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noctumbra · 3 years

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍; 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑

✧ summary ─ bucky should have realized or paid attention to the date, but he didn’t. now, he had a heart to mend and apologies to make.

✧ pairing ─ tfatws!bucky barnes x reader

✧ warnings ─ light angst, fluff, making out, kissing, cuddling, some quality time that they spend together, it honestly feels like a date, but it isn’t, apologies, reassurances, flowers, no smut in this one lads, but we have make out and kissing tags so, i’m not putting a warning for that though

✧ a/n ─ this one is a bit angsty, but like i said, it’s light. i told you in the previous part’s notes that we’re tapping into things, and well, this is the second step *eyes emoji* hope you like it! please leave a comment if you do! thank youu <33 (p.s.: correct me if the italian i used is wrong lol google translate is wrong most of the time)

an important note: starting with this part, the upcoming parts will be more about emotions and fluffiness than smuttiness although you will get three or four parts that will have smut in it. the rest will not have smut but will be heavy in emotions part.

You hummed to yourself as you placed the last plate on the table and made your way back to the oven to check up on the bread you had baking in there. It was rising very nicely, making the whole apartment smell amazing. Your lips twitched for a small smile at the smell.

Bucky had said that he was going to drop by right after a mission, and you figured he would be hungry. You decided to cook because you needed to get your mind off of things; a shitty day at work was taking a toll on you today. The cooking helped, though. You felt much calmer and collected even though the frustration and exhaustion were still humming under your skin. You knew you were going to feel much better once Bucky came, you could use a hug from him. He was a nice hugger.

Sighing, you took the freshly baked bread out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool off. You sat down on one of the chairs by the table and started waiting. It was about time for Bucky show up, anyway, so that you could have the bread while it was lukewarm.

Except, he didn’t show up.

──

“Dammit,” Bucky grunted as he dropped bodily on his couch, groaning in pain when he jostled the bandages on his shoulder. “Fucking guns,” he mumbled to himself and took off his jacket, flinging the cloth somewhere.

The mission he and Sam went was a shit show that got Bucky fuming. They had absolutely nothing about these Flag Smashers, and both of them got injured along the way because Sam’s intel had fucked up. Bucky knew better than to blame Torres, but he couldn’t help but feel irritated at the slight sloppiness. Flag Smashers were making appearances in the most unexpected times, damaging buildings and scaring people, but, thankfully, they had no casualties. They were still called terrorists, but Bucky believed that they had a secret agenda and that was why they were blowing up places; he told Sam that they were covering things up with those bombings. He seemed to agree with him on that, at least.

Bucky grunted and lifted himself from the couch, dragging his battered body to the bathroom. He needed a shower, some food, and a good sleep. If he were lucky, he’d sleep through the night and well into the morning, but if the nightmares were to knock on his door, then he had no other choice to play zombie in his lonesome apartment.

Turning on the water, he quickly adjusted the water temperature to his liking and stepped under the spray. He wasn’t worried about his bandages getting wet because he knew the scar under it was almost healed. He frowned. Sometimes he hated the serum, but sometimes it had its advantages. He definitely did not like the torture-him-because-he-had-serum part that HYDRA made him go through, though.

Bucky sighed as the warm water loosened his tensed muscles, easing some of the sore ones and making him breathe a bit easier. Warm showers weren’t his all-time preference, but the situations like this required one. Sighing once again, he soaped his body and washed it clean from all the dirt and blood. His hair took two wash to get rid of all the dirt and sweat stuck on it. After twenty minutes under the warm water, Bucky was clean and relaxed. A towel was wrapped around his waist as he padded softly to his kitchen and pulled out the leftover pizza that he put in his fridge two days ago, heating it up in the microwave, he devoured the food in five minutes.

When he went back to his bedroom, he was warm, clean and fed; the exhaustion was sitting heavy in his bones. Bucky pulled the towel free and dried his hair with it for a couple seconds, and then pulled on his boxers. Without bothering to put on anything else, he turned off the lights after hanging his towel back on its place and slipped in his bed.

It had been a while since he quitted sleeping on the ground. Lately, he was doing good on sleeping through the night thing, so he was thinking maybe the bed had something to do with it. Humming, Bucky buried himself under the covers and closed his eyes. He was out like a light.

──

When Bucky blinked his eyes open, the sun was way high on the sky. He was still in the same position; he barely moved during his sleep. Bucky groaned lightly and moved his heavy limbs under the duvet. Stretching, he felt the uninterrupted, good night’s sleep’s effects immediately. He was well-rested and was feeling energetic. His injuries were healed already, and his muscles weren’t sore. He had a small crick in his neck for staying in the same position for hours, but it would most likely to go away in an hour, so he didn’t care about it so much.

Bucky threw the duvet off his body and got off the bed, feet carrying him to the bathroom to do some cleaning business. It was roughly ten minutes later he shuffled into his room back. He saw the notification light on his phone blinking at him, and he grabbed it to check what it was.

There were texts from angel face.

“Where are you?” The first one said. Bucky scrolled through the texts, realizing that he totally forgot the appointment he made for last night. He cursed loudly at himself and immediately pulled on some clean clothes. His eyes were still reading your texts, and he froze when his eyes landed on your last text: “I needed you.”

“You fucking idiot!” Bucky cursed at himself. “You fucking dumbass! How can you─” He growled. He quickly put on his shoes and grabbed a clean jacket from his closet. It was only another ten minutes later that he was making his way to your place with large steps. The only time he stopped was when he saw a flower shop with the corner of his eyes, and without losing any more time, he changed his route towards the place quickly.

“Hello!” The man at the register greeted him with a smile. “How can I help you?” Bucky looked around breathlessly.

“I, uh,” he started and then frowned. “I fucked up? I forgot something that I shouldn’t have and I need to apologize─” The guy smiled even wider at him as he held up his hands. He told Bucky to give him a minute with his hands and disappeared at the back of the shop. Bucky paced around in the small place; his blue eyes moving from one pretty flower to another. He saw little plants adorning the walls and thought maybe I should get myself a plant, but he quickly discarded the idea when he remembered that he wasn’t home most of the time.

“There you go,” the guy emerged, startling Bucky a little. “Purple Hyacinth. It means ‘Please, forgive me’, so it should work. It also smells nice.” Bucky thanked the guy, pulled out his wallet and paid for the bouquet, and then broke out a run as soon as he was out of the shop.

Five minutes later, he was panting right in front of your building. Luckily for him, just as he stepped onto the stairs leading the heavy doors of the building, the door opened and Bucky slipped inside in a blink. He took the stairs three at a time, and soon he was knocking your door. Bucky heard shuffles coming inside the apartment and heard the door bolt.

“What─ Oh.”

Bucky smiled apologetically. “Hi,” he said. “I came here to apologize.” You frowned. You looked like you’ve been crying, Bucky noted, and his heart broke at the thought of you crying because of him. “I did something very stupid and was an asshole. I would like to apologize.” You sighed lightly and opened your door to him, signaling him to step inside. He thanked you quietly and took his shoes off.

“You didn’t come last night,” you murmured as you locked your door again. “I’ve waited for you.” Bucky growled at himself angrily.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I… Well, I forgot that we had an appointment. I was tired and beaten up, was sleepy, too, and I was barely able to take a shower before I passed out.” He sighed deeply. “These are not excuses.” He held out the bouquet to you. “I’m so sorry for not showing up last night. I forgot, and I shouldn’t have. I should’ve at least let you know that I wasn’t going to make it, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry.” You reached out with slightly shaky hands and cradled the bouquet in your hands gently. You brought them up to your nose and took a deep breath of their nice smell. You hummed.

“Hyacinths, huh?” You said. Blushing slightly, Bucky shrugged.

“The guy at the flower shop said they mean ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole’, so I bought them,” he murmured, face going redder. You chuckled. You didn’t say anything but started walking to your kitchen to find the flowers a vase. You opened your cupboards only to see that the vase you’ve been looking for was on the top shelf. “Lemme get that,” Bucky stepped forward and quickly grabbed the vase; his front was resting against your back and his body heat was seeping into yours. You sighed.

You wanted to be mad at him for not showing up last night, but it was challenging. He did tell you that he was going to stop by right after a mission, so him forgetting the appointment was something you should have expected. After all, you did see how he was right after a mission; he was almost dead on his feet and exhaustion was written all over him. So, you sighed again, deeper this time, and leaned against his chest. Bucky made a soft sound. He put the vase on the counter with one hand and closed the cupboard with the other before he wrapped his arms around you.

“You said you needed me,” he whispered gently. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You shrugged. Turning around in his embrace, you wrapped your own arms around his thick waist and buried your face into his neck.

“Work was shitty this week,” you mumbled against his t-shirt. “Had a very tough and tiring day yesterday. Was looking forward to spend some time with you.” This time the sound Bucky let out was a broken one. His arms tightened around you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, lips grazing against the skin of your forehead. “I’m sorry.” You shrugged again. You felt really bad when he didn’t show up, but he was here now. “Tell me how I can make it a little better?” He asked, pulling back just a bit. “Have you had breakfast?” You frowned and shook your head. “Wanna go out and have breakfast? I know a nice place.”

“Really?” Bucky nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. You pulled back and placed the flowers into the vase, adding some water. “Give me ten.” Bucky smiled.

“Sure, I’ll be in the living room.” With a curt nod, you made your way to your bedroom to change.

──

It was… weird. You weren’t going to lie to yourself; you liked how Bucky wanted to make sure that he apologized thoroughly and wanted you to feel better than you did yesterday, but this? You didn’t expect this.

Both of you were walking to the place he talked about while holding hands; his large and warm palm felt really nice closed around yours. There was a wind outside. Even though it was almost noon, the weather was chilly, and the sun decided to go back in her nest instead of shining brightly down at people. So, you were tucked against his side securely. His right hand was holding your right while his metal arm was thrown over your shoulders. He was practically covering your back with his jacket, and you couldn’t help but snuggle deeper into his body.

“I found out about that place when I had a really bad nightmare and had to get out of the apartment,” he murmured softly, his eyes were locked ahead. A small frown appeared between your brows. “I needed fresh air, and the windows weren’t enough.” You hummed sadly as you half-buried your face into his chest. “They make mean chicken soup,” he added, then. “Reminds me of my Ma’s.” He smiled. “Some other day I’ll take you out to try that soup, alright? We’re having breakfast today.”

“Okay,” you said, agreeing easily. “I do like chicken soup, though.” Bucky chuckled. A soft rumbling noise came from his chest, and you found that you loved the noise very much. You hid a smile in his chest.

“Who doesn’t?” He asked. “I’m sure everyone loves chicken soup.” You hummed happily. His body heat was warming you so nicely, so sweetly, you never wanted to let him go and just wanted to cuddle him forever. “It’s right there,” Bucky said, making you perk up. He was pointing at a cute diner at the corner of the street. “Come on.” You quickened your steps, and in ten seconds, Bucky was opening the door for you.

Inside of the diner was homey. It had warm colors everywhere and dim, yellow lights all around. It was homey and cozy, you immediately felt warm. There was music playing on the background, but it wasn’t too loud. You could hear it although it was a little hard to understand the words, but you could say it was some jazz song. For a small place, it was almost packed. People were occupying the tables as two or three people groups; they were talking with each other, but they weren’t talking loudly. It gave the place a small chattering noise, but that was it.

You felt Bucky’s hand on your back, leading you to a table next to the window gently. You let him guide you. When you sat on your seats, got rid of your jackets, you smiled at him.

“This place is so nice,” you murmured. Bucky returned your smile with his wide one. “I’ve walked past by this place so many times, but never thought of trying it. Now I’m regretting it.” Bucky chuckled.

“You’ll come here often from now on then,” he said, shrugging. Then, he raised his hand to call for a waitress. His face changed a bit, not in a bad way, but he went a little red in the cheeks. You frowned. “Please do not listen to anything she says.” Your frown deepened as a questioning look appeared in your eyes.

“Jamie,” you heard right when you opened your mouth to ask him what was happening. “You been away.” Bucky nodded.

“Got some travel done for business,” he said with a soft voice. You looked at the elderly woman standing by you. She must have been on her late fifties; her hair was completely white and braided, draped over one shoulder, and she had warm, green eyes. Her thin lips were stretched with a smile, showing off the dimples on her cheek.

“I hope you care for yourself,” she said; her warm green eyes immediately harden. Bucky blushed harder. You couldn’t help but let an amused grin took over the control of your lips. It was fun to see him blushing like this.

“I am,” Bucky murmured like it was paining him to say it. You chuckled silently. He sent you a pointed look, but that only made you grin harder. The woman hmphed.

“Alright,” she huffed. Then, she saw you. “Oh. Hello.” She frowned for a second before her face lightened up.

“Adriana, no,” Bucky said. Adriana grinned widely and happily. Uh-oh, you thought. Something was coming on your way; you could feel it. “No,” Bucky repeated. Adriana huffed at him and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“Hello, cara,” she turned to you. “It’s so nice to see Jamie coming here with someone.” Her green eyes were warm again, and they were sparkling happily. “This idiota only bring himself.” You felt your cheeks heating up.

“Hello,” you murmured shyly. Adriana smiled.

“You’re very pretty,” she said like she was giving you a secret. Your cheeks were on fire, now. “Capisco perché l’hai portata qui.” You could see Bucky rolling his eyes.

“Adriana─” Bucky interjected, but he got stopped with another wave of Adriana’s hand.

“Hush, boy,” she said to Bucky. Then, she looked at you, saw how shy you got and decided to let it go. “Bene. Please do come back, though. Don’t wait for this bimbo.” You nodded. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but it was okay. You liked Adriana. She made an approving sound and placed the menus in front of you. “You decide and call for me.” You nodded again with Bucky. She winked at you before she left.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. You chuckled.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged. “She’s cute. You know her?” Bucky frowned lightly but nodded. “She seems like a nice person. She cares about you, that’s for sure.” Bucky’s cheeks reddened a bit more. You grinned. “Loves making you blush.” He rolled his eyes. You giggled.

“She’s… nice, yes.” His eyes followed Adriana as she moved between the tables. “She… She found me when I was about to lose it in an alley. She was out to put the garbage out, and I was by the can and… I had a nightmare, y’know, so I was a bit out of it. She helped me come back.” Bucky took a deep breath. “She gave me that chicken soup I told you about, and I cried over it because it was exactly like my Ma’s.”

You reached out and held his hand into yours. “I’m glad you had her when you needed someone.” Bucky smiled. His thumb stroked your knuckles.

“Me too,” he whispered. “Did you know that Adriana is technically my niece? It’s a bit complicated because the timeline, but her great-grandmother was my Ma’s sister. We had roots in Italy.” He pointed at Adriana who was talking to the guy on the register. “She’s last root I have left in Italy.” You looked at Adriana with wide eyes. Now that he mentioned, you could see the slight resemblance.

“No way?” You asked him. Bucky smiled and nodded. “Holy shit. She’s family?” Bucky nodded again. “Bucky! That’s… that’s great!” His smile widened just a little. “Does she know?”

“Probably,” he said. “We didn’t sit down and talk about it, but I’m sure she knows. She never made a big deal about it, though.” You got up from seat to sit next to Bucky instead of front of him. You hugged him sideways. He froze for a second, but he slowly relaxed. He looped his arms around you, too, and you stood like that for a minute or two. You only parted when your stomach complained about not being filled with food yet. Bucky chuckled.

“Let’s order.”

──

You unlocked the door of your apartment and stepped inside, Bucky at your heel. Both of you were chuckling at a memory Bucky told you about the Howling Commandos. He had a lot of stories like that, he mentioned you, and you demanded to hear one.

“Geez,” Bucky said, still chuckling. “Dum Dum was in such shit that day.” You giggled. With a little wiggling, you pulled your shoes off and hung your jacket.

“They sounded like a great bunch,” you murmured. Bucky hummed. He looked thoughtful for a minute, and you regretted bringing it up. You were about to apologize when he turned to you with a large smile.

“They were,” he nodded. “I miss them something terrible, but the past is past.” He shrugged. You inched closer to him. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt talking or thinking about them. It actually makes me happy because I can remember them and the time we spent together.” He winked at you. Then, he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your small squeak, and carried you to your bedroom. “Why don’t you change into something comfy and I’ll make us a hot cocoa?”

“What did you to your asshole self?” You asked, making him snort. “I don’t want him to make a raging comeback.” He giggled.

“He’s fine,” Bucky said. “He’s resting. This is his goodie side. Enjoy while you can.” You chuckled, shaking your head. He kissed your forehead. “Get comfy. I’ll be back in five.”

You did as he told you with a soft smile on your lips. As you shed your clothes, you thought about the day you had. It oddly felt like a date, but you didn’t want to go down that path with one outing. It would be giving yourself a false hope, and you hated those. It was very nice to spend a whole day with him without sex. He showed you a side of him that you’ve never heard or seen. He talked to you about his family, the Commandos, and some of the struggles he went through before you came into his life. You were aware that he was skirting around the Steve subject, but honestly, you couldn’t blame him for that. You knew that Bucky didn’t see it as something selfish, but you did. It was not your place to speak about it, though.

You sighed as you made your way back to the living room, smelling the amazing smell of hot cocoa that was coming from the kitchen.

“You were supposed to stay on the bed,” Bucky complained. You rolled your eyes.

“Nah, we’ll cuddle on the couch,” you said. “Have you seen the Good Place?” Bucky frowned and shook his head. “Great, we’ll watch that tonight then. You’ll like it.” He shrugged and started to pour the cocoa into the mugs. “Hey, how did you know I had the ingredients for it?” You asked, realizing a bit too late. Bucky went pink.

“I sort of saw and smelled when I was getting the vase,” he murmured.

“Ah,” you hummed. “Pervert.” He made a confused sound.

“Pervert?”

“Yes. Cocoa pervert,” you said. Bucky laughed. “Now gimme me my cocoa.” He shook his head, but he had a fond smile on his lips. He grabbed the mugs and brought them over as you fiddled with the remote and found the Good Place. Bucky sat down next to you, placing the mugs on the small coffee table. You grabbed yours immediately and took a tiny sip, getting some cream on your nose. “Dammit,” you grumbled, putting the mug down. Bucky giggled. His long fingers took a hold of your chin, and he turned your head towards him. He wiped the cream off your nose and licked his finger clean.

“You also have some…” He murmured and leaned in. His tongue licked your upper lip. You gasped lightly. “Had a mustache.” You chuckled.

“Did I look good with it?” You asked him. He scrunched his nose adorably.

“Nah,” he said. “Not everyone can pull that look off. Not even you.” You hummed, an amused smile on your lips. You carefully climbed on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. His eyes darkened. His hands came to rest on your hips, and you leaned in to capture his lips into a kiss.

Bucky let out a broken groan as soon as your lips touched. His hands tightened on your hips, and he straightened up, plastering his chest to yours. You hummed into the kiss, tightening your arms around his neck. You parted your lips when he licked them, asking permission. You moaned when your tongues met, starting their dance immediately. Whimpers and groans mixing together, you lost yourself into his kiss. His hands were groping your hips, dragging them down your back, getting wind up in your hair… They were everywhere. You pulled back for oxygen. Your eyes were closed, and all you could feel was Bucky and his presence.

“You don’t want your cocoa to go cold,” he whispered, kissing your lips chastely. You hummed again. Bucky smoothed your hair, brought a hand on your cheek and stroked it softly. You sighed happily, leaning into his touch like a cat. Bucky huffed. “Come on, kitty,” he murmured. You smiled. Dropping yourself on his right, you grabbed the blanket that you left on the arm of the couch, you draped it on your bodies. Bucky handed you your mug, which you took it with a soft kiss on his cheek, and then he pulled you against his body.

You pressed play and started watching the Good Place with Bucky’s warm and solid body behind you, his heavy arm around your waist and with a mug of hot cocoa in your hand.

──

Your phone pinged three days after you cuddle session. You couldn’t help but smile widely when you remembered back at that day. It was such a good day, you thought. After finishing your hot cocoa, Bucky carried you to the bed because you got sleepy. It was early still, but you had the exhaustion of the week ruining you. You asked Bucky to stay, and he did. Without hesitation, he pulled off his jeans and hoodie and joined you on the bed. When you woke up, he was still there, sleeping. You prepared the breakfast together, joking and cooking together and sharing kisses here and there. It was a beautiful morning.

With a smile, you unlocked your phone.

“July 30th,” it said, and your face fell. It was eleven days later. It was too long. “Sorry, I know. Something came up that needs me out of the country, I’m sorry, baby.” You sighed sadly.

“It’s alright,” you wrote even though it wasn’t.

“I bought you something and want you to wear it to work, okay? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to your place together.” You bit your lip. “We could have dinner before we do, though. I can eat. Anytime, you know it :d.” You chuckled.

“I know, you jerk,” you sent. You got another laughing emoji. “You’re not going to tell me what you bought, aren’t you?”

“Nope. Where’s the fun in that?” You groaned.

“I don’t like you.”

