#got this out of my system so i can finish 'twice as many stars' before it gets even more blatantly canon divergent good god | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rcksmith · 3 years

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Spring breeze — Spencer Reid

Sumarry: Spencer never thought about falling in love with someone, but he certainly didn't expect that he would fall in love with Gideon's daughter. — season 3 —

Part.2 Part.3 Part.4

A/N: I am marathoning Criminal Minds again and I can not express how much I loved the interaction of Gideon and Spencer!! So this idea came as an epiphany, and I love the conception of love at first sight. Maybe this becomes a serie...

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple:Spencer Reid/Gideon's daughter!reader.

Warnings: nothing, just very fluff.

— — — — —

Something was different. Maybe it was the way the sun's rays cascaded down in an atypical way, maybe it was the breeze that carried a more lyrical intonation on its back, or maybe it was just the Earth that was adorned by an ethereal veil. Spencer didn't know how to point out what was really different, but he felt in his soul that something in the hemisphere had changed.

At first, when he took the subway to work, Spencer thought it was just an ephemeral sensation, just like those seconds when you feel the breath of the breeze more cold. But it didn't. The sensation accompanied him to work, to the plane, to the case, it stuck to him like a tattoo and Reid found himself looking around for answers that did not exist physically.

He considered all the theories that were possible to explain that destabilization in his subtly balanced world. But he found none.

“Are you feeling anything different today?” That's what he asked Morgan.

Derek shrugged, finishing packing up at the police station so they could go back to Quantico.

“No.” Then he looked Reid whit his obsidian eyes “Is something bothering you? Is the Genie feeling any peturbation in the Force? ”

Spencer chuckled through his nose at the Star Wars joke, but just shook his head in a 'No'. And the conversation died there. How could he explain something that even he didn't understand?

Trying to ignore the way his heart was beating fast, for no reason, in anticipation of something Spencer himself was unaware of, he wondered how long he was going to have that sensation. The feeling of euphoria, the taste of something, there was something exciting in the air, almost angelic.

But how long was that going to accompany him? One day? One week? Whole life? For the first time, Spencer didn't have the answer. And that was disconcerting.

When BAU's glass doors opened for agents to settle on their desks and Hotch and Gideon go to their respective offeces, a wave of icy breeze from the DC air reverberated through the enclosure. Spencer can see that Morgan shrugged in the wind, Emily looke for a coat in the black suitcase, but his own body didn't seem to be hit by the same breeze. For Reid, it had been a caustic, lyrical, almost spring, wave that carried the promise of something extraordinary on back. Almost divine.

In that split second, in a time as short as a blink, the feeling that his life would never be the same made him losing his breath. Spencer does not know what attracted his gaze to the BAU door, nor what made his whole body turn in that direction, like a magnet, like a wanderer in the desert who finds his Oasis. But he had been attracted, and as soon as a female hand pushed through the glass door and her figure came into view, Spencer understood the extraordinary thing that him heart was beating for in anticipation.

You.

It was as if the universe had been preparing him all day for that moment. As if the body itself tried to prepare it. Because if Spencer hadn't fell those feelings of euphoria all day, he would have drowned in his own reactions to seeing you.

In a burst, like a violin string popping, Reid understood what was different about the hemisphere, because why the air was ethereal, because why the night felt like poetry, and why the moon whispered swears of love. In that moment, Spencer understood the mysteries of the world, unraveled the riddles of life, drank from the wisdom of The Oracle of ancient Greece. In an instant, watching you enter, Spencer understood the reason for his life.

In an instant.

The world shuddered in slow motion, capturing all your movements, all your graceful gait, all your glory. An elegant black dress with thin straps modeled your body in an arcane, almost divine way, your legs were supported on black high heels, making your walk seem like a glide of honey.

You were not beautiful. You are gorgeous. You shone. Sparkled.

And, like an atrocious wave that broke over Reid and pulled him into the sea, that whole feeling that stuck with him all day came to accompany the female figure. Following in your footsteps like the tail of a long dress.

Spencer was sure that his life would never be the same.

They hadn't even sat at their tables when you showed up. Like the muse that came out of an action movie. And when you got close enough to attract the attention of Emily and Morgan, whose Derek opened his mouth when he noticed the female figure that was the personification of Female Fatal, Spencer felt himself letting out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. He knew that anyone with eyes and a little common sense would notice how overwhelmingly beautiful you were, so when Morgan turned his body fully towards you, Reid was not surprised.

“Hi." Your voice, to Reid, had a floral intonation “Do you guys know where I can find Jason?”

When his eyes met yours, Spencer felt his breath being stolen from him once again. Usually, girls like you didn't look twice at guys like him, Spencer knew that. Girls like you liked men like Morgan. Athletes, strong, Alpha Male. And because of that, it was an explosion in Reid's system when you took a few seconds longer in that eye contact and a delightful smile appeared on yours lips. As if you appreciate what you were seeing.

That was a shock. Was it true or was he misinterpreting the signs? Was him mind playing tricks on him, like the flickering shadows of furniture under the darkness and the flame of a candle? Spencer would not be able to say a word without stuttering at that moment even that him life depended on it. In fact, he was already starting to feel cheeks heating up. So he thanked any deities that might exist when Morgan and Emily responded to you and broke the eye contact between the two of you.

“Jason Gideon?” Morgan frowned slightly.

“He's in the office but...” But Emily couldn't finish the sentence before Gideon's voice came out over everyone's:

“Y/n?” It was in a tone that no one there had ever heard in Gideon. A sweet, loving intonation... paternal.

None of the three agents present there had time to express their thoughts in facial expressions before you said:

“Dad!”

Then the whole world took a turn and seemed to be terrified, making them feel as if they had been thrown out of the tenth-floor window. This time, Reid's eyes widened at the two friends, who also had puzzled expressions. Everyone knew that Gideon had a past, probably with divorces and children, a life he had left behind, but no one expected...that.

Perhaps Gideon's vision of a family was something that was only in the imagination, never something tangible. Until that moment. Until the most beautiful girl Reid had ever seen was the daughter of one of the men he respected most. Until him heart soared at alarming levels for him boss's daughter. Spencer had been in trouble before when it came to matters of the heart, but the trouble gained a position in the top 3.

“What are you doing here?” A rare smile appeared on Gideon's face, his brow slightly furrowed.

“We were going to dinner today, remember? In that new Japanese restaurant.” Your tone of voice was not resentful or hurt by the situation that was explicit there.

The life of a BAU agent take many things, some with a more atrocious force than others, and one of them was the availability of hours. commitments that count on presence.

“I totally forgot, I'm sorry.” Gideon's voice was always calm and controlled, he managed to speak from the most tender emotions to the most heinous crimes with a peaceful intonation. But to perceive traces of parental love was new. “The case was very complicated, my cell phone died and...”

“It's okay, Dad.” You smiled, making a casual gesture with your hand “I thought this happened, but I thinking it best to come here to see if everything was okay instead of waiting until tomorrow.”

Your smile, despite being the simple one, was the brightest for Spencer.

Gideon still had a fatherly look and a chaste and grateful smile when he turned to the other agents who were still puzzled.

“Y/n, these are agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” Jason introduced them to you “Guys, this is my daughter, Y/n.”

“Is a pleasure.” You smiled genuinely at them.

“I had no idea that you had a daughter!” Emily gave a low, slightly bewildered laugh that also made you laugh.

“Everybody says that.” You looked at your father again, having fun.

“I'm just going to go over some reports with Hotcher before I leave.” Gideon kept a chaste smile. “Why don't you wait here and then let's go get something to eat?”

“Of course, no problem, Dad.” You agreed, adjusting the thin shoulder bag that was on your shoulder.

As Jason went up to Hotcher's office, you turned to the agents again, with a gentle smile on your face.

“My dad said great things about you.” Emily smiled at your statement.

"I'm still chocked ." She laughed, and Morgan added:

“ I really need to know...” he looked around, in a playful suspense “Is Gideon really that serious outside the FBI?”

You laughed “Oh no! Definitely not.”

So you reached for your phone in the litlle bag, hunting for a photo on it and showing it to the three agents. It was a recent photograph where you and Gideon had their faces painted in easy ink. You had a skeleton mouth made with white and black paint, and Jason had a pink glitter butterfly covering his left cheek. You two were laughing in the photo.

Morgan was the one who let out a loud, dripping laugh, with a few tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

“How is this possible?” Morgan was trying to catch the air.

“It was at the last Halloween, he and I bet that whoever lost in the snooker that day would have to paint a butterfly on their face.” You laughed.

“And did he lose?” Spencer found a voice for it, his mind failing to process the image of Gideon losing any game.

“I have my suspicions that he let me win” You joked “But I enjoyed the victory just the same.”

The conversation was light after that, Spencer refrained from much of the dialogue, a little fearful that you could hear him heart beating loudly whenever you smile in his direction. As the minutes passed, Derek and Emily had to go back to their duties and finish their reports, while you were sitting in one of the chairs at an empty table.

It was one of those moments when Reid tried to focus on the files in front of him to exorcise what was going on around him. Paperwork had always brought the lull needed to make Spencer meditate. It was almost like relaxation. But in moments like this, when something in the environment around him pulled his attention so much, he stayed on the same page for long minutes.

That must be why he didn't hear the wheels on your chair approach, and he didn't even notice that you were so close until you said:

“Are you really a doctor?” Your voice was low, soft, as if you didn't want to disturb the other agents who were working.

Spencer turned his head towards you, only to find the modern personification of what would be the Athena de Troia. You were close, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could smell your perfume. You smelled like the night, the excitement of nights and the brightness of the stars. And if Spencer looked deeper into yours eyes, he would sure they contained shine moonlight.

He swallowed, the mania for blinking compulsively returning a little.

“A-ahm yes. Not really a doctor, but m-my 3 Phd’s make me a doctor.”

He might be mistaken, but the smile that spread across your face was not just friendly, it wasn't curious, it was… delighted. As if the roles were reversed and he was the most fascinating thing in that room, not you.

The glow that was adorned in yours eyes had something lyrical, ethereal, wonderful. As if the brightness of all the galaxies were inhabiting your irises, moving in your orbit. At that moment, Spencer was deeply grateful to have eidetic memory, because 10 years from now he could still remember how you looked like a muse over there. DC night came in through the big glass windows, and if Reid had to describe that moment with the five senses, he would say that the world had turned the light down to a rose tone, the smell was heaven and your smile promised to contain wonders of the world.

Holy Mother of God, you are so, so beautiful!

“My dad said there was a genius on the team.” You said, your attention on him is always tender, adoreble. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Your perfume invaded him sense of smell once again, and he felt his heart beat faster once more. Spencer would have told you all the secrets in the world if you asked. He would have told all own secrets.

“No way.” He sat back in his chair to look at you better, oblivious to the exchange of looks that Emily and Morgan gave.

You rested your arms on Spencer's table, the chair next to his.

“You never thought of being like... the wizard Doctor Strange?” You hoped that Spencer knew Marvel “Before he was a magician, of course. But why didn't you want to be a surgeon or something?” You laughed “There is a phrase him says: I have a photographic memory and this is what made me ..."

“ ‘Get my diploma and doctorate at the same time’ " Spencer completed you, laughing softly “I know the HQs. Did you know that the Doctor Strange character was created during the Silver Age of American comics to bring a different type of character and mystical themes to Marvel Comics? It him has an intellectual coefficient close to 177 points and I have… ”

The more he rambled, the more a stunning smile spread across your face. As if you were enchanted with him. And you were. Everyone was noticing the way Spencer seemed to have you curled up on his finger, your eyes sparkling and a silly smile twinkling on your face, paying attention to every word he said. It was an overwhelmingly lovely sight to behold.

But just as everything had a time, an hourglass, your time had reached the last grain of sand.

“All right, Y/n.” Gideon went down the stairs, cutting the end of Reid's sentence “Ready?”

You stood up, agreeing with your father and smoothing the dress. When you put your hands on the chair, ready to take it back to place, you turned to Spencer once again:

“I'm going to bring my dad to BAU tomorrow, do you think me and you can meting and you give me the answer to the question tomorrow?” Your smile was able to light up the whole of Washington.

“S-sure!” Spencer's voice went up more high notes than he would like to admit.

And, even when you left, even when Morgan and Emily jokes him about it, and even when he finally lay down on his own bed, you were still the only thing that occupied Spencer's mind.

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Losing You Twice / 1: If I Hated You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and it turns out Y/N isn’t the only one struggling with the breakup. Category: Smut (18+), Angst Content Warnings: Language, drinking/getting drunk, penetrative/unprotected sex (If I missed anything, please let me know!) Word Count: 5,538

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

“My bedtime is the darkest, that’s when I’m brokenhearted. The nighttime is the hardest. It’d be easy, if I hated you.” —FLETCHER, If I Hated You

FEBRUARY 13th

It was Valentine's Day weekend, which sucked this time around. Every year for the past three years Y/N looked forward to Valentine's Day, but that was when she actually had someone to spend it with.

Well, someone she actually cared about, anyway... Whether or not Spencer actually knew it, she did really care about him. She was just stupid and didn't say it when he needed to hear it the most.

