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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

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chapter 16

The Stars Look Very Different

Social Media AU

previous chapter

this isn’t proofread because I literally just finished it so...I hope you like ❤️

tag list: @yellowballoon @cleocc @skaming-myself @boldlydeepestcupcake @pduwd @notallthereyall @gingerhead007 @groeneweiden @nyttvera @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @curiouskopf @engelkeijsers @xiaomailab @honeyandsinn @lauren-bk @saraben00 @tailsbeth @boysrunaway @howlingsaturn @menamesniall

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Sander was nervous.

Really, nervous was an understatement.

He’s gone through the whole day with an erratic heartbeat and sweaty palms, counting down the hours. He was sure he would combust before the time even came. The only thing that stopped him was the idea of Robbe waiting for him, growing more and more restless as the minutes passed, eventually leaving on his own. Sander couldn’t have that.

More than anything, he was excited.

It pricked and sparked under his skin, urging him onwards, incredibly impatient. There was nothing in his head but Robbe. He was struggling to comprehend it. It didn’t seem possible that he was being allowed to see him again—that Robbe himself had requested it. None of it seemed possible. None of it seemed real.

It was also the only thing that was clear to Sander. His feelings for Robbe, his desire to see him, his need to talk to him at all times.

It might not have been real, but as long as Sander got to live in the fantasy long enough to see this night through, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had to admit, though, that he cared a little when Robbe finally came into sight and he short-circuited for just a small moment.

Was he really going to do this?

“Hey, Robbe!”

He was.

Robbe found him in an instant, eyes catching and lips tweaking up in a smile. They held their usual element of danger, and it left a thrill thrumming through Sander’s stomach. But there was something else, hidden behind the glint. Something softer, curious. Something that almost resembled excitement. It set the thrill on fire.

Robbe hopped down off the wall when Sander came close enough, cocking his head as he examined him. Sander felt a little ridiculous, suddenly, wearing his leather jacket and Doc Martens, while Robbe wore his usual ensemble of hoodie and sweatpants and his signature brown coat. He was beautiful, all russet curls and doe eyes and smirks. Sander carefully bit down the urge to tell him so.

Though he was very tempted to see how Robbe would react.

“Nice,” Robbe commented, finally, simply. He turned and took a few steps backwards, nodding his head to the side in a gesture for Sander to follow.

This time, Sander didn’t question him.

“How did you get out past Lucas?”

Robbe shrugged. “Didn’t have to. He’s gone out with Jens.”

Sander’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t give them any explanation?”

“Sander,” Robbe snorted. “They might not even come back. And if they do, they’ll assume I’m asleep and continue on in their own little bubble. Don’t worry.”

Sander focused on the two syllables of his name in Robbe’s light, lilting voice and didn’t worry about it. “Are you at least going to tell me if it’s far? You could’ve told me to where walking shoes.”

Robbe snuck another glance at him and shook his head. “What would be the fun in that?”

Sander groaned in response and Robbe finally took pity on him, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not far. You’ll manage. You have longer legs and everything.”

Robbe finally grinned, and though it was teasing and left Sander narrowing his eyes in response, it also sent his heart flapping around in his ribcage. He didn’t care where they were going or how far it was. He was already with Robbe, and that was already enough.

Still, he was glad when it didn’t even take another ten minutes of walking before Robbe turned off into a darker street and beckoned Sander after him once more. Sander followed slowly, lightening his steps. The air seemed to grow quieter, even though they had already been walking through mostly empty streets. They were rounding a large brick building, plain and worn with all the windows dark, looking as if it hadn’t seen life in years. Robbe went right to the back door before taking a paperclip out of his pocket and sliding it into the lock.

Sander’s eyes widened and he took a step closer to him. “*Robbe.”

“Shhh,” Robbe hissed back.

Sander lowered his voice to the same tone. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m opening the door.”

“Robbe,” Sander tried again. Robbe ignored him, continuing his work, and it only took a few seconds before the lock popped and he swung the door open.

He looked around at Sander and raised his brows, holding the door open and sweeping his arm through. “Babies first.”

Sander pulled a face at him and didn’t move, sneaking a hesitant glance into the darkness. Robbe slipped his phone out of his pocket and shone the small flashlight through the door.

Then he held out his hand.

Sander stared at it, pulse kicking up. Robbe wiggled his fingers. Sander reached out to grasp them.

Aside from the tight squeeze Robbe initially gave, his grip was unexpectedly light. Sander hadn’t quite prepared himself for the gentle touch, or for the uptick of Robbe’s lips seconds later. Devious and sparkling, maybe, but pleased nonetheless. He took a small step backwards into the dark and rugged Sander with him. “Come.”

Sander went.

The building was cold, and Sander was glad for the thick hoodie under his jacket and the warmth of Robbe’s palm, pressing closer against his as he guided him through an empty room. Sander shuffled his phone out of his own pocket, but Robbe stopped him before he could turn on the torch. He waved his own light at another doorway, and Sander watched on, intrigued, as he swung it open with ease. Sander was left mourning the loss of his touch as he turned around to shine the torch on the wall, illuminating a light switch.

He gave Sander a cheshire grin and flicked it on.

The ceiling hummed with energy before six long overhead lights flickered to life, dull and dirty but enough to illuminate the expanse of the larger room in a yellow glow. The larger room that was filled with statue upon statue, sculptures filling the spaces in between. It was the sides of the room that took Sander by surprise—where painting upon painting lay stacked together, all in different styles and mediums and colours, all eye-catchingly beautiful.

Sander stared and stared and forgot that Robbe was watching him. He forgot to school his expression out of the automatic awe it fell into, lips parting and eyes widening and heart hammering. It was something right out of a dream.

“How?”

Robbe was examining him closely, he knew, but Sander still couldn’t look at him, still hadn’t taken everything in. “It’s just an old warehouse. This stuff has been here for years. I think it’s all pieces that got kicked out of the museums, some others from the college, some that people just wanted to store and then forgot about. Just, left here. All abandoned.”

Sander finally looked at him to find that he was now examining the room, gazing upon the art with something akin to sympathy. “All beautiful,” he said quietly.

Robbe looked back at him, and a new understanding passed silently between them. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

It was really unfair, how Robbe had managed to do this. Sander had worried, in brief moments before speaking to Robbe, if his feelings were misplaced. If he’d fabricated his own fantasy into a little too nice of a picture, of the reasons for his intrigue were unreasonable. It had only gotten worse, last month, the month before; but the feelings had stuck.

Then Robbe had come to him, and he’d left Sander even more smitten than before.

“You wanna admire, then?” Robbe raised a brow.

I’m already admiring.

Sander took a few careful steps towards the closest sculpture, a twisted mass of wires that he couldn’t quite figure out but enjoyed nonetheless. He did a slow lap of it before moving on, to a sculpture of a man curled around himself, body locked tight and head bowed, hidden. Sander crouched down next to it, allowing himself to reach out and skim his fingertips over the ridges. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Wait.”

He looked up and watched Robbe reach into his pocket, before he pulled out a small disposable camera. He held it up, then tossed it to Sander before stuffing his hands back in his pockets. Sander examined the object and laughed. “Cute.”

Robbe rolled his eyes, but he’d spent the past ten minutes smiling.

Sander ducked his head to hide his own grin and snapped a photo of the statue.

He took his time wandering around the room, and Robbe let him, following quietly. Sander would admire, and Robbe would joke (“it’s metaphorical, how he’s standing under an invisible weight”; “he’s taking an invisible shit”), and it all felt too easy. It was all too good to be true.

Robbe pushed the camera down when Sander pointed it at him, and while Sander expected to be told off, Robbe merely said, “Don’t use it all up yet. I have one more surprise.”

Sander blinked at him and was granted another grin. His heart fluttered as Robbe retook his hand.

“Come.”

Robbe led him to the corner of the back corner of the room, where it opened into a small hallway. They walked to the end and turned into a stairwell. Robbe let go of his hand and winked at him before leading the way down. Sander allowed himself to admire him as he followed, cataloguing all the bumps and shadows of his curls, how his coat swallowed his thin shoulders but his sweatpants hugged his legs. Then his thoughts turned silly, turned to thinking about how he wanted to hug Robbe himself, and he shook himself out of it before the other boy could notice.

There was another door at the bottom, heavier than the others, and Robbe had to press his whole side together to shove it open. Sander did his best to bite back his laugh. Robbe glared over his shoulder at him anyway.

Once Robbe flicked on this light switch, however, all thoughts of laughter left Sander as his breath wooshed out of him.

This space was a maze of gray, stone walls overlapping and interconnecting.

Or it would be, if the entire space wasn’t covered in dozens of pieces of brilliantly bright graffiti.

“Robbe,” Sander breathed. “What?”

Robbe waved at the space, watching him carefully. “You’re an artist, but this is your favourite kind of art. Isn’t it?”

Sander could have kissed him.

He swallowed, and then his lips were curling into a grin. They stared each other down, and Robbe’s eyes widened in understanding just a second before Sander took off, racing for a gap in the walls.

“You’re such a child,” Robbe yelled after him, but he was already chasing.

Sander laughed and kept going, whipping around corners and whizzing past bright bursts of orange and blue and red and green and every colour in between. He didn’t even bother pausing to take it all in. It was already enough to know he was surrounded by it, encased in the whirl of colours, and that Robbe was right behind him.

Until he wasn’t, because he was right in front of him.

Sander skidded to a stop, breathless, and reveled in Robbe’s hands catching his chest, in the laugh spilling out of him as he looked up at Sander. He liked Robbe most, like this. Softer, brightened, smiling. When it became obvious that he wasn’t pushing Sander away, that he’d taken a moment to trust him enough that he didn’t have to hide himself.

The smile smoothed out slowly as Sander continued to stare at him, and he grew suddenly more serious, tongue poking out to lick over his lip for a split second before he dropped his hands from Sander’s chest.

“You didn’t believe that I know you as well as you know me, right?” Robbe asked.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Well, for example,” Robbe started, “I know that you’re also a bit of an insomniac. I know you’re an art cliche, and you especially like graffiti, even though that just might be a thrill thing. Your best friends are Noor Bauwens and Lucas Van Der Heiden. Noor is your best best-friend while Lucas is almost like an older brother, who is also dating my best friend and who I also now live with because of reasons. You’re a tease. You do this weird little snort instead of laughing and it would be funny if it wasn’t so cute. You never take off your ring.”

He nodded at Sander’s hand, and Sander brought his hands together to twist the ring around his finger before looking back up at Robbe. It shouldn’t have been possible, with them having been already toe to toe, but he seemed even closer than before.

“And I don’t know this yet,” Robbe continued quietly, eyes dropping to Sander’s lips. “But I’m willing to bet that you’re a fucking good kisser.”

Sander’s breath stopped.

It was hard to think, with Robbe looking at him like that, with Robbe so close, so he kept his thoughts simple. He ran through all their texts messages, the ease with which their conversations flowed, the lightness of the jibes passed between them. He ran through their first proper meeting, when he could do nothing but stare at Robbe and hear his blood rushing in his ears, thinking that it was too soon even as he berated himself for not meeting him sooner. He ran through the months before that, when all he could do was watch Robbe from afar and tamp down the need in him, the desire to seek that thrill more than he wanted to do anything else.

He ran through this night up until now, when the nerves were spilling and spiking through each of his veins before he set his eyes on Robbe and it all slipped away. When he’d finally understood their plans, and he hadn’t bothered to hide his surprise or his overexcitement that always came with setting his eyes on art. When he’d thought of muting his joy to a more acceptable level, so as not to affect Robbe’s possible feelings for him, and then he’d quickly tossed it aside.

He didn’t need to hide either, with Robbe. He didn’t have to be nervous. With Robbe, he was enigmatic and unabashed and alive. He wasn’t a problem to solve or a case to crack or a pity project.

With Robbe, he was known.

Robbe’s hands moved to his cheeks as Sander’s found their place on his waist, and Robbe pushed up on his toes as Sander leaned down and their lips met in the middle.

And Sander breathed.

It was nothing and everything like he’d imagined. Meaning he’d expected defensive, edgy, tight-lipped Robbe to be harsh and he wasn’t, and he’d expected it to bliss and it was.

Robbe’s lips were soft and slow, but demanding, taking everything Sander had to give and still going back for more; though he gave just as much in return. His hands had found their way around Sander, one sliding into his hair and the other wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him in until they were pressed together from head to toe.

It still wasn’t close enough.

Sander was vibrating. Sander was floating. Sander was on fire.

He was dying.

He’d never felt more alive.

Sander—Sander was kissing someone.

Sander was kissing Robbe.

Sander was kissing someone and that someone was Robbe and Robbe was kissing him back.

They parted for air. Well, Robbe did; Sander didn’t need it. Air wasn’t important. Getting his lips back on Robbe’s was. Robbe allowed it, and Sander hadn’t even realised his lips had turned up in a grin and that Sander himself had mimicked it, and that kissing was quite impossible when one didn’t have complete control over their mouth.

Then Robbe scratched through his hair, and made a noise like an aborted giggle, and Sander pulled back to rest their heads together and sneak a kiss to his nose.

Robbe’s nose wrinkled in response, so Sander kissed it again.

Robbe nudged their lips together once more, brief, and then mumbled, “Thank fuck I was right.”

Sander snorted. “Would have been a deal-breaker for you, would it?”

Robbe hummed, tilting his head side to side, but he kissed Sander again and Sander forgot to care about anything else.

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next chapter

#sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #wtfock #sobbe social media au #the stars look very different #tslvd

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uponrightful · 3 years

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Second Chance Ch.2

Read Chapter One Here

Warnings: Mentions of Death, a Little Angst, Mild Cursing?, my Bad Editing Skills.

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part. I have quite a lot planned for this, with a lot of the details fleshed out. If you want to be tagged in Ch.3 let me know.

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It was so easy to take a life.

He’d seen it happen so many times that it was second nature but when he found a second to sit down and pause, the revelation was always brand new to him. The only thing that saved him from death was luck… and the occasional intervention of Grogu who’s gift still confounded the Mandalorian. Never had he imagined just how powerful the child could have been. But for

Mando’s life was no different than many other man’s… easily taken just as it was given.

Mandalorian teaching deified war, and how power was given to the warriors of Mandalore, and the war. But what he could remember was that they never mentioned how man was supposed to take this god-like power, and not be ripped apart by it. Power wasn’t meant for only one army, let alone a singular man. No matter how much strength a man possessed, the authority of a man drunk on power almost always killed him.

Death followed Mando like the cape the hung from his pauldrons; gliding across the ground and floating behind his back like a shadow that never went away. But he could always feel death around him, even in the shadows reminding him of the command that it held not just for others… but for him as well. Mando seemed to think that death has found a place with him, lingering long enough to wreak havoc before Mando could stop the destruction. That idea only subsided once he took Grogu as his foundling.

After the child came into his life, the reasoning for his choices became simple. There wasn’t a binding contract that had been passed along by men who desired control by use of bounty hunters. The reason was founded on the protection of the child, who Mando knew didn’t deserve to be plunged into a world that dark, and filled with men obsessed with power… no matter the means.

Mando groaned in his chair, feeling the stiffness of bruises forming on his ribs and the stiffness in his neck from his fight with the man on Hoth. Every breath stretched his ribs creating a dull thud of pain. Even his helmet felt heavy as he tried to roll his head and manipulate the muscles that kept threatening to contract and send him into a spasm. Even his fingers couldn’t drive away the ache either, but with the girl in the hull, taking a shower wasn’t an option either. Frustrated, he leaned his head back trying to relax and re-think the events on Hoth.

The fight with Vir had been one of many that Mando had won, but it wasn’t the first time that he had felt like death was standing there watching to see if he could prevail over his opponent. That shadowy figure grinning as the air in Mando’s lungs had became short and hearing that evil sound of laughter thumping in his ears… mocking him. Demanding for him to give up, and let go of the foolish idea that he was going to get out alive.

The new bruises, and old scars that covered Mando’s entire body told the story of his wars… something another Mandalorian would look at with reverence. With a respect for Mando and his battles won against those who chose not to do good. “This is The Way,” they would say bowing their head to him. Not a single doubt in their oath for a creed that distanced people from one another. But for Mando it was hardly a success to carry his wounds proudly… the one thing he had -his foundling- was gone. But now that his creed was broken, the pieces of it were hard to pick up without inspecting them for flaws.

Tatooine was a full day away at least, and until then the two of them would be stuck on the ship. Even hyperspace had its drawbacks. Yes, you could get across the galaxy in a fraction of the time, but when it was this silent and there was so much unknown between them he wished that space could bend just a little further. No doubt the men they left of Hoth’s snowy surface were chasing after them, or trying to figure out where they could be headed. Mando knew his only saving grace was that no one knew where he was going.

The only one who could’ve been a help, was dead now.

His chest tightened at the memory, thinking of any way that he could have saved the old woman. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the girl, maybe he would have heard the heavy footsteps approaching them. Mando had left himself lose control over the situation, it cost the old woman her life… and the girl her own life, in a whole other way.

He couldn’t hear her below, but that didn’t keep her presence from being obvious to him. The small puddles of water on the floor were still there from where her boots had stood. The warmth from her sitting in the chair had lingered long enough for him to feel it when he took her place. Even the sound of the Slave’s mechanics sounded better now that she had tweaked… something, he couldn’t remember what she had said.

Only the sound of her voice.

In the silence her was able to really hear it again clearly, for all it was. Her tone was deep, and sultry but she carried it with such an innocent expression that it graced over his ears like those thin, silky scarves he had seen on women on Naboo. He had been on Naboo maybe twice, but those pieces of fabric always caught his attention. They reminded him of liquid metal in the way they caught sunlight and glittered, hiding the faces of the women who wore them. It was always surprising that they never floated away from their owner, so easily being fluttered around by the smallest breezes that were uniquely known to always pass through in the city.

Her voice sounded just like he imagined those silken scarves feel.

As much as he tried to keep himself in the cockpit the thought that she might be hungry kept pushing him to return back down. The little food he had left wasn’t the greatest, but maybe in the bag he had grabbed from the cantina there was something a little better to offer.

He found the bag thrown in a corner of the hull, its contents spilling out on the floor from where it had tumbled over during their hasty take-off. A few med kits laid on top of a jar of what looked like some type of home-made soup. Something the girl might like having.

He didn’t have any real way of heating it up, but how why would he? Fresh food wasn’t a luxury he took liberty of, so he hoped that it wasn’t bad room temperature.

He looked in her room, and found her pulling off a few of her shirts and tossing them unceremoniously on top of the boots she had taken off. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to cough to catch her attention and gain his voice back.

“I brought you something to eat.” he said holding out the soup that he had transferred into a cup.

She tilted her head, looking at the metal cup and nodded after seeing how insistent he was on her taking it from him. His fingers wrapped around the entire cup, and as she reached to take it, her fingers gently brushed his. For a small second his wished that he didn’t wear the heavy leather so he could have felt that moment without any barriers.

“Thank you.” She gave him the smallest smile retreating back onto the bed and crossed her legs to cradle the cup between them. “You know, my grandmother loved to do this.” She looked down at the soup, dipping a finger into the broth and bringing it back to her lips. Her eyes closed at the taste, and her smile widened a little.

Satisfied that he had at least given her something to eat he decided it was time for him to leave her in peace to do so.

“Um, you can stay if you want.” She voiced, stopping him from walking out of the room.

He took a second to look around, and found a crate to sit on across from her. She tipped the cup up and take a drink before settling her eyes back on him again.

“Do you want some?” she offered the cup back out to him, her eyes softening in his direction. “I’m being quite selfish considering you gave me a room to stay in.” she said taking another glance around the dimly lit room.

“No, thank you.” He replied raising his hand up, declining her offer. He tried very hard to think of something to say, but many of his question focused on what had happened, and from the swollen look of her eyes he decided against asking any of them.

“This is made from tauntaun broth… and a little bit of meat here and there. If you’re lucky to get a good bowl.” She murmured taking another sip.

Her small comment wasn’t necessarily a happy memory as far as Mando could tell. Hoth wasn’t forgiving, and food although they had it wasn’t the greatest quality or in get supply for every meal. That’s why seeing her grandmother had been so surprising, he had never heard of anyone living to such an old age on the harsh planet. Even more surprising was how well fed the girl looked after living on the ice rock.

She had discarded everything but a baggy long sleeved shirt, so thin that in the direction of the light he could see right through it. The deep curve at her waist flared back out into her hips that disappeared behind her arms that she held in her lap. From what he could tell her legs were shapely, and muscled underneath of the thick duraweave pants she wore.

“I ate earlier.” He bluffed, trying make her feel better for eating alone. “What was her name?” he asked quietly, hoping that it wouldn’t upset her.

“Eidara.” She replied with a small hiccup interrupting her speech. “She wasn’t from Hoth, but I never knew much about her past.” Her voice lowered, almost regretfully.

“She didn’t tell me her name, I-”

“I understand, she seemed to really like you.” She interrupted, another tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips. He wished he could see her really smile.

She took another drink, and again reached it out to him. Her expression mirroring that of Eidara when he declined something to drink from her. This time her took in a heavy breath and rested his vambraces on his thighs.

“I do not remove my helmet.” He explained, watching as her brows knitted together in confusion. She seemed to search his helmet, and upper body looking at his armor and trying to find some reason why he couldn’t take it off.