He sent you a kissy face. “That’s because you love me. I gotta go. I promise I’ll try to come back in one piece.”

“You better, mister,” you sent, ignoring the first part of his text. He sent you another kissy face and went offline. You took a deep breath. Your fingers hovered over the small keyboard on the screen. You have already crossed a lot of lines, what was one more, right?

“Miss you already,” you wrote and sent, locking your phone right away. It was a minute later when your phone pinged.

“Miss you, too, baby. Take good care of yourself for me.”

You smiled.

You were unaware of the path you just chose to go, but maybe you weren’t aware of it because it wasn’t scaring you anymore.

──

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #tfatws!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #tfatws!bucky #tfatws!bucky barnes x you #forgotten

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roscgcld · 3 years

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HEADCANON + FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || relationship things

request: Can you do sfw and nsfw relationship hcs for Fushiguro

note: hello love! i wouldn’t mind doing some hcs for our little shy bean! tbh, i am not going to lie, this did not take me long to thing lmao - this is my first nsfw work on this blog tho! so this was definitely fun.

pronouns: them/they

note: aged-up!fushiguro! x reader, nsfw content below - please skip if you’re uncomfortable

other than that, enjoy~

sfw

if you two ever share a home together, i feel like he’s the kind of guy who would string fairy lights around your home because it’s cozy to him?

definitely have dog themed couple items - matching dog themed slippers, mugs, even decorative plates if you allow him to

bet you they are both modelled after his shikigami dogs - since they were the first shikigami to submit to him. so they always hold a special place in his heart

i feel like even though he trains hard, he still likes to keep his hands in good condition. so there is tubes of hand lotion scattered everywhere, at the most random of places by the way

speaking to that - you two might have manicure weekends at home; where he’d spend some time just trimming and caring for his hands and fingernails. he’d do yours if you ask him to

sometimes he’d come home dead tired and just collapses on you wordlessly - wrapping his arms around you tightly whilst burying his face into your neck

would sigh in content when you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, just running your fingers through his hair gently and tracing your fingers down the back of his neck

if you try to ask him about work, he’d either tell you everything in detail or nothing at all - there is no in between

most times it’s just him grumbling about gojo and yuji, who he’d once said they both ‘shave so many years off my life just by breathing’

when he’s away on missions, he’ll call you just so you two can go about your day. no words are needed, but he just wants to hear you go about your day. it calms him down, and reminds himself that you’re going to be there for him

weekend visits to his sister - who survived the Shibuya incident and is now recovering slowly under the care of Ieiri (this is not canon by the way - in the manga we still have no idea how things are gonna turn out for her after the whole Geto thing)

having random members of the zen’in clan coming to your shared home asking if you’d talk to them about trying to convince fushiguro to become a zen’in

if fushiguro is home at the time, he’d send his devine dog on them; listening to their terrified screams with a pleased smile as they ran away from your home

“that’s not really nice, gumi.”

“yeah, yeah - wanna go grab some bingsu?”

honey, you are set for life by the way - mans can cook a bomb ass meal. and from what we know, learns quick too. so if you want to try something new, just give him a few minutes to google and watch a tutorial on it and i bet your ass he can recreate it down to a t

feel like he gives the best massages - don’t tell me otherwise. his hands are definitely made for more then just battles

enjoys it when you would whisper sweet nothings to him after a long week of work - getting more and more cuddly the longer you shower him in praises

he’s more talkative around you compared to others, more willing to share his emotions and how he’s feeling - even though sometimes he finds it hard to find the right words

he lets you wear his clothes - shirts, sweaters, hoodies, sweats. you name it, he’d just gives it to you. finds it cute how you’re drowned in the fabric

enjoys blow drying your hair; idk, i just see him with a peaceful expression on his face, carefully blow drying your hair for you after a warm shower together

would give you actual advice on your outfit - i feel like he’s the one who helps yuji and nobara put together their outfits together whenever they go out of town

nothing is out of place in your home - there is always a compartment for it, or a space on the shelf, or in a drawer

cooking dates together - if you can’t cook, he’ll teach you. if you can cook, you two will try something new together

feel like he’s a dark chocolate fanatic - so you guys will always have a shit ton of chocolate in your home

on some days you’ll come home and just have nue stretched out over your living room, your boyfriend just watching the tv before him whilst petting the owl-like shikigami like it’s a domesticated cat

“oh, hey babe.” he’d greet with a casual nod at you whilst you stand in the hallway, blinking in confusion

idk, i feel like you two have a chilled but lowkey chaotic relationship - since he is friends with gojo, yuji and nobara. but it’s still really loving, with more physical instead of verbal shows of affection. you’ll be treated like a queen/king, and as long as megumi has it, he will make sure you know how much he loves you, even if he’s not by your side due to work

nsfw

okay, i get he’s all innocent and is dense in everything else besides jujutsu - but you have to remember this dude’s dad is fushiguro fucking togi

don’t tell me this man is kink-less - there is no fucking way

i mean yeah, when you two first get down and dirty together, i feel like he’s all awkward and unsure at first, since he didn’t want to hurt you

but i get this vibe that he knows exactly what he wants - but let’s remember he’s still a shy bean that refuses to do anything with you until he is 100% comfortable

stress sex happens often - i can bet you that this man will probably come home with a dark look on his face, push you onto the nearest flat surface and just grinds against your ass

people keep saying that he’s a boobs man - and i can see that. doubt he really gives a shit about the size, he just enjoys how he can play with your nipples and have you squirm underneath him

he enjoys tugging your hair - there is just something about wrapping your soft strands between his fingers whilst he fucks you hard; hearing your voice loud and clear

feel like he’s a doggy man; enjoys running his large hand down your back and gripping the back of your neck. how he can shove your face into the mattress whilst fucking you silly from the back

lowkey has a dumbification kink - enjoys whenever you fucked so good by him that you’re basically drooling and babbling absolute nonsense at him

enjoys leaving hickeys on places you’d never notice at first - on your back, back of your hip, small of your back, shoulder blades. he enjoys you coming up to him with a blush on your face and smacking his shoulder, whining to him that nobara and maki saw the hickeys he left all over to you

bruises on your hips are also a common thing too - he’s hands are so strong and rough that sometimes he just forgets that your skin is delicate and you can bruise easily. he’ll apologise, then add new ones on top of the old ones

enjoys choking you as well - loves to feel your racing pulse under his fingertips and how you tighten around him whenever he tightens his old around you more

dacryphilia - definitely feels a thrill go through him when you’d look up at him with tear soaked lashes and stained cheeks. makes him take you harder

doesn’t always enjoy a blowjob - idk why, i feel like he’s more into giving that receiving. goes with his dacryphilia kink too - will stay with his head between your thighs until you’re crying and shaking whilst you try to push him away

definitely enjoys pinning you down, either with his hands or with ropes and handcuffs, but he’s not interested in the entire bdsm thing

enjoys buying you lacy lingerie, regardless of what gender you are, and just have you put them on to show him; only to then rip it off of you as he pins you down on the sofa

he’s somewhat of a soft dom, he wants to protect you and always make sure you’re going to be enjoying yourself. but he’s not above using your body for his own pleasure

he’s not a loud man - a loud grunt from time to time, low groans and growls. but he’s not loud in bed. but enjoys it when you’re loud

man loves the aftercare process - cleans you up gently with a towel, making sure you’re hydrated, getting you snacks if you’re hungry, rubbing your sore muscles. he views it as intimate and cherishes those moments when you lean on him the most

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youreatotalposer · 2 years

Text

First Date

(Yelena Belova X Reader) - 18+ Suggested Content.

A/N: Hi this was requested by @alotofpockets, I hope tis was enough fluff for your heart break.

WARNING: Mentions of Sexual Content

сука = bitch

вставать = get up

[ used google translate pls dont come for me]

I woke up to my phone ringing loudly, I groaned as I picked up my phone to see that it was Yelena Belova calling me. “Someone better be dead or close to dying for you to be waking me up Belova” I could feel her smirking on the other end of the phone. “Nope, just a wake up call. Its noon and I am currently outside of your house.” I groaned “The key is under the mat just come in.” She hung up the phone and I heard the front door open. “Honey I’m home,” She stated drawling out the home part a little too long. Yelena made her way up the stairs and I laid back down and covered my head with the blankets.

“вставать” She stated in Russian, I shook my head No and she sighed. “I will get into this bed with you.” I started laughing, “Well I am naked so I wouldn’t if I were you.” Yelena smirked and got under the covers. I lied, I was fully clothed in sweats and a t shirt. She gasped, “сука” I busted out laughing, she pulled me close to her and started tickling me. “Yel- Yelena stop I can’t breathe” I said trying to catch my breath. She smiled and pulled me close to her, “Now I don’t want to get up.” I smiled and cuddled into her, “Good now sh I want to go back to sleep.” She began to play with my hair and rub my back. I quickly fell back asleep.

I woke up to an alarm going off and I was still being held by Yelena. “It is now time to get up?” She said half asleep. I checked my phone and quickly got out of bed, “YELENA WE SLEPT ALL NIGHT?” She sat up, “That Y/N Y/L/N is why I do not get into bed with pretty girls.” I felt my cheeks getting red. Yelena did sleep around, but she was my best friend so why should I care what she does. “I need to shower.” I stated, she smirked. “Can I join?” I started laughing, “Sure just come on.”

After we showered, I made coffee and she sat at the bar staring at me. “Can I help you?” I asked the blonde, she shrugged “Have you ever thought about You and I?” I almost choked on my coffee. “You and I? Me and You? Like Yelena and Y/N” She rolled her eyes, “Yes, us.” I smiled. “Duh, you’re my best friend of course I’ve thought about it.. but you are busy with work and other girls and we are good the way we are.” She kind of looked hurt, and I sipped my coffee. “Go on a date with me.” I looked at her confused “Give me one shot to show you that, I am better than all the other girls in your life.” I smiled, “Fine, One date. On one condition.” She looked at me intently “We go to the aquarium.” I said excitedly. She smirked, “Deal, I’ll be back to pick you up in about two hours.” She got up and walked straight out the door. I leaned back on the counter smiling.

-2 hours later-

I heard a knock at the door, I grabbed my wallet and keys and opened it. Standing there was Yelena holding a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.” She said smiling proudly, “You are too cute, give me a sec ill put them in water and then we will go!” I ran back inside and put the flowers in a vase with water. I walked back outside where Yelena was holding the passenger door open for me. “Wow, a what a gentlewoman.” I said smiling and She smirked. She got in the car and drove us to the aquarium, the whole car ride there she held my hand. What has gotten into her?

We parked and walked inside giving the lady at the front our tickets. “Enjoy!” She winked at us, I didn’t even realize that Yelena was still holding my hand. We walked around for a bit and we were in the shark tunnel when she looked at me, “What?” She put her hand on my cheek and pulled me into a kiss, I wrapped my arms around her neck and kissed her back. The kiss was soft and sweet, we’ve made out before hell have even had sex, but this.. this was different. I pulled away from her and she looked worried, “I am sorry if I over stepped, I- just” I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Shut up, I had to breathe at some point.” She smiled at me, “Just going to ‘shoot my shot’ here. Y/N will you go out with me?”

“Yes, you dork.” I smiled at her.

Tag List: @alotofpockets, @svftpetker, @nats-dreamland, @catasha

@gigistylestomlinson , @latincrimefan, @hot4milfs, @atlas-nex, @marvelwomen-simp , @yelenabelovaisthebettersister

#yelena x you #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #florence pugh #black widow #kayak fics #mcu phase 4

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serendipitous-magic · 3 years

Note

What is your writing advice for young people who want to write fanfiction and original stories in the near future?

If this is just Way Too Much, skip to the end (#16). My most important piece of advice is there. I also happen to think #5 is pretty good.

-_-_-_-

1) Literally just write. Write whatever you want, and do a lot of it.

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2) You don’t have to post everything. In fact you don’t have to post anything. You can, don’t get me wrong, but it can be intimidating to sit down and think “I will now write something that other people will see and read and judge with their eyeballs.” Because that’s probably gonna lead to nerves and writer's block. Just write down the ideas that you have, the things you want to write, whatever’s in your brain that you want to explore and expand upon and make into something. And then if you want to, share it. Or don’t share it. I have plenty of half-baked ideas and documents and random story chapters and shit hidden away on my Google Drive that will never see the light of day, for a whole number of reasons. I wanted to write it but it wasn’t ~Spicy~ enough to warrant posting, or it’s only like an eighth of a good idea, or it’s like one scene with no story around it, or it’s just something incredibly self-indulgent I just wanted to write for my own enjoyment.

Point being, don’t write for other people. Don’t write so that other people can read it; write what you want, write for yourself, and then if you want to share it, do.

_-_

3) You can pretty much ignore any and all of these for fanfiction. In fact, you can ignore pretty much any rules or guidelines you want for fanfiction. Fanfic is a sandbox. You don’t have to be a “professional writer” to post fic. No one expects you to be Stephen King or Margaret Atwood. Fanfic is just for playing in a fandom and having fun. If you wanna write a 50 chapter slow burn with very little plot aside from the OTP slowly getting to know each other, and no real stakes or central conflict, I guarantee people would read that. Really, fanfiction is the Old West of writing: lawless, wild, unpredictable, and free.

However, here are the rules you must follow:

-Separate your paragraphs. (I’m sure you know this already, but I’m gonna say it anyway just in case.) Do not post one big block of text. Make a paragraph break when someone new is talking, when the characters are in a new place, when a new event occurs that changes the scene, when a chunk of time has passed, and when there’s a major change in subject.

-I know it’s obvious, but... grammar, punctuation, and capitalization. They exist to make writing easy for readers to read, and more people will read your stuff if they don’t have to stop and try to figure out what you meant.

-Use tags and labels, as is possible with whatever site you’re using. Especially if you include possibly triggering content in your story. Again, I know it’s obvious, but it’s common courtesy. Bonus: tagging the themes and content of your story helps readers find it and read it :)

-If possible, limit the use of all-caps and exclamation marks / question marks. 99% of the time, one ! or one ? will do. If you overload the page with a lot of all-caps and long rows of exclamation marks or question marks, it hampers readability.

... That’s literally all I can think of. And, like I said, it’s all pretty basic stuff. You were probably rolling your eyes like, “Uh, yeah, Gwen, I know.” But that’s literally it. You can pretty much do whatever you want in fanfic.

That being said, here’s my advice for both fanfiction and original work...

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4) A quick and dirty rule for coming up with a plot, starting a story, keeping up pacing, or maintaining tension: figure out what dreams, desires, and goals are nearest and dearest to your main character’s heart (see #16). Then set up the main conflict to be directly in opposition to that goal. It doesn’t have to be in a tangible way, though it could be. But, if your main character wants more than anything to reach the ships on the southern coast of your world and sail to a new life, make sure the main conflict immediately prevents them from doing that - in fact, make sure to send them north. If your main character just wants to keep their loved ones safe, kidnap the loved ones. If your main character just wants to date their best-friend-turned-crush, make sure they think they have no chance - or, make them cocky about it, and make sure it makes Person B determined not to ever like them. You get it. Figure out what your character most wants, and then keep them from having that. Boom - your conflict now ties in with your character's motivation. It's like instant yeast for plots.

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5) If you’re anything like me, you want your first draft to be Good, despite all that advice about how the first draft doesn’t have to be good and it’s just to get words on the page, yadda yadda. And if you’re somewhat of a perfectionist (like myself), it’s easy to get stuck looking at a blank page because you don’t have The Perfect Words, and you want what you write to be Good the first time.

Here’s how I cheat that:

Instead of trying to write a Good First Draft from a blank page, hit the enter key a few times, skip a little down on the page, change your ink to red (or blue, or whatever - just something immediately identifiable as Not Black) and just thought vomit. Write whatever the hell you’re thinking, exactly as you think it. Don’t worry about it being readable, don’t worry about narrative flow for now, don’t worry about covering all the details, don’t worry about anything except either a) getting all the details of your idea out onto the page, whether that’s a lot or whether it’s just a sentence or two, or b) if you don’t have an idea yet, finding your way there.

Because this method is also very good for finding your way to ideas when you’re stuck in writer’s block.

Because of how human brains work, getting this stuff out onto the page - in all its messy, stream-of-consciousness glory - will likely spark more thoughts. As you write your original idea about the scene, it’ll likely spark more ideas. Creation begets creation. If you just start thought-vomiting your ideas onto the page, chances are you’ll think of more things as you go, and you’ll start filling out description or dialogue or tone or action or whatever, and pretty soon the scene starts writing itself.

Not sure where you’re going with the scene or which ideas you wanna use? Use a lot of ambivalent language in your “thought-vomit draft.” My pre-writing notes are chock-full of the words “maybe,” “perhaps,” and the phrases, “At some point...” and “...or something like that.” In this way, I don’t tie myself down to one idea; it’s just an idea, and I’m keeping it on the page in case I use it, but I might chuck it in the trash or change it or whatever.

And then, once your ideas for the scene (or story, or chapter, or whatever) are on the page, then go back to the top and start translating them into a “real” first draft. Use black ink, and start copy-pasting chunks of the thought-vomit up into the top part of the document and translating them into Draft 1. Separate out paragraphs where paragraph breaks should be. Add the correct punctuation and whatnot. Change “describe the lobby here - include potted plants, fancy carpet, blood stain, etc.” into an actual description of the lobby. Flesh it out, or condense, or whatever it needs. And if you’re still stuck, change back to red ink and ramble some more until you find a path that feels right, then plug that in. This keeps you from looking at a blank page, and it allows you to generate a kind of Draft 0.5, somewhere between a plan and a first draft.

You don’t have to use every idea. Like I said, jot down whatever comes to mind, put a “maybe” before or after it, and keep working. If the idea grabs you and you wanna keep expanding on it and exploring it, cool. If you just wanna jot it down so you don’t forget it and then move on, also cool. Red-ink draft / “thought-vomit draft” is your time to jump around in the timeline, add or finesse details at whatever point your brain moves to, etc. Don’t try to do it exactly in story order, because you will get tangential thoughts and ideas, and you will not remember to write them down five pages later when you finally get to taking notes on that scene. Trust me. On that note...

_-_

6) Write everything down the moment you think of it. Seriously.

“I’ll remember it when I get around to writing that scene in a couple days / weeks / months (/years).”

You won’t.

Write it down.

Phone, journal, google docs - hell, my family regularly laughs at me for grabbing a napkin during dinner and scribbling thoughts down alongside pasta sauce stains.

And then, once you have it written down somewhere...

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7) Consolidate your writing ideas in one place.

Maybe this isn’t really your style, and that’s totally chill.

Buuuut, if you’re Type-A like me - or if you tend to be somewhat unorganized and you know you’ll lose track of your writing notes if they’re scattered across multiple notebooks, journals, napkins, phone notes, etc. - having one consolidated document of notes is a life saver. I keep mine on Google Docs so I can access it, add to it, and look through it for inspiration anywhere at any time. When I have one of those Shower Thoughts that I jot down on my phone or on a napkin during dinner, I set myself a reminder on my phone to type it up in my Story Ideas document later.

(Or, if the idea I had was for a story of mine that I’ve already started planning / drafting / whatever, I put it in the document for that story instead of the Big Random Story Ideas doc. You get it.)

_-_

8) Have other ways to collect and save writing ideas, besides just writing stuff down. If you like Pinterest, make pinterest boards of your characters or stories or settings or whatever. If you’re big into playlists, make a playlist for your character / setting / story / etc. Or both. Or something else. I’m not good at drawing, but maybe you are, and maybe you like to draw your ideas. Whatever form it takes, having another way to save ideas and think about your stories is invaluable.

_-_

9) Some writers can just start writing with no idea where the story is going, and they just kind of figure it out as they go. I envy those writers. And I do that sometimes for fanfiction, where the stakes are somewhat lower and the audience is reading more for scene-to-scene enjoyment (and to see their OTP kiss) than for a Driving And Compelling Narrative.

But here’s the thing: especially if you’re just kind of starting out, writing without some sort of plan is really, really hard, and will likely lead you into a slow, meandering narrative that will likely frustrate you.

Even if you think you’re someone that just can’t write with a plan (and again, I have the highest respect for pansters out there - I don’t know how you do it, you crazy bastards, but you keep doing you) - even if you think “I can’t work with plans, they’re too prescriptive, I just want to write and see what happens -”

Try at least making the most skeletal of plans.

Even if you have no clue what 90% of the story is, yet. That’s fine. But you need to have some idea of what you’re building to, even if that’s nothing more specific than a feeling, or a turning point for your character. Even if your entire plan for everything beyond Chapter 1 is, “At some point, Charlie needs to realize that Ed was lying to her.”

This is where those Draft 0.5 notes come in handy. Because, more than likely, working on your current scene that way will spark ideas for later scenes, which you can put down at the bottom of the document and save for when they become relevant. In my experience, the line between planning ahead and making a Draft 0.5 is exceptionally thin. One can quickly turn into the other.