And now Valentine's Day was on Saturday and Y/N was still without him. Not alone, but still without the man who'd spent the significant holiday with her for the past three years. Memories of their dates and 'afterparties' flooded through her mind as she got ready for work like a montage, a cheesy love-song playlist she'd found on Spotify acting as the soundtrack.

Eventually she sighed and turned it off, opting for something more loud and obnoxious, and therefore not tainted by Spencer's memory. She applied what was left of her makeup and added a pair of earrings before turning the music off altogether and shoving her phone in her bag alongside her keys and other necessities.

Even though she wasn't emotionally prepared for all the cheesy Valentine's things she'd see and hear and experience throughout the weekend, it was still kind of nice to see that things in the bank never changed during the holidays— Everything in her life was so severely different at the moment, that if Marjorie had somehow decided to throw out all her elaborate decorations for each holiday, no matter how small, Y/N would have thought the world was truly ending.

Speaking of, she was met with Marjorie's brighter-than-the-sun smile almost immediately once she set her things in the breakroom.

"How's my little macaron this morning?" she chirped, Y/N chuckling slightly at the nickname— She brought macarons from the bakery down the street on her first birthday she spent at the bank, and ever since then, the older woman had adorned her with the namesake.

"She's alright, Marj... Better now that she's seen you..."

"That boy still on your mind, hon?"

Obviously Marjorie's intentions were good, but Y/N couldn't stand to think about the situation at all, least of all at work... So, setting her jacket on the rack, turned away so that her coworker wouldn't see the visible discomfort on her face, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and cleared her throat. "So, what are your plans with Geno tomorrow night? Anything special?"

There was a brief pause before Marjorie cleared her throat as well. "Nothing short of our usual dinner plans, my dear. He's been so caught up with work at the Mill lately, I think we're just going to spend the night relaxing."

"Hm," Y/N said shortly, finally turning around and giving her the best smile she could. "Maybe I should take a page from your book and stay in..."

"You weren't going to?"

"No... Britt's been nagging me about getting out there so we're going out tomorrow night. We both haven't been single in a long time, so... Should be fun."

Marjorie didn't look convinced. Either way, she nodded with a smile and walked over to Y/N with something glittery and bright red in her hand— A cheap beaded necklace to clip her nametag onto. She draped it over Y/N's neck and patted her shoulders. "Well, I want you to have fun. And remember that you still have to come to work on Monday. Whatever shenanigans you get into should be reserved for Saturday night only so you can rest properly on Sunday, got it?"

Y/N laughed, thankful for the playful tone in Marjorie's voice. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, I joke, I joke," the older woman said with a bright laugh, turning to walk out of the break room. "A little..."

The smile on Y/N's face only really lasted until after Marjorie was out of sight, then she went into her bag and clipped her nametag onto the red beaded necklace with a sigh.

Was she excited to have a good night out with Britt? Of course. Hell, had it been literally any other day of the year, she would have been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at the idea of going out to a bar, letting men hit on her until she finally let one of them take her back to his place for the night.

But it just felt like it was too soon.

Either way, she was glad that she'd get to see Britt again, after she'd been on vacation for Christmas and New Year's to see her family and only got back a few weeks ago. She'd seen her on Facetime of course, and they met up once for coffee right after Britt got back from her trip, but a well-needed night out and quality time getting ready together was something that had been missing from their friendship for almost a year.

Y/N knew Britt would most likely spend her time trying to hook them up with end-of-the-night dates, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

Even still, sleeping alone the night before was probably one of the worst spells of loneliness she'd ever had. It was normal to be sad spending the first Valentine's Day in years away from a significant other, but knowing how things ended between them—bitter and stained with words left unsaid—this time was just... cold.

And that was putting it lightly.

Y/N laid in bed that night, her eyes wide open and staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that adorned the ceiling. They used to give her comfort, but now they just reminded her of all the nights she'd spend with Spencer, listening to him tell stories about the constellations. They were some of the most peaceful memories she had.

And now those, too—those stars that had grounded her pretty much all her life and reminded her of the better days—were tainted by her inability to properly communicate.

She almost thought about taking them down.

But if she was really going to get over him this time, for good, then she'd have to learn to make new memories with the stars. Even if it was painful. Even if replacing those memories and writing new ones over them absolutely tore her soul to pieces.

And, as if that pain wasn't enough, that night Y/N dreamt of him, making love to her amongst the stars in every galaxy, only to wake up the next morning cold and alone.

FEBRUARY 14th

She promptly decided that she hated his guts.

It was Valentine's Day, Y/N was respectfully buzzed, and courtesy of two beers and four shots of tequila, she'd just deleted Spencer's number from her phone.

"I'm done," she said, waving a hand at Britt and shoving her phone in her purse. "He doesn't deserve my wallowing."

"Yeah!"

Britt was significantly the more drunk of the two, resulting in a fit of giggles after gaining some stares from the people around them at her sudden outburst.

Y/N smiled, finishing off another shot and shaking her head. "We need more!"

"More shots!" Britt hurried off to grab them, leaving her friend behind with a half-drunken smile that also only felt half-genuine.

Sure, she decided she hated Spencer's guts, but her heart didn't exactly agree well with that sentiment. Even after deleting his number from her phone, after downing all that alcohol, her heart still ached.

Y/N knew deep down that getting over him was going to take some time. A lot of time... But maybe one night of distraction would help.

So the shots kept coming, and by the end of the night, Y/N was just about at her limit.

Which was near black-out drunk. And when you're that drunk you tend to make decisions you wouldn't soberly condone.

Britt got into a cab, and she begged Y/N to come with her, but she assured her friend that she had someone to come pick her up. Eventually the cab driver got tired of their inability to decide, and when Y/N told him to go, he did, leaving her alone on the side of the street at 1am.

Unfortunately, it was incredibly cold, and she didn't really have anyone to come pick her up. And that's where the bad decisions started.

Y/N pulled her phone out, a long sigh escaping her as she dialed the number by heart.

Would he even pick up? He hadn't answered any of her calls or texts before, so why would it have been any different now? Not to mention it was Valentine's Day Weekend. With her luck, he was probably in bed with someone else. Someone who wasn't her. As she listened to the dial tone repeating in her ear, images of him wrapped up with somebody else—sleeping in the bed she'd slept in many times before—clouded her drunken brain and made her more angry than anything.

Her gut twisted, and she almost hung up.

But then the low buzz of the dial tone abruptly stopped and in its place came his voice.

"Y/N?"

Her name on his lips, even through the phone, was grounding, the anger in her system melting away and revealing a coat of drunken relief.

"Spencer! You answered!"

"Yeah... Are you— Is everything okay?"

"Pff, yeah, 'm-fine. Just really fucking cold."

"You're not outside, are you?"

"Duh, I'm outside... I wouldn't be cold in-side... Besides, I didn't call t'alk bout the weather, I need you t'come pick me up."

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Y/N didn't think he was going to say anything she wanted to hear. She swayed on the sidewalk, shivering and praying that he would throw her a bone, even if she'd regret it all in the morning.

"Where are you?" he said finally, and despite herself, she smiled.

FEBRUARY 15th

Spencer couldn't believe he was picking her up at near two in the morning.

Honestly, he'd initially thought about ignoring her call again, but remembering the day it was and taking note of the time, he figured she was most likely in some type of inebriated trouble.

His instincts were right, of course, but he wished that he could have been wrong. He wished she'd only been calling to drunkenly ramble on about how she missed him or maybe how he was stupid and she never wanted to see his face ever again, because that was normal. At least then he could have hung up after she was done and never thought about it again— it was a normal step in any relationship that helped move things along. They could have gotten on with their lives and it would have all been over.

But of course it was never that simple.

Y/N was never that simple.

He pictured her on the street near some bar, alone and cold and drunk, and of course he would have been the only one she could call to rescue her. After all, he'd been pretty much the only thing she'd ever known to make her feel safe.

Still, he wished he was capable of only giving her a ride home and then leaving.

But again, it was never that simple.

It was easy getting her into the car— that wasn't what he was worried about. Rather, it was the fated moment where she'd ask him to stay after he finally got her tucked safely into bed that worried him. Because it was bad enough that it was Y/N... It was her in all her alluring glory, and he'd never been able to deny her anything no matter how badly he tried or wanted to.

Now add on the fact that she was drunk, and most likely sad on their first Valentine's Day apart, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Even if she'd broken his heart, Spencer still cared about her.

Which is why he inevitably agreed to stay, at least until she fell asleep.

He knew her well enough to know all the ways she'd try to get him under the covers with her, so it was a familiar amusement that settled in his being when he was finally able to get on top of the covers with her underneath. But as he entertained her silly little questions with the right answers until she fell asleep, Spencer noticed something else accompanying that amusement.

Guilt.

And then anger for feeling guilty about her sadness— sadness that could have been avoided had she just gotten over whatever was holding her back and either returned his "I love you" or told him she wasn't feeling the same way just yet.

All she had to do was talk.

He had a right to feel upset about Y/N holding back when he'd been nothing but patient, spending almost every year of their relationship trying to make her see that she had nothing to be afraid of. He'd given her every chance to talk about what she was feeling, whether it was happy or not, and every time she pushed it all away in favor of sex.

That wasn't what he wanted in a relationship, so he ended it. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So why was he feeling so fucking guilty?

He blamed his good nature and innate need to please people, to make them feel good and happy. But he also blamed Y/N and her adorable drunken sleeping face.

He watched as she slept, willing himself not to forget the way she hurt him. She'd completely stolen his heart and shattered it at the same time, and if he was being honest, she still held some of the pieces. But he couldn't get them back, not if he didn't want to risk shattering her own heart in the process.

It felt like they were tied together by some strong, invisible force that wouldn't break unless both of them broke right along with it.

So... maybe he could afford to leave those pieces of his heart with her. He'd have to if they were going to get out of this alive. Not unscathed, sure, but alive nonetheless.

Once he was sure she was deep in sleep, Spencer quietly and carefully got off the bed and navigated through her apartment, getting her a glass of water and leaving it on the table next to her bed. And because he couldn't help it, he cleaned up some of the clothes that were scattered around her floor, depositing them into the hamper and straightening out a few more things that were out of place.

He looked over at her sleeping figure one more time, sighed, and then left, keeping her bedroom door open just a crack.

***

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer.

Despite his better judgement, he'd plopped himself down on her couch after making sure she was sound asleep, hoping to catch his breath and sort through what he was feeling before he got behind the wheel. But of course, it was 2am and he was exhausted, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and drifting off.

And now he was sitting up, looking around the apartment through the lens of morning.

Though the curtains were sheer, they didn't provide much light, but enough of it showed him just how familiar the space was. Y/N hadn't moved anything around. The same art was on the same walls, the potted ivy plant on her mantle sat un-watered and withering, and every book and record and DVD on her shelves was in the exact same spot as they'd all been the last time he was there in December.

Meanwhile, after the breakup he'd re-arranged everything. He was so sure that they were through for good this time around that he wanted a clean slate. Not that he wanted to rid himself of her memory completely, but if he was going to move on from the hold she'd had on him, he had to do something...

And yet, he ended up at her apartment the morning after Valentine's Day all the same.

He heard the shower running faintly a couple rooms away. You didn't have to pass the couch to get there, so maybe she hadn't seen him sleeping and he could get away cleanly.

Spencer scrambled off the couch, thankful that he hadn't removed his jacket or his shoes and that he could just sprint towards the door without having to find any of his belongings.

But as luck would have it, the second he took a step, the shower turned off. He had to get out of there quickly, but if he did then she'd definitely know he'd stayed overnight. But if he went quietly, he wouldn't have enough time before she caught him.

Maybe I could hide...

He shook the thought with a roll of his eyes, settling on the clearest course of action, which was to make as quick of a getaway as he could. He'd try to be quiet as well, though the creaky door was going to be nearly impossible to get through without a sound.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her voice.

"You didn't think you could spend the night and then leave without saying goodbye, did 'ja?"

The pure amusement in her tone made his stomach churn, and it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.

Spencer turned and smiled softly, avoiding looking at her completely. "Sorry. Didn't want to bother you."

"You're never a bother."

That sentiment held less amusement and more sincerity, which was what guided his eyes to meet the woman who said the words.

His stomach twisted again when he saw her, exactly like he knew she'd be— wrapped in nothing but a thin towel with near-dripping hair cascading down her back. Her legs were bare and exposed, the towel not only thin but short, which meant that her chest was also practically spilling out of it. Despite the obvious and inevitable hungover look in her eye, there was also a good splash of that mischief that'd always been there— the kind that spelled out trouble.

He needed to get out of there.

"Well, um... I'm glad I got you home safe," he said, clearing his throat. "I should... I should go."

"You sure you don't wanna stay for breakfast?"

Spencer could have sworn she was teasing him, dangling her body in front of him like a meal they both knew he wouldn't be able to resist. But then she added, "I've got everything I need for your favorite omelet," and he exhaled with a small smile, exhausted with his own mind for convincing him that she was out to pull him back in.

Still, he declined. "No, I... I shouldn't. But, uh, thank you..."

"You sure?"

This time when he looked up at her, she was closer. She was gently striding forward to meet him, and he half thought about backing up towards the door until he realized he was already there.