“Are you… human?” she asked very hesitantly.

“Yes. My creed does not allow any Mandalorian to show their face once they take the oath.” He explained watching a wave of relief crash over her entire body. Her shoulders slumped back down, and the small wrinkle on her forehead melted away.

“For a second I got nervous.” She commented before tilting the cup all the way back and emptying it.

He wasn’t sure what to think of that. All it took for her to trust him was for him to say he was human? The smallest tinge of amusement bubbled in his stomach as he pictured her face again when he explained that it had nothing to do with his body. She didn’t ask any more about his creed, or even seem to mind that she couldn’t see his face.

“Where are we going?” she asked, taking a second to lean over and sit the empty soup cup on the floor.

“I’m not sure. I was supposed to have a meeting in Mos Eisley, but I don’t want another encounter with those men back on Hoth…” he trailed, again trying to find a way to get the bounties back to Tatooine without any inconveniency.

“Did they follow us? I thought that I put out a false comms transmission before we jumped.” She questioned fidgeting in her seat.

“I didn’t know you did that.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck feeling a little better about their situation. Her anxiousness faded just at it appeared, as she glanced up towards the cockpit.

“I did. I’m not sure if anyone on Hoth will receive it… not many people have ships like yours. It’s a little old. But if they do get it, they would be headed in the opposite direction we’re going.” She took to chewing on her lip again.

“Well then, we’re headed to Tatooine. And it’ll take the rest of the night.” He added, thinking about the days on Hoth, trying to give her a good idea of how long they would be on the ship. Hyperspace was tricky, all planets had different lengths on days and even though Mando was good at remembering it wasn’t easy to gauge hyperspace time.

“You need rest.” They said in unison.

A light awkwardness took over the room, and Mando was the first to move. He slowly stood up from the crate and reached to take the empty cup from the floor, making his way to the door resting his hand over the control switch for the room. His silent question got to her, and she nodded, pulling the blankets down from the head of the bed and slipping her legs underneath them. She looked at him with expectant eyes, waiting for the light to turn off.

His finger switched off the light. “If you need something, let me know.” He repeated himself from earlier, taking one last glance at her in the now darkened room.

“Sleep well.” She murmured back.

He took a couple steps and pushed the door a little further closed so the lights in the hull didn’t shine into her room, making sure that a small gap was left so in case she wanted to leave she didn’t have to search for the handle. He heard her shifting around in the bed, letting out a heavy sigh before all sound quieted behind the heavy steel door.

Mando pressed his forehead to the steel making a small clinking sound. It was all he could do to assure himself that the false transmission had mislead the men, and they would be safe in flying. Without more credits, he wouldn’t be able to keep the ship in the air. It seemed to be their only chance to play offense in this game.

He was suddenly reminded of the card game Sabacc with its stakes so high it could make an expert pilot’s nose bleed. Mando hated the game and always tried to avoid playing. It wasn’t because he couldn’t win in reality he couldn’t remember the last time he lost a game. What he didn’t like was the pressure in playing, and right now he was feeling that stress. Only this time credits weren’t at stake, it was the her life.

He blew out a rough breath for what felt like the hundredth time today, pressing his palms to the door and quietly whispered;

“Goodnight little one, I promise you’ll be safe with me.”

***

He spent the morning cleaning his blasters, and taking a better look at the weapons that had been left behind by Boba Fett. Most of the blasters were older than his own, but now that he only had his two blasters and the beskar spear he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the firepower that sat hanging on the walls of the weapons closet. Everything was covered in a heavy layer of dust and needed cleaned before anything could be used. So he took his time pulling every gun off its rack, and thoroughly cleaning them inside and out.

He was halfway finished when he heard the water in the ‘fresher running. It sounded like the sink, but he wasn’t sure. The steady stream of water was interrupted, splashing every so often on the metal bowl. She didn’t leave the water on long and came out of the door with a freshly washed face and the roots of her hair were damp. The can of compressed air he had been using to blow the sand out from the small cracks dropped out of his hand and clattered onto the bench, drawing her attention to him.

She wiped off her face with the shirt one more time, trying to catch a few remaining water droplets that clung to her hairline before tucking her hands behind her back;

“Good morning.” She smiled, taking a glance at the blaster sitting on the worktable in front of him.

He gave a curt nod, and tried to focus back on the blaster in question. It was in rough shape with all of the dirt collecting in the necessary contact points making it impossible to Mando to reload it, or use it for that matter. She seemed just as interested in it, and took a few steps forward to pick up the canister that had clattered to the floor. She reached out and sat in back down on the table.

“You have a lot of blaster power here.” She took a look all around her at the walls, every inch of them covered in some type of blaster or explosive device.

“It’s necessary.” He replied, taking a small brush and scrubbing at a tight corner on the pistol that sand has packed itself into.

“The only ships I’ve ever seen like this belong to…” she sucked in a breath, “bounty hunters.”

He turned slowly to look at her, seeing a pink blush creeping up her neck and settling on her cheekbones. Damn it, that looked gorgeous. He pushed the thought from his mind, and took his own glance around the closet. None of what she was looking at was his really, it all belonged to Fett. That didn’t mean at one point he didn’t have this much on the Razor Crest, all of that had been his, truly.

“What does that tell you about me?” he asked, tilting his visor back down to her.

“If you are a bounty hunter -which I think you are- I believe that all of this looks a little excessive.” A teasing smile played on her lips. “But if you aren’t, I honestly don’t have a clue as to why anyone would need all this.” She gestured to the room, lifting her arms out to her sides and letting them drop with a small smack against her thighs.

“What makes you think I’m a bounty hunter?” his voice dropped lower. He turned the rest of his body to face her, teasing her in his own way. He could see that she was a little nervous by the way she rocked side to side and he began biting her lip again. Mando bit his own lip, mimicking her so he could feel what it felt like.

“The carbonite locker, and the men that are in it.” she answered, nodding in the direction of the machine. “I saw them when I first came on the ship. I knew immediately that you were a bounty hunter.” She added, looking up at Mando underneath of long eyelashes.

“Are you scared of me?” he almost whispered, not meaning to let his tone get so far away from him. He flexed his jaw, waiting for her to say ‘yes, I’m scared of you’, waiting for her to nod her head, and leave him to stand amongst the tools of his trade.

“No. Why would I be?” she sounded truly confused at his question. “What makes your job any of my business? After all, I should still be thanking you.”

“What for?” he pressed, still not backing away from her.

“You got me away from… him. Now he can’t find me.” It was a simple answer.

It hit him. She didn’t know that he had killed Vir. He mentally scolded himself for not realizing it until now. In her mind, she was away from him… but he was still alive. Of course in all of the upheaval, there wasn’t any time to communicate what had happened, but in the back of his mind he assumed that she knew he had done it. Mando assumed that she would think simply because he was a bounty hunter that he had caused all of it to happen.

Only now, he knew better.

“I don’t think he’ll find you.” He stated, making sure to correct her.

“Him or those followers.” He shook his head, she still wasn’t getting it. He cleared his throat, and tried to rephrase;

“Vir Fearbe is dead. I shot him yesterday when he broke into Eidara’s cantina.” He carefully chose to leave out the part where the old woman had asked him to.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in her shock. Tears started welling up in her eyes and a small choking sound came up in her throat. Her eyes searched Mando’s helmet for a few seconds and the shirt she had been holding dropped to the ground with a wet smack. She hadn’t uttered a word for what felt like minutes, when she finally spoke again;

“He’s gone?” the disbelief in her voice was evident.

Mando nodded, and watched as her head dropped and her shoulder started shaking. She took another step forward, increasingly close to him. He was just about to take a step back when her arms wrapped around his lower back, and her head rested against the bottom of his curiass. He could feel the heat of her hands radiating through his tunic, and the uneven pace of her breathing lightly racking against his stomach.

He couldn’t move feeling the weight of her body pressed against his, like she didn’t want to stand without his support. Her crying grew louder, and her hands fisted into his shirt and her nails scratched into his back, sending waves of tremors up and down his spine. It took a few seconds for him to come back to his senses and place a hand gently on her head.

She wailed out louder, feeling the weight of his small reciprocation. Mando gripped her head a little tighter, holding her head close but not letting the edge of his chest plate dig into her forehead.

“Shhh, I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his best to calm her down. “Everything’s okay.” He cooed, feeling like he was getting nowhere.

“Y-you.” She gapsed, her voice muffled against his stomach unable to get the words out.

He rubbed his free hand up and down her back soothingly, continuing his soft appeals for her to calm down. She didn’t seem ready to listen to anything he had to say. Seeing no other option, he slowly began lowering himself, and the girl down to the floor. He wrapped his arm around her waist keeping her tight to his chest even after he got sat down. She curled herself into a ball, her tears sliding off the beskar and soaking into his shirt. He bent his knees and squeezed them close to her, hoping that the pressure would help subside her awful sobs.

He didn’t mean to hurt her, he really thought that by telling her she was gone she might feel better.

“Please, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He purred, stroking the top of her head. “I- I’m sorry.”

She nuzzled closer to him, further tightening her grip around his waist. “Th- than-” She struggled to speak without hiccups interrupting her. He tried his best to hear her over the tears.

“Yo-u s-saved m-me.” She sputtered out, letting out a broken moan.

His hand running through her hair paused, momentarily as he finally heard her speak something other than broken attempts at saying something. She thanked him. He could still feel her nails in his back, desperately wanting more contact with him. Mando slowly rocked himself side to side, feeling her begin to slowly calm down.

You’re safe little one. Mando thought to himself, still rocking her back and forth.

After a few more long minutes, she lifted her head from the safety in his chest and looked up into the visor that was already looking back at her.

“You saved my life.” She repeated, almost like she was not understanding herself.

There were many things he wanted to say to her in the hopes that it would keep her from crying like that again. He wished that he wasn’t so terrible with words, and that he could say something that would resolve this issue. They sat on the floor, his eyes scanning the room through the limited visibility that was allowed through his helmet. Damn it, Sometimes this helmet does nothing but get in the way. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching for a way to ease the emotional turmoil that was going through the fragile girl that that was still sobbing slightly despite his best efforts, his eyes alighted on the container that held the remainder of the soup that seemed to comfort her the night before.

He repositioned his hands lifting her up close to his chest and standing up. Mando counted the doors, as he walked down the hall, careful not to bump her feet into the wall. He nudged her door open with his foot, and laid her down gently, seeing the tears still pooling in the corner of her red eyes.

“I’ll be back.”

He returned back with another cup of soup in hand, this time handing it to her making sure her shaking hands had a good grip before he let go. He kneeled down next to the bed letting the bite of the metal press hard into his knees. He watched her trace the rim of the cup, staring down at the soup inside. She dipped a finger down into it like she had done last night, but this time she let her finger stir through the broth.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” He murmured absentmindedly, watching as she brought the finger up to her lips.

“I’m sorry… for all of this.” Her lip wobbled again, and small tears dropped off her nose smattering onto the sleeves of her shirt.

He stayed quiet, watching as she brought the cup up and took a sip. Her eyes closed, and the corners of her lips turned up. It helped. Her apology didn’t fall on deaf ears but he definitely didn’t accept it. There was no reason for her to not feel this way… and he wasn’t the man to misunderstand her desire for a moment of sadness.

Mando stayed right by her side, patiently waiting until the cup was empty. Tears had dried to her cheeks, but he was content to see that she wasn’t crying any more, and that she had finished another full cup of soup. She gave him a heavy lidded gaze, and slowly leaned her head against the pillow. If it wasn’t for the distant sound of the alarms in the cockpit he would’ve stayed longer. They were ready to land on Tatooine, and his contact on Mos Eisley would be waiting for him. She mumbled a small ‘thank you’ to which he nodded and exited her room.

He took control of the ship, and guided it down to the busy landing pads covered in pit droids and other pilots landing, or getting ready to take off. The stale air of Eisley filtered through the cockpit, and a small sense of unpreparedness filled Mando’s gut. There would be someone picking up the bounties while he received his credits… but the girl was still on the ship. There wasn’t a chance that he was going to bring her into town with him, but the idea of leaving her alone was just as unpalatable. The Slave Two shuddered as it’s landing gear made contact with the ground, and Mando kicked off the engines letting the whines of the mechanics sound all around him.

If he shut the doors to all the rooms in the hull, the possible temptation of the retrieval crew wouldn’t be as high and if he kept conversations short, he would be back in less than thirty minutes. More than enough time to refill his water supply and top off any fuel that he spent getting from Hoth. He took a second to do just that, locking all the doors with the buttons on his vambrace and double checking that the door to the girls room was unable to open, unless from the inside. He hoped that she slept through the entire visit.

He set the ground security and gave the last of his credits to one of the pit droids who began screaming orders to another group of them that were busy on the ship next to the Slave. Even though the little robots seemed quite serious about their work, he couldn’t help but wish that a person was tending to the ship. He just couldn’t believe that a droid could do a humans job.

When he stepped foot into the dusty cantina, shadows of men seemed to slink further back into the dark edges of the room. Loud conversations became hushed whispers, and the energetic tone he had walked into became deathly still. It felt like the entire population inside the dirty bar was holding its breath, waiting for him to announce the name of his next target. Even inside the heat was stifling, and Mando could feel his hair dampening with sweat by the second.

After scanning the room, trying to find someone that looked familiar he found himself recognizing a woman, who sat in a corner booth with a hood draped lowly over her face. She took a quick glance at him before shying away again. He couldn’t place where he had seen her before, but decided that the Hutt’s methods of anonymity could’ve been more… interesting than he had imagined.

He took a seat across from her, and sat patiently for her to acknowledge him.

“You are the Mandalorian.” She finally said, her voice sounding somewhat familiar. She removed the hood from her head, and he was finally able remember.

“Aren’t you…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. She was one of the Hutt’s pleasure slaves that had been chained to his chair when he first arrived. However she looked a lot different now, with a decent amount of clothes on and her face clean without any paint.

“Yes.” she frowned, reaching slowly into her cloak and discreetly presented a sack of credits to him. He took it from her, and stuffed it into one of the bigger pouches on his belt. “However he has grown tired of me, and I am being sent back.” She answered, pulling at a metallic collar that had been shielded by the cloak. A small red light blinked, lighting up the skin on her neck. “I was asked to also give you these…”

She placed four new pucks on the table, along with matching tracking fobs that had already been activated before their meeting. “You have five weeks to complete the contracts.” She stated like reading from a script;

“Also, consider the incident on Hoth to be your one warning, and that any further displays of unnecessary interaction will terminate your position.” Her robotic tone ended with a long gasp of breath.

Mando took a glance over his shoulder, checking to see the incoming patrons who found themselves a seat at the bar. “Is that all?” he pushed, leaning up to reach for the hardware on the table.

She woman shook her head silently, and reached up to scratch her neck underneath of the heavy collar. “No, one last thing. You have been reimbursed for your fuel and water supplies that you paid for upon your arrival. The service droids will be waiting to refund your credits.”

Mando tucked away the pucks and the fobs, before nodding a quick goodbye and making a quick path back to the landing yard. Upon his arrival, the filling tubes were being unhooked from the Slave’s access panels on the belly of the ship, and the droid he had given his credits to quickly approached with a beaten up metal box in his hand of sorts. The credits inside jingled around at the jerky movements of the jittery robot until Mando reached in the tin box to retrieve them.

The pit droid shook the box gently, and assured himself that the credits had been taken. Letting out a few beeps and buzzing sounds it energetically hinted at Mando to follow him. Hesitantly he walked behind the bucket of rust as it led him to the side of the ship, to show that the panels had been secured at that the tanks had been filled accordingly. Mando let out a defeated sigh, and handed two credits back to the droid.

“Keep it, maybe you can use it to keep from rusting into sand.” He said looking down at the constantly moving metallic being. The droid made a few whistling sounds before speeding off towards his companions who were at the moment repairing some nasty blaster holes that were riddled over the side of a ship across the tarmac.

Punching in the commands on his wrist, the hatch opened and he jumped up on the slope ready to get back into space as quickly as possible. He checked the carbonite locker making sure it was empty, before checking around the corner to see if any of the doors had been disturbed. He scanned down the long hallway, seeing nothing out of order.

Nothing had been opened, including her door.

A he let out a sigh, and silently got them back into space. He took a moment, and adjusted the same lever that she had, hearing a small release in the engines lowering the dull thrum that had been present when he first took off. He shook his head, wondering just what the lever did. He’d have to ask her later… But for now, finding coordinates for a new quarry was the best thing to do.

Mando took the pucks out from his belt, and one by one displayed the content, trying to find last known sightings closest to his position. Although it wasn’t technically close one of the quarry’s had been seen on Coruscant, and was believe to be using the extensive undercity regions to hide amongst other criminals. The twi’lek was contracted for unknown reasons, described by the hologram, but it wasn’t unusual for buyers to leave their reasons private.

This didn’t matter though, Mando had heard of the man while working under the Guild. He was a known smuggler, loved to gamble despite being having no credits and terrible luck. If Mando had to take a guess, the bounty was raised because of debts owed to a group of people, interested in getting their money back. He hated to admit it, but the quarry was being somewhat smart. Coruscant was heavily populated making it easy for him to blend in just about anywhere.

For Mando, getting there wasn’t going to be hard. Even finding the quarry without drawing attention wouldn’t be much of an issue, but getting the quarry back to his ship would be most difficult. He wasn’t unprepared for the possibility that the twi’lek had hired guards, or help to keep him from being apprehended but it was like walking into a dark room without his helmet. He had no real way of knowing what he was up against without some more information as to what was happening in the dark streets of the underground.

Hyperspace for another few days. He thought setting the coordinates, and turning off the lights in the cockpit.

He could feel the dampness of the padding in his helmet, along with sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead and temples. Even his skin felt wet with the exertion of the last three days, and it clung to him like the thick dust that he had been cleaning from the blasters in the closet. A visit to the ‘fresher sounded like a great idea, and the promise of a clean undershirt and pants sounded better.

He only kept a couple spares of his clothes, and in his own cabin inside a small metal box under his cot. When the Crest was destroyed, it erased everything but his spear, and the small metal ball that Grogu had taken an interest in. Any clothes he had, were incinerated and upon getting the Slave, he had taken the opportunity to replace the old, and threadbare flight suit that he had been left with.

The water sprayed out of the nozzle that poked out from the ceiling, blasting out cold water. He carefully removed his armor, sitting in in a small pile on the floor and placing his helmet down on top of a small vent that blew fresh air up from the circulation unit that sat in the belly of the craft. He made sure to crack the door just enough so that the steam could be pulled from the room to allow the vent to dry the thick lining and padding in his helmet while he showered.

When the hot water met his skin he shuddered at the sensation. He ran a hand through his hair, letting the salty texture of his sweat rinse off down the drain. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower, and took a second to decide that he would stay in the water for as long as he could. The purple and blue bruises on his side seemed to finally relax a little so he lean over and stretch his sore ribs. The heat felt deliciously good on his muscles too, working away at the constant pinches of tightness in his shoulders and neck.

A large -mostly untouched- bar of Trillium soap sat on the singular ledge in the shower stall which Mando grabbed and began lathering in his hands. It was one of the only smells that Mando had come to think of as familiar, simply for the fact that it was one of the only scents he had the opportunity to experience. He couldn’t describe it, other than that it smelled cleaner than he did. The thick lather could wash off anything, and it was one of the only things he actually looked for when resupplying. If it worked for Wookies, then it could work for him.

With the soap covering his entire body, and a decent foam in his hair he felt good enough to rinse and get out.

As much as he wanted to stay for longer, he reminded him that it wasn’t just himself on the ship, and the tank on the Slave was the only water supply on board. They needed it for everything from drinking to anything else that might be necessary. That included washing his old flight suit in the sink basin.

He toweled off, redressed and picked up his helmet to check if the inside was dry enough before jamming in back down on his head. He would let the dirty shirt and pants sit in the sink for a little while longer, so the soap he had just washed with could try and life out some of the dirt that had attached itself to the heavily interwoven fabric.

He turned his boots upside down, letting a small accumulation of sand collect on the floor before shoving his newly socked feet back into them. Ignoring the three utility belts that hung on the wall outside of the door, he took a moment to inhale. It might smell sweet. He thought, trying to place the scent in accordance with something else from his memory, nevertheless he still wasn’t sure.

***

The girl slept through the entire night, and halfway into the next day before waking up. She quietly joined Mando in the cockpit, saying a quiet ‘hello’.

She refrained from wearing any shoes again, but Mando couldn’t blame her; If he thought that taking his own boots off would feel more comfortable he might’ve tried it. That being said, he knew in the back of his mind it would be… and the thought of that kept him from entertaining the idea. He felt the same way about his helmet. He didn’t look forward to taking it off, even when he was alone. Because there was always going to be a time where he had to put it back on.

Despite the protection and enhanced features that allowed him to work more efficiently, there was so much that he missed when his head was covered. Smells… like his soap were experiences that happened few and far between. Colors were also not the same. Yes, he could see them but taking his helmet off almost exclusively happened on the ship, so the world he saw without the helmet was mostly greyscale and metal. Sounds were also distorted slightly through the microphones that surrounded the helm. There were distinctions between voices, but for the most part there was always a somewhat mechanical ambiance that weaved itself into speech.