If you’re really, really resistant to the idea of planning ahead, that’s okay. It’s not everybody’s style. But for the love of all that is holy, write down your ideas for future scenes, even if you’re a person that doesn’t like to plan and writes only in story order, because you will not remember that idea once you get to that scene.

_-_

10) You don’t have to write in order.

Here’s the thing: I’m a person that can only do my Draft 1 in story order (meaning, chronological order). I just have to be in that flow; I need to write in story order for me to best channel where the character is at from scene to scene, both narratively and emotionally.

But my Thought Vomit Draft is another thing entirely. By using the brain hack of putting my notes in red (or another color, it doesn’t matter) and going down to the bottom of the document / page and taking notes there, and then integrating them into whatever plan I have, and then translating them into Draft 1 once I get there in the story - by doing that, I can get my good ideas onto the page (and expound upon them and let my muse carry me and ride that momentum while I’m in the moment of inspiration) without writing out of order.

Maybe that’s just me. But if you’re a person who really prefers to write in story order, that could be hugely helpful to you. It is to me.

_-_

11) Emotion and motivation will do more for your story than technicalities of plot.

If your characters really care about something, and their journey through the (shaky or weak) plot is emotionally engaging, it will be a much more compelling story than a story with a “perfect” plot and unrelatable or unmotivated characters.

If your characters care about what they’re doing, and it means something to them, and their goals and actions are driven by dreams or fears or emotions that are integral to who they are, your audience will care too. If you have a perfectly crafted plot that hits all the right beats and has high stakes and fast pacing and drama - but your characters don’t connect with what’s happening in a way that’s deeply meaningful or emotional for them? You’re gonna have a hard time engaging readers.

When in doubt, prioritize character emotion and motivation over plot. Emotion is what drives story.

This power is highly exploitable. (Just look at pulp novels and shitty but entertaining movies.) You can even use it to glaze over plot holes or reinvigorate a limp narrative. Use it that way sparingly, though. It’s a band-aid, not a surgery.

_-_

12) Evil villains are hard to write - mostly because there are very few truly evil people in the world. (There are a few. Billionaires and several big name politicians come to mind.) But by and large, there aren’t that many evil people. There are plenty of bad people, but bad people have some good in them, somewhere in there. Trying to write an evil villain is hard, because they often turn very cartoony.

Here’s a tip: it’s much easier to write antagonists who aren’t evil. Even if they’re bad people. Of course, there’s no reason you can’t write a villain that’s just truly evil - a serial killer, or an abuser, or a billionaire, or someone who legit just wants to hurt people or blow up the earth or stay in control of an oppressed population, or whatever. But chances are, it’s gonna be really hard to make them feel real, and even harder to create a plot around them that doesn’t feel forced or contrived.

Instead, try writing an antagonist / villain whose motivations and goals directly clash with your protagonist’s - but not because they want to take over the world or see people suffer. Write an antagonist who’s chaotic good, but whose perception of the situation is completely opposite from your hero’s. Write an antagonist whose only desire is to save people, and who will do anything to achieve that goal - anything. Write an antagonist who believes in the letter of the law, and will hinder and oppose the hero’s methods even if they agree with the hero’s motivation. Write an antagonist who got in way over their head and did some things they regret, and now they don’t know how to get out, and they’re doing their best but whatever they set in motion is too powerful for them to stop now.

Write villains who are human. Write a killer who thought they were doing the right thing by taking their victim out of the equation, who vomits at the sight of the body and sobs over the grave they dig. Write a government leader who truly believes she’s doing what’s best for her people in the long-term, even if it might hurt them in the short term, and is willing to endure the hatred and belligerence of the masses if it means securing what she thinks is a better future for her people. Write a teenage bully that thinks they’re the one being picked on by the world, and they’re just fighting back, standing their ground. Write a scientist who will break any code of ethics and hurt anyone he needs to - in order to bring back his baby sister from the grave, because he promised her he’d protect her and he failed. Write an antagonist who is selfish and self-centered and capricious - because in order to survive they had to look out for Number One, and that habit ain’t about to break anytime soon.

Write villains who aren’t even villains. Write antagonists who oppose the hero because of moral differences. Write antagonists who are trying to do the right thing. Write antagonists who treat the heroes with kindness and dignity and respect and gentleness.

They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to be Misunderstood Sweethearts who “deserve” a redemption arc. They can be cruel and nasty and dismissive and callous and violent and etc. etc.

Just hesitate before you make them Evil-with-a-capital-E. Because evil is hard to write, and honestly, boring to read. Flawed human beings with goals and motivations that directly oppose the main characters’ are much easier to write and much more interesting to read.

Ask why. Why is your villain trying to take over the world? What does that even mean? Are they trying to create a Star-Trek-like post-capitalism utopia, but they know that won’t happen in a million lifetimes, so they’re trying to do it by force? Are they actually super in favor of human rights, but they got very impatient waiting for the world to do anything about poverty and war, so they decided to take it into their own hands? Are they determined to fix the world - no matter the cost? Are they terrified and overwhelmed, but committed to see it through to the end? Or - maybe they’re just doing it on a dare. Maybe they don’t really give a shit about world domination, they were just a mediocre rich white guy who decided to fuck around and find out, and now he’s kind of curious how far he can take this thing. And now he’s kind of an internationally-wanted criminal, so he’s kind of stuck living on his hidden private island in his multi-billion dollar secret base, strapping lasers to sharks’ heads for the hell of it. Gross, selfish, uncaring, and dangerous? For sure. Evil? Depends on your definition. See, now we’re getting somewhere.

_-_

13) It’s tempting to let the plot control the characters. It’s easy to drop your characters into a situation and see how they react. But here’s the thing: that doesn’t drive plot. In fact, it bogs down pacing. Instead, try to build you plot off of your characters’ actions and decisions. Let your character build their own situation. Not to say it should go they way they wanted it to go; in fact, usually, their grand plans should go to hell very quickly. But having the characters take action and make decisions, and letting the plot develop based on that, is much easier to make compelling than making a rigid series of events and then trying to herd your characters into them.

_-_

14) Having trouble justifying a character’s actions? Consider having them make the opposite decision, or having them approach the situation in a different way. For example: you need your character to go meet the bad guy, for plot reasons, even though there’s no way it’s not a trap. If the character goes, readers are gonna be groaning with their head in their hands, because c’mon man, that was really fucking stupid. But he’s gotta go, because the plot needs that. Two ways you might handle this: a) He knows it’s probably a trap. He decides not to go. The plot conspires to get him near the villain anyway. Or, b) He knows it’s a trap. But he needs to go, for (insert reasons here). So, he approaches it in an unexpected way. He brings backup, recruiting a side character we met earlier in the story. Or he arrives on the back of a dragon, because ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a dude on a dragon. Or he goes - early, and ambushes the villain. It may work, it may not. He may get himself kidnapped anyway. But it moves the plot along without having Stupid Hero Syndrome.

_-_

15) This is a legit piece of advice: if all of this sounds overwhelming, literally just ignore it and write what you want. For real. Writing should be fun, and every single writer operates differently. If you’re sitting here like “I’m getting stressed just reading this,” just flip me a good-natured bird and get on with your life. I promise I won’t take it personally. Same goes for literally any other writing advice you see. Lots of rules and guidelines can very quickly make anything thoroughly un-fun. Just write. If you’re passionate about it and you do it for long enough, you’ll start figuring out the tips and tricks on your own.

_-_

16) Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you: know your characters. More importantly, know what’s important to them. Build their personality and decisions off of that, and build your plot off of their decisions.

I see a lot of character building sheets that ask a shit-ton of questions like “What’s their most prized possession?” “Do they like their family?” “What’s their favorite food?”

And while these are good questions, my problem with this type of character building is that if you start there, with the little stuff, you’re building on nothing. IMO, to make a truly strong character (not strong like Inner Strength, strong like effective), you need a strong foundation.

Here are the things you must know about your character:

a) What are their greatest fears / deepest insecurities? And I don’t mean “wasps” or “heights.” I mean the deep shit. I mean fears like “living a meaningless life,” or “turning out just like their parents,” or “that no one will ever love them,” or “being powerless.” You may say, “But they’re really scared of wasps! They fall into a wasp nest when they were little and got stung so much they almost died!” Great! That’s a fantastic bit of backstory. They should absolutely be afraid of wasps, and that should absolutely be an impediment later in the story. But dig deeper. What about that event actually scarred them? Was it the helplessness? Stumbling around, swatting at the air, not being able to do a single thing to stop what was happening to them? Was it that they were alone, and no matter how loud they screamed, no one was coming? Was it the bodily horror of feeling themself turn into an inhuman creature as they swelled up from the stings, unable to move their fingers or face normally anymore?

And don’t forget insecurities, because those factor in, too. Are they deeply insecure about their identity? Do they believe, deep down, that they’re ugly? Did they grow up poor and they’ve always been really touchy about that? Why? Dig deep. Figure out what really, really bothers them.

b) What are their hopes and dreams? What do they truly want out of life? What do they consider the most valuable to their experience here in this thing called life? Is it the freedom to forge their own path and be independent? Is it the approval of their family or peers? Is it a home? Is it knowledge, or understanding? Spiritual fulfillment? Is it deeply important to them that they contribute to their community, or protect those they love? What do they need in order to feel truly and deeply fulfilled in life?

Figure out those two things (each one encompasses several things, btw, you don’t have to stop at just one for each), and then use that to inform how they behave and the types of decisions they make within the story.

It also informs character behavior and personality.

Let’s say we have a character who’s afraid of helplessness. They’re probably gonna be the person that always wants to do something, try something, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. They’d despise just sitting and waiting, probably, because it makes them feel powerless. They might even be the person that makes rash decisions and acts impulsively and puts themself in danger unnecessarily, because in their mind it’s better than being at the mercy of fate. This is one way you could use a character’s personality to inform their decisions, which in turn helps to inform plot.

Or, let’s say we have a character whose greatest fear is being left behind or forgotten. We may have a chatterbox on our hands. They might be obnoxious. They might love the spotlight, constantly vying for attention no matter the situation, because deep down they’re so afraid that they’d be forgotten otherwise. Or, it may go the opposite way. They may be so afraid of people leaving them that they’re terrified of bothering people. They don’t want to do anything that could annoy people, anything that might give people a reason to leave them. They might be exceedingly polite, quiet, accommodating. A push-over, really.

These are two nearly opposite types of personalities, both stemming from the same core fear/insecurity. You can go a lot of different ways with it. But if you build on that strong foundation, you’ll have a strong character, and a stronger plot.

Likewise, the structure of your story can and should inform the design of these character traits. If you need your characters to team up near the end, it may be impactful if you give your main character a deep fear of commitment, an insecurity about being unwanted or left behind, and make them highly value independence and freedom. That could make their team-up for the final battle very meaningful. Conversely, you can use your character’s deepest fears and desires to help design the plot. Is your character deeply insecure about voicing their opinions or taking a stand, because of trauma they faced in the past? Make them face that. Build that into the climactic third act. Give them the big inspirational speech where they stand up and talk about what they believe to be important, what they think the group should do. And then design that character arc to run through the story, giving you more handholds and stepping stones, more pieces of foundation on which to design the plot.

In this way, character should inform story as much as story informs character. It’s a feedback loop.

Bonus: if you build your character and your plot off of each other in this way, it automatically starts to build in the foundations of that emotional investment I mentioned earlier. If your character’s decisions are based on what they most want and do not want in life, you basically have your character motivation and stakes pre-built.

Note: you need to know these things about your villain, too.

-_-_-

I’m genuinely sorry about the length of this, lmao. But you did ask.

Best of luck!

Edit: I forgot an important one:

17) Start when the scene starts and end when the scene ends.

What do I mean by that?

If your notes say “Danny asks Nicole out after school and majorly flubs it,” start the scene when Danny approaches Nicole after school. Better yet, cold-open the scene on “I was wondering if, you know, you’d wanna. You know. Hang out some time?”

Don’t start that morning when Danny goes to school, unless you’re gonna cover the school day in like one or two sentences. Don’t spend whole paragraphs going through the school day, unless it’s to cover other plot points first (in which case apply these same guidelines there), or if the paragraphs are there for a specific reason, like to illustrate how stressed he is and how it seems like every little thing is going wrong. Even then, trim the fat as much as possible. Expounding and describing everything Moment-to-moment is for the meat of the scenes, not the leading-up-to and coming-away-from.

Here’s my rule of thumb: study how and when movies cut from scene to scene. Movies have exceptionally strict, limited time for storytelling; they’re excellent examples of starting a scene when the plot point starts and ending when it’s over. If you can’t picture a movie showing everything you showed, start the scene later and end it earlier.

#asks #anon #writing advice #writing tips #writing #fanfic writing #fanfiction #character creation #plot development #character development #my advice #original writing

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insomniamamma · 2 years

Text

Surrender: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x F!reader

A/N: My hand slipped. Soft little sick fic. Same Reader Character as “Ephemera” which was meant to be a one-shot, but you all know how it goes. I’m relying on Google Translate for Spanish because I took Latin in high school like a dumbass, so please be kind.

Warnings: Implied legal age gap. Class and power dynamics. A little bit of angst on Reader’s part. Illness. References to sex but nothing super graphic. Mostly just soft, fluffy fluff. I wasn’t feeling great when I started this and wanted some comfort from our sweet, out of touch Nico.

I'd like to see you.

Your phone buzzes and you find it in the drifted pile of tissues on your dresser. You sigh and that turns into another series of coughs, hard enough to send black floaters behind your eyes.

I can't. I'm sick.

I'm coming to get you.

Nico no. I feel like shit.

You let the phone fall back into the mountain of used Kleenex and shut your eyes. You're about three hours out from your last dose of NyQuil and the neighbors are blaring their tv again, muffled enough that you can't make out words, but the argumentative tones of afternoon soap operas are enough to jolt you out of sleep every time you feel yourself drift. The phone buzzes a half-dozen more times and then rings.

"Dammit, Nico," you murmur and reach for the phone. "I am coming to get you," says Nico, "I will be there in thirty minutes." "Nico, I feel like crap, I haven't showered I haven't even brushed my teeth-" "Your apartment is too loud for you to rest properly," he says, and he's not wrong. Christ almighty when the commercials come on it's even louder. Why the fuck does anyone need to have their tv that loud? It's the middle of the day, you can't even justify ringing their doorbell or even pounding on the wall. What good would it do? "'M all gross--" "I don't care. Pack your toothbrush and a clean pair of pajamas. I'll be there shortly." "Nico--" "Let me care for you, Osita." You sigh over the open line. If it was anyone else you'd bristle. Part of you does bristle. You don't need Nico to whisk you off to his house in the hills above the ocean. You don't need him to do things for you. Sometimes this wordless thing you have with him feels like a weight, a cocoon and ever tightening shroud, whatever it is you are, lovers? Fuck-buddies? Are you his mistress? His charity case? You hear him breathe on the open line, and you are too tired to deal with these questions. When you are with him, you feel like the center of the universe, the burning heart of a galaxy. "Please," he says, "Please, mi Osita." You make a sound of frustration and you swear you can hear him smile. Mi Osita. You don't know what it means, and you're not sure you want to know, but you like the sound of it, purred against the shell of your ear as he moves inside you, said with a warm wide smile and sparkling eyes when he kisses your cheek and pulls you in for a strong embrace after an absence. You know you won't say no and so does he. It's hard to tell him no. "Okay," you say, "But I--" whatever you say dissolves into a series of coughs. "My poor girl. You rest. I'll text you when I'm close."

You shuffle out to meet Nico, puffy eyes slitted against the light screaming up off of the sidewalk and he immediately starts fussing over you, shucks his jacket and drapes it around you, takes your bag and wraps his arm around your waist as if you might not manage the few steps to his idling car. You smile despite how crappy you feel. He is so worried, so agitated. He presses his palm, and then his scruffy cheek to your forehead. "It's just a cold, Nico, I'm not gonna die." He opens the door and maneuvers you in, speaks briefly to his driver and then joins you, offers you a bottle off water, cold and sweating and it feels like heaven on your scratchy throat. "How long have you been ill?" "I dunno," you say, "I had a sore throat when I got up on Thursday." "It's Saturday." "So?" His face is pinched with worry, little line etched between his brows, worries his lip with his teeth before speaking. "You could have called," he says, "I would have come for you." "I had to work, Nico," you dig your fingers at your throbbing temples, "You know? That thing people do to pay their bills?" And when you look up at him, his eyes slide away from yours, still smiling but his hands clasp each other in his lap, curl together like small animals. You reach for him, peel his hands apart and fold your fingers around his. "Sorry. I'm tired. And my head feels like a giant bowling ball full of snot." Nico chuckles. He pulls you close, draws you down so you are resting across the bench seat, draped across his lap, smooths your forehead with the pads of his fingers, and you feel yourself relax under his touch. He talks, something about a bit of land in Ireland that caught his eye, a stone house along the cliffs, needs restoration, two people could live there quite happily, we could look out over the sea, between his voice and the highway hum and the warm pressure of his palm on your forehead you finally sink under.

He leads you into the cool sanctuary of his house like being inside an eggshell. Mostly muted cream with little pops of color. A cobalt blue vase of calla lillies burgundy shading to velvety midnight purple, a room divider, flying cranes in shimmering gold and pearl and lacquered black. Not so sterile now that his furniture has arrived, but still, cream colored walls and pale carpet, it feels like a pocket universe, everything muffled and cool, soft breezes through curtained windows, sun-sizzle filtered, tamed. And blessedly quiet. The only sounds are the sigh of wind lifting the filmy while curtains like wings, the tinkle of wind chimes the occasional low cry of the parrot that shifts inside its cage. Nico installs you in a chair in front of the window where the breeze can touch you while he draws a bath.

The parrot's name is Jerry. You'd made a face when Nico told you. "I didn't name him. He belonged to the prior owners. The husband was suffering dementia and the wife had no desire to care for Jerry. She never liked him I suppose. I have contacted a bird rescue but they have not returned my calls." "You're not going to keep him?" "They live a long time," said Nico, "As long as a person. Some think they are as smart as a human child. I cannot care for him. I travel too much. I am away too long. It would be cruel I think."

Jerry grumbles and shifts in his cage, painted eggshell white, another pop of color. Sometimes you feed him banana slices, green grapes from Nico's fridge. There's always fresh fruit. Jerry's still here and so are you. He makes a sound that reminds you of the baby raptors in the Jurassic Park movies. "I know, Jer," you say, your eyes growing heavy, soft breeze and wind chimes and bug-buzz drifting in through the windows.

You are nearly asleep when Nico reappears, offering his hand to pull you upright. Nico at home is a different animal that Nico out and about, jacket and slacks exchanged for a soft henley with buttons undone, loose linen pants. Nico likes softness, curls his toes in the plush carpet. Absently runs his hands over things as he speaks. He pulls you to your feet and wraps his arm around your waist and you lean into him, surrender yourself to his care.

The bathroom is stupidly huge, cavernous like everything in this house, lit by skylights, sunlight catching the billowing steam in curtains of milky light. You can smell eucalyptus oil even with your head stuffed up, between that and the humid air, your nose starts running instantly. Your clean pajamas are laid out on a low table beside a neatly folded towel. Nico helps you undress, gentle, lingering touches that would lead to more if you weren't feeling so crappy, broad warm palms skimming up your back as he removes your top, braces you as you step out of your pajama bottoms, helps you into the tub, a restored clawfoot, the water just shy of scalding, the way you like it, he pushes up his sleeves and hunkers down pressing his thumbs into the place where your neck and shoulders meet, slides a folded towel under your head and leans you back. Kisses the crown of your head. “You shouldn't do that," you say, eyes sliding closed, breathing in the smell of eucalyptus and peppermint, cooling your scratchy throat, and your nose runs helplessly, gross, but it lessens the pressure, swipe absently at your face with the back of your hand. It is so good just to be still, the have some quiet. The faint slosh of the water when you move, soft sounds of Nico padding around the house, your own snot-laden breath. You hear him re-enter the room, small sounds of his body shifting, hunkering down. "Can you sit up for me? I need you to drink this." Nico presses a dose-cup of green goo into your hand. "That's the nighttime stuff," you say, "It'll make me too sleepy." "You need to sleep," says Nico, "You will rest. Even if I have to tie you to the bed to make you stay still." You chuckle, at what he just said and at his face as his mind catches up to what just fell out of his mouth. Nico grins, and giggles start bubbling up, his cheeks and ears going pink. Nico laughs like he's trying not to, like those giggles are something that should stay down, stay hidden, as if he is embarrassed. When he lets himself laugh freely he is beautiful, it's a rare thing, like an eclipse. You wish he would do it more. "You know full well what I meant, you wanton thing." He says, "Take your medicine. Please. For me." "Okay,"

The water grows tepid, and there's no sign of Nico. You dry and dress, loose-limbed and clean and breathing easier, your nose and eyes are still running like crazy, but anything is better than that churning pressure in your sinuses. Even muzzy-headed from the medicine you still know where to find him. Nico sits on the edge of the pool, lazily kicking his feet through the water, phone pressed to his ear, speaking animatedly in Spanish. For someone trying to do the California thing, your Spanish is abysmal. One more thing that you didn't think of before taking this endless, idiotic gamble. Too broke to stay and too proud to leave. You push this thought away and take a long look at your lover. Sunlight shining in his curls, the breadth of his shoulders, the sweep of his neck, the rise and fall of his voice, his guilty giggle. You must make some small sound because he turns towards you, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He stands. "...tengo que irme. Mi osito me necesita..." Nico closes the space between you, fast when he wants to be, wraps his hands around you upper arms and peers into your face. "I am so sorry, I had to take the call, these developers you know how they are--" "It's fine, Nico." "How are you feeling?" "Better," you yawn and it distorts your answer, "Sleepy though." "That is good. You need your rest. Come."

