legend puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, instructs him not to move. Still, he swivels his head around, trying to squint through the still-indistinct mass of shapes and lights that make up the world beyond his little sphere.

Finally, he sees, past Wind, the rest of their troupe. As Warriors is with Twilight, Time is reclined against Sky, with Four and Wild on either side of him. Hyrule is bent over him, hands aglow with golden healing magic that surges into the dangerous wound on Time's side.

Warriors tries to focus on the Old Man's face, and his eyes finally adjust enough that he can see Time, grim and weary, looking straight back at him. He looks sad, Warriors thinks. Sympathetic. Pitying.

It's off-putting, and Warriors looks away. He closes his eyes again and sinks back into Twilight, deciding for now that he'll pretend this is a nightmare, and soon, he'll wake up somewhere else with his soul and mind intact. Yes, he thinks, he’ll let himself pretend for a little while.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu warriors #warriors #fanfic #anthem answers #anthem writes

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

✶ — of gift-giving ; d.d.

summary: set post-s2 finale. din deals with the loss of the child. it’s life day.

pairing: din djarin x mechanic!reader

a/n: happy holidays, babes, enjoy a little emotional blurb on christmas eve. i hope this serves as a happy little distraction from the world tonight. i love you all. stay happy and stay healthy.

what do you get a man who has just lost his whole world?

before, it seemed like the possibilities for a life day gift were endless.

new modded-out wing thrusters for the razor crest were now out of the question (because the razor crest itself is out of the question), and that set of little, woolen jumpers you’d set aside after a trip to yavin’s third moon have no use.

and, you seriously doubt din would find little joy in a new blaster. after all, he had enough anxiety resting in the palm of his hand alongside the darksaber — new weaponry would, no doubt, send him into an (increasingly more common) silent spiral.

everything was different now.

you’d seen his face that day, with the horrible moff gideon at your feet as a jedi knight’s robes kissed the polished floor. in the absence of his son — his kin as close as blood — there was something sad that settled into the lines beneath his eyes. if he cried, you did not see. no, you hid your intrigue; when he turned, helmet at his feet, your eyes hit the floor. habit.

but, that is different now.

now, on the eve of life day, you’ve grown accustomed to din’s face and the hot stir the sight of it brings. the feelings you bore for din are common place — they’ve burrowed a home in your heart for cycles, even before the child, back when you were simply an on-hand mechanic from mos eisley. din had taken you into his crew, and... well, you hadn’t looked back.

the kid — grogu — cemented the fact that maybe this was where you really did belong: among the stars, beside a man in glimmering beskar armor.

at times, it was like he held the world in his hands. eagerly, he showed you what he could. it was one of din’s gifts — silent kindness that seeped deep into his every act. he had a good heart, despite his attempts at seeming more like a stand-offish rogue.

this place, once home to jabba desilijic tiure, remains unnamed. boba fett has yet to find a fitting name for the sprawling castle in the dunes — but, for now, it is a haven for both din and yourself. fett, in age old warrior wisdom, can see that din is not himself. this period of mourning must be spent in a place of safety.

every evening, over dinner, you thank fett. every night, those warm, brown eyes — as deep as warm amber — crinkle just a bit at the edges from your words. he can tell you mean it. if not for your sake, then for din’s.

tonight, dinner is meager, but you happily inhale the ration aside fennec in the main hall. where dancers once leapt over the rancor pit like stars leaping across the night sky, the lot of you eat.

din is silent. his jaw tenses when fett spares him a wondering look. between the two mandalorians, nothing is said, yet there are a thousand words. din is quick to finish. you watch has he rises, fetches his helmet, and wipes at his chin.

his footsteps lead far from the hall.

boba speaks curtly.

“go to him.”

your mouth is full of quickened bread, throat dry as you swallow down the oats that had been scooped up on the piece. you feel like a prey, pinned in place by fennec and fett. yet, no one is going for your throat. it is, in fact, kindness that’s seeped into their gazes.

boba’s warm voice is cadenced with a gentle tone.

“... and happy life day, sweet one.”

you find din alone, out the front gate and staring up at the stars. he’s perched on the edge of the long stone slab that once marked the entrance to the palace — but time and the changing tides of the sand have eroded the mound away, leaving a sharp drop off into the dunes below. there is another dune, to the left, that leads up to the palace now. fennec’s footprints remain from the earlier to trek into town.

you watch as the wind, gentle and slow, begins to brush them away.

the twin suns are hot, still, despite having retired below the horizon nearly half an hour ago now. the sky is pink and hot red and it paints din all sorts of hues.

the little gift in your back pocket feels heavier than ever now.