That was what made her voice so intriguing to him. He wasn’t sure how… maybe it was her tone, or the low inflection that caused his helmet to almost completely forgo the automated toning formats, and allow her voice to come through almost naturally. That’s what had stopped him when they first spoke on Hoth; He had been momentarily preoccupied with the idea that his helmet was malfunctioning. But the more she talked, he realized that it wasn’t a technical issue, it was just that her voice didn’t seem to effect the auditory mechanics.

“What time is it?” she asked, pulling her feet up in the chair. She hugged her thighs to her chest, resting her head on her knees.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, trying to think what time it would be on Hoth… or possibly on Coruscant. “Hyperspace is difficult in that way. All planets don’t have equal planetary rotations, so time is just relative when you’re not traveling sub-light.”

She nodded. “Did we already stop on…”

“Tatooine? Yes, you fell asleep right before we landed.” She hummed in response to him, a small sense of disappointment catching his attention. “Why do you ask?”

“Never mind, it wasn’t anything important.”

He readjusted in his chair, taking the opportunity to admire how she looked in the bright hyperspace lights. It lit up her eyes making them look like they were glittering. Even her hair seemed to shine against the tints of blue that warped around them. She looks beautiful like this. Her hair was quite messy, and the deep wrinkles in her shirt gave a undone appearance, but Mando couldn’t help but think that she couldn’t look any better.

“What was it?” he asked, letting his head fall back against the chair.

“I guess I wanted to see what it looked like. All the sand, I mean. I’ve never been anywhere but Hoth, and the idea of a planet looking any different seemed… interesting.”

It hadn’t crossed his mind that she would want to see Tatooine. He’d been there so often that all the sand was no different than anything else in the galaxy. Snow was the only thing she knew. Now that he thought about it, she had seemed interested in where they were headed but he hadn’t been smart enough to guess why. He closed his eyes, feeling her soft gaze burning into the side of his helm.

“I thought you wanted to sleep…” he replied, trying to keep his frustrated tone soft.

The frustration was at himself being so focused on getting them on and off the planet quickly, that he overlooked her excitement about being somewhere foreign to her. “We’re on our way to Coruscant. I have a bounty to find, but we’ll be meeting someone. While I find the quarry, you’ll be staying with them.”

“A friend?” her head lifted from her legs.

“No. An associate of sorts, but someone that can be trusted.” Mando wasn’t sure if it would work.

He had caught Boba Fett saying that he would be on the planet when they first made their flight to Tatooine. He expected that Fett didn’t catch the slip of information, seeing as Mando wasn’t in the cockpit when he communicated it… but without making contact, it would be difficult to know if he was still there. Mando was making a big gamble on it, and he hoped that Fett wouldn’t be too opposed to the idea he was going to propose.

“So we’ll be staying with your associate.” She tried correcting herself.

“Just you. I have to go somewhere that isn’t suitable for you to be.”

She didn’t respond after that. Instead she curled herself further into a ball and watched out ahead of her. They sat like that for hours seemingly comfortable by just being in the same space, not seeing conversation as a necessity to make time pass. Mando began hearing the smallest growls, and immediately checked to see if it was her stomach that made the low rumbles.

“Are you hungry?” his modulator crackling to life after the extended silence. She gave no response. He let out an amused huff, seeing that she had fallen back to sleep in what looked like the most uncomfortable position he had ever seen. Her head was resting on the heard edge of the armrest, her entire body bunched up in the seat, with her feet pressed tight up against the other armrest to keep from falling out of the chair altogether.

Unbelievable. He thought, wondering how she had managed to fold herself up to fit in such a small space. It hadn’t been that long ago that he had glanced over and saw her still awake, and playing with the hem of her shirt and as always, holding her bottom lip between her teeth. Well, the least he could do was let her keep sleeping. They wouldn’t be anywhere near Coruscant for at least a couple estimated days.

In the meantime, he could try to get a hold of Boba Fett and see if he was going to be of any help. The communicator in the ship most likely still had some connection to Fett’s other ship, or maybe -if he was lucky- Fett’s similar vambrace communicator. He examined one of the screens on the dash, and found only two available options… he picked the first one. A blue holocall screen jutted up from the control dash, small digital waves rippling across the monitor as he waited for an answer.

Come on Fett… answer.

The blue lights disappeared, ending the transmission. He tried the other option bouncing his knee in anticipation for an answer. A small flicker of motion distorted the display before he heard a familiar gruff tone.

“Mandalorian.” Fett barked. “How the hell did you do that?” he interrogated, as Mando saw his helmet come into view.

“The ship. It had your communicator link still the in the system.” He explained, watching as Boba shook his head.

“I expect you aren’t calling to play ‘catch-up’…” he chuckled, “What do you want?” his tone flattened.

“You said you were going to be on Coruscant?”

“Maybe. If I was, why would it matter to you?”

Mando leaned forward, dropping his visor toward the floor. “I need you to do something.”

He heard Fett sigh, full irritation setting in. “Damn it Mandalorian, spit it out. I have somewhere to be.”

“I have a bounty, on Coruscant. But I also have… a girl.” He glanced over at her, still fast asleep.

Fett burst into laughter. “I leave you alone for a month… leave it to you to get yourself some company. I have to say I’m surprised.”

“It’s not like that.” He defended. “Can you keep her safe while I catch this quarry?” he asked, his own irritation tinting his tone.

Fett didn’t speak for a long time, only a grainy sound of women laughing in the background. Mando rolled his eyes, leave it to Fett to talk about company, he couldn’t go anywhere without at least one woman trailing not too far behind.

“I suppose you’ll be landing in Galactic City… and spend most of your time down under am I correct?” he surmised Mando’s outlined plan without trouble.

“Yes. Can you take care of her, or not?” he asked looking back up at Fett’s mirrored image of his own face.

“I’ll meet you when you land. From there, I take her where she’ll be safe.” He paused. “Then I’ll be joining you.” He added, a feminine squeal sounding somewhere in the background behind him.

“No wa-”

“It’s the only way you get my help.” He interjected. “I’ve been craving a little game of chase… think of it as a trade.” his low rumbling chuckle echoed in the cockpit.

“You can promise she’ll be taken care of.” Mando growled.

“She’ll be returned better than when she left. You have my word.” He assured, a quick nod jolting his helmet.

The call went black, and the blue tint disappeared from view.

As much as he wanted to trust Fett, a small bit of him didn’t like the idea of him tagging along, or sending the girl somewhere without him having full knowledge of where exactly she was being taken. Mando relaxed back against his seat, and turned his head to watch her sleep.

She looked peaceful, despite that awful way she was laying. He felt slightly jealous how easy it was for her to fall asleep, but after everything that she’s been dealing with, it wasn’t surprising how much time she spent asleep. What surprised him was her trust in him. She slept without any fear of him despite his constant stalking around the ship, and silently hiding himself away in the cockpit. He wasn’t the ideal companion in any situation, but spending days on end in hyperspace with him couldn’t be preferable. He could barely stand himself after a week on the ship, let alone someone else who had just watched her only family die, and an entire crew of men chase after her.

Maybe she could stay on Coruscant? In the right district, she would be perfectly safe.

That was, unless those men knew where they were already. His lack of knowledge about what exactly they wanted her for was maddening. They had to know he was the one who killed Vir, but that didn’t explain the desire for her, instead of himself. Not only that, but he had no idea what they were capable of, or who Vir and his followers were connected to. Every planet they visited could be a possible trap, and with four weeks to fulfill his contracts he hardly had time to tip-toe around a planet that was harboring one of his quarry.

At least now he would have someone on the inside once they landed. Despite Fett’s penchant for having multiple women at his disposal, Mando didn’t really have any reason not to trust him. Fett had helped them rescue his foundling and didn’t kill him on Tython, and ultimately gave him a ship… that was enough for him to trust the man.

All that was left to do was wait.

The girl stirred in her chair, but didn’t wake up. She wrapped her arms around herself, and tucked her feet in closer, most likely she was cold. He didn’t want to wake her up, or leave to go take any of the blankets off her bed either. He reached up to his neck, and unbound his cape from around his pauldrons. Mando reached over and draped the heavy cloak over her, watching her pull the edge up towards her chin. The material draped over the entire chair, swallowing her underneath it.

Mando didn’t mean to fall asleep.

For the first time in years he dreamt. They carried vivid recollections of her, his imagination picturing what she would’ve looked like on the sand flats. She had the biggest smile on her face, and her eyes shut letting the sunlight shine on her. She picked up handfuls of sand, and let in fall through her fingers with a little laugh, enjoying the sensation of the fine grit falling back down to the ground. He could see that she had neglected her shoes like she had stepped out of them after realizing that she could feel it under her feet.

The bright white shirt he pictured her in contrasted against the rust-colored sky, and deep red sands that stretched behind her. It felt like a memory, even though he knew better. He could hear her calling out to him begging for him to join her, only he didn’t. He could only watch from a distance as she spun around, holding her arms out like she was embracing the heat around her. Mando tried desperately to get closer, just to walk towards her and ask if she was enjoying the sun. But his feet felt like they had been buried beneath the same sand she danced on.

In another scene she sat by a small stream, letting the hem of her thin white dress fall into the water. She was focused on him, with a sweet look on her face. A small giggle echoing dreamily towards him. Vibrantly green grass came up around her shoulders, and tickled at her neck causing her light laughter. Again she beckoned for him, dipping her hands down in the water and splashing it up towards him.

She looked ethereal in all of the dreams that he had. Every time, taking the image of an angelic spirit that seemed happy to see him, always begging for him to join her. He desperately wanted to reach for her, to get near enough to hear her laugh with his own ears. Just one chance at breaking his feet free from the ground that held him tightly in place. She never seemed to notice his fight to break free from his invisible binds, instead patiently waiting for him to come closer.

She’s my second chance…

He repeated it to himself unaware that in the silence of the cockpit his strained whispers could be heard whispering out in his unconscious struggles. Gripping the armrests with white knuckles and flexing his legs, he fought against his subconscious to get just one step closer to the girl that slept peacefully in the seat right next to him.

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @absurdthirst @crazybirb @hornystarwarsbisexual @roxypeanut

#the mandalorian #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mando #secondchance

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starrynite7114 · 4 years

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Snapshots: Worries

A/N: I actually followed through and finished an update! Yay! I had time while I was waiting at the car dealership and was able to finish an update. I have another update for Things you never knew, but I think I’ll hold off on that one. Snapshots has been my original baby and I’m really glad I finally got back into writing it again. Hope you all enjoy this update. I promise, the angst will be sporadic from now on.

Warnings: Smut, angst

Masterlist

Tagged list: @iambabyharry : @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @trulysuccubus : @encounterthepast : @enamoured-x : @gemini0410 : @sadeyesgf : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @thickemadame : @marvelmaree : @agirllovespasta : @whyisgmora : @woahitslucyylu : @carlaangel86 : @briana-mishell24 : @briannab1234 : @samcrobae : @elcococruz : @fariesandwanderlust : @jadert15 @chibsytelford : @cind-in-real-life : @welovethesponge

You moaned, grabbing your breast as Angel ate you out. You were kneeling over his face, one hand grabbing your breast, the other holding on to the headboard. He was lapping at you, spreading your lips with his fingers. He was two fingers deep as he flicked his tongue on your clit.

“Oh my god,” you cried out, mouth opening, a silent scream escaping your lips.

Attempting to move away from him, Angel locked one of your legs with one of his arms, enabling you to move. You gripped on the headboard tightly, your orgasm coursing through you as Angel continued his ministrations with his tongue and fingers. You grinded against his tongue, the sensation intensifying. Your legs were shaking. He finally let go of your leg, causing you to lay next to him. He hovered over you, giving you a slow sensual kiss as he grinded his cock against your pussy. You still felt your legs shaking from that orgasm.

“First night at the new house and you just couldn’t wait to have my cock in you.” Angel feathered your neck with kisses and then your shoulders. Taking a nipple into his mouth, he sucked, and bit down, causing you to moan. “You look immaculate, baby.”

It’s been a month since you moved back to California. You and Angel finally got everything moved into your new home. Angel finished off his lease and you did as well. You two were officially homeowners. Even after a few long days of moving, Angel had you spread out on your bed, willing and waiting for him.

“I can’t wait to come back from my run and come home to you.” Angel had a run to Vegas in a few days. It would be the first time you two would spend some time apart and Angel was nervous. He was anxious when it came to leaving you. There was a part of him that was nervous that you might not be there when he got back, just like his last run. He hated thinking in that way, but it was just the truth. “Always so wet for me querida.” He slipped in you, kissing you as he buried himself to a hilt. “You want me?”

You nodded your head. You tried to reply with some type of word, but all you could do was moan. You were so sensitive from your previous orgasms. Angel was just slipping in and out so easily, and every time he went in, he felt deeper. Grabbing on to Angel’s forearms, you dug your nails in, causing Angel to hiss.

“Fuck baby, it feels that good huh?” He rolled his hips, resting some of his weight on you.

“So good.” You arched your back, meeting his thrust. “You always feel so good, you make me feel so full.”

Angel took your hands with his, intertwining them and placing them on either side of your head. He continued to fuck you in the same pace, rolling his hips from time to time so his pelvic bone rubbed on your clit. You could feel Angel’s hot breath against your lips. He kissed you, pulling your bottom lip.

“You’re driving me crazy.” You mewled as Angel continued with the same pace. He always wanted to make this last, to prolong your orgasm and he was so good at it.

“Yeah Querida? You drive me fucking crazy too.” Angel suckled on your neck, leaving marks as he always did. “I always just want to pound into you over and over again but I love making you wait for it. Love seeing how your face contorts in mild annoyance but is immediately replaced with pleasure.” He slid a hand between you two, using two fingers to roll your clit in between. You groaned out then, burying your head on your pillow. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking wet. You’re gripping me so tight already. You want to cum?”

You nodded your head. Grabbing the hand that was on your clit, you motioned for him to go in circles. Angel did as you instructed and picked up his pace. He could let you cum, but he definitely wanted a few more out of you. Before long, you came, screaming out Angel’s name. It was his favorite sound in the world. Knowing he brought such pleasure to the love of his life, he was set.

He turned you to the side. You felt the wetness between your thighs and how sensitive your pussy was right now. You honestly didn’t know if you could cum anymore. But Angel was still hard and you knew he wasn’t done.

“You ready for more?” He was right behind you, rubbing the tip of his cock against you, slapping it on your clit. You whine, rolling your hips, hoping he would just slip in.

You nodded.

Angel slipped back in causing both of you to groan. Wrapping his arms around you from behind, he pulled you flushed against him. Lifting one of your legs, he thrusted into you, the new position hitting differently. Your hand was gripping the sheets, just letting the sensation takeover you as you always did. Pushing back against him, you rested your head on his arm.

“Feel good?” He has a hand on your hip, holding you down. You tilt your head back, Angel capturing your lips as you did.

“Mmhmm, always does.”

“That’s right baby, cause I’m the perfect fit for you.” He took one of your breasts in his hand, squeezing it, tweaking your nipples. The sensation shot down to your pussy. “I fucking love you amor, I know you love it when I talk to you while I make love to you. It drove me crazy knowing Jake was your first because you belonged to me, I was supposed to be your first.”

You remembered the time that Angel had come by the morning you and Jake had sex for the first time. You were doing laundry and Angel saw your blood stained sheets. He joked if it was your time of the month, chuckling as he ate some leftover pizza you had. But when you informed him of what transpired the night before, the fun and games Angel was gone. He was livid that you would let Jake in like that, how it was only your third date. It was hypocritical of him, he knew that, but fuck it. He didn’t speak to you for two months, avoiding you like the plague. He only spoke to you when he requested for you to come pick up EZ with him and his father.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re going to be my last.”

Angel groaned at your words, squeezing your breast that he still had in his hand. “Damn right baby, I’m going to be your last. No one else is going to make you feel this good.” He nibbled at your ear, his pace was tortuously slow, but you knew Angel liked to take his time. “You’re the love of my life Y/N, one day I’m going to marry you and you’ll have my last name just like we always planned. You want that baby?”

“Angel, fuck.” You gripped him tighter when he mentioned marriage. You’ve always wanted to marry Angel, especially when he would mention that stupid agreement with you. Before you thought it was him settling, but now, it seemed Angel had a plan all along. You knew of his insecurities and you knew why he decided to give that time limit and stipulations to the agreement. You’re just glad it worked out this way. “Yes, I do. I’ve always wanted to marry you.”

“Just me, huh baby? No one else.”

You shook your head. “No one else.”

“I love entering you bare, nothing in between us. You just feel so fucking warm. I can stay in you forever.” He moved your leg down, so that your legs were now together. Slightly sitting up, he thrusted into you, feeling tighter due to your new position.

“Oh my god, Angel you’re so fucking deep.” You knew you were coming soon. Angel pounded into you, a hand resting on your hip as he continued.

“Yeah baby, I feel it. You cumming?” He felt that familiar feeling at the pit of his stomach as well.

Angel panted harder whenever he was getting ready to come, his thrust would become faster and unrelenting, chasing that euphoric feeling.

“Fuck baby, I’m cumming.” He grunted out your name as you followed right after him. “Baby, fuck me, you have the best pussy, god you have me addicted.”

You laughed, which turned into a groan when Angel pulled out of you. He turned you so that he was in between your legs. He always watched as you pushed out his cum, some self satisfaction in his eyes.

“Can I eat you out again?”

“No,” you closed your legs, shaking your head. “Baby, I’m still fucking quivering. Give me a break.”

“Come on baby, it’ll feel so fucking good.” He pried your legs open, his eye on his prize.

“Angel you literally did that earlier and I came twice just from that.”

“Let’s make it three.”

“Angel!”

“Okay, okay.” Angel laughed. He stood up and went to the bathroom, grabbing a cloth to clean himself up then for you.

He pressed the warm cloth against you and it felt so good.

“You always take care of me.”

“Of course baby, you’re my girl. I’ve taken care of you since we were thirteen.” He tossed the cloth in the hamper.

You maneuvered so you could get under the covers and Angel slipped in beside you.

“I love our house.” You and Angel were facing one another, his arm resting on your side.

“I’m glad you do.” He caressed your cheek, your eyes trying to fight the sleep. “Go to sleep baby.”

Before long, you were knocked out. Angel turned to lay on his back, the feeling he’s been trying to fight off was seeping in. He felt irrational, but he was frightened that you were going to leave while he was gone. He remembered how well everything was going between you two before you decided to just up and leave. It was premeditated too. He wasn’t proud of his thoughts and he was sure in your relationship, but you weren’t the only one with insecurities. His father promised him that he would check on you, just to appease Angel’s thoughts.

Sleep finally took over Angel, but he jolted awake when he didn’t feel you next to him. He immediately sat up and called for you.

“Yeah? I’m in the bathroom baby, I had to pee.” He heard the toilet flush and the water running. You came out of the bathroom and found Angel sitting on his side of the bed, just waiting for you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, baby, just had a bad dream. Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” He didn’t want to worry you. He knew you weren’t going to leave him now.

He was confident in that.

At least he was trying to be.

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

The Vegas run was successful and they were on their way back. Angel called his father, who assured him that you were safe at the house and Ares was there happily accompanying you. He didn’t tell his pops why exactly he had him checking on you, but Felipe figured Angel just wanted to make sure you were safe.

You texted him constantly throughout the two days, but the last few hours, Angel hasn’t felt his phone vibrate and when they did stop, there was nothing from you. That dread came over again but he was trying his best to keep it at bay. Bishop had told them they could head home after the run, nothing to discuss as it was nice and smooth. He broke off from the group since his house was the closest to the freeway. Making his way down the street, he couldn’t wait to see you. He always missed you terribly and was teased for it, but he couldn’t help it.

When he pulled up the driveway, he noticed your car wasn’t there, but you did park it inside at times. Making his way inside, he found Ares on the couch. The pup lifted his head, tail wagging. He looked at Angel and his head went back down.

“I see the old you is back.” It was always a hit or miss for Angel and Ares. Though the distance between Arizona and California definitely had the dog missing him, now, you were the apple of Ares’ eye again.

Seeing Ares made Angel feel at ease. You most likely were taking a nap. But he still had to check to make sure. He entered your bedroom and there was no sight of you. His chest felt heavy then, worry just coursing through his veins.

Why weren’t you home?

He walked over to your closet and released a sigh of relief seeing your clothing.

It was eight in the evening on a Friday night. You worked from home on Fridays, you should be here.

Quickly he took his phone out and still no messages from you. The last message you sent was at noon. He immediately clicked on your name to call you, he felt his temper slightly rising along with his anxiety.

After a few rings, you finally answered.

“Where the fuck are you?” Angel didn’t mean to sound so aggressive and demanding, but he had adrenaline running through his veins, worried that you left.

“Baby, we just got out of that play I told you Rafael wanted to watch. It’s on the calendar on the fridge remember?” You were a little taken back by Angel’s brashness.

He walked over to the fridge and sure enough, play was written on the date. Well, it was Rafael time.

“Fuck, baby, sorry. I was just worried when you weren’t here.” Angel felt terrible. You weren’t going to leave him, not anymore. He repeated that mantra over and over again. Maybe it would stick.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll be home soon.”