The overfilled air mattress is gone, long-replaced by a king size bed with a teak frame that looks like the height of modernity circa 1972, but the sheets are crisp and cool and welcome as Nico tucks you in. Your eyes slide closed, and you hear him move, small sound of a jar unscrewing, and his warm hand sliding beneath your shirt. Rubs the greasy, pungent balm on your chest like your grandma used to do when you were small, lets his palm rest there briefly, a warm, welcome pressure on your sternum, smoothes his hand over the soft swell of your belly and withdraws. You must make some small sound of protest. "I'm getting you some water for when you wake," he says, "I'll be right back."

You rise back up out of shallow sleep to the dip of the mattress as Nico lays himself beside you. "You're gonna get sick," you protest, eyes closed, even as he pulls you to his chest, cradling you against his heart. "I will not," he says, and tightens his arms around you. "I have a very strong constitution." We'll see, you think, but tuck yourself against him all the same. "Tell me a story." "What about?" "Tell me about your friend from Milan, the one who almost got you arrested." Nico giggles. "You've heard this story, Osita," "Tell me again. It's funny." Nico squeezes you so tight, so so tight. "Alright, Little Bear, but it won't be any different than the last time. The story won't change." "Doesn't have to," you say, relishing the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders, burrowed against him, sinking into his warmth like sinking into sleep, your ear against the steady beat of his heart. "Sometimes it's nice to hear the same stories over again."

You wrap your arm around him, unthinking, slipping your hand just under the hem of his shirt, smiling at the little hitch in his breath. Nico is very ticklish. You have to be careful.

#nico (house comes with a bird) x f!reader #nico x f!reader #nico (house comes with a bird)#house comes with a bird #slice of life

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bolontiku · 2 years

Text

"Bullshit"

Avengers AU - Chapter 3

Characters: Brock, Reader

Posted: April 9th

A/N: yeah, just gonna leave... leave. . this here... DISCLAIMER: Russian translation via Google (I DO NOT KNOW RUSSIAN)

WARNINGS: tw: emotional/Mental abuse/Manipulating behavior? Some Physical violence

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost My Work**

He was the last person you had expected, you hadn't expected anyone actually. You kept quiet at work about family issues. Your sister had come, she was in a bad place and there was nowhere for her to go.

You owed her. Right?

After everything she had done for you. You were ungrateful and thought you were better now that you worked for that Stark guy, she just needs a little help, her and her boyfriend would stay for just a little bit. You could dress up, she helped with your make-up, you were never good at that kind of thing.

You didn't know what looked good on you. This was why you were still single, wasn't it a good thing she had come along? Wasn't it? She could stay a little longer, of course her boyfriend would come visit while she stayed. He could stay too right? Just a couple nights. Don't look at him, no he didn't look at you that way, she wasn't jealous, as if there was a reason.

You made sure to lock your bedroom door after he accidently knocked you into the wall. He hadn't meant to touch you, Jesus were you so desperate you'd come up with shit?! He. Wasn't. Interested.

He had her, why would he try to touch you?

Brock jumped when you sat up, nearly dropping the book he had fucked away. "Hey!"

You flinched and curled into a ball, tucking yourself away into the corner of his couch.

Brock stood slowly, watching as you blinked, eyes searching the room around you. "I brought you home, erm, well, my place." He chuckled, did he sound nervous? He shoved a hand through his hair, "Y/N, did they touch you?"

You jerked your head to look at him, eyes too wide, it gave him a sort of answer and he knew he was going to get in trouble. "NO! N-no! That's not! How-?"

He moved closer sitting opposite you, "you left work crying?"

"Blake?" You asked quietly.

Brock frowned, he wasn't used to seeing you like this. You who always gave him an easy smile, who sassed him back on the regular, how had he missed it? Blake, why did you know that guys name? But he couldn't hate the guy when he was the one that had been looking for him to help you. Looking at you he wanted to ask questions but from the look you gave him he would do better to ask later.

"Rooms there, bathroom in there, you can shower and grab whatever fits you. We can get whatever you need another day."

You watched as he got up, stood quick to follow him, "I don't wanna be a bother!"

Brock stopped and turned to face you, "I'm making dinner, go get you a shower, yeah?"

You twisted your hands together, feeling your chest tighten. You were being trouble, your sister was right, you dropped your gaze and struggled to take a breath.

Brock should go back. Maybe that chick would fall down the stairs. Maybe that dickhole would lose an arm- the memory of your arms wrapped around his torso made him pause. He wasn't good at this, you needed- that guy would be better for you right now. He huffed, irritated with himself, he could only offer blunt honesty. You hadn't wanted anyone to know anything so he could ignore all that for now, right? "Ya got a problem with my cooking?"

You looked up at him with a little jump. "I've never tasted your cooking!"

Brock nodded, yeah you needed a little bit of normal right now, he could do that. "Alright then. Go get you a shower and then you can taste my cooking." He stared at you waiting, you blinked, Brock made a shoo-ing motion, "shower… lock the door behind you if you like, you better like fish and veggies."

You stepped towards the room he had motioned to before, shutting and locking the door as instructed. It felt weird to rifle through someone else's drawers. The clothes were all grey or black, you managed to find a white top and a pair of grey sweats with a drawstring you were sure you could tie off. The water was hot on your chilled skin and you watched as it swirled past your toes into the drain. Tears mingled in with the steam, you swallowed the first sob.

It had happened right?

She had been yelling at you about the yogurt she had bought. You hadn't touched it, you ate enough at the compound, but still it was your fault. You ate too much. Of course it was you.

The knock at the door had quietened the yelling. He had gone to answer and if she hadn't moved to hit you you wouldn't have made a sound.

It was the smallest sound really.

"Y/N?!"

He couldn't be there.

He didn't know where you lived!

But there he was and when you met his gaze it took him a second. It was really kinda scary. You knew how fast he was. He trained with the recruits, he went against the Avengers for training. But… you had been staring at him, with ugly teary eyes, and had sobbed a bit, and then there was nothing in the doorway.

Not Brock.

Not your sister's boyfriend.

Just air.

And then the sound to your left, of a body being slammed into the wall so hard there was plaster on the floor and you realized, oh God, you realized Brock had his hands around his throat and… and… before you could think you flung yourself around him.

Because…

Because you weren't worth getting in trouble for. And if he hurt someone- Brock would lose his job or be arrested and you weren't worth it.

Brock noticed the red was fresh around your eyes but said nothing and sat a plate in front of you. His clothes were too big on you and it looked like you had tied the string twice, still he couldn't help thinking how cute you looked.

"If you refuse dinner it'll hurt my feelings," he said as you opened your mouth.

Instead you snapped it shut and stared at the plate in front of you, taking a long drink from the glass of water he set beside the plate. Picking up the fork you waited till he sat and started on his own plate. If you pushed the food around he might not realize-

"Eat."

You forked some fish and followed it with rice and green beans. It was delicious.

Brock kept his eyes on his plate, but was satisfied when you finally began to eat. He had watched you out the corner of his eye, seen you push the food around. He had seen you eat before.

"Good?"

You nodded, feeling sheepish as you realized you had cleared the plate.

"Good. Take the bedroom, we'll head in early."

You felt your heart sink, "no- I should go back-" his hard stare kept you from saying anymore.

"We'll head in early, they got plenty of your uniforms in shock there so you can get a fresh one. Those two will be worried too. Get some sleep. You're safe here. Lock the door if it helps. Give me a second."

You watched him hurry into the room to come out with a single sheet and a pillow. He motioned for you to go and you swallowed, following his demands.

"Lock the door!" Came his rough voice through the door.

You did, pressing your forehead against it for a moment. Taking a fortifying breath you turned to find the bed untouched, had he grabbed extra sheets? Chewing on your bottom lip you stepped into the bathroom, only the bare essentials, no decorations. Brock was very tidy though, no mess and his bed was made military style.

You shut the lamp off and slipped in, immediately appreciating the cool sheets against your skin. Curling into a ball you stared at the lamp.

You wondered if it had come with the apartment or if he had gone out to buy it? You pictured him in the store looking over lamps and the image that conjured made you smile.

Brock took in a deep breath. If you came out to find him missing you might panic, so leaving to kill a couple people in the middle of the night might not be a good idea.

A thought occurred to him as he laid there and listened to your quiet weeping and he reached for his phone.

Natasha stared at her phone.

What the fuck was Rumlow texting her for? IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT NO LESS.

Wait. How the fuck did that bastard get her number?

And why would she meet with him the next morning?!

No.

She would NOT.

No.

"дурь несусветная"

#bullshit #chapter 3 #brock rumlow #brock x reader #reader #avengers au

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yunahosk · 3 years

Text

psychic staring effect | yan childe x reader

i wrote this when i was tired and had no idea where the story was going to go. had some trouble translating too >.<

this is sort of like a modern au but only because it involves google and a phone.

warnings: stalking, sayings like ‘someone is behind you.’

psychic staring effect: the psychic staring effect (sometimes called scopaesthesia) is a supposed phenomenon in which humans detect being stared at by extrasensory means.

how to tell if you’re being watched

“This is stupid.” The words laced with annoyance come from your mouth as you glare at the typed in words sitting in Google’s search bar. A sigh of defeat releases and you lean back against the frame of the bed.

That stupid feeling. It’s like your brain is telling you you’re stupid for even thinking such things in the first place, but at the same time is the one alerting you that such things aren't normal. Waking up with an indent on the opposite side of the bed, hearing two sets of feet tap against the pavement as you walk when it should only be one, leaving the shower and seeing hearts on the steamy mirror.

It's been awhile since you visited the Northland Bank, a trip that was only meant to help your friend ask for a loan and to give you reason to leave the house. However, the trip only cemented your commitment to staying home. After that trip, you swear you can see a figure always lurking behind you, though when the chance comes to get a glance at the mystery, the culprit reveals itself to be, well no one.

You feel like an idiot even thinking such things in first place, its obvious: nothing is there. Nothing at all. But it’s a feeling you can’t shake off. Unexplainable things are happening, finding a large bag of mora on your kitchen counter doesn’t just happen, though when searching for the culprit there is nothing but your own shadow behind you only helping to convince you that you’re slowly going insane.

It’s been like this for months. Something you can’t simply shake off.

Though, whether you should convince yourself it’s all a hallucination or that the gut feeling inside you is true, that's a decision for when the time comes. Instead, you choose to set it aside for the night in an attempt to get some much needed rest after a long day.

It’s a reoccurring dream. One that seems to end so fast yet when you wake up hours later it proves to be the contrast.

In the dream you find yourself standing in a bathroom, staring at the loading search screen on the phone below you. A feeling of panic is in your body but you’ve never found what the cause of such a feeling was. Someone is behind you, you know it. But the most you’ve ever seen of him is a single red earring. That’s the only glimpse you can ever get of the mystery man, for when you turn your head to identify the person you find the scenario ending just as fast as it started.

Your eyes open in the same place you were before: the comfort of your own bed.

A sigh comes from your mouth as you roll over, smothering a pillow over your head with a groan. “Dammit!” You yell into the pillow, quickly removing it and throwing it to the side. You lay still, staring at the ceiling above you before reaching your hand out to grasp your phone.

Curiosity always gets the best of you. And it’s evident as you quickly type away at the screen.

who are the people in our dreams

Our mind is not inventing faces – in our dreams, we see real faces of real people that we have seen during our life but may not know or remember.

You’ve lived in Liyue your whole life, never traveled out of the land and practically know everyone in Liyue Harbor like the back of your hand. But, you can’t pinpoint a red earring. You swear you’ve seen it before but no one comes to mind.

“Someone you may not know.” You mutter to yourself, perking an eyebrow at the screen.

That is the most logical explanation, but even something about that irks you. Why would someone so irrelevant like a stranger, be so present in your dreams?

You had met him a few weeks ago. He had claimed to be a toy seller from Sneznhaya, an unusual occupation for a man carrying around a bow and arrow, however you put no question towards it. A kind man he was, always doing lavish things for you, helping you with hard commissions, and letting you ramble upon him. And that's just what you were doing as you find yourself rambling onto him right now.

“Look, it just feels like someone's been watching me, even on the way here I swear I could just feel it,” You state to your friend, Tartaglia, leaning against the counter as he prepares snacks “a-and I swear someone is watching me but whenever I turn there's no one there!”

“You’re probably just imagining things, I’m sure you’re just stressed with everything going on.” He hummed, glancing up from the food he was preparing to raise an eyebrow at your current predicament.

“But that doesn’t explain hearts on the bathroom mirror! Or even a bag of mora on my counter!” You ramble in distress, resting you chin on your hand.

“Maybe your secret admirer is a ghost?” He laughs.

“Tartaglia!” You groan, glancing up with a glare.

“Ok, ok! It’s probably just left from when your niece visited. You’re fine! As for the mora, well maybe you just misplaced it?” He smiles, turning around to grab a bowl.

Your breath tightens at his words. When did Tartaglia get word you had a niece? You've known each other for only a few weeks at most. You last saw her some months ago.

He turns around at the sudden silence, his blue eyes narrowing with a playful smile as he regards your body language intently, holding his gaze for almost too long. Quickly pulling yourself together you force out a laugh.

“A-ahaha! You’re probably right, I do misplace things easily!” You laugh, trying to play it off. He stayed silent in response, simply staring at you as if he was trying to analyze something.

“Indeed.” He stated, turning around once again to continue his previous task.

“Your house is really nice, you must make a good living to get a home with a view of the shore.” You smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room. Leaning off the counter you make your way across the room towards the large window that displayed the ocean before you.

“It’s worth the view, I’d say.” He chuckled, glancing from the kitchen to your figure across the room. You smile, glancing down at the window sill decorated with small trinkets.

“You didn’t tell me you collected starconches.” You chuckled, trying to keep the conversation as if nothing happened seconds ago.

“I need to take you down to the beach sometime soon, it’s beautiful this time of season to collect shells.” Tartaglia hummed. As you analyzed the row of seashells your eyes made contact with a familiar red gem.

Your eyes widened, staring down at the earring. The earring in your dreams.

“Definitely! Hey, um I have to go to the bathroom, what direction is it?” You turned around, reaching for the phone in your pocket. He paused, turning around with a smile and staring at you, his gaze lasting a tad too long for normal and humming.

“Just around the corner!” He smiled, and you followed just that.

There's a familiar feeling to the one you've grown used to these past months. Knowing your being watched. Feeling the gaze of eyes on your figure from afar.

And as you walk away from Tartaglia you feel just that.

Your eyebrows furrow as you enter the small room, your breathing becoming more rapid by the minute, as you desperately seek answers to the question that has been weighing on your mind ever since seeing the red gem. Pulling out your phone you tap your thumbs rapidly against the screen.

can dreams predict our future

Waiting for the results load, your breathing accelerates, panic setting in. Letting your hand touch the granite on the counter, you pause. Realization hits you as you realize you have experienced this feeling in your dreams.

The panic in your dream.

Reaching for your phone with shaking hands, you pick up the device now with text present. As you scan the top result, your breath quickens as you do a double take of the words before you.

Precognitive dreams, in simple terms, are any dreams that give you information about the future you wouldn't otherwise have.

You can feel it.

You can feel the stare.

Someone’s behind you.

The weight change on your shoulder becomes evident as you feel hot breath hitting your neck. When you slowly raise your head to look in the mirror you find yourself frozen in fear.

Red hair and blue eyes stare back at you as a red gem dangles from his ear, his chin rests on your shoulder, glancing down at your phone.

“How cute, you've been dreaming of me?”

#yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere tartaglia #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #tw: stalking #yuna’s fics

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sapphosthoughtsandwritings · 3 years

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A Relaxing Day Off - Pietro Maximoff x anxious!Reader

Summary: It was your day off, so why were you so anxious? Lucky for you, a certain speedster is set on helping you feel better.

Warnings: talks of food/not wanting to eat; depictions of anxiety

Genre: fluff

Word Count: ~1.7k

A/N: So sorry that I haven't been more active recently! My mental health has been a bit wonky, and as a result I haven't really written much. But I did manage to come up with this little piece, so I hope you all enjoy it! :) || (not my gif)

(I used Google translate for this, so hopefully it is correct?)

Princeza = princess || Draga = dear || Dusica = sweetheart

Your nerves were on edge today, you had no clue why. It’s a Saturday, no one had any missions to go on, and the little work that needed to be done was fairly easy. There was absolutely no reason to be worried. So why were you so worried? Why wouldn’t your heart stop beating erratically? Or your hands stop shaking? It frustrated you to no end, you wanted an answer to these feelings. There never seemed to be an answer though.

You’d been laying in bed for an hour now, just hoping that the rest of the team thought that you were still asleep. You didn’t have the energy to get up. You wanted to get up, to be a normally functioning person, to at least shower and get dressed for the day. But you couldn’t. Not today. You were afraid that just standing up would cause your legs to turn to jelly. The only thing you really could do was scroll through your phone, although reading the news was a death sentence. Everything happening in the world was overwhelming to say the least. Especially when the headline news involved you and your team. You sighed deeply, turning off your phone, knowing it would only make your nerves worse.

Looking at your alarm clock, it read 12:53pm. ‘The team’s gonna wonder why I didn’t come out of my room to eat lunch’, you thought to yourself. Lunch didn’t even sound good at the moment. You felt nauseated, sick to your stomach. Weighing the pros and cons in your head, you were about to just take a nap instead of getting up, when the intercoms clicked on, “Agent (Y/l/n), Mr. Stark is wondering what you would like him to pick up from Wing Stop for you”, FRIDAY’s voice sounded. Your heart rate picked up as you imagined having to talk your way out of not eating to the team. It wouldn’t even be that hard, you could lie, but the thought of talking to anyone made your chest tighten and hurt.

“Just- Just tell him I don’t feel well. I don’t want any food”, you mumbled, hearing the comms click off after you stopped speaking. It only took a few minutes before you heard a knock at your door. You expected it to be Tony or Steve, but your assumption was wrong. “(Y/n)? You alive in there?”, Pietro’s voice joked from the other side. ‘Oh my god, fuck me. Why him!?’, if your thoughts weren’t wild before, they were now running rampant. Your hands flew up to your face, your heart was hammering in your chest, why did it have to be your crush, of all people, on the other side of the door?

Obviously, you steeped in your thoughts too long, as Pietro knocked more impatiently this time, “C’mon, (Y/n), you’re really not dead right?”. You swallowed your fears, inching off the bed, stepping on shaky legs. Opening the door, you were met with a very cheery looking speedster, who flashed you a smirk. “Ah, so you are alive, had me worried for a second princeza”. “Gotta keep you on your toes”, you stated, your voice coming out gravelly from dehydration.

Pietro was now leaning against the door frame, as he squinted at you, “You don’t look so good. I know Tony said you weren’t feeling good, but I didn’t think it was true”. He reached out to feel your forehead, as you just huffed, lightly pushing his hand away. “Not that kind of sick”, you murmured, looking away from him. He frowned, hesitating with his movements. “What kind of sick then?”, he asked, confusion washing over his face. You paused for a moment, deciding whether or not you really wanted to open up. “Uh, just, anxiety I guess”, you stated awkwardly, fumbling with the seams of your sweatshirt. You didn’t dare look up to Pietro, you didn’t want to see his reaction, you just wished if he was upset that he’d leave you alone, in silence.

“Anxiety? What’s making you anxious?”, his voice grew quiet and concerned, speeding his way into your room before you could protest. You cringed at his question, how were you supposed to explain something that you didn’t even understand? “Nothing, really, just feeling on edge. I don’t really have a good explanation, just feeling not great”, you were shaking in your place, why didn’t you just stay in bed and pretend to be asleep? You could feel Pietro’s gaze on you, a soft breeze pushing past you, as he sped up to you. “Is there anything that would help?”, he gently grabbed your hand in both of his, rubbing a thumb over the top of it. His concern became more palpable as he felt you shaking, squeezing your hand softly.

“I- I’m not really sure. Just an easy going day would be nice. Nothing really, drastic or loud, you know?”, you rambled, hoping he’d understand your wavelength. “So, I’m hearing a movie binging day?”, he was smiling now, a smile that warmed your heart. “Yeah, that sounds nice to me”, you gave him a small smile back, your nerves calming down the slightest bit. “No one’s in the common room right now. We can have the room all to ourselves”, he raised his eyebrows at the last part, as you chuckled slightly, shaking your head at his cheesy flirting. “Let me grab some blankets first, casanova”, you patted his hand, going to your closet to search for your collection of spare blankets. “I’ll go and get everything set up”, Pietro stated excitedly, disappearing out of your room with a blur.

