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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?"

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #modern!au #modern!din #din djarin fic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandocrasis fic

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mickey-henry · 3 years

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff for the grammar help, and @midnightf for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

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ghoulish-fiction · 2 years

Note

hey! uh, about the dirty drabbles/headcanon req... may I propose the idea of nsfw swiss x rain? swiss is a switch but mostly played the role as a dom, while rain is an unexpectedly kinky power bottom.

thank you! anyway you can ignore this if you think it's way too much effort to do this req :)

I wasn't sure what to write for this specific idea because its not exactly how I see them, so I wrote down a bunch of my Rain/Swiss headcanons instead. I hope you still like it! I'm quite pleased. I love Rain and Swiss together and I liked actually writing down all these ideas instead of just letting them rattle around in my brain. Makes me want to write some actual stories about them.

Anyway! Headcanons under the cut. ❤💙SFW💙❤ first and 🔥NSFW🔥 after.

❤💙SFW💙❤

Their relationship is open but they are each other's anchor and they couldn't dream of being without each other. Very much in love.

Out of respect for Rain's privacy Swiss keeps most aspects of their relationship between them. However, Swiss loves to brag on Rain any chance he gets. He loves talking about how kind and sweet and handsome and talented his mate is.

The two are cuddle bugs. They're always wrapped up around each other. When hanging out with friends, Rain will often sit in Swiss's lap. He makes the excuse that he does it so there's one more seat on the couch or one more open chair, but they just like to be close to each other.

Rain could listen to Swiss sing forever. He loves waking up to the sound of Swiss singing in the shower and the smell of fresh coffee brewing.

Catch these two making out like horny teenagers. They are often happy to just kiss and touch and get hot and bothered together without it leading to anything more.

Rain can be shy about anybody seeing him without his mask, but he always feels comfortable taking his true form in front of Swiss in their home.

When Swiss is feeling, down Rain puts on their favorite slow songs and they dance together. It usually cheers Swiss up, but sometimes he just hides his face in Rain's shoulder and has a good cry while Rain holds him.

They are always giving eachother little trinkets and gifts. Rain gave Swiss one of his favorite guitar picks. Swiss saw a pretty flower while they were out walking and tucked it behind Rain's ear. Rain wrote a quick little goodmorning note for Swiss, and Swiss carried it in his pocket for weeks until he accidently washed it. While out shopping Swiss saw a small sun catcher that looked like a grey cloud with dangling blue Rain drops, so he bought it and gave it to Rain to hang in their bedroom window.

🔥NSFW🔥

Rain and Swiss get along beautifully, but they are ghouls and tempers can run high so they do fight on occasion. Their fights often lead to angry sex where they fight for dominance the entire time. They end up wrapped around each other apologizing for whatever started the fight in the first place and kissing all the marks they left on eachother.

Both men are switches and regularly swap places in the bedroom. When Swiss doms he is a bit more of a gentle, pleasure dom. He wants to make Rainy feel good and get off while he does it. Sometimes Swiss drives Rain crazy by teasing and edging him for hours, but it is worth it. When Rain doms he is rough. Very rough. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of Swiss's body, but especially his neck. Swiss loves the release of just giving everything over to Rain, because, for the most part, he gets to just sit back and enjoy the pleasure and pain.

Not every sexual encounter between them is a dom/sub sort of thing. Like anyone they usually just want to fuck and have fun. It's also common for them to have very lovey, pretty vanilla sex full of soft praise and love confessions and laughter and kisses.

Rain's favorite position is cowgirl, riding Swiss slow and deep with his tail around Swiss's throat. Swiss's favorite is missionary. He wants to roll those hips nice and easy into Rain, bottoming out again and again while he strokes Rain's cock.

Swiss will have sex on the tour bus. Rain will not, its too embarrassing for him to only be inches away from other people while they have sex, unless its a group thing. One time Swiss was feeling extremely horny but he didn't want to ask Rain for sex because he refuses to push his mate's boundaries, so he decided to just masturbate there next to Rain while he was sleeping but Rain woke up and was like "What are you doing?!" This woke the others up and left Rain mortified. Swiss didn't care. This incident started some somnophilia rumors that had Rain absolutely dying.

Rain is also seeing Mountain and will sometimes sleep with literally every other band mate. Swiss isn't partnered with anyone else but will sleep with Cirrus and Cumulus fairly regularly. He will on a very rare occasions sleep with other band mates, but if he does Rain is usually involved. Swiss also sleeps with a handful of Siblings of Sin.

#asked and answered #ghoulish headcanons #swissghoulweek #nameless ghouls #swiss #multi ghoul #rain #rain/swiss #swiss/rain

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gatheringthered · 3 years

Text

the parting glass

Down a side street at the Darkmoon Faire, patrons could easily happen upon a stall covered in lepidoptera in all shapes and colors. The scent of drying herbs was potent in the air, or perhaps the scent radiated out of small mortar and pestle which always seemed to have something burning inside of it.

The roof off the pop-up stall was bright red, sun catchers made of glass and mirror pieces hung around to catch what little light the dark skies above the faire offered.

For those who came to the House of the Red Moth, they rarely left empty-handed. The madame of the stall of small notoriety for giving strange gifts or bits of advice to all who visited her. At a distance, her stark white hair made her look far older than she was. She was a Kul Tiran small in stature, unimposing-- and though she was no longer a young woman, her face still held the amount of youth one might expect from a woman in their early forties. The most unsettling thing about her was the milky-white eyes which always stared vacantly ahead.

Another fixture of the Darkmoon Faire had become Lymantria’s “sister”, Corva. One glance at the Kaldorei was enough to reveal they weren’t related remotely. Her hair was the color of wheat ready for harvest, decorated with baubles and black crow feather. Her eyes bright and golden and a smile almost never left her lips. Her lips which never imparted words. They had been with the faire for long enough that it felt as though she were a fixture there-- and perhaps that was why it was time for something new.

‘What will we do there,’ Corva knit her brows and signed at her blind companion.

“What we have been doing these last years. Ensure they are prepared. Ensure we are prepared,” Lymantria responded packing in the stall. “And yes, we can still come to the faire. I know you enjoy it here.” Corva scrunched up her face and gave an awful huff at her sister’s predictions. ‘What about R-A-Z?’ Corva spelled out the letters of their final sister’s name. “She will come with us when the time is right, hurry now. The cart needs loaded if we’re to make the ship in time.”

The sleeping down of Duskwatch was the only place that truly made sense for the first ever, stationary location for House of the Red Moth. Its strange and sleepy nature was attractive to anyone that claimed to be a mystic or a purveyor of odd objects. Energy was so thick in the air that Lymantria could taste it.

In the month prior, she’d arranged for a storefront at the edge of a main street. Not that there were many streets to choose from in Duskwatch. Velerodra had selected the place based on Lymantria’s requests. A large window in the front, a place to hang a sign, and a humble apartment up above the shop itself.

Though she could not see it, not really-- Lymantria found the place to her liking. She stood there, seeming to stare up at the sign which bore the shop’s namesake in raised calligraphy. Something was cold about the air there, it sent a shiver down her spine. “Hello,” she greeted someone unseen. “I do hope that we can get along,” she said, before she heard the wheels of the cart Corva drove come to a stop behind her. The chill left the air and Lymantria merely smiled before going to begin the arduous task of unpacking all of her things into their new home. @velerodra-valesinger @deadsunharbor

#;mothmother #;crowmother

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Quatrains Out of Synch - A notebook of four line poems

by Dana Jerman

I thought of

a good prompt:

Begin. Keep going. End.

3 parts. Like anything.

On my birthday

John Giorno only thought

of a poem,

but he didn’t write one.

A dance, a tic, a grin

sur le vif

in media res

on the spot.

Dad wants a new love

Bedtime in Trumpistan

He’s left his arms in the closet with

The Brass Ring Catcher’s Little Black Book.

Some Jazz, a tease

to Latin. Word of

the day after a

storm: orphic.

Making some Christmas happen

A few cards thrown around

the green jacket

the white marshmallows.

Here, I rehabilitate

the failures of my imagination

opening tombs, to

let the light reclaim.

Can’t kick this headache

Sedentary living and beer

Meanwhile, time, busy

working its angry miracle.

A mantra for dessert:

Blush will catch up to you

While you wear black

and eat white cake.

Old soundtrack nostalgia

Not drunk but romantic

Furthest from rude

is this idiot smile.

The composite of

the town I grew up in-

Dreaming preloads it

with the same old young characters.

All of January

My nose draining

The cold like a knife.

Bright sun: weak star.

Every damn chance

in the whole world

that the people’s hero

is knocking on your door.

What has brought me here?

A healthy condemnation for school

Not much sense or care for too much money

And one true love.

Hours creep by

music playlists continue

chocolate before sandwhich

Busy without being busy at all.

Someday I’ll look back

on a holiday spent propped

in a bookstore with a fuzzy

sweater, whisky, and this soundtrack on repeat.

Paracinema:

up all night

too much popcorn-

no work tomorrow.

Alarm out, I brought

the dream with me:

A casino with the slots and seats

set impossibly high along the walls.

Remind me to wash

the windows

on the first

warm day.

Echoes of voices and music

From an unknown destination

Siren song on New

Years Day in Chicago.

‘Fighter’ rhymes

with ‘writer’

for a

reason.

Found books

are a call to action

Last stand for

the invisible hand.

I wanted to call them “Tatters”

Couplets written after Harryette Mullen

Like: Shredded rainbow-

dried blood in a unicorn tooth.

Sore neck in the AM

Not a busy morning

put ginger on my toast

for the first time ever.

It would have been a perfect night

in front of that fireplace in the

house about to be sold. But my

companion and I had no words.

The mental eye

deep in hypnotic recall

all senses employed

time catapulting reverse.

Do not knock-

Do not open-

Tiny writer

is dreaming.

All that summer trip long

I only had Reader’s Digests.

But I read them anyway.

It was all I wanted to do.

A confession and mirror

Aware of the furniture hex

No clunky frame or hidden desires-

I despise rolltop desks.

My life, your life.

Most of our deus

ex machina will

remain forever invisible.

hey sweet thing- maybe

there can be a code name- a word

we can link to sexiness to trick it into being

happiness.

A smart case, Death.

hanging around the night

with its patient wits,

its cigarettes, its camera.

Steam became smoke

salt to the walks

mulled plum twilight

smoke became steam.

I bite away half

the chocolate just to

see what it is. It’s my

box, I do what I want.

Now, I have to take

up all those bad

decisions- every move

I would not make- and build the unlikeable character.

It really is the end

of era in here.

but it doesn’t feel that way

to me. Not yet.

Early train. Sun

coming. A magic fireball

swinging a fixed line

across thin bare trees.

Monday afternoon-

wine at work

while reading

an Italian poet.

Quiet neighborhood-

snow looms late afternoon

Hours so songless, only the

bus driver dares go thru them.

Still air

at bedside

candles in silent vigil

no unsoft thing is here.

Dust, rust, mold.

Mars rotting is my crotch’s

monthly waves knotting goodbye-

a color, a flavor, a wash.

In the windows facing out

of the lamplit cafe beyond fireplace

and bookshelf, my good man stands and smokes

his last pipe of the day, first of the night.

Pink salt sky.

All morning to twilight.

Late winter city hurled

toward evening on a blossom’s hue.

Today they cleared the

trees in the back.

lovely summer shade

now gone to make way for…

The dead music of jackhammers

begins next door

in the snow flurries

and grey.

Snow thin as an abstract wish-

Bundled passengers stop and start

warm jazz soundtrack ambience

to this well-lit retail saturday late afternoon.

New Years Day close

as a star, a dream.

I will bless the decade

and ask for nothing.

A seemingly

inquenchable thirst

for alcohol

and good music.

Cataclysm of ideas

groovy songs amid bad

is the band name

Fever Chart taken?

Today is the day I awaken to

the knowledge that some poets

must think space is as good

as the next word.

A plum color and

an old lable.

Deep in the glass the scent

of my grandparent’s cellar.

Making dinner

lots of lights on-

jazz calms me down

as the snowy day spins.

Editing his book

listening to jazz

craving sex and the next

good line.

Fill in the blank:

Drunk as a — (Lucian Freud)

in— (Goya’s studio)

looking for— (God).

Wilde’s hand

low at his side

turned to shape

the Paris breeze.

My back itching

in that same place

where my husband gets

a little obstinate blackhead.

The week my father died

I threw many books into the fire.

Under those nights, blue as a dream,

past become prologue again.

Newest in self-care technology

a coat hangar with brains-

HAID: Home Abortion

Interface Device.

Love was the crag in

the way of my

youthful need

for seeing.

Draw a flag

on a bill

and burn

two crimes.

The annoyance of

an old mistake

come true, and here,

with consequences.

Cardinal crashing against

ex-boyfriends bedroom window

the spirit of my future husband

come to liberate my misspent love.

Kid eats my apple

coughs into the air

eats some more

smiles, runs and neighs.

Spare papers and pens

bag of cheeze curls

B-sides on repeat

good free afternoon.

Sighways…

long straight roads

Billboards for places

you don’t want to go.

Mother will say “morbid”

When I admit to

wanting to be buried

in her wedding gown.

“Bring a torch,

Jeanette, Isabella.”

Holding back tears at

my xmas retail job.

Remember the night

we were so alone and

sad and bored that we

chased a firetruck until it disappeared over a hill?

Old Story: “He makes me unhappy,

but I love him.

What should I do

this time?”

I want 1989.

The best night of

that year in the honkey-tonk

bar that later got torn down.

