#which is where a lot of his frustrations come from. rationally he gets (X) but he FEELS (Y) and he feels (Y) so much more strongly- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharaug · 1 year ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔

❝ everything beautiful comes with pain. roses have thorns, don't they? ❞ ─ unknown

AUTHOR'S NOTE ❳ this entire one shot was inspired by @skittlescripts triad au! please go check them out for more content on it, if you'd like! :>

➔ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ(s) :: this is my first time writing for anything lmk/jttw related, so forgive me if a lot of the characters in this are ooc. also, this whole thing is a completely self indulgent "what if" blurb on my interpretation of skittles's mc, so all of this is (obviously) not at all canon to their au aha-

mc in this one-shot is a mystic/demon monkey like wukong n macaque cuz i'm different (/j) also, in case it wasn't obvious already, she's based off of yor briar/forger from spy x family

blood, violence, and cursing will all be featured in this. i tried not to make it all too graphic, but i'd suggest reading at your own risk just in case if you're not a big fan of that stuff

not beta read + edited we die like my motivation to finish school work 🫡

NOT MANY WERE━━━brave enough to sleight the Great Sage Equal to Heaven these days, but Sun Wukong supposed that demons wouldn't be, well ... demons if they didn't make any foolish decisions every now and then.

Still, though, that thought couldn't possibly be enough to calm him back down into a more rational train of thought—especially when one of the 'foolish demons' just mentioned currently had a gun held up against his son's temple.

"Take one more step, Great Sage," mocked the bastard with a sneer as he pressed the weapon further against Xiaotian's skin, which in turn drew out a small whimper from the boy that made Wukong's rage flare even more. "Go ahead. Do it and see what happens to your kid right here."

This was frustrating. So frustrating—especially when his treasured staff was currently laying right in front of his feet, right where he'd dropped it after the demon threatened to pull the trigger if he didn't. Under normal circumstances, he could bless the world by ridding it of this pest's existence in under ten seconds flat, yet ...

Wukong's gloved hands tightened into fists at his sides.

The Great Sage, the Monkey King was immortal. His son, however, was not.

And mortality had always been such a fragile thing.

"Remind me, demon," Wukong began after wetting his lips. "What is it that you'll get out of all of this, exactly?" he asked.

The demon threw his head back and laughed, the action alone being enough to jostle the hold he had on Xiaotian. For a moment, Wukong allowed a small ray of hope to shine through for his son: believing that maybe he could use this as an opportunity to slip out of the large demon's grasp and run over into the safety that the arms of his father provided.

Unfortunately, though, that hope was quickly snuffed out when the demon sobered up and tightened his hold around the mortal boy he held captive. Xiaotian looked like he could start crying any second now, and Wukong had to internally count to twenty before all of his impulse control flew out the nearest window and set him loose to show this sorry excuse of a 'crime lord' what had made Heaven fear the Monkey King in the first place.

"Now, what kind of a question is that, o' Great One Equal to Heaven?" The demon grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth stained yellow. Wukong had to wrinkle his nose at the sight. "I figured it'd be obvious what I want, considering the fact that it's what every demon in this cursed city wants from you," he laughed again.

"Oh?" Wukong rose a brow, playing dumb to stall for time. "And what might that be?" He tilted his head.

The demon's brow twitched. "Don't play dumb!" he snapped. "I want your title! This city! Everything you have!" he raved.

He's getting worked up now. Wukong spared a glance to Xiaotian, who was somehow even more stiff than before. That would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact he was holding my kid hostage right now, he thought with a "Tsk."

"So that's it, huh?" Wukong pulled out one of his 'politician' smiles, as Macaque liked to call them. "Well, how 'bout we make a deal then, yeah? You let my kid go, unharmed, and I'll see about getting you all of that and more," he offered, using the kind of tone of voice you'd have when joking around with a friend.

Wukong felt one if his brows twitch when he caught the demon rolling his eyes with a smirk, looking smug. "Do you take me for a fool, Great Sage?" he questioned.

Yes, Wukong desperately wanted to answer. Anyone with half a mind would.

"I know of your tricks. Hell, after all the preparations I've gone through to get to where I am now, I'd say I even know you better than yourself!" he confessed, practically radiating with confidence with the way he puffed his chest out.

Wukong barely suppressed a snort. He saw Xiaotian bite his bottom lip and look away, eyes half lidded and expression practically the very definition of unimpressed.

Wukong suppresses a grin at the sight. That's my boy.

"Now ..." The demon lifted the arm he was using to hold Xiaotian in place up to the boy's neck and pulled him closer, the barrel of his gun once again returning to his temple. "Seeing as how I have you right where I want you at last, I say we discuss your inevitable defeat to—"

The demon was cut off by the abrupt sound of his men screaming out in agony from outside the room, followed by a persistent, almost pleading, knocking on the door.

"Sir! Sir, please! It's an emergency!" the voice of a younger demon spoke from outside, sounding panicked.

Wukong turned to the door, brows raised and interest piqued just as the demon released a frustrated groan.

"You may enter," he told, albeit reluctantly.

In an instant, the door was opened, revealing the younger demon's disheveled appearance and the blood coating his skin and attire in splatters.

Wukong perked up slightly. Had the backup he called for finally come? (Took them long enough.)

"What is it?" The demon took a step back, obviously stunned by his subordinate's troubling appearance. "What's going on out there?!" He growled.

"I-I'm not sure, sir!" the lower demon answered, visibly shaking. "S-some broad j-just—"

He was cut off before he could even finish his sentence by a silver dagger abruptly piercing through his throat, taking the life of his eyes away and leaving only his corpse to fall to the floor in a pool of its own blood.

Wukong blinked, pleasantly surprised. Not at the lower ranking demon's sudden death, but at the fact that he had never seen any of his own men wield a dagger in that style before.

"N-no ..." Ears flickering at the crime lord's voice, Wukong returned his attention to him and nearly did a double take when he saw that he was now trembling where he stood: eyes wide and face for some reason more horrified that it had been when the Great Sage entered the room.

What ...

The sound of heels clicking against the floor and then coming to a stop behind him made Wukong's ears flicker a second time, and the Monkey King turned around to see just what—who had inspired such fear into the demon who had been so proud earlier before him.

He found his breath hitching in his throat before he could stop himself.

Standing in the doorway in a sleek black dress and thigh high boots, there stood yet another mystical monkey much like him and Macaque, yet so different at the same time.

"Excuse me, Cheng Xue of this sector's crime syndicate ..." she spoke, voice eerily calm and eyes luminous. "I'm terribly sorry for interrupting this little meeting of yours, but ... tell me ..."

She smiled, sharpened thorns made of gold glimmering in her hands as she raised them into the light.

"May I have the honor of taking your life this evening?"

Against his will, Wukong let a shudder travel down his spine.

The demon, too caught up in his own fear, stumbled further away from the ethereal beauty standing at the door, her whisper of death enough to make his pulse race and send his arms into an unexpected spasm that sent Xiaotian falling to the side on the floor right next to the very gun his life had been threatened with.

"N-no, you ... YOU CAN'T!" he cried, back meeting the desk and putting a stop to his tracks. "I RAN AWAY CENTURIES AGO! I OWE THEM NOTHING, YOU HEAR ME?! NOTHING!!"

The monkey draped in ebony stepped closer, her smile never leaving and her eyes remaining pinned on her target as though he were a silly little mouse that had fallen into a cat's claws.

"I WILL NOT DIE THIS WAY!" the demon continued deliriously. "I WAS SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE, YOU HEAR?! YOU CAN NOT DO THIS TO ME!"

Another step forward.

The demon flinched back violently and opened his mouth yet again, a shriek on the tip of his tongue.

All that followed after, though, was the mere sound of his body falling backwards onto the desk: his mask of horror, forever engraved on his face, now painted with a crimson that ran down his forehead from the thorn-like blade that had been thrown directly into the center of it.

The room was silent after that, allowing the occupants to take a moment to process what had just transpired until two of them snapped out of their stunned daze and ran to eachother—one of them tackling the other in a bone-crushing hug.

"Holy shit, kid." Wukong felt as though a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again," he decided.

Xiaotian only let out a watery laugh in reply and snuggled further into his father's chest, his hands shaky as he gripped the fabric of his suit.

Amidst their heartfelt reunion, Wukong lifted his gaze up to the lady of thorns, wanting to ask if she was single thank her for stepping in when she did—even if she most likely didn't originally come here to save them some trouble.

What he quickly discovered, however, was that she was no longer there.

Instead, what once sat in her place was that of a red rose with thorns.

#lego monkie kid #sun wukong x reader #jttw triad au #triad au #skittles's triad au #sorry for the abrupt ending i couldn't think of anything else to add haha #might make a part two. who knows #one shot #sun wukong #qi xiaotian #mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk

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makiaan · 1 year ago

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Erwin's Sister!Reader x Levi

Erwin with a sister who joined the scouts, and eventually gets engaged with Levi ;D (Note: 3 year age gap)

TW: Scouts bullying reader mentions that get physical in Erwin's section.

Erwin

Being Erwin's sister was not a easy task!

Erwin's parents had always taught him to take care of you, as it was his duty to protect his little sister from harm, and he took that job seriously

So when he had heard that you wanted to join the military he internally lost his shit.

"Perhaps you should reconsider." He'd smile, giving you a light pat on the shoulder "Because there's absolutely no way that I'm letting you join."

In the end you did!

With many conversations turning into arguments he caved in with a frustrated sigh.

By the time you graduated and joined the scouts Erwin had already became the commander.

Rumors were quick to spread of Erwin's little sister joining the scouts, and a lot were skeptical of her.

A lot of people tested your patience..

"Sorry Y/N, the spots already taken!" When no one had arrived to sit on the seat for the entirety of lunch or

"Sorry we forgot to leave some for you!" As the women would giggle amongst themself hiding extra packs of the rations behind there backs

Of course you never reacted to there bullying but it sure did frustrate the hell out of it. You knew what they wanted, and it was for you to run back crying to your brother for help.

You weren't gonna give them that satisfaction!

So you trained hard, harder then anyone else to prove that you deserved respect, and that you didn't need to use Erwin to hand everything to you.

It also served as a good distraction to people who approached with ill intent

Erwin of course knew everything that was going on, he had a conversation with you about it but you insisted for him to lay back. You didn't wanna risk rumors spreading of him being bias.

Though when things got rough, and expeditions were risker then ever, Erwin couldn't help himself.

If you got grabbed he'd dive into hordes of titans just to get you, losing you would make him go insane, and when it came to your safety, his dreams, and public image quickly became the least of his priorities.

The day the bullying became too physical he happened to pass by the room with Levi trailing behind.

Hearing your cries, and the sound of there boots kicking into your body, made his heart drop.

These were one of the times in which he got genuinely pissed off.

Slamming the door open, and stomping over, he quickly picked you up from the floor, giving the group a ominous look.

"You stay right where you are." He'd glare carrying you bridal to the infirmary

When he came back to the room the sound of his angered voice echoed throughout the HQ, and ultimately the group left the military after being put through grueling weeks of none stop physical training. (led by Levi himself!)

Well moral of the story Erwin tries his best to keep those professional boundaries, but when it comes to your life he'd do anything to protect it.

Levi (3 year age gap, reader started the military late)

Oh boy.. Here we go!

Erwin would've never expected for Levi to be interested in his sister.

But here we were, behind a building where no one could see, the wind blowing strands of your hair forward, getting all over your face. Levi gently brushed the strands behind your ear, his touch lingering for far too long to be considered as a friends innocent touch. "Levi?.." You spoke in a hushed voice. He couldn't help but stare at your pumped opened lips, leaning in and-

"Huh- WHATTTTT"

Well, Erwin ran into the two of you... He was as frozen as a statue with his eyes wide, and his mouth stuck in the shape of a O.

I think he might've even forgotten how to breathe

The up-coming days between Erwin, Levi, and you became extremely awkward.

Erwin didn't have the heart in him to ask about the situation, Levi didn't give two shits, and you were scared of Erwin being mad at you.

Though this wouldn't be the last time Erwin would walk into the two of you flirting.

This would happen 3 different times.. Catching the two of you kissing in the office, catching the two of you holding hands, and last of all catching the Levi having an emotional moment hugging you.

Erwin was absolutely MISERABLE, it wasn't the fact that he didn't like the idea of Levi dating his sister because Erwin trusted him, BUT it was the fact that he ran into personal situations he had rather not have seen.

poor dude...

Well anyways... When the day had come that Levi asked Erwin for his blessing for marriage, Erwin once again froze.

After he was done melting though, he casted his eyes downward, his lips curving upwards into a small proud but sad smile. It was hard giving his beloved sister away, but he was sure he'd make her happier then she's ever been.

"Treat her well ok?" His once clear and strong voice begun to crack, patting Levi on the shoulder.

man.. Erwin foreva...

#erwin x reader #erwin x sister!reader #levi x reader #erwin smith fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader

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ephemerensis · 2 years ago

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It’s Cold // Joel Miller x GN! Reader

you steal something important from joel and he gets a little (lot) angry // platonic ; maybe its bc its 2 am and i’ve been listening to pheobe bridgers but the ending has me open mouthed sobbing !! not proofread

song rec: day after tomorrow— phoebe bridgers

—

You’d been in the bedroom for a couple hours now, with the same three thoughts aimlessly looping through your brain; up until the front door crowed as it opened.