You grabbed a few blankets, enough to wrap up the both of you, and headed to the common room. Upon entering the room, you spotted Pietro sitting on the couch with two large bowls of popcorn. Your stomach churned at the sight. You knew rationally at this point that your nausea was caused by not eating, but the sick feeling made you turn your nose up at the sight of food. Pietro must have seen the look on your face, as he reassured you, “Don’t worry draga, you don’t have to eat that much, just a little bit”. You nodded tentatively, walking over to him, wrapping a blanket around him, before wrapping yourself up as well, sitting down next to him. He handed a bowl to you before looking up at the screen, “So, horror or action?”. “Action, dunno if I could handle horror right now”, you chuckled softly with your words, scooching closer to him, curling up into his side. He gladly put an arm around you, pulling you closer to him as he started playing a movie you’d never seen before.

You did eat a bit, with some gentle encouragement from Pietro. It helped, but even with the relaxing day you were having, you still felt beyond jittery. Pietro sensed it, but just as he felt hopeless in helping you, an idea popped into his head. He got up for a second, much to your dismay, only to reappear a few seconds later, handing you a packet of markers. Your face scrunched in confusion, opening your mouth to question him, but he answered you before you could utter a word. “You like drawing right? You can draw on my arm if you’d like”, he was grinning from ear to ear, rolling up his sleeve slightly. A soft blush creeped onto your face, but you couldn’t deny that the idea of doodling on him made your heart flutter, in a good way this time.

Popping off one of the caps, you gently grabbed the underside of his arm, holding it in place. “Got any requests? Or can I draw whatever I want?”, you looked up to him momentarily, catching the way he only stared at you, instead of the movie that was still playing. “Surprise me, dusica”. You thought for a second, while you could choose something reasonable, this was an amazing opportunity that you weren’t going to pass up. And so, you began your design for a drawing of Sonic, as a real, but cute, hedgehog. Sadly, they weren’t permanent markers, but it still felt funny to you.

Pietro tried his best not to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. You looked too cute, tongue poking out, face scrunched in concentration, making sure every line you drew was perfect. He adored you, in every way possible. It didn’t matter what you were drawing, it was more than worth it to see the way your eyes lit up with excitement, how you slowly started to untense, your worries washing away in his presence. You must’ve stayed like that for over 40 minutes, Pietro having to start a new movie, but he didn’t care, he was lucky to even notice that the movie had ended with his focus being set on you.

The only thing that snapped him out of his trance was your voice, “And finished! It turned out better than I thought it would”. You smiled proudly, holding his arm at an angle to get a better look at your masterpiece. “All your artwork is amazing”, Pietro gushed, still staring intently at you. “Well, I’m not sure you’ll really think that when you see what I drew”, you couldn’t stop yourself from snickering with your words. “Oh? Let me go and take a look then”, and with that, he sped out of the room and into the bathroom, only to come back no more than a minute later. He was chuckling softly, hiding his mouth behind his hand, obviously trying to hide the fact that he was amused by your drawing. “I can’t believe you drew Sonic on my arm”, he huffed out, smirking widely. “Well, you did tell me I could draw whatever I wanted. And that was an opportunity that I was gonna take”, you held your head high, a new found confidence flowing through you. He rolled his eyes playfully, coming to sit back next to you, draping his arm around you again. “I’d let you tattoo my whole arm if it means I get to see you this happy”, his expression changed slightly, to a more sincere look. You couldn’t help but smile wider, you hadn’t even noticed that you’d forgotten about your nerves, feeling much more at ease now. “Is that an offer, Maximoff?”, you inquired, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sure, why not? Just let me choose the next design, okay princeza?”. “Sounds like a deal to me”.

Here is my masterlist :)

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justasecretwriter · 2 years

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Questions (Part Two of "The Bad Guy")

Title | Questions

Series | The Bad Guy (Part Two)

Summary | Y/N is the new member of the Avenger's team, and she's met almost everyone, but Tony knows she isn't exactly who she says she is but allows her to live with her secrecy a little longer.

Pairings | None yet. (Y/N x Loki later in the series)

Story Warnings | Light Anxiety (like, if you squint)

Series Warnings | Cursing, Mental Illness (Depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc.), sex, explicit sex, drinking, possible drug use, mentions of LBGTQ+, subtle and not-so-subtle homophobia, tell me if you see more.

Author's Note | This is a light start to a later graphic sex story. This story takes place in a perfect universe where Nebula snapped instead of Tony and Thanos is dead, while everyone else is alive and all is well and Peter Parker is openly bisexual. AKA: This is how Marvel SHOULD have gone.

Words | 1,518

“Hey,” I leaned against the doorway and Tony looked over his shoulder at me.

“Hey, you’re early to dinner.”

“Yeah, I got everything unpacked and had a shower—the water pressure is fabulous here, by the way—and figured I’d just float on down here. You’re a talker, I’m sure you can entertain me.” He laughed and nodded.

“So go ahead, you have burning questions. Everyone does on their first day in the tower. I’m willing to hear them, valid or stupid.” I smirked.

“Jarvis is…”

“A home assistant, but better. I couldn’t get anything done without him. He can do almost any command or operate simply as a search engine. He’s available twenty-four-seven to anyone who asks nicely, and he had all the database information that I have. He’s highly intelligent; he understands humor, sarcasm, and has a unique ability to throw at you what you throw at him. He’s full of personality, but in the end, he can mold into whatever you need him to be.”

“That’s… impressive.” I ended, lamely. Tony just nodded and I peeked around him.

“What are you working on?”

“I’m uhm, Googling stuff.” He shut the computer and my eyes narrowed. He huffed, crossing his arms, “I’m reading up on your rap. Very impressive history you’ve got?”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Reminds me of Natasha.”

“In what ways?”

“You speak three different dead languages, and five living ones.”

“Well technically,” I said, putting a finger up. “I don’t actually speak Greek. I just translate. But I don’t know how to actually say any of the words.” He gave me a sarcastic look. “And also, you don’t speak sign language.”

He stood up, giving me an exasperated sigh.

“Where are you from?”

“Ohio,” I said, naturally. He was onto me.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Who are your parents?”

“Frank and Janie Y/L/N.”

“Siblings?”

“No.”

“Where did you go to high school?”

“Glenwood.”

“What was your first pet's name?”

“Pringles.”

Tony sat back down, just staring at me, and then he smiled. “They really trained you thoroughly, didn’t they?”

“I’m not a spy.”

“I know.”

“And my name is Y/N,” I said.

“I know. I believe you are who you say you are up to a point. I don’t believe that you’re thirty-two, and you did not go to Glenwood High School in New Boston, Ohio.”

I just gave a friendly smile. “So, tell me, Tony, what are your theories?”

“Remember when I said you reminded me of Natasha?” I nodded. “I think you may have had a similar upbringing as her.”

“And what kind of upbringing was that?”

“The Red Room.” I met his eyes, feeling my body go completely still, but I said nothing. “But I suppose it wouldn’t matter any more than it matters about her. As long as you have no intentions of harm.”

“I have only good intentions.”

“Okay then. Jarvis order our usual pizza, and one with just cheese as well.”

“Yes sir.” The robot replied, and Tony re-opened his laptop, scrolling through my information.

“Any other burning questions?” He asked, reading.

“What’s the training here like?”

“Intense. Every able body member is required to get at least fifty hours of training in a week. You’ll be doing almost twice that in the beginning until I’m sure you’re ready to train on your own.”

“Who will be training me?”

“A little bit of everyone. Tomorrow we’ll spend all day doing evaluations of you, the entire team will. We’ll find your strong and weak points, your triggers, your mental stability, and your physical limitations, and then we push them. Once we find your strong point, you’ll mainly focus on that. Once you’ve mastered that, we’ll move to your weaker points until you’re a master at just about everything. That will take years though. Natasha is still going through training on weak points. Almost everyone is. But you get cleared for induvial training after your strong point is mastered.”

“What is everyone’s specialties?”

“I like to say everyone is the head of a different department. For instance, I’m in the department of distracting the enemy and calling for backup. Natasha, hand-to-hand combat. Clint is archery. Bruce is strength and wit, learning how to use them hand in hand. Cap is learning to discipline yourself, keep your emotions out of it. He and Wanda usually train people together. She’s good at keeping a good headspace for fighting. Loki is knives, knowing your weapon and how to use it, no matter who you're fighting. Bucky is a fan of guns, and he can teach you anything and everything about them. Thor is how to manage multiple targets at once. And Peter may be young and naive, but do not underestimate him. He trains people for scoping out the land, figuring out the best course to take to get from point A to point B.”

“Huh…” I said, thoughtfully.

“What would you guess yours would be?”

“Combat, aim, sneaking around.”

“I can guess what group you’ll fall into.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there is sort of cliques here. And not that we aren’t all a big family, we are, but there are groups that are closer than others. Some people have more than one, but there are groups.”

“Like who?”

“Loki, Bucky, Natasha, that’s where you’ll be. Me, Cap, and Point Break; Wanda, Vision, and Peter. And then I’d say Bruce, Peter, and I might fit into one too.”

“I haven’t met Vision or Clint yet, have I?”

“No. They’re working on a project in Washington with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Also, I know Fury didn’t give you the rap sheet on anyone living in this tower, and I’m gonna guess you want those, so I already emailed them to you.” I smiled.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Sure.”

For the next twenty minutes, I wandered around, looking at the beautiful artwork on the walls and the architect of the tower that seemed so beyond my years. I found my way into Bruce and Tony’s lab and found myself drooling over all the equipment I didn’t understand.

There was a sort of futuristic-looking staff on the table, being held up and it looked like it was slightly taken apart, pieces of it array around the room. I leaned in closer, examining the shiny metal.

“Cool, isn’t it?” I spun around and Bruce leaned against the door, crossing his arms, and smiled at me.

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry, the door was open, and I just sort of wandered in.”

“No problem, the lab is open to anyone who doesn’t break things.”

I looked back at the staff. “What is it?”

“Loki’s Scepter. Thanos already took the mind stone out of it a long time ago, but Loki found a way to still use it for magic. He allowed us to take it apart to find out how much it can withstand.”

“Will he get it back?”

“Yes. It’s his. He got the staff back once we realized he was just as powerful without it, so there was no use in keeping it from him. He just likes it; it’s like his Mjolnir.”

“Everyone seems to have their very own Mjolnir here. Loki has his scepter—and daggers. Tony has Jarvis and the suit. Bucky has his arm. Cap has his shield. What do you have?”

“My Mjolnir isn’t something you can hold. It’s my control, finally having the control over Hulk.”

“That may be the best Mjolnir of them all,” I said, leaning against the table.

“Are you adjusting, okay?”

“I mean, I’m not really sure just yet. I got all unpacked thought, and I was given the crash course on Jarvis—as well as how training works.”

“You’re the new inside secretary, and Tony’s secretary, right?”

“Yeah. There’s me, and then there’s Bridget, the girl on the first floor. She basically just watches the front door though. I do all the fun stuff.”

“Right, because I’m sure dealing with lawsuits and sucking up to Tony is so fun.” He laughed, and I smiled.

“It’s only for so long. After a while, I’ll be able to officially start going on missions. But until then, I hold the fort down while you guys do.” He nodded, and then Jarvis told everyone the pizza was here.

I walked down to the living area with Bruce, and when we entered, Tony, Thor, and Bucky were already making plates. I went up to the coffee table that had at least seven pizzas on it, noticed they all had different toppings on them. On the top of each box was a sticky note. Some said olives and others said no olives.

I smiled and looked at Tony, aiming to thank him, but he just shook his head and told me it wasn’t necessary.

Then I heard the elevator ding and when I looked over there were five people coming out, three that I recognized and two that I didn’t. And of all the faces that were coming in my direction, I couldn’t take my eyes off the one.

He was tall and lean, and his slim face was framed with long black hair.

#loki #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #mcu #avengers #avengers y/n #female y/n #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki friggason

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thebiasrekkers · 3 years

Text

Call of the Amazon: The Bet

Rating: 18+ // NSFW

Genre: non-idol namjoon, established relationship, smut/explicit sexual content

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: Switch!Namjoon, Switch!Reader Namjoon is secure, Strong Joon [namtiddies and namthighs], semi-exhibitionism, hair pulling [male and female], Impact play [pussy and ass slapping], Wake Up/Morning Sex, fingering, oral, anal, toy use, reckless blowjobs [respect your throat space, y’all], unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play [male and female], messy kisses, lots of noises, the adventurous couple is adventurous, The Amazon position [kneeling], The Snow Angel Position, The Seashell Position [google it you heathens!],

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3.6K

AN: Thanks to the @blushingatyou for trusting me with this prompt/scenario! I love a good position challenge! I feel like this couple fits the needs of the request - so back at it again with the positional shenanigans! Make sure to be safe, discuss all and any 'play' with your partners. I like to suffer, apparently.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin T). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

The hot spray of water beating down on your shoulders is a welcome relief. Your hands splayed on the wet tile as the water slid down the center of your back. A soft sigh of satisfaction is interrupted by large hands capturing the flare of your hips. “Don’t you think we’ve made enough noise for the night?”

Even though Namjoon’s lips were busy brushing against the arch in your back, you still heard him chuckle. “They don’t mind,” He rumbled, too busy dragging his tongue across your shoulder. “They sleep like rocks,” He chuckled, pulling you back against him. His hand was catching lather to rub across the front of your body. “Plus, I can’t count how many nights I’ve lost sleep because those little shits have no self-control.”

Your head tilts upward, mouth slightly agape at the statement. “You’re kidding, right?” It was no secret that Namjoon claimed his best sleep came when he was with you. And now that the truth was out? You could barely hold your amusement.

“Hey, it’s not funny,” He offered a pitiful pout. “Do you know how many threesomes I’ve come home to? Loud ones at that. You should feel sorry for me.” He spins you around, crushing your breasts against him so he can reach down and grab a handful of your ass. “At least we’re quiet.”

You offer a slight nod as your arms slink around his shoulders. “This is true.” But, there’s something suddenly mischievous in your gaze. He eyes you warily as you smile. “Do you think you could stay quiet?”

Namjoon pulled you against the erection stirring between you. “I’d like to say I can be pretty discreet. I’ve had lots of practice.”

“You wanna put your money where your mouth is, Kim Namjoon?” You’re on your tiptoes whispering against his mouth.

“I’m listening.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, causing the slick to build between your legs.

“I seem to remember the last time I gave you a morning blow job; I almost was kicked out of my apartment.” You drew lazy circles across his pectoral. Your thumb brushed his nipple awake.

“That’s not fair, love. I had a spectacularly dirty dream about you. How was I to know that morning erection was going to be so enticing.” He chuckled.

“Joonie, all your erections are enticing,” You offered with the slightest curl of your lip.

“I tell you what, my love,” He pulled you against the start of one of those enticing erections. “I’ll bite. I know here, I tend to be hyperaware of my decibels. So feel free to engage in a wake-up blow-job. I’m pretty sure I’ll manage to stay quiet much to your chagrin.”

Your brow lifts as he turns you toward the corner of the shower. His hips undulated as he pulled your leg up against his hip. “You underestimate my power, Joonie,” you warned with a moan.

“We’ll see, my love.” He groaned as he slid inside of you for the third time that night. “You can use every trick in your playbook tomorrow morning. But, of course, I’ll expect breakfast for my victory.”

The first rays of morning slithered over the tops of the blackout curtains in his room. You wiped at your eyes before checking the time. Namjoon was on his back, arm over his face, chest rising with gentle breaths. You wiggle to the edge of that California king bed, arms stretched upward.

You can use every dirty trick in your book in the morning.

That’s right - you have a bet to win. A Cheshire grin nearly splits your face as you head to the en suite bathroom. First, you made sure to brush your teeth, clean your face, use the bathroom and take a quick shower. Then, you searched one of your unique drawers for something to give you the upper hand.

“Oh, we haven’t used you in a while.” A thin, silicone, vibrating plug was stored in a small bag. A small bottle of lube was rummaged as well. “I think this will do nicely.” You exited the bathroom, dropping the towel from around your body. You were so glad your boyfriend was a back sleeper. It made these mornings possible, after all.

And, of course, the outline of his cock twitching beneath the blanket is a siren song you never fail to answer. The soft light of morning filtered against the ceiling as you crawled under the blanket. You settled between Namjoon’s legs, brushing your face against his thighs. You dragged your tongue across a twitching muscle. You alternate between bites, sucks, and the slide of your tongue against his skin.

He shuffled with a moan, causing you to stop. You wait for him to settle before licking a path along the seam of his testicles. Next, your lips surround one, a gentle suck and roll before it pops out of your mouth. Then, you turn to lavish the same attention on the other one. His cock twitches as he moans softly.

You spend the subsequent few minutes teasing, sucking, and massaging his balls. Finally, his cock juts up throbbing, angry, and leaking pre-cum. A finger tickling the entry to his ass when he spreads his legs wider. You pulled that silicone plug from the bag, lubing it generously. Your tongue traces a throbbing vein on the shaft of his cock. That thin plug was pushed slowly inside of him. His hips lift and swivel against the intrusion; the throaty gruff moan made your thighs clench.

Your tongue lapped at the opening of his cock, swirling saliva and pre-cum on the head. He was beginning to stir, restless against your teasing. His stomach dips as you lick him like a melting ice cream cone in the summer. The hand across his face slides down his chest, the other gripping the sheets.

You take him into your mouth, pushing down until your nose was buried against his abdomen. The anal plug pushed all the way in as you hollowed out your cheeks. Namjoon wakes with a start, and he knows the sensation of your mouth. He knows the sudden fullness, and the feeling has him bucking into your mouth.

“F-fuck, baby, shit!” His voice is a hoarse, almost violent whisper. You hum your amusement as the vibrator buzzed to life. He runs his hands through your hair, moving it away from your face. That makeshift ponytail was created to give him leverage. He leaned up on one elbow, moving your head down again until you swallowed all of him.

You could feel him pulsating against your tongue. His mouth fell open in shallow pant as he pulled you up till your lips suckled the tip of him. Then he pushed you down again, both his hands holding you down as he thrust into your throat space. A few seconds and he releases, pulling you up covered in drool and smiling. “You’re so fucking messy,” He growls. Your tongue flicks against the underside of his cock, and he pushes you down again. Not so tightly this time, enough that he could fuck your mouth. Your tongue lays flat against the shaft of his cock. He watches as he disappears time and again into your mouth. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re messy. You know that? When you swallow me down like this. Fuck. Fuck.” He’s desperate to finish now. He wants to watch you swallow this pressure building in his gut.

You turned the vibrator up to max, and he whines with an arduous thrust that had you gagging. Namjoon was caught between pushing his ass into the bed for more stimulation and pushing himself so far down your throat he was sure you’d consume him.

He was doing so well, panting softly, stomach dipped and taut, the veins in his arms bulging with the effort to keep your airway open. Then it happened.

Knock, knock.

The knock at the door, the twist of the doorknob. Namjoon released his death grip on your head, making sure you were covered by the blanket. He cleared his throat slightly, “Uh, y-yeah, what is it?”

“Ah, sorry, Joon. I just wanted to ask if it was ok to head out on that walk without you?” Hoseok’s voice slid between the crack of a barely opened door. Namjoon silently cursed himself for forgetting.

“Ah, Hobi, I’m sorry. It slipped mind I-,” Namjoon’s breath was stolen as you continued to move. His brain short-circuited as your hand rotated and pumped against the shaft. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock. He stared daggers at you as he fought to find words. “-I s-should have set the alarm.”

Namjoon bit into his fist as if the pain would keep his breathing even. You pushed the anal plug inside of him further, sure that the tip was rubbing against his prostate. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Namjoon; I’m sure I can get Jin to go with me.”

Namjoon made a noise that was slightly distressed, “Mmk. I. Will. Makeituptoyou.” He could feel the flood gates bursting open. Hoseok said something, and he could barely register the words as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

You kept working him, watching his thighs quiver. “No biggie, I’ll catch you at lunch!” The door closed, and Hoseok’s voice traveled away down the hallway. You cupped his balls and swallowed him down once again.

Namjoon’s body remained taut until Hoseok’s voice disappeared. He lifted the blanket to watch you suck him down. “Fuck. fuck, gonna...fuckin-” That distressed sound bubbled from his chest as he arched upward into your mouth. He pushed your face down against his stomach as he half sat up to blast down your throat.

It seemed like every vein in his body stood out as he shot his load down your throat. Then, he pushed down so that vibrator touched that spot inside of him. Meanwhile, you’re thrusting against the sheets trying to feel something other than the throb between your legs. It feels like he was cumming forever until he releases you. Finally, he fell back against the bed, chest heaving and sweat squeezing from his pores.

You release him with a pop, turned off the vibrator with a soft chuckle. “You did pretty well.” Your body is still positioned against his legs as he tries to remember how to breathe.

