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archonoclasm · 4 months ago

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How can't he play, Solas was thinking! What a ludicrous diversion. The better question, one must acknowledge, was how one can deny Dorian?

Evidently, rooted where he was, the answer to that was a bellowing 'you can't'. It was odd, naturally, what with how stubbornly this dreamer would keep to his secrets. Still, their Tevinter shrugged it off, not quite fool enough to believe he could crack apart that skull. He found thrill in the discovery and held a hankering for knowledge like a hedonist to wine, but never would had he pinned this 'friend' of theirs as wicked. Not once. No, such nefarious, wicked thoughts would remain his own.

So, Dorian little knew him. He'd neither the depths of his sorrows nor his bottomless, unending, and terrible regrets. Honestly, perhaps distressing was codswallop, puttering there worrying to the health of his mysteries. After all, Solas' pains were ancient, infinitely older than those kingdoms that had scraped the bellies of clouds. What cwuld Dorian know of sorrow? What mortal man alive would grasp his world of hurt? No. There's no room for him to know, no realm in any world where this mage would understand...

And yet, the walls around Dorian he would cobble right now--

Well, if Solas' could intrigue him, he'd enthrall, too.

That said, he'd been doing so already, Solas's company what he'd call damnable evidence. Sure, he could deny it all he fancied as he scoffed at his banter with it leans for whinging, but well, among pretty little cakes and velvet-lined bodices, it's precisely his whinging that Solas preferred! Really, were he not less buoyed by his wine, Dorian might have labeled this but a low-grade compliment. However, the night was impossibly dreary, even down to the squealing of what he wagered was a play at singing violins. So, if he brined in this praise a twinge more than he'd ought? Look the other way. As they say, when life hands you lemonades, best make lemonade.

"Like a river to stone, is that it? Why, Solas, I believe you've just admitted that you're giving to me. Reasonable, really. I'm quite unyielding." He was chuffed. Who'd have thought that at some point, he'd have chosen bickering with this man over dance and gossip? Glass angled, the altus notices the court glowering at them over their sumptuous poor of fermented grapes. True enough, it wasn't his most sound argument, admittedly, considering they'd look so drearily affronted ass if their wine was swill. But, well, let's not dig at that any further then they need to, okay? Solas didn't care. Turning to him, Dorian had the mind to toss him off the balcony.

"You can't possibly be suggesting I've an ulterior motive to luring you out here," he groused.

But of course Solas is. Dark machinations, is it? Ugh. The force with which he can rolls his eyes may just very well lodge them forever in his skull plate.

"Fine. You've caught me," he said, very much put upon. Happy now? "All the cloak and dagger nonsense lost its luster after I caught wind of the sixth barrister's salacious affair. If I feel I'm due some disastrously dressed company that's at the very least honest, you can be sure that that's because I am. The point of these nights is to indulge in teeth-rotting excess if you would recall. That's generally the point of these things if you don't count the murder."

Blight it all! Can they much much forget the nobles for a bloody second? Dorian flicked his hand, and as though by some breeze, the doors to the balcony closed, closed, and swung three-quarters shut. Better. Unfurling himself, Dorian walked the perimeter, palm slide against the banister's wood. "This is where we talk about the moon and wax romantic, doughy poetry the likes of which teenage girls would base all their prospective marriages upon." Solas was willing to give him what he wanted, yes? Then, please: a breather. "Surely you know what that is, yes? Romance? Soppy happily ever afters?"

It seemed Dorian wanted to play at their own little microcosm of The Game, right here on the balcony. Solas would engage. How could he not?

In general, and as a rule, he tried to avoid the opportunity for competition precisely because he was a competitive man. Because pride would not let him refuse. And that did not fit his unassuming projection.

Already, Dorian suspected him of insincerity. How annoying. He knew that, in all reality, this suspicion could not have run too deep. He did his best to banish the uglier, creeping tendrils of unnecessary paranoia. Dorian was a discerning man, but not omniscient. He could not read minds. And even if he could, even if he allowed himself to indulge in the darker arts of his heritage, pry open his skull and swirl his fingers around inside, Solas could maybe stand a chance. He was that guarded. Not even Cole could realize the full depth of the regrets and grief he carried.

But Dorian abhorred blood magic, or so he claimed. That, Solas liked about him. He could admit that freely, although it did strike him as something of a low bar. Though perhaps not in Tevinter. It had surprised him when he first heard the sentiment. He had thought all humans in Tevinter at least secretly held no strong convictions, if they didn't actively practice it themselves. Dorian, however, did seem strongly convicted.

No, this interaction was something surface level. Well... admittedly, it probed just past the surface. To a layer beneath his skin that, for most, might've felt too exposing. But Solas' skin was thick with layers, and Dorian's probe could never fathom how deep he'd have to sink inside to reach his core.

Solas would never let him, of course. Even if, in some small, treacherous part of himself, the idea held a certain... interest. To be known and understood. But such things couldn't be allowed to come from Dorian. Even if he were ever able or willing to offer them all the way down at those terrible, sunken depths. There were far too many complications with that picture. Life for Solas was complicated enough. But for the sake of Dorian's curiosity, Solas wondered if that probe was even long enough to sate. Doubtful.

Enough of those thoughts.

The relevant aspect was that Dorian cared at all to try any amount of digging. And now he'd thrown the gauntlet between them. Solas would pick it up, if that's what Dorian wanted.

Why did he follow? Fine. Maybe because, like Dorian, he found the allure of enigma difficult to resist. And what was Dorian, and Dorian's interest in him, if not an enigma? Here lay the paradox: if Solas followed and scrutinized because he was curious about Dorian’s interest, and Dorian extended the invitation because Solas' scrutiny created an interesting mystery… then somewhere, an egg and a chicken existed for scholars and philosophers to argue over. Which came first? For Solas' part, he’d swear it wasn’t him.

"You may call it warming." He offered the concession with a tilt of his head into a half-shrug. "I would call it a wearing down." The two spent enough necessary time together in their travels that it was only natural for Solas to have become more comfortable in Dorian's company. The effect of exposure; simple, and only just skin-deep.

"And you paint a morbid picture of your own interment." And Solas did imagine the rope burn against the burlap. Visceral. "Curious, if that was your concern, how it may have escaped your fastidious attention, the optics of the wicked magister stealing away his lowly Elvhen serving man from prying eyes? I am at your mercy, evidently." His smirk grew with his amusement, eyes glinting like the stars overhead.

"What dark machinations might you be planning for the evening? Is that a blade I spy, tucked carefully beneath your belt?" His gaze dropped, deliberately, to Dorian's waistline, then back up. "One drop of my blood would suffice to turn the night into something entirely monstrous."

And what a beautiful night it was, beneath those stars. As much as he had enjoyed the living energy in the ballroom, he found, out here, that he did not miss it. It only made sense, didn't it? Academically.

"Surely you considered that?" He arched a brow. "Either way, it would undermine your stated purpose in harboring me for the Inquisition's benefit." And yet here they still were. Both of them.

"So," He kicked the spotlight back where it belonged and turned the dial of its heat. Reveal or relent. This was how to play The Game. Their Game. "Shall we ease the worried minds of the nobles and show them that I remain whole and untouched? Or had you a purpose in your invite that we have yet to fulfill?"

#FADEWALKING #nonsense solas..sometimes a cigar is a loaded missile and ur about to light it up and find out #i also slurp up every interaction like a smoothie #solas: talks #dorian: UGHH fine yes i just wanted to ENJOY my company for once. cork it. ur aggravating

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comfortbucky · 4 years ago

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Hey! Can i request a cold, lonely ex-hydra reader × bucky who falls in love with her. Adding some panic attacks and nightmares of the reader.

i love this idea!!! thank u for submitting🥰

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗲 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: avenger!bucky x ex-HYDRA!fem!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers, angst (if u squint), soft!bucky

warnings: canon level violence, description of injuries, blood is mentioned, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares

A/N: i just came up with a random name for the HYDRA leader the reader is after🤣 so just ,,, ignore // also!!!! i tried out a different writing style than what i’m used to! hope u don’t mind🥺 just been feeling like a lot of my writing is the same and wanted to try something new!!!

word count: 3.5k (this is so long LMAO sorry 😭 literally why am i like this)

my masterlist!

completed requests!

The suit that you once considered a second skin, now felt uncomfortable and constricting, like a python squeezing the life out of you. Although, it made sense since the very organization of the uniform you were wearing did exactly that.

HYDRA.

For so long you were just another mindless pawn to them, just doing without every actually thinking. Unlike your younger brother, Alex. They indoctrinated him as well, getting a hold of both of you from a young age, but he was there when Captain America took down S.H.I.E.L.D. and it changed his entire worldview. You found everything he said about “freedom” to be stupid, naive, and dangerous. And you would later prove yourself correct.

You pull yourself from your thoughts as a group of HYDRA soldiers walk past the shrubbery you hid behind. Quickly and quietly, you get up and join them as they march towards the HYDRA base. As soon as you get inside, you manage to slip away from the rest of the group to search for your target.

Since HYDRA took the possibility of you ever having a normal life away, as far as you were concerned, your only purpose in life was to kill the man who was at the center of it all, Viktor Cross. And after months of tracking him down, formulating the perfect plan, that’s exactly what you were going to do today.

You make your way towards one of the main lab facilities, gun in hand when you see several unconscious guards lying on the floor in front of you. Shifting your gaze up, you see that the door has been ripped open, grip marks on the sides.

This was not part of the plan.

As you squeeze through the open door and enter the lab, you come to a halt, frozen in shock. There’s your target, Viktor, shoved against the wall by none other than Captain America himself. You almost let out a chuckle in disbelief at the irony of the situation. Instead, you take a step forward, and the glass cracks beneath your feet, alerting the men of your presence.

Shit.

Immediately, both sets of eyes are on you. Viktor’s lips curve into a smirk as you make your way to them.

“Agent- Miss Y/N,” he corrects himself. “What a pleasant surprise.” You ignore him and look to address Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America.

“Let him go and give him to me,” you start, Steve eyeing you cautiously. “So I can kill him,” you snarl, quickly turning to Viktor to see that his smirk had been wiped off his face.

“Aren’t you HYDRA?” He questions, nodding to your suit and eliciting a cackle from Viktor.

“Not anymore,” you mumble, before lifting a leg to kick Steve in his side. You hit him across the face with the end of your gun for good measure. He stumbles over, giving you enough time to grab Viktor’s collar, before he falls to the floor, and slam him back against the wall. His eyes are full of desperation and you felt nothing but pure, burning rage. You shove the barrel of your gun under his chin and place your hand on the trigger.

“You were such a gifted agent, Y/N. Don’t throw away such potential, come back.”

“Go to hell.”

Before you could pull the trigger, a force propels you to the ground and you feel a sharp pain in your side. Silence and then ringing fills your eyes as you squint your eyes to try and visualize the situation. Your vision is blurry, but clear enough to clouds of smoke engulf Viktor’s figure as he escapes. A muffled voice from behind you speaks, but you can’t make out any of the words they’re saying. You look down to see red. Just crimson red, staining your abdomen. Hands land on your shoulders, shaking you gently as your vision fades to black.

Viktor is in front of you, the barrel of his gun directed right at your head. He smirks as he moves his hand to the trigger.

“Hail, HYDRA.”

A gunshot goes off, forcing you to shoot up in bed, gasping for air. As you start to regain your senses, you realize you’re surrounded by a group of strangers. Well, not complete strangers, the Avengers to be exact. Part of your job required you to study their files, learn everything about them. You could recite from memory where and when they were born, their greatest strengths and weaknesses. Suddenly, your side starts to burn with pain, and you carefully lean back in bed. There’s an array of wires and tubes connected to you and you hear the rhythmic beeping of various machines. You’re in a hospital, or some sort of medical facility.

“That, is exactly why I said we should use restraints.”

You’re staring at the ceiling when you hear Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark, speak.

“Tony, she lost a liter of blood, she’s not going anywhere.”

Steve appears in your view, looking down at you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

You shift your gaze away from him. The last thing you expected to come out of this mission was to meet the Avengers, let alone them save you.

Steve sighs, “We’re not gonna hurt you. We wanna find Viktor too.”

There’s nothing he could say that could get you to speak. Your hatred for HYDRA didn’t mean you suddenly liked the Avengers. If anything, they were part of the problem too, so you stay silent.

“Told you, she’s not gonna talk,” Tony quips. From your research, you had come to learn that he was an arrogant man, and his statement only proved you right. “Maybe you should get Manchurian Candidate to come down, give her an ex-HYDRA buddy,” he says sarcastically.

Upon hearing “ex-HYDRA buddy,” you furrow your brows. Maybe it was the lack of blood in your body, but it took you a second to process his words and understand who he was referring to. Your eyes dart back to look at Steve’s but he’s gone.

“I’ll be back.” His voice trails off as he exits the room.

You’re still staring at the ceiling when you hear footsteps return and then several others departing.

There’s only one other person in the room beside you. Without even looking up, you already know who it is. His breathing was slow and steady until you started to shift in bed to reposition yourself. His breath hitched for a moment, before returning back to his normal breathing pattern.

“Killing him isn’t gonna make you feel better.” His comment makes you roll your eyes as you slowly sit up to look at him. There were no logical thoughts in your head, all you could feel was pain and fury. Anger swelled within you, your emotions boiling over.