"I—I'm sure. Really."

"But you drove around all night just to take me home when I was drunk, the least I can do is feed you..."

"Eh, it's alright. It's... Nothing I haven't done before."

She stopped then, her eyes briefly dropping to the floor. It was like her whole demeanor changed—just for a second—from the prowess she'd always been, to what seemed to be a woman filled with sadness and regret. It didn't last long though, just enough for Spencer to notice it before she looked back up at him with that wicked gleam in her eye and a remark right at the tip of her tongue.

"Still. I feel bad, making you do all that for me... Especially now."

He wasn't sure what to make of this... It seemed like she was sincere, but she was also alluring, calling to him like a siren leading him to his ultimate demise. And while he'd come to know that as merely a part of her nature, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that she was doing it on purpose.

She was in a skimpy towel, after all, and she definitely knew how to use that to her advantage.

It didn't help that he didn't have the courage to leave. Everything inside of him right then longed to drop that towel and indulge himself once more. Putting aside all the heartache and the differences they shared, all he felt in that moment was the need to touch her— to get lost in her and never be found again.

She was his fatal flaw, and it was painfully obvious.

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer...

He was over to her in just three strides, throwing off his jacket and tossing it aside before cradling her face with his hands and bringing their lips together for the first time since Christmas Eve.

The small whine in her throat signaled that she hadn't expected it, but welcomed it all the same. The moment she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, the towel fell to the floor, and there was no going back.

"What about breakfast?" Y/N breathed out once they pulled away for air.

Spencer contemplated, studying her face, seeing the way her eyes sparkled, and decided on the two words that sealed his fate.

"Screw breakfast."

Their lips were melded together almost as soon as the words left his mouth. And it wasn't long before every other part of their bodies were melded together as well.

Y/N helped him take the rest of his clothes off as they danced around the entryway and the living room. Everything was open, no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, so to compensate for the lack of breakfast they'd be eating, they migrated to the kitchen counter once Spencer had off everything but his boxers.

He trapped her against the cool marble of the countertop, her back hitting it solid and sending a shiver up her spine. Meanwhile his hands roamed her body, unsure of where to be other than on her at all times, whether it be her waist, her stomach, her arms, her breasts, or her ass. He wanted to feel all of her, and quite frankly she wanted the same.

She even told him so, in her own way, by bringing one of her legs up and wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer to her as she wove her fingers through his hair and tasted his tongue with her own.

The action elicited a groan from his mouth, low and desperate. Spencer settled his hands on her waist and gripped it tight, silently telling her what to do.

So she jumped up and he helped guide her swiftly onto the counter. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, and he found himself grinding into her hips, urgent to feel every part of her. And thankfully she was feeling rather desperate herself, because she rolled her hips up into him in return, breaking their mouths apart just briefly to speak.

"Fuck me..."

There was so much he wanted to say to her in that moment— how badly he was feeling about keeping her entertained while he was slowly deteriorating inside from her emotional detachment and rejection, how much she frustrated him, and more prominently, how she was so goddamn impatient and that he was getting there...

But all that he could manage was a broken, desperate whisper of her name.

It was all he'd ever known.

All that frustration... All that anger, heartache, passion, and time apart combined beautifully into those few syllables that made up her name and tore him apart from the inside out.

And his hands were just as destructive.

Spencer deftly dropped his boxers to the ground and pushed forward, almost losing all sense of self the moment the head of his dick finally made contact with her cunt. He made his way inside of her and then used both of his hands to grip her waist and bring her closer, their mouths connecting harshly as they found one another once again.

His grip was bruising— not possessive in any way, but desperate, like he had to cling to her for dear life or he wouldn't live to see another day. He held himself inside her, sighing and whimpering into her mouth as she clenched around him. It was so familiar, so comfortable and exhilarating that he almost didn't even want to move. He thought about staying there, still inside her forever.

But as always, Y/N was insatiable.

She wrapped all her limbs around him and held on, rolling her hips and seeking friction in any way possible when she briefly tore her lips away from his.

"I need you, baby, please..."

Even as his heart started to rumble in his chest, well aware of the fact that she still probably didn't love him the way he loved her, Spencer gave her everything. He pulled out and snapped his hips forward again, setting a strong, steady pace that had Y/N's eyes rolling back, and the payoff of hearing her sigh out his name was more than enough to keep him going.

Her nails dug deliciously into his shoulders, the faint sting adding something reminiscent of gasoline to a fire. The flames grew taller and brighter the more he fucked her, and with each gradual increase of volume and intensity, it was a wonder the whole kitchen around them hadn't literally burst into flames.

That's how they always were.

Together like this, so lost in the high of each others' bodies, it was easy to forget the things that made their relationship so hard. It was easy to let all the negativity slip away into the throes of pent-up, well-needed sex. The high they gave each other was merely that— A high...

A distraction.

And while that's exactly what Y/N needed, what she preferred in most cases, it's what Spencer recognized as completely unhealthy, despite his coming back to it every time.

It's also why he dreaded the moment ending. Because once they came down from the high, all that's left would be sadness, regret... Guilt... Their fire burned hot, brightly and wildly, but in the aftermath would lay only a thick layer of deadly smoke between them— hard to navigate, and nearly impossible to breathe in without suffocating.

So they simply burned and burned and burned...

Spencer gripped her so tight he was sure to leave her with bruising. And in turn Y/N dragged her nails down his back and dug them into his ass, her palm laying firmly over the muscles that aided in fucking her into the marbled surface. She whined out curses and moans, and he cried out broken whispers of her name, pet names, and curses alike.

Even once she'd come, he kept going, willing himself to hold on as long as he could. She whined into his ear at the overstimulation. And rather than keeping her legs wrapped around his body, she decided to spread them wide, perching her heels up on the counter as far as she could go and anchoring her fingers through his hair.

And though she might not have had enough orgasms in her to keep up with him, she welcomed it all the same—She welcomed the burn just as much as he did.

Even still, no fire can burn forever.

All concept of time was lost by the time Spencer finally collapsed forward, completely spent and barely standing on weak legs after coming twice. Y/N held onto him tightly to keep him upwards, lightly massaging his scalp with gentle fingers and closing her eyes as she focused on his breathing— the way it fanned over the skin of her bare shoulder and how it sounded, perfectly in time with hers...

It was the most peaceful she'd been in a long time.

She felt him pull out of her, the both of them groaning at the feeling, and a little at the mess it would make.

Spencer gently peeled his body off of hers, sniffing once and avoiding her eyes. "Sorry... You just got out of the shower..."

"It's fine," Y/N breathed. She begged him silently to look her in the eye, but he remained still... Most likely thinking. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

So, in an effort to lighten the mood a bit, she added with a breathy laugh, "Besides... It's nothing I haven't done before."

The callback to his words—and memories of all the times they'd found themselves in this position before—got Spencer to laugh a little, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll grab the wipes?"

"Oh. Sure," Y/N returned with a thankful smile. It was hopeful, too, though the moment he was out of eyesight, it turned rather sad.

She'd known that behavior before, seen that hesitation in his movements and that sound in his voice.

It was guilt.

Regret.

Probably a bit of self-hatred, too.

When he returned, a pile of her clothes in hand and the bag of wipes on top, she took them from him with a kind smile and cleaned herself up while he put his clothes back on.

The silence was more uncomfortable than anything either of them had ever experienced.

So much so, that Y/N couldn't even muster up the courage to ask him to stay for breakfast— and she always did after one of their post-break hookups.

Maybe this time really was different.

Spencer was just at the door again when she stopped him.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was so small, he almost didn't hear it. "For bringing me home..."

But he paused, turned, and finally looked her in the eye.

He almost sunk to his knees right there...

Seeing her, arms crossed like she was trying to keep warm, as her head hung low and she looked up at him through sad, hooded eyelids...

It reminded him of the woman he fell in love with.

But in his peripheral, he saw the towel on the floor and was reminded of the woman who'd shattered his heart.

Spencer cleared his throat. Once upon a time he might have returned her thanks with, Anytime, but... Honestly he wasn't sure there could ever be another time. For his sanity, he'd have to avoid 'anytime' at all costs.

So, he settled on, "You're welcome."

He was glad to see her return his kind smile with one of her own, even if it was tainted with sadness, and a small wave goodbye.

Maybe this time it would stick.

Even still, as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the parking lot, for some reason it didn't quite feel like goodbye.

And some of that deadly smoke that settled in his lungs as he drove further and further away from her apartment was inclined to agree.

***

Neither of them could sleep that night.

While Spencer stared out the window of the jet, a little annoyed to be called out on a case so late but at least thankful for the distraction, Y/N laid in bed, staring at the stars on her ceiling.

The same constellation caught their eye.

Columba.

The Dove.

She hadn't even meant to arrange the stars like that, but one night after a date, they were laying in her bed and Spencer pointed out that the cluster of plastic stars right in the corner of the ceiling looked like Columba.

Y/N fondly remembered Spencer telling her about how it was originally named to represent Noah's dove, which searched for dry land during the great biblical flood and returned carrying an olive branch to make news of its recession— of peace at last.

The memory made her smile. It tugged at her heart and made her dreams of him even more vivid.

All the same, Spencer noticed the constellation outside the jet window and remembered that same night. The smile on her face as he told her the story, the feel of her fingers gliding softly over the bare skin of his forearm...

It was the first night since he'd met her that he thought it.

I love her...

He almost told her then, too, but he was afraid it was too soon. So he refrained.

Looking back, Spencer was starting to regret that— Maybe without that extra time together, breaking up would have been easier. But instead, he gave her more time. He gave himself more time to fall deeper in love with her, and in the end it still wasn't enough.

Now they were both looking at the same constellation, one made of plastic and the other of gas, wondering if their flood would ever recede.

And in the event that it did... Who would be the dove, and what would be their olive branch?

“You know I dream about getting back together in the future, I could focus on you. But if I leave right now, I hope that you don’t find someone that touches you the way that I do...”

***

SERIES TAGLIST: @reidyoulikeabook @yourmisosoup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @bellzo17 @altsvu @flipperpenguins @mcumorningstar

TAGS NOT WORKING: @reid-to-me @totallyclearwitch

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #losing you twice

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bibbidibobbidibucky · 3 years

Text

cleaning up | b.b

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps Bucky get clean after a long mission and pampers him.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Mentions of past sexy times and honestly I think that is about it. The rest is just pure sweet fluffy fluff.

A/N: So the new episode got me feeling all kinds of ways so here we are lol. Excuse me for poor editing! 😂 Feedback is always appreciated and I hope you all enjoy!

It was half past ten when you got a text as you settled into bed.

Bucky: Finally on the way home. Meet me at the tower?

Y/N: Of course! ITA?

Bucky: About an hour.

Y/N: I’ll get dressed and head over there now! Can’t wait to see you. 💕

Bucky: Can’t wait to see you too beautiful.

You didn’t waste any time getting dressed and headed straight to the tower. It had been a long three weeks without seeing Bucky and you couldn’t wait to just be able to hold him, to kiss him.

Once you arrived you headed to Bucky’s room to begin the little ritual the two of you had since your early days of dating. After he got back from missions you would join him in taking a long hot bath together. It was a way to reconnect and to just be close. After the first time it soon became a favorite of Bucky’s. He loves how attentive you are with him, how he could feel your love from a simple touch. It helped wash away all the memories of the mission and made him focus on what was important and right in front of him, you.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes and the rest of the team have landed.”

“Thank you Friday.” You still weren’t used to the AI system and didn’t know if you ever would be.

By the time the water was done filling the tub you heard Bucky call out your name as he entered his room. Your heart fluttered and you smiled wide as he came into view.

“Hey you.” You giggled as he picked you up and spun you around as you embraced. God had you missed him. No matter how many times you were apart it never got easier but it made the reunions all the more spectacular.

“Gah I missed you doll. Missed my best girl.” He buried his face in your neck as he inhaled your perfume. That smell always reminded him that he was home and was in the arms of the woman he loved.

When you pulled away you couldn’t help but just smile up at him. Your eyes roamed that beautiful face and took in all of its features. From the little freckles that adorned his skin like stars to those grey ocean eyes you could spend forever in.

Then those lips met yours and the whole world melted away. Kissing Bucky always had that kind of affect on you and you hoped that that never changed. You missed those lips the past few weeks and you made a mental note to get as many kisses as you could before he left on his next mission.

“Come on. We don’t that water getting cold like last time do we?” You could help but tease him as you thought back to the last time you did this.

It was two months ago and in the midst of helping Bucky undress the two of you ended up making love against the bathroom counter, twice.

Bucky smirked as you started to undress him and could tell you were thinking about last time. He was tempted just to take you against the counter again. Hell, if you asked him he wouldn’t even hesitate.

“Wasn’t my fault last time I told you. You knew what you were doing with those wandering hands doll.” He chuckled and placed a gentle kiss to your temple.

You bit your lip and smiled as you let his tactical gear hit the floor. He wasn’t wrong.

“Get your cute butt in the water.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He winked and smirked before moving over to the tub.