Namjoon’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and when it sounded like his heart wasn’t going to burst from his chest? He looks at you with hellfire in his eyes. “You little shit.” Before you could give him any lip or plaster that devious smile on your face - he pulled you up the length of his body.

There was a soft whoop of sound as he all but tossed you against the pillows. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Your stomach flipped loops as he grabbed your breasts, massaging and rolling your nipples around. Your hips lifted upward, undulating and clenching at nothing. Namjoon’s hand makes its way down your body. “You think that was funny, don’t you?”

Slap!

One hand moved toward your throat, the other slapped your sticky pussy lips. There was the slightest pressure against your collarbone as he hit your pussy again. Your mouth opened to moan as he slapped it again. A rapid succession of slaps that had your clit throbbing. “Joon, please!”

The sound of moist flesh being slapped was loud for but a moment. Then, he raised fingers covered in your juices to his mouth. His tongue slid between his fingers, and you were ready to do whatever he asked of you at that moment. “Mm, I don’t think I taste anything. I should go in for a closer look.” Before you could protest, he was between your legs, pinning your hips with your calves over his shoulders. Your elbows dug into the mattress as your eyes met. He held you down, his gaze daring you to fight your way out of his hold. The tip of his tongue collected that sweetness shimmering on your inner thighs. “Look at this mess. I have to clean this up. I can’t let any of it go to waste.” Your teeth set into your bottom lip as Namjoon’s tongue licked at you from thigh to apex. His breath ghosted over your quivering sex, teasing you. He kissed you everywhere but where you wanted. The first flick of his tongue against your clit had you reeling. He showed no mercy as he dove in. His whole mouth opening to cover your sex, tongue inside the hole, nose brushing against your clit. It took both of your hands covering your mouth to muffle the sounds.

There was a loud slurp that had your gut twisting as his lips wrapped around your clit. You fought against his hold on you, legs trying to close and crush his skull. He slapped your thighs, causing you to whimper as you spread wide for him again. “Joonie, please, please. I can’t..”

“Yes, you can.” Slurp. Slurp. Slap. “You better if you know what’s good for you.” Slurp. Slurp.

Knock, knock.

You sit up, eyes wide, with your hand full of Namjoon’s hair. The blanket pulled up to cover your lower half. The door was barely opened again, cracked enough for a voice to make its way through. “Hey! I thought we were having breakfast together.” You groaned at another interruption. “Uh, Joonie’s in the bathroom. We didn’t forget, Jimin!”

Namjoon’s kitten flicks turned to full-on licks. He chased the slick dribbling from your cunt. His tongue running from the hole to clit. Your body goes taut with a forceful huff of air. “Tsk, you’d better not. It took me days to get this table! Tell Joonie don’t hog all the hot water.”

Namjoon yanks the blanket away from his body. The fabric irritating his skin and blocking his view of your face. He feasts as if this would be the last thing his mouth would touch. Your eyes move between his dark gaze between your legs and that barely opened door. Jimin said something else, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

“Jimin, I promise we’ll be ready in like...an h-hour.” There’s a strange hitch in your voice. “I’ll make sure there’s hot water.”

“Alright, you have an hour!” The door closed, and Namjoon continues to push your body to the limit, even before Jimin’s footsteps have disappeared down the hallway. Two thick fingers scissor and spread you wide as he sucks a rhythm against your clit.

You vibrate as your upper body twists, fingers clawing into the sheets as if it would keep you from floating away. Your mouth opens on a silent scream as the sound of moisture builds. Namjoon suckles with intermittent flicks on the hood of your clit - and you blow. A mouthful of the pillow keeps the keening sounds at bay.

Namjoon opens his mouth, drinking your essence as you squirt all over his hands and chest. He’s been fucking into the mattress trying to build more friction. He sits back on his haunches; another slap to your cunt has you shuddering again. He swings a leg over your torso, scooting around until that thick cock is in line with your mouth. You lean up to swallow him as he leans down to feat on you again.

The sounds of doors opening and closing gave you both momentary pause. The voices carried outside sent you both into a frenzy of motion. He moans into your cunt as you suck him lewd and loud. You let him flop out of your mouth to spit on two fingers. Those two fingers plopped right into his asshole, deep to the knuckle till you brush against his prostate. He bucks upward, clenching around your fingers.

You slap his ass while thrusting your hips into his mouth. “Move down,” you growl with another slap to his ass. Namjoon grunted as he shimmied down the length of your body. Your legs wrapped around his torso until your toes dug into the underside of his shoulder blade. He reached down pushing his cock toward the heat of your cunt.

This was one of the positions you’d practiced but rarely had a chance to put it into play. Your hips lifted making it easier to guide him in. Your hands moved along his legs, slapping his ass as he filled you up. The unique position gave you a great view of his back as he nibbled along your calf. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, “Look at my pretty Joonie.” That thin silicone butt plug was within reach, and suddenly back inside of him.

Namjoon had to keep a hand between his legs, pushing his cock downward toward the opening of your pussy. Both your bodies rocked against the other, his back arched so he could fuck himself against that plug. “Turn it up, baby,” He grunts wanting a stronger vibration.

“Fucking hell, you take this so well, Joonie. You look so pretty with your ass all stuffed. Gonna get you a bigger one next time.” You moan as you slapped his ass.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. I need more…” He can’t stand not looking at you. He moved forward leaving you empty and wanting. He turned on you, lifting your legs up and pushing your feet toward the headboard. You could still hear the vibrator as his cock sank into you to the hilt. You rolled your eyes as he set a grueling pace. You couldn’t help clenching relentlessly as he rammed his body against yours. “Look at you, baby. All fucked out on my cock.” He grabbed your ankles with one hand. The other offering that gentle pressure against your clavicle. He held you down so your body didn’t bounce as he chased the quiver in your thighs. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

Your bodies are drenched in sweat, he looks down his nose at you. The faintest smirk curling the side of his mouth. “I feel you getting ready to cum, baby.” He sucks in a breath, head falling back as the anal plug does its job. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You reach forward grabbing his thighs, clinging to him for dear life as the pressure builds in your belly. Your nails dug into his thighs and he makes the whiniest noise you’d ever heard in your time together.

The sound of a man overstimulated and ready to break. He is speed and stamina personified as your hips lift higher to take the beating he offered. Both of you were beyond caring about the noises.

Namjoon moans, shudders, and whines again, he’s so close to a dizzying finish, but he just can’t get there. “Fuck, so fuckin’ close.” He bucks and shakes, your legs free as his hips become erratic. You let your legs fall as he pulls you up. Positions switched, you lift your hands above your head and ride him like a champ. His whole body is taut as you sink, swivel, and swerve, milking his cock for all its worth. It’s easy to get his legs up over your forearms. He holds them there, letting you kneel and change the angle of the fuck.

Your walls flutter and squeeze at him. It hit you first. The orgasm had your nails scratching down the back of his thighs. He reached forward to grab your hips, pulling you onto his cock until he yelled a string of obscenities while he painted your insides white.

He held your body still, scared that if either one of you so much as breathed aloud, he’d cum again. “Fuck, b-baby, vibrator, p-please.” He whimpered as he continued to pulsate safe in the confines of your cunt. It’s a feeble effort to remove the still buzzing toy from his ass. You fell onto his body, trying to let your lungs re-adjust to breathing. Both of you waiting for your hearts to calm. A blissful smile spread on his face as he softened inside of you. You wriggled a small amount, and that earned you a sharp slap on the left ass cheek.

“AH! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You laughed at the warning in his eyes.

“You will be if you keep it up.” He grumbled.

“Joonie, we have to get up.” Even though that was the furthest thing from your mind.

Namjoon grunted pulling you, off his cock, further up his body. “We’re disgusting aren’t we?” You both sputtered into a laugh before he fumbled to sit on the edge of the bed. He managed to keep you in his arms the whole time.

“I think you broke my lower half,” you offered him a slight pout.

“Hey, this was a valuable lesson.” He arched a brow as he stood up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Karma is swift, my love.” He kissed the tip of your nose while setting you gently on the edge of the sink. A warm washcloth and his attention to detail would begin the cleaning process.

He turned on the shower, hopefully, it masked the sound of your moaning complaint. He tutted at you, “Come on. It’s bad enough I’m going to need to change the sheets.” He pulled you into the shower, and under the spray of water. “You know, I could get used to waking up like that,” this spoken into the crown of your hair.

“Oh?” You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Let’s make sure we haven’t traumatized your roommates first, yeah?”

Namjoon’s brows lifted in thought, “Good point. Let’s do wake-ups at your place.”

You smiled as he spun you around toward the corner of the shower. His pupils were blown out, as that erection started to twitch again. “I think I can oblige that.”

#ksmutclub #kpopscape #bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #RM fanfic #rm x reader #RM imagine #RM smut

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nikitavenable · 2 years

Text

You’re Mine

Google translator

1070 words

Part 2 Part 1

Part 3

• Jessica POV •

The annoying sound of my alarm clock woke me up in the morning. I turned it off and realized who I was dreaming about. It was about Mrs. Jolie. I didn't remember any great details, but she just was there. I took a moment to work out to realize that I had to prepare for a new job. I got out of bed, took a shower, did my hygiene, and went to find something to wear. The e-mail didn't say anything I should wear. I chose a white dress to my knees.

I arrived just in time. It was 7:50 so I wasn't expecting anything and I went straight to her office as instructed. I thought I would have to wait for her when she came too, but I was wrong. When I took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, I saw her at the table, where her personal receptionist was probably yesterday. "Good morning, Mrs. Jolie." She jumped a little. "Good morning, Miss Fox. You're early." - "I know." I smiled shyly. I went to her office, where she led me to the door, behind which was a room with a table. According to them, this will be my little 'office' now. It wasn't really big, but it was enough for me. "Please just do the paperwork today and reply to some e-mails. If you need anything next door and if I'm not there you can go see Rachel. "That must have been the woman from yesterday. I thanked her and she left me alone to 'settle in.'

I opened my laptop and looked at how much there was. It was really just a few messages so I didn't expect anything to start writing off. It wasn't complicated, I had it done in about an hour. I could have thrown myself into paperwork, which was already a lot.

During my work, I was frightened by a knock on the door. I turned around to see who it could be and Rachel stood there. "Hi, I thought I would go and introduce myself officially. I'm Rachel. "-" Jessica, you know that. " We both laughed a little. "How's everything going?" - "So far so good." - "Well, if you need help with anything, you know where to find me." she didn't deal with it and kept doing her own.

• Angelina POV •

He really came. As my brother said yesterday, so he did. I was waiting for him downstairs when, as always, he was late. ,,Where are you? I'm waiting here, and I'm upstairs working. "I said in a stern tone." I'm sorry, sister. " We drove in silence in the elevator when James broke the silence. "Where is he?" - "In that room by my office." I just prayed in my head that he would behave himself. I know what it's like in this.

I went to pour him a drink while he was watching the show through the glass door to Jessica. "He looks really good, he just doesn't feel like your type." I put a glass of water in front of him, I didn't want him to drink alcohol. "How did you find out?" - "I don't know. words eyes.

Jessica interrupted us in our conversation. "Um ... Mrs. Jolie, sir-" She was cute when she was nervous. "Just James." - "What do you need, Miss Fox?" She walked over to my desk and handed me some paper. write here. " I looked at the paper so I could advise her. When I looked up a little, I saw James looking at her properly. He stopped his eyes on her ass for a moment, while I pretended not to see anything. I told Jessica what to do with the paper, and she left with a soft thank you. "Did you really have to stare at her like that?" I said it sharper than planned. "I had to find out what you saw on her. Now I understand ... The body is-" "Don't try to finish the sentence!" I said through my teeth. My reaction obviously surprised him, and so did I. "Why?" - "Just don't." I didn't know the reason. Jess, yes. "All right."

• Jessica POV •

I don't know exactly who James was, but I didn't feel good about him. He was there with her for a really long time and it occurred to me that there was something wrong with Mrs. Jolie. We didn't want to deal with it anymore and went to work.

I had no idea how much time had passed until Mrs. Jolie appeared at my door. "It's time to go," she told me kindly. I turned off my laptop, picked up my things, and headed for the door. "I've completely lost track of time. I'm sorry I'm late." I don't mind. "I wanted to walk past her, but she stopped me with her hand on my wrist." Was everything all right? "-" Yes, it was. " me and I went to the elevator and waited for them to arrive.

We went east together. "Where's your car?" She asked. "I don't have a car." - "Do you want me to take you home?" I didn't quite understand why he was offering this to me. You don't bother I want to take you away. Come on. "I went with her to the parking lot where there were only a few cars left. I wondered what it could be like, then she unlocked it so I knew it.

She opened the door for me and waited for me to get in. Instead, the show just admired the car. Eventually I recovered and boarded. The interior of the car was done so clean, the seat was really comfortable but it was just a luxury. "Then where will it be, Miss-" I interrupted her. "Can you please touch me?" - "Okay, so where will it be?" I gave her my address.

The road was quiet and neither of us said anything. It was a little uncomfortable but it really didn't take long and we were in front of the house. "So here we are." - "Thank you very much." I got out and so did she. "You don't have to thank me, we did it gladly. Nice rest today. "I didn't even have time to answer, she was already sitting in the car. At least we waved at her as she left.

I don't know how she did it but I had her head full. I kept thinking about the feeling when her hand held my wrist or when she offered me the ride. It was weird but nice and nice at the same time. I wrote everything to Rayen, who wrote me something like he really wanted me to be. I told him it was bullshit because I wasn't against her. He just wrote to me that he would come to work for me tomorrow and we would say it in person. I honestly don't know what to think about that woman.

#angelina jolie #czechia #wattpad #angelina jolie x reader #story #angelina jolie x you #thena eternals #thena x reader #mrs jolie

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roblox-milf · 2 years

Text

How to escape from yandere izuku works 100% every time

are you tired of planning an escape for months, building a bobby pin from a fork you stole, and pretending that you like being stalked? well say no more:

step 1.

when you wake up, most likely in his bed and he says hi ily just say ‘no inglés por favor gracias“ and he’s gonna be like 🤨🤨 wtf did you just say??

so while he’s distracted translating what you said through Google, you should use that time to roll off your socks and grip his rock hard sleep apnea pillow with your double-jointed Toes And get ready to swing.

and once he turns around, you throw that pillow at Mach 1, make a dent in his frontal lobe, discombobulate his hairline.

if he dodged/caught the pillow:

izukus relatively level-headed and calm, and sees you as a nothing short of a divine being that, as far as he's concerned, can do no wrong, so when he looks back and forth from the steaming pillow to you, he will wait for an explanation.

at this point, you wanna start using body launguage, wave your hands around, and muster the most apologetic face you can while saying a bunch of random shit that will force izuku to once again translate.

ex: "ja mappelle el churro mi gusta casa es familia lo siento burger yum yum sphagettti aaa"

even if he might not know what the hell your saying, he'll pick up on your apologetic body movements, and shake his head and reassure you with nervous hands waves that your good, theres nothing to worry about!

so while hes busy putting whatever mouth gravy you spat out through google translate, its gon be harder to do something as he'll nervously glance your way every 2 seconds.

but you have to remember: be creative.

shout at him and get his attention.

when he looks at you, point to your lower half and signal hey i have to take a fat shit can i go?? and 10 times of 9 he'll be like yeah ofc bb :DDDD

so when your in the bathroom, he wont watch you, thats creepy and not cool.

instead he'll make you keep the door atleast 1 foot open.

so when your in the bathroom, you gotta be fast and quick.

first off, start grunting and blowing raspberrys in the air, slap your thighs n shit just make sure that it sounds like you are taking a horrendous doo-doo.

while you do that, look around, a stray bobby pin or knife will do just fine. and once you find something akin to that, hide it in the waistband of your mom jeans that you are definitely totally wearing.

if you couldnt find a stray bobby pin or something sharp:

flush yourself down the toilet, your done.

If you did:

when you get out, point behind him and when he looks, with no hesitation, you stab both his eyes and get arrested for murdering number 1 hero deku after nobody belived that he kidnapped you, and live the rest of your life in prision questioning your life choices.

If everything went according to plan from the beginning:

after hitting him with the pillow, if everything went alright, he should be on the ground passed out.

He'll probably have you in like, hello kitty handcuffs or sm but thats okay, all you need to get out of any restraintments is this one trick!

eat through it.

so once your done, your gums might be bleeding and if your lucky you'll have a mild case of tetanus and rabies.

but thats ok! you can replace your teeth, but you cant replace your freedom.

Now you should disarm izuku.

this dudes stronk as hell, and for bonus points he crazy so you have to be creative.

go to the bathroom and put a chair infront of the shower and turn it on, so it sounds like the water is hitting something solid.

then, drag his ass to the bed and burrito him up in blankets, and then leave a note next to him along the lines of 'get some rest babe, ily -y/n p.s. if im still in the shower when you wake up just make dinner and wait, sorry if i dont respond if you call out to me lol im deaf'

ideally, if and when he wakes up he'll read the note and think 'oh i guess we dating idk why i cant remember but oh well yay'

best case scenario, that should keep him from being sus for like 6 hours before he starts feeling like somethings up.

So, your inside his house, check urself for any tracking devices cause hes a sneaky hoe, and then steal his money, get food, preferably beans, knife for protection, (also hide a fork in your sock just in case), and skedaddle.

so after crawling through a 2 by 2 inch doggy door, haul your ass to a salon and completely change yourself, new hairstyle, straighten/curl your hair, go bald, just look different.

after getting your cut, you should wear a mask and sunglasses, in the world of bnha little things like that wont be looked at twice as people would just assume it has something to do with your quirk.

now, create as much distance between yourself and izuku's totally alive body. By taxi is the best option, they will take you across the ocean as long as you pay.

by now, you should realize that you'll never truly escape him completely, you will have to start a new life and never talk to your family again, yes your away from him, but in a way, he's still always there.

That and he also implanted a tracker in your stomach so you were never really getting away in the first place.

#childbirth #yandere izuku #yandere mha #yandere izuku x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere x gn reader #yandere izuku midoriya #shit ass balls #foul #disgustang #in the wild id be murdered in the first 10 seconds #without my contacts im basically legally blind #and id like to think id be a bad bitch #but i always remember that one time where i choked on a piece of cheese and started sobbing cause i thought i was gonna die #this was posted souly by Amelia #Cherry-san has no asssociation or corolation

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Haran - Rogue, Chapter 8 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: The Mandalorian tries to get back on with his normal routine without you. So he decided to go visit Peli on the quiet, almost deserted planet of Tatooine. Where he will meet no one of interest or danger. At all.

Warnings: Hmm, not many. Some light swearing and mentions of death briefly.

Word count: Around 7139

AN: I’m not sure if everything I wrote about Tatooine is strictly ‘correct’, so forgive me if not!

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy

Mando’a translation: Haran – Hell

The Mandalorian watched you walk away.

He watched your figure retreat further and further into the distance, each step taking you closer to Nevarro, and further away from him and the kid. He watched until he could see you no more, then sighed, murmuring to Grogu and returning to the cockpit to leave.

And it hurt.

He knew it would, he wasn’t stupid. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so very much. Didn’t expect that it would feel like you’d wrenched his heart from beneath his armour and took it with him.

He hadn’t even hugged you. Touch like that was rare for Mandalorians, wasn’t considered… ‘normal.’

But when had your… friendship... ever been ‘normal’? You’d started off as hunter and prey, for Maker’s sake. He’d hunted you down and took you onto his ship with every intention of delivering you to the new Client and being on his merry way.

Only, you were different. You didn’t shy away from him. You didn’t cower or beg for your life. You were cocky, inappropriate and had a silver-tongue and knew how to use it. You got under his skin and drove him insane.

But… he’d laughed more times with you than he had with anyone that wasn’t the kid.

You made him feel… less alone. And he’d hoped he’d done the same for you

Then you’d saved his life.

And he’d realised just how much he had come to adore your presence and your company.

As cliché as it sounded, it was like having a little bit of sunlight in his ship.

Well, no. That might not be the right analogy. You weren’t just sunlight. You weren’t just a flame; you were a blaze.

You burned brighter than anyone he had ever met, determined not to be dragged down by your past. Your anger was a storm, ravaging everything it came near, with all the force of a tempest. He’d borne the brunt of it enough times in the few months he had been together.

But you had a light inside you, a thirst to see the good in the world, the beauty no matter how dark it may have appeared. He admired that about you. There was a word for it in Mando’a. Shereshoy; a lust for life.

The last argument you’d had… He knew from the moment you ran from the market, that you would lash out. He didn’t know how, but he’d seen the shift in your eyes, seen the way that fire had blazed – only to gutter out into consuming darkness.

It had flickered as you had yelled at each other, and when he saw it go black, saw darkness cloud over and suck you into the depths, he’d dived right in after you.

It had been instinct to run to you, catch you in his arms and let you both sink down together. Only he held you from being pulled too deep.

And you’d let him.

The moment you’d let go and curled into his body, was the moment he felt everything change.