“That’s rich, coming from the Fist of HYDRA,” you spat out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your stomach drop. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one you hadn’t felt in a while. What was it? Regret?

Bucky’s face fell but he kept his eyes on you. It was a look that made you feel worse, worse than the searing pain in your side.

“I’m not a killer anymore,” he said in a tone so gentle, you felt another strange, new emotion but couldn’t quite label it. You quickly shift gears to avoid addressing the uncomfortable feelings swirling around in your stomach.

“Are you keeping me hostage to lure Viktor in? Because it's not going to work." Bucky shook his head.

"We want..." he trailed off, causing you to tilt your head in curiosity. “We need your help finding him.” You scoffed.

“What do I get out of it?” Bucky’s silence gave you your answer. Shaking your head, you start to disconnect yourself from the multitude of wires attached to you and get out of bed.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he started, as you threw off your blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

Standing up quickly, the blood from your head pooled in your legs, causing you to feel dizzy. Your head spun and your arms reached out for something, anything stable to grab onto. It was a metal hand. Despite it being cool to the touch, it ignited a heat to rise to your cheeks. You look down and mumble a thank you as Bucky helps you back into bed.

Letting out a sigh, you realize with the condition you’re in, you can’t leave. Definitely not well enough to go after Viktor alone. Shutting your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, you curse under your breath.

“Fine,” you finally speak, keeping your eyes closed. Bucky nods, even though you don’t see, and you hear him walk off.

After a couple days of rest, you were cleared by Bruce to get discharged. Viktor had gone deep in hiding, making your job to find him a lot harder. Tony had so graciously given you an extra room in the tower, right next to Bucky’s. He was probably the one person you saw the most, purely due to location, and the fact that everyone else cautiously kept their distance from you. It made sense though, since you rarely spoke to anyone and spent most of your time in the lab looking for any clues of Viktor’s location. When you weren’t searching for him, you were training in the gym. Bucky was there a lot too, both of you waking up at ungodly hours of the morning. No words were ever exchanged between the two of you, and yet, there was some level of comfort you felt being around him. Must’ve been an ex-HYDRA thing.

“What’s on your mind?” You walk over to Alex and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He sighs.

“What if,” he starts, furrowing his brows. “What if freedom is good?” He speaks quietly, fearful of HYDRA listening in on your conversation.

It feels like you’ve got the wind knocked out of you.

“Alex,” you grab him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?” You’re searching his eyes, trying to understand what’s gotten into him.

“Captain America.” The biggest threat to HYDRA’s existence. He looks down at his hands. “He was willing to risk his life for it. It has to be worth something right?” Alex looks back up to you with a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen since you were children. Uncertainty. You sigh and pull him into your chest, stroking his hair.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Maybe.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Hot tears fall from the corners of your eyes. It’s the same dream you’ve had for the last week. Although, you wouldn’t consider it a dream necessarily, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Just a bittersweet memory.

Bucky could tell that something was up with you for the past week. Despite having gone through a bit of therapy, Steve’s idea, the nightmares still came to him. So Bucky was already wide awake when he heard your weeping on the other side of the wall. It didn’t help that he was also a light sleeper with super-soldier hearing. He didn’t know what was causing you to be so upset, but he didn’t want to intrude and ask. Neither of you had spoken to the other since you first arrived.

But this night was different from the rest. Usually, you would flip endlessly through channels on ur TV until you eventually fell asleep, but it wasn’t working this time. There’s a tight pain in your chest and suddenly, you’re suffocating. You rip off your covers and spring out of bed, tripping on your blankets along the way. At this point, you don’t even register the pain of slamming down, face-first on the ground. Panic has taken over your body, tears now streaming down your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for relief.

He wasn’t planning on doing anything until he heard a loud thud from your room. Immediately, Bucky gets up and arrives at your door. It’s rude to just barge into someone’s room, his mom taught him that from a young age, so he settles on knocking. You don’t hear it though, the only sound you hear is the sound of your rapid breathing as you hyperventilate. Bucky hears it too and ultimately decides on inviting himself into your room.

“Y/N?”

You’re lying on your side, curled up in a fetal position with your hands covering your face, when Bucky opens the door. He quickly arrives by your side, kneeling beside you, as he examines you for any injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

You manage to shake your head in response, anxiety still flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, Bucky’s familiar with panic attacks, having had them himself. But he also knows that everyone deals with them a bit differently. Guess he did manage to learn some useful things from therapy.

“Can you try breathing with me?”

He starts to take deep breaths in and out until he sees you start to follow along with him, your hands still covering your face. There’s a part of you that feels stupid for keeping them there, but they help ground you, so you continue to shield your face. After what feels like an hour, but was probably only 10 minutes, your panic subsides. That’s when a wave of embarrassment hits you, realizing that it had been Bucky with you during your panic attack.

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you’re greeted by piercing blue eyes. You blink a couple times, realizing that Bucky had taken a spot on the ground, lying on his side to face you, his hands pressed together under his head like a pillow. He smiles and you feel warm. It’s terrifying, the new feelings that Bucky has caused you to feel and yet, you don’t mind.

“You feelin’ better?” You nod and smile back, something you haven’t genuinely done in a while.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You stare at each other in silence, lying side by side. There’s no physical touch involved but somehow, this moment, it feels intimate. Bucky breaks the silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks in a voice so soft, it almost sounded like a whisper.

It might’ve been the fact that he just calmed you down from a panic attack, but as you looked into his eyes, you felt the walls you had built up for the last year slowly come crashing down.

“He killed my brother,” you reply, maintaining your eyes on Bucky. You searched his eyes for any fear or pity, but all you could find was a look of understanding. His eyes were starting to become a safe place for you.

“Alex was there when Steve took down S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA along with it. He wanted out, out of the organization.” Taking a deep breath, you continue. “Word got around about a “rat,” so I took the blame. Viktor was about to shoot me when Alex’s dumbass ran in front of me, sacrificing himself.” You let out a chuckle, your vision getting blurry as tears swelled in your eyes. “He was a goddamn idiot, but he also had a heart of gold.”

As you start to cry, Bucky hesitatingly extends an arm to hover over your body, trying to gauge your reaction. Physical touch was something he struggled with during the beginning of his recovery, and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He’s reassured when you grab onto his shirt and pull yourself closer to him, and wraps an arm around you, his other hand softly stroking your head.

You hadn’t cried like this since Alex died, bottling up all of your emotions to focus on finding the man responsible for his death. But as you sobbed into Bucky’s chest, you realize that your love for Alex had transformed into an ugly, burning hatred for Viktor. He wouldn’t want this. You didn’t want it, at least, not anymore. The only thing you wanted was your brother back, and that was impossible.

Bucky held you in his arms until you fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your slow, rhythmic breathing, dozing off shortly after.

That night with Bucky had softened your cold, hard exterior that you initially presented yourself with. You would willingly spar with Nat in the training room and join the team for breakfast or dinner. Everyone noticed and, while at first thrown off by it, happily embraced it. Especially Bucky.

Initially, he got up to work out in the early hours of the morning as a habit. Now, he woke up to see you. His heart did flips in his chest every time he walked in the gym and saw you. Since that night, you started to acknowledge his presence, turning to smile and wave as he walked through the doors. It was something he looked forward to every day.

During the day, you were focused hard on tracking down Viktor and Bucky knew that. But he also knew he wanted to spend more time with you. He looked for reasons to enter the lab, whether it was offering snacks to you throughout the day or helping Bruce or, even Tony. Anything to see you again.

Bucky realized that there was a deeper, stronger emotion that he felt for you when he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. The first thing he thought about was you. Specifically, how you were the only thing that could possibly calm him down. Although he’d come in that night to help you with your panic attack, you ended up helping him as well. He hadn’t slept as soundly and peacefully as he did with you. And you hadn’t either. There were several nights when neither of you could sleep and ended up running into each other. It slowly became a routine that would begin in the kitchen, exchanging life stories, and end on the couch in the common area, entangled in each other’s arms.

Tonight you didn’t show up and Bucky panicked. He stared at the kitchen clock. It had been 20 minutes and you still hadn’t shown up. Bucky racked his brain for anything he could’ve done to scare you off, but came up with nothing. It wasn’t like you two had been officially together, Bucky had no idea what you were to each other. All he knew is that he wanted to be with you, always.

You were soundly asleep in bed, passing out as soon as your head hit the pillow. It was a particularly physically exhausting day for you, training with both Nat and Steve.

Bucky was so caught up with the thoughts racing through his head, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had taken him right to your door. He stands there for a moment, silently debating what to do. Grumbling under his breath, he musters up the courage to knock on your door. Right as he was about to turn away and shuffle off to his room, your door opens. You greet him with a yawn and a tired smile.

“Oh, hey Bucky.”

He looks at the bags under your eyes and feels instant regret wash over him, realizing that you weren’t avoiding him, but just getting some sleep.

“Sorry,” he looks down at his feet. You frown and place a hand on his cheek to lift his head up.

“Something wrong?” He avoids your gaze, partially because he’s embarrassed and partially because his cheeks were turning red because of your touch.

“No.” You cross your arms and let out a sigh.

“You’re a bad liar.” It’s his turn to sigh, as he scratches the back of his head.

“You didn’t come to the kitchen,” he lets out, in almost a whisper. It hits you. You were so tired, you had completely forgotten about your nightly tradition. “It’s stupid, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up," he mumbles. Bucky begins to walk off but you grab his hand. When he turns to look at you, his brows are raised at your touch.

As you start to speak, you pull him close, facing you. “It’s not stupid.” His hands move to hold your waist as yours move to wrap around his neck. You pause, an idea popping into your head. “I’m kind of tired from training today, wanna just come sleep with me?” He nods and you drag him to your bed, nestling into his arms as he holds you to his chest, his chin resting above your head. You tilt your head back to see him looking down at you. There’s a fluttering feeling in your chest and you smile.

“Just for future reference, you have an open invitation to cuddle with me, anytime.” Bucky chuckles at your offer.

“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

Bucky cups your face in his hand and you nuzzle your cheek in his palm. His eyes dart down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Then, the most delicate, sweetest kiss you’ve ever received is on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open as you both pull apart. He quickly kisses your nose before pulling you back into his chest, speaking softly.

“And you have an open invitation to kiss me, anytime.”

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hellcaster901 · 4 years ago

Text

Say Something

The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: After a bounty, and some insecurities, both of you decided to be honest.

Word Count: 6,321

Warning(s): SMUT! (No one under 18 PLS) also, please be safe, its a fanficiton wrap that shit up. Language, creampie, slight mutual masturbation? You know, its all the good stuff.

A/N: I decided that this needed a third part! And thank you to @13dead-ends for being that bitch and helping me through this!! And if there are any mistakes, please, ignore them and enjoy the reading!

Masterlist

What Now? (Pt 1) Never Been Better (Pt 2)

The trees swayed with the wind, every single leaf moving of their own accord as you watched, the midnight sky shining down on you and the razor crest, the moon giving off a light for the whole galaxy to see. The ship slightly moved and creaked from the wind pushing against it. You sat there, slouched in the passenger seat of the cockpit, knees up to your chest as you simply watched, waiting.

You messed with your bottom lip, zoning out as you tried not to worry too much about what was going on with Mando. It’s been a week since he left, a week since he told you that the bounty would only take a day or two and he would be back. You tried your best to keep yourself busy, cleaning what you could, taking care of the child, fixing things that you could fix as you waited, but as each day passed, the nerves worsened and worsened. Which was… unlike you.

You worried, of course, there was always that chance that something would happen, but you knew that he was doing this long before he met you, long before he had either you or the child in his life, and for you to be worrying about it now when you were his…

What were you to him?

You scoffed at your thoughts, rolling your eyes at your own insecurities. You knew what you were to Mando, even without the silly labels, you knew that there were more to the two of you than you could even describe with words. You spent every night in his arms, stolen moments with him, spokeless heavy touches as the two of you worked around the ship. He was more to you, meant more to you than anyone you have met in your life, and you were sure you meant the same for him.

You shook your head of the silly thoughts, slouching further into the chair. It was silly to think such thoughts, even question everything that has happened. Those moments on his ship, at the festival, meant something, and honestly, you weren’t expecting a grand gesture of Mando expressing his love to you. You knew already.

You jumped when you heard the door slide open, hearing the clanking of the ramp as it slid down to the ground. You sat up, wide eyed, looking back at the door, hearing the heavy footsteps walking up the ramp, a heavy grunt as something heavy was dropped. You stood quickly, pushing the door pad as you climbed down the ladder, your heart thumping wildly against your chest as you saw him.

His back was to you, as he grabbed the bounty, picking him back up with a loud grunt, shoving the passed out man into the carbon-freezing chamber before a gush of smoke came from the machine, the man frozen.

He must’ve not heard you as he slumped against the wall, huffing in pain as he grabbed his side, trying his best to stand. “Mando?” You whispered, his head tilting towards you, another grunt of pain as he pushed himself against the wall, standing on his feet. “Are you okay?” You moved, grabbing the medpack rushing to his side before he could even say what was wrong with him. He didn’t say anything as he watched you open the box, your worried eyes looking up at him. “What happened?” You spoke softly, resting a hand on his arm.