Potato chips and

chocolate covered

anything help to

conspire comfortable magic.

East coast news.

I could smell the snow

coming toward the city

all day thru hi-clouds.

Echoes of construction-

At home the reverb

rattles my building,

my body, my teeth.

If I become a statistic

I’ll tell you

its worth it.

I’m not gonna live in fear.

#city living #collected poems #silent moments #new years day #seasons change #desiring #having #keeping #quatrain

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 49: Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

Remus gazed up blearily to the painted stars above and immediately knew something wasn't right. He'd spent the majority of his life gazing up to see those patterns and learn what they meant to him, and even before he sat up and saw the four-poster beds he realized they were only enchanted symbols, and they were once again in dorm rooms. He slumped back down onto the bit of floor he was on and didn't want to bother getting up, they were all exhausted from this nonstop travel.

He wasn't the only one, everyone seemed to be muttering about this fortuitous timing and was claiming beds, though there were only four to go around. The dark blue comforters did look inviting, and Prongs claimed one to drape across all four of them as they piled onto the floor nearly on top of each other as the other four settled in, Regulus still curling up under the sheets that were left in the stripped bed.

He felt surprisingly well rested when his eyes glummed open and no time had seemingly passed around them, the sun still hovering at dusk in the windows. He found himself once again curled into Sirius' chest, and should have felt much more worried if he hadn't been the first to awake and begin trying to edge away, despite Padfoot's arms trying to tighten around his waist in protest. He managed to get himself into an upright position at the foot of Regulus' chosen bed, and began absently stroking Sirius' hair to wake him.

Bright grey eyes cracked open and he made a quite adorable little mewling noise of protest, moving again to curl himself back around Remus' legs and head now resting inappropriately in Remus' lap. Remus awkwardly, and still very quietly, gave a little throat clearing and began tugging on the long locks none so lightly. "I don't think anyone else in here needs to be woken up to that Sirius," he offered. He muttered a few obscenities, but already James and Peter too were beginning to toss around with sleep wearing off and Sirius finally sat upright by himself and rubbed at his eyes. A true miracle in itself Prongs hadn't awoken first really, this fact a true testament to how much these books were getting to him. The real oddity was the light noise waking Wormtail up too.

There was no promise of breakfast to really get them moving, so the four Marauders just sat near each other in a huddle and looked around curiously at their surroundings proper.

They were a bit bias in saying the place wasn't nearly as opulent as their dorm, the stars twinkling above only seemed to invite them to close their eyes again, the sun coming in from the wrong direction they were used to making them feel even more off. They couldn't deny its splendor though, the carpet they could attest was a fluffy rich purple, the trunks reminiscent of their own spilling over with school supplies and memorabilia of the current students living in here tacked up along the wall. The photo on the nearest nightstand was of a girl with straggly blond hair and perturbant eyes being hugged by a woman of the same features, another picture beside it of the same girl slightly older now hugging a strangely dressed man.

All sorts of interesting items seemed to be scattered about her space, including a rolled up magazine peeking out from under the pillow Regulus was still using, a gurdyroot with holes sporadically carved into it, a jar of cat litter with odd things that certainly were Ruins painted in bright pink, and a Muggle Dream catcher hanging crooked in the drapes around her curtains. The other three beds in comparison looked tame.

Curious, and already bored waiting for the others to rouse, the four went snooping with only slight restraint through the girls belongings, half of the things they couldn't even identify, the rest beyond them why a girl would keep these on her person. There was a bit of charms homework with odd little notes along the margins full of warnings that didn't seem to have anything to do with the Alohomora spell it was over, and a complete potions essay that had a seven out of ten, the stylistic flowers and other unidentifiable things that could only be divined from this girls imagination in the margins a clear point of consternation to Snape as it was likely him who'd viciously struck-through them with red rink. They did find the book amongst her things though, next to a clearly hand stitched together novel called, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and You.

James was disappointed to open it and find the words weren't yet visible until everyone woke up, so he gave the book a toss away and kept spinning an odd device filled with sand around in his hands.

The book landed on Frank, startling him awake and in tandem causing the others just as rude awakenings. The Marauders mildly apologized without even meaning that and kept up their browsing. Frank rubbed sleep out of his eyes and instead of retaliating just smiled around at the familiar surroundings. Even if it wasn't his exact dorm, the familiarity was still the first bit of comfort he'd had since this madness took off. Alice shivered as she crawled out from under her covers and pulled her school robes tight around her as she made her way over to Frank, nudging him aside and crawling into the warm space beside him, head resting on his shoulder as he flipped the book open to begin now that everyone was awake, whether they wanted to be or not.

Harry's story was doing no better to lighten their morning mood. The end of Ron and Hermione's friendship would be a sad blow to them, even having never met these kids. They had at least four more years to hear of Harry's life they presumed, and if he really lost a friend this early on it was likely to be awkward the rest of his time, especially over a pet.

There was some noisy pleasure from the Marauders in finally getting to hear of the Firebolt in action, though Alice's little noise of displeasure at still only getting to hear it rather than feel the sensations herself were apparent in his ear. He stopped to kiss her forehead in sympathy and hoped aloud they'd get to come across Harry's broom themselves eventually in this madness so that his girlfriend could have a go.

Excitement only grew as the whole of before, and the actual Quidditch game was being described in excruciating detail. Frank felt a small bit of revenge at Potter cursing himself not having kept the book so he could be reading this even if he had no real interest in the game, but it seemed he and Evans were the only ones. She was still sprawled out in the bed under the covers, twirling her wand absently and clearly in her own mind.

The rest of the boys, Regulus especially, were all having a merry time critiquing the techniques of both Seekers on display as well as heavily analyzing every aspect of what was mentioned form the other players. Alice was clearly listening, but mostly laughing at them taking it all so seriously.

He nearly threw Alice from the bed in surprise as dementors made an appearance again, he'd startled so hard in his own seat at the idea. Harry handled them like a pro this time though, hardly even flinching and displaying magic beyond his ears in nearly creating a fully corporal patronus to send them away as he kept his attention focused.

Harry caught the snitch, a victory was won and not even slightly dampened by the reveal those dementors were in fact Malfoy in disguise. If anything, it made the moment sweeter Harry's victory was doubled over on that boy getting some comeuppance. The were all laughing and being as jubilant in their celebration as the rest of Gryffindor tower.

"What do you think the Ravenclaws are doing, mourning their loss?" Alice asked him, eyes gazing curiously around the respective dorm room.

"Likely, the Quidditch Captain's throwing his own party and strategizing ways to win next time, and the rest of the dorm's enjoying their own various activities. I know what I'd be doing," he finished in a quiet whispering in her ear, making her giggle while being uncomfortably aware of sharing a bed with him in a room full of people.

Frank flushed as well and read on to save them both. He expected it all to wind down, Harry's odd little dream being just that, and was as surprised as anyone for the boy to be awoken with Ron's fears of a nightmare, that were quickly being proven as anything but. He didn't want to believe it, trying to convince himself the rest of the chapter Ron had been having a bad dream and magically caused his hangings to be ripped in distress. Frank had been trying to convince himself the Black he'd been forced to share time with lately couldn't be capable of such madness in the face of how he clearly cared for his friends, but there was little explanation left as it was confirmed by the Portrait Sirius had made yet another murder attempt on Harry's life. He closed his eyes as he finished, rather than look up and see the four friends being ripped from this room, and possibly apart from each other for good.

#Wolfstar #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #PoA #Harry Potter #fanfiction #Marauders #reading the books #Peter Pettigrew #Frank Longbottom #jilly #Lily Evans #Alice Smith

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greennightspider · 4 years

Text

FairyTale Fic #3: Three Nights (Three Wishes - Genie)

Author’s Note/Summary: This one was very spontaneous, and a VERY loose interpretation of a boy being granted three wishes by his ‘genie’.

**SMUT WARNING**

Reader x Ubbe

On the first night he wished to remind her...

You sighed. The sun was turning from light into dusk, and to the rest of the town that signified the winding down of the day. But for you and the rest of the brothel, it only marked the beginning of your work day. You passed many a scantily clad girl down the hallway as you all readied yourself for the night, most of them only looking to fix their hair and makeup rather than clothe themselves.

The girls all had their own rooms separate from the ‘workrooms’ as you called them, which were hidden down a long hallway behind a curtain of red silk that led to the front of the shop, where couches and benches draped in furs decorated the front of the room, both for customers and sometimes those who liked to be seen during their excursions.

You worked in a brothel south of Hedeby, close enough to port that you had many different clientele pass through the doors, looking for a taste of the foreign, the exotic. And for them you were both, with your almond tan skin and dark loose curls, your appearance was an eye catcher, which is why the Madam made you work Front of House most nights. With flimsy sleeves that fell past your shoulders, a black cotton corset that supported your bosom and gave way to an almost sheer skirt down to your ankles, you were more than a little feast for the wandering eye.

Unlatching the front door you turned and started to light a fire, determined to get it going before the Madam could scold you. However, you heard the solid creak of the front door open and heavy, determined footsteps enter the shop.

What an eager customer, you grumbled. “Welcome sir, how can I help you-“

“Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned. Four years. Four years since you’d laid eyes on one another. Three years since he left Kattegat. Two years since you had heard he and his brother had taken the foreign lands. And a lifetime since you had uttered his name.

“Ubbe.”

“What are you doing here?” The shock turned to recognition as to where you both were standing.

Unable to meet his eyes you paced around the room, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened, fluffing furs all the while still feeling his intense gaze on you.

“Oh what would you care,” you scoffed. “Family fell into disrepair. My father broke his leg while hunting and thus become a drunkard who owed money to half the village. And so now I’m here, working off the debt.”

“Working as…?”

You turned around and raised an eyebrow. “ Um, take a look around Ubbe I would think it pretty obvious.”

Darkness swirled in the prince’s eyes. “Why did you never send word, if I had known-“

“You would what.” You hissed, finally turning around. “What would you have done Ubbe. I don’t expect much from a boy who went on a killing crusade without so much as a glance back-“

At me.

Those were the two words you willed yourself not to say, but he knew. You both knew. His face looked pained, knowing he couldn’t refute what you said. The silence of four years hanging between you.

And so he should regret. You thought. For the second in line to Kattegat’s throne had left you with nothing but bitterness and vengeance.

“You don’t need to worry Ubbe, I’ve channelled most of my resentment into my work. It seems its made me quite popular, so you could say I’m doing well for myself.” You licked your tongue playfully, and you swore you could see his jaw clench underneath his beard.

You looked past him at the dying daylight through and shoved past him, sparking the flint left at the window, lighting a candle that signaled you were open for business.

Ubbe let his eyes wander to your figure as you turned back to him, the thin fabric of your skirt leaving nothing to the imagination as it curved softly with your ass. He watched you tuck a stray curl behind your ear as you fed the flame with a soft blow of your supple lips. Your hazel eyes glowing in the small light, revealing them to be pools of dark honey amber.

Brushing back past him you tried to set your mind into work. “Well enough about me. Since you’re here I’m guessing that you want company for the night.”

“Y/N I-“

“I’ll call the madam for you. I’m sure someone like Tirza would do well for you.” already walking away. Leaving a smoldering prince in your wake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In your room you removed most of your undergarments. You knew your regular Rohin usually came on Tuesday nights and he didn’t like to waste time. Checking the few candles that were in the room were secure you started to braid your hair up, knowing he liked it when it became dishevelled in your rough throes. Rohan was definitely not unattractive, and you had hoped he would help take your mind of the ghost of your past.

You heard the familiar creak of your door and the echo of footsteps after it as it squeaked shut. You continued to sit by the bedside table, undeterred by your intruder. “A bit early aren’t we Rohan?”

“Is that who you’re prettying up for.”

Instantly you swiveled on your heels to come face to face with Ubbe, removing his shoes and kicking them towards you. He seemed pleased with your reaction, your beguilement too late to cover up. “Don’t stop just for me, although I’ve always preferred your hair down.”

“How did you-“

“Well it is like you said, I am a man in need of company,” he smirked, his eyes snaking down your thinly veiled dress. “And after you boasted about your skills, how could I not be enticed into trying your services.”

“Well then… sir.” Trying to keep your voice even, trying to go into work mode, trying not to feel like prey in a wolf’s clutches. “How would you like this to go?”

“Oh you know how I like it.” He growled, slowly winding his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Or has it been so long that you’ve forgotten?”

“Maybe you were never long enough to remember.” You snark back, but you tried to bite back a moan as Ubbe’s fingers dived between your legs through your skirt, your own pussy starting to soak through the fabric.

“Liar.” He chuckled darkly.

In one swift move he pulled you onto the bed as his back was leant up against the bedframe and yourself trapped within his mighty hold. In one swift motion he pulled your dress up and off your body, wasting no time delving back between your thighs with one hand tweaking your nipple, leaving you helpless against his touch.

You gasped as his thick fingers entered you, leaving you gasping for breath. Your back arched as he curled his fingers into your sweet spot, grinding your ass onto his hardened member. “Still as tight as ever I see.” Ubbe panted through gritted teeth, his hand moving from your breast to your hip, pulling you tighter against him so you could feel his member between your cheeks.

You could do nothing but moan, one of your hands reaching behind you to his face, the other hand to his muscled thigh, tugging down at the fabric.

“Eager aren’t we.” His breath was heavy with lust, and he wasted no time stripping his shirt and pants, still holding you in place. You tried to wiggle free to face him but he didn’t let you, only lifting your hips and leaning you against his muscled chest so he could angle himself between your folds.