The sound of the door closing soon followed accompanied by heavy footsteps thumping against creaky floors on their way in.

“Did you find it?” That familiar gruff timbre filtered through the walls of your shitty QZ apartment.

“No,” Tess was quick to respond. You’d thought she’d left already. She usually wasn’t home at this time, off running an errand or something of the sort after her work detail. But she stayed today.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the tension in the air thicken then. Of course, you knew exactly where “it” was. And up until you got caught by Tess sneaking back into the apartment, you were happy to get rid of it.

I can talk to him. I didn’t know. He’ll understand.

At least that’s what you told yourself. It’s not like you didn’t mess up before, but Joel always came around; albeit in his own callous way. After all these years living together— all these years of him raising you, it was like a silent promise. Joel would be there for you. He loved you.

But this was different. You’d never messed up this bad. As soon as you confessed your undertakings, the look of creeping dread on Tess’s face was testament enough to how royally you fucked up.

You took his watch.

It was broken. Before he found you it was broken, and long after he never fixed it. Between fighting infected and scavenging for survival; there wasn’t exactly time for him to figure it out, you’d assumed. But now that you were safe enough, and life was almost domestic, and the man you considered a father had a birthday coming up— it was high time he got a working one.

So you stole it; with the intention of fixing it. But no one in the QZ had the tools or knowledge. You ended up trading it with a couple ration cards for a smaller, gold one that actually told time. And you were proud that for the first time ever you actually got to do something for him.

All of which came crashing down when Tess fed you the details of its origins.

Sarah.

The floorboards creaked as he got up, rummaging through the counters and shelves in a desperation to find it. Drawers were violently rammed shut in his frustration.

“Joel.” She said it gently. It made your brows furrow; Tess promised to let you resolve it on your own. It didn’t deter him though, hands still rummaging through whatever he hadn’t looked through yet.

“It doesn’t make sense, I take it off for thirty seconds and it just vanishes?” Panic bled in to his usually pessimistic tone. You couldn’t see him but you could picture it; his face stayed stony but in his eyes the anxiety that was starting to bubble up was prominent.

“Joel.” It was sterner this time. Louder. You had your ear pressed to do the paint chipped door at that point, leaning on it to try and gauge the situation.

“What?” The sound of things being shifted around stopped.

“It’s not here. You’re not gonna find it.”

Your eyes widened, and in panic you acted before you could properly comprehend what you were doing. Pushing the bedroom door open, you burst out pointing an accusing finger at the woman.

“You said I could fucking tell him!” Chest heaving, eyes wide as you turned and looked at Joel like a deer trapped in headlights.

“You do not talk to her like that,” he said sternly. Good. If he was still in a position to lecture you that meant he still cared.

Joel looked increasingly confused, looking between the two of you until his eyes latched on the glimmer of gold you had clutched in your hand. His gaze hardened, the change in his demeanor sent waves around the room.

Your breath hitched as you quickly pulled your arm back to hide it behind you, but he saw it. You knew that.

Tess had gotten up from where she was sitting, inching in your direction to try and mitigate the oncoming damage.

“What is that?” He spoke lowly, dangerously so. Everyone stood silent for a spell before you slowly unconcealed your arm and managed to pry your unwilling fingers open in front of him, the watch resting on your palm.

“Well- I-“ You didn’t usually stammer but with the bile rising in your throat and that sinking stomach feeling stomach sick striking your core it was too much. Your mouth opened and closed but the words didn’t come. You fucked up.

“What the fuck is that?” You’d seen him angry before. It wasn’t something he ever tried to hide from you, but you’d never seen him look at you like that. Like you were sidewalk gum.

“It’s your birthday and-“ He took a step forward and you took a step back, heel making contact with the wall behind you. The watch in your hand was too heavy and the thoughts in your head were too loud.

Why didn’t you let Tess do the talking? What were you thinking? Getting the watch? Intervening? Joel was right to be mad. How could he ever look at you like he hated you?

“How’d you get it?” He cut you off. But you were too muddled to comprehend him.

“The other one didn’t even work!” Words fell out before you could know what you were saying, “you just kept looking at it and I know and I—“

The thoughts got louder. Your throat got tighter.

“And I just thought that if I-I— Dad—“

The word slipped from you like a plea. You’d only called him that a handful of times, when desperation felt so thick you could taste it. Your first thunderstorm. Your first clicker. Colder nights.

His eyes would soften. He’d call to you and comfort you and you could burrow in his embrace and then, everything would dissipate.

“You’re not my daughter.”

You blinked. Every nerve you had froze over. The thoughts in your head silenced. The walls in the room started closing in. And the worst part was the way he looked at you. Straight into your eyes with a hate you’d never known to see. Then the world was too quiet.

“I’m not your fucking dad. I’m never gonna be your fucking dad. Your dad is six feet under with mushrooms crawling up his throat and thats what he deserves for bringing a fucker like you into the world!” He spat it at you and all you knew you could feel were the tears pooling in your eyes. You couldn’t breathe and it hurt because he had never hurt you.

“Joel!” Tess interjected, staring at the man in disbelief.

“Fuck you!” You choked it out, pushing past the two of them and bolting out the door.

The creeping feeling in your throat magnified, tasting something like betrayal. But it pained you more to know that it was true. He never belonged to you, he just volunteered to be there for you. And it was unfair and anger inducing and all so real.

You didn’t know where you were going, you just ran. Feet pounding against the wooden floors until you made it out of the building. You felt the knobs of the watch face indent your skin as you gripped it in your flight. Even then you didn’t stop; you needed to get away.

The apartment felt frozen, locked in a stunned silence. Tess had her mouth agape, staring at the still open door you’d just burst out of. She was first to break the stupor, “Joel what the fuck was that?”

His gaze was hardened, turned towards the floor. But he said nothing.

“I know you’re upset, but we could’ve talked about it!”

“What, Tess? Talk about what? They’re not Sarah and they ain’t ever gonna fucking be Sarah!” He’d only raised his voice at her once before, when he thought she was going to be mauled by an Infected, but never more than that. And for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t read him.

“They never needed to be.” Tess knew he hurt. How could he not? Before everything, Sarah was all he had. But you were alive now. And you were a person, and not a replacement. You weren’t a ghost, or a symbol, or a chance of redemption. You were a, albeit stupid, kid.

“It’s curfew,” she said, going to sling a bag over her shoulders, “we have to go after Y/N before Fedra throws their ass in lockup. I don’t think they could’ve gotten far so if we—“

“I don’t care.” He cut her off. So she left without another word.

If he continued not caring, he had a shitty way of showing it. When Tess pushed the door open a couple hours later, he perked up to crane his neck at the door. Silently crestfallen when you didn’t follow her in.

The next couple days were the same. He asked around on work duty, radioed Bill and Frank when he could, searched on his off time. They both did, but you never turned up.

And then it was two weeks.

And almost a month.

There was a window in the bedroom with a broken latch. It can’t stay closed. So, most days, especially in summer, you all just kept it open. But, as you scaled the fire escape, you found that tonight it was pushed shut.

Inside it was dark, but the moonlit let in enough for you to see that no one occupied the bed. Placing a hand on the glass, you pressed it open with relative ease. Slipping your hand in your pocket you pulled out Joel’s watch. You ran a thumb over the cracked face, watching the glow in the dark numbers fluoresce in the night.

You clambered in slowly, getting half way through before hearing an all too familiar creak. You forgot to check the armchair.

Your head whipped in the direction of the sound, heart pounding as your eyes made contact with the ones that looked at you with such malice a few weeks prior.

“Y/N?”

Dropping the watch on the nightstand, you immediately moved to climb back out but he was faster.

Before you’d made it one rung down, your wrist was caught in the palm of his calloused hand.

The tears sprung before you could stop them. You gave your arm a sharp tug, but he held fast. So you gave up, the both of you just opting to stare instead.

He looked tired, if the bags under his eyes were any indication. But his gaze wasn’t the one you left him with. You saw a warmth that made it hurt worse than before.

You were worse for wear, but you’d sen darker days. A bruise bloomed over your left eye, and your clothes had a few more holes than they did to start. He studied you, cupping your face with his free hand. It was so gentle you cried.

“I thought you were mad at me.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Of course that’s the first thing you think to say. Shaking his head, he released you, gesturing for you to come back in. You did.

“Of course I was mad at you, I’m still mad at you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” Your bottom lip quivered. He’d never said that before. Yelling and nagging, he could do but he never told you he loved you. Or that he cared.

“I brought it back. Your old one.” Your hands were balled at your side, trying to fight the tears you knew were inevitable.

“I didn’t— if I knew I never would’ve—“ You gasped as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You missed it, the way his arms around you felt more secure than any walls erected on earth. The way it was warm, and so familiar and it was just so unbearably cold outside in the middle of June. You couldn’t help but sob.

“I know, baby. I know.” He almost whispered it, the words felt so secret. They were yours.

You shoulders shook, “I’m so so sorry, Joel.”

“Dad, will do just fine.”

#tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou angst #joel miller #joel x reader #joel x male reader #joel x female reader #pedro pascal #daddy pedro #joel miller x reader

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7daycycle · 1 year ago

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Stages of Grief

I start with the title first. I don't know where this is going, but that's my title.

I recently got some terrible bad news. It broke me. It was a month of work and then it was nothing. It might've been the hardest I've worked on something over a period of time. If you've read my previous blog post, you'll know that working on something, with grit it something I have trouble with. So, to have been able to put my foot down and see what I can, do work on something and for it then be taken from me was devasting. The news however, wasn't terrible. It only felt terrible. That's how grief works. I think. I'm pretty privileged because I don't think I've had to deal with a lot. Not a lot of loss, but I have had to deal with failure. This is ultimately a story of failure, not a story of loss. So, let's go through the stages. I'm going to google them now. After that google search, here's what the stages of grief are; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I didn't read the actual blogpost(?) but maybe it says something about the order not being in the same for everyone, or even being the same every time. Here's how they went for me.

Depression : Let me tell you, I was broken. I had recontextualized my whole life the hours following the news. I broke my life into five year chapters, each culminating around a failure. I didn't see my adventure as time spent growing, but instead as a stumbling buffoon. I took away any reason I had to be loved, stripped myself of all my success my wins and simply understood myself as an inevitable loser. It was a tough place to be.

Bargaining : I think I've seen this explained as reasoning before, but I tried to reason why I failed. Remember though, I wasn't coming from a good place. I had already decided that I was a loser who can only stumble. If you know anything about bargaining, you don't don't bargain from a position of weakness. You need to negotiate from a winning position, I wasn't. So I as a tried to rationalize and understand what had happened, I did it as an idiot. A broken, sad idiot. I was filled with frustration, doubt and fear mostly. I couldn't see past the cloud of sorrow that I breathed into my vision.

Anger : I'm still angry, but it's given me clarity. Good sleep, a loving support system and time gave me the distance I needed and I was able to get angry. I have a very positive relationship with Anger. I'm not afraid of it, not when I see angry people, or even upset at myself if I'm ever angry. I think it comes from a quote I attribute to Malcolm X, which might not be his, but I've already googled once today and I won't be googling again. In my head canon, Malcolm X said something like the the following -

"I want our people to get Angry, but because when people get Angry, they start to do something" He was talking bout being Angry instead of being Sad when some journo accused him of rousing people up and getting them Angry. So, whenever I see someone Angry, I wonder why, and should they be. For me, I was now Angry. Angry about how things had gone, and ultimately, now factors outside of my control decided that my work wasn't valuable. My grit, my time, my attention, wasn't worthwhile. I can't control that, but the value of my work exists independently of how people define it. So they made a mistake, but I created value. So what happens with that Anger? Denial : I deny the guilt I felt early. it's done. I take that Anger and now it defines how I look back at that chapter of my life. It's not a chapter of my failing, but a chapter of me working. My chapter of grit and grind. A chapter where my people took care of me. I absolve myself of the loss. Acceptance : I can't absolve myself of the failure though. It'd be stupid for me look back at what happened and see that I didn't fail. I did, at the end of the day, the games are over and scoreboard has been recorded. I don't live in a vacuum and there are other forces. This started as a journey of me questioning my work, my value, my self but I should be questioning how did I work, how am I valued and not me. Sure, ultimately my work was a judgement of me, and it's how I was valued but that's how other people judge me. I can't let that me how I judge myself. I had to accept that I wasn't perfect, but I don't need to be, I need to be better. I am. I will be.

#self #failure #work #balance

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archersartcorner · 2 years ago

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Oh GOD another character focused comic. My brain moves at 1847297329 MPH but my dreadful hands draw so slow…

I had more to this but I wasn’t feeling the direction so I’m just gonna leave it at this. TLDR, Val is struggling with a broken heart and is confused and somewhat angered as to why Ingo isn’t. But I suck at conclusions so here we are LMAO

IDs below cut!

[ID: A digital, non-colored, sketchy comic spread across 5 images.