It had broken a gate within him. A carefully and purposely crafted wall of adamant in his mind that held back the force of everything he shouldn’t feel.

It was why he’d done what he did the other night.

He’d been on the hunt, tracking the bounty. It was an easy one, so easy he didn’t even really need to think about it. Which of course, left his mind open to wandering.

And it kept coming back to you, over and over again.

What you were doing, if you were okay, if the ship was too hot for you and if he’d set the locks correctly.

He always had the same thoughts whenever he left the kid, but with you there, they had eased. He’d trusted you from that first night you sung Grogu your mother’s lullaby.

So that didn’t plague him.

No, it was your hair that was the main subject tonight. That damn hair that he couldn’t take his eyes off of since the moment you’d let it down a couple of days ago.

The light had caught it just right, turning it to gold and when you ran your hands through it…

He’d been struck with a craving so intense; it took his breath away.

He yearned to move away your hands, replace them with his own.

To shuck off his gloves and truly feel the silky texture of it, to feel anything but the worn leather interior of the material.

He couldn’t have been more relieved when you’d landed on the desert planet. He had though that the Maker had taken pity on him, saving him before he could do something really stupid.

The distraction had remained with him throughout his hunt, sneaking up on him whenever he should be at least trying to concentrate.

By the time he’d caught the bounty and had begun to lug him back to the Crest, his body had begun to itch. Less of a persistent irritation and more of a yearning. At first, he’d thought it was from the heat, but when he’d climbed the ramp to the Crest, he could smell the lingering aroma of the soap you’d used in your shower.

He’d quickly dispatched of the bounty in the carbonite chamber, eager to escape to the small storage compartment he had now taken up residence in.

He hadn’t bothered to take back his sleeping quarters, something in him wanting to give you that small bit of comfort. Besides, he’d slept in worse places.

He’d retreated there after a brief conversation with yourself, trying to clear his mind as he lay on the collection of blankets and sacks that he’d made up for his bed and waited for his body to relax and sleep to claim him. Eventually, it had.

It wasn’t Grogu’s crying that awoke him that night, as it normally would.

No, it was that damn smell.

It had filtered through his helmet, invading his sleep and gently tugged him awake.

He’d sat up and without a thought, followed that scent like a hound.

It had led him to the kitchen and then…

Then he’d seen you.

In that flimsy drape of fabric that could hardly call itself a dress.

There was just… so much of your skin on show. So much of your smooth skin on display, lined with scars here and there but it didn’t matter to him. It told your story, your survival

The Mandalorian’s own body had tightened, heat blazing across his skin and making his armour uncomfortable. He rarely acknowledged the heaviness of it, but standing there, looking at you, had truly made him feel the crushing weight.

And when you’d turned, the water rolling down your neck…

The image of removing his helmet and catching that bead of water on his tongue, of trailing it up your neck and finally tasting your skin that he knew would be as sweet as your scent.. it nearly undid him.

In fact, it did. It broke a restraint in him and set a haze in his mind that cleared only when the beeping of the autopilot had demanded his attention.

He’d sat up in the cockpit for hours afterward, staring at his now gloved hands.

He had touched you. He had removed his gloves in the presence of someone else, trusting in you not to turn around. He’d felt you.

Felt that gorgeous, silky hair on his fingers.

Felt the bumps of your spine beneath your skin.

The noises you’d made, the sighs and the moans, they were branded into his memory, followed him when he finally went back to bed.

They’d echoed in his ears, playing over and over until his trousers had become even more painfully tight and he was forced to fix the problem.

The next day, the pleasure and breathless thrill of what had occurred went stale. It turned into shame, disgust at himself for treating you like that, thinking of you like that in the late hours.

The snide voice in his head had whispered that it was time, time to invoke what he already planned when he was out on his hunt.

And like a cowardly fool, he gave in.

The betrayal and hurt in your eyes when he’d told you had been like a punch to his heart.

He’d been battered in fights and that hurt less.

Hurt less than this pain as he re-joined the atmosphere above Nevarro and moved the ship away.

Was he making a mistake? Should he have kept you with him? OR stayed with you, even just for a little while longer? But what if someone had caught up to you or spotted you and gave you up. There would be no telling who would-

Ping!

A metallic note on the back of his helmet snapped him from his frantic thoughts, echoing in the confines of his helmet. It had come from Grogu’s direction.

He turned around, looking at what it was… and saw Grogu’s ball on the floor.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing?”

An angry gurgle emanated from the little green creature, waving his arms in the air and his face full of disdain.

Mando sighed, “Look, I know you’ll miss her, but we have to do this, okay?”

Grogu only waved his hands again, and suddenly the ball was flying through the air, bouncing off of his visor before rolling along the cockpit again.

“Hey!! Now you decide to use your powers? That’s enough. This has to happen.” He pointed a finger at Grogu.

Which just made the kid burst into tears and scream.

Loudly.

Mando swore under his breath, pulling him out of his crib and plonking him down on his lap. He turned back to the front of the ship, one hand holding the back of the kid’s head, the other piloting the ship, “Hey, hey… look, I’m sorry but… she had to leave. It wasn’t safe for her to stay with us..”

Grogu just wailed more, his little fists thumping into Mando’s belly. He was not happy with his father, and seemed intent on letting him know that.

He sighed, letting Grogu pummel him. After all, his little hands barely made an impact, and it just reminded him painfully of that night in the cargo hold, where you fought him and broke down. He switched the ship to autopilot, tilting his head down to give Grogu his full attention. “Grogu.”

More wailing, the little tyke was determined not to pay attention.

“Cmon, Grogu. Look at me.”

Grogu’s head shook rapidly from side to side, his little body shaking with sobs.

“Not even for cookies?”

A pause. A questionable gurgle replacing the wailing.

Mando couldn’t help the smile on his face behind the helmet, “Ah, see, I knew that would get your attention. If you look at me, I’ll let you have the pack.” It was bad parenting, not to mention bribery and he knew that. But anything to stop Grogu being upset – and to convince himself he’d done the right thing. “Just look at me, okay? And listen..”

Grogu lifted his head up, looking up at his father with glossy, tear filled eyes.

Mando felt his heart break a little, and he gently wiped the tears from Grogu’s cheek with the back of his little finger, “I know you’re mad at me, and I completely understand why. But… there are so many people after her. After us as well.”

Grogu listened intently, little snuffly breaths rising from him now and then as a result of the previous tears.

The Mandalorian reached across to a little box beside him, pulling out a package of the blue space cookies. He unwrapped them as he spoke, “The people that are after us all might start to work together. They might think that... if they can get to one of us, they can get all of us.” He pulled out a cookie, then held it out to the kid. “Everyone knows that I threw away the tracking fob. And that will draw more attention.”

Grogu took the cookie, biting it and his head tilted as he let his father speak, munching away.

Mando leaned back in his seat, head still tilted down to watch, “If they find us… they find her. Any of the bounties I catch could turn, like that guy before with the tail. So.. if she goes to Nevarro… She can blend in and hide. Cara and Greef will monitor anyone coming in. They’ll keep her safe and steer away any authorities or hunters. She’ll be safer there than she will with us… and if we need to, I can draw away any hunters who think we’re all still together.”

Grogu’s ears sagged a little, a softer coo rising from him that flung a few tiny blue crumbs onto his fathers lap.

Mando huffed a slight laugh, shaking his head a little, “Messy.” He brushed a few more crumbs from Grogu’s mouth, “Do you understand though? Why I had to do it?”

The kid nodded, though he still looked sad.

The Mandalorian held him closer, “I know, kid. I wish we didn’t have to do it either.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Just travelling to Tatooine. His ship needed repairing, and the Mandalorian hadn’t met with Peli for a long while.

And… maybe something in him was craving the comfort of… a friend?

Besides, the kid loved her too and he wanted to cheer him up.

He would see if the sparse planet had any extra work for him. He doubted it, the cantinas were rarely ever half full, but it didn’t hurt to try. He needed something to keep his mind occupied and away from thinking of a particular cocky, snarky, gorgeous companion.

When he was close, he set the ship to autopilot, the display on the panel and his internal body clock telling him it was time to sleep.

He scooped up Grogu, who had been playing with his ball, “C’mon, kid. Time for bed. You can come with me tonight.”

The Mandalorian made his way to the little area that had become his bedroom. He looked down at the pile of blankets on the floor, pausing.

Maybe he should return to his bed. The floor was wreaking havoc on his already aching back, and it was cold on the floor.

He sighed, taking way too long to think about it, before returning back up to his sleeping compartment, pressing the pad on the wall to open it.

Fuck.

The entire compartment smelt like you. It hit him as soon as the door slid open, wafting under his helmet and filling his head with your scent. He swallowed back a soft groan, made his body move across the room. He didn’t need this. He needed sleep. He needed to focus.

Mando walked across the room and set Grogu laying down closest to the wall, before sliding in and manoeuvring his clunky body and armour into the bed too.

It was stronger here, the smell of your perfume. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could imagine you were there with him. Tucked up against him, sleeping deeply and evenly.

He sighed, pulling the blankets over Grogu’s body and then his own, images swirling through his mind, the same ones that taunted him every night when he tried to sleep. He tried not to feel them, the thoughts that relentlessly filled his mind. It had made him restless, made his inhibitions low – hence why he’d found you in the kitchen, unable to hold back on the things he wanted to do and say.

Mando said quietly after a while, rubbing Grogu’s ears, “You really liked her, huh?”

Grogu cooed, nodding his head a little before tilting it into his father’s touch.

Mando sighed softly, resting his head on the pillow again and closing his eyes, “Me too, kid… Me too.” He allowed himself to inhale deeply, let that scent envelope him and lull him into sleep.

“Oh, thank the Force!! You’re still alive! Come here you little womp rat!”

Peli’s excited exclamation was broken only by Grogu’s delighted squeal as he tottered over to her, arms outstretched and making grabby hands.

Mando smiled behind his helmet. He knew coming here was the right thing to do. Grogu adored Peli, and hopefully this would cheer him up somewhat. He looked at Peli, the raised eyebrow evident in his voice as he leant against the side of his ship, “Did you expect us not to be?”

Peli scooped Grogu up, holding him close after inspecting his body for injuries or hurts. “Are you blind, boy? Everyone is out looking for you. They know what you did, even out here. The droids picked up chatter from the town. Word is, they increased the bounty on your head and doubled the girls.”

Mando stood up straight quickly, “They’ve doubled her bounty?! That’s… That’s ridiculous. It was already the highest I’ve seen.”

Peli narrowed her eyes, watching his reaction. “So, it’s true then. You kept another bounty. I didn’t know Mandalorian’s liked to collect things so much.” Her voice was a little disapproving, but she motioned for Mando to follow her. “You shouldn’t be taking such stupid risks, Mando. You’ve got a child to look after. Harbouring criminals isn’t the way to do that.”

The words left his mouth like an instinct, “She’s not a criminal.” He followed her though, his boots scuffing up dust on the floor.

Peli looked over her shoulder at him, her own eyebrows raised this time, “Oh? She’s not? So that bounty fell on her accidentally did it? Look, if we heard of her all the way out here, she must have truly done something b-“

“She is not a criminal, Peli.” He tried to rein in the steel in his voice. Peli was just looking out for Grogu, and for him. But something about her tone had struck a nerve, reminded him of the own conclusions he had jumped to, and how badly it had hurt you.

Peli didn’t even bother to turn around as she walked into the hangar, “And how do you know that? She tell you what she’s being hunted for?” She shifted Grogu to her other arm and pointed at the droids that rolled past her on their way to the ship, “Careful with those parts.”

Mando swallowed, hesitating as he looked back at the droids and then back toward Peli, following her to her desk area. “No. She didn’t. But I just know.” He sunk into a chair, picking up something from the desk and fiddling with it.

Peli watched the movement, assessing him and she just hummed as she sat down herself, Grogu on her lap. “Look. What you do, who you meet and decide to put in your band of rogues is none of my concern. Hell, we know nothing about each other. But you have to remember, this child is still wanted by Moff Gideon. You’re still wanted by both sides. You need to be careful.” Her voice was firm, but there was a note of softness there that you had to look to find, but it was there all the same. “I assume she’s in that ship of yours hiding? You can bring her out. I won’t bite her.”

Mando swallowed, his words becoming a little difficult and he had to pause again, “No. She’s not there. I… we parted ways.”

Peli frowned, looking down at Grogu who had turned his head to her, cooing. His ears had flopped a little again, but he didn’t contest the fact. She made a thoughtful noise again, “Parted ways?”

Mando sighed silently, wanting to take the subject away from you, the pain in his chest, “How has business been?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing, “Business? Are you actually pulling a joke on me, Mandalorian? Do you see any business here? Tatootine is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. Why? Looking for a job?”

Mando shrugged, setting down the object he’d been playing with, “It wouldn’t hurt to get some extra credits.”

Peli tilted her head thoughtfully, “Well, I can’t promise anything. But there have been a few new stragglers coming through the town lately. Some hunters, smugglers and the like. One of them might have something you can do. I wouldn’t rely on it though.”

He nodded, grateful for the chance to go and do something. Even if it was just walking into town, being told no, and heading back again. “Great. I’ll check it out in a bit.”

She wasn’t listening. She’d already diverted all of her attention back to Grogu, cooing at him and pulling faces.

Tatooine was just as dry, dusty and barren as it was the last time the Mandalorian had set foot here. Its inhabitants were scattered throughout the towns, which were dotted few and far between, though there were a handful more inhabitants here in Mos Eisley. It ws one of the larger spaceports, so had a little more traffic.

It was still almost deserted though.

You didn’t often see people or creatures in the streets, as the sun beating down was too much sometimes even for those that called the desert planet home. They also seemed to know when sandstorms were coming – which were often. Maybe there was another on its way. There was a wild wind brewing, stirring the sand.

There weren’t many out today, maybe driven inside by the relentless sun, though a cluster had gathered here, in Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina.

It was a roughly hewn building on the outside, the same colour as the dusty ground. It was small, but its thick walls provided a natural shade, cool and dim out of the sun.

Mando ducked under the upper threshold as he stepped inside, ignoring the glances and muttering that occurred whenever he walked into a place. Even if he hadn’t been clad in shiny – albeit rather dusty – beskar, he still would have garnered the attention, simply for being a Mandalorian.

He was used it to by now, but it did still make him feel uncomfortable sometimes.

He surveyed the room, then walked to the bar, which provided the main source of light in the centre of the room. The atmosphere seemed…calm, though that could change at the drop of a hat and the bar could erupt into one of it’s famous brawls.

The last time he’d set foot in this particular cantina, he’d helped a young bounty hunter… who’d turned traitor.

He would try to avoid that this time. He only wanted a job. No help.

The Mandalorian tapped the bar to gain the attention of the barman, “Hey. Anyone come through here with bounty pucks?”

The barman paid him no attention, continuing to serve the customer, a pilot by the looks of his jumpsuit.

Mando frowned behind his helmet, “No?” He was hot, a little agitated and he missed you. So his temper wasn’t the greatest.

The barman snapped, “No. Come back tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a line of people waiting to fall at your shiny feet.” He looked at Mando in disgust then walked to the other end of the bar to serve.

Mando sighed, counting to ten his mind. He needed a job. He would just have to keep trying.

And so, he did. Over the next three days, he went back again and again. And every day, he would come home with nothing.

Each night, Peli would tell him over dinner that it was because of the approaching storm. That there would be more people once it had cleared.

The third night, the storm finally rolled in.

Mando was already awake, the lack of distraction meaning his thoughts were spiralling again, so he was conscious when the howling wind roared to life, bringing with it waves and waves of sand.

He spent the night watching the wind move like it was an animal, unleashed from its cage to be free. It didn’t sound angry. It sounded mournful. Like it was tearing through the town looking for something, for someone.

Mando couldn’t help but relate.

The storm stayed for another four days. Endless howling of the wind, the cold chill it brought of a night, so different to the scorching wind of the days.

Luckily, it gave the Mandalorian something to do. He secured his ship when the wind had died down a little, making sure there were no gaping holes or anything that could get damaged should the wind change direction.

As much as he didn’t like droids, he had to admit that Peli’s did a pretty good job.

After that, she had him clearing out any of her gear and belongings that were outside.

Which meant hauling in all the nearby boxes and making sure the droids didn’t roll out and get buffeted and dragged away by the wind.

When that was done, he was to spend his time clearing away the dust and sand that blew in through the openings.

Peli told him she couldn’t work in a messy environment, but the scattered parts, oily rags and various paraphernalia dotted around would have him beg to differ.

Still, it gave him a way to keep his mind busy.

However, the jobs and handy work he did for her didn’t stop him from watching the storm every night, or from checking Peli’s rusty but still operational tablet for updates on the atmospheric pressure.

…

The morning of the fifth day dawned bright and scalding.

The storm was gone, reduced to a few gusts of heavy wind here and there, but nothing like the raging force of the past four days.

The heat was even more oppressive than usual, like the wind had sucked any minuscule ounce of coolness from the air and left it feeling like fire in the lungs.

Peli told him he was stupid, that the town would be deserted. She was even more annoyed when he informed her that he was taking Grogu. He had been penned inside for four days and was starting to act as stir crazy as Mando felt.

Peli yelled at him, even threatened to take apart his ship but he respectfully ignored her and made the trek anyway. Even if every step in the blazing heat made it feel like his armour was melting to his body. He’d popped Grogu into his crib, to spare him from the scorching air.

Why did he decided to come to another desert planet?

Maybe he would go somewhere cold next.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Somewhere where he could take a breath of chilled, icy air. Somewhere he could show Grogu the snow..

~“Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled…”~

Mando’s heart wrenched as he remembered your words, the way your face lit up and your eyes danced as you described the feeling of snow on your skin. He swallowed, shaking his head free of the memory and walking into the cantina, Grogu’s crib floating along with him.

The barman sneered at him, “What, no questions today?”

Mando just shook his head, ordering a bowl of cold broth for the kid and then he retreated to a table in the corner, sinking into his seat.

Maker, he was tired. So, so tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep and it was beginning to catch up with him now.

The tiredness, mixed with the physical work of the past few days was getting to him. His back ached and his shoulders were constantly tense with the weight of his armour. He wasn’t a young man anymore, things had started to niggle and irritate more than usual.

The quiet ambiance of the cantina and the soft slurps of Grogu enjoying his broth were beginning to lull the Mandalorian into sleep. His body relaxed into the hard bench seat, his eyes began to close behind the helmet, no matter how hard he fought it.

Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment… just to rest..

It wasn’t until Grogu’s sharp warning cry echoed through the fog in his brain, that he realised he’d actually fallen asleep. His head shot up from where it had rested on his chest, adrenaline shooting through his body so fast it made him dizzy. His hand had flown to the blaster on his hip by instinct, and he looked around rapidly for the cause of Grogu’s cry.

And then he found it.

Sitting opposite him and the kid, was a male figure, draped in an expensive looking black cloak that was embroidered with golden thread. The hilt of an ancient blade protruded above broad shoulders, sheathed down the figure’s spine. The cloak hid anything on the figures body, but Mando knew it was lined with weapons.

The male figure had an elbow on the table, a long arm propped up with his hand disappearing into the darkness of his hood where he presumably had his chin resting.

He knew that this man was a hunter.

A predator.

He could sense the coiled energy slumbering within the relaxed stance, just knew that the heavy material of his cloak hid an arsenal of weapons.

That and the fact he could see the faint outline of a knife hidden within the man’s sleeve.

The Mandalorian straightened, alertness flooding every single sense, along with the anger at his own sheer stupidity for falling asleep. He reached out, pulling Grogu off of the table and back into his crib in one fluid movement, shielding it between his body and the wall behind him.

He might have chosen a corner table, might be backed into that corner, but at least no one could get the jump on him from behind.

Mando had already marked the exists and potential attack points the first time he’d come here, so he didn’t need to worry about those.

He was in the process of trying to spot any tells on his new acquaintance, when the figure laughed.

A laugh like silk, flowing over the skin. A laugh that was designed to draw you in, to caress you and seduce you.

The voice was the same. Low, with a rich baritone like velvet that slid over the Mandalorian’s bones, “Relax. You don’t need to go on the offence, Mandalorian. Though I know that might be hard for you.” He was grinning under that hood, and Mando could almost imagine a set of fangs to match the voice, itching to sink into flesh.

“Don’t I?” The Mandalorian’s voice was hard, cold. He needed to get out of here… but something was making him curious about who this shadowy figure was, something niggling at the back of his mind like he knew.

The figure shrugged, an easy gesture, “Nope. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up from your little nap there. I could have killed you and that Peli woman during the storm and hung your skins out as wind gauges.”

He knew who Peli was? Who was he?

The Mandalorian said nothing. He supposed someone from the town could have spotted him staying at Peli’s. He’d have to leave. He didn’t want her getting hurt because of him.