“Stop.” He grunted roughly, flinching away from your touch, pushing himself off the wall as he limped around you. “I don’t need your help.” You said nothing as you watched him, lines forming between your eyebrows as you took in what he said.

“You’re hurt, Mando. Let me at least see what’s wrong.” You huffed, trying to play off what he said didn’t feel like a punch to the heart. You turned towards him, seeing that he was clenching his upper left chest, a growing patch of darkness growing. “You’re bleeding, let me-”

“Stop!” He huffed, turning towards you. Your body went rigged, your mind feeling like it was short circuiting as you heard the tone in his voice, the way he yelled at you. He could see it too, the way you held the med box closer to your chest, fingers tight around the box as you stared at him, eyes wide, mouth gaped as you took in the way he was acting towards you.

He opened his mouth to speak, say something to you, but nothing was coming out, and right now, he had to take care of himself. Mando turned from you without a word, soft grunts of pain as he limped towards the cockpit. You swallowed thickly, setting the med box on your hip. You blink blankly towards the ladder, not honestly sure what happened. There was rarely a time where he spoke like that to you, much less flinch away from you.

Maybe you weren’t something to him…

You sighed deeply, eyes closing at the fleeting thought. You knew that wasn’t it, and you were being childish by simply thinking this was more than him just frustrated with such a bounty. Selfish even to think that this was about you rather than him being hurt. With a deep breath, holding the box to your hip, you walked towards the ladder as well, climbing up, knowing that he needed at least something. The door to the cockpit slid open, Mando sitting at his seat, some of his beskar thrown to the side as he looked over himself.

He heard you, head tilting towards you, not a word spoken as you slowly walked over. You placed a hand on his chair, tugging it softly, hoping he would get the hint. And he did, letting you turn the chair towards one of the passenger seats as you sat down, placing the box on your lap. You tried not to take too long of a glance towards him, the layer of beskar he wore was gone, leaving him in a thin layer of clothing, chunks cut and slashed, exposing tan skin.

It was silent as you rummage through the box, grabbing some bandages, glancing up at the wounded man. “Lift your shirt.” You whispered, scooting towards the edge of the seat. Mando didn’t move, but you could feel his eyes searching you. “Up.” You mumbled, gesturing to the bandages in your hand. You tried not to look up at his visor, patiently waiting as he pushed himself off the back of the seat, his right hand grabbing the hem of his shirt, lifting it with a strain grunt. You kept you face blank as he lifted his shirt, trying not to show a reaction to the bruising that was scattered along his chest, deep and dark shades of purples and blues. You swallowed thickly, eyes trained on him as he slipped an arm from his sleeve, exposing the long slash.

Not only was the slash a bit ugly, but seeing him this exposed to you, with so much light still within the room, made your whole body light up. You felt each scar multiple times, felt how smooth his skin could be, felt each part of his body, but now as you stared at it, the moonlight shining brightly against his tan skin, it was as if you were really looking at him for the first time.

You pulled the cleansing-fluid and a small rag from the medpack, leaning forward as you held the rag beneath the slash, pouring the fluid over the wound. Mando inhaled sharply, chest flexing under your hand. You gave him a sympathetic smile, watching as most of the blood washed away with the fluid. You patted the wound, most of the blood that was dried to his skin wiping away as you soon saw how it really looked. “I think we have some kolto in here.” You mumbled, keeping the rag on the wound as you dug around in the medpack.

“I’m… sorry.” He muttered, noticing the way your body visibility stiffen at his voice. You shook your head, unrolling the bandages. You worked quietly, wrapping the bandages around the clean wound, looping it under his opposite arm and over the left shoulder, trying your best to make sure it was covered. You felt his eyes on you as you worked, reaching an arm over his chest,face inches away from his helmet as you sat back down, looping the bandage, trying to compose yourself. You were seeing skin that you’ve touched millions of times before, but something about actually seeing it was completely different.

“Nothing to apologize for.” You spoke, looking up at the dark visor. “I’m… just glad you came back safe.” What you didn’t realize was that Mando constantly had the same thoughts you had. Knowing that what the two of you were, were more than anything you could describe with words, and he wasn’t the best with words on top of that. The best way he could express those emotions, was through actions.

Your eyes dropped back to the medpack, shoving the materials back in, closing the box as you laid the rag on top of it, standing quickly to leave Mando to his thoughts. “Wait.” he mumbled, a hand grabbing your wrist. You stared down at the gloveless hand, thinking back to all those times those hands have touched you, and made you cry his name.

You stood there, waiting for him to say something, feeling his fingers tighten around your wrist. You wish you could see what expression he had on his face, what he must be looking like right now. If he was staring up at you in confusion, or if he was deep in thought as he held you there. You wish you could really see the man you loved.

Mando’s hand slowly dragged down your hand, fingertips leaving a trail of fire before he grabbed the medpack, placing it where you were sitting. “Come here.” He spoke softly, both hands reaching for you again, a soft grip on your wrist, while the other gently brushed against your thigh, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re hurt.” You weakly protested, already feeling yourself moving closer to him, your body reacting to his simple touches. And he knew it.

He shook his head, “I don’t care.” Knowing that you were going to listen either way. And you did, letting him take your wrist, a hand on your thigh lifting it and settling yourself on his lap, straddling him. You tried to shift your weight, not wanting to put too much on him as you sat there, staring down at his stomach, watching the way his torso rose and fell as he breathed in and out. “You’re not going to hurt me.” You shook your head, knowing that wasn’t the case. His hands made their way to the top of your thighs, thumbs gently rubbing against the fabric of your pants, fingers dipping into your flesh, enjoying the feeling of finally having you in his hands again. “I’ve thought about you.” he spoke again, noticing the way you perked at his words, eyes darting to his visor before back down to his stomach, looking over his bruising. “Every night.” He continued a smile growing on his lips, his hands squeezing your thighs, hearing the soft gasp you produced at his touch.

“I thought about you too.” You whispered, not daring to look up at the man or focus on the way his hands felt so right on your thighs, instead, focusing on your own hands as they lightly touched his bruising, reminding you of the time at the festival as you traced his scars.

Mando watched the way you avoided looking up at him, your eyes trained on his torso, he understood, but he wanted to see you, your eyes, your lips when you smile, the way a light blush grew on your cheeks when hit that perfect spot within you. He had to see it all. “Where’s the child?”

You nodded towards the door, “Sleeping.” You hummed, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands moving upwards, fingers digging into your hips, moving you against his thigh. You suppressed the whimper, feeling the strong muscles rub right against your clothes clit, swallowing the sound.

Mando reached a hand up, hooking a finger under your chin, making you finally look at him, or at least, his visor. He’s thought about this, long and hard ever since the festival, if breaking his creed, for you, was really that bad of an idea. He wanted to see you without the hue of his helmet, without having to be in the dark to be able to actually kiss you and taste you. He wanted you to be able to actually see him.

You could tell that he was thinking, seeing the tilt in his helmet as he stared at you, eyes searching over your face. You only gave him a small smile, grabbing the hand that held your chin, and lifting the fingers to your lips, giving the rough digits soft kisses.

Right there, he decided.

Before you could do anything to stop him, he lifted his other hand quickly, making you blink as he grabbed his helmet, lifting the restriction off with a soft ‘hiss’ and clicking as he did so. You gasped loudly, dropping his hand, lifting your hands to your eyes as you quickly shielded yourself from seeing anything. “What are you doing?” You yelped, hearing the loud ‘clunk’ as the helmet dropped to the floor. “What is wrong with you??”

“Look at me.” He spoke softly, his actual voice sending chills down your spin. No matter how many times you heard it, it always made your body react the same way. You shook your head, feeling as if your heart was ready to explode at what he was doing. “Y/N, please.” he pleaded, wanting this, wanting you to see him.

“Your creed, I can’t.” You whispered. He felt his heart swell once again, knowing how much you respected him as a Mandalorian, even as he decided to break his creed for you, you still couldn’t let him, knowing this meant more to him than anything. But as of lately, and ever since he met you, you meant more to him than a creed.

“Look at me.” He spoke again, softly this time, almost as if he was talking to a startled animal, trying to relax the poor creature. His hands gently pulled at your arms, watching as your fingers slipped from your face, eyes still shut tightly. He chuckled softly, seeing the rise in your eyebrow at the sound. “I’ve thought about this.” He whispered to you, watching as you took a breath in, tongue coming out and licking your bottom lip before letting the deep breath out, his cock twitched at the sight, finally able to see you. “Breaking my creed… for you, it’s what I want.”

“Mando-”

“Din.” He rushed, watching your face contort at the name. “My name.” He clarified, “If you’re going to see me, I want to hear you say my name.”

It was all so much, knowing that this is what he wanted to do, hearing his actual name, knowing that he was doing all of this… for you. “Are you sure?” You questioned, not wanting this just to be the spur of the moment decision, you wanted whatever he wanted. You jumped slightly as you felt two large hands cup your face in a loving embrace, thumbs rubbing at your cheeks.

“I’m sure.”

You took a shuddered breath, opening your eyes.

Din watched as your eyes slowly opened, eyes instantly locking onto his, lips parting as you took in what you saw. Your eyes moved along his face, taking in each and every detail, already trying to burn what you were looking at in your brain, wanting to look at him forever. You reached for him, fingers gently touching his check, his eyes shutting for a moment as he took in the feeling of your fingers on his face, already knowing that this was the right decision.

“Din.” You whispered, his eyes flying open, hearing his name slip from your tongue. He hasn’t heard his name like that in a long time, with so much… love behind it. “You are… simply handsome.” You smiled, trying to look at everything at once. His dark thick eyebrows, dark brown eyes that seemed to only be locked on your face, and shaggy dark brown hair that fell over his forehead. But really caught your attention, was his strong pointed nose and his plump lips, parted as he let you look over him. The moonlight shining across his face, casting a shadow along his features as he stared back at you. He was simply the most gorgeous man you have seen.

He let you explore, eyes on his face, almost like you were afraid he was going to slip away from your mind if you didn’t see every feature. Fingers gently caressing his face, the stubble and face hair scratching along your fingers as you slowly traced his bottom lip, his lips parting, exhaling a shaky breath as you continued your exploration. He knew this was the right choice, see how you didn’t run from him when he didn’t meet what you imagined. “How could you have been hiding such a handsome face from me?” You whispered to him, watching a slight blush rising to his cheeks. You raised an eyebrow, eyes locking onto his, seeing how easily he was able to make blush. You’ve always imagined what he looked like, what colored eyes and hair, what kind of structure he had, but this… you could’ve never imagined this. “I love you, Din.” You smiled, those three words finally making their way out. You supposed, if he was able to take his helmet off for you, you could at least say those three words that bounced around your head whenever you were around him.

Without the helmet, you were free to see his facial expressions, and you didn’t realize how much you were missing out on. His jaw went slack, gulping visibility, eyebrows rising as he heard those three words. You suddenly felt nervous, maybe this wasn’t the right time to be saying something like that, especially after he just took the helmet off, after seeing what he really looked like. Maybe this was all overwhelming to Din. “I… I mean…” You choked out, your body tensing more and more when you realized he wasn’t saying anything, only staring at you with wide eyes. “Say something.” You whispered.

But he didn’t, he simply cupped the back of your head, ignoring the sharp jab of pain from his sides as he pulled you to him, kissing you. You hummed in surprised, before all of the tension in your body melted away, your body slacking against him as he held you to him. His lips were soft and warm, your own parting slightly as he took his chance, his tongue slipping inside, moaning as he tasted you. Warmth consumed you as you kissed him, his strong hands keeping you there, your own clenching the torn shirt in your hands, trying your best to not bump against his bruising as you did so.

No matter how many times the two of you have been in this position, it always took Din by surprise at how exhilarating you were. The way your body completely gave itself to him, how trusting you were as he held you, and how sweet the noises you made. He could never lose you. “I love you.” He mumbled against your lips, a soft whine filling his ears as you heard his words. “I love you, Cyar’ika.”

You pulled back, noses still brushing against one another as you looked up at him, wide eyes staring back at one another. “Din.” You spoke softly, a smile growing on your face. He smiled back, only making your heart swell even more. He swiftly tugged you back against him, a groan mixed of pain and pleasure as he felt you, lips molding themselves to yours again. What was once just a kiss of passion, quickly intensed as he held you, a hand weaving into your hair, the other cupping your cheek. You felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning around you as Din held you, your whole body light as if all the air in your body was going straight to your head. Lips frantically moving against one another. It was all new. Of course, the two of you have been together before, but this time… the two of you knew what the other was feeling, what was going on, and what it could possibly become. The new found feelings you both confessed only fueled you two more.

You slipped your hands under his torn shirt, fingers dancing across his chest, cautious of his wounds as you tugged it up, trying to feel and see more skin. Din pulled away quickly, sitting back, lust blown eyes watching as you pushed the mangled fabric up, careful as you lifted it over his head and down his arm, flinging it to the side. He lunged back on you, lips only inches away before you placed a hand on his chest, a groan of protest from deep in his chest as you pushed him back into the seat. You wanted to see him. Even with the light from the moon, you could tell what happened during this bounty took a toll on him, splotches of red skin, deep bruising that continued to bloom as he sat there. “I’m okay.” He spoke gently, noticing the way your eyebrows pulled closer together as you took in his state.