3 characters are featured. The main character is Valerio, who has jaw-length, wavy black hair, parted in the middle by a widows peak; a triangular face, rounded at the edges to highlight his youthfulness; a thin, hooked nose; and two healed facial scars, one above his right eye, one on his left jawline. He has a thin and lean frame, with slight musculature, and a large scar on his left hip. He’s only wearing briefs, having been trying to get to sleep. The other two characters are Ingo and Emmet, twins with only some slight differences. Both of them have more oval-shaped heads, wrinkled around the eyes, mouth, and brow to show age; thin, long noses that are slightly upturned; strongly receding hairlines, although not completely bald, hair short and slightly fluffy; and sideburns that look almost like an insects’ mandibles, cus that’s how my brain wants to describe them. Ingo appears to be slightly more muscular than Emmet, who’s more on the thinner side, and Ingo’s mouth tends to be depicted like an upwards triangle, a constant frown, while Emmet’s mouth tends to be depicted like a downwards triangle, a constant smile. It’s implied both of them sleep near-nude as well, and are shirtless throughout the comic.

The first image contains three panels, one on the left and two to the right of it, one on top of the other. The first panel shows Ingo and Emmet in bed, Emmet resting on Ingo’s chest, while Ingo looks off panel at a ringing noise heard to his right. The second panel shows the source of the ringing, Ingo’s phone, being held up by Ingo off panel. The incoming call is from Valerio. The third panel is Ingo and Emmet again, but Ingo’s answered the call, a tired and confused look on his face. Emmet scrunches up his face in annoyance. Ingo says, “Valerio? Sorry, it’s late over here, but are you okay?” In small text, Emmet whispers, “Why the fuck is he calling?” Ingo whispers back, “Emmie, hush.”

The second image contains four panels in a 2-2 format, top to bottom. The first panel is Ingo and Emmet again. Emmet is smiling, but in an irritated and annoyed way, and Ingo appears less confused and more worried. From the phone, Valerio asks, “… Do you… feel real, Ingo?” Ingo replies, “… What?” In small text again, Emmet mutters, “Does he have to do this shit right now.” Ingo mutters back, “Emmet. Hush.” The second panel shows Ingo worriedly getting out of bed, looking back at Emmet who’s sitting up, still appearing annoyed. Ingo says to Emmet, “Just give me a second, Em.” Emmet replies, “Fine. Fuck off.” Ingo says, “Emmie…” and Emmet replies, “Just go and help the fucking kid out, Arceus fuck.” Ingo replies, “Alright, alright…” The third panel shows a cup of coffee with Ingo’s hand laying over it, leading into the fourth panel where Ingo is speaking with Val over the phone, coffee in his other hand. Ingo says, stretching between both panels, “Talk to me, Valerio. What doesn’t feel real? Is it just being back home? Do you maybe feel a little… out of place, being away so long?” Valerio responds, “… didn’t you?”

The third image contains only two panels, side by side, mostly dialogue heavy. The first panel contains Ingo, calmly talking into the phone. His dialogue stretches into the second panel, finally showing Valerio, who’s crying heavily, laid on his side in bed, phone next to him. Ingo says, “Not particularly, actually. I know, I’ve been there for a decade, but… I saw Emmie, and it all came back to me. I realized what I missed, who I missed. I still have my memories of Hisui. The people there will always be in my heart, the time I spent with them will always be important to me. But I’m glad to be home now, Valerio. This is our home.”

The fourth image contains four panels, 2 on top and 2 on bottom. The first panel shows Ingo, still speaking into the phone. There’s not really a whole lot of dynamic movement here lol, sorry. Ingo says, “… Why do you think you feel so differently, Valerio?” Val responds, “Fuck if I know. I just feel so… hollow. Wrong, here…” The second panel shows Valerio, who moved to lay on his back, staring away from the phone, his left hand grabbing at the bed blanket. Ingo asks, “… Do you miss anybody, Valerio? … You miss Volo, don’t you?” Val responds, “I… goddamnit.” The third panel shows Val sitting up, dangling his feet off the edge of the bed. He’s holding his phone now in his right hand. Val says, “… I went to Hisui the other day - “Sinnoh,” I mean…” Ingo asks, “How was it?” Val continues, “… I went to Volo’s grave.” The fourth panel closes up on Valerio’s face, panicked, confused. Sad. Val continues, “It… it didn’t - I was JUST talking to him, just a few weeks ago, I… fuck, it’s like there’s the rational part of my brain, that reminds me that was all 200 years ago, but… It - it can’t be, he can’t be dead… he was just here…”

The fifth image contains 4 panels, two on top and two on bottom again. The first panel shows Valerio, quieted from his previous panic, replaced by an overwhelming sadness. He holds his face in his left hand, phone in the other. Val finishes, “… I do miss him. A lot…” Ingo replies, “Oh Valerio… I’m sorry. I visited the burial sites for the clans some time ago as well. It was cathartic, for me, at least… but it sounds like it was too soon for you.” The second panel shows Ingo, still talking through the phone. Valerio says, “Fuckin’ seems like it, huh?” Ingo replies, “Valerio… do you have someone to talk to about this?” The third panel shifts back to Valerio again, still sad, but now confusion shows in his expression. Val responds, “… I’m talking to you.” Ingo says, “Valerio, I can’t help you with this. I’m sorry, I don’t have the means-” Val interrupts, “So what, some shrink would? Ingo, please, you’re literally the only one on earth who understands…” The fourth panel shifts back to Ingo, who says, “Valerio, I get the weird space-time bullshit, I do. You’re dealing with a broken heart, son. You’re dealing with grief. Maybe a therapist wouldn’t totally understand, but they know how to help with grief. Just… consider it, please, Valerio. A therapist, or your mother, your cousin, anyone.”

It ends there. The comic was purposefully left incomplete.

END ID.]

#my art #pokeverse valerio #described #Val’s confusion was going to stem from him being a native Alolan and wondering essentially ‘WHERES YOUR ANGER YOUR FUCKING RAGE INGO????’#‘why aren’t you angry about the fact that the people who took you in and their cultures and pokemon no longer exist except in history’#and the truth is just that they’re both handling their grief very differently #valerio is sad but he’s also angry. his body was overworked in hisui so he’s bedridden for weeks when he returns but he wants to scream.#Val wants to ask the world why they don’t care. how this eradication of culture can happen and no one bats an eye to it #he misses and grieves volo particularly yes and he experiences moments of hallucination and unreality due to the weird circumstance #but Val’s also just mad about all of it. the galaxy team; jubilife; the hidden implications of what became of the clans and their traditions #cus they aren’t being followed anymore!! their noble pokemon don’t fucking exist anymore!!#meanwhile with ingo of course he misses the clan folk and mourns them and feels for their passing. but he tries to focus more so on where-#-he is now and the people he has now. Val’s young; ingo isn’t and Ingo’s had a lot of time to rationalize that many things are out of-#-his individual control and that’s okay. what he focuses on are what he does have control over.#Val could absolutely understand this; and in his mind he does get it. but it doesn’t make him feel any less angry.#which is where a lot of his frustrations come from. rationally he gets (X) but he FEELS (Y) and he feels (Y) so much more strongly-#-that it just hurts #anyway lots of ranting in the tags WJDVDJS as per usual.#love characters. put them into SITUATIONS

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all-my-writings-and-musings · 2 years ago

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Reader and Macaque are both going through the wringer with these prompts, but I just can't help myself.

Day 7: Bones

Macaque x Reader

Injuries and adventuring unfortunately went hand in hand, but you rather wished they could stop happening almost entirely to you, especially with your incredibly breakable mortal body seemingly taking every opportunity to suffer.

"Could you hold still?" Macaque insisted for the hundredth time, firm but incredibly gentle as he held your injured arm in the sling he was cobbling together. Even in the dim light of the untended fire you could see that the frustration was a front for the worry showing freely in his eyes, but that didn't make you any more cooperative.

"I'm trying, it hurts!" you hissed back, biting down on the small bit of bark he'd given you. It tasted like the forest smelled, but chomping on it was better than all the cursing you wanted to let loose. At least Macaque was only trying to help…

Such forgiving thoughts evaporated as your limb was set at last, a hard grunt of pain leaving you as Macaque got the broken bones exactly where it needed to be.

"I know, but, I've almost… there!" he said in time, accomplishment lighting up his features as he released your arm. Cradling it as the pain faded back to a dull ache, you settled heavily on the chair he'd set up for you, a little dizzy from the strain of it all. Macaque was gentle to the point of being apologetic when he laid a hand on your shoulder. "That'll hold until we get somewhere with a doctor."

You nodded, a little pale as the world took its time to stop spinning. Macaque grabbed a spare hunk of tree and set it on the fire, bringing light back to the little campsite. The increased visibility allowed you to see worry he'd been unable to hide, which you knew he wouldn't bring up to you. Not wanting him to stew, you cleared your throat to get his attention, trying to smile when his face turned in your direction. "Feels a lot better."

He smiled back, briefly losing his mask completely. "Good…" he replied softly, his earlier worry coming back to you. Goodness, he'd nearly torn an entire acre of forest apart when you'd been hurt, his fear all but palpable until it had become clear you'd only broken a bone. If only the others knew what a softie he could be…

Catching himself, Macaque coughed and quickly turned away, all six ears flushing in the firelight as he busied himself with rooting through the pack for rations. "I mean; you're welcome!"

You laughed for the first time in a while, not even minding the broken bone.

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lightning-bringer · 2 years ago

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Viktor Machine Herold's NSFW alphabet

The gif might be from Arcane but have in mind I'm talking about the 6' feet tall metal guy who shouts GLORIOUS EVOLUTION and shoots lasers at people

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Viktor is very attentive in aftercare, as much as he pretends to not have any feelings left and talks about the uselessness of it, he is actually still so full of endearment in him. He will cook breakfast, change his lover’s clothes and the sheets, all while talking about being rational and how that’s jsut necessary (he would massage his partner with the most serious and robotic face)

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

idk if it counts as a body part but he loves his height. Despite the events of arcane being canon or not, Viktor for sure wasn’t as big as he is today, so being a very tall guy now is something he likes a lot

and on his partner, as cliche as it is, it’s mouth

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

He cums a lot. Like, a lot. Inconveniently so

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

It’s more of a fantasy than a secret, but Viktor likes to imagine scenarios in which he just watches 2 people have sex and please himself at the image

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Viktor has very little experience. A metal man who shouts about the glorious evolution has a hard time getting laid. Even before he went back to Zaun, his mind was always on other things, so sex was not a priority and still isn’t

F= Favorite position

Because he hedn’t had time to try much, it’s definitely something simple like doggie-style

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is very serious, no laughs no jokes if he smiles that is a one in a million ocasion

H= Hair (grooming habits)

I doubt there is any body hair left ‘cause c’mon... if you can change your body with augmentations at will... why wouldn’t you get rid of those? So I bet he has no pubes whatsoever

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Viktor is serious, as I said, so he’s quiet and tries to be impersonal (feelings bad blablala) but that’s not really how he feels, so he would kind of lean into being a romantic, being aware of how the machine parts of his body fit with his partner’s

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He does masturbate, but not that often. When he does it he tells himself it’s purely out of “hormonal needs he has yet to deal with”, so it’s really just for physical relief (he only focus on pleasure when it’s with someone else, so the man is frustrated)

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Viktor doesn’t really has many remarkable kinks besides the voyerism, but he would like some roleplay, like professor x student kinda thing

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Despite liking to see people having sex, he loathes the thought of being seen, so he likes to do it in the safety of his house, in his lab in Zaun at best. This man doesn’t even like to go to brothels or motels

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

The few times Viktor had sex, it was led by the same thing: shameless and kind of sexually explicit flirting, because he loves dirty talk. He is very quiet during it, but hearing the things someone wants to do to him, or with him, or even better, wants him to do... His emotions and feelings kind of win again then

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything hardcore honestly but mostly things that would risk damage to his carefully created machine body, or that would put him in a humiliating position

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Oh Viktor is horrible at oral, like really bad, and he also doesn’t like it which makes him a terrible possible student

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Well, his body is full of mechanical augmentations so... he’s quite literally a machine when it comes to having sex. He can last for a long time, go for as long as his partner wants or needs (he’s not much of a service guy during sex, more after, but he won’t admit being a disappointment)

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He’s actually not good at quickies because of his lack of experience (he needs some time to get the hang of things with his partner) and he also doesn’t like them much

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

No, it would be very very hard to convince Viktor to try something knew, even if his lover knows he has fantasies about it

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Again, mechanically augmented body... This man can go for so long, don’t fucking test him

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

I don’t see Viktor using toys on himself but he wouldn’t be against the use of them in sex. If partner really likes it or insists, he could even try to make some customs for them (but he particularly doesn’t get the fuss)

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He’s not much of a tease, not to the point of being unfair, but in the areas he has no knowledge (a master of controling speed and strenght) he would like to show off just a little (and never admiting he’s actually showing off) and teasing his lover to show he can

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Viktor is generally quiet, but he does let out some groans, mostly in the beginning if his partner snatches off his mask and keeps his face close while they tease him or play with him

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

If his partner has a penis or can squirt, he will want them to cum on his mask (this is absolutely one of the things that will have to pried out of him with insistence and force because he would never admit it)

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

He is big, even though no one would be in his Academy years. He is big, and has never made any changes there

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Viktor has a very low sex drive in general, and has always had despite the changes in his body and brain

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Because of his changed brain and body it takes so much to tire Viktor that he doesn’t sleep right after. He might if he feels like it, but it’s more like a nap because he has nothing to do than a recharging tared sleep

#league of legends #lol #viktor #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #machine herald #machine herald x reader #machine herald viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x y/n #league of legends writing #lol writing

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jasntodds · 2 years ago

Note

Angsty peter x reader like enemies to lovers

I have nothing to say for how long this got besides I just like angst lol

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 2,542

Warnings: Angst, mentions of a sprained ankle, mention of blood and a scraped knee, fluff

Back in high school, you and Peter were really good friends, practically inseparable. You shared a lot of similar interests and you both balanced each other out really well. There was never really a time that you and Peter were ever even angry with each other. Not a fight had ever happened until one night. The night you found out he was Spider-Man.