You watched him sink down into the water as you undressed and you could tell he was relaxing all ready from the soft sigh that escaped his lips. He leaned his head back and sunk down into the warm water a little more before he closed his eyes. Seeing him like this, at peace and safe, always made your heart happy. God knows he deserved all the tranquility he could get. He was missing his favorite thing about the post mission ritual though and that was you.

“Come on Y/N don’t make me enjoy this all alone.”

He reached his hand out and you took it as you slipped down in front of him. He pulled your back into his chest and this was where the two of you just needed to be. Safe and in each other's warm embrace.

You laid your head back against his shoulder and turned your head to nuzzle your face a little into his neck as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Missed you so much, Buck.”

He never got tired of you saying you missed him. That someone as remarkable as you could miss and love someone like him.

“Missed you too sweetheart. Missed you every single day.” He kissed your head and pulled you closer.

You eventually turned in his arms and smiled lovingly at him as you started to wash his hair. Pampering him in any and every way after missions was important to you. You told him time and time again that you just wanted to take care of him and to have him unwined as best he could.

Your eyes scanned over his body and noticed a few cuts and bruises, nothing new. He would always come back with some but this time there seemed to be fewer than usual and for that you were thankful.

“You cut your hair.”

You lifted your head as you were pulled out of your thoughts and smiled a little.

“Just a trim. Nothing too exciting.”

He just smiled and let you finish rinsing his hair. He always noticed the tiniest things about you sometimes. None of your old boyfriends ever noticed when you got a haircut or anything like that.

“Well I like it doll and you’re still the prettiest girl this old man has ever set eyes on.”

You laughed as you playfully splashed a little water at him before grabbing the wash cloth.

“Always the charmer. You’re still gonna be pulling that when you’re 150?”

“Guess we’ll just have to see won’t we?”

You laughed again and took his vibranium arm in your hands. You began washing it carefully, always sure to get every single inch of it. It never ceased to amaze you. You could say that about all of Wakand’s technology if you were being honest with yourself but this one was special because it was attached to the man you love. So you always made a goal to take good care of it when washing him, just like any other part of him.

“You seem more at ease than you have in the past when you come home. That mean everything went okay?”

You don’t tear your eyes away as you clean his arm and you feel Bucky’s free hand gently move along your thigh. The simplest of touches and it sent chills along your body.

“It was definitely one of the easier ones we’ve been on recently. Can’t complain about that except that it kept me from you for almost a month.”

His right hand moved to cup your cheek and he caressed it gently with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and sighed softly as you placed your hand over his. You hated being away from each other for weeks on end but that was part of his job and you couldn’t ask him to stop that.

“How do you feel about taking a trip? Just you and me for a week somewhere. We can go anywhere you want.”

Now that surprised you and you looked at him a little wide eyed.

“Really? Anywhere?”

You smiled wide and he nodded as he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips gently to yours, kissing you soft and slow. Emotion poured out of that kiss. Telling you how much he loved you and so much more.

“Anywhere.”

Your heart fluttered and you pressed your lips back to his as you smiled into the kiss. Soon the two of you would be somewhere where you could just bask in each other's presence. That’s all you wanted and he was giving you that.

“How about we discuss a location as we get ready for bed?”

“Deal.”

fin.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes drabble #marvel #james buchanan barnes #talley writes

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nishigo · 4 years

Text

an anomaly. // bennett x reader.

a page from the book of memories.

[ p a g e 3 2 9 ｡ ]

authors note: hello! this is my first ever attempt at something for genshin impact. this is longer than i expected, and there may be errors here and there, so i am sorry about that in advance. i do hope you will enjoy it though. i got bennett yesterday after rolling and although many say he’s annoying...he’s very much like me in real life. coincidence? i think not. Σ('◉⌓◉’) i also rolled a girl named keqing. she seems nice, and is a five star, but i don’t know if she’s rare. i truly don’t know how this system works, apologies. T^T anyways, traveler, happy reading. (*'▽'*)

word count : 2191

tw : none that i can think of. very much fluff. and perhaps a touch of a flirty!reader. :)

request status at time of posting : open.

in which he had finally someone who could balance out his unluckiness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行。( n o )

———

Bennett was, to put it simply, confused.

He had just finished a mission with you, being your support the whole entire way through. There had been an offering that had been posted on the tavern’s walls in dark, smudged text that caught his eye at an earlier time. It read that whoever could get rid of the new pop-up hilichurl camp that blocked the path to Liyue would receive a grand sum of Mora. Course, running low on money, Bennett had decided to take up the offer. They would be easy enough to take down, just a simple slash of his sword and a few burns here and there could get the job done in no time. However, there was a problem.

No one would come with him.

Bennett knew that he was very...loud. And he was energetic. And annoying. And, though he hated to admit it...he was unlucky.

Everything seemed stacked up against him. Everyone he turned to in the tavern took a simple glance at him and rejected the offer with no further questions asked. He would try to convince them, but they would simply get more annoyed at his stubbornness and shoo him away with a flick of a hand or some splash of beer to the face. It’s not like he could take the older adventurers out either, they could barely walk on their own two feet. They were so old that they certainly would have shriveled up in the sun if he brought them along. So there that option went, leaving him with practically nothing else to turn to.

But then, if he had no one to go with him, what would happen? Would he continue to be stuck in that tavern? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to waste away like that. He was meant to be out there, in a world that could supply him with the thrill and rush that his heart yearned for. The boy desired to be just as great of an adventurer as the ones who came before him, or perhaps, dare he dream, even greater than them. Bennett desired to be a legend. But being a legend could not be done alone, even if that was what Bennett determined he would forever be, deep in the back of his brain.

Which is why you were such an anomaly.

You were the last person he spoke to that night. He was a complete mess. His shirt was damp with beer and some white wine, his white locks were a birds nest with the goggles sliding off slowly, and his eyes looked devoid of life as he took a deep inhale and they brightened up again. This was his last chance. You were the one who was either going to make or break this plan.

“Hello stranger! I am the great Bennett, and I was wondering if you would be able to help assist me with a mission that was posted on the tavern walls. It’s about the hilichurl camp by Liyue! Although I am rather strong, I need some help so it’s done more efficiently and faster. I’m even willing to split the Mora with you that we make out of it! What do you say?” Bennett recited his lines again, as if he was in an interview of sorts. His leafy green eyes watched as you scrunched up your eyebrows, as if thinking and examining him. Your face was blank other than that, lips in a straight line and hand cupping your cheek. Bennett found it to be quite terrifying. It was such an intimidating look, in fact, that he was about to ask you to forget about it before you spoke first.

“Sure.” You stated simply, a smile forming on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Ahhh, understood, I’ll get goi- WAIT!” The pyro boy turned to look right at you as he gasped. His face was one of shock morphed with a cute, ecstatic look. One could compare it to a puppy of sorts. You were not meant to say yes. You were meant to be like everyone else and reject him. He was dumbfounded as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and tilted his head.

“You’re not joking?!”

“Course not! Why would I do such a thing?” You rebuked before he giddily jumped up and down while pulling you up to a sweet hug. It was a gentle and firm one, though, he pulled away quickly after realizing he still wreaked of alcohol. You told him you didn’t mind it though, making him rub the back of his head sheepishly and laugh. You two would converse for the night, agreeing to meet up at the gate the next morning so he could lead the way to the camp and also split the mora gained evenly. After the small chat, you would leave the tavern to stay at the local inn for the night and get some rest. Bennett’s eyes were trained on you as the door then closed, realization hitting him like a truck: he found someone. He found a real person to take on a mission. Better yet, they were as gorgeous as they were strong. This was better than any dream he could have made up. Bennett decided he had to turn in for the night soon after you left, taking a spot in his cozy bed under the sheets. His eyes closed as the curtains rustled at the soft wind that blew through the window. The pyro’s last thought before going to bed was that he truly hoped that you would fulfill your end of the deal and show up.

And you kept your promise. You were there as the morning sun rose to reflect your beautiful skin, hair flowing gently in the light breeze as he ran up to you and froze. You looked powerful now that you were out of the tavern and he could see you properly. You had on your adventure gear, dressed appropriately for a mission that required taking out many enemies. What caught his attention, though, was your white cape with golden accents that flowed from behind. Flicking your hood down and off your head, your face was now fully visible as you watched him stare. He was adorable, like a little baby who was just discovering the world for the first time.

“You’re really gonna do this with me?” Bennett asked in wonder. His face was blank as a smirk landed itself on your features. You positioned yourself to stand upright, away from the wall you were leaning on as you held your weapon of choice in your dominant hand. As for the other, you outstretched it towards him with a grin.

“Lead the way.”

Bennett didn’t even have to think twice about it as he eagerly took your hand into his own gloved one and began to lead you out of the city and into the wilderness. He seemed to be very hyper from what you could tell, as he couldn’t seem to stop commenting on how he was destined for greatness, or how thankful he was that you were going to come along with him. He also bombarded you with questions about yourself as well, like if this was your first time in Mondstadt or what kind of element you had control over. He was easily excited, but especially when you told him that you were a traveler that had been moving around place to place to see the sights of the world. It was why you were so strong, you had defeated a wide range of enemies, great and small, on your journeys. Bennett was fascinated by that, drawing him to be more and more curious about you. Alas, the questions and storytelling had to wait. You two had arrived at the camp, and it was time to take some enemies down.

You two ended up making a fantastic duo of sorts. With his sword and experience, he was able to cut down enemies with ease. You did the same, your speed and agility outmatched as you two basically made a massacre out of the camp. His fire would spread through the long grass, and with the natural wind, spread quickly to begin burning it all down. You were quick to come to his aid when he would sometimes get backed against the rocks or a tree, helping him heal with some quick magic you had learned. It wasn’t anything special, but it was enough to keep him up and moving. With such precision and perseverance, your duo was able to defeat the camp with relative ease. However, both you and Bennett were still tired from fighting for so long. You two were out of breath as the fire died out, heaving for air as you gave him a head pat and grinned.

“You did amazing out there. You’re a talented pyro user as well, I’m impressed.” There you went again, making him all confused as he sat there. You just complimented him. A powerful traveler, that has practically defeated every sort of monster there is out there, was impressed by him. Bennett, the unlucky, was impressive? For the first time, he was rendered speechless as he looked at you. It was now night, the moon high in the sky as it illuminated your face. Oh goodness, you looked ethereal. The way the stars were reflected in your eyes, the way the gold of your cape sparkled and flowed behind you, the way you smiled at him, like he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen. The only thing that stopped the comfortable silence between you two was the fact that he shivered when a breeze brushed against his pale, scar littered skin. You snapped out of it and looked him up and down, noticing how a lot of his skin was exposed to the chilly night.

“Here, take this.” You told him as you unbuttoned your cape, taking it off your shoulders. With one swoop, you draped it over his own figure, being as gentle as possible as you buttoned it up again. Bennett was reduced to continuing to stay silent as you clothed him. You placed the hood up on top of his head, a hand on your hip as you grinned at him. It was a bit big on him but nonetheless, it was rather cute. You used your other hand to take his chin gently, making him look you in the eyes. He was rather happy that the hood cast a bit of a shadow, because his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as he was forced to look at you.

“Huh. Looks better on you than it does me.” You commented before he seemed to regain his ability to speak.

“You need this more than me! I-i’m literally a pyro user, I c-can heat myself-” You hushed him, letting go of his chin as you put a finger to his peach pink lips.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t waste your energy to heat up, especially since we have to walk back to town. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse weather situations.” He glanced down at your finger, and then back to you as you dropped your hand and began walking down the path again, back towards the city. Why did you have to be so, so...enchanting? And you were so smooth as well! He had never been so flustered when talking to someone, heck, he was the one who was meant to be doing most of the talking! Though, he supposed that him being talkative didn’t equate to being able to flirt. But something about the thought of you leaving made him pout. It was as if the butterflies were leaving his stomach, but they left him emptier than before.

Bennett refused to be lonely anymore. Not when he had you.

“Hey, darling!~ Would you stop standing there and staring off into space? I know I look wonderful tonight, but we gotta get a move on! We won’t be able to get to town and rest our weary bones if you keep this up!~” You called out to him, making him shake his head and refocus. Right, a bed. Sleep did sound rather good right now, along with a shower and something to quench his thirst. He ran and caught up to you, walking by your side as he grinned. He began to already ask about other missions that the two of you could do together, like gathering supplies for the alchemist or helping around the town for some spare Mora here and there. Bennett then stopped for a moment again, looking at you.

“Would you like to work together again?” There was a moment of silence before you nodded.

“I think I would. We make a great team.” Bennett then continued walking with you, as if time didn’t just stop for a second as he went back to his usual, bubbly nature. The more he thought about it, the happier it made him. More adventures to be made. More memories to be created. All with you at his side the entire time.

And you would make all the difference.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin oneshot #genshin bennett #bennett #bennett x reader #bennett x reader genshin impact #genshin impact bennett #genshin x reader #aaaAAAAA ITS OUT-#flirty reader? i think yes.#i hope you all like this #maybe kaeya next?#anyways i hope bennett isn’t too ooc #sorry if he is ;3;#hao’s library #the book of memories

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defdaily · 3 years

Text

Arena Homme+ Magazine September 2021 issue featuring JAY B: Nature, Dreams and Music

Translated by defdaily.