“You look horrible.” You sadly smiled, trying to keep how you were really feeling deep within. He knew what he was doing, again, he’s been doing this long before you came into his life, but that didn’t make seeing him like this any easier. You felt his hands trail up your arm, light brushes of his fingertips sending shivers through your nerves. You leaned forward, noticing the way Din closed his eyes, ready to feel your lips against his. You smirked as you placed a kiss on his chin, feeling the facial hair brush against your lips, peppering light kisses down his neck, feeling the muscles move as he gulped. “Let me make you feel better.” You mumbled, lips brushing against his jaw, smiling when you felt him shiver. He weakly nodded, feeling his cock twitch yet again within his restraints.

Soft kisses down his neck made him weak, melting into the seat as you did so, softly biting and sucking on his skin. His hands made do, running over your arms and shoulders, before trailing down your back, fingers digging into your sides, your shirt lifting slightly as he pulled you closer to him. You hummed, feeling the tips of your toes drag across the cold floor as he pulled you, strong muscles firmly rubbing against your throbbing pussy. You were a mess, and you just wanted him. “Din.” You whimpered against his neck, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips, finally hearing his name you were moaning. His heart was beating wildly within his chest, your lips on his neck and chest, his name coming out like sweat prayers as he grabbed your waist, it was all so intoxicating. He pulled you even closer, your head lifting up, nose brushing against his cheek as he held you to him, sensitive nipples brushing against the ridges of his chest, the fabric of your shirt collecting around your waist.

“I need you.” Din mumbled, ducking down as he kissed along your neck, soft whimpers of pleasure as he tasted your skin. “Maker, I need you now.” he desperately moaned. You nodded wordlessly, leaned back pulling your tunic over your head. The fabric was barely off your arm as Din grabbed you again, dipping down as he lazily kissed along the tops of your breast, both moaning as he lifted one hand, cupping one breast as his lips wrapped around the nipple of your other. You trembled against his body, his heated mouth wrapped around your sensitive bud while the other nipple was pinched and pulled. You clenched your thighs, whole body heating up as he tasted you.

“Din, please.” You whimpered. He groaned against your breast, feeling himself grow harder as he heard his name again. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing you say his name like that. He continued his assault along your chest, ignoring your weak protests as he nipped and sucked, his free hand grabbing at the small of your back, pushing softly, arching your back, giving him more access.

He mumbles something against your skin, not loud enough for you to pick up. You wrap your arms around his neck, gently dragging your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he grunts against you, hips bucking beneath you. You gasp as you felt him, hard and pulsing against you, just begging to be seated in you. You cupped his face, dragging him away from your chest, plump red lips parted as he looked up at you, a blissed look on his face. “Can I ride you?” You honestly didn’t mean for it to come out so innocently, but it worked in your favor when you saw his eyes widen, before he dumbly nodded, as if he’s never heard that before. And maybe he hasn’t.

You lift yourself off his lap, his hands slipping from your waist as you stand in front of him, a smile on your face. He reached for you, kissing along your stomach, feeling his lips turn up as he hooked his fingers into your pants, pushing the material away. He groaned loudly as he saw you, leaning back in his seat, eyes taking in your appearance. You shivered as you felt the cold air, brushing your heated core. “Every night,” He started, working at his own pants, popping the button and tugging on the zipper, “I thought about you.” You blushed, feeling flushed at his words. You kicked the pants away, Din’s hands grabbing you, tugging you back into his lap, pulling you back down as he kissed you. “Can I have you?” He mumbled against your lips,desperate to feel you wrapped around him and with no hesitation you nodded, not trusting yourself to say a word. You reached for his pants, Din lifting his hips as you tugged them down, watching as he sprung free. The tip was a dark red, precum already leaking from the top, making you lick your lips at the sight. He twitched at your reaction, his length throbbing as all he wanted to do was take you right then and there, but he knew you wanted to take your time.

You gently wrapped a hand around his cock, spine tingling as he grunted, thrusting up to meet your hand. He felt hot and heavy within your hand, velvet skin moving against yours as you pumped him, twisting your hand slightly, watching as even more precum dripped, creating some lubricant for your hand. A whole week you went without him, and you thought it only affected you. “Stars, Y/N, please.” He begged, the pleading tone in his voice had the corner of your lips turn up. You ran your thumb across the slit, feeling the wetness collect as you smeared it along his cock, feeling and watching the way he twitched in your hand. Din slipped a hand between your bodies, finding your soaked pussy, your hips grinding against the slightest touch.

“Maker.” You gasped, dropping your head onto his shoulder, feeling his fingers slip past your folds, slipping two fingers into your heat a little too easily. You bucked against the feeling, a muffled moan into his neck as he pumped his fingers.

“So wet.” He mumbled, almost to himself, but you still shamefully nodded, eyes squeezed shut as he touched you. You couldn’t help but rock your hips at the divine feeling of his fingers rubbing at you sensitive tissue, pulling wet lewd noises from between your legs, and sinful moans from your lips.

“I need you, Din.” kissing his neck, a high pitched whine leaving your lips as you lost the feeling of his fingers, the same hand grabbing his cock from you. He pulled you close, breasts squashed against his chest, positioning himself between your folds. He teases you, running the flushed tip of his cock back and forth, tapping against your clit, making you jump at the sharp contact, only whining more for him. “Please.” You begged again, kissing his shoulder. With your final beg, he finally pushed into your clenching hole, his own head dropping onto your shoulder as you slowly sunk down onto him.

“Oh, fuck.” He huffed, feeling you clench around him. You squeezed around him, trembling as you felt him stretch you open, perfectly rubbing against your swollen walls as you lowered yourself down, his hands gripping the flesh of your hips, guiding you. Even though it was only a week without him, it was as if your whole body forgot how thick he was, and just how well he fit within your soaked walls.

You shuddered against him as you felt him fully seated within you, letting yourself adjust to his size, enjoying the way he felt within you and the way he twitched as you squeezed him. You pulled away from him, his own head lifting as the two of you looked at one another. He looked as if he was completely enthralled, heavy eyelids, lines creased between his eyebrows as he felt you. You felt drunk, drunk on Din, drunk on the way he felt within you, drunk on everything he was, and he looked like he felt the same.

You cupped his face, looking over each of his features as he felt you, the shaky breath, the crease in his eyebrows, the absolute fucked out look on his face, and you just started. You gave your hips an experimental grind, watching as his lips parted even more, the crease in his eyebrows growing as he groaned, hands gripping your hips even tighter. You wanted to see every face he made as you rode him.

You lifted yourself up, feeling the sweet drag of his cock, his hands helping you before dragging you back down, your ass slapping against the tops of his thighs. You whined softly, drowning in his scent as he pushed some hair back from your face, cupping your cheek as you continued to move. You lifted your hips slowly, feeling the tip of his cock hit the spongy spot within you, your whole body erupting in chills. You felt as if you couldn’t look away from him, afraid of missing any small detail of him, and you felt as if he felt the same way, his own eyes on your face. “Gods, look at you…” He mumbled, in complete awe of you. You felt dizzy as you nodded, shivering as he spoke. He leaned forward, hands tightening within your hair as he placed kisses along your shoulder, mumbling words against your skin. “So good, wrapped around me.” You nodded, bracing the back of the seat, giving yourself more leverage. You feel absolutely filled to the brim, his cock hitting deeper than you’ve felt before. “Din.” You mumbled, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. His lips brushed against your ear, slurring about how well you’re taking him. You don’t think you could ever get used to his voice without the helmet, it was all so much. With a trembling hand, you shift your fingers through his hair, finding the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, a slight smile on our face, you never really took Din to have curly hair.

He shudders as you tug on them softly, bucking his hips at the sensation, your toes curling as if you felt him in your throat. “Do it again.” He groaned against your neck, gripping your waist even tighter, helping you ride him. You tugged on his curls, gasping as he pulled his head back, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He couldn’t handle it anymore, he needed more. He grabbed you, bringing you harder against his thrusts, skin slapping against skin, a rhythm that made your mind go blank as you held onto the seat.

“I-I…” You wanted to say so much, wanted to tell him how good you felt, how bad you wanted this to last, but all you could say was mindless words and grains as he fucked up into you. Din didn’t stay still for long, thrusting into you, almost as if he couldn’t bear to be outside of you, short hard thrusts making you cry each time.

“So good.” Din mumbled, flexing within you, grunting as he felt you clench around him, sucking him deeper within you. “Feel perfect around me.” He huffed, biting down on your bottom lip, loving the way your breasts bounced against his chest, watching the way your hair fanned out, a thin layer of sweat along your forehead, making you look absolutely crazed. You looked as if you’ve been fucked all night, and he knew he needed to make that happen. He released your lip with a small slap, “Gotta have you all the time, sweet thing.” Chills ran down your back at the nickname, “Can’t stand not having you wrapped around me.” A small whimpered left your lips, his words only sending more heat to your lower stomach.

He could feel you get tighter and tighter around him, incoherent mumbles as you breathed. He knew you were close, from the way you felt around him to the fingers you were digging into the nape of his neck. He had to feel it. He grabbed your hair, tugging you back, seeing the blissful state on your face as you looked down at him, bright cheeks and parted plump lips. “You’re close.” He stated, watching as you nodded, feeling the heat build and build. “Lemme feel it.” He sighed, bringing you harder against him, hearing the lewd wetness of your pussy. He glanced down, watching the way his cock slipped from you and sheathed right back within your soaked walls, glistening more and more with each thrust. “Maker.” He gasped, twitching at the sight. You clenched around him at the feeling, shuddering as you bucked against him, whimpering and begging him to keep going. “I’m not gonna stop.” You dropped your head back onto his shoulder, not trusting your neck to keep your head up, but Din had other plans. “No, come on.” He mumbled, pulling you back up, eyes back on his. “Keep riding me.” He felt your thighs twitching, body losing its rhythm as you tried to keep up the pace. Fingers wrapping around your neck softly, just enough to make you look at him. “Say my name when you cum.”

He felt you clench around him at his words before finally her whole body went tense. You spasmed against him, a single sharp cry of his name. “Din!” He felt you tightening around him more and more, tighter than he’s ever felt. You bucked against him, feeling your juices seap from where the two of you were joined, coating the inside of your thighs and his as you bounced on his cock. Legs and thighs twitching like mad as you stared down at Din, jaw slacked, eyebrows scrunched together. You heard the low rumble in his chest as he felt you, his cock pulsing as he grabbed your hips. You collapsed against him, wanting to worry about his bruising, but was surprised when he pulled you even closer, breaths mixing together as he lifted you up and down on his cock.

“I wanna see you cum, Din.” You whispered weakly, your walls clenching wildly around him, feeling overly sensitive as he continued to bounce you on top of him. His thrust soon became frantic, chasing his own high as he drove himself harder within you, ripping more weak whimpers and cries from your lips. “I gotta see you cum.” You whispered against his lips, smiling slightly as he nodded wordlessly.

Your walls fluttered around him as he pulsed, a deep groan of your name as he stilled within you, grinding you against his thighs as thick, ropes of cum filled you. You watched as his jaw dropped, eyes firmly shut, ragged breaths as he bucked against you, his cock twitching and pulsing as you milked him dry.

The cockpit felt as if it was a sauna, thick air around the two of you, the smell of sweat and sexs filled the air as the two of you took deep breaths in, trying to calm down from such an activity. Din peeled his fingers from you, dragging his hands up your back, feeling the cool layer of sweat that covered your bodies. You felt sticky, tired and completely fucked out as you sat on Din, his cock softening but neither of you cared to move.

“I love you.” You whispered once again, nudging his cheek with your nose, a cheeky smile on your face as he dropped his head back to the seat, eyes shut. You kissed down his neck, tasting the sweat as you moved to the other side of his neck, peppering more kisses. He hummed at your actions, fingers gently caressing your back.

“I love you.” He whispered back, the words sending chills down your spine.

“Do you need me to move?” You mumbled, moving your hips slightly, smirking as he gripped your thighs, stopping you.

“No.” He shook, keeping you to him, enjoying the weight of you on him. “Just stay right there.”

Mando tag List:

@hayley-the-comet @unciejensen @talesfromtheguild @roxypeanut @sirianisrock @yelyahcardella @officiallyunofficialperson @luna6499 @bxxbxy @readsalot73 @blblalabla @blackravena @crowwleys @mcueveryday @anthenglen @mazzellobaby @triggerhappyflygirl @himarisolace

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vanillann · 4 years ago

Text

within the vision (bucky barnes x f.reader)

a/n: i’m going to be naming each chapter based on a sitcom from that time era, cause i can!! also i’m so glad everyone liked the prologue!!

warning: WANDAVISION SPOILERS, swearing, suggestive language, talks of past trauma, AU

word count: 1.9k

within the vision masterlist

Chapter 1: Born Yesterday

“Do you remember everything we just went over?”

I rolled my eyes, snapping the silver bracelet on my wrist, the little charm would be normal to anyone else but Bucky and I knew the content.

“No, I forgot everything,” I turned to Tony, smiling sarcastically when he frowned.

“We should have given you up for adoption,” Tony titled his head, the tiniest smile on his lips and he played with the technology again.

The room felt packed with people, Tony and Bruce running around the technology, Bucky and I waiting beside two beds that were shoved beside Wanda’s, and Steve and Sam leaned against the wall trying to tell me to stop with this plan.