Peter had bailed on you again and it wasn’t sitting right with you. Despite being a good friend, Peter did have quite the habit of canceling last minute which got a little annoying but you always let it go. But not this time because it was your birthday. He missed it and you were pissed so as any other completely rational teenager would do, you stormed over to Peter’s apartment after your party.

You were kind to May when she opened the door, of course, but the kindness washed away as you thought of everything you were gonna start yelling at Peter for while you walked to his room. Your fists balled at your sides, just knowing you were really going to go off on Peter for the first time. But something in you also knew that he would look at you with those big puppy-dog eyes and you’d shut up. You would let it go because he’s Peter. But, then, you reached Peter’s room and there he was, the blue and red Spider-Man suit is pulled down to his waist as he’s sat on his bed.

“What the fuck?” Your voice is a whisper as you look at Peter, sitting on his bed with a cut on his cheek and the first aid kit open on his bed.

“Y/n…” Peter’s eyes shoot open while his jaw drops. He looks down, seeing the suit and back to you and you’re just stood there. Tears swelled in the back of your eyes as you shook your head.

You’re his best friend and he couldn’t tell you he was Spider-Man? Does he really not trust you?

“Unbelievable.” You scoff before turning away, Peter is quick to get up from his bed, trying his best to follow you as he trips.

“Wait, y/n!” Peter yells, stripping the rest of the suit away from him and grabbing a pair of sweatpants.

You ignore him though and keep walking, trying to keep tears from falling down your face until you’re actually outside of the building. Your hurt and pissed. Friends don’t hide those kinds of things from each other. Not when they trust them and Peter’s always said he trusted you but now you’re finding out he’s been lying to you for three years. He missed your birthday to help strangers and a part of you wants to be so selfish about it because he chose strangers over you. You understand that saving people should come first but right now, that is not where your head is. He could have told you.

“Let me explain.” Peter’s voice is exasperated behind as you walk down the sidewalk, heading back towards your own place.

“Leave me alone, Peter.” You mumble, arms crossed over yourself, head looking towards the ground.

A sigh leaves Peter’s lips but he’s keeping up with you now. “I wanted to tell you--”

You come to an abrupt stop, turning to face him. “Then why didn’t you?” You yell at him.

Peter jerks back, almost losing everything he was going to say. You’ve never yelled at him before. “I…I don’t…I don’t know! I was--”

“Because you don’t trust me, right?” You snap, letting everything out as you hold back tears. “That’s the only reason for you not to tell me! You don’t trust me enough and then you’re just out there, getting hurt and it’s my birthday! You were supposed to be there and you just…what? Saved a cat from a tree or something?”

“That’s not it.” Peter groans, getting frustrated. He didn’t think this would be a big deal. He knew it was but he never knew it was like…this. “I trust you--”

“Then why didn’t you tell me, Peter? Is that why MJ and Ned were telling me to leave you alone when I said I was coming here? Do they know?”

Peter freezes and that’s when he knew he had fucked up. They knew not on purpose. Both of them found out by accident but maybe he should have told you when MJ figured it out. Now you were the last to know and only because he missed your birthday. Truthfully, Peter doesn’t know why he never told you, maybe to protect you? You worry a lot and if you knew, you’d only ever worry about him.

“Wow.” You nod and a single tear falls down your cheek. “Okay, then. Awesome.”

“Y/n, please--” Peter tried to beg but you hold a hand up, shaking your head.

“I…don’t wanna hear it.” It’s a dry and painful laugh that leaves your lips. “Have a nice life, Peter Parker.” You turn away from him, leaving Peter standing there.

“T-that’s it?” He asks and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice. It sends a knife through your heart but clearly, you were never as close as you thought you were.

“Yeah,” You look over your shoulder. “I trusted you and you lied to me. And you…told everyone else.” You turn back around and Peter stands there, watching you.

Peter thought maybe you just needed to cool down and in a few days, he could try to smooth it over. But, those days turned into weeks and then months and now it’s been three years. He tried to talk to you but you told him that you hated him and didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. The betrayal he put you through was excruciating and something you didn’t feel you could ever forgive. So, from there, you went from best friends to these enemies. He even started to hate you a little for it, resentful of you even because in those first few months he could barely concentrate on Spider-Man. There were small snide remarks made either to each other or about each other. Nothing that was ever actually cruel or something either of you had confided in with each other because despite your dislike for each other now, neither of you would cross that line. But there were remarks anyway on both sides until after high school.

You ended up going to the same college and had a few classes together but both of you kept your distance from each other. Instead of the snide remarks and nasty glares that could kill, you didn’t even look at each other. You lived your separate lives and that was okay with the both of you.

So, now both of you are going through your usual routines. You’re walking back to your dorm after having dinner with a friend and Peter is patrolling. You see him around as Spider-Man sometimes and you pretend he doesn’t exist even if sometimes you still worry about the person you used to call your best friend. Peter worries about everyone but on this occasion, he’s swinging right near you and he spots you trip and fall over a lip in the sidewalk, completely face-planting on the concrete. Peter winces at the sight while you let out a pained yell.

“Are you okay?” Peter swings down to you, standing right above you before squatting beside you.

You look up to him, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine.” You scoff, moving from your front and onto your butt. Your ankle is in agony. It doesn’t feel broke but something isn’t quite right.

“You’re hurt, let me help.” Peter offers, his voice clearer through the mask than you expected and it’s like a rush comes back over you for the person you used to know and how much you cared for him once. But, you’re sure he still hates you and this is his moral responsibility thing.

“I said, I’m fine.” Your voice is stern as you pull your leg up to see if your ankle is bleeding or if anything looks dislocated.

Peter takes a seat beside you while letting out a sigh. He pulls his legs up to his chest, watching you examine your ankle, completely ignoring the blood on your knee from the fall. You glance over at him through the corner of your eye, wondering why he’s just sitting there.

“Can I help you?” You snark, looking back to him fully.

“I’m not gonna leave you. It’s probably sprained, you didn’t even notice the scrape on your knee.” Peter points to the scrape.

Your brows furrow before you slowly look to your knee and see the scrape. Your nose scrunches at the sight. “So? I’ll be fine. Go on, protect the stray cats from the menacing trees.”

“Seriously? Why do you do that? I lied one time--”

“Several, actually.” You correct him.

Peter shakes his head. It was several times but it was about one thing. It's not like he lied about everything. He did trust you with everything. This whole thing got so blown up and even though he went into hating you, there’s a part of him that really wishes he could have done something and asked why that’s what ended your friendship. You were never an angry person and you always let people explain themselves why not him? And maybe that’s part of why he hated you, because you wouldn’t hear him out but you hear everyone else out.

“Well, thanks for that so I’m gonna keep walking.” You try to stand up but your ankle shoots lighting pain up your leg.

“Can I take you at least?” Peter asks, his voice a bit flat.

“No.” You mutter, slowly and finally getting to your feet before you start limping away.

“It’s going to take you an hour. Just let me take you and you can continue to hate me.”

You pause for a second, looking in front of you before you roll your eyes. “Whatever.” You groan. You don’t really want to walk on a sprained ankle and it would take you a long time. So, while he offers, you might as well take it.

Peter holds onto you with one arm, directing you to hold onto his neck with your arms and wrap your legs around him. You hold him tight while he swings a web above you. As you’re swinging through the air, you get a glimpse of the city and it’s pretty cool from where you are. This is what Peter gets to see every night? It’s nice and you can’t help but admire it.

“You okay?” Peter asks through a yell.

“Yep.” You answer shortly and maybe you feel a little guilty.

Maybe you should have heard him out, listened. But you were scared and hurt and maybe it was always easier to run away from it. However, Peter is still here and he’s holding onto you, despite the fact that he hates you. You know he won't let you fall and you knew down on that sidewalk, he’d never have left you. Even if you turned him down, you know, somewhere in your heart, he would have just followed you to make sure you got back okay.

“Thanks.” You mumble, letting go of Peter once you’re outside your dorm and on solid ground.

“You’re welcome.” Peter answers and you wish you could see his face. The eyes of the mask are reactive but it’s not the same as seeing Peter’s eyes. Peter never had a good poker face and you wanna know what he’s thinking. “See ya around, then.” Peter raises his arm but your words are quick.

“I don’t hate you.” The words are a rush but Peter hears them and drops his arm. “Anymore.”

The eyes of the mask narrow as he looks at you. “S-seems like you do?”

You shrug. “Well, it’s easier to hate someone who hates you, too, I guess.”

“I d-don’t hate you.” Peter scoffs. “I did but that was…when it was fresh.”

You nod with understanding. “Yeah…”

Peter sucks in a breath and maybe he can tell you everything he always wanted to be before because you aren’t friends and haven’t been. What’s the worst you’re going to do now? He knows you’ll never tell anyone about Spider-Man and you’ve already hated him. He has nothing to lose here.

“You know,” Peter swallows thickly. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry too much.”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“I wanted to tell you but I knew you’d be worried about me being out there. Most stuff is pretty easy, um, but sometimes there are bigger things and you’d be worried.”

You take a seat on the steps that lead inside the door, figuring this is more of a discussion than you intended. “I still worry about you. Always have.”

“Exactly.” He shakes his head. “I-if I know that then…what if I make a mistake and people die or I…” He trails off.

“You won’t.” You look around to make sure no one else is around. “You’re Peter Parker.” There’s a light huff coming from Peter, one you knew meant he was smiling under his mask. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you. I think, it was easier for me to hate you. I think I always liked you and finding out you were Spider-Man on my birthday and that you couldn’t just tell me, hurt. And I could have gotten over that but finding out MJ knew, too…” You shrug your shoulders. “I always thought you liked her so I felt that kind of confirmed it a little.” You pause but immediately start talking when you realize it sounds like you were only friends with him because you had a crush on him. “Not that I was only friends with you to try and date you or something. I just mean that it hurt more because of that. It felt like a deeper betrayal kind of. So, yeah maybe it was just easier for me to hate you instead of watch you get hurt and shove my crush to the back of my head.”

“I didn’t like MJ.” Peter walks over to you and sits beside you. “I, uh, I-I always liked you. Um, when you said you hated me, I decided to join you on that because it was easier than fighting to get you to hear me out.”

You laugh softly, looking up at the sky. “Well, we really could have just hashed that out three years ago. Maybe everything would be different.” You look back to Peter and he can see the sadness in your eyes.

“C-could be different now, if you want.”

“What are you talking about, Parker?”

Peter shrugs. “D-do you wanna try this? Like…go on a date…with me?”

“After all this?” You ask and Peter just nods, you can’t see it but his eyes are hopeful and he’s got a nervous smile across his face. “Okay, by the state of my ankle,” You point down. “Might have to just be a movie night here.”

“I’ll bring food.” Peter’s voice is cheery and it’s a voice you’ve missed more than you’ve ever admitted.

17k celebration

#tshwritersnet #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker au #college!peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker #peter parker prompts #peter parker imagines #marvel fanfiction #peter parker x yn #peter parker blurbs #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #kaylees17k #anonymous

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rozcdust · 2 years ago

Text

Waste it on me

Angst route

Pairing: Takeomi Akashi x f!reader

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Canon divergent, profanity, ooc, sugar daddy/ sugar baby relationship, age gap (both are consenting adults), suggestive, everyone is dumb

Taiju did the rational thing, even if he had to drag you out of the house kicking and scratching like a feral cat, awkwardly smiling and waving at a freaked-out neighbour in the process with a grown woman screaming bloody murder on his shoulder.

He called up the last therapist you shamelessly ghosted, told her ‘Ayo, she’s fucked’ and hauled your ass straight to her office, leaving only when he was sure you were inside with no way to escape.

Bastard.

“Y/n, pleased to see you again.” The therapist smiled, nodding at you to sit down on the sofa.

“‘Sup, doc?” Nodding stoically, you plop yourself down on the sofa, legs sticking over the armrest as you wiggle in place, getting comfortable.

“I’m good. By what Taiju told me, you haven’t been too good yourself.”

“He’s been snitching on me?”

“Not exactly. Just told me you’d need a talk.”

You let out an exhausted sigh, rubbing your face with your palms to soothe your nerves.