That day, JAY B’s world was filled with grass that came up to his knees, sunset that briefly peeked through the dark clouds, and ghosts of the silent campsite. Insects flew about in the intimate conversation of creation, dreams, and the future. An interview with JAY B amidst the passing seasons.

So you are working on an album?

The album is almost finished. I couldn’t release it at the beginning of the year, so I’m releasing it now in the second half of the year. I’m thinking of preparing things early on for next time so [we] are preparing for the production of another album.

There was a big change this year, you moved from JYP Entertainment to H1GHR MUSIC, right? What did you expect before becoming a part of H1GHR MUSIC?

At first I was worried. and was concerned over what to do if I couldn’t adapt. My goal for this year was to adapt to the agency and its artists, but everyone has made me feel comfortable. I thought I would have to do a lot of adjusting to the new agency staff, but I was surprised by how understanding they were of the system I had experienced. The way there has been no problem in our communication has far exceeded my expectations. Things are flowing smoothly.

It must feel like a fresh start. You must be looking forward to getting to do what you couldn’t do previously, but on the other side you must also have hopes to learn more. Is there anyone that could provide you with blunt advice?

I’m not the demanding type. And I have never strongly demanded anything from the company either. But that doesn’t mean I accept anything the company makes and provides me. The difference is that my opinion is reflected in my work more than before. If I was going to lead everything at work, there would have been no need to join an agency. Joining the agency means communicating with their staff. I also think we should listen to other people's opinions a lot. And you have to give feedback too, of course. I am working well with the company. Be it a push or advice as help, I learnt a lot from my previous company. Since I have learnt a lot from there, I should trust myself a little more now. I try to relay what I know and learn about things I’m not knowledgeable of. I rely on Jay Bum hyung a lot. I contact him right away when there’s something I don’t know, and we have a lot of conversations.

Is it important that an artist is stubborn? Do you feel the need to emphasise your own music and personality?

Artists have different personalities, just as people have different preferences. I don't want to diss an artist who is stubborn, nor do I want to tell anyone who isn’t stubborn that they are not an artist. I acknowledge everyone. I, personally, want to express the way I live. I like making music. An artist should be clear about what they want to do. Whether it be to become a star, or to express themselves through music or to earn money, it has to be clear.

What is your clear stance as an artist?

Whether it’s fiction or reality, I want to make stories. I’m the type that wants to tell a story. It was like that too in my GOT7 days. I believe one should create and establish their own path in life. I think that's fun. It's hard, but it's worth it. It adds more meaning to my job and I think it becomes more valuable. If I didn't do it myself, I would feel less attached to it.

There’s nothing more fun than one’s own work. Showing your work and waiting for the response must also be thrilling.

Exactly. I love hearing that my music is good. I’m very shy so I cannot express it very well but I’m very thankful and proud too. And it reassures me that I’m not going down the wrong path.

It does feel like all the hard times disappear when you hear good feedback. But feedback isn’t always good. There are even people who avoid them because of fear of criticism.

To be honest, when it comes to unpleasant feedback, it kind of makes me feel… “ouch!” But I accept it because it is still an evaluation. It also gives me a boost. It’s fun.

You are a solo artist now. Do you feel a burden or pressure?

I don’t feel pressured, but I do feel the burden. I joined H1GHR MUSIC and I feel a sense of belonging. I gain something from this company, but I think this company should gain something from me, too. I have worries about things like whether I’ll be able to benefit the company or not. I feel slightly uneasy about possibly not meeting expectations too.

You feel a sense of responsibility.

There's always a reason and a purpose to start anything. Everyone starts music because they like it, and if they start, there must be music they want to make. So if there is criticism, one would feel down, but if the final product is good, the people that worked on it would feel good. That’s what I hope for.

You uploaded a bunch of your Def. songs onto your YouTube channel. There was quite a lot. Are you the prolific type?

I used to be but… I guess I’m still the type to make many songs. (Laughs). But compared to back then, my production has decreased a lot. My stamina can’t keep up. (Laughs). I used to be able to start and finish working on a song at dawn and when I felt like I could do more, I made more. Nowadays, even when I’m working on only one song, not only is it hard for my body, but I also feel drained so I can’t make many songs.

Isn’t it really fast to make even one song at dawn?

Ah, that’s true. I used to work like that three or four times a week, but now I work once or twice a week. Come to think of it, I don't think I'm the prolific type anymore.

Being able to make a lot of things means you have a lot of ideas.

Having run out of ideas is also a reason for having less work done. There are five mixtapes I’ve uploaded onto YouTube with four to five tracks each. At the time, I not only worked on those but music for GOT7 too. After hustling so hard, I feel like I’ve run out of material. I look around wondering where to find inspiration. When I finish making the melody and want to write lyrics, I feel lost.

In order to be prepared for those situations, creators keep a collection of material. How do you collect resources?

I often read or use my imagination. These days, I often put myself in others’ shoes. When watching a movie, one would empathize with the protagonist. It’s only natural since the plot revolves around them. But I would pay attention to the supporting roles or passerbys in the background and think about the story from their point of view. I would think about what I would do if I heard those words and if I were in that situation. I also pay close attention to any words that might be a good source of inspiration. In the past I would focus on how the plot developed, but now I look at the words that the author uses repeatedly. When I think of any useful words or ideas, I jot them down.

Observing the supporting roles instead of the central narrative is such a novel idea.

I suddenly thought of it while watching a movie at home. The protagonist had said some harsh and rude words to a supporting role. It was something like “Get out of my way.” I thought “How would it have felt to be the one moving out of their way? What would they feel?” These were the thoughts I had.

Has anyone told you that you have a unique perspective?

I’ve often heard that my personality is very unique.

People can say they don’t like something despite others saying they like it. That could come off as unique and fresh ideas come from an uncommon perspective too.

I think it’s 50/50. There are times when something might not feel like much for me while others like it, and times when everyone else seems quite indifferent while I like it. A song I recently liked the idea of is “Smile, Wait for the Flash” by Giriboy where he used the ‘kacha’ shutter sound as gunfire. Using ‘kacha’ like a gunfire as a metaphor for wrapping up your feelings after a breakup was a refreshing idea. It was great.

Do you also often use your instincts?

I try hard to. I don’t naturally use my instincts, but I try to look at things through a different lens. I tend to have random thoughts, and I had one today during the shoot too. This is a camping site, but there was no one camping. So I imagined how it would look when full of people moving about. Also during the shoot, there was a long blade of grass under my feet on a field of grass. I should have avoided it but I accidentally stepped on it. I felt sorry for the grass that got stepped on and out of instinct I said “sorry…”

Seems like you have keen sensibility.

I wish I could be sensible. I’m too cautious to say that I am sensible, though.

I think you would be considered a sensible person because you make music. But I noticed that the comments are disabled for Def.’s mixtapes on YouTube.

The songs that I make under “Def.” are 100% music that I personally wanted to make. I didn’t want to receive feedback, so I disabled the comments. If I release an album under “Def.” in the future, I probably won't be able to disable the comments. I don’t know. The reason I have disabled the comments is because I don’t want to see any praise nor criticism. I don’t look at the comments for my SoundCloud tracks either. Because they’re very personal projects, I’m worried I could be swayed by it so I don’t look at it on purpose. I don’t want to be swayed by anything when it comes to my personal projects. I guess that’s my way of being stubborn.

So it sounds like you’re saying the songs that are made under the name Def. are like a part of you. I can feel your sincerity towards your music.

I would pretend to be indifferent to evaluations, but I’m really scared of receiving negative comments. Not the criticism but I’m scared to look at comments that decide something as ‘not good.’ If they say that it’s not their style, then it’s just personal preference. There may not be songs that match their preference within my discography. But it’s difficult for me to hear people say ‘this is not good, bad, or meh.’ After all, those songs came from me and are like my children.

I remember many tracks with gentle melodies and discovered JAY B’s delicate side. Is this surprising to hear?

This is the first time I’ve been called delicate. I do have several sensitive/vibey songs. I want to try something like a pop, hip-hop, or smug and cocky vibe but I’m not good at that. I don’t think it’s my personality.

What is considered a good melody to you?

Something that feels good at the first listen. My music taste has been so diverse recently that even when I talk to my friends about music, the songs that we all like are different. It’s hard to reach a consensus. In the creator’s perspective, even if something doesn’t sound good to others but it does to the creator, I consider that to be a good melody. I used to stress over how to write a good melody, how to sing it, and if the company would like it. As I move on step by step, I found a standard where at least the melody should sound good enough to me to not abandon the song since everyone has different preferences.

Personal preferences are important but it must be an important job to cater to the general public too. No, I mean, a difficult job.

That’s right. I think I still lack the ability to create melodies that the general public would like. I will have to learn step by step. One thing I feel is that there must be a part that sticks. I can’t exactly describe what type of melody it would be, but to set a minimum standard, it would be ‘a melody that I’m satisfied with. If it’s one that I’m not satisfied with but the public likes, I should follow that.

Do you tend to use many tracks when making music? There’s lot of songs these days that use dozens of layers of tracks.

We used a lot of harmonies with GOT7. Because there were so many harmonies, there was a crazy number of tracks too. These days, I try to be minimal and reduce harmonies. I don’t layer many tracks. I usually have the main track with a few harmonies and some adlibs.

K-Pop in particular mixes many genres and harmonies to create complex music. They are very flashy. What do you think of this phenomenon as someone who prefers to be minimal?

I see it as a good thing, because it means that the general public’s preference is expanding to a variety. It’s rather better. Of course, the basics are also important and I do feel the necessity to study them but we also need to agree with change. We should accept change. Who knows, I might grow old to be someone that can’t accept change and wonder, ‘what kind of music is this?’ But I feel that now is a time to open our eyes to change. When I find that a song is difficult to listen to, I will purposely listen to it repeatedly.

It’s been 10 years since you’ve debuted. How much have you changed over these 10 years?

In the past I was ambitious and had high expectations, but now I am more relaxed. With age, I think my sensitive side is becoming more and more dull. When I let go of some desires, I get to be accepting of more things. The scope of my activities also seems to have widened. I used to have a stubborn side to me in the past. Now I’m like ‘don’t expect too much, don’t anticipate too much,’ just do my job diligently!

There are many artists that use other creative hobbies to ease the burdens of their main job. What do you do to cope with your fuel for creativity?

My hobby is photography so I take many photos. I also learned how to draw at one point but nowadays, I don’t have time to draw since I’m busy. I also make records of things often. I write down my thoughts, even useless things. I also use an audio recorder to record my mood, thoughts, and things I’m currently doing. I also write letters to my future self. Things like ‘this is why I’m struggling, this is what would be good for me now but how it would be for my future self?’ Wondering what I will be thinking about and what I would look like. I write letters to myself about stuff like that. I put them in envelopes according to the year and on the envelope I write down the year the letter was written.

So It’s like an archive of your time. Writing, journaling, letters, photos, music, it’s interesting. A very organised way of saving your thoughts to not lose them. Having said that, is there anyone else you would like to show your records to besides your future self?

Ah! I can’t show this to people. They’ll cringe. (Laughs) It’s sort of embarrassing. I can show the photos to everyone but I want to keep voice messages to myself. I hope that when I am older, I can look at them as I laugh and reminisce about my life. They’re records for myself.

Do you also record everyday life in any way?

I record when I find it interesting the way I thought about something. Even looking at my journal from last year or the year before, my thoughts were different from now. I find it intriguing to see the way people can change like this. I think I tend to have many thoughts, so I record them every day.

From the position of a creator, I guess journaling can be seen as an activity to collect one’s senses and emotions to use them as material for inspiration.

That’s right. My brain isn’t good enough for me to remember everything. There are situations when I recall a memory and decide I could write this down.

What was the most fun thing you did lately?

It’s a bit dangerous, but it was when I rode around on my motorcycle with my friend. There was suddenly a heavy downpour. Since I needed to go home, I rode the motorcycle in the rain. I was completely soaked when I got home. The journey home was super difficult, but I was fortunate enough to not have suffered any injuries. It was a completely new experience so it was very fun. I don’t want to experience it again but it felt like an adventure.

Wearing the Burberry 2021 F/W collection in the pictorial today must also be a new experience. Slightly different from the refined and classic Burberry, the collection shows a lot of change. What were your usual thoughts on Burberry?

I thought of it as a clean and straightforward style. Ever since some time, I noticed their young and bold changes. Although today’s outfits contained many new attempts and changes, I felt that their style was still well refined. I felt that Burberry used their own unique perspective to cleanly interpret nature’s elements. Wearing the outfits, I felt like they had a lot of fun ideas.

Which outfit left the biggest impression on you?

Choosing just one is very difficult. There was one that gave off the feel of a medieval knight, and made me feel like a monarch. I’ve heard that in medieval times, people would also wear bearskin from hunting. I think that has some influence on the Burberry outfits that I wore today. Every time I put on an outfit, I always felt like a medieval knight or king. The fur on the clothes had a strong animalistic feel to it. The scenery, weather, and concept were all very harmonious with each other.

Going back to the topic of music, you said that you like to tell stories. Do you also create a universe with music?