Both of you groaned at the teasing, your toes curling as Ubbe’s thick member rubbed against your swollen clit. He moved your legs over his so you were spread wide for him. You couldn’t keep your eyes from rolling into your head as he entered you, Ubbe just as thick as you remembered.

You felt his fingertips grip your hips mercilessly, Ubbe hissing through his teeth. “By all that is war and blood Valhalla could not make me feel this good.”

Ubbe once again wrapped one hand around your torso, squeezing your breast as the other hand kept a rhythm on your hip.

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” When your mouth wasn’t sucking on Ubbe’s fingers it was whispering incoherent cursings into the air, your mind becoming clouded with lust as Ubbe continued to thrust up into you. His pace slowly but surely became maddening, remembering how you liked it rough.

“Go ahead.” He grunted, sinking his mouth into your neck. “You can imagine anyone you want in this.” He snarled as you met his eyes. “But just know that its me who’s filling you. Its me who’s owning you. Its me you belong to.”

All of a sudden your body betrayed you as you screamed in ecstasy, Ubbe’s thrusts now becoming slower and harder, drawing every last euphoric pulse out of you. You whimpered as Ubbe continued to pound your sensitive pussy, until finally he came, moaning in your hair and squeezing your breasts.

“Long enough for you?” Ubbe snarked, but his gaze softened as he saw you had already succumbed to slumber, brushing a stray curl tenderly from your cheek. Silently he popped out of you, earning him a soft grunt from your sleepy mouth as he lay you on your side. Even in your dreamlike state you felt the warm covers envelop you, and strong hands snake around your waste as you feel him tuck you into his arms like he would never let you go.

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In a few hours Ubbe expected to wake to your sleeping, sated body. But instead he was greeted with the image of you buttoning the front of your thin dress.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You froze, wanting to ignore that soft longing hidden in his gruff tone. “You got what you paid for Ubbe.”

Despite everything your body craved, everything you felt, the feelings you had buried in your heart for so long couldn’t rise now.

Ubbe could have your body, but he couldn’t have your heart.

“What do you mean I paid for the next three nights.”

You froze in your tracks and swivelled back to him with an alarmed smile and widened eyes. “Say… what now??” You almost shrieked.

“Go and ask your madam if you want.” Ubbe patted the furs next to him. “Your ass is mine so you might want to get comfortable.”

You dropped your mouth, your belongings, and your hope of escaping your blue eyed torment onto the floor as you stared at him in disbelief.

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.

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Taglist: @therealcalicali @themusingofagothicsoul @draconicuchiha @selina122 @chocolatemetalprincess @tomarisela @mbaku-babygirl @laketaj24 @myboyfriendgiriboy @tephi101 @im5ftbutmythroat66 @wheredidallthedreamersgo @readsalot73 @cbouvier23 (Lemme know if you wanna be added! Comments always appreciated :) )

(photo by @sigyncreation)

#vikings fanfiction #vikings smut #vikings fanfic #ubbe fanfic #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe x reader #ubbe smut #greennightspider #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe ragnarsson fanfic #ubbe ragnarsson fanfiction #ubbe series #i cant remember who else was on the vikings list so if u want in LEMME KNW #will be a trilogy

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mysterioh · 4 years

Text

La Douleur Exquise - Ch. 2

PAIRING: STEVE ROGERS X READER X BUCKY BARNES

SYNOPSIS: Bucky promises to write to you every day after you moved away to sunny California, but it doesn’t take very long for him to forget his promise. Luckily, there’s a certain blonde that keeps it for him. Through an exchange of letters, your childhood affection for Bucky blossoms into something more. If only you knew it was Steve that returned those feelings and not his numskull of a best friend.

MASTERLIST

California Dreamin’

December 12, 2010

Greetings from Sunny San Diego!

As the years go by I’m forgetting what winter feels like. The icicles hanging from bare trees, the cold nipping at your cheeks and nose, the howling wind passing by the window when you’re cuddled up in thick blankets on snow days. It’s like my memories are starting to grow numb. Guess I should come over and thaw them out?

I think it’s kinda funny how you’re probably over there freezing to death while I went to the beach with some friends the other day. I know how much you hate the cold so why don’t you come over and I’ll warm you right up?

It’s been five years, can you believe it? It seems like time just flies by as you get older and you’re only left wishing for the past. I think it’s amazing how committed we are to this and there isn’t a day that goes by when I’m not excited for another letter. How have you been lately? Algebra 2 still kicking your butt? It’s not so hard if you’re organized but considering your habits I can see why you’re struggling. Am I sounding mean? Because I should be…

Anyways, there’s this place on the boardwalk called Richie’s Pizza and they claim to have the best New York Pizza in the world. My friends really like going there and I have to pretend like I actually like the stuff. It tastes like cardboard to me. It may have been years but you can’t fool my taste buds when it comes to NY pizza. God, I’m crying just thinking about that damn pizza.

Mind if I get a little serious real quick? It’s something that’s been on my mind lately and I don’t really know who to tell. I don’t trust many people, but I trust you.

Do you ever feel alone even when you’re around others? Cause I do. Yeah, they’re my friends but they’re not my “friends”. Does that even make sense? I can’t really tell them everything and sometimes I feel like they don’t really care much about me. It’s like I’m a third wheel. Sometimes I think it’s my fault. I’m not funny enough or pretty enough. I always feel insecure and pressured. Like I don’t belong.

At least I have you and these letters. Even if I can’t see you, I can feel you and that’s more than enough for me to feel wanted.

Bucky Barnes you are one heckuva dude and I think of you greater than any other person I know.

Sending you the warmth of the California sun,

Y/N

The classroom is warm compared to the wintry chill outside. Steve was one of the lucky ones. Though the classroom walls are bare, the windows were large and everyone wanted to sit in the unsubdued morning light of the winter sun. And Steve just so happened to have the best seat, in the back corner next to the window. The teacher never really remembered the guy in the corner and that made it all the more lovely.

Forgotten from the rest of the room, he took it as the time to finish homework he was too lazy to do the night before and maybe even write a few letters.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky slid into the desk in front of him. He quickly stashes the letter into a folder. “Whatcha working on?"

"Just history homework,” Steve smiled. “What’s up?"

"Nothing much,” he shrugged. “I’m going skating with Cindy after school today you wanna come along?"

His jaw went slack. "Don’t you think I’ll just be third-wheeling?"

"Nah,” Bucky replied. “She’s bringing one of her friends. The ginger with the curls. Uh–Edith or something…"

"Don’t you think you should know your girlfriend’s friends?” Steve sighed.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he plucked at the cuff of his sweater. “We’re just friends."

"Well, the way she clings onto your arm says something else,” Steve said, his tone colored with bitterness.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky brushes him off. “Seriously."

"If you say so,” Steve exhales while shaking his head.

“So is that a no from you?"

"It’s a no from me.” He nods, beginning to write again.

“C'mon, man,” Bucky groaned, “this could be your chance. I really think Beth likes you."

"You said her name was Edith."

"Right, anyway I saw her making eyes at you in the hallway,” Bucky wiggled his brows.

Steve snorted. “I think that was you. No girl looks at me like that, it’s only you."

"That’s because you’re too busy sticking your nose in those books. All you ever do is write. Sometimes I forget what you even look like."

"Thanks, jerk,” Steve said.

“C'mon Stevie, whaddya say?” Bucky enticed him with a striking smile. “It’ll be fun."

"Get out of my desk, Beaverface,” Sam hollered from the door.

Bucky grunted at him but does so. He turns towards Steve before leaving as the teacher strolled in.

“We’re not done here, blondie,” he pointed at him, making his way towards his desk. Steve sinks in his chair, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

The sounds of chalk tapping against the board signals him to sit up and open up his notebook to a fresh page. He writes the date and nothing else.

Your letter sticks out of the pages and he pulls it out and finds the picture you sent him. He smiled to himself and his neighbors could’ve sworn he was crazy for smiling like a fool. But he didn’t care.

In the picture, you were sitting on the trunk of a car, (probably a friend’s dad’s convertible), with a letterman jacket placed over your shoulders to keep you warm from the cool briny breeze sweeping by a sunset on the beach and flowing through your hair. It’s definitely too big to be yours and he hopes it’s just a friend’s and nothing more.

All he could think about was being there with you.

Under the California sun. By the waves of the Pacific. The musty air coming from the ocean flowing through his hair. The sand sticking to his legs and feet. The sound of your giggles echoing along the shoreline as he chases you into the water. And maybe as the sun sets, he’d get to hold your hand and share the view with you. Then when the sun lays to sleep he’ll look into your eyes and you’ll look into his. He’d dip his head, lower his lips, and close the gap between until he finds yours in a—.

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve bolts up at the sound of his name. His classmates giggle but Mrs. Lewinsky was not amused. His cheeks burn a bright red out of embarrassment. “Nice to know you’ve decided to come back to the real world. Now get your book open to page forty-seven and read the first paragraph."

"Y-yes,” he said, fumbling with the pages of his copy of The Catcher in the Rye.

“That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty. Even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

"Bills, bills, bills,” your dad drones as flips through the day’s mail in his hand. “Junk, ooh coupons."

"You don’t have to narrate it,” you deadpanned, walking over to the kitchen sink to drop in some dishes.

“Well, then I guess you wouldn’t care about this letter from Bucky Barnes. 1463 Mulligan Drive."

Your ears perk at the sound of Bucky’s name and you dash over to him to take it.

"Uh-uh,” he shook his head, swiping the letter away from within hand’s reach, “I wanna know who this Bucky Barnes even is."

"It’s a friend!” You exclaimed. “From New York!"

"Wait,” he furrows his brow. “You’re still friends with those kids?"

You groaned, taking the letter from him. "Yes, I am,” you replied, walking away.

“In the day and age of social media, you’re writing letters,” he stated amused. “You kids know how to write a letter? Are you even sending it to the right person?"

"His name is on the envelope, dad,” you sighed, walking towards the staircase. “Besides there’s something more heartfelt about writing letters. It’s more romantic so to speak."

"Romantic?” He questioned with a raised brow. “What’s this kid writing to you about?”

You climbed the stairs towards your room. “Nothing you need to worry about,” you teased, running up and into your room.

You lock the door to limit any nosy dads. Plopping onto your bed, you stare at the letter with a wide grin. You brush your fingers across his name on the front. It was all capitals and leaning towards the right. You rip open the envelope carefully and pull out a paper.

Your heart beats wildly and your cheeks burn. It gets like this everytime and as the days go by it feels like it’s getting worse. Who would’ve thought one letter would do so much to a person?

December 17, 2010

Greetings from the saddest place on earth!

It’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year and yet it feels like the worst.

It’s gray and boring. There’s dirty snow stuck to the curbs. And everyone gets an extra dose of cranky in their bones. Trust me when I say, forgetting the winter cold isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I slipped on ice and almost died this morning on the way to school. So that was pretty fun. I also almost got detention today because Sam decided he wanted to play football in the hallway.

I sound like the grinch or something. I promise you I’m not anything like him. Just down on my luck I suppose. The winter doldrums, I guess? You make me jealous with all your talking about warm, sunny days by the beach. It’s not fair. How about you bring some of that California sun over here? Cause I’m too cold to come over there.

Best New York pizza huh? I have to laugh! It’s probably so hot over there that it burned their taste buds off. I feel bad for you, but not that bad. It’s what you get for dragging my Algebra skills.

By the way, I’m doing a lot better. I got a B+ now instead of a C. Maybe I just didn’t understand imaginary numbers. Like aren’t they all imaginary??? Math is stupid and I’d rather stick to something more practical like English or History.

I know exactly how you feel and just know if you can’t tell anyone anything, you can always tell me. I’ll always listen (or read haha) what you have to say. It’s the best part of my day.

I don’t know why but I always end up distancing myself from others. My friends haven’t changed. It’s still the same old gang, but it feels different ever since you left. I feel like I’m not a good friend for distancing myself from them. They like me and I like them but there’s just something missing. A sense of understanding? A sense of belonging? I can’t really pick it out. There’s a plethora of reasons.

(Plethora means a large amount of something. Start reading books you ignoramus.)

I feel alone. I feel lost. Like there’s nothing left to look forward to. At least I have your letters and waiting for the next one only makes me look forward to another day where I can read about your day. Wishing I could be a part of it. Maybe someday in the future. Hopefully someday soon.

I remember something my Grandma once told me. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we’re here we might as well dance.

If we ever got the chance would you dance with me?

Best wishes from the Atlantic to the Pacific,

Bucky

p.s. Not pretty enough? Liar. I saw your picture. They gotta put your face on a Cover Girl Magazine. Anyone who says otherwise is gonna catch these hands.

TAG LIST: @chuckennuggets1213 @joeyrumlow @bigbuckyenergy

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #modern au #2kbollywood

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sabraeal · 4 years

Text

With Ribs Laid Open

A companion to Creatures of a Brief Season, written for @inkybookwyrm who won 5th place in my 500 followers raffle! She requested some Obi backstory for the daemon AU, which I was only too happy to oblige. This fic has literally been a year in the making (2019 was a terrible year guys), and I’m happy I finally get to share it with all of you!

There are few moments that Od Ana considers precious, those few memories tucked into the secret place in her heart to be pulled out when the hour seems dark or the fog of misery hangs low. She and Obi have walked a long path together, but it has not been one of comforts, of quiet talks, of soft touches.

It has not been one of trust.

At least, not until now. Maybe all of this would be easier if that hadn’t changed.

“Did you know,” Shirayuki begins in that bright way of hers, eyes shining, “that birds have four-chambered hearts?”

She hadn’t. It had never occurred to her that such a thing might matter one way or the the other. After all, a blade stopped one from beating no matter how many it had, and that was the only metric that mattered.