“We don’t know what could happen,” Steve repeated again, his arms crossed as Tony gave Bucky his bracelet, thicker than mine but still normal enough to not have anyone question it.

We had taken extra steps to ensure our safety as nobody knew exactly where we were going.

“You both need to get out as soon as the mission's over,” Bruce nodded, to both of us. His finger danced across the different screen, Tony and himself were the only ones who understood it.

“I was planning on going on a walk before I came back.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but gave me a hint of a smile. He understood my defense mechanism, one of the few people who never got mad when I couldn’t be completely serious. One plus for anger management classes.

“I regret doing this already,” Bucky spoke under his breath, looking up to Sam who gave a fake thumbs up.

“If it comes down to it, leave Bucky,” he responded, earning a thumbs up from me.

“I hate both of you.”

Bucky and I both laid in our own bed, our combat gear already on as we laid back slightly, Tony taking Bucky's side while Bruce came to mine.

“We’re going to first hook you to this machine to keep track of your vitals,” I said nothing, watching Bruce shove the IV in my arm and playing with the machine a bit to make sure everything was okay.

“Next, on the count of three you’ll press the button on the bracelet. Remember you need to keep your mind focused on Wanda for this to work,” Tony continues with his run on sentence, only stopping once Bucky and I both nodded once.

I felt the chill suddenly run up my body, suddenly nervous to just hind out in my best friend's mind. Especially since she had always been younger than me, I felt weirdly awkward now.

“Are you both sure about this?”

I saw Bucky nodded slightly from the bed beside me, suddenly all eyes on me. I felt myself shift in the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second,” I spoke after Steve, smiling at his worried glares but said nothing else of it.

You were doing this for her own good, you were helping her. This wasn’t you reading her diary after teasing about her crush, this was her turning into herself not knowing we were waiting for her.

“I’m good,” I laid down on the bed, not looking at anyone as my other hand searched for the button. I wasn’t going to mess this up cause I couldn’t find a button.

“Okay, remember to stay safe and think about Wanda.”

I nodded lightly, trying my best to zone in on Wanda while Tony’s count down filled the room.

“One.”

I thought back to young Wanda and Pietro trying to hide my shoes before one of my first dates when I was 14.

“Two.”

Wanda giggling in my room at the compound when Steve went on a manhunt for me because I was late for practice.

“Three.”

I felt my finger smash the button, thinking of Wanda’s face as she held off Thanos with Vision life in her hand. I thought of her tearful face as she gave me one last glance before everything blew up before my body was smashed against the nearby tree.

The weird feeling around me gave me a stomach ache. The feeling of falling when you were about to sleep almost, but my eyes refused to open as the wind rushed past me. I wanted to panic, to pull myself from whatever I walked into, but I simply couldn’t.

I couldn't sense anyone around me, my body was all alone falling and I couldn’t stop it. I was a controlled person, I enjoyed control and suddenly that word didn’t even exist anymore.

Then it stopped, the falling was gone and my eyes were pushed open. My body was moved differently, pushed against something. When I slowly moved around I noticed the slight dusk of the sky.

“(Y/N)?” My name whispered filled the same space I sat in, I looked around trying to get my brain to focus on one thing. I felt something cold against my wrist cause me to jump, pushing harder into the rough back.

I looked down, Bucky's face laid under whatever I was sitting on. I looked up, noticing the windows and the steering wheel slightly ahead of me. I took in the leather under my fingers, seeing there wasn’t a door handle in the back and how low the roof was.

But that didn't worry me, what worried me was I couldn’t make out any other colors besides black, white, and grey. I looked to Bucky, hoping to see the light pale skin on his face but was met with white, almost like a white crayon that had been run in black dust lightly.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Wanda’s head, I thought this was your plan,” Bucky slowly sat up from the floor of the backseat, I had luckily ended up on the actual seat. I looked out, hoping to see the colors of the sky but I was met with the same grey color.

“Can you see color?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bucky rubbed his arm, slowly moving to sit in the same space I had made for him on the seat.

I finally looked around the rest of the area, noticing the row of houses and other such things. The trees and bushes reminded me of the old movie Steve would make us watch, looking like something out of a sitcom.

“What are you wearing?”

I frowned as I looked at Bucky, his eyes held confusion as he looked me up and down once. I looked down at myself, shocked to find myself in a dress, definitely not my combat gear. The material was dark, I couldn’t tell more, and a fake belt was sowed into the thick fabric.

“I haven’t seen one of those in awhile,” Bucky picked up a piece of the dress at the end, rubbing the material between his fingers when I slapped it from his wands. That when I heard it, laughing. Not like you told a funny joke laughing, like a sitcom laugh.

I pointed to Bucky, my eyes wide as I waited for who knew what. When I saw Bucky slowly look up at me from the place he looked at my dress I knew he heard it. That's when I noticed the suit he was wearing, specifically an older looking arm suit. I looked back around the car, spotting the matching hat to the suit on the dash of the car. I didn’t say anything, slowly reaching up to grab it when I saw a door open.

A lady with dark hair and bright smiles walked out, held a hand slightly in the air if she were to hold a cigarette but no smoke came out. She was talking to someone, whoever was in the house. Suddenly I watched the owner lean out slightly, my jaw going slack as I saw Wanda’s bright smile hides behind loopy curls.

“Doll-”

“Don’t call me that,” I spoke softly, doing my best to keep the facade up but I was so shocked, Wanda was lightly pushing the woman out the house, almost as if begging her to leave with a little laugh. She looked the same, only dressed up similar to me.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he tugged on my dress, my hand slapping it away again but he yanked hard. He sent me flying to the back seat of the car. my side pushed into his with a loud oof.

I heard that stupid sitcom laugh again, trying to push it to the make of my mind as I pushed away from Bucky. I hit him in the side with the hat I had managed to take back with me, my mouth wide open to yell but Bucky shoved something in my face.

I could spot the coke logo from miles away, only it wasn’t the saem logo I had always remembered. The bottles were glass and the writing looked much more vintage. That when I noticed Bucky tapping on a part of the label, my eyes reading over the information their.

Expiration date: July 6th, 1953

“1953?” I looked around the neighborhood again, suddenly realizing the vintage cars that were parked along the streets and the dress that hung off my frame.

“How?”

“I don't hear you asking how we ended up in the wrong decade,” My voice was stern as he spoke, watching the dark haired lady finally leave Wanda’s porch and go to her own house close by.

“Not the time,” Bucky finally sat up slightly, watching the lady walk in her house.

“When is the time then? Maybe the 70s or do you wanna wait til the 90s,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder with a pout. His face was so close to me, I finally noticed his once long hair was cut short.

He looked like he had in those photos of Steve and himself, back from the 40s.

“Well, what do we do know?” Bucky looked at me, his nose almost hitting mine when he turned but I had slightly moved back.

“I guess blend it?” I shrugged, hearing that stupid sitcom laugh that I wanted ro punch in the face.

“How do you suppose we do that?”

I looked around the neighborhood, smiling when I noticed the house across from Wanda’s had a large “FOR SALE” sign standing in the front yard.

“Break into that house and act like we belong here,” I smirked, ignoring Bucky as I slowly climbed into the front seat of the car. I heard Bucky yell out about me kicking him but I didn’t care as I made it to the driver seat, pushing open the door.

“For your information, I do belong here,” were the last words I heard from Bucky before I closed the door, smiling over at the house and trying to keep my voice low to not attract wandering eyes. I stood in the same place for a second, suddenly my view changed from house to concrete. I felt a little bump on my backside and frown when I heard Bucky laugh.

“Should’ve held the door,” I noticed his combat boots beside my face. Normally I would have bought him down with me but I decided it would bring too much attention and simply pushed myself from the ground.

“I hate you,” I frowned, slamming my foot into the road when I heard that stupid laugh sound around me again.

“Okay okay,” Bucky held out two arms from me, trying his best to calm me down but it wasn’t any use, I simply pointed to the sign, turning back to look at Bucky with a serious look in my eye.

“We are stealing that sign and moving to that house.”

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firstfrostfall · 4 years ago

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Three

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

It was cold and dark by the time he reached The Garrison. The air was painfully frigid, so much so, that each inhale he took felt like a whip cracking to his chest. The year would soon be coming to a close, and winter was just beginning.

He needed a drink, and someplace to drown out the quiet before settling in for the night with his pipe. It was almost midnight, and Harry would be closing down the pub soon.

Tommy spent the better part of his day at Charlie Strong’s Yard, doing yet another once over of the stock inside of the crate that they found. They counted each item once, twice, three times- just to make sure it was real after all, and not some sort of fever dream.

Oh, and it was fucking real all right. 25 automatic machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammo, and a plethora of pistols.

The next order of business was figuring out what they were going to do with them, or rather, where they were going to put them. What a headache. One thing he knew for certain was that someone was going to realize this cargo had gone missing soon enough, and when that happened, he needed a plan.

Stolen guns aside, he had also spent a great deal of time trying to track down his brothers so they could purchase another horse for the upcoming races. Normally, he could do this on his own, but he had bigger ideas in mind. Bigger ideas that he needed his brothers for.

Now, getting the two of them in the same place at the same time was another hassle within itself, not to mention an additional headache.

Harry was behind the bar, humming to himself and organizing the racks of booze against the back wall, label facing front. At the sound of the door jingling, the barkeep lazily glanced over his shoulder with a yawn. Upon realizing who walked through the doors, he cleared his throat and sheepishly wiped his hands on his apron.

“Ah, Mr. Shelby, good evening,” His voice wavered. “How can I help you?”

Tommy nodded his head toward a particular bottle while shrugging off his coat.

He leaned against the bar then, waiting for his hands to warm up while Harry prepared his drink. He listened to the sounds of glasses clattering together, a bottle being uncorked, Harry’s hurried footsteps on the floor, the buzzing of the lights above. No factory machinery whirring in the background, no, it was far too late for that.

“Today was her first day, you know.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, unsure of who Harry was speaking about until it clicked. The favor for his aunt, that’s whose first day it was.

Truthfully, he hadn’t given the girl a second thought since he last spoke to her, and that was a few days ago now. Codwell? Coldwell? He couldn’t remember her surname. Her first name, on the other hand, was simple enough to recall. Anna. It was Anna.

“Miss Caldwell, that is.” Harry continued, clearly recognizing the confusion on his face.

Caldwell. Well, he was close.

“Is she still here?”

“Yes,” The barkeep jerked his chin toward the back room. “In the back.”

Tommy retrieved his cigarette case from his coat and placed it on the bartop, perching an unlit stick between his lips. “How’d she do?”

“She did fine,” Harry shrugged mid-pour, with a small smile growing on his face. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’ll take some getting used to, I’d reckon. I’m not sure if she’s ever handled liquor in her life, but she’s a hard worker.” His tone was light, jovial almost.

Tommy sighed heavily through his nostrils while lighting the cigarette. A hard worker. Polly said the same damn thing.

Harry left him alone then and went about tidying up the bar. Sweeping the floor, cleaning soap scum from glasses. Meanwhile, Tommy switched between smoking and drinking, each vice warming his chest. He listened to all of the sounds, broom bristles against the floor, Harry humming, glass colliding with the bartop.

Amidst this, he saw a figure step into the room from the corner of his eye. He didn’t bother to look over, because it could have only been her, Anna. It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat that he finally turned his head toward her.

She stood there, looking more diminutive than he initially realized. And tired. Her hair fell in loose waves around her, certainly not as neat as it had been before. No lipstick, either. Her blouse stuck out the most to him- it was covered in stains, each splotch in varying sizes and colors. A stark contrast to how buttoned up and proper she looked the other day. A rough first day, he imagined. It was almost comical.

He turned away to hide the smirk that grew on his lips while taking a slow sip from his drink. He hoped Polly was happy, he got the girl a job.

After a bit of small talk (he fucking hated small talk), it was time for him to take his leave. He got what he came for, a drink and some time to think.

He stubbed out the remnants of his dwindling cigarette on the cobblestone ground when he walked outside, deciding that he would light a fresh one almost immediately. Something to keep his mind busy while he walked home. It was far too cold for anything else.

He reached a hand into his jacket, fumbling for the cigarette case when his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, a piece of cardstock. Confused, he pulled it out, and upon a further glance, it was her crumpled-up resume.

That was when the snow started falling. He stopped walking, barely flinching when the first few snowflakes hit the exposed part of his neck.

Her hands. He thought of her hands. He didn’t look at her hands this time.

He tucked the paper back into his coat and sighed, his breath fogging the air in front of him. He turned over his shoulder, and he saw her. The flickering street lights cast a warm glow over her as she stood there, bundled up in a coat far too big for her frame, staring right back at him.

They both looked at each other for a moment, possibly minutes, before he turned away and kept walking.

She was just another investment for the business and based on her appearance tonight, she’d be a poor one at that.

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The snow from a few nights ago melted just as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but muddy puddles in its wake. Earlier in the day, Tommy had managed to track his brothers down, which was no simple task.

The three of them were on their way to The Garrison to drink, no surprise there, and to discuss plans for acquiring a new racehorse. An Appaloosa, to be exact. A young, flighty, and fast mare. With enough training, it would be perfect for the tracks. Tommy was almost certain of that.