“din?”

your voice is met with a grunt.

his head turns, slowly and ever-so owlishly, at the call. you near.

“i have something for you.”

when you settle on the edge, hip touching his, you’re comforted by his silence. it’s the usual sort, not the kind tipped with sorrow. you wonder — hopefully — if that’s your doing. or, maybe, you’ve caught him in a good mood.

“a gift?” he asks. his voice rattles through the vocalizer in his helmet and suddenly you miss the warm sound it carries when dancing off his lips, unburdened by the beskar.

“it’s... it’s life day,” you say slowly, “or, well. tomorrow is, i suppose.”

“i...” a pause, then his helmet tilts, “i didn’t get you anything.”

you wave his words off, leaning to reach into your back pocket. you smooth your tunic and swing your boots. the little parcel, wrapped childishly in some tawny colored fabric you found laying around, sits in the palm of your hand neatly.

the bundle, in din’s eyes, says a lot about you — about your feelings towards him. suddenly, with the force of a thousand thrusters, din realizes he hasn’t been very kind to you these last few weeks. he’s been frustrated and upset and angry and sad, so terribly sad, but...

he can see, in the lines below your eyes, that you have been too.

“here.”

he takes it. and with one hand, reaches up to pull his helmet from his head.

the mop of brown hair is always a surprise. it makes you smile. a dash of happiness that comes as quick as it goes. din barely catches it. he wishes, earnestly, it would stay for longer.

“should i...?”

“go ahead, open it.”

he pulls back the delicately tied fabric, and all at once feels his heartstring snap.

it’s the gear knob.

that stupid, small, scratched to hell gear knob that the kid was so obsessed with. he’d managed to scrap it from the wreck but...

you’d gotten a hold of it. and you’d fashioned it into....

well, he isn’t quite sure.

you lean.

“boba and i were speaking a week or so ago about armor,” you say slowly, “he used to have trophies on his pauldron, but he mentioned that some embellishments can be highly sentimental. so...”

din pulls the knob, and realizes it’s welded to a chain and at the end of the chain lays a clasp.

“might make some noise, clang around a bit but...”

“thank you.”

his eyes are brown. you hadn’t forgot, but still, the sight makes your heart hammer. his nose is sharp and strong, and his lips are upturned in a delicate sort of smile. you wonder how often that look graces his face. how often does it hide beneath his beskar, like the rest of him?

“it’s not much.”

“it’s everything.”

you make a sad sound then. you lean back on your palms. the sand digs into the pads of your fingers. din’s eyes follow you, and he frowns.

“i haven’t been... i haven’t been there for you,” he says suddenly, already moving to clasp the totem to his armor, “and i’m sorry.”

the knob sways. it glimmers in the setting sun and tinkers against the beskar like a bell.

“we both lost him, din,” you say tenderly, “i haven’t exactly been ready to accept the fact.”

“i know, but,” he lets out a ragged sigh. his gloved hand reaches up to rub his jaw. to din, the action seems foreign despite being a recent addition to his body language, “we still have one another.”

a beat. a slip of silence.

“and i don’t want to lose you as well.”

the admission is soft.

it’s all you really needed for life day.

you turn your head, eyes pulled from the setting suns, and find din’s. his face is calm. the sorrow there has retired for now. you touch his cheek gently. the feeling of stubble beneath your fingertips feels different — so different from when you’d touch it with your eyes screwed shut in the belly of the razor crest.

you kiss him. and he kisses you.

everything is different now, but some things are still the same.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #star wars imagine #pedro pascal imagine #WELL HAPPY HOLIDAYS

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bizarrebaby · 4 years ago

Text

On The Feed | Mandalorian/Reader

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Mando accidentally turns on the crest’s old security cameras. One of which happens to be in your bunk

Warnings: NSFT! Slight somno/voyeurism (mando watching you sleep), feelings

The first time the Mandalorian had turned on the long-forgotten surveillance system on the Razor Crest, and had seen you asleep in your bunk, it had been a complete accident that was rectified quickly. The cameras were from a time before he’d had the carbonite freezer installed, and he’d had no choice but to keep live quarries in the ship. A wayward brush of his hand against the console had turned them on, and just as quickly turned them off. But not before he’d already burned the image of you through the monitor into his mind. While the whole thing was over quickly, it was not nearly as easily forgotten.