But she didn’t say such things to Shirayuki. Anyone else-- and certainly Suzu-- she would have, but Shirayuki...

Never. Not when she tip-taps her slender finger right against the bone of her breast and makes the world light up like Longest Night.

“Usually it’s only mammals,” she continues, one dimple dinting her cheek. It’s a good thing Obi isn’t here; he thinks so loudly about how he wants to put his mouth to it. “But birds do too. Just like humans.”

It’s a significant point to make, she knows, but she can’t fathom why, not until Shirayuki casts her gaze toward where Obi stands, Little Ryuu perched on his fur-clad shoulders as he reaches for the top shelf, Perkunas’s pointed face staring up from his feet, and she says, “Your heart beats just like Obi’s.”

Od Ana thinks of that now as she spirals over the forests, feeling along the ache of her tether. Her own bird heart beats in her chest the same way Obi’s does, blood in, blood out, lub dub, lub dub. And though Shirayuki would huff to hear it, mincing politely through yet another the brain in the center of thought lecture, it feels the same pain his does too. The distress that thrums through her veins is as much his as it is her own.

She clicks her beak, annoyed. You’d think it’d make finding him easier.

Her eyesight is acute, enough to count the hairs on the rabbit dodging through the forest’s underbrush, but that amounts to less than nothing when Obi doesn’t want to be found.

Which he doesn’t. That part he’s made abundantly clear.

She swings lower, just above the trees now, relying less on her physical sense and more on the game of hot-cold she plays with the tether, triangulating her human by the amount of nonsense she can feel rattling her teeth as she gets closer.

Od Ana knows the rumors by now, how the guards and maids at Wistal whisper behind their hands when they see her in flight. Their tether’s broken, the most ignorant will say, they’re soulless, the both of them. The smarter ones will watch with fearful expressions as she swoops past, murmuring, I heard only those Samese witches have daemons like that.

It doesn’t bother her. When it had been just the two of them, clawing tooth and nail through the underground, those whispers had kept a fair share of blades in their sheaths.

She could only wish it did the same with wagging tongues and loose lips in the castle. Still, it changes nothing; their tether exists, as strong as any other, just...stretched.

A feature she regrets every time he pulls something like this.

She descends into the forest itself, gently spiraling through the canopy. He’s nearby, she can feel it, but Obi’s fond of hiding in plain sight, tucking himself into a branch or shouldering into a hollow. It takes hours to find him like that; it was a habit that had come in handy before they’d come here, but now--

Now he’s standing in the clearing, plain as day, still clad in his dress blacks.

Huh.

Her landing is ungainly, a series of hops as she tries to negotiate the forest floor, but it seems important to meet him as he is, to face him head on like a knight instead folded in the branches, like a shadow.

His back is to her, but she can tell by the set of his shoulders that he knows she’s here, that he’s been waiting. His placard is buttoned up to the chin, not a single one loose; she hardly recognizes him.

He’s no longer the starving boy he was. Od Ana doesn’t quite know what sort of man he’s becoming, but she likes it. Like the fact they’ve lived long enough to see it happen. “Two years is a long time.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch.

“A long time to miss someone,” she presses.

“Master will get used to it.” His voice is hollow, falling flat as he strains for his usual humor. “That’s what Sir said, anyway.”

Her feet shuffle in the soft fill beneath them. “Will you?”

His chin jerks, so stiff; a puppet tugged by its strings. He’d moved like that today when Shirayuki looked to him, expectant and resigned. She’d jumped to surprise when he’d tottered toward her on stilted legs, arms reaching out like a clock figure about to clang its cymbals more than a man trying to embrace a woman but--

Her chest has sparked like tinder when Shirayuki touched him, when her arms wrapped around him like he belonged.

Would he miss his mistress? She knows the answer as well as her own feathers. But still, still...

Some poisons need to be sucked out before they fester. It’s the same for truths, as well.

“He’ll ask you to go.” It’s superfluous to say it; their tether wouldn’t be all twisted up in knots if Obi didn’t know that. It’s not the melancholy that’s choking him, it’s the guilt.

“He will,” he says, too late, too light. There should be a joke to follow, a crack at the prince’s prowess, but--

There’s only silence.

Od Ana tires of these games, as if she is not another part of him, as if she is not acutely aware of how he feels. She just doesn’t know what he’s thinking. “What will you say?”

The silence stretches. “Obi?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, too quick.

She blinks. “Sorry?”

His head turns just so, the sun catching the gold in his eyes until they burn. “I promised I would never bring you so close again.”

The air burns when she sucks it into her lungs, each breath coming harder, shallower than the last. Wolves are big, bigger than anything she’s allowed herself to become, but it doesn’t solve her exhaustion, or the way the cuts on his legs sear into her own.

Blood still ran down his legs in fresh rivulets when they left the master’s compound, staunched only by the scraps of cloth she’d helped wrap around them with her dexterous monkey paws. If master had been willing to wound him so easily, over so little-- well, they did not have time for them to heal.

Slaves did not get shoes, at least not the ones that worked inside, but he’d wrapped old laundry around those too, three layers thick. The snow seeped in anyway, soaking the cloth through before the compound had even rolled over the horizon. That had given way to chills, and now a painful numbness the burns her own paws as she walks.

He lost the ability to walk a mile ago; he is human, and his body gives out long before his heart. She had to sneak under him as a mouse and change to a wolf to get him on her back, and now she wishes that she could be something bigger, something warmer instead. A polar bear, like the ones men said roamed the northern tundra, or maybe even one of the dogs witches keep, if she dared.

It’s all just dreams. He may be small and undersized, but so is she. Food may not nourish her as it does him, but there are other ways for a soul to starve. As much as hunger has stunted him, privation has stunted her as well.

“This is stupid,” she says finally, the words lost in the wind. A waste of breath, but anything is better than the silence, than listening to the thin strain of his breathing. “We should just go to the border. There are people there, that’s what the traders say. They’ll help us.”

“This is the only way,” he insists, stubborn, the words muffled in her fur. “People will just hand us straight back to the slave-catchers for coin.”

“Not in Clarines,” she huffs, “it’s different there.”

“People are the same everywhere.” His fingers clutch tightly into her pelt. “It’s the only way.”

“How will they even find us?” It’s the doubt that been nagging at her since they left, since he first mentioned what he might do if they ran. “How will they even know? It’s not as if they sit around this wood, is it? Just waiting around for little boys to wander out? They’re w--”

“I don’t know,” he admits, heart racing in her chest. “But they do.” His breath pulses out of him, ragged. “They have to.”

“What are you thinking?” Od Ana’s claws dig into the window’s sill, if only so that she might not sink them into his own neck. “You want to go! Or did you forget?”

Obi’s back stands to her, hunched as he packs his trunk. His movements are stiff, unnatural, like a puppet in a market show. “No, I didn’t forget.”

“Then why are we heading south?”

He stills, back straight as a poker, hands clenched around a pair of trousers. Even from where she sits she can see his jaw clench.

“You want to be with her.” The words are sharp as an arrow’s head; he flinches as they hit. “I can feel it.”

“I never said I didn’t.” He sighs, a tight hiss between his teeth as he drops the bundle in and reaches for another. “It’s just...complicated.”

Only because he insists on it. “Do you want to stay?”

“Yes.” He shakes his head, almost violent. “No. I don’t know. I don’t want to stay here. I want to-- to--”

Words may fail him, but his heart beats in her breast too. “You want to stay with Shirayuki.” At his pained expression, she adds, “And Zen.”

A breath pants from him chest, like she hit him. “Yes.”

Od Ana leaps from the sill, swooping to his bedpost. It’s strange now; bare months ago she had perched in the same place as Obi pried up the board that would hide their stash. They’d kept a rucksack in there, stuffed to the brim with whatever supplied they could pilfer without getting caught: food, clothes, things to trade. She’d spent weeks flying above the roofs, picking out the best routes to escape, which exits were guarded least. They’d been so certain it was only a matter of time.

And the food had gone bad. They’d replaced it that first time, and every week after, over and over until--

Until they stopped.

From where she sits she sees Obi too, hand clutching his shoulder, mouth bared in a rictus of pain, and with a chill she knows-- he’s scared.

Abruptly, Od Ana is too. They aren’t like this. They’ve never not had an escape ready. They aren’t the sort of people who do this, who stay. They aren’t the sort of people who have homes.

And yet there’s a seed that sits in his pocket, heavy against his thigh. Even if he never plants it, it’s already taken root.

They belong here. Or at least, they want to.

“It doesn’t feel right to go. Not right now.” Obi’s chin jerks to the side, every line of his face tortured. “Not when I feel this way, and Master...”

Her wings itch at the title. She’ll never understand how he can bear to say it, how he can apply it to any man and not have his skin crawl at the sound. How even after all that they’ve been through, he can give his leash-- his fealty to someone so fully.

Zen is a good man, a good prince, but still, still--

“It would be lying.” Obi’s lips press together, another white scar slashed across his face. “I can’t feel this way and go.”

Od Ana is loath to let any man stand above them again. “The prince is a good man, but you don’t owe him anything.” Her beak clicks, annoyed. “Especially not your heart.”

He huffs out a laugh. “That’s good advice.”

They say that daemons are man’s soul made flesh, an expression of their truest nature. Od Ana doesn’t often brook with scholars, doesn’t often delve into the philosophy of the spheres, but she’ll allow that she knows Obi better than he knows himself.

He closes the trunk, slipping leather through its catches, and offers it a pained smile. A quick series of raps completes the ritual, and he leaves, a spring to his step and a shadow to his shoulders he just can’t shake.

Od Ana knows what happens to good advice he’d given:

It goes unheard.

He’s been gone too long.

She’d been a fool to let him go. She should have dragged him to the border, kicking and screaming if she had to, finding anyone who would take them south, as far from the mountains as they could. It would have been better to take their chances with tradesmen and thieves, to risk discovery by the slave-catchers. Anything but letting him walk away from her.

He’d rolled off her back, staggering to his feet with skin more blue than bronze. He’d given her that cocky smile, the one that had seen them punished more often than she could count, and limped through the pines.

He’d left blood on the snow.

It’s gone now, if she’d thought to find it. The wind’s picked up and the storm with it; she can feel the way it stings his skin, the way the cold has sunk bone deep, but--

But she can’t see him. Only the mad flurry of snow and the muted green of the fir around them. And--

And, oh, she knows the moment he reaches the end of their tether.

It’s a game all children play, even those who slaved under master’s thumb: how far can you be from your daemon? One at a time they go, human children huddling as they watch their friend turn down a hall or disappear into the wood. They all shriek when the daemon does, then laugh, and then the game is over.

But it’s not playtime, not anymore.

It’s quick, a bee’s sting; he takes a step and shies back, breath caught in his throat. He’s gone farther, though. In their games he’d never stopped at the first bite, stretching the taffy of their tether until they were breathless, until black had threatened to eclipse their vision.

And he doesn’t shy from it now. His next step is deliberate, and the next.

It hurts more than the whip.

The muscle beneath her skin roils, each step a spasm as she rushes toward the wood, her only thought to close the gap, to end the pain--

She bounces off, as if the boundary were made of glass.

A second attempt sends a shock through her, enough to rattle her teeth, but it’s better than the pain of this separation, than the way her body is stretched to its utmost. She races, running her shoulder into the boundary, trying to find a place where the magic is weak, where it gives, but it’s no use, no use.

The pain is searing now, and she cannot hold her shape, losing the wolf to a mouse, the mouse to a butterfly--

She drops to the ground, pain too much to bear. Her shape will not stop, will not ease, and darkness rings her visions, gaining ground with each of his steps. But still, still, he will not stop, will not give up--

As her breath tears from her lungs, light leaving her vision, the last thing she feels is not the pain, not the cold, but, but--

The weight of settling.

There are no sailors on the deck tonight.

“You asked him up here, alone?” Od Ana asks, every word sharp as she shuffles on the rail. “Haven’t we been over this? You don’t need to do this. You don’t owe him--”

“It’s not about owing.” She expects the words to be scathing, to be angry, but instead they are oddly flat, almost resigned. “Or about what I need to do. I’m trying figure out...”

He lets out a long breath, hand clenched beside her. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do.”

“Obi.”

Obi turns, but Od Ana only needs to drag her gaze up, watching warily as the prince of Clarines emerges from the lower berths.

“This is the first time you’ve called for me.” The prince’s mouth lifts at a corner, amused. Fondly so, Od Ana will give him. “You want to end the postponement, I hope.”

A luminous pair of eyes emerges behind him, followed by the sleek, golden coat of his lioness. Od Ana shifts, wings raising subtly as Feronia prowls closer, her gaze fixed to where she’s perched. She clicks her beak, agitated. They might be daemons, outside the savage circle of predator and prey, but a bird will never sit easy with a cat.

“Yes.” Obi’s voice is strong now, determined, and even though she cannot see his face, she feels his fondness for the man before them. “Actually, I already made my decision a long time ago.”

She hisses, annoyed. Now that’s news to her.

Obi gives her a quelling glance before he turns back to the rail, gaze fixing out toward the night’s horizon. “I told you there’s something I had to tell you myself.”

“Before you do that.” The prince keeps a careful distance, almost wary. “There’s something I’d like to ask you first.”

There’s a tension in the air that itches, that feels like the press of bars, of the snap of a trap. This is how it ever is with these royals; as clear as the air is one minute, the very next can be a test.

Od Ana tires of taking them.