The seller was from one of the riverside camps outside of the city, someone Polly had known from a long time back. This led Tommy to believe that the horse was no doubt stolen, especially since there weren’t many Appaloosas around these parts, which made it all the better deal. He’d probably be able to buy the damned thing at a discount.

“You hear? There’s a new girl working at The Garrison.” Arthur’s voice, loud and gruff, interrupted his thoughts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Some posh bitch, yeah?” John asked.

“She’s posh?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s she doing here?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged. “Heard some people say she sounds posh. Haven’t seen her yet myself.”

Tommy was walking a few steps ahead of them, rolling his eyes. They were fucking stupid.

“You think she’s pretty?” John quipped with a grin.

“I’d bet she is,” Arthur replied.

“You wanna put a wager on it?”

“Oh, I’ll put a fuckin’ wager on it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, watching as they spit and shook hands on it. Stupid.

It appeared to be a slow afternoon at the pub, with only a few men at the bar and a tiny handful of people scattered around various tables. Harry stood behind the bar, raising a hand to him in greeting while he spoke to other patrons. His brothers all but stumbled into the snug, laughing about who would win the wager. Tommy shook his head.

Anna, however, was nowhere in sight. He thought she’d be attached to the hip with Harry, like a dutiful trainee. It had been a few days since he was last at The Garrison, since the last time he saw her with the stained blouse, and almost a little over a week since he first met her. Maybe she quit. A pity, he supposed, Polly said she was struggling. But it was no skin off his nose. If she couldn’t handle the work, then maybe it was for the best.

He caught Harry’s attention and motioned with his head toward the private room. “We’ll be in the snug.”

His brothers were already lounging in the booth. John chewing on a toothpick and Arthur slinging his arms over the back of the seat.

“I’d bet- not pretty. I heard she sounds like one of those London girls who get too drunk at the clubs and take a cab here by accident.” John grinned, emphasizing each word with a point of his finger.

“No, no,” Arthur shook his head. “If people are talking, she has to be pretty.”

“You wanna place a bet, Tommy?” John turned toward him, still grinning with the pick between his teeth.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” His younger brother huffed.

“Already seen her,” Tommy answered from over his shoulder as he hung his winter coat on the rack.

“And?” They asked in unison. “Is she pretty or not?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Tommy shook his head. “It would ruin the bet.”

“When did you see her?”

“Who do you think hired her?” Tommy deadpanned.

“When were you going to tell us?” John retorted.

“She’s a fucking barmaid. They’re two a penny around here,” Tommy rolled his eyes, taking his cap off and shoving it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. He finally slid into the booth beside Arthur with a sigh. “It’s not important.”

The shutters to the bar above flew open, and Harry’s head popped through.

“A round of beers for us,” Tommy waved a hand at the barkeep. “Is she here?”

“Miss Caldwell?” Harry blinked. “Uh, yes, she’s in the back.”

Didn’t quit, then.

“ Miss,” John scoffed under his breath, elbowing Arthur in the side. “She’s a Miss .” Arthur started laughing too.

“Have her serve us. Consider it part of her training.”

John particularly seemed to get a kick out of that line.

Harry slowly nodded and closed the shutters.

Soon enough, there was a brisk knock at the main door to their private room. Tommy sat closest to the door and reached for the knob to open it.

Anna stood there, gripping a steel pail filled with beer. She looked at him first, a small smile on her lips. Still no lipstick. Her hair was neatly arranged with curls to her collarbone, just as it was when he first saw her. She was dressed head to toe in dark green, save for the worn cotton apron tied around her waist. No stains on her blouse this time, either.

“ Miss,” John tipped the brim of his cap to her. Arthur chuckled beside him.

“Good afternoon,” She gently placed the pail on the table, smoothing her hands over her apron after doing so. “I’ll be right back with your glasses.”

The way she spoke, crisp and clean, each word clipped and flowing. Something wasn’t right.

When she returned, she dunked each glass into the pail and wiped the remaining droplets from the sides with a fresh cloth before serving each of them. Tommy had to stifle a laugh. What a neat and careful touch.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tommy shook his head, still smirking, and waved a hand at her. “That will be all.”

She gave them a curt nod and stepped out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Tommy tilted his head toward his brothers. “Who won?”

John shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, sliding a few bills across the table toward Arthur.

“I bloody knew it,” Arthur grinned, tucking his winnings into his jacket. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pointed a finger at his brother. “ This is your comeuppance for cheating at cards the other day.”

“Oh, shut up,” John rolled his eyes and flicked the toothpick to the floor. “I’m paying you your dues. She’s pretty enough.”

“How’d you find her anyway, Tom?” Arthur turned his attention to him, beer in hand.

“I didn’t find her,” Tommy brought his own glass to his lips and shrugged. “Polly did. She asked me to give her a job.”

“How the hell did she find her?” John’s eyes darted between the two of them. “She must be from London or something.”

“Something about a woman from church, I’m not a fucking psychic.” Tommy rolled his eyes. He could feel another headache coming on. “Ask her yourself.”

“You think she’s a whore?” John asked, earning a clap on the shoulder from Arthur. “How much, do you think?”

Another headache was definitely coming on now.

“Let’s talk about the fucking horse, and then we can speculate if she’s a whore or not, yeah?”

His brothers were fucking stupid, gawking over something new and shiny.

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Tommy was the last to leave the snug, insisting that he wanted to finish another cigarette. When he was finally alone, he stepped out into the pub. The afternoon was rolling into the evening, and the sinking sun cast a gilded orange glow over the room. Upon his first glance, it looked like he was the last person left in the pub. The last person except for her.

Anna was behind the bar, her face still and serious while she wiped down a glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she looked up.

“Mr. Shelby,” She set down the glass on the bartop. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “I was looking for Harry.”

“He had to step out for a moment, there’s no more ice.”

“Ah,” He placed his cap on his head. “I’ll come back another time then. Good day.”

Tommy turned on his heel toward the door but stopped short when he heard her speak again. He glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“You can call me Anna, by the way.” She was smiling. “It’s been hard enough trying to get Harry to use my name. Always ‘ miss’ around here.”

“Noted.”

He noticed her face drop at his response, or lack thereof, rather. But just as quickly, she started smiling again. She looked away from him and smoothed all of her hair over one shoulder, not a single red ringlet out of place. She reached for the rag she was cleaning with before and went back to work.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, a sudden sense of good nature perhaps, but he decided he’d throw her a bone. He adjusted his cap on his head and turned to fully face her now.

“Harry says you’re a hard worker.”

She laughed at that. Honestly laughed. He knew it was real because it was soft at first, the sound rich and gentle until it ended with a snort. Her cheeks started to tinge pink, at the snort, he guessed. She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

“Excuse me for laughing. He’s too kind, really.” Her eyes darted from him to the rag in her hands, and then back to him. “I’ve been trying my best, but I think I’m making a mess of things. I’m sure the sorry state of my apron can attest to that.” She took a step back and tugged on the hem of the apron.

“Nothing on the blouse this time.”

Her lips parted slightly, no doubt surprised. And then she started laughing again. “You noticed that from the other day?”

He shrugged, the ghost of a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Hard not to.”

“I hope you’ll never have to see me in such a mess again. For both of our sakes.”

Tommy glanced at her hands. Still smooth.

Clearing his throat, he tipped the brim of his cap to her. “Anna.”

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That night, while he sat awake in bed, staring at the wall, he thought of her laugh. It was unbecoming for her, he thought.

John was right, she did seem like one of those London girls who got too drunk and mosied on up here by accident. She certainly spoke like one and carried herself like one, too.

The whole thing was unbecoming.

He did think she was pretty, though. He wouldn’t tell his brothers that.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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raminboots · 4 years ago

Text

↱ Unfortunate Circumstances ↲

Inspired by @chasing-starlights story about villain accidentally drugging a hero with a love potion

.・゜゜・ ♡ ・゜゜・．

“Get away from me you cretin!”

A large bang was heard throughout the city of Harfields as the city's favorite hero chased down his ten-legged nemesis. More specifically, the ten-legged man was jumping from building to building as the other one chased him down while flying. Moe was rushing all he could, feeling the adrenaline pump throughout his body as he hopped from one roof to another.

Although it wasn’t really him that did it, it was with the help of the mechanical spider-like legs that were protruding out of his back. He had eight of them, all connected to his brain and working together as actual limbs. Moe was a special case in the war between good and bad. Most of them, whether it was a hero or a villain, had some sort of power. Not Moe, he was a regular person, and to make up for that, he used machinery.

He had a bunch of body and limb enhancers, like his spider legs. But he also had a plethora of others that he stored on his body. But, they had a tendency to overheat or even break in the midst of battle.

The man was rushing with a briefcase pressed to his chest, holding on to it for dear life as he practically threw himself from roof to roof, taking sharp turns, dipping down in between buildings and even crashing into one apartment's window and out of another. All of this in desperation of shaking off the hero who was on his tail. Moe couldn’t lose the briefcase, he just couldn’t. He wouldn’t know what to do if he did.

“You know, running will get you nowhere, Arachnid!” He could hear the hero shout at him from behind, all this did was fuel the fire as he picked up the pace out of pure spite.

“Oh we’ll see about that one!” That was the only thing he had to say to that moronic meathead. But he would soon have to eat his own words as one of his legs got tangled up in two of the other spider legs, causing the whole thing to trip up and for Moe to fall down. Now, that wouldn’t have been too bad if he had fallen on the hard rooftop, it would have been humiliating but it wouldn’t have caused him too much pain.

Instead, he had to have fallen just before he was supposed to jump. So when he fell, he fell straight off the 30 feet tall building head first. He let out a cry of horror as he closed his eyes, waiting for the hard impact of the ground.

But it never came, instead, he felt his body jolt up as it stopped completely mid air. At first he thought that one of his enhancers had been caught on some wire or pipe sticking out from the building, that was until he heard a light chuckle from above him. Oh no.

He tensed up. As he looked up, he saw that the person who had indeed caught him was none other than Mr. Fire himself. Thomas Clément, more commonly known in the hero industry as Wildfire. He was intense, headstrong, insanely determined and robust. And he was Moe’s personally assigned hero.

You see, in the city of Harfields, there were two kinds of people. Normal humans and mutants. These mutants were gifted with divine powers and abilities that made them all powerful. And of course, the government was going to take advantage of that. They created an organisation called The Hero Preparation Foundation, or H.P.F for short. This was where mutants could train and earn their title as a hero. After that they were allowed to go out into the world and serve justice.

But not everyone who was a mutant wanted to be a hero. But the city didn’t care, and more often than not, resisting mutants either got forced into training or got locked up, getting labelled as “too dangerous” to walk freely.

In response to this horrid treatment, a small set of individuals created a resistance. The group went against all of the ideals of the H.P.F because of their corrupt ways. And as the cause got stronger, the more mutants joined, and sooner or later, the group became an underground organisation with hundreds of members. And Moe was one of those members.

But the thing was, once H.P.F got wind as to what was happening, they started a program where they documented each “villain”, as they called them, that was publically known. That would include all their powers, goals and attacks. Then they would try to find the best matching hero to “assign” to that villain, that way, whenever the villain was up to something, their hero would be notified and they would handle them. This way, they streamlined all the hero's work and made it easier to deal with.

Wildfire was assigned to Moe, and at first, Moe didn't understand why. Why would they assign a fire-type hero to a mechanic-type villain. But he would soon learn the hard way just why this combo was so effective. Wildfire’s powers included many different types of fire manipulation, including creating compact balls of flames that he could shoot and throw.

Moe couldn’t count all the times he’d massecared one of his machines or blown up one of his equipment. He could always rebuild them of course, there was a reason that he was called the mechanical spider. Whenever he was building his movements were fast, sharp and very persize. He could build things that would take days in just a couple of hours. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying whenever Wildfire destroyed the shit he’d been working on.

The hero was looking at him with a playful smirk, not a menacing or mean-spirited one, rather one filled with amusement and glee. And that, in Moe’s opinion, was way worse.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favorite spider. How’s it hanging, mon moitié?” The man said as he looked down at Moe who was in a very compromisable position. He couldn’t help but scoff at his stupid pun. And the french didn’t help his annoyance. He hated when Wildfire spoke french to him, because he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Go to hell.” The hero quirked his eyebrow at this, a smile still remaining on his face.

“Ouch! Such hostility, what did I ever do to deserve this kind of treatment, Arachnid?” He asked in an exaggerated voice, Moe rolled his eyes, ignoring him. “Aww come on, is this really how you treat your friends?” Moe felt annoyance build up in his body as he heard this. Although, Wildfire couldn’t see this annoyance on his face since he wore a gas mask that covered half of his face and a pair of goggles, blocking out both his face and his eyes.

“Shut up! We’re not friends, we’ve never been friends and we never will be!” He kicked his legs slightly in frustration, making his body dangle slightly in Wildfire’s grasp.

“You know, you’ve got a lot of balls saying this stuff for someone in your position.”

“What are you going to do? Drop me? I thought you hero’s were supposed to be better than us.” Moe could admit, if it was anyone else holding him he would not be talking like this. But it was Wildfire, it was Thomas. That big idiot would never drop him. He has a strict no killing policy and he has never broken that policy throughout his years as a hero. He doubted that he would break this policy now.

“Nah, you’re holding onto something way too important for me to drop you.” Moe thought for a second before he remembered what he was holding.