It’s been a while since you’ve been here, and you hated having to come back, even if you knew it did you well.

You liked your therapist, she was relaxed, sometimes cussing, something sharing your rage about your parents.

She was a good therapist.

“So, y/n,” The therapist tapped her pen against the paper laid out on her lap, pushing the glasses higher up on her nose, “Tell me, what has been bothering you?”

You let out a small huff, pondering how to word where your frustrations lay correctly, accurately, without sounding like a colossal asshole.

“I got into a fight with my not-partner-but-partner and best friend and said some horrible shit?”

“Why does that sound like a question?” The therapist tilted her head, shortly writing something in her notebook.

“They started it,” You huffed, crossing your arms, “Both of them got pissy at me out of nowhere and then I snapped.”

“I see. Would you mind telling me about the fights?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, suddenly dying for a cigarette, and proceeding the tale with a deep breath, recounted the events of those two evenings.

Your therapist only kept nodding, never interrupting you, jotting down brief notes in her notebook periodically.

“Okay,” The therapist took a deep breath, glancing down at her notebook as if she were carefully crafting what to say next, “So, clearly, a lot has happened at once, and also, a person you idolise has been mentioned to you in a bad context, which would be rough for anyone.”

“I don’t idolise Shi,” You groaned, frowning, “He has plenty of flaws, like, an abundance, sure, but he was a good man.”

“You may not idolise him on a conscious level, but subconsciously, he was your saviour. It is no wonder you got angry.”

“Okay, yeah, sure doc, whatever you say.”

She tapped her notebook, her cheek pressing into her palm, deep in thought.

A beat passed where no one spoke.

“How about you apologise to them first? Both your partner and Hakkai?”

What the fuck.

You shot up from your position on the sofa, eyes wide, staring at her fully baffled.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?”

“Hey, just hear me out,” Your therapist raised her arms up in defence, “You want to salvage those relationships, correct? They may have started it, but you also said some nasty shit. If you apologise first, best case, they accept it and you both move on. Worst case, they don’t accept, you move on and they feel guilty. It’s a win-win.”

You blinked.

“Doc, are you suggesting I manipulate people?”

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Yes.”

You let out a small huff of laughter, falling back down on the sofa.

“Interesting advice, I have to admit,” Chuckling, you stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to find a fault in the perfect white paint, “I’m still so angry.”

“I can tell.” The therapist nodded, motioning for you to continue.

“I’m still so angry at my parents, and angry at Shi for fucking leaving me, and angry at Takeomi and Hakkai and angry at myself for still holding onto that anger.”

“I understand.”

“Why? What is wrong with me for being so bitter?”

Your therapist smiled, softly, pulling her glasses off her nose and on top of her head.

“You know, you are allowed to feel angry. It is an emotion that deserves to be felt, stop suppressing it. It isn’t as bad as people think.”

You looked at her sceptically, and she let out a small laugh

“Sure, when turned onto oneself, or others, it is destructive, but if directed correctly, anger is ambition. Anger is a good guide to know when people are crossing your boundaries. Some of the most successful people in the world are filled with anger.”

“I don’t understand, doc.”

“Allow yourself to be angry, you had a tough life, it’s fine to feel it out. And after you feel, act.”

Bang.

Hakkai looked up from the stove, furrowing his brows.

Mitsuya wasn’t supposed to come home for at least another two hours, and since the epic fight between the two of you, there was no one to unexpectantly show up and annoy him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Turning the flame on the stove down to allow the food to simmer without burning, he wiped his hands on his apron, cautiously creeping to the door in order to twist the key.

The banging stopped.

Taking a deep breath in, he opened the door.

And was met with a fist to the face.

“WhaT THE FUC-“

“I AM SORRY!” You screamed before he could as much as look in your direction, sprawled on the floor holding his painful, but not bleeding nose.

This was almost definitely not*** what your therapist meant by ‘Utilise your anger’, but hey.

If it works, it works.

“Y/n, wh-“ Before he could finish, you plopped yourself on top of him, gripping onto his shirt, burying your face into his neck.

“I am sorry for what I said. It was fucked up.” You mumble against his neck, nuzzling your face further in.

For a few seconds, Hakkai said nothing, cogs turning into his brain as he tried to figure out what to say, to yell at you or hug you back.

“I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse it. And you’re my best friend Hakkai, and I love you so much, and I hope you can forgive me.”

He blinked.

And when you felt his arms wrap around your back, you knew you were forgiven.

“I’m sorry too.”

🔖Taglist (closed): @1818cigarettes @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany@missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @levistiddies @bxnten @spookygeto @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @kennyb0y @chaoticyuna @haitanihime @adeptiixiao @denkis-sluttyboy @wakasagurl @dontfollowmelol @yukimaniac @nahoyas-nymph @somniari-94 @haikyuu-simps-assemble @gulfkfl @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @snowyseungs @sanzuswh0re @itsyournumber1whore @lem0nsquizy @nana-phobia (second taglist in the comments! please let me know if i forgot to tag you 💕)

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #bonten #takeomi x reader #takeomi x y/n #takeomi akashi #mitsuya takashi #hakkai shiba

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lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall · 3 years ago

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Tamed Seas - Poseidon x Reader

(A/N)

This is the very first post I’m making on this equally new account and also the very first time I am ever using a second person POV for the reader. Let me know your thoughts!

The following story is just for shits and giggles. I do not own any of the characters, they are the property of Shinya Umemura and Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

Warning: Swearing from my disclaimer.

Tamed Seas

Poseidon x Reader

They were never allowed to stare.

If Poseidon never looked anyone in the eye, deeming them unworthy of even a simple gaze, then anyone other than himself were equally unworthy in looking at his wife.

Just before the meeting had started about a decision to be made on humanity’s fate, Poseidon had entered in his full regalia, his wife walking alongside him. Of course, such a prestigious couple deserved such a special entrance, as Hermes, per Zeus’ request too, played his violin most ceremoniously, a proud smirk on his face upon seeing the royal feet step perfectly on the red carpet he had immediately placed upon knowing of their arrival. Zeus’ older brother held a record of never attending meetings, much more any simple get-togethers unless they were of real utmost importance such as this one.

Shiva’s eyes grew at the sight of the couple. Even though Poseidon’s wife had originally been a mortal who had ascended to godhood, you were glowing and looked as ethereal as Aphrodite. Was he seeing things? He blinked and leaned forward in his seat. The last time he saw you was at the announcement of your wedding, then after the ceremony he never caught a glimpse of you ever again and only heard stories of your new and impressive conquests. Were you always this godlike?

As if reading his thoughts, he gulped upon finding himself at the receiving end of Poseidon’s cold and stoic stare. He shrugged his shoulders. Man, he had heard rumors of his sudden protectiveness towards his wife, but he never expected him to be this overly protective. He was merely trying to figure out if his wife was always glowing like this or not. Both figuratively and literally.

Alright, maybe he was checking you out a little bit.

Unlike the god of the seas, his wife greeted Zeus, and all the familiar gods with a warm smile. It had been ages since you had seen them all together, and the sight brought a sense of nostalgia to the days where you had first earned their favor, then their respect, and then their friendship. Although your story might not be as mighty (and as physically taxing) as Hercules’ was, you considered those ‘young’ days to also be one of your best apart from getting married to the man god who you had given your heart for and will continue to love and cherish for the rest of your life. Since you became Poseidon’s wife, you had not had much time to do leisure outside the palace, and correspondingly after heralding the title of ‘queen of the seas,’ you had taken it upon yourself to help your husband in matters concerning his own kingdom and the vast seas themselves.

“Master Zeus—” Zeus threw you a knowing look. “My apologies, Zeus, it’s such a pleasure to see you again!”

“Same here, little lady! Judging by the frequent calmness of the Atlantic Ocean, I trust you and my brother are faring along quite well?” The father of all gods chuckled, then wiggled his gray eyebrows. “Why, I must say, me and most of the other Olympians have been waiting for some new gods and goddesses to rule alongside us, if you know what I mean! Ehe he~”

Characteristic of your husband, Poseidon simply scoffed before muttering how gods such as themselves need not gossip. Blue eyes never left the Hindu god however, and unbeknownst to his wife, he lingered closer to you than usual whenever the both of you were in public.

This time, Shiva had had enough. He was sure he only looked at the direction of Poseidon’s wife only once, and admired you only once as well, yet he was being skewered by the god’s gaze for longer than what he had intentionally allowed. As if he had openly claimed you as his! He was the god of destruction for heaven’s sake, and would not allow this sacrilegious act, regardless of whoever he had to settle the score with. If it was with another prominent deity, then it would be a lot more fun. Golden eyes narrowed daringly, an equally challenging aura oozing from his form and startling the nearby gods.

“Lord Shiva, are you okay—”

“(Name). How many times do I have to repeat myself? You have no need to refer to other gods with honorifics.” Your attention whipped to your husband, who to your surprise, held a familiar, challenging stance. Unbeknownst to you but the other gods especially Aphrodite, Poseidon simply matched the challenge of the Hindu god. “You are the wife of the seas. All the other gods are beneath you, as they are beneath me as well.”

Upon hearing this, Shiva gripped his concrete armrests too greatly and it crumbled to dust under his strength. Pumped at where this interaction seemed to be heading−the thought of fighting, he stood up, arms on the ready to cause destruction. Despite being in the middle of the crowd and quite far away from the center of the stadium where the couple stood, he caught glimpse of the famous trident he would never be caught dead wielding. Now this was getting interesting!

“My rules are simple: you disrespect me, you die,” He pointed at Poseidon, which the latter found disgusting enough to scrunch up his nose.

“Should we put a stop to this, Lord Zeus?” Hermes asked behind a white gloved hand. Not exceeding any expectations, Zeus laughed after a stroke of his beard and clapped. He always was one to find entertainment in alike situations, especially after the fact that this was the only time, he and all the other gods had really felt Poseidon riled up. The expression on the god of the seas’ face remained calm but it was betrayed by the suffocating, dominating presence he emitted from where he stood.

“And after you die, your wife would become firsthand witness of realizing how your title betrays your strength,” Shiva stretched, but halfway through noticed Poseidon’s quick work of his trident. He took a stance and prepared for the parrying move.

Amidst the unexpected battle that was soon to happen, to everyone’s surprise, a whistling sound echoed along the tension-filled stadium. It was a tune most foreign to the gods, all except one. From your lips, a beautiful melody poured out as a soft gentle breeze seemed to have begun to blow. It was an old tune you had learned from one of your many lifetimes in the mortal world,

And the very same one you had sung to Poseidon that had sustained him in trying moments.

Poseidon came to a full stop, his muscles unmoving as he listened and slowly, put his trident down. What was he thinking? He should not have been swayed by a foolish taunt committed by a foolish god. He was perfection incarnate. His wife would never fall for a foolish antic, so why did he? Now he was both angry and confused with himself. How could he have allowed himself for even a moment, for others to see him angry over this? What even was this?

Without the need to look at you, relishing in your fine tunes reminded him of the initial catalyst to his reaction and an answer to his question. Whenever matters concerned his wife, his emotions, which he learned were out of his control, seemed to defy all rational logic, which, even at the very beginning of your courtship, bypassed his ego. Of course, despite these strong feelings, the one thing Poseidon had control over were his actions. Therefore, he had always had a grip on how he presented himself. Although it was still a slow progress to figuring out this foreign feeling with his wife, the only other being he deemed truly worthy to allow into his life, anyone else will never have a chance of being privy to this side of him−a sentiment that thankfully, his wife shared. Though he never admitted it, he was confused and left mulling over for some time when you had also told him before that you had meant a different thing.

“…Foolish. Gods have no need for wars, we are perfect beings ourselves. You are not the reason for my presence here and are not worthy of my time and attention.” Another long silence fell, finally broken by Poseidon, ignoring the mix of surprised and fearful stares. His legs started carrying him towards the direction of one of the high stage boxes in the stadium. “Come, (Name).”

Shiva, who had his fists out and ready to fight, blinked twice in confusion before grunting, scratching the back of his ear violently in frustration. “You Greek gods have always been boring! And here I thought I’d finally be able to cause some destruction again, this time in Valhalla…”

Other than the Hindu god himself, none would ever understand if he had riled up the Greek god on purpose for the sake of his own entertainment or, perhaps, for something more personal. Zeus, meanwhile, followed the sight of his older brother walking quietly alongside his wife. Aphrodite nodded her head in his direction, affirming his suspicions. He would never fully understand the concept of love, but hey, he did get the message that all would be damned if so much as a single hair went missing on (Name)’s hair. And it seems he was not alone in this thought, as despite Shiva’s aggressive taunting, he also managed to peak into the gravity of the god of seas’ feelings towards his wife.

After Shiva had been calmed down and more gods piled in along with the Valkyries, Zeus set his meeting in motion. From the stands, Poseidon and his wife occupied the two seats that closely resembled their thrones. Eagerly sitting beside the god, (Name) grinned. Every day she had to sit close to her husband or even at times on his lap, she always felt like her body fit snugly against his.

Blue eyes stared uninterested at the spectacle.