“Obi, you...” The prince hesitates, and there is not a part of Obi’s body that is not tense, that is not braced for impact. “...Like me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The tension snaps like a whip’s crack, Obi’s mouth cocked in a grin.

“T-that was quick!” Zen’s face flushes cherry red, and oh, he should have known better than to ask Obi about what he likes. “Though it’s-- fine, I guess.”

Obi tilts his head, grin easy. “Is that all?”

Zen goes still, only the wind moving him, and the air is so thick she could choke on it, so heavy with expectation that she wishes Obi could turn to a bird as well, and they could fly from here--

“What about Shirayuki?”

Lie, she wills, but oh, she knows that smile, knows that Obi never hesitates to stick the knife even, even when it’s his own back--

“Yes,” Obi says, easy as a breath. “I love Miss.”

He’s never known pain like this.

Master has kept him hungry, has kept him tired, has beaten him until he’s little more than a bruise, but none of it has ever left him so empty as this, so alone. His stomach churns, boiling at a ceaseless roil as he stumbles toward the boundary. It’s a miracle he’s come so far on his feet, but they are too numb to warn him of the root he turns his ankle on, and he sprawls, face-first, on the thick snow beneath him.

He won’t make it. He’s come so close to death before, only for fate to save him for another day, but now, now--

His luck runs out.

He can’t feel her. He can’t feel her.

Maybe he’s already dead.

No, it can’t be. His breath rasps out of his lungs, misting on the air as he drags himself forward. Death wouldn’t hurt as much as this.

There’s no way to know when he’s passed the boundary, if he’s past it. When he’d entered, it’d been like walking through a cobweb in the dark, a faint shiver across his skin, but coming out--

Who knows. He no longer has her, and every tree looks like another.

He throws himself to his back, squinting up into the snow, into the dregs of the storm, and sees only endless gray. His breath fogs above him, but it’s weak, thready. One of these will be his last.

“Please,” he calls out, even though it’s no more than a whisper. “Please.”

The only answer is his own echo, lost in the wood.

She had been right. She always was. There was no way for them to know where he is, no way for them to even know he took this test. He’d taken rumor for reality, and now he’ll die as he never lived: alone.

A dark shadow circles overhead, wings nearly blotting out what light falls from the sky, and oh, he’s heard of this too. Birds circling above a wounded animals, waiting for them to die so their feast might be fresh. It makes sense, in the end; he’s only ever been an animal, never a boy. Maybe the scavengers will find some satisfaction in him, the way his master never had.

His stomach growls, and he can’t help it, he laughs. More likely they’ll go hungry picking his bones.

It drops closer, closer, until something impossibly huge soars over him, landing with a soft crush in the snow.

He rolls, curious to the last. He is not disappointed.

It’s looms before him on the path, the size of a small child, feathers glimmering in the bare light of the forest. Not a single one is the same color, dappled in black and whites, and browns and golds, and as it breathes its topography changes. It meets his eyes, just as gold as his own, and sweeps open its wings to the height of a man.

It’s majestic. He’s blessed to have it as his last sight on this earth.

It drops what it carries in its beak, splattering crimson across the fresh snow. He squints to see it, a large body and long ears: a rabbit carcass. It’s so fresh it still steams in the air.

He stares, mouth salivating, and wonders if the gods mean to mock him as well as bless him with this feast for crows.

“Look,” she says, snapping her beak in triumph. “I can hunt for you now!”

His breath stops in his chest, and-- and yes, he feels her, their tether stretched like a muscle over-used. “It’s you.”

She cocks her head, and in her eyes, humor shines. “Who else would come to you here?”

He’d thought himself near death, on his last legs, but somehow he stands, somehow he runs to her, throwing his arms around her warm body. “You’re so big.”

“Then you best get tall to match,” she teases, wings fluttering around them. Already he feels more alive than he has in days, in years. This is his daemon, and she is glorious. “I won’t have people laughing at me tipping you over when I perch.”

He picks up the carcass, finger numb. “Then I guess you’ll need--”

His words catch in his throat as he sees them, the men first, impossibly giant dogs at their hips, and then the red-wrapped figured next to them.

“--more rabbits,” he finishes weakly. They were here. They had been found.

One of the red women step forward, face utterly obscured by her scarves.

“Congratulations,” she says, voice ageless, “you have passed.”

The porcelain is chill against Obi’s fingers; it shocks him after all this time to feel it, to have bare hands. But there is no other way he can come to her, not now, not when she said, I have a feeling I’ll see you there, and this is his answer.

“You could have worn gloves,” Od Ana snips, shuffling on the step next to him. “It’s cold out.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t.”

Hidden hands have something to hide, and for once, he isn’t that man. Not with her. Not with what he needs to say.

“If you’d just done it last night it would already be over,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Od’s greatest talent by far is ignoring him. “And we’d be inside.”

“You have feathers.” He turns the mask over in his fingers. His hands may need to hide nothing, but his face always says too much in front of her. “You’re warm enough.”

“Shows what you know.” She clicks her beak, like she’s thinking about crunching one of his fingers. “I--”

“Last night it was snowing, I think--”

Her voice chimes like bells down the hall, and he nearly fumbles the mask trying to get it up, to get it to hide his face.

“--so now it’s completely white outside--”

He knows the moment she sees him, her breath catching so loudly that it nearly echoes in the arcade, and oh, he had worried shouldn’t wouldn’t recognize him even if he’s worn this fancy get up before, but no, no--

His miss would know him anywhere.

“Little Ryuu.” It’s so much safer to talk to him than to Miss, than to look anywhere near her while his eyes sting. “Did you shut the windows?”

“Mm,” he hums, but it’s lost in the way Miss shouts, “Obi!”

The name sings through him, from his chest to his toes and back, and even though it’s not his, it suddenly feels like it is, like--

Like he’s home.

His fingers tug at the cord, and he turns less for drama, and more because taking any moment longer to see her is torture, like being in that forest all over again, alone and in agony.

“Mistress,” he says, watching the way she glows, feeling the way he lights back, “I drifted in with the snow.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #Creatures of a Brief Season #daemon au #this was so incredibly fun to write #and joanna had actually been needling me about it for a while #so i'm glad I finally got a chance to put it to page

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nowus33m3 · 5 years

Text

Smile.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “Guess who made the evening news?”

Warnings: None

Word count: 1719

A/N: Congrat’s to @delicatelyherdreams for reaching 1K! (plus probably now) This is for #elles1kwritingchallenge . Hope y'all enjoy!

Unbeknownst to Tony, you had managed to add a few things to the design of the Avengers compound during its construction. Going behind Tony's back and bribing the architect to add secret tunnels and rooms had proven to be quite easy. Now you were able to reap in the benefits of your fantastic plan. Your design allowed you to have spaces you could go and hide out for hours on end. Your own lab where you could hide your toys, trinkets, experiments, and a garage for your much, much larger toys where none of the other Avengers would be able to play with them. Yes, this may sound a bit childish but you enjoyed having things that were simply all just yours. Your very own bat cave at the hands of your very own billionaire. So why on this particular day was someone else in it?

Barnes.

He was new to the team, and very much still an outsider, you only really saw Barnes connecting with Steve, his childhood pal. Sometimes an occasional interaction with Sam. The three of them were pretty much the bestie trio of the compound (or the closest things to best friends that earth's mightiest heroes could get). You had read his files, you liked knowing the intricate pasts of the people you lived with. You knew that he wasn't the same person that Steve grew up with. You knew that Steve (as much as he tried to hide it) missed his best friend terribly.

Barnes who was standing in your garage lost in thought staring at your 1997 Harley.

You cough to catch his attention."How'd you get down here?"

That startled him, he shifted his gaze away from the bike towards you. You were like a ghost in the tower, people rarely saw you if not only for the weekly debriefings and missions. You kept very much to yourself, you enjoyed being by yourself. This must've been the most amount of words you had said to Barnes since he arrived.

"Is all this yours?" He ignores your initial question motioning to all the vehicles in the room.

You nod as he glides his flesh arm along your sleek black Mustang Gt. You're frozen, not sure if you should scream at him to leave or let him continue to enjoy what's yours. You fiddle with your hands unsure of what to do, anxiously spinning the ring around your index finger.

"The hatch in the laundry room was left open," He says offhandedly moving towards your weapons wall.

Cursing under your breath you follow him. How could you have been so careless? Your breath falters a bit as he picks up the 1942 revolver. You notice something changes in his eyes and he places the revolver back in its spot and grazes his hand along the newer sniper rifle. It clicks that 1942 was his past, and the gun must signify the things he must've lost. Hesitating, you walk over to the wall of bookshelves on the east side of the room. You look back at Barnes briefly before pulling out “the catcher and the rye”. The shelf unhinges slowly and smoothly opening into another hallway.

Turning your head towards Barnes, he looks at you with curiosity. Smiling, you motion for him to follow you. "Well you're here now, I might as well show you the rest of it"

He follows you down the short hallway with dimly lit clear glass floors to a larger garage that had been retrofitted with a hangar door made from galvanized steel. Centered in the garage on a turnstile glass plate was your custom matte black Audi R8. You stood just inside the hallway door, grinning at your work. Barnes looks at you briefly before circling the car. Again, gliding his flesh arm along the body. Skipping over to the adjacent wall, you punch in the code retrieving the keys from the hidden panel.

“Do you think you’d be up for a ride?” You smile at Barnes, he looks up questioningly before shrugging and nodding his head.

“Great Barnes!” You toss him the keys over the hood of the car as you confidently slip into the passenger's seat, “You’re driving.” You beam.

Barnes follows suit, pushing the keys into the ignition the vehicle comes to life. The purr of the car was enticing and the dash lit up recognizing and welcoming both, you and Barnes into the car. Pushing a button on the dash, you silenced the engine and found the other button that opened the hangar doors which lead to a tunnel that allowed you to exit the compound undetected by F.R.I.D.A.Y. Barnes puts the car into drive and followed the covert corridor outside of the compound until you were able to see the brilliant orange sky of the setting sun.

“I'm not supposed to leave the compound” You spoke unprovoked.

Answering Barnes’ question before he thought to ask. Tony said that it was for your own safety, you were to go on missions and come home. That was your life, yet you wanted more. You needed more, so you created more.

“That’s why I made those tunnels, the hangar, the garage-” You feel like you're stumbling to fill the silence.

You could just sit and enjoy the passing landscape being a passenger for once. You feel as if you have to explain why no one sees you around the compound so much. Explain why you choose not to hang out with the other Avengers in your free time.

“It's how I feel free” you whisper turning your head towards Barnes to see his reaction.

He simply nods, gripping the steering wheel a little bit tighter. You decide that he may not want to talk at all. In fact, he may be regretting following the hatch in the laundry room right this second. Minutes pass before he decides to speak.

“You know, you can call me Bucky,” he states shifting his eyes to meet yours briefly before returning to the road.

You smile, “I will try.”

You continue to drive another 15 minutes before you reach the outskirts of a populated town. The whole point of the compound was that it was in the middle of nowhere. Unlike the old Avengers tower in New York which was practically a large bullseye saying “Send Your Airstrike Here!”

“Stop at the diner there.” You motion for Bucky to pull into the diner parking lot on the right side of the street.

Leaning into the backseat, you pull out two navy baseball caps and hand one to bucky.

“These will do, they don’t pay much attention to big city events too often around here.” placing the cap on your head, you exit the car with bucky in tow.

Once you guys enter into the diner, you choose a booth in the back corner closest to the side door exit and away from the windows. A brunette waitress wearing a light pink button up with a white apron attached to her checkered skirt approaches your table.

“Can I get Y'all started with a cup of Coffee?” Both you and Bucky nod then smile at each other for the shared silence. She chuckles.

“Oh my, did someone forget to close the refrigerator? You could freeze an ice pop with this silence, first date jitters?” She smiles, “No worries, this cup of coffee will warm Y'all two right up!”

You feel your face heat up, this was definitely not a date. Especially since the total word count between you and Bucky was up to only 50.

“We’re not-” You both start, before sharing a glance and laughing.

“This is not a date,” you state reading her name tag, Martha. Such a nice simple name. Martha.

“My bad Darlings, I shouldn't have assumed. I do know it is possible for a guy and girl to be just friends nothing more nowadays.” You internally laugh at her use of ‘nowadays’ like she isn't only a couple of years older than you.

Nowadays like she has been left on this earth for centuries and has seen some things, maybe she has seen somethings. She hands both Bucky and you and menu.

“Now Y'all just flag me down when you're ready to order.” she pats the fronts of the menus and smiles.

“Thanks…. Martha.” Bucky smiles as Martha winks at him and pivots on her heels towards the counter.

“She is very relieved that I am not your girlfriend” You state peering at Bucky over the top of your menu. You gage his reaction then continue.

“You should go for it, she seems nice.” You move the menu higher to cover your face.

He chuckles, placing his menu on the table.

“Yes, because ‘Ex-Assassin dates local girl’ is definitely a headline Tony would love to read.” You snort, taken aback by his sense of humor.

Who knew Bucky could let down his serious demeanor and be funny?

“He would definitely not let you live it down. I can see him coming into one of the debriefings, placing the morning paper on the table and sarcastically saying ‘Guess who made the evening news?’”

You're both laughing now. This is nice.

He adds. ”Though Sam and Steve would be over the moon. They practically remind me every day that I should get back on the ‘so-called’ horse.”

“Of course they do. Sam’s an instigator, you know he’ll stand behind anything that offers a healthy dose of drama.”

You are both cackling in agreement, this is very nice.

Mentally you hope that you’ll get to hear Bucky’s laugh more often. Once you both had quieted down, Bucky waves at Martha.