Yes, I create a universe for each album. This album creates this universe, while that album creates another. The albums won’t connect to create one universe, though. Each album is its own world, nothing more. I can’t make them magnificently connect into a grand universe. I like to put my story into each album.

Can you use a keyword to describe the universe of the album you are about to release?

It would be “SOMO:FUME.” This is the first album that I made after joining H1GHR MUSIC. This album consists of my energy, feelings, and thoughts, so it contains the meaning of my hopes for people to consume (somo in Korean) this product and and my wishes for my emotions to smear on to you like perfume, which is why I combined [somo] with the [English word] perfume, and named [the album] SOMO:FUME.

In which direction will JAY B’s music flow from now onwards?

I’ve pondered about directionality for a long time, but I couldn’t come up with an answer. The important part is to participate enough for me to not have regrets and be careful. I may disappoint myself if I have too many expectations for the future. I need to work diligently to not be disappointed when I look back; so that in the future, I can see that I worked hard.

Translated by defdaily.

Please support JAY B’s 1st EP album [SOMO:FUME] coming out on August 26 at 6PM KST. jayb1stsoloep.carrd.co

#jaebeom #lim jaebeom #jay b #def.#got7 #got7 jb #interviewtrans #defdaily #defdaily:trans #h1ghrmusic #somofume #style of my own: fume #SOMO:FUME

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

Text

Late

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand

A/N: Thanks as always to @bluenet13 for beta reading!

Read on AO3

T.K. was late. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to be running late; when you worked as a civil servant the end of the day was determined by when the work was done, not what the clock on the wall said. Dating someone who understood that was rare, a gift. They understood and forgave the tardiness without malice.

He’d texted, telling Carlos to go ahead and get a drink and order an appetizer if he wanted. But Carlos waited, anxious to see his date (boyfriend? booty call? friend with benefits?). It had been a long day and he’d been looking forward to this evening since T.K. had texted and asked him about it two days ago. That was a step forward, T.K. asking him out instead of the other way around. It had to mean…something, right? Maybe?

Oh god, his sister, Francesca, had been right when she told him he was hopelessly gone on this guy. Her actual comment had included a few more swear words and a surprising amount of sexual innuendo, even for his sister, but the message was the same: He was in love with a guy who liked him back. And he was doing a pretty terrible job of figuring the relationship out.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” T.K. slid into the seat across from him, interrupting the gymnastics of his mental anxiety.

“No worries,” Carlos said, offering up a smile. “I got you a sparkling water and ordered a cheese plate.”

“Great, that’s great,” T.K. said, fidgeting in his chair like he couldn’t get comfortable.

Carlos hadn’t known T.K. for long, but the man read like an open book. He could tell something wasn’t right. “Everything okay?” he asked as T.K. picked up the menu and flipped it over without reading it before setting it back down again.

“What? Yeah, yes, yes everything’s fine,” he said, picking the menu back up again.

Carlos studied him, feeling his leg bounce up and down under the table. “You sure? You seem on edge. Rough day at work?”

T.K. set the menu down again and schooled his face into what Carlos assumed he thought was a neutrally pleasant expression, but was really a smile that strained around the edges. “No, I’m good. Sorry. So, what are you thinking about? The filet? Or actually the salmon looks really good. With the lemon sauce?”

Carlos let T.K. chatter his way through dinner about inane subjects such as the different types of hose nozzles, his Dad’s medicinal tea collection, and how to properly hail a taxi in New York. Carlos hmmed and nodded in all the right places, all the while mentally going through a list of possible reasons for T.K.’s uneasiness. A difficult shift seemed most likely, but T.K. had denied that. Could something have happened to someone he knew in New York? Or was there…was there someone else? He knew about T.K.’s recent horrendous break up, but was it possible that whoever he’d left behind had come calling? It happened more often than not, a quick rebound and then back to the previous relationship, he’d seen it time and and time again.

His heart squeezed a little bit at the thought and he mentally shook himself. T.K. had given him no indication that things between them were off, he shouldn’t assume and possibly fabricate a problem for himself that didn’t exist.

They finished their meal, declining desert and coffee, and headed for the parking lot. “So,” Carlos finally said, his first word in quite a while. “Did you want to come over or…?”

“Yeah,” T.K. said far too brightly in the fakest possible way.

T.K. seemed to have run out of bizarre facts and mundane topics to talk about because he was quiet on the drive back to Carlos’, seemingly lost in whatever was going on in his head, fingers absently playing with his phone, turning it over and over in his hands.

He didn’t even move when they stopped in the driveway, eyes staring straight ahead out the windshield. “T.K.,” Carlos said softly.

He startled and cleared his throat. “Hey, sorry.” He flashed another fake smile and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Carlos’ lips, quickly trying to turn it into more.

Carlos let him for a moment, not pulling back, but not fully giving in either, still trying to get a read on what was going on tonight. The current situation suggested it had nothing to do with them, which was a relief. But something was still wrong.

“Should we take this inside?” T.K. asked a moment later, his hand sliding up Carlos’ thigh, even as the enthusiasm didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Carlos cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to?”

That got T.K.’s full attention and his brow furrowed. “I—yes. Yeah I wanted to come over and be with you.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of Carlos’ nose. “Come on.”

They walked inside and for once Carlos let T.K. take the lead as they landed on the couch, lips locked together, hands in each other’s hair, running up and down each other’s bodies. But it wasn’t fast and hard or even slow and gentle it was just…as if T.K. was going through the motions. And Carlos was not okay with that.

He pulled away, sitting up, putting distance between them. “What’s wrong?” T.K. asked in confusion. “You okay?”

“Are you?”

“What?”

Carlos fixed him with a firm look. “T.K. I want to have sex with you, I do. But I’m a big fan of enthusiastic consent. And right now you’re consenting but…I’m kind of missing the enthusiasm.”

T.K. sighed and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I should have just gone home.”

Carlos felt a pang of sympathy as he watched the weight of whatever T.K. was dealing with settle fully on his shoulders. He reached over and put a hand on T.K.’s knee. “You know, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here. Or if you don’t want to talk I can drive you home. No questions asked.”

He could see T.K.’s jaw working, like he was trying to hold back tears. He shook his head silently, misery all over his face and Carlos couldn’t take it any longer. He slid closer so their thighs touched and put his free hand on T.K.’s shoulder. “T.K. what is it?”

The other man sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “My dad has cancer.”

Of all the things he’d considered, this had never crossed his mind. It felt like a punch in the gut. And if it felt that way to him, he could only imagine how it felt to T.K.

“It’s lung cancer,” T.K. continued. “From the towers. And he didn’t tell me. He just moved us across the country like he could run away from it. I thought he made us come here because of me but really, it was because of him. And me. Both of us I guess, I don’t even know anymore.”

T.K. looked so wrung out and exhausted and Carlos’ heart ached, wishing for all the world that he could somehow take his pain away.

“He’s been getting chemo and dealing with this for months now, all on his own because he couldn’t tell me or didn’t want to tell me or didn’t trust me enough to tell me and I feel really REALLY shitty about it,” T.K. said. “Like the worst son in the world for not noticing and not being…okay enough for him to talk to me about it. Because you know that people with a support system have a better chance of beating cancer than people that don’t. And I haven’t been providing that for him. I’ve just been dealing with my own shit again.”

His intake of breath was shaky, words continuing to pour out of him. “And I told him that I wasn’t scared, that I knew he was going to be all right, but I think that was a lie. Because right now I’m terrified. I’m terrified that I’m going to lose him. And I promised myself I would never lie to him again after what happened in New York but how could I say anything else? He needs me to be strong but,” T.K. finally looked up and met Carlos’ eyes, “I’m not very good at being strong. As evidenced by the addiction and relapses.”

He shook his head again and ran an agitated hand over his face. “And I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and I kind of can’t stop thinking about it and it all just kind of…spilled out.”

Carlos squeezed his knee. “Well, they do call me “The Confessor” at the precinct. Bad guys take one look at me and give up all their secrets.”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “They do?”

“No, T.K. it’s a joke.” He winced slightly. “Maybe not the right time for a joke. Sorry.”

T.K. snorted. “No it’s…thanks. I needed that.” He exhaled slowly. “I think I needed all of that. I don’t uh, I don’t have many people I can talk to about stuff like this. So thanks for letting me unload on you. Again.”

“You can talk to me anytime,” Carlos said. “I mean it. And if you need help with your dad, anything at all, I’m glad to do that too. I can drive to appointments, pick things up, make phone calls, or just be a shoulder to cry on.”

T.K. gave him a soft, smile, the first genuine one of the night, and cupped his cheek. “You are so sweet. You know that?”

“I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Carlos told him. “I’m not just saying it; I’m serious T.K. Anything you need, anything at all.”

He couldn’t fix this, couldn’t tell T.K. that it would all be all right in the end, couldn’t give him the assurances he longed for, but he could offer his presence and support.

“I know,” T.K. said, and he seemed to genuinely believe it. “Thank you.”

Carlos leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for just a moment before pressing their foreheads together. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

T.K. nodded against him and didn’t pull back. “Do you mind if we don’t…I just don’t think I…”

“How about we watch a movie?” Carlos suggested. “I’ll make some popcorn, we can relax. Decompress a little bit.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” T.K. asked.

Carlos smiled. “Believe it or not I like being with you even when we’re not having sex. And I am very capable of going without for a night or two.”

“But not three?” T.K. asked as Carlos got up and moved to the kitchen.

Carlos gave a fake wince. “That would be pushing it. I might have to find another hot shot firefighter from New York to hook up with.”

“You get a lot of those in Austin?”

“Oh they’re a dime a dozen around here,” Carlos said with a teasing grin as he started the microwave. “Walk down the street and you’re bound to run into at least a few. Although, I don’t think all of them have such a passion for hose nozzles.”

Now T.K. winced for real. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m anxious.”

“I noticed. It’s okay. And next time I’m at a scene and someone asks me for a hose nozzle, I will definitely be able to help. In fact, I think I’ll add that to my resumé. Hose Nozzle Expert.”

“Oh god,” T.K. rolled his eyes. “I’m a terrible date.”

Carlos returned with the popcorn. “Well I’ll guess we’ll just have to go on another one. Give you a chance to make it up to me.”

“Friday?” T.K. asked.

“I have a shift starting mid-morning.”

“Breakfast then?”

Carlos handed him the popcorn bowl. “Breakfast it is. Now,” he settled back into the couch and pulled T.K. toward him until they were cuddled together. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #T.K. Strand #Carlos Reyes #Tarlos Fic #Late #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Soft boys #Domestic Tarlos #Fluff

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ahkaahshi · 4 years

Text

lucky [oikawa tooru x reader]

pairing: oikawa tooru x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with some fluff :)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, orgasm denial/edging, roleplaying, penetrative sex, implied deep throating, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of gambling and casinos, and oikawa being a lovable dork as always

word count: 5.4k (a monster of a fic compared to my usual writing. whew)

overview: after a long weekend of work-related conferences, you’re desperate to let off some steam at the hotel bar. however, you don’t realize what you’re in for when you take to eyeing the man you couldn’t keep your attention off of when you arrived.

From the first moment you set foot beneath the sea of twinkling fairy lights adorning the patio of the luxurious hotel bar, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off him. Like a star, he shimmers in the gentle glow—his crisp, white button-up reflecting every hint of light that falls upon his figure. That bright smile of his he flashes the bartender as the two enjoy a casual chat is radiant, threatening to set your heart ablaze. With the warmth that his demeanor exudes, it’s impossible for you notto notice his presence in spite of all the other patrons chattering, swaying to the music, and enjoying a good laugh with friends in the large, outdoor space.

Oikawa Tooru. You already know his name after seeing his face on national television countless times, but you never could’ve expected that you would bump into him during the last night of your stay at this hotel in particular. Even from afar, he’s just as stunning—if not more so—than he appears on the volleyball court, and the instant attraction you feel to him is what has you carefully weaving between the throngs of guests to make your way over to the bar.

The seat next to him is open, but you think twice about taking it. Doing so would quickly put you in a rather intimate situation, you assume, given how close each stool is located to the next, so you settle on leaving a bit of distance between the two of you by perching on the plush cushion of a one a few seats away. Once you’ve placed your small purse securely on a hook beneath the counter, you flag the bartender with a small wave of the hand and a smile, making him abandon his conversation with the professional volleyball player to attend to you.

There’s a brief moment when your gaze meets his brown one tinged golden by the lights as he glances over to see the source of his conversation’s interruption, and, in that short span of time before your eyes dart away from his, you swear you catch a glimpse of a smile playing on his lips. After you’ve placed your signature drink order, you focus your attention on the man behind the counter instead, watching him grab and combine the ingredients necessary to fill your request. However, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not the only one having a hard time keeping their eyes to themselves.

And your own inability to do so is what has you sending another glance down the bar in his direction, (e/c) eyes trailing along the intricate detailing beneath the counter’s resin surface as they make their way over to his. Trying to withhold the smile that almost instinctively spreads across your lips at noticing the one already gracing his when your gazes meet again is futile. There’s something about his radiant presence and the barely noticeable glint of rapture shining in his eyes that has your heart fluttering in your chest—and its pace soon increases when he lifts his glass, grabs the jacket draped over the hook by his knee, and stands so he can close the distance between you.