“Dearest?” Poseidon turned his head and met your gaze. Any dark smudges had disappeared beneath his eyes, and his mouth that was carved into a seemingly permanent frown softened. His lips went from a thin line to a gentle curve.

“Thank you.”

No more words needed to be said. Poseidon knew what you were thanking him for, and he responded by closing his eyes as though he was swallowing every ounce of serenity that emitted from you. And the taste was sweet…

Above the angry retaliation of the gods regarding the verdict of Ragnarok, Poseidon enjoyed an elusive peace. Even if it was just a simple moment like this, he set his features in calm lines and his shoulders sank−a truly rare sight, a special secret between himself and his wife.

“I don’t care about this. I am eager to go home.” Poseidon whispered under his breath.

A chuckle left his wife’s lips. “We’re going home soon, don’t fret.”

#poseidon x reader #snv x reader #snv poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon x reader #snv thor

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Text

Douse the Lights

A/N: I have no excuse for this, except I love one (1) Din Djarin and he deserves this and so do we. Enjoy! A little Happy New Year gift from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) - oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV, choking, degradation, creampie...filth. This is just filth.

STUTTER SOMETHING PROFOUND (PART 2)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop kriffing staring at me.”

“I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

“You,” with a sharp turn of your head you saw that he wasn’t even near you. Nope. Not at all.

Kriff. Awkward.

“Lothcat got your tongue, Princess?” you’d never seen his face, but Maker, you just knew there was a wicked smirk on it.

“Just mind your own business,” stowing away your clean blasters with a huff, you prayed with all your might that he couldn’t see the flush of warmth on your face or hear the crack in your voice. You hated him. Everything about him.

At least you wanted to; you would have given anything in the galaxy to. It would make constantly being around the Mandalorian that you called your employer a lot easier.

Maybe if you kept repeating it yourself, you would manifest it to become true. That you could hate that annoying, half-witted, tin can.

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” there was the most minute inkling of amusement in his voice as he came over, lithe and silent - ever the hunter. He was at your side in an instant, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cool metal of the beskar as he sent shivers up and down your spine. Along with the low pooling of heat and desire settling in your belly, but you were going to ignore that for now.

Almost as if he knew the effect he had on you, he made it a point to brush a gloved hand over yours as he nudged you to the side to inspect some of the weapons he’d tasked you with cleaning. You had to be quick in order to shut your mouth and keep a small whimper from escaping your lips.

How long had it been since someone last touched you? Maker, it had been….dank farrik. It had been way too long. A simple hand brush - there wasn’t even skin to skin contact - and you felt like a lothcat in heat. You really needed to get...some company and have your frustrations taken out or surely you would explode. There was no way you were to give Mando the satisfaction of knowing the type of hold he seemed to possess over you.

Perhaps once you were out of this more than awkward conversation you could slip out for a few hours and seek some pleasure. The little one had just gone down for a nap a short bit ago, and he was likely to be out for some time. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem for a few hours. Then you could -

“These are still dirty,” was his voice always that rough and low? He had to be doing it on purpose, surely. Before you could contemplate it too much, he took one of the blasters and shoved it back into your hands. Not rough or gentle, but with enough firmness to remind that he was in charge. You looked it over and raised your eyebrows as you inspected it yourself - it was polished to an almost pristine shine, “clean them again. All of them.”

“What the fuck, Mando,” you scoffed with indignation as you rolled your eyes at him, shoving the blaster right into of the black T of his visor. You waved it almost as if to prove your point, “this is clean. I dare you to find a cleaner blaster in this Maker forsaken galaxy.”

He was quick to your grab your wrist, his grip was firm as he kept your hand from moving. You didn’t normally argue with your stoic and mysterious employer, but this was apparently new and uncharted territory. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a shift between the two of you, something had changed. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the dullest of knives as you stared back at him.

“Clean it again,” it was a growl that went straight to your cunt as you subconsciously clenched your thighs at the sound. Either this was a one time deal that you would commit to memory or you were going to make it a point to annoy him more often. As he stared you down, he slowly let go of your wrist and pointed at the discarded cleaning rag, “and make sure its actually clean this time.”

“You are the worst,” you tried to retain the little bit of composure that you had remaining as you swiped the blaster back.

“And you are a brat,” brat. Brat. Brat. Brat. Of all the words available in all of the galaxy, he had to choose that one. This was absolutely on purpose. The Mandalorian never did anything without careful planning and calculating the risks. The same could be said with his words; this was all carefully and deliberately chosen. He cocked his head to the side, almost as if trying to gauge your reaction, “but here we are. Get them clean.”

“Or what?” it was a mere pathetic squeak as found yourself almost unable to meet his face.

“Just get it done.”

Without another word he strode away, as silent and dangerous as he was when he first came in. If you were stronger, if you weren’t a weak little fool, you would have looked away and focused on your work.

But no. Not today.

Instead you watched him go, staring shamelessly at his imposing figure as he moved to disappear back into the cockpit to do whatever it was that he did.

Was his ass always that nice? Were those thighs always so strong and sturdy? Was he always so damn broad and wide?

Shit.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you hissed at yourself as you picked the rag back up and slammed yourself back down on the bench in order to re-clean all the weapons that you had just done. He wanted clean weapons? You’d give him the cleanest blasters he’d ever seen.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost an hour had crept by when you’d finished your second round of cleaning. At this point you honestly didn’t care if the Mandalorian deemed the job satisfactory or not. The longer you had ruminated on his words, the more frustrated you became.

Each word, each touch seemed burned into your mind as you let your imagination take over. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him before. There had been a number of sleepless nights when you imagined it had been his hand between your thighs, his fingers running through your slick folds before they slipped inside of you. On nights when you really couldn't help yourself, you even imagined it was his cock, how he would feel buried to the hilt inside of you. You wondered what he would be like, but something - this day in particular - told that he was big. And he would get the job done.

But it wasn’t going to happen.

Nope. No. Nah. You were just his sidekick little employee that most definitely was not going to act on any impulsive or rash decisions. You might have been a lot of things, including a huge fool in that moment, but you weren’t that stupid. You didn’t need to create some unnecessary strain in your relationship with the stoic warrior or even worse, lose your job and home and be left stranded in a forgotten corner of the galaxy.

Even as you tried to rationalize all the ways in which acting on your impulses was a horrible idea, the frustration and the throbbing between your legs didn't wane. You were getting so desperate and pathetically needy that you sat on the edge of your small bench just at the angle so you could get a little bit of friction on your clit. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

As you rocked back and forth, trying to keep the little mewls and whines from slipping past your lips, you realized you couldn't do this.

You couldn't risk getting caught by the Mandalorian. Oh yes, everything's fine, just getting myself off. Don't worry, I'm super horny because of you. Yeah of course I'd love your cock.

Yeah. Cool, cool, cool. This would never happen.

Just when you before you reached your breaking point and had your hands halfway to your soaked core, you stopped.

"Kriff," you sighed to yourself as you pulled your hand back out and stood up. What the actual fuck had gotten into you? A few commanding words you were completely losing your control. Either you were desperate for a release from something other than your own hand or you craved the mysterious Mandalorian.

Hastily stashing the impeccably clean blasters back into the weapons cache, you discarded the rag as you quickly came up with a plan.

Tiptoeing quietly back to where the little one was sleeping, you sneaked a peek and saw that he was still fast asleep. He wouldn't even notice you were gone - that's what you tried to convince yourself as you delicately touched his soft ears and button nose.

You weren't sure if you were speaking of the Mandalorian or the baby. At this point you really didn't care.

You glanced back at the ladder towards the cockpit, watching almost as if you expected him to come down and catch you sneaking out. Hells, technically he'd know as soon as you left the ship. You scrawled a quick note telling him that you needed a cleaner or something, in your haste you couldn't even remember what you put, and would need to go to the market.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That was totally plausible, you insisted to calm your own nerves as you slipped on your boots and a cloak before making your final decision to leave. Attempting to be as quiet and subtle as possible, you slowly made your way off the Crest and started scurrying towards the nearby desolate town of Mos Eisley. In reality you looked more like a scrap rat scurrying away from the light than a woman heading into town to find something.

Whatever.

Mos Eisley wasn’t exactly known for its sparkling reputation, and you were sure you could get exactly what you wanted quickly enough. In and out, you thought to yourself as a flush rose in your check, well precisely that. For at least you were hoping.

But the Mandalorian, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for a reason, and didn’t miss a single trick. He was aware of what you were doing before you even left the cargo hold. If he was this frustrated and turned on you by you, his cock hard and straining against the confines of his pants, he was sure you must have been in the same position.

Oh, but he had been close to breaking, just like you. How easy it would have been to seal the hatch to the cockpit and relieve himself of the desire and ache. But no - just like you he had limits and wasn’t about to give in and stroke his hard cock while you were within earshot. No matter times he had imagined it - fucking your mouth or burying himself deep between your luscious heat before pounding you into oblivion, he wasn’t going to give in this easily.

He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but with your little backtalk and the way you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes and pretty pouted lips sure had him feeling like one. The thought of burying himself inside you, to watch as you bounced on his cock with your tits in his face was enough to make up his mind.

One time couldn’t hurt, right? People had casual encounters all the time.Why should this one be any different? If you were willing of course, although judging by how your pupils had dilated with each word from his mouth, had little doubt you felt the same way; but consent of course was key.

And tomorrow? You’d be back to being the same way you had always been.

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea, and the small, sensible part remaining in his brain told him so. But he was too far in, too deep and lost in his own desires to stop himself.

He was watched as you ran away, deciding to wait until you were halfway to Mos Eisley before going after you. He’d take the kid to Pelli, sure she’d more than happy to watch him for the night. The rest? That was to be all consumed by you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The old cantina was dirty, dingy, and smelly. There was no doubt in your mind it must have been at least a decade since it was cleaned, and yet it still remained a hot spot; granted not for those of politer society, but enough to get the job down. You pushed that to the back of your mind as you clambered through the crowd and to the bar, sitting down next to a handsome Zabrak you had spied when you’d walked in. You’d never been with one his kind before, but you’d heard rumors of them, especially when it came to their prowess behind closed doors, and something within you was piqued.

He must have sensed something was up - as soon as you sat down, he motioned for the bartender to come back and bring the two of you a new round.

“You’re new here,” he said gruffly, a dangerous edge to his voice, sharp like a knife as he took one of the luminescent drinks and shoved the other towards you.

Before you could even move to grab your drink or utter so much as a word in response, a hand darted and quickly grabbed your wrist, the grip biting and firm.

“She’s mine,” the words washed over you before you could even turn to look at the Mandalorian. His chest was rising and falling heavy as his visor was trained on your would be companion for the night. A shudder ran up your spine as he pulled you off the stool, the two men glaring at each wordlessly.

He pulled you behind him, storming out of the cantina as the crowds parted at the sight of the gleaming silver beskar. They knew better than to stand in the way of the Mandalorian. You felt like a child being scolded as he refused to acknowledge you, keeping his gaze trained straight as you struggled to keep up with his long strides.

“What the hell, Mando?” your question was an indignant shout as your voice climbed an octave. His grip didn’t waver for a moment as he grunted in his response. Oh, he was mad. Yup. Definitely. You had fucked up.

Any thought of talking back or prodding him further were estopped as you could see him fuming as he dragged your ass back to the Crest.

This was it, you realized. This was the end where he would fire you and send you packing. Of all the places in the galaxy to be stranded, Tatooine was not one of your top destinations. No one to blame but yourself, you reckoned.

Instead you hung your head as he refused to look back, making quick work of opening the cargo hold and shoving you inside. There was something about his touch that was rough, almost sending you falling to your ass, but there was still an odd gentleness.

You stared back at the blank visor in challenge, attempting to figure out what was going on. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he stared back at you. Neither of you were about to get a good read on each other.

“Did you really think it was a good idea to just walk away without saying anything?” his voice was dangerously low as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as you tried to come up with either a smart response or an excuse but instead of anything coherent, it was a mixture of the two. Great. Now he's going to think you were an idiot on top of everything else.

“I didn’t...just um...doesn’t matter what you...I needed something from the market?” you swallowed the lump on your throat as you dropped your gaze to the floor. He sighed for a moment - heavily - as you’d come to know was his penchant to do.

“You needed something from the market?” it wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.

“Mhmm.”

“What was it?”

“C-cleaner,” you lied. Somehow it sounded better than saying yeah, I really just wanted a quick fuck because you have me feeling some type of way.

“There's a new cleaner right in the cabinet,” he said as you internally groaned. He was right - there was a brand new gleaming bottle on the top shelf. He’d gotten some last week, “or did you conveniently forget that?”

“Umm,” you couldn’t get anything else out as he took a step closer and left minimal distance between your bodies. He reached up and put a hand under your chin, turning your face up to meet his, “uh huh.”

“Uh huh, honey,” his voice warmed you up from inside out as you gave him an innocent look. If he hadn’t known what he was doing earlier, he certainly did now. And he was going to milk every second of it, to push this as far as it would go. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, a subconscious gesture, but not unnoticed by the Mandalorian. His hand slipped from your chin and jaw and slid until he was gently holding your throat. His grip was light, and he was barely squeezing, but Maker, you wished he was, “is that really what you were going to do?”