“What can I get Y'all?” You order a breakfast plate with a chocolate milkshake and Bucky orders a burger with pop.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a strict training diet or something?” you smirk, raising your eyebrow at his decision.

“Aren’t you?” he returns.

“Touché, touché.” you nodded.

You both continue to laugh and joke, not really touching the serious stuff. Just getting to know each other better than you had before.

Closer to 8, you decide that you've been away from the compound for a good chunk of time. You leave a sizeable tip for Martha and head out of the diner.

Thanks for reading. ♥

shout out to @totoromakeshappiness and @rimroseeverdeen for the help!

#elles1kwritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barns x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #Sebastian Stan #sebastian #Avengers #Winter Solider #captain america #steve and bucky #marvel

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lumina-chronicles · 5 years

Text

Ignus

@writersblockandapotoftea hello, you have opened Pandora's box. You thought I had world building for Nox and Siaboras? They're baaare bones compared to Ignus lol. Given that Ignus is one of the two most important kingdoms in the Lumina Chronicles, it makes sense that I've got a lot of junk on them. I'll try my best to keep this as organized as possible, so let's dive right in:

LOCATIONS:

Capital:

Apakitarák, the luminization of which is roughly "glass tower" or "pillar of glass." The name stems from the impressive stained glass structure located at the center of the city. It was the most populated city in Ignus before the seige, with a marketplace larger than some entire villages. Location of the Danthragnir palace.

Other Notable Cities:

Dulkhar, translated "tempest," was the wealthiest city in Ignus, as it was the only reliable source for certain fruits (bananas, cocoa, pinapple, coffee beans) in the entire Realm. With the destruction of Ignus, those items have skyrocketed in price and rarity, and are almost impossible to find on the market (usually a cheaper Siaboran variety is sold instead, if available.)

Baidima, the luminous translation of which would be a combination of the words "distant/far away" and "home." Because Ignus was a very private nation, outsiders were never brought to Apakitarák. Baidima, located close to Luminous, Aeternal, and Siaboran territory, was a perfect "substitute capital." It was Ignus's main trade port and a popular location for many international summits.

Kalae, translated to "fortress," was a small city located at the heart of the Ignean mountain range. The most holy and elabrate temple to Naresharakh was located there, and all khisati (holy dancers in training) were required to spend three cycles there before they could officially be given the title of Narakhisa (holy dancers, the Ignean equivalent of a priest or priestess.)

ROYAL FAMILY:

The Danthragnir Bloodline

Ignus is ruled by an absolute monarchy, with the crown (usually) being passed to the first-born in each generation of Danthragnir. Though some exceptions have historically been made to the birthright order, the ruler has always been and must always be of Danthragnir blood.

The luminization of Danthragnir is "brightened eyes." This can be taken literally, as the eyes of a Danthragnir burned brighter than average firestone, or it can be taken metaphorically, as the members of the Danthragnir bloodline were capable of seeing the spirits of the dead and occasionally the auras of the living.

Alcinder Danthragnir was the last Ignean king, ruling with his wife Emelai at the time of Lumina's seige. They were confirmed among the first dead. Their children, Prince Ivinius and Princess Khatalanya, though their bodies were not identified among the rubble, have not been seen since the seige and are believed dead.

Queen Amaranth Lousvar of Lumina was born Princess Amaranta Danthragnir, Alcinder's cousin. Her marriage to Jareth Lousvar was arranged to repair tensions between the two nations after a political scandal, and secure an alliance. This alliance lasted roughly twenty years, before it was broken with Lumina's betrayal and the genocide of Ignus.

RELIGION:

God(s): "Hey Ignus, are you monotheistic or polytheistic?" "Yes."

Ignus technically one god, Naresharakh, but he has five faces, each with their own unique personalities, dominions, and prayers. Separate but the same, indivisible but different. The five faces of Naresharakh are as follows:

Nivekhi, “One who weeps,” from Ignean nivaro ‘to weep’ and -ekhi, a suffix denoting caste or divine duty which is uncommon in colloquial Modern Ignean. Sometimes referred to as The Lamenter. Nivekhi is associated with water, death, the cold season, rain, darkness, and merfolk. "Dancing the Lamenter" is a colloquialism for dying.

Skhorekhi, “One who plants/grows” from Ignean skhoralo ‘to plant crops’ and -ekhi. Commonly known as The Seeder. Skhorekhi is associated with the earth, marriage, fertility, the growing season, new life, and humans. "Dancing the Seeder" is a colloquialism for sex or falling in love, tone of voice is veeery important for the distinction.

Imaporekhi, “One who wanders’ from Ignean imaporalo ‘to wander/fly’ and -ekhi. Commonly called The Wanderer. Imaporekhi is associated with air, movement and nomadic life, the temperate season, flight, freedom, and angels.

Thragnekhi, “One who brightens” from Ignean thragnaro “to bring light to/brighten” and -ekhi. Commonly known as The Illuminator. Thragnekhi is associated with fire, justice, education, the hot season, battle, and dragons.

Dorulekhi, “One who answers” from Ignean dorulalo, “to answer/solve” and -ekhi. Commonly known as the Resolver. Dorulekhi is the name for one face of the five-aspected divine dragon Naresharakh. Dorulekhi is associated with lightning, vengeance, passion, the stormy season, choice, and fairies.

Other Facets of Belief:

Dance- in Ignean culture, dance is the highest form of expression. As such, all prayers are made through dance. Every change of season is marked by a day long festival that begins with dances to the previous face in the morning, a combination in the afternoon, and dances to the new face in the evening. Every Ingean dances, most dance well (given that it's something they do almost daily from childhood) but everyone is encouraged to join regardless of their skill.

Reincarnation- Like Noxians, Igneans believe in reincarnation, but a much different kind. Just as Naresharakh changes his face but keeps the same soul, so too do Igneans. With each death and rebirth, they come back as a different SR species (in order, corresponding to the different faces of Naresharakh.) Ghosts are people who were somehow broken from the cycle, and must find their way back to Naresharakh's grace in order to rejoin the Great Dance (reincarnation cycle.)

Morality- Dragons live mainly by the rule of "an eye for an eye." While it is preferred that you do not harm others, if someone wrongs you it is completely within your right to seek equal reparations. Larger disputes are brought directly to the Danthragnirs for justice.

CULTURE:

Society: Since Igneans believe they have at one point been every species in the Shadow Realm, they don't have a superiority complex like most of the other species. They lead simple but celebratory lives, and are extremely family focused. It is not uncommon to see grandparents, parents, uncles, and aunts all living together with their younger generations.

Architecture: Most structures are made of stone, glass, or clay. You will see very little metal in Ignus, and even less wood. Water is used only for decorative (like a fountain) or agricultural purposes. Roads are wide with lots of room for foot traffic and dancing, and there's an abundance of shops and marketplaces. You will see colorful stained glass windows in nearly every building, and intricate sun catchers lining every street. Fireproof plants are common in hanging planters or on the roofs of buildings. Green is a popular decorative color, because it stands out against the desert sands.

Fashion: Igneans commonly dressed in loose, flowing clothing of breathable materials in bright colors and intricate patterns. For wealthier Igneans, it would not be uncommon to see gold thread woven in. The fabric was always made from fibers that had been soaked in a special fireproof substance cultivated and found only in Ignus.

Igneans wore robes, skirts, dresses, or loose pants. It was not considered undignified (and in fact it was quite common) for someone to go shirtless in public (regardless of gender). Shoes were considered pointless, as the hot desert sand could not burn a dragon, and in fact helped them keep their internal temperature high.

They did not wear jewelry, and never carried metal or wood on their person. Accessorizing was done with shawls, scarves, and tattoos. Temporary tattoos made of gold henna as well as permanent tattoos in both black and white ink were common and popular. Being a tattoo artist in Ignus was a highly respected position.

All clothing was loose, breathable, and easily removable for the sake of transformations.

Recreation:

Dance- Beyond prayers, there are dances for nearly every occasion and even as an expression of several feelings.

Music- You can't have dance without a rhythm. In public places it would not be uncommon to find a troupe of musicians performing at every corner. Ignean music was very percussion heavy, featuring lots of intricate rhythms and multiple types of drum and bell. Other popular instruments were of the plucked string variety.

Sports- Igneans are fond of both foot races in their human form and flying races in their dragon form, other popular sports include wrestling, rock climbing, and weapon work. Igneans do not and most cannot swim. Water is the Worst Thing for a dragon, and prolonged exposure can lead to temporary loss of fire, illness, and in extreme cases death.

Health- Since water is mostly a no-go for Igneans, they prefer to stay hydrated with fruit juices, coffee, and alcohol. This is viable for a dragon because they need a lot less water in their system than a human (and waaaaay less than a Siaboran, of course.) Ignean's "bathe" in rooms that are essentially clay-walled closets by stripping and setting their entire bodies on fire until they're clean. Dragons are fireproof, dirt/oils/bacteria are not.

LANGUAGE (special thanks to my friend Joe for working on this stuff with me because I am very much not a linguist)

Nêres- sun

Arukh- cold, alternately used to mean foreign

Sandaro- to abandon

Nen- I

Nodho- we (inclusive)

Yot- you (singular)

Mataro- to wait

Panu- head

Î/m- That/Those

Ava- Water

Khakota- Phoenix

Ladhiralo- To lure in or bait

Tavaro- To love

Swear Words:

Dumesh- literally translated ‘ashes’, but the concept refers to something useless or spent. When applied to a person or thing, it is roughly equivalent to calling it/them a piece of shit. Most polite conversation referring to the same object uses the less charged imva.

Kadvykya- a general purpose swearword which has no direct translation in Luminous, but can be approximated by ‘empty sea’ or ’hungry waters’, both deeply fearful concepts to dragons.

____________

Note: Sorry I bounced between tenses so often. Since Ignus is empty ruins for the majority of the Lumina Chronicles, I'm used to referring to them in past tense but I usually write these worldbuilding things in present, so there was a lot of mixup in my mind XP

#wip: lumina chronicles #location: ignus #Worldbuilding #long post #amwriting

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noctemises · 5 years

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Skye’s Black Magic Booth

Admittedly, this wasn’t his thing. Well, with troubles regarding legality aside, it wasn’t a bad opportunity to unload on some various nicks-and-knacks he’d accumulated over several means. There was no point in leaving them to sit in a storage closet somewhere.

So, settled somewhere outside the foray, he’d set up a rather inconspicuous looking booth with a small placard to avoid second glances. It’s the best way to avoid... unsavory characters, like lawmen, for instance.

Reclining leisurely and biding his time with filing his nails, he doesn’t pay much of a second glance outside of his meticulous perfectionism, blending into the scenery with boredom seeping into his body language.

“Don’t be fooled by the name. There’s something for everybody.”

GENERAL GOODS

Stress-Me-Not Tea (Strawberry, Peach, Blueberry) [x1] ~ 500G Each

This special drink is infused with chamomile, jasmine, and trace amounts of lavender-- as well as several different fruits, which may have been imbued with blessings of a healer. Consuming this will cause immediate relaxation, but the warning tag says do not over-consume: side effects include euphoria. Whatever that means.

Leather-Bound Journal [x1] ~ 1,500G Each

This little book is perfect for writing all your troubles in. Bound in moleskine leather and depicting the tree of life on its cover, troubles seem to melt away when written on its paper. Whether it’s a protective ward or just a placebo effect is for you to decide.

Dust Bunnies [SOLD OUT] ~ 1,500G Each

This cute low-maintenance creature takes on the form of a rabbite, cloudy gray in colour and small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. It’ll eat the dust from your home and prefers to sleep under couches and shady areas, requiring little to no maintenance. Skye advises only buying one-- dust bunny overpopulation is a serious epidemic.

Day-Break Dreamcatcher [x2] ~ 1,000G Each

This sun-themed dream catcher is a special protective ward that filters out bad dreams. Useful for a restful nights sleep, those with chronic insomnia troubles can find their napping peaceful after hanging this upon a window.

Atmospheric Candles [x2] ~ 1,000G Each

Lighting this candle will cause the room to smell great, but as an added effect, the scent chosen also fills the area with various atmospheric sounds. Experience sounds of the ocean with the seafoam candle, roasting marshmallows in the woods with the campfire candle, or enjoy the smell and sound of the rain with a thunderstorm candle. Auditory hallucinations are normal and last only as long as the candle is lit.

UNDER THE TABLE DEALS

Oujia Boards [x1] ~ 2,000G Each

Feel like contacting the spirit of a loved one? Want to find out secrets that lie behind the veil that separates humanity from the arcane? Ever wanted to talk to a prolific figure in history? Look no further than your very own Ouija board! Please remember to say goodbye after contacting your spirit. Skye is not responsible for any possessions and misuse of the board. Refunds not accepted.

Liar Liar Ring [SOLD OUT] ~ 2,500G Each

Ever wondered if someone was lying to you? Ever wanted to know when someone was lying to you? This ring is normally red, but the stone turns charcoal black when someone tells a lie-- including yourself. Any emotional damage caused by this ring is accepted as the wearer’s responsibility.

The Coming Flame [x1] ~ 2,500G Each

This black powder resembling the night sky takes on the form of nail embossing powder, but thrown into an open fire, the smoke will allow you a brief one-minute glimpse into your future. The time and date cannot be controlled, whether it’s ten minutes or ten years, but it’s perfect for those curious about what fate holds in store.

Basic Tarot Reading ~ 5,000G

This basic reading consists of just a few cards and a brief outline of what the universe has to say about your fate. If you believe in that stuff, of course.