A giggle tinged with both delight and nervousness escapes your lips before you call out to him, “You don’t have to come over here!”

“Oh?” he questions coyly, raising an eyebrow at you as he ducks beneath the counter for a moment to place his jacket on the hook beside your purse, “What was I supposed to do, then? Just sit and stare until someone else came to chat you up?” His teasing remark fills you with warmth, as does the realization that only a few inches separate you from the impossibly attractive man you’d been admiring. As bold as you were to look him in the eye before, you find the feat to be a challenge now.

“Not exactly,” you suggest, suppressing your nerves enough to deliver an equally playful response of, “But I thought I’d receive a message from the bartender that my drink’s already been paid for by the handsome loner at the other end of the bar before he gathered the courage to approach me?”

His fingers swim through his brown waves of feathery hair as his lips quirk into a devilish smile. “Mm, but then I would’ve been doing exactly what you expected me to do! And where’s the fun in that, huh?” You follow his chestnut gaze to the man behind the counter when he sets the drink you’d requested down on the coaster near in front of you. Your hand’s journey to your purse is stopped by a light touch on your arm and the words, “You can put anything she orders on my bill,” leaving your new drinking partner’s mouth.

Traces of heat skitter along the skin his fingers graze like stray embers that have escaped the fire. Somehow, in the coolness of the night with not a drop of liquor in your system, there’s not a single goosebump on your body.

“Thank you…”

“Tooru.” He sticks his hand into the small void between you in a formal greeting.

You return the favor, sliding your palm against his and giving it a gentle shake. “(F/n).” A thought about how soft and gentle yet firm his grip is passes through your mind, bringing familiar prickles of warmth to your cheeks. “I appreciate it.”

Chuckling, he mentions, “Didn’t wanna ruin the little fantasy you seem to have all put together in that pretty head of yours by making you pay for your own drink.” The degree of rapture in his gaze, as if he thinks your face is the most enticing subject in his field of vision, slowly melts away your hesitation, and you find yourself raising your glass to his after it’s been refilled once more in an amicable toast.

The first taste always burns the most, but Oikawa’s presence seems to sweeten it ever so subtly. “So,” you hum after taking a deep breath to collect your thoughts, “what brings you here tonight by yourself? Thought someone as famous as you are wouldn’t be a moment without an entourage of adoring, female fans.”

He snickers, lips curling up into a grin that reflects his amusement. “It’s quite a large burden to bear, if I do say so myself, but I managed to escape their clutches just moments before you got here. Pretty lucky if I do say so myself,” he explains, his flirtations accompanied by a small wink. After taking another sip of the dark liquor in his glass, he adds, “As far as what I’m doing here; well, I’m here on business. But there’s no harm in mixing in a little pleasure, right?”

You shrug. “Might as well.”

“How about you?” Your gaze only leaves his for a moment to watch the way his fingertips graze the height of his glass, collecting droplets of condensation rolling down the sides. The silver rings he’s wearing on his right index and ring fingers shine when they catch a hint of the soft light pouring over your forms.

Returning your attention to his eyes, which appear to relax at having the pleasure of meeting yours once again, you elaborate, “Same reason. Wanted to find at least one fun thing to do after a long weekend of back to back work-related events.”

“In that case, feel free to have as many drinks as you want—on me,” he offers. However, before you can protest and tell him that you would never be so cruel as to exploit his generous offer, he comments, “But, if you’d rather sink money into something a little more rewarding and exciting than the frankly overpriced alcohol here, what do you say to joining me in the casino?”

You bat your eyelashes at him from over the rim of your glass while you take another sip as an indication that you’ll give him an answer when you can speak again. The invitation’s rather bold, you think, considering the fact that the two of you have only known each other for a grand total of about ten minutes. In any other situation, you’d most likely say no and do anything you could to shirk your conversational partner’s advances—depending on how they’d approached you, that is. But you find that you don’t want to say no to him.

Whether it’s the way his inviting gaze threatens to keep drawing you closer and closer to him so you can see the glimmer of the fairy lights in his eyes, or the air of warmth surrounding him that makes you feel as if you’ve known him forever, you don’t know—but you just can’t say no. You don’t want to. Sure, you’d gotten dressed up and taken a trip down to the ritzy hotel’s bar with the intentions of alleviating your boredom, but if you left with him, it would be because you wanted to be in his company rather than because you wanted a solution to your issue.

So, you answer him with a nod, but delay your next course of action for a while longer by asking, “Is it alright if I indulge in just one more of these overpriced drinks before we leave, though? I don’t know about know about you, but I only just got here.”

His smile doesn’t falter as he obliges with a dip of the head. “Really trying to bleed me dry, here, aren’tcha?”

“Might as well leave the bar knowing that you spent your money on something worthwhile before losing it all at the slots.”

“In that case, I’ll order myself another too.”

The two of you share a much-needed laugh, considering your long weekends of work, and continue your conversation over another refill. Though you’re sure the time the two of you spend on the plush stools at the bar top is relatively short, it feels much longer, and you find yourself abstaining from finishing your drink too quickly to prolong the moments you spend together—since you don’t want him to splash more of his hard-earned money on another rather average drink hiding behind a fancy name. In spite of all the commotion surrounding you as people dance, fill up the barstools on either side of you, or raise their voices to be heard over the chatter and music, his figure is the only thing you can see, and his voice the only thing you can hear.

You do snap back to reality once more, though, when you both come to the realization that your glasses are empty, but you’re happy that his idea to visit the casino means this isn’t the end of your night together. Once he’s slid on his jacket and you’ve slung your purse over your shoulder, the two of you head back into the hotel and stride down the ornately designed carpeting towards your destination. The slight sensation of the alcohol buzzing in your veins fills you with warmth that he seems to localize and intensify with his light touches to the small of your back as he guides you over towards the glowing slot machines.

Oikawa notices your hesitation when you sit down in front of one of the money-guzzling contraptions, and teases, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you have to pay to play, princess.”

The affectionate nickname that leaves his mouth makes your heart jump in your chest and nearly takes your breath away. Quickly regaining your composure and dismissing his comment with a wave of the hand, you simper, “Of course I know that, Tooru. I’m just trying to decide if this is really worth it, since I never seem to have the best luck with the slots.”

A reassuring smile forms across his lips, and his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as his eyes flit over your figure. “Well,” he sighs, leaning against the seat and nonchalantly slinging his arm over the back of yours, “you never know. Tonight might just be the night you get lucky.”

His comment seems innocent enough, but the seduction laced into his voice as well as the confidence behind the smirk that replaces his sweet grin has you believing otherwise. And his intentions soon become clearer as you make your rounds around the casino together.

At first, you think his advances a figment of your hyperactive imagination projecting your own desires onto him. That every bumping of your knees together while lounging in the cushioned seats at the machines is an accident, and that every graze of his fingertips along your arm is just a polite way of grabbing your attention. However, as the evening wears on, you stop second-guessing yourself. To be fair, it gets fairly challenging to deny that something more than just camaraderie is present between the two of you when his hand wraps around your waist as you make your way to the blackjack table—and eventually ends up running along your thigh beneath the cover the polished wood provides.

His touch ignites your entire body with sensation. It refuses to be ignored, just as his presence had when you’d seen him at the bar earlier, and it fuels a desire within you to have his hands on every inch of your skin. Oh, how sad they must be, only being able to travel the short expanse between your knee and the hem of your dress’s tight skirt for the sake of politeness, you think. But pity is the exact opposite of what you should feel towards him, since you know better than anyone else that you want more than anything to give into him.

He seems to sense—given the way your own hands never move to reject his advances and you lean into his touch when he experimentally puts an arm around you—that you’re on the same page as he is, and decides to beckon you closer to him for a chat before you reach your next destination. “Hey, whaddya say we make things a little more fun?” he suggests, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Thankfully, the shuddering breath that escapes your mouth is lost beneath the ringing of the slot machines and upbeat music.

“What did you have in mind?” you wonder, feeling excitement course through you at the limitless options that he could be imagining.

“How about—” he pauses for a moment to lean down closer to your ear—“we make a little deal?” You follow his gaze over to the roulette table a few feet away before fastening your attention on him once more as he offers, “If the ball lands on an even number, I’ll give you a special prize.” He retrieves a small, plastic card from his coat pocket that you instantly recognize as a room key, making your breath hitch in your throat and your eyelashes flutter with shock.

You swallow thickly and ask, “And what if it doesn’t?”

The grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth is one you’ve seen before many times on television when he’d one-upped his opponents with an unexpected play, but being exposed to it in person and in such close proximity to him has your heart racing. “You’ll have to be willing to take the risk and play in order for you to find out the answer to that question, sweetheart. Trust me, you can’t lose.”

There’s a long moment of silence that ensues his proposition before you nod in agreement and strut over to the table to try your luck. After placing a bet on all even numbers, you watch with bated breath as the tiny ball whizzes around the outside of the wheel. Oikawa chuckles at your clear desperation, earning him a roll of the eyes from you. Because of your previously held belief that you’d probably end up losing more than you’d earned tonight, your heart leaps with excitement when the ball rolls into the slot with the number 22 etched into it.

“Well, look at you! What did I say earlier?” Oikawa muses, giving your shoulder a pat as you collect your winnings even though they’re not at the top of your mind like his hotel room key is. The sensation of the card’s smooth edges running along your fingers when he slides it into your awaiting palm gives you an instant adrenaline rush. “Off you go, then. I’ll be up in a minute.” Before you can even ask him what the alternate option to the deal would’ve been, he’s giving you a gentle nudge in the direction of the tiled floor leading towards the lobby. The parting words he whispers in your ear have your core flooding with heat: “Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if that dress was off by the time I got there.”

In an instant, he’s sauntering in the opposite direction, leaving you to walk to the elevator by yourself on shaky legs that continue to quiver the entire ride up to the eighth floor. Part of you wants to curse yourself for being so susceptible to his irresistible charm and sugared words, but there’s no point in doing so now. You’re going to get what you want, after all.

As you step into his room, you’re greeted by the subtle yet delightful scent of his cologne wafting from the suits in the closet on your way over to the foot of the large bed you see peeking out from around the corner. Nervous tingles travel down your spine as you kick off your shoes and reach for the zipper of your dress, making your skin erupt in goosebumps, but the sensation doesn’t stop you from slipping the garment off and settling down against the plush duvet.

Luckily, he doesn’t keep you waiting long, and you’re leaping to your feet when you hear the heavy door open, letting in the conversations of other guests wandering down the hall nearby. For a split second, you feel self-conscious and wish you had more covering your body than just a lacy bra and panties, but, when you see the way his steps come a halt and his gaze traces over the entirety of your figure, drinking in the beautiful sight before him, your hesitation immediately dissipates.

Slowly, he approaches you, shrugging off his jacket before placing one hand on your bare waist and using his other to tilt your chin up so he can look into your eyes. “You’re gorgeous, (f/n),” he breathes, pupils dilating as they trace and retrace the path from yours to your lips parted with anticipation and desperate to be kissed, “I got lucky too. So, so lucky.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as he presses his warm lips against yours. They’re soft and gentle, molding to fit the shape of yours as if they were created to be interlocked. As his tongue runs along yours after tentatively prodding your lower lip in a silent request for access, his fingers dance along the bare skin on your back. Soon, your kisses are becoming more and more heated, and your hands are moving to his shirt to undo the buttons keeping it clasped together.

“Lemme take these off, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips, tugging at the back of your bra with one hand and at the waistband of your thong with the other. All you can do is nod, since you’re too breathless to give a verbal response, and allow him to undo the clasp around your back. A gentle push towards the bed sends you toppling down atop it with a playful giggle before he finishes your job of ridding himself of his shirt and tugs your panties down your legs.

Through half-lidded eyes, you can see the strain of his erection against his trousers, making your mouth water. He smirks at your mounting desire for him and kneels down on the carpet, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. As teasingly as you’d expect from him, he drags a long finger down your slit, dragging the juices seeping out of your core up to your clit and rubbing the sensitive bud experimentally, delighted by the loud moans he reaps from your vocal cords in response.

“Tooru…” you utter needily, arching your back, “More… please.”

Unable to resist your gentle plea, he brings his lips to the plush skin of your inner thigh and mumbles, “Keep saying my name just like that, princess.” His low hum of contentment sends vibrations through your entire lower region as his mouth presses against your entrance so he can lick a broad stripe from there to your pearl.

The sensation’s nearly too much for you, but you soon melt into it, your hands reaching for his head of soft, brown hair to bring his face closer to your heat as he pleasures you with his tongue. His fingers splay across your thighs and give them a tight squeeze before he moves them up to your hips so he can hold you in place when you begin rocking them against his tongue. The sound of his name leaving your mouth in more desperate cries encourages him to delve the wet muscle deep enough into your core to make you squeal and tighten your grasp around the strands woven between your fingers.

It only takes a few minutes for him to have you at the brink of your first orgasm with how skilled his tongue is in working your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Right there—ah—Tooru!” you whimper at feeling your stomach fill with heat, “Please! I’m… I’m gonna cum!”