The second time, he had told himself that it was out of concern. The planet you’d just spent the last week on had an inhospitable climate to say the least, and you’d had your fair share of scrapes as well. So he turned on the feed to see if you were ok-- that you weren’t sniffling or coughing, or secretly nursing some injury you hadn’t wanted him to concern himself with. While that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth, either. To see you sound asleep was comforting, it stirred something deep within him that he couldn’t remember having ever felt before.

The third time… was something he couldn’t explain without suffocating with guilt. He’d just come back from a long, difficult bounty hunt that kept him away from the crest for a few days. He’d missed you terribly, and had returned in the middle of the night, and unwilling to wake you. To disturb what little rest you got just because he had missed you seemed childish to him. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Climbed up to the cockpit, locking the door behind him, sat in the pilot’s seat, and removed his helmet. He bit his glove and tugged it off, unbuckling his codpiece. He palmed the bulge in his pants gingerly, fuzzy imaginations of your hesitant touch at the fringes of his mind.

He hissed as he released his erection to the cool, recycled air of the cockpit. He spat in his palm before wrapping a calloused hand around his cock, thumbing at the frenulum while he tried to pull scenarios from his memory. All he could come up with was you. Touches against his bare skin when you’d patched up an injury, the moaning you’d do as you stretched awake in the mornings, how peaceful you looked in those few moments he saw you before you woke up…

He remembers the camera feed. How, shameful as it had been, it had been so comforting to see you safe and sound. Looking so soft and pretty in your sleep clothes, curled in on yourself. The Mandalorian tries and fails to think with anything but the dick between his legs. The out-of-the-way switch is flicked once again. The rarely used technology took a few seconds to hum to life, an eternity considering Mando’s trained reflexes and the racing of his mind. But he chose not to go back. He couldn’t, not having come this far and being so close to satisfaction. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve to see you in such a vulnerable state, but he’s too weak-minded to deny himself.

You’d once told the bounty hunter that while space was cold, the Razor Crest was colder. Being that he had always been in the layers of his flight suit, his armor, and his cape (not to mention that the cold had never bothered him), the Crest’s temperature controls favored lower temperatures. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with saving on energy to grant some small reprieve to the aging vessel. Nope.

So there you lay, wrapped up in a quilt he’d gotten you in the market on some backwater planet. It was primarily dyed a warm peach color, a pigment extracted from a native insect. Perhaps it was some predilection from growing up in a Mandalorian covert, but Mando almost preferred that he couldn’t see much of you. Just the outline of your figure, where he could use his warm memories of you to color in the beautiful pieces of you that he cherished.

He gripped his cock and began to stroke it slowly, thinking of how you’d touch him for the first time. Exploratory, almost hesitant. It wasn’t possible for him to fool himself completely, not with how large and calloused his hand was compared to yours, but every so often his imagination was vivid enough that he was able to dip into the dream. And when he did, the pleasure was something priceless.

In these fantasies, he was always without the helmet. The Mandalorian wouldn’t think of it in the moment, but after he came he would wonder why it was he chose to imagine things that way. Did he yearn for a freedom from the creed that gave him purpose? Or, perhaps worse, did he see you as the one he wanted to share his life with, until he went marching away?

You shifted and moaned in your sleep, banishing some discomfort imperceptible to your traveling companion. He wondered if you dreamt at all, considering how inconsistent and uncomfortable your sleeping arrangements usually were. He hoped that you did dream, that there was an escape from the endlessness of space for you, if not for him. Selfishly, he hoped to be a part of those dreams. He wanted so badly to be the talisman against your nightmares.

He often imagined taking you in a flurry of mutual passion, on the Crest or away in some city, anywhere you would have him. He’d be rough, but you’d like it, and you’d be so, so good for him. But tonight, he felt so miserably lovesick and starved that he couldn’t imagine fucking you in any way but the gentlest way he could manage. He’d trained his entire life in combat, those who’d found death by his hands were innumerable. And yet, he’d use all of the delicacy at his disposal to coax you open for him. He’d put his mouth on you, and use his tongue to spell out all of the words he’d been too afraid to say through the vocoder.

Through the haze of his fantasies, he saw you smile in your sleep on the feed. Just a sweet tug at your lips, and he felt ruin upon him. Mando breathed like a wild beast as he fisted his cock, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the screen. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, cum splashing against his breastplate as he closed his eyes and saw you behind the lids. He cleaned himself up after coming down from his high, but kept the cameras on for a little longer. He thought that maybe if he saw you like this before he went to sleep himself, he could pretend you were sleeping next to him. Maybe that comfort would let his mind finally rest. Maybe he could dream.