Advanced Tarot Reading ~ 10,000G

This more experienced reading includes your past, present, future, and a more in-depth explanation of what the cards have to say about you. Any bad readings are solely the decision of the cards, the cardkeeper is only a conduit.

#pi:bazaar

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innerpostmentality · 5 years

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Coffee with Hyclea

A TRR AU fan fic Featuring King Liam X OC All rights to Choices characters and settings to Pixel Berry Studios This is set before the bachelorette party and wedding of Drake and the MC. Liam is wrestling with his emotions as he works to see the way forward. Thanks to @kennaxval for bringing me back to this pair.

Approximately 2900 words PG-13

Tagging: @kennaxval @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @carabeth @custaroonie

Liam looked at the file on the woman who kept invading his thoughts.

Hyclea Diama, 28, single, occupation: Gaffer. Owner of Diama Crystal & Glass. Master of Fine Art from Oxford university completed advanced degree with high honors. Net worth 15.5 million Euros. Parents: deceased. No known siblings.

These files were always so black and white. He frowned at the file dissatisfied, and closed it. Checked his watch, 8:30am, two hours before his first meeting of the day. A smile lifted his mouth as he picked up his phone and called Bastien.

“Your Majesty. Kalimera. How may I assist you?”

“I need a car. I’ve decided to have breakfast out. I am going to visit Miss Diama.” Liam could just envision Bastien’s brow lift as the pause on the phone lengthened. “Bastien?”

“Of course your Majesty… your car will be waiting in 10.”

“Five. And you are welcome to join us, Bastien.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Liam looked out the window of the car as the limo navigated the ancient streets of the capitol city taking a circuitous route to avoid the worst of the morning traffic. Something he realized he hadn’t really considered when he made his impulsive decision for an impromptu visit. Fifteen minutes later the limo pulled up in front of a quaint store front set into a repurposed ancient building. A wooden framed ornate stained glass sign read ‘Diama Glass & Crystal’ hung from a wrought iron brace above the door over the paved stone side walk. A large showcase window had been skillfully set into the stone to provide a display for the street. Currently the display was filled with a meter-tall, gorgeous glass sculpture of a scarlet and gold phoenix, wings stretched overhead as though emerging from a base composed of massive flames and tail plumage. All around the phoenix were glass and fine crystal pieces themed to celebrate the marriage of the new Duchess of Valtoria. There was a crystal chess set, fine crystal wine glasses with phoenix stems, champagne flutes with the seal of Valtoria etched into the glass, blown glass and crystal phoenix Christmas ornaments, and crystal sun catchers etched with the royal seal of Cordonia were hung strategically above it all beneath bright halogen lights to scatter rainbows across the whole display. The artistry evident in the little store front left Liam gaping with appreciation for several moments before he stepped into the shop.

The tinkling of crystal wind chimes heralded his entrance and he looked up to see the chimes in the shape of reeds hung from the ceiling and a plume of ostrich feathers fastened to the door to dust the chime when the door was opened. The small shop was well lit and immaculate with multiple glass enclosed upright display cases as well as jewelry case counters filled with fine crystal and glass ware of every sort. Behind the back counter was a heavy oak door ornately carved and finely finished depicting a man astride a large dragon. “Kalos orisate, I’ll be with you in a moment.” Her voice came to him from an intercom still possessed of that velvety warmth even through the small speaker.

Liam found himself smiling and caught Bastien giving him a side long glance. Then She came through the back door untying a leather apron and draping it on a hook by the door. Her midnight hair was braided and secured with a bright red ribbon. A red cotton peasant blouse and black slacks adorned her this morning and she gave Liam a bright smile that reflected in her deep violet eyes as she gave him a short curtsey. “Kalimera, Your Majesty. How may I help you?” It was her voice he thought, mesmerized by the sight of her or maybe those unusual violet eyes. He cleared his throat and felt his face flush. “I was hoping that you might join me for breakfast?”

He caught her eyes widen in surprise and she studied him a moment before responding. “Can you give me a few minutes? I must let my assistants know that I am stepping out for a while.”

“Of course.” Liam watched her turn and go back through the ornate door then turned to see Bastien smiling at him.

A few minutes later she returned and reached beneath the main counter. Instantly Bastien stepped between Liam and the counter, hand reaching for his holster even as Hyclea stood pulling a small shoulder purse and a pair of black dress pumps out. She lifted a brow as she realized she had caused the guard to be alarmed.

“Bastien, Sighorese me, I was just getting my purse and shoes.” She watched as Bastien relaxed slightly and Liam put a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly to him. She held her purse out to Bastien. “Here, please look and put yourself at ease. I am comforted that you look after his Majesty and take no chances.” Bastien looked in the purse and nodded before handing it back. She pulled a tube of lip gloss from it and swiped it on even as she deftly stepped out of the sturdy looking work boots she was wearing and slipped on the pumps.

“I am ready. But I cannot be gone too long. There are projects that require me.” She smiled and cocked her head looking at Liam as he stood there smiling at her. “Is there a place you would recommend?” he asked after realizing he’d been staring. “Do you know Tevi’s? If you like pastry and coffee or quiche they are very good… and close. We could walk if you like?” Liam looked to Bastien who spoke into his headset for a moment before nodding. Then opened the door for them. Liam offered Hyclea his arm, “My Lady Hyclea, shall we?” “I was admiring your display window as I came in. It’s quite remarkable. Is it all your work?” Hyclea took his arm and stepped out pointing at the display. “The Phoenix is my design. Stephano and Aeus were my assistants on that piece. I designed the phoenix wine glasses and blew them. The chess set is Stephano’s design. April does most of the actual cut work on the crystal though I do some of that as well. Aeus loves doing ornaments and the sun catchers.” She looked at him and shook her head and smiled. “I am glad I did not offend you the other night. I too often say too much of what I see or think. When I didn’t see you again I was concerned that I might have ruined a retreat for you. And that was certainly not my intention.” He looked into her eyes so sincere and deep. “I cannot imagine you ever offending me Lady Hyclea. I think you did me a service the other night. I had lost some perspective and was lost in my thought’s maze.” She nodded and studied him a moment more. “You seem better today. That is good.”

“When I saw the Phoenix in your window I was wondering if I might purchase it? I’ve been looking for a wedding gift for Stephanie and Drake and that piece is perfection.” He watched her eyes widen in surprise before she lifted a brow and looked at him seriously for a moment.

“Oh…. I honestly had not expected to sell it. Of course, if you wish it is yours, Your Majesty.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Lady Hyclea might I request a favor?” He stopped and checked his watch before looking steadily into her eyes. “I have run away you see. So while I’m playing hooky could you just call me Liam?”

She grinned, “Playing hooky? Now I’m torn between being flattered and appalled. I will make you a deal, I will call you Liam if you will call me Hyclea and skip the Lady? I keep looking around to see who you are talking to every time you do that.”

“I can do that… Hyclea.” He smiled. A few minutes later she paused and pointed out a little sign hanging by a white washed archway that simply read ‘Tevi’s’.

Bastien asked them to wait and stepped through the archway just long enough for Hyclea to lean over and murmur low in Liam’s ear. “I’m guessing he’s very good at protecting you. And you are not so good at playing hooky.” Bastien returned and motioned them in, lifting a brow at Liam’s blush.

“La.. Hyclea,” Liam cleared his suddenly tight throat and invited her to precede him into the courtyard of the restaurant. Tables were scattered around the white washed walls of the courtyard garden. Several Jacaranda trees and an ancient Olive tree dominated the open aired space while smaller ornamental apple trees stood guard beneath the eaves at the entrance to the interior of the restaurant. Bright poppies were blooming around the bases of the trees and vases on the tables held blush pink rose buds.

A waiter approached and Hyclea turned to Liam, “May we sit in the courtyard? It’s a lovely day and I’m indoors too much with my work.” Liam nodded at the waiter and he led them to a table toward the back by a graceful Jacaranda tree with bright blue flowers. They placed their orders for coffee and pastries. And Hyclea sat back smiling and studying him.

“So Liam tell me what has you running away?” Her smile was gentle and her voice like warm velvet was soothing to him.

“Why to break my fast with you of course.” He smiled playfully, looking in her eyes. “I was terrible company the other evening and I would not have you think poorly of me.” Liam resisted the urge to take her hand studying it instead before meeting her eyes, his were dark and serious, vulnerable when he spoke again. “Hyclea, I find myself thinking of you. Wanting to know more about you… But I would not wish to burden you with the circus that is my life.”

She looked deeply, steadily into his dark gaze for long moments considering before she spoke. “All the world’s a stage, and the men and women merely players… I believe Shakespeare wrote that in his play “As You Like It” and your words made me think of this. Life is like the production we are cast in that none of us get to read a script for.”

She barely broke eye contact with him as the waiter served their coffee and a whole basket of freshly baked pastries. She nodded and gave the waiter a brief smile before turning back to Liam as she lifted her cup and blew across it a moment before taking a tiny, careful sip of the delicious strong aromatic brew. She closed her eyes and slowly smiled as she savored it.

Liam watched her and shifted in his seat adjusting himself, fixated on the bow of her mouth as she blew across her coffee. He was aroused, seriously aroused. Aroused by a woman other than Stephanie for the first time in months. He smiled as she opened her eyes to him and reached his hand out offering it to her. “Hyclea… “his voice was gentle. “I want to ask you something.”

“Taste your coffee first.” She set her coffee down and put her left hand in his. Liam reached for the sugar and she put her hand over the bowl. “No. Taste it first.” Her violet gaze held his for a moment before she took her hand off the sugar bowl.

“Is this a test?” his voice lifted in curiosity and the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement.

“Yes.” She smiled, “And our coffee will be better hot.”

Locking eyes with her he took a small sip.

“Now, let’s fix my coffee. Do you like sugar?”

He nodded.

Hyclea put one lump in her cup and stirred it then took a sip. Closing her eyes for a moment assessing before she offered him her cup to taste. Liam looked at her quizzically before he took the cup and sipped it. “What do you think?”

“Smoother, better.” He found himself stroking his thumb over her fingers where his hand held hers, feeling the supple softness of her skin.

Hyclea chuckled and pulled her hand from his. “Liam, I’m not sure now whether you are talking about coffee anymore.”

Heat rose in his cheeks as he confessed, “I’m not sure either.”

“Here. Sip this.” She handed him his unsweetened cup to sip. “Now this.” After tasting it he looked thoughtful. “Now do you want to add anything else to mine?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what you like.” He reached for her hand again and she put her hand in his smiling gently at him.

“Ah Liam, the point is, was, trying to be sure you know what You actually like before you change it. You said you had never been to Tevi’s before but you would put things in your coffee here before even tasting it. You can always add. And it changes everything. But once you have added the sugar, cream, lemon, honey you can’t take it back. With the original here,” she pointed at his unsweetened cup, “you can compare. I was thinking we are a bit like these cups of coffee.” She sipped her lightly sweetened coffee. Then squeezed his hand. “I like you, Liam. So what did you want to ask me?”

He toyed with her hand a moment before meeting her eyes. “I would like for you to accompany me, us really. As you know my best friends are getting married in a few days. We are throwing a bachelorette/bachelor party for Stephanie and Drake in Las Vegas and then their wedding will follow a couple of days later back here. I would have you meet them. I… want you to come with us as my… my date.”

Her brow lifted and she studied him a long moment before sipping her coffee again. “Liam, you honor me; but I will need to think about this. It would please me to spend more time with you. And I would like to meet the people you are friends with. I’m just not certain of the timing.”

She took her hand from his and selected one of the rolls from the basket breaking it and handing him a piece. “Try this. It’s an orange walnut sticky bun. I love them with the coffee here.”

Liam looked at her hand holding the piece of roll and wanted her to feed it to him. He would take the pastry from her fingers looking in the violet depths of her gaze and then carefully lick and suck the sweet honey from her fingers. She would sigh, just a little, softly as he rolled his tongue over the pads of her fingertips and he would see her pupils open with desire..

“Liam?” Her voice pulled him from his day dream into her smile, “Trust me. These are delicious.”

He felt himself blush and cleared his throat before taking the piece of roll from her and tasting it. “Ah… This is excellent!” He sipped his coffee forgetting to put any sugar in it first. Then he grinned at her, “Can I put some sugar in my coffee now?”

She laughed, a soft musical sound that he felt in his chest and made him smile. “Of course.” She took her bite of roll and sipped her coffee. Watching him as he put one lump of sugar and nothing else in his coffee. “So when do you leave for this Las Vegas trip? I know their wedding is weekend after next.”

“Monday, four days. Bastien and a security team leave tomorrow to make sure everything is prepared for us.”

Bastien stepped up to the table then and made a short bow. “Excuse me, Sir, you asked me to let you know when it was time.”

Liam looked up at Bastien and nodded before he turned back to her regretfully. “I’m sorry Hyclea. I fear my hooky time is done for the day. Might I have the pleasure of taking you back to your shop?”

“Ah Liam, se efkharisto. I would not deprive you of pleasure but I think I will walk back. I have a lot of work to do yet this day. And thinking. And walking is always good for both.” She opened her clutch and pulled out a pen and one of her business cards and wrote her private number on it and handed it to him. “Here. It’s my personal number.” She grinned at him, “Call me next time you want to play hooky. I should know by Friday if I will be able to join you. Again I am honored that you should invite me.” She stood and gave him a small curtsey.

Liam stood and took her hand bowing over it and gently bringing her knuckles to meet his lips, perhaps a moment longer than his training would dictate for a brief acquaintance. “I will call you.” His eyes met hers before dropping to her lips as he gave her a last smile before departing.