“No it’s fine, enjoy the night with Rafael. I can come get you if you’ve drank too much.” He knew Rafael most likely picked you up.

“Hey Angel, it’s Rafael, can she stay the night?” Rafael knew Angel trusted him. He missed his best friend and he just wanted to see if her husband would let her stay over.

Angel was silent for a moment. He was already gone for two days and now you’re going to be gone. He pushed the thoughts away and knew that Rafael must have missed you as much as he did. He could let Rafael have you tonight.

“Sure man, not a problem. Take care of my girl.”

“Always. Thanks bro.”

Rafael passed the phone back to you.

“Babe, I can come home, I can always see Rafael another day.” You were worried. Angel seemed really worked up earlier, you were scared something occurred during the run.

“No baby, you’re fine. Enjoy, I’ll see you tomorrow. You want me to come get you?”

“I would love that. See you. I love you.”

Angel smiled. “I love you too.” He hung up and sat down beside Ares. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight buddy.”

You sat on Rafael’s couch, sipping on the wine glass he handed to you, watching the newest Netflix RomCom.

“How’s it been with Angel?” Rafael knew and saw how broken up Angel was. For a few weeks, Angel regularly came to your apartment hoping you had come back. Rafael felt for the guy and almost broke to tell him where you went, but he knew why you did what you did. He didn’t want you to feel ambushed. His loyalties lied with you after all.

“It’s great.” You blissfully smiled. “I should have listened to you.”

“Yes, you should have but this had to be a mistake you learned. Angel adores you, he would do everything to make you happy.” Rafael was glad you got your head off your ass. You were so stubborn at times that it infuriates Rafael, but he understood why you did what you did. Martyr bullshit he never agreed with, but understood. “I can’t believe he got you a fucking house.”

“Me neither,” you sighed dreamily. “I feel awful though.”

“The guilt is eating you up, I get it.”

“He holds me tighter, whenever I’m out of his sight for even a second, I can see how anxious he becomes, I can feel it.” You frowned. It started the week you got back to Santo Padre. At first you brushed it off, but you could tell Angel was anxious whenever you were out of his sight.

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

Angel walked into his apartment, exhausted from the day’s events. All he wanted to do was lay in bed with you, and put some Netflix show on the background while you two cuddled. He was surprised to not find Ares greet him by the door. If you were in the bedroom so was Ares. Sometimes he greeted him, but it was rare.

Walking further in, he called for you and no answer. Ares' leash was hanging by the door and Angel felt the overwhelming pressure in his chest, the same one he had when you left the first time. Frantically, he took out his phone and just as he was about to dial, you walked in the front door with Ares leading the way. He had a new leash and immediately, Angel’s anxiousness went away.

“Baby, why didn’t you just wait for me? You know I don’t like it when you walk Ares so late at night?” Angel tried to mask his nerves, but you can tell he was anxious. He was breathing far too quickly, like he was in a panic state prior to your arrival.

“Angel, are you okay?”

“Yeah baby,” he smiled at you, walking over to you to give you a kiss. “Just please wait for me next time.”

“Angel, we literally just walked up and down the street, he just had to pee.” You frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, come on, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long fucking day.”

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

After that day, Angel always seemed to be watching you, more than he usually did. It was like if he even looked away from you, you would disappear and you felt helpless. You didn’t want him worrying whenever you were out of his sight.

“I fucked up so bad.”

“Babe, there’s no need to be so harsh on yourself, just talk to Angel.” Rafael knew that your actions would have repercussions. Angel was so broken up, but so were you. Rafael hated hearing you cry, even if you did it to yourself, Rafael felt awful. You would tell yourself that it would get better, that eventually the pain in your chest would fade.

“Yeah, I will, I don’t want him thinking I would leave him after we get into an argument or if I’m just walking the dog. I thought I did the right thing because I was taking myself out of the equation, so he didn’t have to do the hard task of breaking up with me.” You laid your head on Rafael’s shoulder. “I know I was being irrational, I just didn’t think this was how bad Angel would be affected.”

“You walked away with no premise and seemingly everything was going well. Angel is just frightened that it’s going to happen again. Those months were hard on both of you and maybe a little reassurance would help him feel at ease. It’s gonna take time for him to be at ease, but you just have to be understanding of the situation.”

“I love him so much Rafael. Leaving him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He’s the love of my life.”

“I know babe, and he knows that too, but you know him, he’s had his insecurities. Just, communicate.”

“I will, I can’t leave him again. It would kill me.”

“Hell, I’ll kill you both. The emotional turmoil traumatized me from getting into a relationship.”

You both laughed.

“Whatever, you know you would jump into a relationship if it was Angel.”

“Damn right sister.”

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

The next day, you just arrived home after Angel picked you up. You two grabbed some breakfast before making your way back to Santo Padre. As soon as you got home, you jumped back into bed with Ares following suit. He laid by your feet while Angel slipped in beside you.

“Do you have any plans today?” You wrapped your arms around Angel.

“Besides fucking you? Nope.”

You laughed, playfully smacking him on his stomach. Angel groaned, letting out a laugh as well.

“Baby, we have time to make up for, you literally withheld from me for like six months.” Angel bit her ear, tangling their legs.

“You’re so silly.” You kissed his chest. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” Angel felt his heart race. He told himself to settle down, but it was rare that something good comes out from that sentence.

“I’ve been noticing how antsy you become when I’m not around and I want to talk about it.”

Angel sighed. He didn’t think you would notice but how could he even say that? Of course you would, he was a fool to think you wouldn’t notice. If he noticed everything about you, of course you would notice everything about him.

“Baby, it’s nothing. It’s irrational.”

“No it’s not.” You frowned. You sat up, turning to face him. “Baby, talk to me.”

Angel sat up, leaning against the headboard. He offered you his hand, which you took. You sat on his lap, straddling him. He rested his hands on your thighs, running his palms up and down.

“I love you, you’re my world. When you left, shit broke me. Everything was so good, I’m scared that something is going to cause you to leave again and you won’t talk to me.” Angel’s eyes welled up, your heart clenching. “When you left, I was in denial, I even thought you were playing a prank. But you weren’t. You changed your number and my world fell apart. I was thinking you just needed time, which I reasoned it was fine. Then when you changed your number, it sunk in that you weren’t coming back, that you left me.”

“I couldn’t get a hold of you and I was going crazy. You didn’t want to talk to me, I could live with that, but I didn’t know if you were safe. That’s the hardest part. I didn’t know if you were alive, if you were doing okay.” Angel felt his tears fall then, remembering how helplessly he felt. How he sat down against his couch, night turning into day as he tried to figure out where you were. The thing that haunted him the most was if you were safe. As much as he wanted you back with him, his concern was your safety. “I was just worried about how much you hate being alone, how you might not know anyone where you were, if you were eating. Shit was eating me up. We’ve always taken care of one another.”

He gripped your hips. “I bought the house, thinking it was a good surprise for you for our six month anniversary. Then you just left over assumptions that could have been solved with you just talking to me. I understand why you left, but I’d rather not have kids if that means I can have you.”

You listened to Angel as he let everything out, everything he was holding in.

“I can’t help but worry that you’re going to leave and I don’t know if I can take that.”

You wrapped your arms around Angel, burying your face at the crook of his neck. Angel mimicked your actions. You whispered against his neck how sorry you were. Ares watched you two, walking over and laying in between Angel’s legs.

Pulling away, you left quick pecks on Angel’s lips.

“I don’t know how to make this better, but you will trust me again. I’ll prove to you I’m worth the time, the wait, I love you. You’re my world too. I made a mistake, but it’s never going to happen again. I will talk to you before I make any brash decisions.” You cupped his face, resting your forehead against his. “It’s you and me against the world.”

“Forever mi dulce,” Angel laid his head against your chest, you ran your fingers through his hair. “Please don’t leave me again.”

The desperation in his voice killed you, but you nodded.

“Never again baby, I’ll never leave you.”

Angel pulled away and kissed you.

You two were working on your relationship, but at least you were both on the same page.

Ares nudged at your back, scratching it slightly.

“Ares, baby, your nails.” Your back arched as Angel laughed, lightening the mood.

“See, I told you they hurt.” Angel playfully tickles your sides causing you to shriek. Ares moved them, pawing at Angel causing him to hiss out as well. “We talked about this, they hurt Ares.”

“Whatever, you're still a baby.”

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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lambourngb · 3 years

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2020 Creator Wrap

2020 Creator Wrap: Favourite Works

Tagged by the lovely @ravens-world - that was like 23 days ago! But I wanted to have more work posted, so forgive the late response.

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I now have 8 completed works on AO3 and 1 set of Tumblr ficlets, and I will say that this time last year when I was tagged in the meme, I had only one work. So 2020 was more successful than I imagined.

1. Last Year’s Wishes Are This Year’s Apologies - (176,000 words) what started as a hiatus project that I wanted to have done before season 2, ended up stretching through June past the finale I believe. Missed deadlines aside, I’m very proud of it and feel it still holds up as a season 1 fix-it fic. It still gets “traffic” with hits and new bookmarks.

2. in sickness and in health (trojan horse) - (51,000 words) the hardest thing I ever wrote, during this pandemic that will not end, secrecy of the challenge and another hiatus that lingers on day after day. However, it’s probably the tightest written story I have ever produced, where there’s really nothing that doesn’t tie into the plot or make the plot hurt more. Lots of angst, and I unknowingly let a bit of the 2020 Covid crisis color some of the details. Despite all of that, I hope the happy ending was carthatic.

3. Leave the Fire Burning (20,000 words) - originally intended for Malex Week’s trope day, this sex pollen/lab accident/misunderstandings post-season 2 work was really just an excuse to write some explicit porn, particularly a few tropes I find hot to read.

4. This Hard Love (34,000 words) - debuted much of this during Michael Week, but the last chapter took almost 2 months to write as I juggled my big bang- but anyway, I loved tweaking canon, sprinkling some of the lines we love, and then playing out alternative scenarios. I also really wanted to do a look at Michael and his economic struggles in Roswell, particularly post-high school when he was living in truck, briefly in a shed, and then back to his truck again.

5. you give me a good reason to be heartsick again (let me down easy) with @christchex (5900 words) Writing a story set around early season 3 with Malex as being friends who talk about everything with Christi was a lot of fun. Yeah we tossed some salt about Forrest Long, but mainly we were complaining about some of the plot lines in season 2 regarding how “out” Alex was perceived to be. We laughed our way through writing this! First cowrite in way too many years. Also, somehow we left out the important kiss - but we all know that Tuesday night “date” was going to end in bed together.

Tagging: @haloud, @aewriting, @christchex, @adiwriting, @litwitlady, @el-gilliathand anyone else who wants to do this - please tag me so I can see it.

#self-promotion #2020 was a long year #end of the year roundup #my writing #malex owns me #my hamster still only runs on roswell new mexico #Malex fic

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xpouii · 4 years

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Spit Take

Hey y’all! I really put my nose into this fic to get it finished. It was commissioned by (anonymous) and I hope you like it! The prompt was amazing!

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, Dukexiety, Prinxiety, full NSFW warnings below the cut!

Warnings: Spit kink, tentacle dick, cum play, rough, bulging (stomach and throat), deepthroating, gagging, choking, drooling, crying, masturbation, voyeurism/slight exhibitionism, toys

“Kiddo!” Patton called as he stepped out of the kitchen. “We’re having a movie night… care to join us? I made cookies.”

“Yes, Virgil,” Logan echoed. “You don’t have to wear a onesie if you don’t want to. Patton just has an affinity for them for some reason.”

“Like you don’t?” Roman muttered, flipping through the menu of available movies. “Did we decide what we’re watching?”

“March of the Penguins,” Logan said. “It’s the only possible compromise. There’s scientific information, aesthetically pleasing animals and it’s narrated by Morgan Freeman.”

“Aww penguins!” Patton gasped.

“I wanted to watch Aladdin, but…” Roman chewed the inside of his mouth, “You do have a point about Morgan Freeman. His voice is just so soothing!”

Logan seemed pleased with himself as he picked up a cookie from the large plate of them. Virgil reminded himself to sneak back out later and help himself once the others had gone to bed. Patton clapped his hands together, “Great I’m so proud we agreed right away! I can’t wait to watch these adorable penguins with my best friends. So what do you say, Virgil? Penguins do wear a lot of black, and there’s an empty spot on the couch with your name on it! Not literally but if you give me five minutes and some glitter pens I could whip something up.”

“You?” Roman scoffed. “What about me? You’re going to make an artistic gift for Virgil without me?”

Patton smiled warmly at Roman and patted his knee, “Of course not, Roman. You’re my favorite artist!”

“Uh… gee Pat that sounds great but I’ve got stuff to do,” Virgil said. They were all looking at him then, Logan with his cool, matter-of-fact interest and Roman with a look that Virgil still hadn’t decrypted. The Prince would catch his eyes sometimes, especially across the room or in the middle of a group conversation, and Virgil felt cold and hot, invited and accused all at once. It was hard not to slip into a sneer and snap like he used to. Old habits die hard, especially in frightened animals, but Virgil wanted to be the light side they had invited him to be. That just hadn’t quite extended to movie nights and cookies yet, so he ducked his head and hustled off to his room, kicking it shut behind himself. He’d left the kitchen on a mission after all.

Virgil locked his door, pulling up his hood before walking over and sitting on the edge of his bed; he closed his eyes and smiled softly, his mind swimming with slow memories, nostalgia that skated like fingertips over his skin. His legs opened, an automatic response as he slid his hand down to palm himself through his jeans; tingling heat swam over him and he whined, his fingers quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He moaned at the relief of pressure but it was short-lived as he hardened fully. Virgil pulled himself free of his underwear and spat into his hand. More memories, more heat as he wrapped his slick hand over his cock and stroked slowly, letting out a little chuckle of disbelief at just how good it felt. Virgil was usually much more interested in being with somebody than touching himself—it required a certain amount of self-interest that he struggled with—but he was in a bit of a transitional period, new friends and new… faces.

Logan, Patton and Roman weren’t anything like the others, although Patton and Logan often wrestled for the top spot—at least that’s how it looked to Virgil when he was fresh from the subconscious, after he’d been accepted, but now he knew that Patton was in charge in a far different way than Deceit, especially considering Patton had little idea just how much sway he held over Thomas’ decisions. Then there was Roman, Remus’ parasitic twin—as they used to call him downstairs—but so completely different. Where Remus felt unshakable confidence, Roman was a ball of insecurity. Where Remus liked to sneak up on a conversation, Roman burst into the room like a confetti canon, scattering fanfare and nicknames. Where Virgil had found casual companionship in Remus, his feelings for about Roman were complicated at best, and terrifying at worst. When Roman had given his little speech of encouragement in Virgil’s room, it wasn’t his cock that twitched. It was his heart, and wasn’t that just the worst. At least with Remus, things were simple.

An easy moan escaped his lips and he couldn’t help but rock up into his hand, a slow sustained rhythm that he stopped only to gather the precum from the head of his cock and spread it downward. It used to always be this easy, smiles and moans and letting go. Anxiety was Thomas’ problem, and Virgil had always been happy to let it choke Thomas rather than analyzing, tweaking and dealing with it. Back then, he’d been Deceit’s—and Remus’, and he’d been a simpler, saucier creature. Even when he would mess up and get caught up in his own web of panic, and when Deceit’s gentle petting and encouraging words weren’t enough, Remus knew exactly how to fix the problem. Virgil’s smart little mouth had always been good for more than spitting vitriol and sarcasm, and Remus knew exactly how to drag it out—or push it in—in the best ways. Virgil raised his free hand and slipped two fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as he pressed against his tongue, thrusting them back and forth until they started to tickle that fluttery feeling in his chest, caught between swallowing and coughing, gagging and moaning—just like old times.

---

When Virgil came to him, Remus knew exactly what he wanted. His eyes were dark, red-rimmed and his lips were in a full pout, wet and reddened by chewing, absolutely begging, “What is it, Emo?”

Virgil unzipped his hoodie and shrugged it off, pulling his shirt over his head; he knelt in front of Remus, a question in his eyes, spilling out in a throaty whisper, “Are you busy?”

“Too busy for you? Never,” Remus said, sliding his fingers through Virgil’s hair, gathering it so he could take in Virgil’s face. He was pale, but a blush sat high on his cheeks, and his eyes were darker than usual, the black makeup smeared all the way down to his cheekbones and streaked down by a drying tear or two of frustration. Remus always thought this Virgil was the most beautiful, so true to himself, so overtaken by his purpose and his instincts that even Deceit couldn’t suppress him, and he was begging Remus to fuck his mouth and let the wild brambles of the anxious side’s mind grow uninhibited until Remus choked it all away.

Virgil’s full lips twitched into the tiniest wisp of a smile as he reached for Remus’ pants. The creative side slapped his hand away gently, and lost his clothes via magic. He would rather be naked anyway—given the chance. His cock, so familiar to Virgil by now, was just as eldritch as anything else Remus had any kind of control over, a tentacle that—according to the creative side—had a mind all its own. Virgil was fairly convinced that Remus was perfectly in control of himself, cock and otherwise. It traced Virgil’s lips and the anxious side opened his mouth, closing his eyes as the first hints of the familiar taste touched his tongue. He opened wider to accommodate the tapered organ as it pushed further, heavy on his tongue and writhing against every surface of his mouth, exploring and giving Virgil that familiar stomach flutter.

Remus’ hand at the back of his head made him calm, tension easing as Remus took control; all he had to do was be present. The taste of precum made him moan, and Remus pulled back, making Virgil lean forward to chase his cock. He was hungry for it, entirely tunnel-visioned, and Remus chuckled, “Impatient, Emo?”

“Please,” Virgil whined, his mouth feeling achingly empty around every sound he made. “Please Remus, I want it. Pl-“

His words were cut off when Remus thrust back in, and Virgil fought his gag reflex as Remus’ cock slid past the back of his tongue to bump against the back of his throat, one swift surprising movement. He opened his throat, eager to be filled, to be used. Remus’ cock squirmed in his throat and he relaxed more as he felt the skin of his throat stretch and bulge to accommodate the hot, heavy organ. He moaned as best he could, his voice warped and layered by the overwhelming juxtaposition of pleasure and humiliation. Virgil looked up at Remus with lust-heavy eyes, his cheeks hot and his eyes were burning with the promise of choked tears already.

Remus backed up just enough to let Virgil breathe, and he could feel a mix of precum and drool sliding down his chin. He sucked in a breathe before Remus was inside again, and his eyes rolled back to stare up at Remus, glassy and grateful. It went on like this, drooling and gagging and the occasional hissed praise from Remus while Virgil spun out into the warm, safe headspace where he could forget himself.

Remus reached down and took a handful of Virgil’s hair, pulling him backward. Virgil whined in complaint, Remus’ cock sliding against his cheek as he slowly lifted his face; he knew what Remus wanted, and he opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll out as Remus spat into his mouth.

“How’s it taste, Virgil?”

“So fucking good. Thank you, thank you,” Virgil slurred open-mouthed. He made a show of swallowing, tossing his head back.

Remus leaned down to licked Virgil’s bottom lip before capturing his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that left Virgil breathless. He broke it and stood back up and Virgil leaned back, opening his mouth again to beg silently, knowing he was already a mess of drool and tears, beautiful and destroyed.

“Hungry tonight aren’t you, Emo?” Remus chuckled, his cock sliding back into Virgil’s mouth, sweet on his tongue as Remus made his first thrust, cutting off Virgil’s ability to breathe or even swallow. He looked down at Virgil, combing his hair back again. Virgil met his eyes, lost in Remus�� commanding gaze.

The racing of his heart replaced any of the unpleasant tightness in his chest, and Virgil fully relaxed when Remus reached down to place his hand on the side of Virgil’s neck, pressing against the bulge from outside. Virgil’s eyes rolled back and he closed them, melting away into sensation and heat, more of a plaything for Remus than a functioning being—and that’s how Virgil wanted it for now. Forgetting everything outside of this room, the sounds and tastes and smells of sex were like a merciful smokescreen.

And then Virgil felt the familiar signals, throbbing and lost rhythm, and he groaned in his chest, anticipating what was coming—literally. Remus always came so much, and Virgil could almost never swallow it all at once, but he always tried. After a few spurts Remus pulled back and shot across Virgil’s face while the anxious side eagerly swallowed what was in his mouth, “Yes Remus please give it to me, give me more, want to taste you!”

Remus growled as he thrust back into Virgil’s mouth and down his throat. Once. Twice, and then he pulled out, connected by a line of thick spit to Virgil’s wet lips. He knelt then, reaching to wrap his hand to palm Virgil through his pants. Virgil groaned and humped against Remus’ hand while the creative side cleaned his face, licking away the hot stripes of his spend. Remus captured his lips in a commanding kiss and Virgil got another mouthful of cum. He jerked in Remus’ grip as he came, choking as he swallowed and cried out at the same time. Remus muttered gentle nonsense as he rubbed Virgil through his orgasm and beyond, toying with the wet spot on Virgil’s jeans.

“Th-thank-“ Virgil stammered.

Remus stood and pulled Virgil to his feet, helping him to the bed where he was nestled in a pile of abandoned vellum and leather and silk. Remus kissed him on the nose and then gently stripped Virgil, “How about a nice hot springs full of demon octopi? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“More demon octopi?” Virgil hummed with a smile. “I’d love that.”