The Mandalorian had promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. But like so many promises he made to himself regarding you, it wasn’t kept.

You told him precious little about life from your planet of origin. Of course, it was because he hadn’t asked. Even though he wanted to know everything there was to know about you. You once told him that where you came from, people believed that no one should ever be alone. Much the same as Mandalorians, they were very communal, and interpersonal support was of great importance. But there was an expression you taught him that he’d never encountered in the galaxy. He had a hard time remembering the word, but he remembered the meaning: to feel alone in one’s own body.

The Mandalorian had been alone for much of his life. Travelling, keeping little companionship besides his covert, and he was convinced that things were best when he was alone. He remembered being confused by your expression, closer to when you’d first met. He mused that perhaps it was just a different way of expressing touch starvation, which he knew of intimately.

He knew now that it was an entirely different feeling. You had wriggled into the gaps in his ribs, and taken little pieces of him every day. The breath from his lungs, the blood from his heart. And suddenly, when he had to be away from you, it didn’t feel right.

Which brought him to another listless, sleepless night of him seeking his own pleasure in a desperate attempt to sate whatever beast had made home inside his body. The one that craved only you.

When he turned on the cameras, he was met with your flushed face, eyebrows furrowed, as you moaned quietly and squirmed beneath your quilt. His first instinct was to ask himself what the hell could’ve been wrong with you? If you were sick or hurt, how could it have slipped by him? When did it—

Oh.

You kicked the quilt off, revealing the hand buried in between your legs, your sleep shirt ridden up to the curve of your waist. The image of you curled around yourself made it painfully easy for him to imagine himself at your back, his hand replacing yours at the apex of your thighs. He felt sweat bead on his brow as he sat, paralyzed in the pilot’s chair; if what he’d been doing before was shameful, what he was doing now would have to be unforgivable. As if of its own free will, his arm reached to that far side of the console, and turned up the audio dial.

Unforgivable, indeed.

Your moans were muffled intentionally, and he felt a pang of unjustified irritation when he noticed. If he were there, he wouldn’t tolerate you quieting yourself. Not after he’d waited this long to experience every possible facet of your ecstasy. Something he knew himself undeserving of, but was past the point of caring. He’d become impossibly hard, and was about to divest himself of his flightsuit, when he caught something barely picked up by the audio censors.

“Mando--”

He was out of his chair and down the ladder before he even realized what he was doing. He paused just outside your bunk, unable to hear you through the steel door, but his reservations had long since been overridden by need. Your door swished open, and he caught just the barest hint of movement before you were entirely still. You weren’t deaf, and he hadn’t exactly moved silently in those few rushed moments. Your eyes nearly clenched closed, the quilt still misplaced, you pretended. But the Mandalorian had learned how to see through pretenders long ago.

Mando moved cautiously, carefully, as he slid himself into your cot just behind you. As if hoping to hide from a predator, you continued to lay still and try to breathe evenly. The Mandalorian rested a gloveless hand against your warm thigh, sliding it up slowly until he was able to slide a thumb beneath the elastic of your underwear, memorizing the feeling of your skin.

“I know you’re not asleep, sweet girl. I know what you were doing,” he whispered through the modulator. His hand ventured to your front, and stroked over the obvious wet patch on your panties. “You were calling for me, mesh’la. And here I am.”

For less than a moment, he felt like he came to his senses, and worried that he was wrong, somehow. That his love-starved mind had invented those images of you, and similarly fabricated your calling his name. That these were all unwanted advances that would destroy the relationship you had.

“Mando,” you exhaled, moving to grind against his hand. He shuddered slightly, but felt a certain pang of disappointment at the name you used.

“Din,” he said, “my name is Din, sweet girl. Please use it,” he pleaded quietly against your neck.

“Din,” you called, pushing yourself against his front, and creating delicious friction against his hard cock through his flight suit. He used his free hand to hurriedly free himself, and you squeaked as his heavy cock landed against the small of your back, where your shirt had ridden up. You could feel the wet of his precum hot against your skin.

His once idle hand dove beneath your waistband, stroking his thick fingers along your slick. You could hear his pleased hum from under his helmet, too quiet for the vocoder to pick up.

“You’re so wet, cyar’ika, and so kriffing soft… Better than I ever imagined.”

You tried to pretend that the thought of him imagining this scenario didn’t completely undo you. The Mandalorian slowly slipped a finger in you, just teasingly up to the first knuckle, and you could feel him grind against your backside.