“Y-yeah,” how much longer were you going to keep up this little facade? You had no clue. But the feel of his hand around your airway, pushing slightly, ever so slightly, had your mind positively reeling.

“Then why did you go to that filthy old cantina?” he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches from your face as you closed your eyes, the blood rushing to your ears as you the heat pooled in your belly, “why were you talking to Zabrak? Did you really think he was going to fuck you? To make you feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you managed to murmur after a few beats of silence as you realized what was happening. This was new, uncharted territory - for the both of you - and if you went any further, there would be no going back. And you - fuck it. Your eyes snapped open as you turned to look into the visor, right where his eyes would be, “needed someone to do it, since you never would.”

And there it was - finally out in the open and hanging thickly between the two of you. All you could ever was a small huff from under the helmet and you were positive he was smirking like a victorious predator.

“Is that what you want, honey?” he asked and you nodded. Give and take and then...it all broke, “get on your knees. Now.”

And you wasted no time sinking onto the cool metal floor, now level with his cock, where you could see the hardness straining against his rough fabric. Shaky fingers worked to hastily pop the button and pull the zipper, but just before you could get to what you wanted, Din roughly grabbed jaw, turning your face up to his, “you take what I give. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you promised, feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with each word. But then, with another gentle tap to your chin, he seemed almost...gentle, “Mando?”

“If you don’t want this, just say stop,” he waited for you to nod as you a sense of warmth fluttered over you at his desire for consent, “I will not be gentle, I will not-”

“Give it to me then,” you beamed at him before turning back to his cock and pulling out of his underwear. You almost moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking already; and just as your little fantasies had led you to believe, he was more than adequate.

Spitting into your palm, you took him in your hand, pumping him a few times before licking the head, just small light licks, just enough to tease. Licking a stripe up his shaft, you played with his balls for a moment, earning what you were sure was a small groan from under the helmet. Making it a point to draw it out, you shouldn’t have been surprised when his hand went to the back of your head as he pushed you onto his cock.

A sound of surprise was muffled by his cock as you took all of him into your mouth, doing your best not to gag as he hit the back of your throat and your nose brushed against the soft curls of hair at his base. Your hands slid up his thighs and found purchase on his hips as he began to fuck your mouth. He started slowly at first, almost as if he was afraid to give too much. When you grew accustomed to him, making it a point to hollow your cheeks and suck him as best as you could, he picked up the pace. And it was brutal in all the best ways, spit was starting to run down your chin along with a few tears that had spilled over, but if nothing else, it worked to spur him on.

“Look at you,” he grunted between thrusts as he took in the sight in front of him, “take me so well. Knew your big mouth had to be good for something. Always wanted to fuck that pretty face.”

You hummed in delight as you raked your nails over the exposed slivers of his skin on his hips, golden and delicious and you wanted it all. His thrusts slowly become more erratic and sloppy as he twitched in your mouth. His hand dropped from the back of your head as you took over and put a hand back on his shaft as you worked to finish him off.

Soon enough he did, followed by an almost primal growl as he came, his hot, thick, cum coating your mouth and you eagerly swallowed all that he offered, which unsurprisingly, was a lot. As his breathing slowed down and he slowly came down from the rush of his high, you pulled back from him, looking up at him with innocent eyes and a wicked smile. You cleaned him off, but just as you went to wipe at your mouth, his gloved hand was faster and he collected the spit and cum that had spilled out and pushed it back into your mouth with two fingers. You grabbed his wrist and made a show of sucking his fingers clean, tasting him along with the worn leather of his gloves.

“Good girl,” he praised before hoisting you to your feet, “strip.”

“What about you?” you turned your head to the side, but he shook his head in response. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was having second thoughts, but just quickly, he whipped off his gloves and tossed them onto the floor before putting a hand on your cheek and stroking it tenderly. You swallowed thickly before nodding and working to pull off your clothes.

First was your shirt, tugging slowly over your chest and tossed down to join the gloves. Your arm went to your back as you tugged off your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders as an almost nervous breath escaped your lips.

“Keep going,” he commanded, eyes trained slowly on you as he drank in the sight of you. You undid your own zipper and pulled your pants and panties down in one fluid motion before kicking them off along with your boots and socks. You’d never felt more vulnerable or exposed in that moment, wanting to cover up but also relishing in the fact that you seemed to have rendered the Mandalorian speechless. He looked you up down, not bothering to hide the fact as he looked at your form, glancing at your soft mound before your breasts and then landing back on your face.

Beckoning for you to come closer with a simple crook of his fingers, you did so, standing directly in front of him. His hand flitted from your cheek and down your body before resting at the apex of your thighs. You gasped lightly in surprise as he dragged his fingers through your soaked folds, coating them in your copious arousal, before chuckling darkly. A hand immediately went to his shoulder as you steadied yourself and tried not to completely lose it at the simple touch, “all of this for me, honey?”

“Mhmm,” you admitted as he gently rubbed over your clit, teasingly in the slowest, most tantalizing way possible. Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, “always think about you. Always get so wet.”

He made a small, noncommittal sound as he pulled his fingers away from your wetness and brought them to your lips. He tapped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean from your own arousal, “I’ve thought about fucking you too. That mouth, that pussy. You’re such a brat, but you drive me crazy.”

“I like when you get mad,” you said as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, “‘s sexy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice deeper and lower than ever before, and you felt your knees start to buckle at the sheer sex it exuded, He brought his large, warm hands to your tits, touching over your pebbled nipples as you bit back a moan. While you wished it his mouth on them instead, this touch was just as well, as he massaged them, trying to get a good feel of them and seeing what drew out those sweet mewls from you. But before you could enjoy it too much, one hand gripped your waist like a vice and the other went between your legs. He ran his thick fingers through your folds, before slowly inserting one into your wet heat. You moaned as he slowly inserted another and then a third, stuffing you full and already having you seeing stars in no time, “make yourself cum.”

“What?” your eyes snapped open as he stilled his actions, “you’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” he popped the p loudly as he lightly teased your clit, eyes boring into yours, “you act like a brat and you want to cum? You have to work for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” you groaned as he moved to pull his hand away, as if to show you just how serious he was. This time, you caught his wrist and held him in place. He chuckled lightly in triumph as one of your hands returned to his shoulder for balance and the other went to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves. He held completely still, a practiced and patient man, as he made you work for it. He wasn’t kidding by any means when he said he would not be gentle.

He remained quiet, watching your pretty face shift through a range of expressions as you worked to reach your own high. He was glad for the helmet, for if you had been watching him, you’d have seen the tinge of pink rising in his cheeks as the sight of you fucking yourself on his fingers. He’d envisioned this many times, no doubt about that, but he’d never thought it would become a reality. Maker, you were gorgeous as you thrust onto his hand using him for your own pleasure a string of gentle filth spilled from your lips as you rubbed slow circles onto your clit.

“Mandooo,” it was soft as you felt that familiar blinding haze start to take over you, and your toes involuntarily curled and your cunt started to clench around his fingers. Your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as your vision turned blurry and that familiar warmth started to spread all over your limbs. He felt his cock twitch from where he had tucked himself back in after you’d pleasured him. Before you could finish though, something different met your ears.

“Din,” he said as bit your lip in order to keep from crying out completely, “my name is Din.”

And there it was. Completely unexpected and out of the blue. It wasn’t just a name - no it was so much more than it. It was a sign of trust, of closeness, of the fact that whatever this little situation was, it was neither the first or only time something like this would happen. No, your story with Mando may have come to an abrupt end, but your relationship with Din was just beginning.

It was almost as his name, uttered softly and almost unsurely, was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge as you came around his fingers. A soft moan left your lips along with the sweetest sound he was sure he’d ever heard, “Din.”

A merciful man when he chose to be, he took over for you and worked you through your orgasm as you almost collapsed into his arms, “there you are pretty girl. You did so well, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

“Not enough,” you rested your against the soft cowl of his neck as he pulled his hand from you, but not before slapping your ass a few times, almost as if testing to see how far he could push you. You made a few sounds of delight at the sting, only spurring him on as he slapped and then gently needed the ample flesh of your backside, “please, need you to fuck me.”

“Is that what you need, pretty girl?” he purred in your ear as he pulled back and grabbed your face in his hands, taking in the already blissed out expression on your features, “you want me to fuck you? Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you were practically ready to beg at this point, “I’ve been wanting it for so long.”

At your words, he almost dragged you to the small bed that was reserved for you in the corner and motioned for you to sit. You watched with eager eyes as he scrambled for the waistband of his pants and hastily pulled them down and kicked them off, letting them join your discarded clothes. He practically ripped off the rest of the beskar until he was bared in front of you, save for the helmet. His cock was already painfully hard again, standing at attention and leaking fat drops of precum.

“Can I trust you?” he asked as you nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. You’d never questioned the fact that you’d never seen his face or that he apparently just never showed it to anyone. You respected him and his decisions, and you’d never dare to push the envelope or destroy his trust.

“Always,” you promised as he walked over to the wall and hit the switch for lights, cloaking the room in darkness. You sucked in a breath before you heard him shuffling about and the beskar helmet clanged against the metal floor. He stood in front of you, you could feel his breathing as he touched your cheek before wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Hands and knees,” he instructed with a delicious rasp, made even better by the lack of filtering from the vocoder of his helmet, “now.”

The singular word was enough to send a fresh rush of arousal through your veins, as you laid on your belly on the small cot before positioning yourself so your ass was in the air. He shuffled behind you, his large hands grazing over the soft flesh of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart before dragging a thick finger through your soaked folds. A small sound of pleasure rippled through your throat as you clutched onto the thin, scratchy blanket of the bed, “please.”

“Quiet,” it was harsh and biting as the palm of his hand slapped your ass, the sting delicious and leaving you wanting more, “you like that, don’t you? You like being spanked, pretty girl.”

“Only by y-y-you,” before you could say anything, he slapped your ass a few more times before kneading the soft flesh to make sure the sting wasn’t too painful.

Mando - no, Din - shifted his weight and you could feel him line himself up at your entrance. He ran the tip of his cock through your folds. A moan escaped your lips - and his - as he slowly pushed into you, giving you a brief moment to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was amazing, the slight burn quickly turned into pleasure and you felt full, so completely full. He groaned as he bottomed out, already feeling pussy dumb by the way your velvet walls hugged him, “this - kriff - this pussy is perfect. Just like it was made for me.”

“Din,” you buried your face in your pillow as he pulled out, slowly, before thrusting sharply back into you. He was not lying when he said that he would not be gentle. His large, warm hands went to your hips as he held them in a bruising grip. You were sure you’d bear his marks for days.

He set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with no mercy as he slammed his hips into yours. There was nothing gentle or intimate about, no - this was months and months of pent up frustration and desire coming out all at once. Din was not a talkative man, but as he fucked you into oblivion, he was whispering strings of filth and praise into your ears. All you could do was lie there as he pounded into you, so lost in your own pleasure as you became a whining mess under him.

Before he came, his arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you flush against his chest. One large hand went to play with your breasts as the other went to your clit as he rubbed and circled at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your mouth hung open in a blissful haze as he kept going, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your skin and shoulder, alternating between nipping and sucking and making sure to leave plenty of marks so everyone knew you were his.

“Look at you, pretty girl,” he grunted in your ear, “taking my cock so well. You love this don’t you? Getting used like this.”

“Mhmm,” you bit your lip as he kept going, kept abusing your spent pussy as he started to stutter in his thrusts, “‘m so close, please, wanna come.”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commanded as you nodded, “and I’m going to fill you up and make sure you know who you belong to.”

“I’m yours,” you insisted as you felt your walls clench around him and his cock start to twitch, “only yours.”

“Good girl,” he praised as he turned your head to place a rough kiss on your lips. It was the sheer act of the moment and feel of his stubble that sent you over the edge and cumming all over him. You were like jello in his arms as he held you up, giving you a few more thrusts before spilling inside and coating your walls with his cum, “ahh - fuck - so fucking good. Maker, you feel like no other. Perfect pussy - just for me.”

He held you tightly against his body as he caught his breath, the two of you breathing in sync. You thought he might pull away immediately, but instead, he pressed more kisses, chaste compared to your previous actions, down your back as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. You couldn’t even form words as you laid there, cockdumb and already feeling his arousal along with your own dripping onto your thigh.

“You did good,” he praised gently before reaching between your legs and scooping up some of his cum that had started dripping out. You whimpered at the touch, still sensitive, and listened as he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

Din gently flipped you onto your back so you were lying face up and exposed to him. He sat between your legs and slowly spread them apart, admiring his handy work. He leaned back before climbing off the small and getting on his knees, pulling you towards his face. Just as you had gotten on your knees for him, he kneeled only for you.

“Din,” you sighed contentedly as he kissed along your inner thighs, working his way back to your dripping heat. He nuzzled his nose against you, taking a moment to take it all in, “already so much."

"Come on, honey," his voice was like liquid gold as he reached up and touched your breasts, cupping them easily in his large hands, "you've got another one in you. I know you do. Aren't you a good girl?"

"Mhmm," you arched into his touch as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. How this infuriating man got you to become a pile of mush in his hands you'd never know, but you definitely weren't going to question it. He leaned up and kissed your hips before burying his face between your legs, "I'm your good girl."