“The briefcase? I’ll drop it! I swear to god I’ll drop it if you don’t put me down!”

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh I so would!”

“Okay, then I’ll drop you and catch the briefcase.” This caught Moe slightly off guard. He knew deep down that Wildfire wouldn't, but it would be so easy for him to drop him if he felt like it.

Wildfire sighed, running a hand through his brown curly hair. This only brought the fact that he was holding Moe with one hand to his attention. He would say that it was impressive but Moe knew about his super-human strength. And he’s not going to compliment him for doing one of the three things he was good at as a hero; Fire-casting, flying and being strong.

“Look. How about you just hand over the briefcase and we can spare you any extra embarrassment once you get home to your little villain hide-out.” At first, Moe was confused by this statement. That was until he looked down and saw a pretty sizable crowd that had formed at the bottom of the building. Any and all confidence that Moe had left his body as he felt his face heat up.

“Put me down! Right now! I’m telling you, you better-” Moe was interrupted.

“Say the magic words.” After Wildfire said that, Moe shot a glare at him, and after that he looked down once more. People were watching and some were even filming, but the two were very high up so he doubted that they could hear him. After a couple of seconds of consideration he sighed as he kept his gaze away from Wildfire. And he remained like that for a good minute or two. At this point he didn’t care if people were watching, he had already embarrassed himself enough, he wasn’t about to lose his last piece of dignity by playing Wildfires games. It didn’t take long before the hero sighed, and that was when Moe knew that at least in one way, he had won. Certainly not in any significant way, but it was at least something.

And so, the hero flew away. He flew with the villain dangling from his grasp, as he lowered himself down into an alleyway a bit away from the crowd. As soon as he was put down, Moe immediately tried to scramble away like a scared cat, but he didn’t get very far.

“Oh no you don’t. Come back here.” Wildfire grabbed a hold of one of the spider-legs and yanked it backwards, effectively pulling Moe back and also severing the leg. “Oh shit, sorry ‘bout that one. God, you oughta make them a bit stronger.”

“A bit stronger? You have superhuman strength! What do you want me to do? Get some indestructible material? You’re such an idiot- '' Before Moe could finish, a hand slammed itself mere inches from his face, making him flinch as he looked back at the hero towering over him.

“Listen, Arachnid. I’m really tired today, why don’t you just cut to the chase and give me the briefcase.” Moe hugged the briefcase to his chest, clutching onto it as he looked away from Wildfire. He sighed in response. “I will rip it out of your hands if I have to, and I don’t think any of us wants that.” Moe looked down at the briefcase one last time, furrowing his eyebrows before letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking at the ground, he extended the hand holding the case to the hero, and he grabbed it, very gently. Sometimes it was almost painful to Moe to feel how careful Wildfire was with him. He didn’t understand why he didn’t just rip the case out of his hands, why he didn’t let him fall, why he never aimed for Moe when throwing his fire balls. He had been presented with so many opportunities to hurt him, to kill him, and yet, he never did.

Without another word, only a glance over at Moe, Wildfire flew away, leaving Moe alone in the alleyway.

…

“Yes Mark, it would seem like the young hero Wildfire managed to secure a briefcase from The Mad Arachnid earlier today nearby the H.P.F headquarters. When asked about the contents of the briefcase or the villains whereabouts, the hero had this to say,”

The faint sound from a television plagued Moe’s mind as he walked through the streets of Harfields. It sat in the window of a television shop, broadcasting a news channel that was talking about the battle that had occured only minutes earlier. He looked at it, tuning out the sounds and feeling his gaze get stuck. Soon he looked at his reflection in the display window. His eyes were tired and unfocused. One big benefit from having a mask and goggles during his fights was that no one, not even Thomas could see what he was thinking.

After their fight, Moe had fled and hid away in a separate dark alleyway. He couldn’t be in the same one that Thomas had dropped him off at, there would surely be cops and people crowding the area. He needed a quiet space where he could not only calm down but also change out of his disguise since he didn’t want to draw any unneeded attention to him by walking home in his villain outfit. And once he calmed down, that’s what he did.

Hiding behind a big dumpster, he threw off his spider leg compartments by removing his backplate from under his trenchcoat. It had started to heat up during their battle and Moe was left with the uncomfortable heat on his back as he changed into his spare shirt and jacket that he had brought with him. He didn’t want to say that he expected to lose, but he believed that you should, as he was taught, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

He took off his lower half gas-mask and thick goggles feeling like he could breathe properly and fully. He put his long hair into a ponytail as he pulled the hood from his jacket over his head.

He walked out of the damp alley and out into the streets of Harfields, feeling a pit start to form in his stomach as it finally started to settle in what had just happened, he just lost the briefcase full of the H.P.F intel.

Feeling himself snap back to reality he realised that he had zoned out in front of the tv. It showed a picture of him, The Mad Arachnid, along with phrases like “be on the lookout” and “Call immediate authorities if seen”.

He stuck his hands in his pockets as he muttered to himself while walking home. He couldn’t exactly take a bus there since public transport was on hold because of their fight, and he just had to get away from the main part of the city as fast as he could. Pulling on his hoodie strings, he grumbled and kept up his pace, trying to walk as fast as he could. Part of him contemplated even going back to the headquarters, he knew what was waiting for him there. But he knew the rules and what he had to do.

“How could you let this happen! Don’t you understand just how important those files were!?” Moe flinched as he got cursed out by one of the leaders of the organisation. They called him Raven. That was his only alias, only a handful of people knew his real name. The reason he was called Raven was because of his mechanical wings that he used to fly around, accompanied by a pair of claw-like gloves and a plague doctor mask. It was easy to see where Moe had gotten his inspiration for his costume from.

But Raven was similar to Moe in more ways than one. He too had no powers at all. He used his wings to get around and claws to attack. Although, since he was the leader and symbol of their movement, Raven didn’t actually attack all that often. He mostly helped people who trained, held meetings and planned out all the attacks.

“… I’m sorry…” Moe mumbled as he looked down on the table in front of him, feeling the shame drape over him like the very trench coat he wore. He was currently sitting inside Raven's office, getting lectured by the older villain. He let out a sigh as he looked at the shrunken up boy, whether that was with pity or disappointment didn’t make a difference to Moe. Nothing that Raven thought of him in that moment wasn’t something that Moe hadn’t thought of himself.

“Listen to me kid-”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Don’t… interrupt me.” Raven told the younger villian off. “You’ve got a lot of potential, alright?” This was what Raven always told Moe when he failed. You’ll get them next time, you have a lot of potential, you just need to work on your attacks.

Despite all his encouragement, Moe had a painful lose-to-win ratio, having barely won two or three fights while losing the rest. At what point do you just throw in the towel? Raven was conflicted, as his mentor he wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he would get stronger the more he trained. But as his boss he had to ask himself, was this all worth it? He wanted to see him thrive and grow, but at times it didn’t even feel as if Moe himself wanted to grow.

“... Don’t feel too bad about the files. We can just wait a few months and send someone else.” Moe didn’t expect to be allowed the mission again, but it still hurt to hear Raven admit that he screwed up, enough to deny any second chance.

Moe only nodded his head at this. Refusing to make eye contact with Raven. It pained Raven to see such a sad sight. He knew Moe was super passionate about their cause, joining them despite not having any powers. And no matter how many times he lost, he always returned. That’s why he didn’t want to give up on him, he was more devoted to their stand than most of their members.

Since their cause grew bigger and bigger, more people started to join just to have an excuse to commit crimes. They didn’t care about the resistance or the others involved, so to have someone like Moe, it wasn’t something you saw everyday.

“Why don’t you just lay low for a while, alright? You’ve been out on a lot of missions lately. You should go home and relax, you’ve been pushing yourself too much and I think it’s getting to you.” Moe let out a sharp breathy laugh, he knew that Raven was probably right, but it didn’t feel very good to be sent home when he should be doing something. But the laugh was short lived as he got quiet.

“… Alright sir, I will.”

As Moe walked out of his office and down the hallways of the HQ, he could feel almost a dozen eyes plastering onto him. He knew what they were all thinking. He was known as the runt of the organisation. Nothing but a waste of space and resources. He knew what they said to him behind closed doors. All of them, nothing but snakes.

Speaking of snakes, Moe sighed as he heard a certain low chuckle, a chuckle that anyone who’s been working there would know about. Turning his attention to one of the darker areas at the end of the hallway he could see two glowing eyes staring back at him.

“Hello, Serpent.” The black serpent, she was an infamous trickster among villains. Through her battles she proved two things; she saw everything as a game, laughing and messing around during her missions, but she also proved that she was quite useful when it came to winning. She had won so many of her battles, she was the complete opposite of Moe, having a drastically higher win streak than her lose streak. Everyone knew that she was one of the people who joined just to cause chaos, but it didn’t matter. She could care fuck all about the cause, she was simply too valuable of an asset to lose. And so, she got to stay.

“Evening to ya. Heard you totally busted your last mission.” She giggled as she formed out from the shadows, having only been a mist with two glowing eyes up until then.

“...”

“Yeah it was really embarrassing as well,” she let out yet another mocking laugh. “It was like, broadcasted to all of us. We got to see that sweet failure in raw HD.”

“If you’re just here to mock me then you can piss off. I don’t have time to talk to you.” He started to walk away, and that was when Serpent quickly turned into mist and slid in front of him. She reformed once more, much closer to him this time. Causing him to flinch back.

“Amazingly enough, I’m actually not here just to mock you.” Keyword being just. “I’m actually here to make you an offer.” Now this actually intrigued Moe quite a bit.

“What do you mean? What… kind of deal?” He asked, this made the shadow manipulator smirk. She got him.

“What Raven says about you isn’t false Moe,” he tensed up as she used his real name. They’re not supposed to refer to each other by their actual names unless it’s really urgent or serious. Although, Serpent was quite liberal with her use of these names, specifically Moe’s.

“You’ve got a lot of potential. But here’s the thing, those bastards at H.P.F are really good at matching heroes with villains, and it just so happens that they paired you up with a really good one. I think the only thing holding you back is your failures, if you could just win a couple of battles against that meathead, I’m sure you’ll get even better!” Moe picked at his fingers as he looked away from the taller woman in front of him.

“But… wouldn’t that be… cheating? What are you even going to do?” He asked, the woman started to walk away, nudging her head in his opposite direction, signaling for him to follow her.

“Since when have we ever followed the rules? There are no cheaters in this game, only winners and losers. I’m not gonna kill him or anything like that, then they would just send another hero. No, what if I told you there was a way for you to be able to completely control him? To control that wildfire that has been plaguing your life!” Moe fidgeted uncomfortably with the ends of his shirt as he interjected.

“How would you even do that?” Serpent only chuckled in response.

“A potion.” Of course. Serpent was known for her work with potions and other kinds of magic.

“How would I ever get close enough to give him the potion though?” Serpent sighed as she turned back to Moe, her eyebrow twitching slightly.

“God, do you ever stop whining. Figure it out. Doesn’t that big dope hold a bunch of fan meetups all the time? Just go dressed as a fan and give him a pastry with the potion inside of it. This seems way too easy for you to be complaining this much.” Suddenly, she stopped, turning back to Moe and grabbing his shoulders.

“Imagine it, you could play him like a fiddle- no, like a cheap kazoo! All with your own mind! You could finally win!” She was shaking him slightly, trying to build up anticipation in him. Moe pulled away, backing away from the woman. This only made her sigh as she rolled her eyes. “There you go again with your ‘oh god Serpent is crazy’ look. If you’re too much of a coward to do it that’s fine. But remember, if you ever change your mind,” She walked closer to him, placing a small card in his shirt pocket,

“You know where to find me.”

It was dusk, the sky was a orange hue. Moe liked the color a lot, it was really comforting to him for whatever reason. He had taken a train back home and now he was standing outside of his apartment, digging through his pockets to find them. After taking them out he hesitated slightly before he put the keys in and opened the door.

“Welcome home, Moe. How was today?” The monotonous voice of his assistant greeted him as soon as he entered his home. They were looking at him, eyes glowing as he turned on the lights in the apartment. There had been quite a few times that he had woken up to those terrifying yellow eyes staring at him in the middle of the night, but at this point he was pretty used to it.

“Not great.” His answer was short and sweet. He found that it was easier to not lie around E.S.A.H and just get their daily checkup done.

“Would you like to tell me about it or not?” They responded according to program.

“No thank you.” Moe said as he walked inside, going into his kitchen.

“Could you rate your day from 1 to 10 for me please?” They asked, following behind him, hands behind their back.

“Like, a 2? Maybe a 3? Yeah, a 3.” He answered, taking out a cold drink from the fridge. This was a standard procedure between the two. E.S.A.H would run a fairly simple checkup to make sure he was alright. If anything went wrong they would report to Raven and Storm, the second leader of the cause. Moe learned very quickly that he couldn’t be sarcastic with the bot after a bad joke led to a very awkward phone call with a very upset Raven.

“And how would you rate your overall well being at the moment?” Moe let out a breathy sigh as he thought to himself.

“Probably a 5. I’ll go with 5.” As he walked into his small living room, he threw himself on the couch and turned on the TV, absentmindedly flipping through all the channels, but he stopped once he came across an interview with none other than Wildfire. They were, presumably, talking about the fight earlier that day. Moe scoffed and was just about to change channels when he heard something.