“Your pussy’s gripping my finger so tightly, I don’t know how I’ll fit. But I’m a patient man.”

Suddenly, you’re manhandled into a sitting position, between Din’s legs. His free hand slipped up your sleep shirt, groping a breast eagerly. He fingers you in earnest now, no longer feeling content in just exploring you. No, now he wanted to ruin you. Give you so much ecstasy that there wouldn’t be a doubt in your mind regarding how he felt about you.

He added another finger, stroking against your silken walls while his palm put delicious pressure against your clit. You choked out a pleasured cry, and he could feel his cock throb at the sound. You were already so worked up by the time he arrived, and all of the things he was saying were just so overwhelming, you were already close. The way your walls pulled at his fingers was mesmerizing to the Mandalorian as he drew you closer to orgasm.

“Are you close, cyar’ika? K-keep making those noises—fuck, c-can you feel how hard I am for you? So pretty,” he cooed. “You’ll come for me, like a good girl, won’t you, cyare? C’mon, sweet girl, come, and then I’ll take you like you deserve.”

You whined, gasped, and shuddered when the white hot pleasure hit you, sending jolts up your spine as you pushed yourself further against the Mandalorian’s hand. You grabbed his thighs to ground yourself as he continued to rock his fingers into you gently, helping you ride through your climax.

“Din,” you huffed, dreamily, “thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when I’m finished with you. I want you, cyare. Will you let me take you?”

“Please, Din. I wanna feel you.”

The simple, earnest desire—no, yearning, in your voice fanned at the hellish flames in his belly. You wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted you. His fingers withdrew from you, and he picked you up without fanfare, turning you to lay you on your back. He felt something in his heart break a little as he looked down at you through the filter of his helmet. First through the distortion of the camera feed, and now this.

One day he would look you in the eyes as he fucked you, and it would be beautiful.

The velvet head of his cock nudged at your clit while prodding at you, and Din smiled under his helmet at the sweet little noises it coaxed from you. He pushed into you, gently and incrementally, determined to make this moment last, as if this would never happen again. For all he knew, it might not. You might wake up tomorrow and condemn this all as a mistake, as a regret. But for this instant, he had you, and he would cherish you.

He choked out his groans as he felt the hug of your walls around him. He knew he wouldn’t have had this much trouble staving off his climax if he were with anyone but you. It was you doing this to him, it was as if he could feel the thrum of your heartbeat through the silk of your cunt, and it utterly undid him to think of your heart beating as hard as his.

Din thrusted slowly, deeply, gentle yet punctuated. Words of affection, praise, and endearment fell from his mouth freely now, when usually coaxing conversation from him was akin to pulling teeth.

“Sweet girl, fuck-- My sweet girl… ngh, even if just for tonight.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, insecurity behind them as your brows furrowed. Your eyes drifted from his visor as you continued to quietly pant and mewl with his thrusts.

“I… I want to be yours after tonight, Din. Please?”

For a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Ruined it all, broken whatever spell he’d been under, the one that seemed to make him so suddenly and miraculously interested in you the same way you were in him. Then, his thrusts turned punishing, and he shoved his hand between your bodies to knead at your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, cyare, you can’t just say things like that and expect m-me to last,” he gasped, wholly unprepared for such a confession.

Your cunt squeezed him, as if you’d had his heart in your hands, and you were unable to contain the longing look that made itself known on your face. He couldn’t take it. Din stilled as he came, streaking your insides in ropes of his hot cum, a deep growl leaving him as he shook with the intensity of it.

He continued to thrust into you with his softening and oversensitive cock, stroking your clit with renewed vigor.

“Come on, mesh’la, I wanna feel you come on my cock, fucking soak me--”

You keened, a broken cry leaving you, and Din felt your walls milk him so hard it almost hurt with his sensitivity as you gushed around him. He finally collapsed on you, his weight resting heavy on you for a moment before he rolled over, pulling you along to rest on him. You both huffed quietly, the only sound aside from the unending hum of the systems of the crest, which you were suddenly able to perceive again.

“For as long as you’ll have me.” He said.

“What?”

“You… you said you wanted to be mine. After tonight,” he paused to collect his thoughts, a struggle as he still waded in post-orgasmic haze. “Be mine. And I’ll be yours. For as long as you’ll have me, cyare.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, before you hoist yourself up, looking down at him.

You lean your forehead against his helmet.

Taglist (this is the first time I’ve done one of these! Sorry if I fuck it up lol)

@auty-ren @gallowsjoker

#writing #drabble #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #nsft

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