Remus swept him up and sunk out, reappearing in one of his little corners of the imagination where the air was heavy with steam. Virgil sighed as he was lowered into hot water, muscles he didn’t know were tense melted into warm butter. “Anything else, Emo? A drink?”

Virgil stretched, “I wouldn’t say no to a pineapple juice.”

“Good idea, keep tasting sweet for me,” Remus mused, conjuring a glass and handing it to Virgil.

Virgil sank into the sensation as several red tentacles found his legs, waist and chest in a deep—astoundingly innocent—massage. He let his head fall back, “Thank you, Remus, so much.”

“For you, anything.”

---

Virgil squirmed when his hand alone wasn’t enough, frustrating and disappointing as he rutted in his bed, mussing his black sheets. The memory of a thousand touches only made him want more, and he grabbed his sweaty pillow and threw it across the room, not comforted in the least by his little outburst. He kicked off his shoes, struggling with his jeans and underwear but not bothering with his hoodie. He was pulled so perfectly between arousal and frustration that his hand moved of its own volition, squeezing and twisting in hopes of finding some sensation that would push past the plateau where he hovered in sensual agony.

Finally Virgil made himself stop just long enough to reach for the nightstand and yank open the drawer, fetching the toy he kept there. It was tapered, but it couldn’t compare to Remus’ size—or dexterity. He set it on his stomach and reached back for the lube, popping it open. He arched his back to get two slicked fingers into himself. The prep was quick, unceremonious and then he lubed up the toy, rolling onto his side and moaning involuntarily at the feel of it pressed at his entrance. He rocked down against it, deeper each time until it breached him, and he moved it manually then, in and out a few times before he got it positioned just right, turning on the vibrations. It was almost a relief to feel something, although it would never be enough. He cranked it up and his mouth fell open in a silent moan, his hips working as if he could get it deeper by will alone.

The toy was nowhere near as big as Remus, but when he rocked just right it nudged his prostate in a familiar way, and his body remembered as much as his mind—unfortunately his body remembered all too well exactly what it was missing. The girth, the weight and the heat. He wondered what Remus would say, watching him whine and writhe like an emptyheaded—and empty-assed—slut. He’d no doubt have a comment, and Virgil was almost glad the creative side wasn’t there to see him. There was no way—horny and even a little homesick in a super fucked up way—that he’d be able to resist Remus’ offers even though Deceit had made it very clear that Remus was on his side of the line in the sand.

Pushing bad memories away, Virgil let himself think about Remus’ cock, and the cold jab of Deceit faded—for the night, at least. The anxious side had always been a size queen; Remus wasn’t just enough to bulge his throat, and memories of the tight tug inside made him chew his bottom lip. He slipped his free hand down to his stomach where he would be able to feel Remus pushing, bumping into his palm with every thrust, knocking the breath—and several filthy words—out of him. He gasped now as if he could feel it, and his body shook, his eyes burning as he squeezed them shut, pressing a fist to his mouth. He wanted to be shamelessly loud, but shameless was never really Virgil’s specialty, even back then.

---

Virgil glanced around in the dim light as Remus tugged him along by his hand; they had snuck upstairs into the livingroom where Deceit forbade them to go. The sharp jaws of adrenaline had him by the throat, and fight or flight melted into nothing when Remus turned to face him, “Clothes off, Emo.”

Virgil shed his clothes tossing them in a pile on the floor as Remus magicked his own away, pulling Virgil in by the back of his neck. The kiss was feral, teeth and tongues and Virgil dug his blunt nails into Remus’ chest. When Remus pushed him to the couch, Virgil stammered, “H-how long do you think we have?”

Remus shrugged, “Deceit won’t be looking for us until tomorrow if we’re lucky.”

“I mean… the others.”

“You mean those light sides?” Remus purred. “Why? Want them to watch?”

Virgil blushed and the humiliation sent a pleasant spark through his body, but the time for talking was over—temporarily anyway. He moved into position on his knees, arms crossed to brace him against the arm of the couch. He relaxed into the position, trying to calm his racing heart until the touch of Remus’ hand on his back calmed him. Remus’ cock moved up against his own, a reminder of just how big he was, and Virgil reached down to stroke it lazily as Remus prepped him. Tentacles had never appealed to Virgil before he’d started things with Remus, but now the way it pressed into his touches and writhed like a sentient being—perhaps it was—was more than sexy, it was endearing, and Virgil couldn’t help the soft smile that stretched his lips. Remus was leaking precum already, much wetter than Virgil could get without at least a little assplay, and it made Virgil’s hand slick and sticky.

Remus pulled back then and Virgil almost complained, but then Remus’ cock was stretching him open and he let out a low, shuddering moan as he wrapped his hand around his own cock. The heavy member was undulating, writhing, massaging Virgil in all of the right ways, and he moaned into the couch arm, stroking himself slowly. It was more habit and comfort than out of a need to cum; when Remus was splitting him, there was no chance that he wouldn’t have an orgasm, sometimes multiple and often without much substantial warning. Then Remus was bottoming out, and Virgil could feel him so deep that he lowered his hand to his stomach where a familiar bulge was, crawling underneath his skin, “Fuck, Remus.”

“Isn’t it nice?” Remus purred. “Stretching you, filling you up like the hungry little slut you are. How’s it feel, Emo?”

“It’s… it’s—good!” Virgil hiccupped as Remus moved, drawing almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward and sinking back in, and the bulge retreated and returned, sending another ache of arousal through Virgil’s cock. “You know it’s good.”

“I like when you say it,” Remus said, settling into a staggered rhythm to keep Virgil guessing. “Besides, what else are we going to talk about?”

Virgil’s eyes rolled back and he bit his lip, letting out a nervous giggle, “The w-weather?”

“Too boring,” Remus said, smacking Virgil’s ass. “Unless you want me to conjure a tornado or something. I think we should talk about getting caught, don’t you? Those sticks in the mud won’t know what to do, seeing me fuck you in their space like this. I bet Patton will just fucking die right then and there. My brother will be jealous because he’ll never get close to anything as gorgeous as you, isn’t that right, Emo?”

Virgil yelped at a particularly deep thrust and the words spilled from him, “Remus we’re gonna… gonna get caught.”

“Telling me you wouldn’t like that? The looks on their faces?” Remus growled, tangling his fingers in Virgil’s hair and yanking his head back.

“I… I don’t know,” Virgil panted, too ashamed of the real answer.

Remus ran the nails of his free hand down Virgil’s back, “That’s what I thought. You like being my pretty little whore, don’t you? You’d love for me to show you off.”

“Shit,” Virgil growled, because it was true, and sometimes it terrified Virgil just how easily Remus could read him.

“You never disappoint, Emo,” Remus said. “And you always say all of my favorite words.”

“I haven’t said twatwaffle one time,” Virgil said, a smile on his lips.

Remus laughed, leaning down to kiss the back of Virgil’s neck, then up behind his ear; Remus got sweet when Virgil made him laugh. Deceit had told Virgil once it was the way to his heart—but that wasn’t where Virgil was aiming, so he shivered and pushed himself back into Remus’ thrusts. “Somebody’s impatient.”

“Come on, Remus,” Virgil said, as sweet and subby as he’d ever been. “Please give me your cock, please fuck me hard. It’s so good I want more, want everything.”

Remus growled in his throat and took Virgil’s bait, though he was far from trapped; he shoved Virgil’s face into the arm of the couch roughly and fucked into him with a renewed domination that made Virgil’s cock jump and leak and ache with arousal. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Virgil muttered into the fabric. Remus’ nails were back in his back and he choked out a cry, “Yes! Yes please!”

Remus bit into Virgil’s shoulder as he came, and Virgil could feel it, hot and thick and there was a lot, filling him up like he’d begged for. He sobbed and barely had time to process the sensation before he himself was cumming, dirtying the couch under them and managing to milk more from Remus in the process until they were both rutting and growling like animals—and maybe animals is what they were. Remus pulled out and Virgil could feel the spend tickling down his inner thigh before Remus nudged him forward and he lifted his ass higher into the air, lowering his face into the couch cushions.

Remus’ tongue was hot and probably longer than it should be, but the way it felt had Virgil rocking back while the creative side sucked the cum out of him. When Remus pulled back Virgil whimpered, but soon he was being pushed onto his back and his mouth fell open. He looked up into Remus’ eyes, lolling out his tongue. Remus’ eyes darkened and he let the cum drool down into Virgil’s waiting mouth. Virgil’s eyes rolled back as the sensation fought against his own refractory period, and his cock gave a lazy twitch. Once he’d taken everything Remus offered, he rolled it around his mouth, curling his tongue at the corner of his mouth before finally closing and swallowing.

“Such a good boy”, Remus cooed, swiping his thumb through the cum that had escaped at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He pressed his thumb into Virgil’s mouth and the anxious side eagerly sucked it clean, floating on the cloud of praise.

“Thank you,” Virgil said again, softer and with a deeper, warmer meaning. He stretched then reached up for Remus.

Remus lowered himself to kiss Virgil, quick and chaste—if anything they did could be called chaste. Virgil melted into the affection and let himself be held. The couch wasn’t particularly deep, but Remus managed to maneuver them into a comfortable spooning position, pulling Virgil against his chest. The beating of Remus’ heart and the sound of their breathing as it slowed to normal brought Virgil down gently, and when he’d had enough, he squirmed in Remus’ arms, turning onto his back as much as he could without falling off of the couch.

Remus watched Virgil’s face, prompting the anxious side to smile, “I’m good, just gonna take another second. You should go make sure Deceit’s not looking for us.”

“Perish the thought,” Remus said sarcastically, but he smiled as he climbed over Virgil to stand. “I’ll go make sure Snake Daddy is none the wiser.”

Virgil stretched out, licking his lips clean for the final time as Remus sank out. He sat up slowly, careful to wave away the wet spot before he grabbed his pants, pulling them on. Dressing wasn’t easy on shaky legs, but that made it more satisfying, especially layered with the possibility of getting caught.

As if on cue, Virgil’s ears caught the smallest drag of a shoe on the carpet. He spun around, eyes searching the darkness around him for a threat. Roman stood in the darkened doorway, hand on the hilt of his sword; his hair and eyes made it clear he’d probably been asleep—maybe at his desk the way Remus did sometimes. He was pretty, Virgil couldn’t deny that—dashing, maybe, but a poor imitation of Remus. The prince met Virgil’s eyes and Virgil hesitated, staring at the other side before pulling up his hood and sinking into the floor.

---

Suddenly the deep vibrations were too much, and Virgil cried out, reaching back to turn it off and take it out. He was shaking, unsure whether it was the memory of Remus or Roman that had caused the sudden spike. Virgil huffed in frustration, and his straining cock regained his attention. He couldn’t stop now just because he was trying to deny a possible partial crush on his old fuck buddy’s twin brother. Wrapping his hand back around himself, Virgil tried to slip away, find another memory to turn himself on just that last little bit. After three minutes of desperate self-searching, Virgil sighed, “Fuck.”

He let that little mental block fade away, and the memory turned to fantasy, and the thrill of it zinged up into his chest and down to his toes, making them curl. He worked himself a bit slower, letting things play out.

---

Virgil locked eyes with Roman, in the dark, and Roman’s nose wrinkled, just a little, because he knew. The prince unsheathed his sword, stepping forward and holding it to Virgil’s throat, “Care to explain yourself, foul fiend?”

Virgil took a half-step back and sank to his knees; Roman looked pleased with himself, but his mouth fell open in surprise when Virgil nuzzled his cock through his pants. He tensed, but rather than taking a step back, he sheathed his sword and rested his hand on the back of Virgil’s head. Virgil undid Roman’s pants easily, pulling his cock free and covering it in kisses and kitten licks until the Prince was fully hard and pushing at the back of Virgil’s head. Virgil hummed and took Roman into his mouth and down his throat. He tasted nothing like Remus, none of the tingling magic eldritch qualities, but more like a man with impeccable hygiene who also spends the better part of his days trapesing through enchanted forests, earthy and spiced and—for lack of a better term—masculine.

Roman growled, and Virgil gagged when he thrust forward, holding Virgil in place. Whether it was warped hate, or Roman was just naturally rough, Virgil was lost in it. He managed to pull back when Roman allowed him to breathe, “Fuck!”

Roman smirked, “What’s the matter, Anxiety? Too big?”

Virgil laughed breathlessly, rocking back onto his heels and standing. He stripped off his clothes and moved to the couch, reaching to brace himself on the couch arm. Strong hands took his hips and moved him like he was weightless, and before Virgil knew it he was on his back with Roman slotted between his legs. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his face away. “What are you looking at?”

Roman snorted, and lips on Virgil’s collarbone made his bottom lip tremble, “Where’d that brave little monster go?”

Virgil bristled and leaned up, capturing Roman’s lips in a rough kiss and biting down on his bottom lip. Roman tangled his fingers into Virgil’s hair and pulled. Virgil gasped when Roman broke the kiss and looked down to line himself up. “Fuck yeah give it to me,” Virgil whispered, following the Prince’s actions with eager eyes.

Roman hesitated for a moment, spitting in his palm and running it hastily over his cock before slipping inside. Virgil threw his head back as it spun, Roman’s cock pushing in while he was still slicked up inside. He met Roman’s eyes, and groaned, “That’s his… it’s your brother’s cum. You know that right? Can you feel it?”

Roman’s nose wrinkled, but more in anger than disgust, and he spat in Virgil’s face, making Virgil moan like a shameless whore as he arched his back. Roman’s first proper thrust was rough, fast and it knocked him out of the fantasy completely.

----

The orgasm was heavy and sudden, like a punch to the chest and Virgil panted as he wrung himself out, his free hand fisting in the sheets, “Jesus, Princey,” Virgil muttered into the stillness.

Well and truly overstimulated, his nerves singing like they always did, but without the comforting warmth and weight of another body. He ran his fingers through the spend on his stomach, savoring the sight as yet another wave of nostalgia rolled over him, weaker than the others, but undeniably present as Virgil sucked his fingers clean, sighing at the rapidly-fading sex high.

Virgil heard a familiar sound and turned his head to look at the door, opened just a crack, “You just gonna watch again?”

Roman moved forward, pushing the door open further with his foot. He was of course more put together than the night they saw one another in the dark living room. Not quite the picture of smirking valiance Virgil imagined, not a hero looking to dominate a villain. Nonetheless, the Prince looked willing, and Virgil was ready to move on and make new memories, as painful as it could be to accept change. What did he have to lose?

#not safe for sanders #no minors #dukexiety #prinxiety #commissioned work #fanfiction

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scribblesofanaricat · 3 years

Text

Night Terrors

I don’t share a bunk bed with my brother anymore. We don’t even sleep in the same room, the one with the curtains we picked together years ago. Tiny little silvery stars and rockets. Those curtains are gone now, though. The last time I saw them was when our mum snatched what was left of them off the carpet and crammed them into the bin. Like they were poisonous. Maybe they were.

It’s always here, around corners and under blankets and creeping through the gaps in doors. It’s in the cold that clings to every hair, no matter how far it has to follow. And people don’t like seeing reminders of it lying around. Even the stuff that has what they call ‘bad energy’ - the something that prickles at the back of a neck and throttles a heartbeat - has to be tossed away, or destroyed.

Well, sometimes.

There’s a lot of it they haven’t noticed yet. Or so my friend tells me.

My brother’s already demolishing the peanut butter when I trudge into the kitchen. He just about manages a grunt of greeting through his ballooning cheeks. But Mum’s head jerks at the sight of me, gaping at something on my front. I slide my gaze in the same direction. Oh. Right. My pyjama shirt is hanging off my shoulders, looking a lot more like a castoff than something that was just bought a week or two ago.

She heaves a very mother-ish sound through her nose when she doesn’t spot any injuries on me. “This is the fourth time you’ve come down looking like that now. If that’s how you treat the clothes I buy you…” She doesn’t finish.

It’s not like I can help it.

We were just playing a game, that’s all.

I say nothing.

She goes through the usual: tugging a navy blue blazer, stripy tie, too-long greyish trousers, porridge-coloured socks free of the knotty mass brimming in the dryer and tossing them in my direction, sending me back upstairs to my new smaller room to change clothes, advising me not to show my face in the kitchen again until I’ve made myself decent.

In plodding my way across the landing to my new bedroom, I pass the door to that old one, off-white, faintly sheeny, shut tight. I spare a few seconds of thought to whatever happened to our bunk bed, mine and Elliot’s. Don’t think I’ll ever find out, though. Our mother’s let the door handle go neglected and gather as much dust as possible. That way, if either of us touch it, she’ll be able to tell. It’s occurred to me more than once that I could just prod the door open with my foot without messing with her genius trap, but I’ve never acted on it.

Walls have eyes and ears.

The new room is all right, considering. Elliot volunteered for Sofa Duty, in his words, so I’ve got it to myself, but it doesn’t really feel like mine anymore: plain yellowish-white curtains now, matching carpet, my books stacked in sloppy heaps instead of arranged on wall shelves. But it is mine and I’m going to have to get used to it. At the very least, it’s the closest thing I have to my own safe hideaway. Wonder if that’s what all those others thought too, once upon a time.

My friend likes it in here; it’s dark and I keep it that way. Lights switched off, curtains pulled to, never a torch beam or even a lit candle to dart across the shadows. Mum doesn’t really like it when we have our curtains hanging open anyway, not since all this happened - actually, right now, she probably doesn’t want me or my friend touching any in the first place. Not that either of us ever set out to rip apart the old ones, the ones with the rockets and comets and constellations stitched all over them. It just...sort of happened.

They like to play, simple as that. Even when they get carried away, go a bit far, whatever the phrase is. It’s fine.

Yet my mum never seems to agree that it is. Fine, I mean. I’ve tried telling her about my friend before, about the adventures they come up with, but no matter how I put the words together, they collapse on me like a card house. Running further and further away the more I chase them. And even when they don’t, I just slam head-first into “excuses” and “childish” and, more often in the last couple of weeks, “no, I’m tired and I don’t want to hear it”.

It stings. By now, though, I’ve learned to stay quiet and let all the blame drop onto me. A shrug. A side-glance. A muttered sorry. Of course, my friend never says sorry, but that’s fine. She probably wouldn’t believe them either.

I sling my pyjamas down; the mattress catches them in a raggedy bundle (not my fault, I didn’t mean to, neither of us meant to). A tiny comfort is the knowledge that my friend hates fussy school uniforms as much as I do, even if they don’t really understand why it can’t just be discarded whenever we feel like it.

I heave a breath, watching its mist slowly billow into the air. Cold. Shadows play in the corner, called up by the light forcing its way past the curtains. Part of me - the same part of my heart that my friend has made themselves at home in since the day I first met them - dares them to twitch closer.

But they don’t. They don’t.

By the time I trudge downstairs, there’s a cereal bowl, spoon and chipped cup of juice plonked in front of my chair. Even though I haven’t liked apple juice since I was about eight.

“Oh, there you are, finally…” Mum tweaks the pile of rags out of my grasp and blows out her cheeks. “You know, I was just saying to Elliot that if the pair of you socialised a bit more, got some friends who lived nearby, you could go to school with them every morning instead.”

My spoon pokes at the cereal: another thing I can’t help. Its texture is just...wrong. I do. They just don’t want me to go around telling other people about them yet. I peek over at her, but her head (puckered lips and all) is bent over what’s left of my pyjamas, turning them back to front and inside out as if counting the holes. She always has her hands and head full with other things, I guess. Especially now.

“Come on, get that cereal down you before you go. I don’t want to have to come and fetch you home if you faint at school.” She only shoots me half a glance - the rest of her gets sidetracked by twitching aside the kitchen curtain just enough to push her nose through the gap - but it falls on me like a hot coal all the same. She hates it when I do this, the thing she calls ‘pecking at my food’.

I swish my spoon around in the bowl, its contents quickly transforming into some sort of rice krispie paste. “It’s too soggy,” I say dumbly. How else can I explain that cereal doesn’t feel or taste right anymore, not when I know there’s far better things to devour, my friend’s shown me them-

She doesn’t deign to reply.

Elliot bolts out of the door twelve minutes ahead of me, with a flit of his fingers in reply to our mum’s scattery warnings to pay attention and don’t dawdle out there and get yourself home by four - by four, Elliot. Behind their backs, I quietly scrape the remains of my cereal into the bin and embark on a hunt for my shoes. My friend must’ve moved them from where they were sitting under the radiator to dry out after yesterday’s downpour. They do stuff like that.

I guess it’s their way of venting annoyance; their idea of a tiny revenge. Admittedly, it turns out they can’t really do a lot unless I’m there with them.

My hand has only just touched the front door handle when- “Four o’clock sharp, d’you hear me?”

“I hear you,” I mutter. I’m about to close the door behind me when it’s flung shut from the inside, barely avoiding snagging the edge of my blazer. It’s okay.

Force of habit cranes my neck for a glimpse of Elliot’s stringy limbs or maybe the marmalade-coloured backpack hanging lopsided off his shoulders. Nothing. Nothing except for the mist breathing on my clothes and hair and leaching what colour’s left out of the leaves.