“So, Wildfire,”

“Please, call me Thomas.” He was so pretentiously humble. Moe rolled his eyes.

“Ah, of course. Thomas, is there any reason why you can’t tell us where The Mad Arachnid went?” The interviewer asked. Moe tensed up slightly, looking towards the TV.

“What…” He mumbled to himself. And for once, Moe turned up the volume and listened.

“Well, sadly it’s classified H.P.F information.” Moe stopped paying attention as his own thoughts got louder than the TV.

Bullshit. In almost every single case of a villain escaping, the H.P.F always came out with at least a statement about where they believe the villain might be residing. There’s absolutely no reason as to why HIS whereabouts would be classified.

Was Thomas… Lying? Was he lying about their fight? He practically let him get away! He always does! Everytime they fight, he always lets him go, he never aims for him, he never lets him fall, he never reveals where he is or what happened. He grumbled as turned away from the TV.

“Are you okay? You seem upset?” E.S.A.H asked, looking over at Moe.

“I don’t need his pity…” Moe said to himself, completely ignoring the robot. E.S.A.H tilted their head in confusion as they could see Moe take out a card from his pocket.

“What’s that?” They asked, looking at him with wonder.

“It’s…” Moe looked down at the card. The phone number almost felt like it was calling to him, wanting for him to call it. That’s when a voice on the TV brought him out of his trance.

“So, you’re going to be holding a meetup of some sort on saturday?”

“Yes! I want to… well it sounds kinda silly, but I want to give back to the people for getting me this far!”

“And you’re not worried about any crazy fans?”

“Oh please, I fight villains for a living. I can handle anything at this point.” The hero smiled and laughed slightly as they continued the interview. Moe thought to himself for a second, looking down at the card in his hand. He stood up from his couch and walked towards his room.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about. Now,” He looked back at the robot one last time before opening the door to said room.

“I have to make a phone call…”

#this first chapter was mostly a build up and an introduction to all the characters #in the next chapter it's going to get really good #but for now #take this #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #hero x villain #villain x hero #found family #villains and heroes #heros and villains #writeblr

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philomenafm · 5 years ago

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(NATALIA DYER, DEMI GIRL) - Have you seen PHILOMENA CARMICHAEL? PHILLY is in HER/THEIR SOPHOMORE year. The WILDLIFE SCIENCE MAJOR is 20 years old & is a TAURUS. People say SHE/THEY are WHIMSICAL, PATIENT, APATHETIC and UNPREDICTABLE. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE CONCEALED MURDEROUS EVIDENCE (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

ive done sm switches bt. she is the one. she is the one i love. trust me. ples. this is an old intro n im frankly. too lazy 2 read it bt. i love her a lot shes very good please like her

TW CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION DISORDER ( ALT. DISSOCIATION ), DEATH, DECAY, MAGGOTS.

aesthetic.

wildflowers in your hair and bare feet against moss, binoculars and maps, madonna beating out of half-dead speakers in a half-dead van, whipping wind, jumping off cliffs and rolling down hills, a bandaid wrapped around each finger, cryptic bumper stickers and cryptids in the woods, facing the sun and letting the rays hit you, counting stars late into the night, dancing naked in the woods with nothing but fire to light your way, mismatched socks and lucky ribbons, hoarding a box of special treasures, shoplifting and diner-dashing, bleach against roots, pink sweaters paired with ripped fishnets and slip dresses with knock off uggs, willingly wearing crocs, glitter stickers, fungi and feeling one with them, lying down and decomposing, they’ll find us in a week. they’ll find us in a week.

basics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, etc.

b.o.d. - april 20th, 2000

label(s): the amaranth, the halycon, the neophyte, the wanderer, etc. etc.

height: 5′4″

hometown: woodside, ca

sexuality: demisexual

pinterest ( & her family pinterest b/c they’re my most developed family uwu)

stats

favorite song: wonderfully bizarre, bendigo fletcher / we can be defined by the things we want / i’ll be a life full of free haircuts from the one that i love / we’ll collect fallen out teeth in a candy jar / mice for the backyard peregrine falcon reservation.

background.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long.

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs.

there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot.

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

three years later and her parents want philly to have a higher education - desperate for it, really - worried for her future. it’s a battle that she loses, getting her ged and applying to a local college in florida in shameful compliance.

they’re there for a year until philly gets (expectantly) expelled from the community college & the two of them are banned from the town they’d residing in up until that point. they don’t talk about it - but boy, was it one hell of a time.

they found refuge in preaker, a town that seemed to suit them well - it suited elektra’s desire to travel up and down the east coast, and it intrigued philomena enough to the point of her being content with staying. soon after, philly officially transferred to yates for her freshmen spring term & theyve been here since.

(whenever anna brings cillian uh. he’s in here too he’s been traveling w them fr like 3ish years. i just cannot rewrite atm KDSGLSDKLGKFGHLKSL bt hes here. n hes sexy. n we love him. bro3tp)

OH. hey yeah the secret. errmm. tht’s on cillian. philly just hid the evidence. no they didnt kill someone yes they did no they did not <3 yes

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon (& so does leo fowler eyes emoji)

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been. she tries to be good while in preaker / yates - would hate to be forced out by mobs with torches and pitchforks

currently living in calloway while elektra stays in their van, florence - sometimes philly stays there during the weekends.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first and only kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. edit: her first & only kisses hv been w leo fowler. this is important

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her. she knows to respect nature. exudes natural trust energy <3 dont know wht tht means but

the trust expands to animals as well, she has a certain knack for getting them to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay. edit: she hs a tabby cat named pail, now. named in honor of her mother, bucket.

leaves her window in calloway wide open because of this, because her window is conveniently right besides a tree with sturdy branches. good for animal smuggling, sneaking in and out, hiding, etc. etc. world is her oyster.

though her room in calloway is ??? frankly a mess ??? already ??? usually keeps most of her possessions in her memory box but she’s also turned her room into a mini labyrinth of knick-knacks. very cozy, but very nest-like. think of howl’s room from howl’s moving castle.

wanted connections.

how did you get in here ;; someone whose room she perhaps crashed at late at night, mysteriously. she refuses to explain where she’s come from. she’s gone before you wake. they could literally not know her at all she’s just sleeping halfway under their bed like <3 thank you <3

ma’am this is a wendys ;; someone who sees her constantly <3 doing outlandish shit <3 bc lets b real. shes weird. shes a weirdo. why do u think she wears the same hat everyday. (she doesnt wear hats often) anyways. they probably dnt even like her? just think shes very strange?

im literally going to dissect you ;; someone who. wants to figure out philly. pick at her brain. wear her shoes. kind of in the same category of above in this general like. ur fkn weird. bt they wna figure out why <3 they wna play therapist <3 jokes on u she hates therapists

liddle thief in the night ;; someone who has caught her stealing. or dining n dashing. either/or. perhaps both. she steals a lot :/

oh like. friends n stuff ;; of any closeness. ppl she talks 2 conspiracies with, ppl she goes on late night walks with, ppl she explores with, ppl she steals with, ppl she smokes with, etc. etc. ppl who bring her out to parties cos they like her funky little ways when she gets drunk n tries to climb atop everything <3

thts nice. anyways ;; this is fr like. literally anything unrequited. philly doesnt like <3 a lot of ppl <3 In That Way. so its basically just. ur muse thinks shes very neat n she thinks ur muse is very neat bt platonically. she doesnt do hookups or anything n if she does i tend 2 like. run purely based off of chemistry even with. most of her connections in general.

uuhh. anything ;; HLKDGKSDLKGHLKSFDSHGKFD i nvr rly hv a lot of connections up fr philly bc shes like. a very unpredictable muse n i think its usually better to just. throw her in! n see wht happens! we cn still plot obv n come up w some fun things bt fr the most part shes very organic

#yatesintro #cancer tw #trauma tw #death tw #dissociation tw #maggots tw #murder mention

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particularemu · 6 years ago

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The Proposal | A Lee Minho/Lee Know Scenario

Word Count: 922

Type: Pure Fluff

-----

“What would you like?” Minho glanced in your direction, nearly laughing when he saw your wide-eyes staring at all the ice cream flavors in the case.

“All of them.” Your fingers ran along the labels on the outside of the glass, stopping when you reached the one you actually wanted, “Or just strawberry.” Your head rested on his shoulder as he made the order.

The two of you looked like that sickeningly sweet couple that everyone cringes at, but you didn’t care. You NEVER got to go on dates like this.

The date was your idea. As corny as it is, you’ve always wanted to go to the park with Minho — probably because you both were adults with the minds of 3 year olds and you just KNEW the man would enjoy running and jumping on the playsets with you.

Yep… You loved him. SO fucking much.

Minho handed you your ice cream, a smile as bright as the sun taking over his features when he saw your dorky grin.

“Let’s go sit over there!” You pointed to a hill.

Minho nodded and grabbed your hand, swinging your arm obnoxiously as the two of you walked up the hill. You plopped in the grass when you reached the top, licking your ice cream before it could melt.

“This has been fun.” You smiled, head dropping on Minho’s shoulder as your eyes scanned the world below.

“It has.” Minho’s tongue darted out, slurping up some melted ice cream as it ran down his hand.

Yum.

Lee Minho had a special place in your heart. Not only was he absolutely gorgeous, he was an amazing person who was always there for you, no questions asked. The man had been with you through stressful work days, sleepless nights, and — *ahem* — a few breakdowns.

Your eyes shifted to stare at Minho. His eyes were closed, corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. As you were staring at his perfect features, you realized that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

The words rushed out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Will you marry me?”

Minho’s movements stopped as his piercing brown orbs stared at you in confusion. It was as if the gears in his head were stuck — what was once a well-oiled machine was stuttering as he tried to figure out if he heard you right.

The wind itself seemed to pause — waiting to see if this moment would become incredibly sweet or extremely humiliating.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You wished there was a ‘FUCK GO BACK’ button to smash, like the ones you always showed Minho when the two of you were having a meme battle.

The silence was weird at this point. Any passerby would be confused at the two dorky adults sitting in the middle of the park in the heat of the day, ice cream in hand just… staring at each other, one looking like she just confessed to a murder, the other looking like his brain malfunctioned after being handed an unhealthy dose of reality.

Speaking of ice cream…

You two were so busy staring at each other, that Minho didn’t realize his hand tilted slightly. The heat of the day melted that ice cream faster than ice would melt between his well-toned thighs.

The awkward moment turned even more awkward — one reason being the fact that you just thought about ice and Minho’s thighs, the other being that his ice cream slipped and fell in his lap. Yikes.

Minho’s eyes darted to the ice cream in his lap, an adorable pout forming on his lips as he looked back at you, “Not anymore.”

If you didn’t just propose to the boy, you probably would have lightly smacked him on the arm and laughed with him.

But…

This wasn’t the case.

Minho’s eyes widened as your eyes welled up, face flushed in embarrassment.

“No baby, I was joking!” His hands reached for you — pulling you closer to him so you wouldn’t leave, thumbs gently rubbing against your skin as if you were made of glass.

He was convinced you were… You were too delicate, too beautiful, and he was afraid that if he made the wrong move, you’d shatter.

Which is why his own words confused himself. Why make a joke in a situation like this? Minho mentally kicked himself.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” The words sounded like velvet coming from his lips.

“I don’t want to marry you anymore!” You laughed, pushing him lightly.

Minho giggled, falling over as if you pushed him with the strength of the hulk. “Hey! What changed your mind?”

“You pulled me into your ice-cream lap! Now I have a chocolate stain on my butt.” You couldn’t help but laugh with Minho as the two of you practically rolled in the grass.

All you wanted was a fiancee. Now you were ice-cream-less, your boyfriend was laughing at you, and it looked like you shit your pants. Such a romantic proposal.

“Here.” Minho’s laughter died down a bit. He handed you his jacket, which was long enough to cover the stain.

You grabbed the jacket from his hands, leaning over to kiss his cheek as you put the jacket on.

“You know… Maybe I should have thought this through more. I don’t have a ring.” You chuckled a bit.

Minho smiled brightly. “Just buy me another ice cream and we’re good.”

#lee minho #lee know #kpop scenarios #kpop #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids scenario #lee know scenario #lee know scenarios #lee minho scenarios #lee minho scenario #kpop scenario #my writing

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philcmena · 5 years ago

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「natalia dyer & demi girl」⇾ carmichael, philomena, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that she/they are a taurus and 20 years old. she/they are studying wildlife science, living in noland and can be whimsical, patient, apathetic & unpredictable. when i see her/them i am reminded of the gentleness of decomposition, dancing naked around the flames, and whipping wind in your hair. ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

here’s my second !! baby child i love a lot ... much kinder ... a bit odd .. love of my life ... a classic ... a favorite ..

TW CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION DISORDER ( ALT. DISSOCIATION ), DEATH, DECAY, MAGGOTS.

aesthetic.

basic info.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

b.o.d. - april 20th lmao !!

label(s): the amaranth, the halycon, the neophyte, the wanderer, etc. etc.

height: 5′4″

hometown: woodside, ca

sexuality: demisexual !!!!

pinterest ( & her family pinterest b/c they’re my most developed family uwu)

stats

inspired by: luna lovegood (harry potter), orla mccool (derry girls), cassie ainsworth (skins), alice (alice’s adventures in wonderland), amelie (amelie).

biography.