As she watched the young king walk away she heard her father’s voice telling her. “Someday daughter you may find that you need more than your work in your life. Someday you will find the artistry in another soul that completes yours.”

#choices trr #trr #trr fanfic #trr liam #LiamxHyclea

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milomeepit · 6 years

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Virgil’s Birthday

Prompt: So headcannon where the sides are all talking about special dates ((birthdays, anniversaries, etc)) and Patton goes, “Hey, Virge, when’s your birthday?” and he gets all quiet before just saying it, and horror just fills their faces as they realize it was forgotten a week ago https://chemically-imbalanced-romance.tumblr.com/post/168974544071/so-headcannon-where-the-sides-are-all-talking

Relationships: Platonic LAMP (Maybe Analogical at the end if you squint?)

Tag List: (I think I got everyone? Sorry if I missed anyone who wants to be in my tag list!) (I also tagged everyone I could in the notes of the original post, true to my word!) @istolelittleredshoodie @do-rey-me @chemically-imbalanced-romance @kittyboof8 @zoranzumrov @gay-space-rain @koalamuffins @pinknachoobject @realityisnt-real @minimandy1256 @vixyrules @torito-sakka @liberalautisticnerd831 @linnamonroll-too-good-too-pure @the-king-of-lemons @c-a-l-m-sanders @texastwo22 @shy---anon @themeddlinggirl @lynisnotamused @ohmyfuckingchrist @allaboutme7 @thomas-the-smol-gay-bean @pieces-of-annedrew @shyrinhabits @undertakershairline @nicky-nix @jinxgolden5 @i-support-angsty-virgil @maximusgayimus @cringey-username @nicole-is-online @theangelsoars @keeshy-ekho @failureofaesthetics @thepusheenqueen @captainmcfluffin @ananipurlue @hello-my-fandoms @justarandompersonwithadream @space-princey @sanders-trash-4ever @thelogicalloganipus @lovelylogans @baguettes-save-lives @waste-of-space-666 @lucyheartfilia123 @thatsthat24@issocoldiminfuckingnarnia @sunshine-hal @madd-catter @all-da-fandoms @devilessyeet @thebrokennightmare @fortunebooks @pyromaniacphoenix @leesacrakon @sos-fandoms @ireblogstuff-andineedalife @the-answer-is-juice-or-murder @novagalaxy4real @bennidoesart @sandersfanders @midnightcandy @mantha-has-fallen @awkward-avocado-of-death @softpretzel13 @angsty-sandersides @j-ust-l-ive @roliza @nyxwordsmith @persiphonec @ai-logical @cecil-the-scientist-catcher @im-bad-at-life @littleoptimistme @spoonfullofcrofters @markiptefangirl2017 @blade-the-demon-fangirl @11wolfpup11 @nyifmet @galaxypankitty3030 @seas-space-and-stardust @otto192 @enchantingdefendorperson @deathshadowrules @iaminmultiplefandoms @superwaywardangel @cheapwiltedroses @tree4life25 @fsm-c-sher @that-purple-snazzy-dragon @super-confetti-cannon @future-watcher @anotherspnfangirl @passionateaboutponies

Patton stretched up on his tiptoes, trying to reach up to the top of the window. He huffed in frustration and strained to hang the end of the banner on the hook attached to the wall. What he wouldn’t give to have the extra six inches to be Virgil’s height. “Roman?” He called, half-turning towards the kitchen.

“You need some assistance there?” Roman grinned as he meandered over.

Patton pouted. “I can’t reach. Can you get a ladder or something?”

“Psh, I can do better than that!” Roman proclaimed. He swooped forwards, wrapping his arms around Patton’s waist and lifting him up.

Patton squeaked in surprise, then quickly hooked the banner onto the wall. “There!”

Roman set him down and nodded. “It looks good!”

Virgil glanced up from his spot on the couch. HAPPY MEW YEAR! the banner read. Cartoon cats with party hats were on either end, and he chuckled at the pun. “Nice one, Patton.”

“Indeed, it shall suffice for the celebration,” Logan agreed. He sat at the kitchen table, carefully drawing out a schedule for the new year. Papers, rulers, and pencils littered the surface around him.

“Yaaaaay!” Patton grinned, clasping his hands together and bouncing up and down excitedly.

“So, what’s on the agenda for 2018 so far, Specs?” Roman asked, coming up behind Logan and clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped at the sudden touch, frowning up at Roman. “Well, first of all, we need to work out resolutions-”

“Because that went so well last year,” Virgil said dryly.

Logan cleared his throat and continued. “Then of course, there’s Patton’s birthday, Valentine’s Day, Memorial Day, your birthday, Independence Day, Labour Day, Halloween, my birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Now, naturally, I believe we should be focusing on staying organised in the new ye-”

“Wait!” Patton interrupted, shooting over the the couch and flopping down next to Virgil. “You forgot Virgil’s birthday!”

Logan blinked, looking closer at his schedule, and frowned again. “... I have indeed. My sincere apologies, Virgil. I’ll add it immediately.”

Virgil sighed, cupping the back of his neck. “N-nah, it’s fine, guys. Don’t worry.”

“C’mon, Gloom N’ Doom, we couldn’t forget about you!” Roman insisted.

“Virgil, what’s your birthday, kiddo?” Patton smiled at him.

“It’s, uh...” Virgil licked his lips, nervous. “My birthday’s December 19th.”

The room went silent for a few seconds, and he regretted saying anything. He closed his eyes, curling up tight. There he went again, spoiling the mood. God, couldn’t he keep his mouth shut-

“We missed your birthday?” Patton whispered, horror clear in his voice as he gently touched Virgil’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, guys, don’t worry about it,” He murmured dismissively, unable to meet Patton’s eyes.

“It most certainly is not fine!” Roman shook his head. “Virgil, we are very sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Virgil snapped, shaking off Patton’s hand and standing. “Just drop it, okay?” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “... I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 4pm,” Logan glanced at his watch.

“I’m tired.” Without another word, Virgil disappeared up the three steps leading from the common area into the hallway.

“... Uh oh,” Roman sighed.

“Oh nooooooooo, we have to do something, guys!” Patton rushed over, grabbing onto Roman’s sleeve.

“Absolutely.” Logan agreed. “The only question is what? We clearly wouldn’t want to overwhelm him if he’s already not feeling great about it.”

“Buuut, it needs to be something special. Something... that just screams Virgil...” Roman mused.

“I’m gonna start making a cake!” Patton announced, sprinting to the kitchen. “Do you guys think chocolate would be good? Oooh, maybe devil’s food. Or black forest?”

“I think I remember Virgil saying he liked cherries,” Logan replied, setting aside the schedule and pulling up another piece of lined paper. “Roman, can you help me brainstorm some movies that Virgil might like?”

“Top of the list, Black Cauldron. Hmm...” Roman tapped on his chin. “The Hunchback of Notre Dame might be good as well. Return to Oz, perhaps?”

“All those suggestions sound really good!” Patton grinned. “How about Fantasia?”

“Fantasia? For Virgil?” Roman didn’t sound convinced.

“Well, sure! He likes music a lot. The animation is gorgeous. It’s right up his alley!” Patton explained.

“True, true... I’ll write it down,” Logan nodded.

Meanwhile, as the three older Sides talked, Virgil was pacing back and forth in his room. Good job, dumbass, you upset them all. God, why do you even bother? It’s not worth it anyway. You’re not worth it. Even if they did do something, you would have said or done the wrong thing.

His hands nervously raked through his hair.

You’re just fucking everything up again. They’re gonna hate you for not wanting to participate.

His fingers tightened into fists, pulling at the roots of his hair.

theyhateyoutheyhateyoutheyhateyoutheyhateyou

He sunk down into his bean bag, shaking. He tried to focus on his breathing. He could see the danger signs, see that he was standing right on the edge of a meltdown. The air was thick and heavy, hard to heave into his burning lungs. He couldn’t. Not right now. He couldn’t call the others to help. He couldn’t do it right now.

hecouldntcouldntcouldntcantdoanythingcantevensuffocateright

He shuddered, lurching forward off of the bean bag and crawling towards his bed. He snatched the Eeyore plush off of his bed- a gift from Patton- and clung to it desperately.

See, Patton gave me this, Patton cares, they care. They care. They care. He repeated to himself silently as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, curled awkwardly on the ground, silently crying until his eyes seemed to run dry. Minutes? Hours? Time seemed static, unchanging, within his little bubble of misery.

Well, aside from the sun going down outside his window, but that was an illusion anyway.

A soft knock on the door shook him out of his blank trance. He leapt to his feet, scrubbing at his face quickly with his hands. “Yeah, what is it?” He called, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

“Hey, there, buddy...!” Roman’s voice was cheery, suspiciously so.

“... Can I help you, Princey?” Virgil rolled his eyes, gently setting Eeyore down on the bed before he trudged over to the door. He stood before it with his arms crossed, not yet opening it.

“So, Logan wanted some help with planning the next few videos and he wanted to see if you had any input?”

Virgil stiffened. Of course. Even after earlier, a small part of him had been quietly hoping that they would ignore him, make a big deal out of it, do something special. He viciously crushed the thought. He had told them to drop it, they had. He should be happy they did as he asked.

Not that they understand what you want because you never fucking talk to anyone.

idiotidiotidiotidiotidiotidiotidiot

“Y-yeah, sure. I’ll be out there in a sec.” He replied, glancing at himself in the mirror and frowning. His eyeshadow was smudged to hell and back.

“Excellent!” There was a pause. “Out of curiosity, do you like cherries?”

Huh? “I mean, they’re okay, I guess.” Virgil shrugged as he began to clean up his face. “Why? We doing a fruit video or something?”

“Yeah, something like that. Just curious.”

Virgil set down his makeup, then opened the door. Roman was leaning against the wall across the hall, a thoughtful look on his face. “Gee, you almost look like you have a brain,” Virgil said sarcastically.

“Surprisingly, it does exist,” Roman laughed.

Virgil snickered. “You’re a dork, you know that?”

“And proud of it!” Roman extended a hand and grinned. “Virgil, do you trust me?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I mean, you asking honestly or...?”

“Shut up and close your eyes, Mr Secretary of Nagriculture.” Roman grabbed his hand. “I promise not to trip you up.”

“Oh gee,” Virgil snorted, closing his eyes, “I feel safer already.”

Roman led him down the hallway, dodging around the pot plant next to Patton’s door. “Okay, gonna stop just before the stairs, alright?”

“Sure?” Virgil frowned.

He heard hushed whispers, a giggle from Patton, and Logan sighing. He strained, trying to hear what they were saying.

“Are you ready, Virgil?” Patton asked, suddenly much closer to him.

He jumped slightly. “Uh... yes?”

“Open your eyes and come on in, then!”

Virgil cracked open his eyes and took a step forward, onto the middle stair.

He was suddenly assaulted by party horns, confetti, and a spray of silly string onto his chest. He yelped and jumped, losing his balance. His foot slipped off the stair and he landed with a thump on the wooden floor.

“Oh, gosh, are you okay?” Patton tossed his party horn to the side, kneeling down next to Virgil.

Virgil looked around the room, speechless. Black, purple, and grey streamers were hung from the ceiling, draping down like cobwebs. A dark purple tablecloth had been thrown over the dining table, where a large purple and black iced cake sat. Even from his spot on the floor, he could see the dark glazed cherries in a ring on the top. Balloons bobbed up from each chair, with more tied to weights dotted around the edge of the room.

What caught his attention most, however, was the large, bright banner hanging across the top of the window. Happy Birthday, Kiddo! It read in bold, colourful writing, with his purple stormcloud on each end.

“Patton... your banner. You worked so hard to hang that up,” He mumbled.

“Oh, shucks, I can hang that up again with some help!” Patton waved a hand, laughing.

“I...” Virgil put a hand over his mouth, unable to say anything else. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Oh great yes go on cry theyll just think youre even more pathetic go on virgil start up the pity party thats all this anyway they just feel sorry for your stupid ass youre so needy

“Virgil, are you alright?” Logan asked, stepping closer, concern etched into his face.

Virgil opened his mouth, his hand still loosely touching his face, but nothing came out. The tears began to overflow from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, fat and hot, and he choked out a sob.

Roman threw his can of silly string over his shoulder and dropped to his knees in front of Virgil, expression worried. “Hey, hey...” He said soothingly, taking Virgil’s free hand and squeezing it gently.

Logan sat on his other side. “What’s wrong, Virgil?” He asked, his voice soft.

Virgil sniffled, waving his hand at the decorations, the cake, everything. “I-I don’t...” He struggled, swallowing another sob. “I don’t deserve any-any of this...”

Patton’s eyes started welling up. “Vir-gil!” He exclaimed with a huge smile. “Of course you do! You are perfect and special and wonderful!” He threw his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, almost knocking the featherweight Side onto his back.

“Indeed you are. There’s nobody else than all three of you who I would want by my side in life’s great adventures!” Roman proclaimed grandly, beaming at him.

Logan paused for a few seconds before speaking. “You’re vital. Both to Thomas’ functioning... and to us. We wouldn’t be... us without you.” He said slowly. “We... love you, Virgil.” He laid a hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

theydontmeanittheyhateyou

Virgil sniffled again, ignoring the voice in his head for the first time that day. He had solid proof. The lingering smell of baked goods. Patton’s hug, his glasses pressed awkwardly against Virgil’s cheek. Roman’s grip on his hand, warm and solid and soft and comforting. Logan’s gentle, subtle, touch, soothing in it’s own way.

“I-I love you guys, too.” He smiled.

#it got a little away from me #im sorry #but also im not sorry at all #virgil #sandersssides

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