That’s all right with me. He only tries to elbow me into hedgerows and signposts whenever I tag along with him.

The laces of my beaten-up oxfords flail with every step - sometimes over splotches of used chewing gum or the muddy dregs of puddles. The walk to school takes forty minutes or so; more if some road or another is taped off. That’s been happening here and there, for the same reason that all the news channels are urging the parents not to let their kids out by themselves. To go along with them, look out for them, instead of just harping on at them about curfews.

I kick out at a pebble sitting right in my path, scuffing my shoe-toe even more as I go. Forty minutes each way. She won’t come outside of her four walls for that long. Not anymore.

In any case, there’s no one around now. No one to spot me edging my way through the closest thing to an opening to be found in the tangled trees and bushes. Sliding down a bank of weeds and moss and slimy leaves. Skidding just a little on the fringes of what my neighbours still call the park.

The sky could be dressed up in its best shade of blue instead of scribbled in school-pencil grey and it wouldn’t make any difference to this place. Most of the footpaths have disappeared under a slush of long-dead leaves and scraggly fallen feathers; the sludge-coloured pond a little way ahead smells just like all the litter it’s been collecting. That’s probably why it feels as if nobody ever really comes here, not even for the sake of a shortcut (well, nobody except the pigeons jostling one another for spots on the rusty benches or on the branches dangling over them like dreadlocks).

At the same time, though, no one seems sure what to do with it, so here it is. Rotting away. And I have it to myself. We have it to ourselves.

They’re quiet all the same. That’s typical, really. Familiar. I suppose it’d be sort of weird to a lot of people - as if I’d ever share this stuff with anyone else to begin with - but neither of us does much chatting; we don’t need to. They invent games for us, I join in and that’s how we understand each other.

Sometimes.

Other times, they stray into something I don’t want to...like with those silvery curtains. And just like then, I always end up doing it anyhow. It’s fine. It’s only games.

A dig to the stomach from their icy-cold fingers and I realise the sun’s conquered more of the sky since I last looked, casting a puddle-shadow in front of me. Any time now (or maybe already), the school receptionists are going to try and get hold of my mum so they can quiz her on why I’m not squashed into the back row of the Geography classroom.

I drop my head against the lumps of the swing chain, rocking along with it as one toe prods an on-and-off rhythm into the carpet of wood chippings and built-up gunge below. It’s okay; her phone’s nowhere to be found most of the time. And even if she does happen to have it with her, she hardly ever picks up.

It’s no different now. Now that the dread of being watched - hunted - is constantly beating itself against her skull.

That’s what’s been happening, or what everybody thinks is happening. Hunts, stalking. People set foot outside or just upstairs, or even from one room to another, and then never come back. Nobody knows how, nobody knows where or why, no rhyme or reason as to who’ll be next. The first time a pack of authorities glanced over it, they took it as a standard child abduction case, ‘til word got out that it wasn’t just kids who were getting plucked from their homes.

And that’s why everyone’s always on the lookout for bad omens now, for changes in the water and shifts in the air.

My cold forehead creases at that thought.

...but would they recognise things like that, even if they spotted them?

There’s a murmur in my ear as my friend shifts; they swipe at the strands drooping over my forehead, jab at my ribs, tug at my fingers and feet. Hungry for fun.

“No. Not now, just...not now. I don’t wanna get attention from anyone ‘cause they’ll ask why I’m not at school...we don’t know who’s around and they don’t get it…” The last few words trip me up. With a shuddery breath, I bring out the only thing I know for sure will get them to be still. For now. “They might take you away from me.”

And there we stay, swaying and swaying with the swings, until the sun starts sinking towards its rest.

The dark is one thing, but nights send prickles racing across my skin. A black curtain swallowing the sky, billions of stars glinting in warped shapes behind the clouds but none of them making any difference. My friend likes them, though. They say their games work much better in the dark.

I bid Elliot a mumbled goodnight that he doesn’t return (our mother’s already in bed with a cup of her icky organic tea) and plod upstairs, and the shadows follow me.

I barely manage to toe my door shut before they - my friend, my only friend - leap like a flame, shoving me to my knees.

Pain, cold pain, sears through my bones. On my neck, inside my throat, frigid hands silence my cry; another voice buries the harsh tearing (clothes, skin, muscle). A voice that cracks like dried flesh and somehow sounds so like mine anyway- but it can’t be mine- it’s theirs, the words are theirs, I’m theirs-

“Let’s play.”

#my scribbles #mine #tw possession #tw implied gore #tw possessive behaviour #horror #long scribble #original writing #writeblr

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mystech-master · 3 years

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Blazblue rewrites Part 1: The Age of Origin and beginning of the Looping World.

(put this on my Reddit may as well put it here)

As we all know, the Blazblue series is one of the most convoluted and over-complicated pieces of media ever. Mainly due to its quantum physics talk and very chuuni dialogue and a lack of good explanation for a lot of points. Naturally, one good thing about being a fan is that through the power of hindsight we can look at the entire series and basically fix what we think was messed up. Of course, we have this freedom since we are usually individual people, don't have a massive writing staff and marketing we need to appeal to, and pretty much the entire skeleton and pieces are there, they just need to be rearranged and/or be tweaked a bit.

I remember getting into Blazblue around the end of high school/beginning of college, almost 5 years ago. I thought the setting was neat and I am into anime action BS. Of course, the story was bonkers and made no sense until I started looking deeper but the main thing that has bugged me were the characters. There is just so much Bullshit that the characters do and brush off that just irritates me, especially when it comes to Ragna. This series has made me rethink the meaning of life, of showing kindness to people, or if "doing things because it's right" is a good enough excuse, how much should you desire your own happiness? All sorts of existential questions that Blazblue has made me think, not from the plot, but just from the BS character interactions.

If you check out my Ragna the Bloodedge tag, or have just been following me for a while, you will see/know how much I will defend this guy to the fucking grave because of all the bullshit that this guy is expected to take and deal with and it being seen as"inspiring" or "heroic" when it is really just sad to me. It isn't me liking the character, it is just a massive amount of pity and feeling sorry for him, to the point where I kind of have a massive bias towards him and end up making him an all-powerful unstable badass in most of my fic ideas with him. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I wanted to lay out my ideas for how I would make a Blazblue rewrite. If anyone wants to use these in their own fanfic, feel free. I don't give a shit about credit.

Starting with the timeline, we have the XBlaze series, Bloodedge Experience, and the core C-Series (ft.

the Phase Shift Novels, and Remix/Variable Heart Manga). In the actual story these are all separate “Possibilities”, or Timelines/Universes. That is dumb and I think that we can tweak things to make it all one linear timeline.

XBlaze takes place in the year 2050, 50 years before the Dark War is stated to begin, and 149-150 years before the main games start. This is plenty of time to make things different. We know from the backstory that Takamagahara, the god-supercomputer that mankind made, was not completed in this possibility due to Touya’s mother iirc. In my idea, all this does is delay the inevitable, Takamagahara will be made, just at a later date now. (edit) There is also the Mitsurugi agency, which was kind of behind the Wadatsumi incident in XBlaze's backstory. With their connections to the Mage's Guild, the Amanohokosaka Clan, and their desire to get the Azure, we could say that this is the agency that discovered the Susanoo, the Boundary, and did most of these experiments to the Prime Fields.

I do not know the exact year when Bloodedge Experience takes place, but I am going to estimate around 10-15+ years from XBlaze, putting it at 2060-2065+, since they do mention Mei as the head/leader of the Amanohokosaka Clan. I am not too sure what the branching-off point is here, Valkenhayn mentions Clavis having killed Naoto in the core C-Series Possibility so maybe it was during their initial meeting. But is Naoto surviving gonna change that much? The only other detail that would need addressing would be Raquel’s relationship with Rachel. According to the wiki bio “Raquel was created when a user of Soul Eater went havoc and killed hundreds upon thousands of people. Clavis Alucard stopped the user and killed them, but was forced to take the lives of 128,932 people in order to do so. When this happened, he held an Embryo. Three years later, the Embryo became Raquel and she was born. Maybe sometime later Raquel could end up being killed or something and another Embryo results in Rachel. I mean we never see or hear mention of a mother, or maybe it’s some reincarnation thing? IDK. We see how stern Clavis was with Raquel, so maybe seeing his first “daughter” die he ends up spoiling the next one rotten, leading to the kind of haughty holier-than-thou Rabbit we know today.

However, all of this needs to be put in perspective of the Origin and Terumi. I may mess up some of the finer details.

The plot of Blazblue started when Susanoo ditched his body, the Susanoo Unit, and then mankind discovered it underground. They excavated it, dug deeper, and found a Cauldron which led to the Boundary, within which they found the Master Unit, the God Computer that would allow them to control reality, and beyond that, they found the Azure, basically the primordial absolute force of the Blazblue Universe. However, the Master Unit can only respond to something anthropomorphic/humanoid and humans can’t survive the Boundary. So they made the Prime Field Devices, Androids meant to go into the Boundary. Pretty weirdly specific criteria that results in robot girls but I don’t see how I can mess with this.

One of them manages to reach the Master Unit and upon touching it she gains the Eyes of the Azure which gives it the power of the Azure and basically becomes not only sentient, but basically a god. The Humanity, freaked out about her new free will and the power she now has, tosses her back into the Boundary. Within the Boundary, the PFD, the Origin as we know her, sees her “sister” units all being tortured. Most likely to break any souls they have so the scientists don’t have to deal with their “free will” getting in the way of their plans. Maybe to bring in Terumi telling Noel that they became weapons, other groups heard of the guys making the PFDs and them getting god power and obviously would be trying to stop them/take this power for themselves, so they decided to make the PFDs into mindless robo-soldiers to fight them off. Origin gets mad and ends up making all of them sentient. Probably by Observing them as sentient, like she sees all of these things “like her” so obviously they must be sentient or at least have the potential for sentience. Kind of like Jotaro going “It’s a similar type of Stand '' to DIO and then getting Time Stop.

Anyways now mankind is fighting these robot girls who want revenge for being treated like tools, all humanity sees is all these in-human weapons killing them for no reason, just because destroying is what a weapon does, and with the Master Unit’s Phenomenon Intervention, they can just rewrite all of their failures into victories. Mankind sees the Origin and the Master Unit as basically the same thing, an evil machine god. His leads into why the Origin and Amaterasu can’t just be separated so Ragna doesn’t have to sacrifice himself to stop the time loops, the world sees The Origin and Amaterasu as one, there is no distinction. This is also apparently the time period when Clavis Alucard helped mankind make the Izayoi, with its Immortal Breaker and ability to resist Observation to fight against the Origin and the PFDs. Ironic that it eventually became known as the prototype for the Lux Sanctus: Murakumo, but I’ll talk about that later.

So what does mankind do? Make a Black Beast to destroy it. I mean we are told to believe that a Black Beast is the result of Azure Grimoire (or just a piece of the Azure) + Murakumo Unit = either a Black Beast if the fusion is imperfect, and a powerful Kusanagi God Slayer is done right. But tell me, why the hell would they build ANOTHER Prime Field Device to fight the PFDs? I will be getting into the exact nature of Black Beasts later. Mankind is apparently cool with the Black Beast destroying the world because so long as they can get the Azure and plug it into Takamagahara, which is basically a manmade Master Unit supercomputer, they can just reset time. But due to a bug or something, the Master Unit stopped this and when the world was destroyed she just made a new one based on her memories. This is the world the characters live in now. And since the last thing she remembers about the world is the Black Beast and obviously she doesn’t want the world to hate and try to kill her, the Black Beast enters the world with everyone having no context to its existence and no other enemy to fight, leading to the Black Beast going from a weapon of Mutually Assured Destruction, to the new Ultimate Evil Enemy of the World.

A few things we need to take note of here.

XBlaze and Bloodedge Experience would need to take place during the Age of Origin, between mankind discovering the Boundary but before the Prime Field War starts. I mean the two things needed for that part to start would be Prime Fields and Takamagahara, and while there is Es who is sort of a PFD, you could simply say that her model isn’t suited for full Boundary Exploration. I know I am really glossing over the Embryo stuff about her but I haven’t seen XBlaze stuff in a while and I would need to find a way to connect it with the Embryo in Centralfiction.

Apparently, there was some off-screen war in which Hihiirokane (the Soul Cutting Sword protected by Jubei’s clan, used by his brother Tomonori to fight Terumi, then put in Clavis’ grave) was used to fight some enemy, “Outside of logic”. I have no idea what this is and it feels like something that shouldn’t be glossed over.

Mankind made a Black Beast on their side to get the Azure and fight the Master Unit, which A. means that in a weird way the Black Beast was sort of on mankind’s side at first before the Origin retconned it into being the destroyer, and B. mankind would have needed to make a Murakumo Unit to fight the Murakumos, knowing that the Origin is making them sentient and turn on them, which kind of feels like a dumb move. But again, I will get to this later.

This will all lead into the Looping World. Now, this is weird because of the main thing which the loop revolves around, The Black Beast. It is either A. as Terumi says in CS, a Cauldron that went batshit (which is precedent by the short story That Which Is Inherited where Sector Seven tries to smelt a Nox but everything goes tits up and a Black Beast forms from the Cauldron (no souls or prime field required), or B. a Time Displaced Ragna and Nu. The Black Beast is a Self-Observing weapon. Observation in Blazblue basically means “deciding if/how something exists” by Observing itself, the Black Beast declares its existence in this time period, which means that no matter what time paradoxical BS you may try to pull, it will always appear (Kind of reminds me of the Time Medallions Clockwork gives team Phantom in Danny Phantom). But a less mind-mushing way to look at it could simply be that, no matter what, this will always happen. Like, say the Assassination of Kennedy is Observed as an event that must ALWAYS happen, then even if you find and stop the sniper. He is gonna still die. Maybe there is another sniper, maybe the sniper gets a good hit on you and manages to make another shot down the road, but anyway you slice it, Kenedy gets shot. That event is permanently locked in history and no matter what you do, this event is inevitable.

But suggestion A is weird because it could either mean that 1. He is talking about the first Black Beast from the Age of Origin, or 2. Since that part of the story probably wasn’t written yet and they are talking about this specific Beast, he is talking about the Dark War Black Beast, in which case there actually was a bit of time before the time loops started, or at least the very first loop, so then there was a bit of time before shit went sideways.

Maybe the Origin didn’t make a Black Beast war and it was all Terumi’s idea. The world would’ve continued as normal but since Terumi hated the Master Unit and mankind wanted power, they tried to make a Kusanagi but it fucked up and made a Black Beast, but without a publicly known Prime Field War to justify it, mankind doesn't see this as a necessary evil which will get the Azure and then reset the world better for them, it’s just a big evil monster.

Okay, that is my interpretation of the Age of Origin for my Blazblue rewrite idea. Not many changes since this is all pretty self-contained and not much needs expanding on. Just make sure to justify some actions and connect the three timelines. I probably missed out on a lot of finer details but I think I got the broad strokes of it. Feel free to correct me.

Next time I will cover the Dark War and hopefully go into explaining how I would make the Powerset make a bit more sense (Ars Magus, Grimoires, Nox Nyctores, the Azure Grimoire, and the Black Beast).

#blazblue #blazblue rewrites

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littlemisssquiggles · 4 years

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There are several theories for the WIP clip, from it being a flashback to Oscar's semblance being either mental time travel or time freezing. While I'm keeping my mind open since it is clearly WORK IN PROGRESS, that whatever the reason is for the tone only matters if it is done well, that RWBY is primarily hopepunk and isn't a stranger to mood whiplash and sprinkling light moments, I sincerely hope the context behind it is well done. What do you think the context is behind the clip?

Hiya Miki-chan. Well as I once told Key before, I’m not very big on the whole concept of Oscar’s semblance being related to time or time travel. In regards to semblances for the precious little prince, this squiggle meister is still more in favour of it being nullification or Oscar not having a semblance at all---with his true power being magic. Heck, I’m even for the concept of Oscar being an incubator for magic---in the sense that Oscar is able to take whatever percentage of Ozma’s magic is left coursing through him and amplify it to a point where Oscar unpredictably ends becoming more powerful than the likes of his predecessors.

I’m still clinging to my Oscar is the True Ozma, Oscar the Golden Cap and Oscar’s Creatures of Luxx Pinehead headcanons since I still believe it would’ve been interesting if Oscar became RWBY’s equivalent to the Golden Cap from the Wizard of Oz series.

I still believe that Oscar being able to relinquish control of Salem’s army of Winged Beringel Grimm---using his magic to transform these former nightmarish creations of destruction and darkness into spirts of light to aid their creator in combating the chaos brought forward by the Wicked Witch---is a super cool concept. Even now, in spite of everything we’ve gathered thus far on V8, this squiggle meister still believes Oscar turning Grimm into Luxx would’ve been an interesting ability for him to have as a budding wizard of light. But then again; y’know that’s just me here.

In respect to the WIP clip, despite others trying to convince me otherwise, I’m still in the court of the fans who believe that the clip is a flashback. I know folks have come to me implying that it can’t be a flashback using the setting of a frozen Mantle as their rationale---however, I’m sorry but that still doesn’t convince me. Given the fact that the clip was a work-in-progress, I have reason to wish to believe in the likelihood of the flashback possibility since, who’s to say that the Mantle backdrop used in the clip wouldn’t be tweaked or completely altered in the final revised version of this clip?

From my cookie-crumb experience working in animation, sometimes when working out shots, the animators may use previous rough drafts or versions of backgrounds as a means of aiding them in establishing the shot. Although we see a frozen Mantle used in the preview clip, for all we know, this background could possibly be a placeholder for when the real updated environments are done.

Basically, what I’m saying here in a nutshell is to not toss the flashback theory out just yet. Besides I don’t blame folks for wanting to believe in this theory since, in my opinion, it’s the one that makes the most sense to me. Given how V7 concluded with the arrival of Salem, Oscar being separated from the others, our heroes being deemed enemies of Atlas---the last thing I expected was for us to see some of our heroes’ joyriding through the streets of Mantle without a care in the world?

It would be a bit weird if things are looking grim and we have this weird carefree moment with Yang out with the JNPR boys…when Salem is lurking up in the dark clouds on the back of another Kaiju-sized Grimm followed up by an army of Grimm big enough to crush an entire kingdom.

It would be a bit awkward to have this type of scene when we basically have the potential battle and fall of Atlas and Mantle lurking above our heroes’ heads.

This is why I favoured the flashback theory. It would make more sense for this light-hearted moment to come from the past since the present is looking tense. I definitely like the concept of Yang reminiscing of a lighter time when she went out on a mission with Ren and Jaune and Oscar happened to tag along with them as the Xiao Long girl’s way of recalling a cherished memory she shared with Oscar after learning of his alleged death.

I liked that idea since it would’ve been a good way to finally see what the heroes’ genuine opinion of Oscar was. I would love for that to be the case. However, that being said, there is the flip side to this where the context of the clip could also suggest a scenario in which our heroes are forced to lie low and while the others wished to stay and remain in hiding, it’s Yang who chose to boldly go out into Mantle to possibly see if she could scavenge for supplies---such as dust and other equipment that could aid them in some way. I could even see this being one of the first moments of conflict within the group. Like let’s say…Ruby believes the group should stay in hiding and Yang disagrees with her and goes off on her own. And as a means of keeping the peace and avoiding any tussle between the sisters, Jaune and Ren agree to accompany Yang outside while the others remain back at the base.

It could even be a case where Pietro offers the trio a place of designation to investigate. In the clip, the place where the Yang and the JNPR boys were reminded me an awful lot of Pietro’s workshop in Mantle. So who’s to say that Pietro didn’t task Yang, Jaune and Ren with going to his workshop to salvage whatever equipment they could find and in doing this small mission, that’s where YJR ran into Oscar who returned to Pietro’s shop since it’s the one part of Mantle he’s familiar with. Therefore YJR discover that Oscar was alright and that’s where we go into the preview clip.

That could be the case too and while it could technically work; the one thing I don’t like about it is the odd tonal shift. It would be pretty strange if we went from things looking serious to this scene of some of our heroes riding around idly in empty Mantle out in the open like that. It would make Yang, Ren and Jaune look very reckless and again, it would mess with the TONE.

I dunno. As a far as I can say, anything can go at this point Miki-chan. I’m not discounting any possibility at this point. If I had to favour one over the other---it’s the flashback theory that I like best. If it turns out that it isn’t the flashback theory and is the other one then, just like you, I hope that whatever the CRWBY Writers do to kick us off into the new season, it’s done well and make senses within their own CONTINUITY.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #yang xiao long #rwby theories #rwby volume 8 theories #rwby volume 8 spoilers #miki-13 #squiggles answers

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quickspinner · 4 years

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Second Chance - Ch 1 The One That Got Away

Hello friends! Continuing posting my backlog of work that was posted to AO3 but not Tumblr. You can filter the backlog tag if you don’t want to see these fyi.

Summary:

It's been years since he last saw Marinette. He's a successful rock star and she's been traveling the world chasing her dreams. Luka thought he had grown up and moved on, but when Marinette lands back in Paris and seeks him out, it takes about ten seconds for him to figure out he can't resist a second chance.

Aged-up, total self-indulgent Lukanette fluff. There will be some implied sexual content later on but nothing explicit.