The man laughed again, set Mando’s teeth on edge, “Honestly, Mando. Are you always wound this tight? No wonder you don’t sleep.” He dropped his hand, resting both forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. They were clad in fine leather gloves, perfectly snug to his hands. “I won’t kill your little friend either, I promise. I’m here on business.” He paused, “Acceptable business, if you could call it that. Not my usual or favoured type of business, mind you.”

Mando kept his hand on his blaster, kept his other arm held slightly out in case Grogu’s crib was on display. It was only then that he’d noticed the entire cantina had emptied out. It was just the three of them. How long was he asleep?

“What business would that be? I don’t exactly fall into the ‘acceptable business’ category myself.” He couldn’t keep the snideness out of his tone.

The figure leaned into his hands, no ounce of light creeping past the hood. There was nothing there, just heavy darkness shrouding his face. “I need you to find someone for me. I’ve been tasked by someone supposedly important to bring them in, and I heard you’re almost as good as me.”

Mando had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And who am I helping you bring in? I don’t have sidekicks.”

The figure snorted, like Mando’s words amused him, “You think I’d be your sidekick? Please. You’ve been living with your head in that bucket too long. You obviously don’t know who I am.” He might have shaken his head beneath the heavy cloak, “I digress. Here is the person I want you to help me find.” He slid a puck onto the table, “I think you’ll be able to help. I’d be happy to split the reward in half with you. It would be enough for you to take your little one to one of those sanctuary planets.”

He didn’t want to press that puck. He didn’t want to reveal what he already knew. “Sorry. I just remembered. I’m busy.” He made to rise from his chair.

The figure didn’t even move a finger, and suddenly an iron grip wrapped itself around the Mandalorian’s throat. He choked, his hand slipping from his blaster to his neck, trying to prise away whatever was suffocating him, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was touching him.

The man watched him, “Sit down.”

The pressure became tighter, dragged down Mando’s body and forced his legs to relax and for his body to dump back onto the bench. “Now. Activate the puck.”

Mando shook his head, gasping for breath beneath the helmet, his lungs already fit to burst and his eyes tearing up. He had to protect you and the kid.

This man, if he was one, snarled softly, “Unless you want me to crush your windpipe and slit your baby in half, open the damn puck.��

Mando growled, clawing across the table and slamming his fingers onto the puck.

At once, the pressure immediately vanished. The man still sounded calm, casual, “That’s a good boy.”

The sudden rush of air was surprisingly not what had Mando gasping. It was your face, lit up in holo with the now absurdly high bounty flashing above it.

He’d known it’d be you, but it was still like a blow to his heart. The hazy blue mirage of your face, projected into the air stared at him, cutting right through him.

Mando shook his head again, his voice hoarse, “I don’t know where she is. I lost her. I don’t have the rights to go after again.”

The shadowy man leaned forward closer, flicking the puck “I knew you’d say that. I also knew that roughly a week ago, you dropped her off in Nevarro. I know that she’s currently staying under the protection of Marshal Cara Dune and Greef Carga.” He pressed the button to deactivate the puck.

Ice spread through Mando’s belly. How did this freak know where you were? How did he know where you were staying? Had he been following you?

His heart started to increase rapidly in his chest, his brain scrambling for a way out of this conversation. If it were anyone else, he would have ripped them apart and left by now.

But some primal instinct told him if he tried, he wouldn’t be the one walking away.

The man pulled the puck toward him, slipping it deep within his cloak, “You catch on fast. You’re right. You wouldn’t be walking away. There wouldn’t even be enough of you left to paint the walls of this disgusting building. Not even with your precious baby.”

What the fuck? He just…

A silky chuckle emanated from the hooded abyss, “Yes, yes. Don’t dwell on it, Mandalorian. There are bigger things to worry about.” He sat up straighter. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t remember what I am. So, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I have been employed by someone who is far too arrogant and overestimates both their intelligence and their influence.” He paused, “No… employed is the wrong word. That would imply that they are my boss, and that is simply beyond ridiculous.” He tapped the table, “Anyway, as I was saying. I have been paid by someone to find your little girlfriend. And I will not stop until I find her. There are no ifs, buts or maybes. I will find the girl. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

Mando couldn’t breathe. There was a roaring in his ears.

The man continued on, “My client has asked me to bring her back to them. And I am nothing if not a gentleman of my word, so I have promised that she will be taken to them. On one condition.” He reached behind him, unsheathing his sword and resting it on the table in front of him with a movement so smooth it could have been choreographed. “I will have her returned to me after they are done with her. For she belongs to me, truly. And I will do to her whatever I see fit.”

A deadly fury rose within Mando like a tidal wave at the disgusting possessiveness in this mans words, but it was diminished when he saw the blade.

As long as his arm, a metal so black it sucked the very light from the room. There patterns within the surface, liked it was folded back onto itself again and again, until it was virtually indestructible. The centre of the blade and its hilt were etched in gold with symbols that Mando didn’t know.

But he recognised them.

With a sudden clarity, it came rushing back to him.

As a child, he was told bedtime stories, of a terrifying phantom of death. He rode the night sky, which answered to him. He slipped through the shadows and into people’s minds. He could kill a man from the inside out without touching him, reduce him to a screaming pit of fear, so tortured that he would tear out his own eyes.

He left behind no trace. He killed without mercy, without remorse for he had no soul.

There were rumours that beneath his hood, lay the head of a monster, so vile and cruel that the deepest pits of the galaxy spat him back out because they were too good for someone like him.

There was even talk of him in Mandalorian culture. Warnings.

This being was the one thing that a Mandalorian should never engage in. For he would make even the most skilled hunter or assassin cower. He had slaughtered in the Mandalorian wars, killed thousands on either side and then returned later to suck the souls out of the dead.

There were multiple names for him in Mando’a, the two most prominent being Werda which meant shadows, or more commonly, Haran. Translated, it meant hell, or cosmic annihilation, as he was said to be older than time. Older than the galaxy. He was death.

Haran chuckled softly, “Ah, I thought that might stir up some memories. I admit, I was surprised when I learned that the Mandalorian’s knew who I was, and even warned you about me. As if they believed that would save you. I thought you were all… what’s the phrase? Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. All helmet, no head."

He might throw up. Mando might throw up right here. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. A fucking myth, a legend told to Mandalorians and people across the galaxies, was sitting opposite him.

He was real.

He could speak Mando’a better than some of his fellow Mandalorians.

He wanted you.

Haran was caressing a gloved finger up and down the edge of his blade, “I am going to get her, Mandalorian. She will be mine. She has belonged to me since the moment she was born, our fates entwined like threads of time. I will have her back by my side, and I will teach her everything that she is. I will help expand her past the limits of what she can be. She will be unstoppable. Indestructible.” There was a hunger in his voice, a hunger that struck genuine fear into Mando’s heart.

Mando croaked, the only thing he could manage, “What are you talking about?”

Haran tiled his head again, his movements stilling, “She never told you?” That irresistible voice actually sounded surprised, then he chuckled, “Oh, that’s interesting. She’s obviously tried to forget who she truly is. No matter, I’ll show her soon enough.” He appeared to be thinking about something, then his cloaked head tilted up and Mando knew he was watching him.

If he even had eyes under there.

“You can go and run off to her now. But you won’t be able to save her.” Such simple words, spoken with such a casual knowledge, a man used to being right.

The Mandalorian didn’t even think. He lurched from his seat, numbly pressing the button on his vambrace that had Grogu’s crib following him.

He had to get back to Peli. He had to get back to the Crest. He needed to find you, needed to take you somewhere far away, somewhere where you’d be safe from this monster.

“Wait.”

The man caught Mando’s arm as he made to go past him, gripping it with an iron strength that seemed to reverberate throughout his bones, root him to the spot. He couldn’t move.

“I tell you what. I’m a generous man, so I’m going to give you a head start. I’ll be here for the next seven days. After that, I’ll be making my way to Nevarro. And I will lay waste to anyone that tries to stand in my way. ”

Mando couldn’t speak, his tongue had frozen to the roof of his mouth with that same phantom grip. He could only make a choked noise, a growl that sounded as threatening as he could.

The man laughed again beneath that fucking hood, letting go of the invisible grip and sheathing his blade, “Better hurry… Lori.”

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin & grogu #rogue #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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esmealux · 3 years

Note

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

#writing #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer on netflix #fluff #smut #established deckerstar #lucifer is god #post 5b #post s5 #two part drabble game

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uncpanda · 3 years

Text

Blood is Thicker than Water: Part 14

AN: When it comes to the timeline, I say screw it. It’s more fun to re-arrange stuff. We finally get to meet Lucia! And some more Munoz drama.

Big shout out to those who helped with the Spanish in the chapter! It meant I didn’t have to use google translate. I’m very grateful for their help in the picking out phrases, terms of endearment, and their opinions. You guys rock!

Please Let Me Know What YOU THINK!!!

Master List

You’re unbelievably warm, you’re snuggled in bed with Rafael curled around you. His front is flush against your back, one of his legs is wedged between yours, his arms are wrapped around you, and his nose is buried in the crook of your neck. You feel him place lazy kisses on your neck, and then you feel him bite down just slightly. Your eyes go wide, because you know, you know that’s going to leave a mark.

You squeal and turn to look back at him, “Rafael Barba what did you just do?”

He laughs, and points to his own neck, where you had left similar bites the previous night, "La revancha, cariño."

You slap at his chest, and his arms wrap around your middle and pull you into his lap, “You are acting like a hormonal teenage boy Rafael Barba!”

His laughter increases, “I don’t think I’ve been called a hormonal teenager since I was in eleventh grade.” There’s a lot of barking as Benny comes in from the living room, he likes to curl up on the couch early in the morning.

He’s quick to jump onto the bed and squirm up next to you and Raf as you collapse on him, “Well that’s what you are.”

“So, what does that make you?”

You roll your eyes, “The idiot that is in love with you.”

His hands cup your cheek and thread into your hair, whispers “Then I am one lucky man.” and kisses you.

You pull back a moment later, and Benny takes your place, half lying on Rafa’s chest. “We have to get going, and don’t forget we’re celebrating Liv’s promotion tonight.”

Your sister, the sergeant, had passed with flying colors. Her swearing in ceremony wasn’t for a while, but Ed had decided to throw a dinner party . . . with a lot of help from you. You admired his desire to do something special for your sister, but he also knew his limitations.

“I already cleared my calendar. Plus, anyone who would need me for work, is going to be there.”

You laugh, and go to change.

You and Rafael had been living together for a month, and in that time the two of you had gotten into a routine. He was usually up first, and made the coffee. You would roll out of bed thirty minutes later and the two of you would take Benny for a walk. From there he would shower and change while you would make breakfast and pack him a lunch; a salad, sandwich, or leftovers.

He would head to work, and you’d head into the home office that you had partially taken over. You would work from home, and sometimes you would go into the office. It was all terribly domestic.

While he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, you pull on Rafa’s old Harvard sweatshirt, a present from his Abuelita when he had been accepted. It was your favorite thing to wear because it was soft, and it smelled like him. The two of you had a running gag about who’s sweatshirt it really was. You liked to steal it from each other.

“Do you want to go pick my Abuelita up together or do you just want to meet at your sister’s?”

You sit on the bed, and Benny crawls over to you. He knows it’s time for his walk. You scratch his ears. “I will meet you at your office, with Benny, and we can go get Abuelita together.”

He reappears a moment later and you watch as he pulls on a long sleeved Harvard tee-shirt, and sweatpants, “She was really excited that she was invited. She went on and on about it when we talked on the phone yesterday.”

You scoff, “Liv loves your grandmother.” To be honest that was an understatement. In the past month Catalina had spent a lot of time with you and Rafa. And each time she visited, a trip to see Noah was pretty much demanded. Catalina had started bringing spanish children's books to read to Noah. As a result, Liv had started to refer to Catalina as Abuelita to Noah, something that delighted Catalina to no end.

The route you walk Benny is a good mile, and at a leisurely pace it takes you a good twenty-five minutes. You spend most of that time holding Rafa’s hand and talking about your upcoming day or plans for the weekend. Today, you don’t even make it out the door of the building before Rafa stops short.

You come face to face with a woman you’ve only seen pictures of, around Catalina’s apartment. Rafa’s voice is soft, “Mami.”

“Six months Rafael Barba. Six months without a phone call.”

He lets out a deep breath, “You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to hear from me the last time we talked.”

His mother crosses his arms, “I said I didn’t want to hear it unless there was an apology.”

He shrugs, “I don’t have one. Alex was . . . you know what it doesn’t matter. We’ve had this fight, and I’m not having it again.”

“Watch your tone, I’m your mother.”

"¿Por qué estás aquí, Mami?"

“Your grandmother is skipping the neighborhood festival next week, for the first time ever. She said she had plans, but she wouldn’t say with who. I figured it out, but she wouldn’t say anything else. In fact she hasn’t said a word about you since our fight. What’s going on Rafael? Who’s this?” There’s a wine from Benny and Lucia’s eyes go to the dog, and her brow furrows, “Raf?”

“There’s a lot to explain, and we don’t have time right now. We have to walk Benny, I’ll meet you for dinner later this week, and answer your questions.”

“Benny?”

"Nuestro perro."

"¿Nuestro?"

"Sí, nuestro."

Without another word, he grabs your hand and tugs both you and Benny forward, leaving Lucia behind. You’re a few feet away when you say, “I can always take Benny on my own.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ve seen too many cases start that way, and as cute and adorable as Benny is, he’s not exactly intimidating.”

You look down at your goofy, three legged dog who is sniffing a fire hydrant, and you know it’s true. Benny would likely welcome a robber into your home as long as he got a belly scratch out of it.

“Plus, I don’t feel like fighting this early.”

You don’t say anything else. This is his fight and as much as you hate the pain this entire ordeal has caused him, you know you can’t protect him from it. You can, however, be there for him. That day you send him off to work with a special lunch, and a hell of a kiss.

You spend the day working, and you take a few quick walks with Benny, but you get ready for Liv’s celebration dinner early. The original dress you planned to wear is now useless thanks to the hickey on your neck. The ones you leave on Rafael are always hidden by his collared shirts.

It’s still winter and Christmas is right around the corner. You have options, but you hate turtlenecks, and scarves indoors kind of scream hickey. You do however, have a high necked red dress. You feel just a tad strangled in it, and you don’t wear it often, but you don’t have a choice tonight. You pair it with some nude ballet flats, and fasten Benny’s red striped tie onto his collar. You know for a fact that Rafael is wearing the human version of it today.

You grab your coat and you head out the door, and then stop immediately when you come face to face with Lucia Barba.

“Mrs. Barba.”

She stares at you for a moment, “So you’re not the dog walker.”

“No ma’am.”

“You’re living with my son?”

“Yes.”

“And you have a dog . . .who’s wearing a tie.”

You cough, “We have an event tonight.” She stares at you for a moment, waiting for more, and you cave, “My sister just passed the sergeants exam, and my brother-in-law is throwing her a party. Benny and I are going to pick up Rafa, and then Abuelita, and head over.”

“My mother’s going?”

“Yes Ma’am, she’s very fond of my sister and nephew, Noah.”

There’s a moment of silence before she asks, “Is there room for one more?”

And really, what can you say to that?

The cab ride to Hogan Place is awkward. To her credit, Lucia doesn’t ask anymore questions, and she earns a few points when she tentatively pats Benny’s head. You do have the forethought to send Rafa a heads up that Lucia is joining the festivities.

When you arrive, you pay for the cab while Lucia heads on without you. You and Benny have to jog to keep up. She sweeps right past Carmen and into his thankfully empty office, “You start a serious relationship, you adopt a dog, and you don’t tell me.”

You’re out of breath, by the time you follow her in. Rafa’s eyes flicker to you and you wheeze out, “I sent a text.”

His lips quirk, “I got it. Why do you think the office is empty?”

You unclip Benny’s leash so he can go to Rafa, and his mother notices the ties, “You’re matching with the dog?”

He smiles, “Yes. I bought them for that purpose.”

She turns to you, you’ve settled on the couch, “He bought them?”

“They have like five matching sets by now.”

Lucia is silent as she processes, and turns back to Raf, "Esto es serio."

"Llevamos juntos nueve meses, y uno viviendo juntos, le compré a Benny como regalo de cumpleaños, él también es mío. Y yo la amo a ella."

You have no idea what’s being said, but Lucia’s eyes are wide, “"¿La amas?"

"Si."

“And I’ve missed all of this over a zipper problem?”

Your back goes ramrod straight, “The words you’re looking for are child pornography.”

Lucia’s eyes go wide, “What?”

And it’s at that moment you realize that Lucia doesn’t have a clue about the real reason Rafael turned on Alex. She doesn’t know the real reason why he torpedoed any chance of a political career. Because your sweet, smart, handsome and incredibly dumb boyfriend had been trying to protect not just her, but the whole damn neighborhood.

The child pornogrpahy charges hadn’t been released to the press, they were being used as a bargaining chip Rafael had said. And you’re pretty sure Rafa had been the one to give the Feds that tip. In the process he had taken on the role of villain so that the neighborhood could keep their hope, even if it did come in the package of Alex Munoz.

Rafael takes a deep breath, “He wasn’t just cheating on Yelina. He was sexting with a fifteen year old girl. He asked for explicit photos even after he knew her age.”

Lucia’s voice is thick with emotion, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He bites his lip, “I had hoped, you would have had faith in me. That you would have trusted I was doing the right thing. Like you raised me to do . . . like Abuelita did.”

You watch Rafa’s hands as you wait for Lucia to say something. They’re buried in Benny’s fur, and the dog is pressed right up against him.

Finally she says, “I need to go.”

Neither of you stop her. You wait until she slips out the door to go to him. He slumps down as you gather him to you, and he buries his head against your chest. You hold him to you and kiss the top of your head, and after a few minutes he stands up. His eyes are red, and you know he’s shed a few tears.

You cup his face with your hands and thread your fingers through his hair, “You are a good man Rafael Barba. The best man I have ever known.”

His lips quirk up into a small smile, “Kiss me. Por favor." You do just that.

It takes him a few minutes to pack up what he needs to take home, tomorrow is Saturday and he has the day off. You plan to spend it showing him how much you love him. For now though, you need to go pick up his abuelita and head to a party.

“Are you ready to hold Noah and make fun of Amaro?”

“That, and spending time curled up with you, are some of my favorite things in the world.”

You smile, “Don’t forget your Harvard sweatshirt, and the law, and making Rita squirm.”

“All that pales next to you.”

“Sweet talker.”

The ride to Catalina’s apartment is spent trying to make Rafa laugh. You succeed halfway through when you tell him about the time you and Cragen had been practicing your pitching outside the old precinct, and you broke a window with the ball. The report he filled out for it had said a pigeon had broken it by flying into it, and the higher ups had come to investigate. Everyone in the precinct had backed up his story.

“I can’t believe he did that.”

“Uncle Don is really well liked. Not by the higher ups, but by the people who matter. There was apparently this money laundering scheme and when he exposed the real culprit, a dirty cop, it made him quite a few enemies with the bureaucrats.

“But everyone who served under him loves him. He’s like a dad.”

“I know he helped Rollins a few months ago with her gambling thing. Why do you call him Uncle Don? You don’t call Munch or Finn anything like that.”

“Liv, Elliot, and the others were always in and out. I spent the most time with Uncle Don. He told me once that I came into his life at a bad time. He’d just lost his wife, she was a flight attendant who died in a plane crash. I think I was something to focus on other than the loss or drinking again. I did homework in his office, and on late nights I would fall asleep on his couch.

“I called him uncle Don one time when he came to pick me up from school. I was sick and Liv was working a case, and she had to authorize him to come pick me up. She put him down as my uncle, and I made a show out of calling him that.”

“That’s nice.”

“Even when Liv went to work cyber I would still meet up with him to throw a ball around in the park.”

Rafa stops short, “Wait a minute, are you saying Liv left SVU at one time?”

“She and Elliot got into a big fight. She worked Computer crimes for a while, and then did a few weeks undercover with the FBI one summer. That was the summer I had to go to camp. I wasn’t happy. But, they made up and she came back.”

“I can’t imagine anyone driving Liv away from SVU.”

You’re nearly to Catlina’s door, but you have to say this, “Elliot was a good man, but that partnership was all consuming Raf. I didn’t see it then, I was too young, but I’m happy he left . . .in a way. She’s grown a lot since he left. He was a crutch and she needed to learn how to stand without him.”

There’s a moment of silence as he knocks on Abuelita's door, “If I ever meet him, I’m going to punch him.”

You stare at him, “No you won’t. He’d kill you where you stand.”

“You don’t think I could take him?”

“No, but if he ever comes around again, which I doubt he will, ask Finn for help. He always hated Elliot. Ed too. Ed would help you.”

He doesn’t have time to answer that, as his grandmother opens the door. "¡Estás aquí!"

She hugs and kisses Raf, and then does the same to you before stepping out and locking the door behind her. Out of the corner of your eye you watch her sneak Benny a treat from her coat pocket. It was lucky you walked Benny a lot! And with that, the three of you head out!

#ada rafael barba #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba/you #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu imagine #svu fanfiction #svu imagines #svu #law and order svu reader insert

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