And with those words, he licked a long stripe up your soaked folds, still soaked from your combined juices. His nose, which you presumed was aquiline in nature, nudged your clit as he ate you like a starving man. You were the shining prize, glimmering in the distance, and he was the wrecked man crossing the desert to get to you.

This time you didn't even bother to hold back as you mewled and cried, tears of pleasure and overstimulation welling up at the corners of your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Din hummed in content as he licked and suckled at you, making sure to focus on your clit as you came completely undone.

Reaching down, you carded a hand through his locks - curls - as you pressed his face against your aching core. You could practically feel him smirking against you as he slipped a few fingers inside to join his ministrations. Expertly curling his thick fingers, he quickly found the sweet spot that made your toes curls and you see stars.

"Almost there," he grinned as he gave you a moment of reprieve before diving right back in, "I can feel that perfect cunt squeezing around me. Taste so good, pretty girl."

"D-Din," his name falling from your tongue was like pure magic as he became transfixed by how it sounded. Your mouth dropped open in a small O as your legs shook around him. He pulled his fingers from you as he held down your hips in order to keep you from squirming away from him, "feelssogood - makerohstars - Dindindin."

"Come all over my face, pretty girl," his tongue darted into you for a few moments before he gave your clit a harsh suckle. That was all it took before you came again, screwing your eyes shut as he worked your through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your juices, refusing to waste even a drop, "there you are - taste so fucking good. Perfect."

He was relentless until he was sure you were completely done and a practical ragdoll on the bed. Slowly, he pulled back from you, trailing light kisses up your body, stopping when he got your face. Almost as if he was able to see even in the almost complete darkness, he wiped away your remaining tears. He hesitated for a moment for leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You sighed softly as you rolled onto your side and scooted closer to the wall, making room for him.

It was a big thing you were doing, boundaries had been crossed and blurred and any rules you'd previously had were thrown out the window. Neither of you were sure what came next.

But you did know that you didn't want him to leave - not yet anyway.

"Din?" you asked softly as he pulled the blanket over your spent body; he was surprisingly gentle for a man that had just sent you to heaven and hell and back.

"Yes, pretty girl?"

"Will you stay?" your voice was small as you prepared yourself for defeat and for him to leave.

"Yes," he whispered softly as he slid in under the blanket and next to you, "I'd like that."

"Me too," you admitted as he shifted and pulled you in his arms so you could lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump thump of his heart, "Din?"

“Hmm?”

"I'm in charge next time," you smirked lightly as you kissed his soft skin. He inhaled sharply but you could tell he was into it. The man might have just been in charge, but you had a feeling he might like being told what to do as well - and you were going to find out, "I want to ride you."

"Kriff," he groaned under his breath, "You're going to be the death of me, little brat."

"I'll make it worth your while," you promised with a small yawn, "I'll have you crying in no time - begging me for mercy."

“Mhmm.”

“You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?” it was your turn to put your hand on his throat and give it a gentle, but firm squeeze as he stiffened at the feeling, “I know you’re a good boy, Din.”

“Fuck.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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aerosiderwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #aerosiderwriting #ive been sitting on this for a while... sorryyy #its a lil messy n self indulgent but this was for Me anyway so [blows kisses to myself] for u beloved #see yall in another 4547589 months /j (hopefully)

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oonajaeadira · 4 years ago

Text

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.”

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

#soft ezra #soft!ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #fluffy smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect smut

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Note

Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I?????

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection.

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better.

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate.

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm.

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut.

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off.

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

#YOOOONGI #so cute #help me #tsundere yoongi #oblivious oc #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #yoongi scenario #bts fanfic #suga imagine #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fluff #yoongi

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emerald-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

Daydream

**gif not mine! credit to the owner**

So, I couldn't help myself. This is a continuation of my previous Bucky fic Insomnia because I just really enjoyed the dynamic between Bucky and the reader. I had a lot of fun writing this part and I love building things up between the two of them. If you guys like this or are interested in seeing more - please let me know! I love talking with people and hearing their ideas and such.

Much love xo.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2079

Warnings: cursing, struggles with mental illness, mentions of sex (nothing entirely explicit but better safe than sorry), alcohol use, and really poorly written jokes lmao

Fingers threaded into hair.

Hot, opened-mouth kisses marking every surface of your neck.

Nails trailing down his back leaving raised, red lines in their wake.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you let your head fall back and continued to rock your hips into the man in front of you.

Strong hands tighten their hold on your hips, sure to leave purplish-blue bruises for the morning.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunted, face buried in your neck as he helped your body to grind against his, “I got you. Let go, fuck, let go for me.”

A pair of slender fingers snapped in front of your line of sight, tearing you from your daydream and bringing you harshly back to reality.

“Hmm, what was that?” You blinked a few times before you turned your attention to the redhead who you, apparently, had been having a conversation with.

“Are you serious?” She laughed, “I’ve been talking for the past 10 minutes! I looked over and you had that far off, glossy look in your eyes. Not to mention you’re bleeding.”

A hand found its way to your lower lip and you realized she was right. You had been so lost in wet dreamland that you chewed a layer of skin off of your lip. You hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising in your face as you cleared your throat, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pressing the tissue against your injured lip, “guess I got lost in thought.”

“Is it one of those flashbacks again?” She asked kindly, facial expression softening.

You nodded quickly, knowing fully well that the statement was a lie. Your gaze drifted over the woman’s shoulder to the subject of your previous thoughts. It would be easier to explain the common occurrence of your PTSD than it would be to explain that you were reminiscing on the hot, steamy, passionate sex you had the night before.

Bucky was situated across the room, leaning against the counter as he talked to Rogers and Wilson. The unfortunately tight, black, short-sleeve t-shirt he was wearing left nothing to the imagination. It accentuated every muscle of the body you had gotten to know so intimately not more than 10 hours ago. His muscular arms were crossed at his chest and he was sporting his signature scowl. Everything about the sight sent a shiver down your spine. You finally had a taste and you wanted more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your friend’s voice gained your attention once more.

A small smile found its way to your lips as you met her gaze again. Apart from Bucky, Nat had always been a good trauma buddy of yours. From the beginning she had been someone you felt like you could confide in and someone who would understand your troubles. Sometimes you wondered if a requirement of joining the avengers was to have a fucked up, tragic backstory.

“I’m okay, Nat.” You reassured, “Just got lost in my head again.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe the party tonight will help you get your mind off of things,” She mused as she pushed herself from the couch to stand up. She paused briefly before she turned to you again, “you are coming, right?”

“Yeah,” you snorted, “Tony actually threatened me if I didn’t go this time, so, I guess I have to.”

After the last party you skipped out on, Tony cornered you in the hallway and gave you quite the interrogation. Then he went on a spiel about how staying in your room all day and all night was bad for you and that if he didn’t know better he would think you weren’t appreciative of what he’d done for you and blah, blah, blah. Tony really was a good person underneath all that hair gel. All he wanted was to help you break out of your shell and give you the family he knew you were lacking. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pushy asshole.

“Good, I’ll see you there. I’m sure Barnes will too.” A devilish grin painted her lips as she watched your jaw drop. Before you had a chance to say anything she was off down the hallway.

Fuckin’ Natasha.

*******

A pile of clothes littered your bed as you slipped another dress over your form. Not once in your life had you ever been concerned about what you were wearing or what you looked like, but there was something about tonight that made you want to turn heads. Your eyes raked down your figure as you twisted from side to side, admiring the way the black dress hugged your body in all the right places. Not to mention the thigh high slit in the dress showed off probably the only body part you weren’t self-conscious about. Tony, being the theatrical and over the top man he was, once said that you shouldn’t show up to his parties if you weren’t dressed to court a royal or to bring a man to his knees. Guess you were shooting for the latter.

As you put the finishing touches on your look for the evening, you felt that familiar heavy feeling settling into your chest. Your body always had a tendency to go into fight or flight mode when you became too familiar with anything or anyone. It felt like every fiber in your body was screaming for you to retreat into sweats and stay in your room, to not allow yourself this opportunity to enjoy the people you’d grown so close to. You know what happens when you let people in.

Grief, trauma, coping - it made it really difficult to live a “normal” life. Everyday tasks are daunting, it can be next to impossible to have intimate friendships or relationships, and not to mention the intrusive thoughts that infect your mind on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Here you were, the happiest you’d been in years. You were finally in a place where you felt loved, comfortable, safe - and yet your mind was trying to self-sabotage again.

You took a moment to close your eyes and take several deep breaths. When you opened your eyes you locked eyes with your reflection in the mirror and made a pact with the girl staring back at you. The intrusive thoughts and self-doubt couldn’t continue to have a hold over you anymore. You gave yourself a small smirk and nod as you made the decision to throw caution to the wind and give the party a try. What’s the worst that could happen?

*******

Come to find out, the worst that could happen would be your competitive nature overcoming the rational, thinking part of your brain; which in turn would lead you to enter in a drinking contest. Thankfully a small portion of your pink, smooth brain was still functional enough to tell you when you’d reached your limit. Now you sat comfortably on the couch, legs tucked underneath you as you joyfully watched your friends argue.

“Dr. Banner, my friend, you are one of the most intelligent people I know. However, you are wrong.” Thor stated simply as he finished the rest of his drink.

“Thor, for the last time, water is not wet!” Bruce retorted, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You let out a loud snort before thinking, “Oh yeah, water. I should drink some water.”

Your feet planted themselves on the floor and slipped back into your pair of shoes. As you made your way to the kitchen you were pleasantly surprised by your balance and coordination, considering how much alcohol you’d consumed. Seems that drinking with Thor has done wonders for your tolerance.

While you were busy searching the refrigerator for a bottle of water, you were also oblivious to the soft sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. After retrieving the beverage, you closed the door and turned to leave. Instead, you turned right into the chest of a figure that was definitely not there a moment ago. You yelped as you clutched a hand over your chest dramatically, your face filled with horror as though you’d just come face to face with the grim reaper.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” you scolded.

Bucky was holding his abdomen as he leaned back, consumed with laughter at your reaction. You huffed and wanted to be offended, but he looked so damn cute laughing that you couldn’t help but join him. You pushed his chest playfully and grumped as you hopped up to sit on the counter, opening the water to gulp about half of it down. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at your pouty state as he finished up his laughing fit.

“My apologies, sweets. Didn’t realize I’d be makin’ ya scream twice in one day.” He teased, grinning even wider as he did so.

Your jaw dropped at the comment, quickly looking around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear what he had said. After seeing that the coast was clear you kicked your foot at him out of annoyance, only for his metal hand to catch it smoothly. The two of you locked eyes, motionless for a moment before he moved closer, sliding his hand from your ankle to your thigh. In the moment, you damned yourself for choosing this particular dress. The closer he got, the faster your breathing became. The contrast between his cold embrace and your flushed, warm skin sent a shiver down your spine. Abandoning the water bottle, you ran your hands up his abdomen and chest until they rested on his shoulders. Following a small nudge from his knee, you parted your legs to allow him space to stand between them. The heat in your face at an all time high as he pressed his flesh hand to your cheek.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you.” Bucky whispered as he stroked the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Each word that left his lips had you feeling way more intoxicated than any liquor you’d had all night.

As quickly as it started, his touch was gone and his back was turned as he opened the fridge. Before you had a chance to open your mouth to ask what the hell just happened, Tony was entering into the kitchen.

“Well, well, well. Surprised to see you here, Annie.” Tony beamed as he laid eyes on you.

Yes, Tony had nicknamed you after little orphan Annie. Yes, he also referred to himself lovingly as Daddy Warbucks. Yes, any person in their right mind would probably be offended, but you were just fucked up enough that you found it kind of hilarious.

“Wish I could say that it’s a pleasure, Tony.” You grumped back, upset that you’d been cockblocked and by Tony no less.

“Never lose that spunk, kid.” Tony winked as he turned to see Bucky retreating from the fridge with a beer in hand. “Inspector Gadget! Good to see you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to encourage him, you couldn’t help but laugh. Much to your dismay, Bucky simply raised his bottle to Tony as if to say “cheers” and padded out of the kitchen.

“He has such a way with words.” Tony teased as you rolled your eyes.

A sigh left your lips as you slipped off the counter and back onto the floor, muttering a “goodnight” before leaving the kitchen and heading back to your room. Although you wanted nothing more than to find Bucky and finish what he had started in the kitchen, you came to the conclusion that you were probably too drunk and definitely too tired.

Back in the comfort of your bedroom, you went about your normal nighttime routine. As you exited the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice a piece of paper that had been slipped beneath your door. Grabbing the paper from the floor and plopping back onto your soft mattress, you opened it to read the note that was scribbled in black ink.

Never got the chance to tell you how gorgeous you looked tonight. Gotta say, I’m a big fan of that dress.

Sweet dreams.

- B.

When you finished the note, it felt as though you were floating on cloud 9. Even when you laid your head down and tried to welcome sleep, Bucky’s words were still replaying in your head over and over again - like they were lyrics to your new favorite song.

Turns out you were down for Bucky Barnes, and you were down bad.

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