The beginning of this first chapter comes from the last chapter of I Will Give You the Stars, and while you don’t have to have read that one first, the two stories do go well together.

Luka tossed his sweaty hair back from his face and looked out at the blinding lights. “Okay guys,” he said into the microphone, picking idly at his guitar. “I think we’re gonna take it down a bit for this next song. But first, can we bring the house lights up please?”

Used to his quirks, the lighting crew responded quickly, dimming the lights in his eyes and turning up the lights on the crowd in the packed stadium.

“That’s better,” Luka said, skimming the crowd of fans waving and screaming wildly. “I know this might be kinda weird if this is your first show with me, but I just like to see you. Put some faces to my audience. This is a two way street, you and me, and I don’t wanna forget that.”

A small crowd of girls off to his right screamed in rehearsed unison, “WE LOVE YOU LUKA!”

He grinned toward them and winked. “Love you too, sweethearts.” As they shrieked excitedly he looked at the banner they were holding up, decorated with birthday cakes and glittery letters. “Seventeen huh? Nice. Happy birthday, babe.” The girl in the middle of the group wearing a sparkly tiara put her hands over her mouth, eyes huge, while her friends practically mobbed her. Luka chuckled and returned to his perusal of the crowd, meeting as many eyes as he could. Somewhere a group of fans screamed for Juleka and out of the corner of his eye he could see her raise a lace-gloved hand to blow them a kiss.

Suddenly he locked eyes with a familiar sapphire gaze and the rest of the stadium disappeared.

“Well hey there, beautiful,” he said softly, ignoring the several ladies in the line of his gaze who swooned or screamed. She knew who he was talking to, a slow smile spreading over her face. “I didn’t know you were back in Paris.” His grin widened as he took in the faces around her. “Wow, check it out Jules, looks like a bunch of old friends came to see us tonight. Awesome.”

He tore his gaze away with effort, and looked up to the balcony. He couldn’t see faces up there as well, but he let his gaze rake across slowly before nodding. “All right. Now that we know each other, let’s get back to the music, shall we?”

The lighting crew recognized their cue, and the blinding lights were back as the stadium went dark. Luka stepped back from the mic for a moment to take a deep, centering breath, focusing on the vibrations of the stage that he could feel even through his heavy boots, the feel of his guitar in his hands, and the song he could still hear ringing in his mind even though he couldn’t see her anymore.

Then his fingers began to move, and he stepped back up to the mic.

***

They didn’t get to meet their friends that night, which was just as well as far as Luka was concerned. He wasn’t ever at his best right after a show, sweaty and sore and exhausted and he definitely didn’t want to see her looking like he’d just been run over by his tour bus. But Rose—bless beautiful, sweet, romantic Rose—Rose had his back. When Juleka wasn’t looking, Rose slipped a piece of paper in his hand that had a phone number, a time, and the name of his favorite café. “I knew you’d be free in the morning,” she whispered. “I figured you wouldn’t mind missing out on the sleep.”

“You’re the best,” he whispered back, slipping the paper in his pocket as Rose glanced anxiously at Juleka.

Marinette was already waiting outside the next morning as he walked up, looking like she’d walked straight out of his dreams. She caught sight of him and smiled, turning to face him as his heart skipped a few beats.

He was a grown-ass man and a legitimate rock star, and that smile still did things to him.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Luka grinned, opening his arms. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hi Luka,” Marinette smiled, coming into his arms to hug him and then rising on her toes to exchange cheek kisses. “The show last night was great.”

“It was great to have you guys there,” Luka said, letting her go and opening the café door for her. “I have to admit, I’m getting kinda sick of big shows. I miss connecting with people the way I did when I was playing smaller venues.”

“The price of being a famous rock star,” she said as he pulled out a chair for her at his usual table.

“Not that famous,” he protested, sitting down across from her.

“Pretty famous,” she grinned, leaning her elbows on the table to look up at him.

He shrugged and grinned at the ground. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”

Marinette smiled. “I’m glad it hasn’t changed you, Luka.”

“So when did you get back in town?” Luka asked, ready to be done talking about himself.

“Two nights ago.”

“And the first thing you did was come see my show? I’m flattered.”

“Really, I was lucky,” Marinette admitted. “The others got tickets ages ago, before I knew I would be here, but Mylene’s at that stage of pregnancy where she’s falling asleep all the time, so she gave me her ticket. I think Ivan was relieved, actually.”

Luka picked up her hand. “Marinette, any time you want to come to a performance you know you just have to ask.”

“Says the man who’s changed his number four times in the last year,” she teased.

Luka winced. “Yeah this whole fame thing really puts a crimp in my social life sometimes. I have a whole new appreciation for what Adrien went through in school. At least not that many people recognize me like this.” He gestured to his casual outfit, black jeans and a plain grey tshirt that were a far cry from his elaborate stage costumes and makeup. “Sometimes people recognize the hair and the ink but mostly I get left alone as long as I keep a low profile.”

Marinette rested her chin on her hand and smiled up at him. “I like the hair. Must be cooler on stage this way, and it photographs better. Your eyes are too nice to be hidden all the time.”

“So my agent told me,” Luka sighed, running his hand over the short hair beneath the blue tinted locks falling from the top. “And you’re right, it is cooler. I like yours too,” he added, reaching out his free hand to tweak a loose strand on her shoulder. “You look good with it long. Anyway, I’m sorry about the phone thing. I’ll give you my assistant’s number before we leave, she can always put you through if I have to change it again. I don’t want to lose touch with you over something so stupid.” He realized suddenly that she was blushing, watching his thumb move over her fingers. Fortunately the waiter approached just at that moment, giving him an excuse to let go of her hand casually.

Luka was a regular here and he chatted easily with the staff as they came and went with water and menus, but he had a hard time keeping his eyes off Marinette. Damn, after all this time she still affected him the same way, drawing him in like a magnet. Like him, she was dressed casually, in jeans and a fitted shirt with a wide neck that left a distracting amount of her freckled shoulders and collarbone bare. She was everything he remembered, just matured, mellowed, more. He’d known in his gut that he was on a high-speed train to heartbreak the minute he’d locked eyes with her in the show.

“Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left,” Luka said as soon as the staff had left with their orders.

“So many things,” Marinette breathed. “Luka, it was amazing, I learned so much and I got to see and do so much.”

“Tell me,” he murmured, leaning on the table, already entranced by her passion. God, he needed his guitar, he could write whole albums on the look in her eyes right now.

She brightened, pulling out a battered sketchbook. Luka moved his chair around the table to be next to her and propped his chin in his hand, letting her voice wash over him as she took him on a tour of her dreams.

“I’m not boring you, am I?” she asked suddenly, looking up at him with slightly wide eyes that reminded him of the nervous girl who’d walked into his room all those years ago.

“Not in the least,” he told her and he knew he must be giving her some kind of look because her blush spread down to her neckline.

He was saved from doing something reckless by the arrival of their food. Clearing his throat, he moved back to his end of the table and asked about her parents.

They talked about their families as they ate, the crazy things Anarka got up to that Luka had to bail her out of (sometimes with the police, once literally when there was a mishap on the boat), how Marinette’s parents had coped with her two-year absence, what their mutual friends had been up to.

And she told him about the things that hadn’t been so great about her trip, the jet lag and the long hours, picking up from one city and moving on just when she’d finally gotten comfortable, the frustrations of frequently having conversations in English when it was neither conversant’s first language.

“Every time I’d get depressed I’d feel ungrateful,” she told him, idly picking apart what was left of her food. “Like, so many people entered that competition and out of everyone they chose me to have this fantastic experience in all these different design houses, and there I was acting homesick and lonely. And...meeting so many new people made me realize how rare and precious my true friends are...and how maybe there were some I didn’t appreciate enough.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, biting her lip, and he swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say.

Before he could, she pushed her plate away and abruptly changed the subject. “So, when are you going to put out another calendar?” She ginned.

Luka groaned and put his face down on the table. “Please tell me you didn’t see one of those.”

“Oh I very much did,” she laughed. “If I can find it once I’m unpacked maybe you’ll sign it for me. October was my favorite, though July was probably the most...hmm...inspiring.” She laughed as he put his arms over his head, partly to cover the brilliant red that he was sure covered his neck and ears. “Luka Couffaine, are you actually embarrassed?”

“Thoroughly,” he said from beneath his arms. Sighing, he forced himself to sit up, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “I try really hard to pretend that whole thing never happened, honestly. I felt like such a—“ He shook his head.

“Was it really awful?” She asked, her amusement turning to sympathy.

“I hated every minute of it,” he said bluntly. “I didn’t want to do it but a bunch of things happened at once right then and my family really needed the money. And I figured, better me than Juleka, who knows what they’d have wanted her to do and her fans are way scarier than mine.” He made a face. “Don’t tell her I said that, she’ll get all pissed at me for getting all big brothery on her.”

“I’m sorry, Luka, I didn’t know.” Marinette reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I won’t tease you about it anymore.”

“Thanks.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “October, huh? That was the black and white one, right? That one wasn’t so bad. At least it was artistic. And I got to wear actual pants.”

Marinette giggled. “And you made them look good. It was a good picture. Sexy, but soulful. And with the guitar and the ripped jeans, it felt like I was seeing you, and not a stranger who kinda looked like you, you know.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Honestly it wasn’t the pictures I minded so much, my agent kept the really embarrassing ones out of it and we made sure they were destroyed, just I could have lived without being treated like a doll without any feelings or dignity.”

“Mmm, I see that a lot. A lot of designers and stylists stop seeing models as people. I guess knowing Adrien for so many years made it hard for me to think that way. The designers I was shadowing got really frustrated with me because of it.”

“Maybe I’m hopelessly optimistic but I think your way will pay off in the end.” He winked at her. “I can guarantee that if I ever have to do anything like that again, I’ll be calling you to be my stylist. If this tour weren't already under contract I’d hire you on the spot.”

Marinette kicked him under the table. “You’re biased, Luka.”

“Always have been when it comes to you. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Luka,” she began and then hesitated. He waited patiently, though curiosity was eating him alive as she licked her lips and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Listen I know you’re really busy and your schedule’s kind of crazy and it was already super nice of you to make time to have lunch with me—“ Luka had to cover the smile tugging at his lips with his hand at this very Marinette ramble. “But I was wondering, if you might want to have dinner with me, um...as a date.” She swallowed and looked up at him and he could not believe that she thought for one second he might actually say no.

“Hell yeah,” he grinned, reaching out to take her hand. “I mean I do have to check my schedule, but I’ll make time. I’ll call you? Probably not tonight, but no later than tomorrow evening, I promise.”

His phone alarm went off in his pocket before he’d even finished speaking, and he sighed, pulling it out.

“You have to go?” Marinette smiled crookedly.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, silencing the alarm and putting his phone away. He reached across the table and took her both hands in his. “It’s been great seeing you again Marinette. I’m so glad we’ve been able to catch up.” He kissed her hands as he stood up. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Was everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Couffaine?”

Luka turned, grasping the hand offered by the suited man behind him. “Fantastic as always, Gerard, and how many times do I have to tell you to call me Luka?” Gerard smiled under his mustache but didn’t reply. “Please let the lady have whatever she’d like for dessert on my tab, okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Couffaine.”

Luka rolled his eyes and smiled back at a Marinette one more time with a quick wave, her own smile warming him as he turned to go.

The minute the studio's car service picked him up, his phone was in his hand. “Lucille,” he said when his assistant picked up, hoping she couldn’t hear the idiotic grin on his face. “Yeah, I’m on my way, but have you got a few minutes? Can you run me through what my schedule looks like? I need you to free up an evening for me in the next week.”

It took more than a few minutes, and he had to cancel three meetings and move back a rehearsal, but he could not bring himself to care.

Because when the one that got away suddenly walks back into your life and asks you out, who gives a crap about meetings?

#quickspins #backlog #yes give me all the lukanette hugs #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlfics #second chance

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rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Lockdown Blues - A Queen Gen Fic

Summary: Freddie has made it his mission to keep everyone’s spirits up while they’re stuck at home. He doesn’t think the others have noticed - but they have, and they're ready to remind him that they have his back too.

Wordcount: ~2,000

Tags/Warnings: Vague modern & early Queen AU, Gen, H/C. There are references to the boys being stuck at home for an indefinite amount of time. The cause for this is never specifically discussed, but given the current world situation please read with care.

Notes: Written for a prompt from @tenderbri though I made a few small tweaks to it. I hope you still enjoy this!

Living with his three friends and band mates was the best idea Freddie had ever had. They all had their moods, of course, and fights were inevitable, but the anger never lasted long and the flat was always more full of laughter than of shouting.

At least, it had been that way. Lately, though, with all of them stuck at home together, things are unusually quiet as the stress and worry slowly sinks over the household.

It doesn’t take long for Brian to slip into one of his low moods. He hardly leaves his bedroom for days at a time - though Freddie suspects that he goes up to the roof in the middle of the night to try and look at the stars. He still has his thesis to work on but he’s not making much progress on it. No matter how many times they reassure Brian that he doesn’t have to be completely productive right now, Freddie knows that their soft-hearted guitarist is weighed down with guilt for not using this time to do more.

John is the opposite. John finished up a semester’s worth of coursework almost overnight, and has been pacing the apartment desperate for something to do ever since then. He mostly spends his days now going over their joint finances with a fine-toothed comb to figure out how to stretch their meager savings with none of them working at the moment. If any of them can make things work it’ll be John, but the tight set line of his mouth as he tallies up the figures isn’t an encouraging sight.

With the stall temporarily closed and their gigs cancelled for the foreseeable future, Roger has been in a bear of a mood. The only thing stopping him from chain-smoking to deal with the stress is the threat of running out of cigarettes altogether, and without a kit in the house he’s taken to drumming on any available flat surface at all hours of the day. Freddie has half a mind to break his sticks just to get some peace and quiet, unless John does it first.

As for Freddie… Well, he’s actually almost fine. He’s worried, of course he is, but the four of them are safe and as near as they can tell their families are safe as well. He doesn’t have schoolwork to stress about, he’s always been hopeless with the finances, and the forced downtime has inspired a number of new songs that they can work on when they can get back in the studio.

So Freddie is fine - but his friends are not, and Freddie takes it upon himself to cheer them up however he can.

He gives Roger his new songs so he can work out drum parts for them. He makes tea for John while he shuffles around their budget for the third time that week, and he gently coaxes Brian out of the house to go grocery shopping in hopes that the fresh air will brighten his spirits. He gathers everyone together for game nights, and subtly breaks up fights before they can really begin, and does everything in his power to keep their moods up… but it’s not enough.

Brian still stays quiet and burdened by his unnecessary guilt. John still obsessively pours over their finances. Roger still paces through the apartment like a caged tiger on a short fuse. And Freddie knows that he can’t fix this completely, that there’s only so much he can do when the world is going to pieces around them, but he still feels like there has to be something more he can do to help.

Freddie lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wracking his mind for something, anything, he can try to make things a bit better for his friends. He started making a list an hour or so ago but now it lies discarded at his side, because all of his ideas are utterly useless.

He can’t cook them a nice dinner because, well, he can’t cook. Period. He’s already forced so many game nights on them that he thinks they might riot if he even thinks the word “Scrabble”. There’s no extra money to pick up a treat at the grocery store, and there’s no use in trying to surprise them with a new movie when John can pirate anything they could ever want. He’s written so many songs already and each has only been a passing distraction for Roger, and Brian’s mood has been so bleak that there’s no room for music in his world at the moment at all.

“This is pointless,” Freddie grumbles as he flings an arm dramatically across his eyes. “This is all fucking pointless.”

And maybe Freddie isn’t as fine as he thought he was, because as soon as he has that thought something inside him breaks, just a little. Because all he’s done, since this entire mess started, was try to make his friends happy. And if he can’t do that anymore… then what’s the point?

Freddie might have a small breakdown but it’s quiet and contained. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t throw his notebook across the room. He just sighs, and rolls over to face the wall, and gives up.

Freddie sleeps, for a little while. And he smokes out his window until his lungs burn, and when John knocks on the door around dinner time Freddie, in a fit of pique, pretends not to hear him. If Brian can hide in his room for days on end, then so can I, Freddie thinks bitterly, though the pettiness of the thought fills him with shame.

He doesn’t want to get up the next morning. His one distraction is gone, and without it he doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to keep pretending that he’s alright. He doesn’t think he can go out there and smile at his friends and make John tea and give Roger new songs and coax Brian into being social for a little while. And if Freddie can’t cheer up his friends he thinks that maybe he should just stay in here, so at least his foul mood doesn’t make things worse for them.

And just when Freddie thinks he’s made up his mind, and he’s not going to leave this room until he absolutely has to… he smells something burning.

Freddie is out of bed in a flash, because what if Brian can’t smell the smoke in his room and Roger is outside having a cigarette and John slipped and fell and can’t get help and-

The scene in kitchen is certainly one of chaos, but not quite of the sort that Freddie had been expecting to see.

There is something burning but it’s just in the microwave, and Freddie sees Roger fish out a charred bag of popcorn as Brian throws open the kitchen window. John is stirring something in a pot on the stove and shouting at Roger, who’s shouting back at him as he throws the bag into the sink, and Brian grabs a tea towel and starts waving it try to clear the smoke.

And they’re smiling.

Freddie can’t remember the last time he’s seen all three of them smiling like this.

Roger is the first to notice Freddie standing in the doorway to the kitchen and he says, “Oh, shit! Freddie- fuck, you weren’t supposed to see this yet, it’s not ready!”

“See what? You three nearly burning the place down?” Freddie says. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out a bit too sharp. A day ago that would have gotten Brian shrinking in on himself, and Roger gearing up for a fight, and John going tense and silent - but today they all just laugh.

“That wasn’t the plan, no,” Brian says, and there’s amusement in his voice. Freddie hadn’t quite realized how much he missed hearing that, until now. “Roger found some old bags of popcorn buried in the back of the cupboard, and John looked up a few recipes for seasonings, and we thought-”

“Movie night!” Roger finishes for him. “Your pick, Fred!”

Freddie blinks at them and considers that. A movie night does sound like a good plan, and it’s nice to see the three of them in such high spirits. “Alright,” he says at last. “But you all should pick the movies-”

“No,” John interrupts. “This night is for you.”

“What?”

“We know what you’ve been doing, you know,” Roger says. “Distracting us, trying to cheer us up… and don’t get me wrong, we appreciate it, but it’s your turn now.”

“You’ve been stressed too. You may be a bit better at hiding it, but we’ve finally noticed. So you pick the movies tonight, whatever you want to watch,” Brian adds. He tosses the tea towel down on the counter and wrinkles his nose. “God, Rog, the whole flat is going to stink for the rest of the day!”

“Then light a candle or something, Brian, I don’t know what to tell you!”

“With the way things are going, if I do that then we’ll actually burn the place down!”

And Freddie laughs. Roger, Brian, and John are visibly startled and Freddie is actually a little startled too, because it’s genuine. He’s done plenty of laughing since this whole mess started but it’s almost always been forced, a show of normalcy to try to make his friends feel better - but it’s not forced anymore.

“Thank you,” he says and he means it, with every fiber of his being. “Thank you, my darlings. I needed this.”

Roger hip-checks him as he walks by to put another bag of popcorn into the microwave. “We know,” Roger says, and behind him Brian quickly - and a little frantically - adjusts the settings before Roger pushes the start button. “So, what movies are we watching?”

Freddie thinks about that for a moment. “How much alcohol do we still have?”

“Enough,” John tells him. “Why…?”

“And can I really pick any movie, or do you lot have veto power?”

The three of them exchange a bit of a worried look, but Brian admits, “We, ah- No. No, we weren’t going to give ourselves veto power.”

“But I’m regretting that decision now,” Roger mutters.

“Good.” Freddie beams at them. “We’re watching Cats.”

“No,” Roger says immediately. “God, please, no…”

“The new movie, or the stage play…?” Brian asks, though he doesn’t sound too thrilled by either possibility.

Freddie grins wickedly as he says, “Both. One, and then the other. I’ll let you choose which one we watch first.”

The three of them look pained and John is the first to sigh and say. “Well. We did say he could pick anything.”

John leaves the popcorn making up to Brian so he can go find copies of the movies to pirate. Roger also decides to leave the popcorn to Brian and instead takes control of the alcohol, while Freddie lights a few candles in the living room to help mask the faint burning smell still drifting through the flat.

By the time the food and drink are squared away, John has the first movie queued up and the four of them settle onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Someone’s drink is guaranteed to get spilled, and Roger is already flicking popcorn at the TV when he thinks no one is looking, and it’s messy and chaotic and loud in a way that none of them have been in weeks.

Maybe tomorrow Brian will withdraw again, and John’s brow will furrow with stress, and Roger will throw another pair of drumsticks out the window in frustration - but Freddie isn’t worrying about any of that right now. He’s not worrying about how to put on a brave face and cheer up his friends, and he’s not worrying about the future or the world outside their door.

All Freddie is thinking, as the opening credits draw to a close and Brian makes a horrified noise as the movie starts in earnest, is that living with his three friends was absolutely the best decision that Freddie ever made.

#queen fic #queen band fic #freddie mercury fic #queen au #queen band au #my fic #freddie #all four #(once again I fail to keep fics under 1k when filling prompts asdhfkdsjlsak)#(anyway I hope you like this Em!!! even if I changed it up from your prompt a little!!)#(also no shame to Cats it's one of my favorite musicals even if the 2019 movie was an atrocity before god)#1YearFics

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here4theheartbreak · 4 years

Text

Heaven in Your Arms (YoonMinSeok)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: YoonMinSeok (Hoseok x Jimin x Yoongi) Genre(s): smut, fluff

Rating: Explicit

Tags: polyamory, pwp, fluff, smut, getting together, first time, dirty talk, oral, rough, coming untouched, threesome, bottom!Jimin, switch!Yoongi, top!Hoseok

Summary: Jimin’s always had a crush on Hoseok and Yoongi. They’ll never notice. Until they do.

Word Count: ~3.8k

Hoseok stuck his head into the tent. “You two up?”

“Of course. Come in,” Jimin sat up on his cot, smiling brightly. Yoongi peeked out from his sleeping bag.

“Did you warn the crew?”

“Yeah – they know we’ll shut the camera off.” Hoseok stepped in and zipped the tent, setting a couple of bottles down before moving over to the camera. He waved before shutting it off. “Don’t need fans to see everything, eh?”

Yoongi snorted. “They wish. Get over here.” He sat up, kicking himself out of the sleeping bag.

Hoseok climbed onto the cot with him, their mouths meeting in a gentle kiss.

“You know, I can sleep with Jungkook tonight if you guys want to spend some time together,” Jimin offered, rubbing the back of his neck. He was happy for his friends, truly. Finding love with as busy as their lives had become was near impossible. But he was a little envious, if he was telling the truth.

“You don’t have to, I won’t sleep here. Just wanted to hang out with Yoongi a little,” Hoseok said. “You should stay. Turn on some music.”

Yoongi stepped over and grabbed the drinks, handing one to Jimin and Hoseok before settling back down on the cot. “This has been such a fun vacation,” Hoseok admitted. He bopped his head a little when Jimin turned on music on his phone, setting it on the floor of the tent between the cots.

“It has. It’s so beautiful here,” Jimin agreed.

“And I feel like everyone is pretty relaxed.”

“Namjoon-hyung’s a little tense,” Jimin admitted, and Yoongi nodded.

“I noticed. We should try to help him out when we can. He’s taking a lot of heat from the company to get our next album in order.”

“It’s a big deal, I get it. But he doesn’t need to do it all on his own,” Hoseok said.

“We’ll talk to him tomorrow. Find some time without cameras around,” Yoongi suggested. Jimin nodded in agreement.

The three grew silent, sipping their drinks and listening to the music. Jimin leaned back and looked up, letting himself relax. The night was silent save for the sound of their music, and he could see the moonlight filtering through the fabric of their tent. A quick glance over told him what he’d assumed; Hoseok and Yoongi had succumbed to their own needs for the moment, bodies pressed together as they shared deep kisses.

Jimin closed his eyes, beginning to sway to the music. Maybe someday he’d be as lucky as them. He had always harbored feelings for Hoseok, and for Yoongi, if he was being honest. Polyamorous, the internet had called it. Not like he would ever get to experience that feeling of fulfillment – not with his life. But maybe someday he could find someone as good as at least one of them. Someone that made him smile the way Yoongi did, or laugh the way Hoseok did. A man who got his heart racing the way those two did when they touched him or held him. A man who he could kiss the way they kissed each other, who had a soft mouth and firm hands, that could hold his own when Jimin had his moments, that Jimin could take care of and be taken care of equally. He let himself get lost in his own daydream, rising and beginning to dance in the small area between their cots.

With music, Jimin tended to forget everything else. The feeling of the beat through his bones and muscles, the way his body swayed, the feel of his hands on his hips, under his shirt, the tempo that licked his joints and urged them onward.

It wasn’t until Yoongi made that soft noise that Jimin remembered. He snapped his eyes open, still dancing, and smiled sheepishly at the two. They’d stopped kissing and were watching Jimin intently, their eyes dark.

“Should I go?” Jimin asked, stilling his body.

“Don’t stop,” Hoseok whispered. His voice had a lower, gritty tone to it. It went straight to Jimin’s stomach, knotting it and making him think far less than chaste thoughts about his best friend.

“Don’t you two want… A moment?”

Yoongi shook his head. “We were watching you.”

“Make it sound so dirty.” Jimin laughed a little, but continued to sway to the music. He kept his eyes open this time, watching the two.

They were focused entirely on him; their heads close together. Hoseok was rubbing Yoongi’s thigh in lazy, circular motions. Yoongi leaned over, whispering something Jimin couldn’t make out in Hoseok’s ear.

Hoseok rose, moving over to Jimin. He began to dance with him, and Jimin smiled sheepishly. They danced together all the time, there was no reason that this felt so intimate… Except for the way Hoseok was touching his stomach and hips, the intensity of his gaze. Jimin felt his own heart begin to pick up speed as the song ended and another began, something a little slower, a little deeper.

Hoseok leaned close to Jimin as he danced. “I know you think about us, Jimin.”

When Jimin tried to pull back, Hoseok wrapped an arm around his middle, holding him close. They were more grinding than dancing at this point, and Jimin was a bit concerned his heart was about to jump from his throat into the cool New Zealand air when Hoseok’s lips brushed over his ear. “You know, we want you too.”

Yoongi rose then, pressing himself against Hoseok and Jimin. Jimin gasped, meeting his dark gaze.

“You okay?”

Jimin shook his head no. “You—You’re together.”

“Mhm.”

“This isn’t—I can’t—”

Hoseok stepped back, as did Yoongi, giving Jimin a little breathing room. “Why not?” Yoongi asked.

“You two are so happy together. I couldn’t come between that. I didn’t mean to show it. My feelings. I was dealing with it. I would never – You two are family.”

“Jiminie,” Hoseok cooed. He stepped a little closer and grabbed Jimin’s hands. “We are family. And we are together. We have been for years. You think we haven’t seen the way you look at us? The way you’ve been suffering in silence so we’re happy? We don’t want that.”

“So—What?” Jimin asked, looking between the two.

“So… Think your heart’s big enough for two?” Yoongi asked softly.

The silence stretched between the three, broken only by the quiet music on his phone, the distant noise of other campers, and the soft scratch when the wind brushed the tent. Hoseok and Yoongi waited as Jimin looked between them. He was waiting for the punch line, the laugh, something. When it didn’t come, he reached out, touching Hoseok’s cheek, and then Yoongi’s.

“Please don’t be teasing,” he finally whispered.

“We weren’t planning on bringing it up here, but… This is something we’ve been discussing,” Hoseok said.

“You deserve to be happy too. And we—We can make you happy, we think,” Yoongi said.

“Both of you. And… Me?”

The two nodded. Jimin sagged a little, laughing breathlessly. Hoseok wrapped his arms around him, grinning. “You gonna make it?”

“Only if you both kiss me this very second.”

Hoseok laughed then. He pulled Jimin closer, brushing his mouth playfully over Jimin’s parted lips. Jimin groaned and grabbed the back of his neck, pushing their mouths together harder. He reached out with his free hand, grabbing for Yoongi as his tongue brushed over Hoseok’s bottom lip. He pulled back and turned enough for Yoongi to move forward, their mouths meeting in a kiss just as desperate. Hoseok planted kisses against Jimin’s neck as he kissed Yoongi, their bodies pressed together as they stood in the middle of the tent.

Back and forth, Jimin shared kisses with each, pulling back to let them kiss one another every few moments. His entire body was on fire, warm despite the cool air. He needed more – and he could feel that they did as well, their bodies firm against his own. He glanced at the cot.

“That won’t be comfortable for all of us,” he lamented.

“This will work.” Yoongi backed up and grabbed his sleeping back, unzipping it. He grabbed Jimin’s and did the same, laying them on the floor of the tent. Hoseok shoved the cot out of the way and nodded. “It will… But we don’t have to, Jimin—Don’t feel like you need to do more than this.”

“I’ve been fantasizing about this for years, hyung.”

Jimin stripped his jacket off, tossing it down to add more padding to the sleeping bag pile. Yoongi and Hoseok did the same. Jimin stretched out first, looking up at the two.

“Be right back,” Yoongi said. He hurried over to his bag while Hoseok stretched out next to Jimin, their mouths meeting again. Hoseok slid his hands over Jimin’s back and waist, grinding their hips together as they kissed. Jimin could feel his hardness through his pants, his own aching in the confines of his jeans. He whined, reaching down and cupping Hoseok’s cock.

“Don’t forget about me,” Yoongi grumbled with no venom, settling behind Jimin. He placed a little bottle of lube nearby. Jimin opened his mouth to speak, but it was lost in a gasp when Yoongi pushed his hips against his ass, letting Jimin feel just how needy he was.

Hoseok and Yoongi worked together to strip Jimin of his clothes as quickly as possible, laying over him and kissing him to quiet him and keep him warm in the cool air. Jimin struggled to grab for their clothes, whispering their names as their lips traced patterns over each inch of skin that was revealed. When Hoseok pressed a kiss to his cock, however, Jimin cried out, his hips snapping up.

“Please—”

“You’re so responsive,” Hoseok teased. He gripped his cock and stroked it firmly, laughing a little when Jimin writhed against their makeshift bedding.

“God, he’s gonna come so pretty for us,” Yoongi praised, tweaking Jimin’s nipple in his callused fingers.

“Hyung—” Jimin whined. He looked up at Yoongi, then down at Hoseok. “Please… I need you.”

“Which one of us?” Yoongi teased.

“Both.”

“Fuck.” Hoseok’s curse was almost a breath. He rose, dragging Yoongi to his feet before stripping out of his own clothing. Yoongi stripped as well. Jimin laid still, trying to take in every moment. They’d all been naked together before – it was inevitable living as close as they had for the past seven years. But this – this was new. He sat up when the two were in their boxers, reaching out and stroking them through the fabric. He had fantasized – sure, but having them both in front of him, so hard and willing – Jimin was entirely overwhelmed. He reached for Hoseok, then hesitated, reaching for Yoongi.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi said. He stroked his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “Just take your time. We’re both here.”

Jimin took a steadying breath at Yoongi’s words. He grabbed the hem of Hoseok’s boxers, pushing them down. The air pushed out of his chest when his cock sprang free, long and curved, as hard as could be. Jimin stroked it once gently, experimentally, and Hoseok hissed.

He moved to Yoongi, pushing his boxers down with a bit more determination, confidence building the further he went. Yoongi was just as long, but a bit thicker, the tip welling with precome the moment it was exposed.

Jimin took each in his hand, stroking gently. He placed a chaste kiss to Hoseok’s tip, then Yoongi’s, before wrapping his lips around Yoongi’s tip and sucking gently. Yoongi grunted, burying his fingers in Jimin’s hair.

“Gentle, hyung,” Hoseok warned.

Jimin pulled back, looking up at them. “He doesn’t have to be… Neither do you.” Jimin shifted, taking Hoseok into his mouth and sucking as well. Hoseok swore, setting a hand on the back of his neck.

He took turns, moving between the two with his mouth, sucking the one that he wasn’t giving attention to. His entire body was flushed and warm, the quiet moans and grunts of pleasure urging him on. Their fingers tensed and relaxed, their tones changed as he tried new things, learning their bodies for the first – but not the last – time.

It was Yoongi that pushed him back first. “Lay down for us. It’s our turn.”

Jimin obeyed, stretching out on his back. Hoseok and Yoongi shared a glance, seeming to speak without words. Yoongi sank to his elbows and knees, pushing Jimin’s legs apart and dragging him close. Jimin made a small noise, his cheeks beginning to burn when the reality hit him.

“You don’t have to,” he worried.

“Well how else will you be ready for us?” Yoongi asked, his gaze dark and playful. Jimin swallowed hard. Hoseok settled behind Yoongi.

“Don’t worry… He knows what he’s doing, baby. Hand me the lube.” Hoseok held his hand out. Jimin grabbed it, passing it down to him. He laid back, closing his eyes and breathing deep to relax.

“Have you never…” Yoongi’s voice was soft, unaccusatory. Jimin shook his head.

“No. I mean sex, sure. Girls and guys, I’ve... Topped. And my own fingers, but… Never… Another person like this.”

“Do you want to?”

Jimin hesitated for a moment, then looked at the two. He nodded. “I do. Be gentle at first, okay?”

“Of course. Tell me if you need me to stop,” Yoongi said, soothing his hand over Jimin’s stomach.

He dropped his head, planting kisses along the length of his cock before moving lower. He held Jimin open and brushed his tongue over his opening, dragging a surprised gasp from Jimin’s mouth.

Yoongi groaned contentedly then, and set to work, shifting between kitten licks and determined nudges. He used his fingers as well, nipping and kissing the tender skin of Jimin’s thighs and ass to distract from the insistent press of his digits. Jimin writhed under the attention, burying his fingers in Yoongi’s shaggy hair, his name a mantra as he begged for more.

When Jimin finally opened his eyes, he very nearly came from the sight alone. Yoongi was gazing up at him from between his legs, his muscles bulging as he worked two fingers into Jimin’s ass. His own ass was in the air, held open by Hoseok as he ate him out.

Yoongi chuckled against his thigh. “Like what you see?”

Jimin nodded, not trusting his voice.

“I’m so fucking hard,” Hoseok whined. He leaned back, laying his cock over Yoongi’s ass. Jimin whined.

“Aw, you want it?” Yoongi teased. “I think you’re ready... Who do you want first?”

“I don’t care,” Jimin panted.

Hoseok and Yoongi shifted, each moving so they were straddling one of Jimin’s legs. They stroked themselves lazily, looking down at Jimin like he was a dinner spread and they were starving.

Their attention shifted to one another, sharing an almost sweet kiss. “You go, Yoongi-hyung. You’re the eldest,” Hoseok said.

“I don’t have condoms,” Yoongi worried. “I could see if the crew—“

“Bare is good,” Jimin said a little too eagerly, his cheeks burning immediately. “I— I mean I know you’re clean, and... I don’t mind.”

“Want us to pull out?”

“No. The idea of someone coming in me...” He shrugged. “It’s a turn on.”

“Goddamnit, you’re perfect,” Yoongi mumbled. He leaned down and kissed Jimin’s mouth. “Just relax, let me know if it hurts.”

“Of course.”

Hoseok moved, letting Yoongi settle between his legs. He positioned himself behind Yoongi, kissing his shoulder. He reached around, slicking Yoongi’s cock for him.

“Make our Jimin feel good, hyung,” he murmured, lining them up. Yoongi gripped Jimin’s legs, letting Hoseok guide him in, nudging past his rim, stretching around the thick tip. All three gasped when Jimin’s body gave in, letting his tip slide home.

“There we go, gonna fuck him good, huh?” Hoseok praised. Yoongi groaned, letting his head fall back. He began to thrust gently, driving more of his cock in on each twitch of his hips.

Jimin whined and moaned, his back arching as Yoongi’s cock filled him. A deep, needy ache had settled into the pit of his stomach, desperation sparking like fire each thrust.

“Is it good?” He asked when Yoongi was able to pick up a steady pace, driving deep each time.

“So good,” Yoongi praised. “So fucking tight, I just wanna...” he grunted, shivering. “God, I wanna take you so hard, Jimin.”

“I can take it,” Jimin whispered. “I wanna make you both feel good.”

Yoongi pulled back slowly, hissing when his cock slipped free.

“Please—“ Jimin whispered. Hoseok took his place quickly though, and Jimin cried out when he was flipped onto his stomach.

Hoseok laid over him, pressing kisses to his shoulder. “Wanna be fucked, baby boy?” He asked. Jimin whined, nodding.

Hoseok lined up and drove in, laughing when Jimin screamed his name. “Too rough?” There was a teasing edge to his voice that had Jimin’s cock throbbing.

“Never,” Jimin panted.

“Good boy... Now suck our hyung’s cock.” Jimin looked up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. He opened his mouth, letting Yoongi slide his cock over his tongue. He began to suck with vigor, his cries muffled as Hoseok began to snap his hips forward.

Jimin was jerked between the two, gagging on Yoongi’s cock each time Hoseok slammed in. His own cock ached, pinned under his belly, desperate for release. Hoseok’s teeth found his shoulder, biting a bruise as he fucked into him. Jimin pulled back, crying his name. He reached out, finding Hoseok’s hand. Their fingers twined, a gentle touch despite the rough moment.

Hoseok pulled free, holding Jimin open. He spat on his hole, whispering a soft praise.

“Yoongi-hyung... Come back here.”

Yoongi helped Jimin onto his knees and kissed him deeply.

“My turn... I’m gonna come in you, okay?”

Jimin grinned crookedly, nodding.

“You come whenever you need to.”

He moved back and the two settled Jimin back onto his back. Yoongi slid back in, moaning softly.

Hoseok laid next to him, lazily making out with him as Yoongi began to thrust.

Their tongues brushed together, fingers twined even as Jimin whimpered for Yoongi, his cock leaking onto his belly. Hoseok pulled back, brushing his hair out of his face. “Look so pretty, Jiminie. Gonna come so nice for us.”

“Please—“ Jimin kissed him again.

“I know. Yoongi-hyung will take care of you, baby. I’m gonna go take care of him now.”

Hoseok rose and settled behind Yoongi, slicking his cock. Yoongi slowed his thrusts, meeting Jimin’s gaze. He moaned soft, low and drawn out as Hoseok pressed into him, and Jimin felt his heart skip a beat. He’d never seen a more beautiful expression on Yoongi’s face. He leaned up, kissing Yoongi hard.

The three moved together, guided by Hoseok’s thrusts. Yoongi held tight to Jimin and Jimin writhed under him, watching both move above him. He was fighting his climax, not wanting this to end.

Ultimately, it was Yoongi that came first. His cock began to twitch hard against Jimin’s inner walls, and he gasped. Hoseok swore, his own hips twitching.

Jimin stroked over his back, moaning soft praises as he was filled for the first time.

Yoongi pulled his softening cock out gently, and Jimin whined.

“Don’t worry, baby. We won’t leave you hanging,” Hoseok assured him. He helped Yoongi settle next to Jimin before taking his place and sliding into Jimin’s used ass. He picked up a deep, hard pace, dragging a moan out of Jimin.

Yoongi grabbed his hand, kissing his shoulder lazily as the two chased their orgasms. Jimin threw his head back, gripping Yoongi’s hand hard. His ass clenched around Hoseok’s cock as he came, spilling hot and thick ropes onto his stomach. Hoseok swore, his thrusts becoming erratic at the sudden tightness. He came while Jimin was still in the throes of his orgasm, the steady throb of his cock against Jimin’s prostate dragging the pleasure on further.

Hoseok barely shifted enough to flop next to Jimin, looking just as boneless as Jimin felt. His entire body felt loose and relaxed, and he wasn’t sure he could move even if he wanted to. He reached out his free hand, finding Hoseok’s and twining their fingers.

“You were amazing,” Yoongi whispered, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin grinned, not even bothering to hide the way the compliment made him swell with pride.

“It felt so good, I— I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted.

“Say we’ll do it again,” Hoseok said. “Say you’ll be our boyfriend.”

“What? Yes, of course,” Jimin laughed a little. “Do you even have to ask?” He kissed each of them gently, his heart pounding a mile a minute. He had dreamed this would happen someday, with someone comparable… But he got his wish. He got the men he’d longed for for so many years; they were his. He was theirs.

Hoseok groaned softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I have to go back to the camper.”

“Do you? Can’t you just make up some reason you stayed in our tent?”

“Nah, I promised the crew I’d go back.”

“Cuddle with us a while more,” Jimin asked.

Yoongi rose slowly, groaning. “Let me clean us up first.” He padded over to his bag, digging out a packet of wet wipes to clean off their bodies before a shower became a complete necessity. When he was finished, he flopped back down, snuggling up against Jimin’s side. “He’s gotta go but you’re sleeping with me,” he buried his face in Jimin’s neck, making Jimin laugh and shove him playfully.

“Sure, but when the camera goes back on we should probably be in our own cots.”

“No fun.”

Hoseok and Yoongi both chuckled. Jimin sighed. “Will we tell the others?”

“Of course. No need to hide it.”

“They’ll understand.”

Jimin nodded. “I know but… What if someone else finds out?”

“Hobi and I managed to hide it this long. We’ll do just fine, Jimin. No need to worry.”

Jimin smiled a little, shifting to rest his head on Hoseok’s shoulder. He took Yoongi’s hand, rubbing small circles on his palm. “You guys really chose me.”

“Of course we did, Jimin… We’re sorry it took us so long,” Hoseok said. He kissed Jimin’s forehead. “But we have plenty of time to make up for it.”

“It’s a dream come true.”

“You know, for us too,” Yoongi said. “We’ve talked about asking you for a while, but we were worried you’d say no, or your crush was fleeting or you liked one but not the other… Knowing you want us both… You care for us both… This is heaven for us, Jimin.”

Jimin felt his heart clench. Yoongi was a man of few words – they all knew that. To hear him be so open, to not only agree with Hoseok but admit such a personal thing. Jimin closed his eyes, cuddling deeper into the warm cocoon of his boyfriends. His family. He knew they would make it work, one way or another. Hoseok had been right, they had plenty of time… And Yoongi had never spoken truer words. This had to be what heaven felt like.

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