You expect to feel your body succumb to the pleasure, but, upon hearing your words, he retreats from you completely and licks his lips. “So soon?” he questions in a manner that’s almost mocking. Chest heaving and glistening core still fully exposed to him, you watch him with dismay. “C’mon, I know you can last longer than that.”

Inadvertently, you clench your thighs together and complain, “Don’t tease me like that.”

Shooting you a devious smile, Oikawa rises to his feet once more and quips, “Whine all you want, baby; but I know you’ll be changing your tune when I make you cum harder than you ever have before.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you’re quick to regain your composure under his perceptive stare. “Quite a bold promise to make, considering you don’t have a single clue about my sex life, whatsoever,” is the comment that leaves your mouth in a grumble while you shift your position so that you’re sitting up on your knees. Intent on getting payback for being robbed of your orgasm at the last second, you reach for the belt holding his trousers up and task yourself with undoing it.

He chuckles wryly. “It’s not a promise—it’s a guarantee.” Your throat goes dry at his words and at the sight of his large cock when you free it from the restraint of his pants. “Besides,” he mentions, his voice taking on a low tone that has you looking up at him as you lean forward onto your elbows, so your mouth is level with the leaking tip of his erection, “it doesn’t matter who you’ve been with before. You’ll forget them all after tonight.”

With that statement made, he eases his hips forward as you open your mouth invitingly so he can slide his cock along your tongue. A gentle groan rumbles in his chest when you close your mouth around him and move further down his shaft at a painstakingly slow pace until the tip is nudging your throat. You don’t intend to keep him there, but you want to tease him with the sensation just enough to make him lose a bit of that cool composure of his. Spurred on by his gentle sounds of pleasure and the look of fascination he’s regarding you with, you bob your head along the length of his shaft, dragging his tongue beneath it in long, deep strokes.

“Fuck, (f/n), that feels good,” he hisses, gaze wavering as he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back at how good your mouth feels enveloping his cock. A gentle hum of appreciation you let out in response to his compliment has him thrusting into your mouth in an effort to feel the vibrations along every inch of his length. The slightly bitter taste of his precum catches on your tastebuds when you swirl your tongue around his throbbing head. “So fucking good.”

Your needy pussy clenches around nothing at his praise, and you moan teasingly while picking up the pace, taking him closer and closer to your throat with each thrust. His hand comes down to brush a few strands of your hair away from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers clench around them to keep one of his hands occupied. The other rests on the bedside table nearby, fingertips turning white beneath the pressure he’s applying against the hard wood.

Though it’s clear he’s enjoying every moment of this with the way his cock twitches appreciatively in your mouth, the last thing he wants is to finish before he’s taken care of you. “On your back, princess,” he commands, his voice gruffer than usual as he indicates he wants you to stop by tugging your hair in the opposite direction to his body. Obediently, you let him slide his cock out of your mouth and fall back onto the bed, spreading your legs wide open so he can see just how ready you are for him. Your core has been ablaze with yearning for too long for you to be shy now.

The shadow his body creates in the soft light falls over yours when he crawls onto the bed and hovers over you. The desire to be closer to him that hasn’t left since the moment you first saw him resurfaces once again, prompting you to throw your arms around his shoulders so you can unite your bare torsos. His lips dive down towards yours once more, pressing passionate kisses against them that—in combination with the feeling of his cock pressing against your clit—have you moaning into his mouth. Your fingers pressing into the muscles along his back indicate your desperation to have him inside of you, so he obliges; plunging into your warm, velvety core as he takes his lower lip between your teeth.

A wanton mewl escapes your lips at feeling so, delightfully full, and you wrap your legs around his back, adjusting your hips so he can reach deeper inside of you. The stretch is somewhat painful at first, but every sensation you feel quickly melts into pleasure when he begins thrusting into you slowly and gently. Soon, it feels too slow and too gentle, and every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more. “Faster!” you cry as he nudges your head to the side so he can litter the tender skin on your neck with love bites.

He listens and indulges you, but not for long. Each time he hears your breathing become more erratic and feels you clench around him tightly, he eases off, ignoring the whimpers and complaints that leave your mouth at each orgasm he prevents you from reaching. As he teases you with shallow thrusts or riles you up even further by pulling out of you, he moves his head down to your chest so he can take one of your pert nipples in his mouth while his fingers pinch the other.

“Tooru, please. Please, let me cum!” you find yourself begging after being edged to what you feel is damn near the point of insanity with how little you can focus on anything else aside from chasing the high he keeps within inches of you. You open your eyes to give him a look of longing that you hope is enough to convince him to finally finish you off.

“Don’t worry,” he breathes, sending a wave of fresh goosebumps along your skin glistening with sweat, “I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.” The sound of his gentle voice transforming into a low growl dripping with lust fills your entire stomach with heat. “Turn over.” His hands on your waist help you flip onto your stomach and bring your hips up into the air as he kneels behind you to position himself at your entrance.

In one, swift motion, he pushes the entirety of his length back inside of you, making you cry out at the feeling of every ridge and vein in his dick dragging along your hypersensitive walls. The plush duvet and high thread count sheets muffle your screams of pleasure enough to keep them confined to his hotel room alone as he pounds into you mercilessly, sending your body charging towards what you hope is the release you’ll finally be able to experience. With all the pressure that’s building up inside of you, you can hardly withstand the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

A few more thrusts that target your most sensitive spot have you finally toppling over the edge of your orgasm, and warm waves of ecstasy crash over you as your body shakes and stars fill the edges of your vision. Your pussy spasming erratically around his cock has Oikawa snapping his hips against yours at a maddening speed until he’s filling your core up with the warmth of his release. He moans loudly between the praises and expletives that roll off his tongue as you ride out your highs together. Though you hate to admit it, he had been right—while merciless, his edging had intensified your pleasure in the end.

The strength of your orgasm leaves you unable to do anything else aside from flop onto the mattress and let your eyelids flutter shut while you regain your breath after Oikawa pulls out of you. The bed shifts beside you as he lies down at your side, taking a minute to steady his own breathing as he runs his hand along your back gently. There’s a few, long moments of silence that fill the warm air of the hotel room before a gentle chuckle from your mouth permeates it. Without speaking, he knows exactly what the source of your amusement is, and he ends up snickering as well.

“You really do say some of the corniest shit, baby,” you remark, amusement glimmering in your eyes when they find his after you roll onto your side to face him, “But I guess you’re a decent actor. Just don’t go quitting your day job, now.”

He grumbles and nuzzles your chin playfully, pressing a kiss against your jaw before pulling away and defending, “Oh, come on. You have to admit that at least some of the things I said were pretty hot.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

His arms snake around your body to pull you against his chest. In one ear, you can hear the sound of his strong heartbeat, and, in the other, you can hear him answer, “Like the whole using roulette as a gamble to win my room key instead of just money situation. C’mon. You liked that. I know you did—I saw your eyes practically burning with desire at that point.”

“Mm? And how do you know I wasn’t just acting as well?” you retort, throwing one of your legs over his and shifting your position so you can see the face of mock irritation you know he’s making at you. Sure enough, his eyes are narrowed, and his lips pursed as he squeezes them shut. After planting a kiss against his lips, you reassure him, “I enjoyed it. You’re very creative, as always, my love.”

“So all the money we spent on this little sexcapade, so to speak, of ours was worth it, then?” His hand on the back of your head keeps your faces within close proximity as he gazes into your eyes expectantly.

With a nod, you answer, “It was. But, any time we get to spend together is always worth it.”

A gentle smile forms on his lips to mirror your own, and his nose brushes against yours when he brings you closer to another kiss. This one’s deeper and more sensual than the last, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “I love you so much, (f/n).”

“I love you too, Tooru.” The two of you take some time to bask in your mutual and deep feelings of adoration with your foreheads pressed together and hands tracing over each other’s features before you speak again. “Now, how are we gonna be able to top this roleplay, huh?

That very familiar, devious grin of his returns to his mouth as he answers, “Oh, don’t worry, baby girl, I have plenty of other ideas.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki

oikawa: @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @atsunakaashi, @heyhinata, @cuddlysoftbear

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #haikyuu smut #ahkaahshi gets wild #ahkaahshi's mini kinktober 2020 #x reader #reader insert #tw edging #tw alcohol #tw gambling #fran writes hq!!#haikyuu fanfiction

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Radio Silence Chapter Three: Say Again

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

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They have only been on this ship for about three standard hours, and already Poe is beginning to go mad. The journey to the Kinoss system to deliver supplies to the Resistance supporters hadn’t seemed that long, yet somehow the return trip seems to crawl by, second by second. It could be because the ship is damaged and the flight isn’t as efficient as it was previously, or it could be because of the third passenger: a cocky, arrogant, altogether infuriating recon agent named Y/N L/N.

Suddenly, Poe can’t entirely blame the First Order for locking her in a cell. Of all the turns to take on that Star Destroyer, of all the detention blocks to wander past, they just had to pick the one with the girl who was his mortal opposite. There’s a problem with the nav screen, they’re both standing up to fix it. There’s an incoming call from headquarters, Poe has to race her to the comms to answer it. Poe knows he has an issue of always wanting to prove himself to people he doesn’t know, but with her, it’s the complete opposite. He can’t wait to get off of this ship and never have to talk to her again.

Finn, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself. His eyes cut between Y/N and Poe, a barely contained laugh written into every line on his face. Poe slumps down into a seat next to him. “Hey, pal, I thought you were supposed to be having my back in an argument, not watching this like it’s a podrace.” Finn just chuckles. “I’ve never seen someone so similar to you. It’s kind of funny, honestly.”

Poe’s mouth drops open in outrage. “We are nothing alike! She walks around this ship like she owns it!” Finn raises an eyebrow. “Is that not what you’ve been doing ever since you found out you’d be piloting a Mandalorian Needle?” Poe waves a hand dismissively. “That’s different, I was given control of the ship by the Resistance itself. She just happened to be on board.” Finn gives him a look. “Sure thing.”

Poe is distracted from delivering a no doubt witty defense by a choking sound coming from the consoles in front of him. “That doesn’t sound good.” Finn mutters, taking in the sudden appearance of several blinking red lights. Poe stands up, considering the controls arrayed on the walls and ceiling around him. “No, it doesn’t. I think the sublight engine power couplings were-” “Demagnetized by the jump to hyperspace?” Poe glances over his shoulder at Y/N, who has walked up in time to finish his sentence.

A slight smile surprises itself onto his face. “Yeah, actually. That’s right. How’d you know that?” That sound and these alerts aren’t just any ship problem, this is a very specific issue that Poe’s only seen once or twice in his life. The fact that Y/N knew it so quickly is actually pretty impressive, although he’d never say it to her face. Even this barest hint of approval is already hard to dole out- a smirk is present on Y/N’s face once more.

“You can stow the surprised look, you know. You’re not the only one in the Resistance who knows their way around a space cruiser. I’ll go check the couplings, you can pick your jaw up off of the floor.” With that, Y/N turns and heads down the corridor, a teasing grin still on her face. Poe makes a face at her departing back, and glances over to see Finn trying to hide a smile. Finn holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, say what you want about her but I’m glad someone’s finally standing up to you. The amount of times I’ve heard you brag about ships is astonishing and it’s pretty funny to see someone do the same thing to you.”

Poe doesn’t know what Finn is talking about, but he pushes it from his mind, standing up from his seat near the front windscreen to check the sublight engines near the back of the ship. Y/N probably has it handled, but he just wants to make sure everything is right. If he returns the Needle to the Resistance in a state of disrepair, they won’t let him fly anything larger than a speeder bike for the next decade.

Eventually, Poe finds Y/N leaning over an exposed panel near the engines, gaze riveted to the mechanical parts before her. Her sleeves are rolled up to reveal toned arms already streaked with grease, and she’s donned some light worker’s gloves to protect her fingers as she methodically fiddles with the couplings. She instinctively turns towards the door when she hears Poe approach. There’s a strange panic in her eyes, as if she’s not used to being in the same ship as someone. Then she relaxes and turns back to the panel, confidence once again flowing from her with such surety that Poe begins to question whether or not she’d looked uneasy at all.

“You know, I do actually know what I’m doing. You don’t have to check up on me.” Poe shrugs. “Not that many people have seen the demagnetization problem with the couplings. Guess I was just curious to see how you’d fix it.” Y/N shrugs, taking a step back to consider her work. “I didn’t know until about a month or so ago. A friend of mine told me about it.” There’s a slight smile on her face as she talks about her friend, whoever that might be.

Poe himself can’t help but think of one very important friend. It’s funny that Y/N should mention that she learned about the coupling issue from someone she knew- Poe can picture himself in that closet of a radio room, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the edges of the navicomputer as he told Acer about a problem he’d had with his X-Wing. He’d thought that he would have to replace an entire engine, but it turned out to be a simple fix. All he had to do was rewire and remagnetize, and then he was done.

He can still hear Acer’s static-laced chuckle over the radio channel. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next ship I steal,” she’d said, “I’m sure it’ll come in handy on this backwater planet.” Poe had protested, something about how all of his ship-fixing tips were handy, but she had just laughed and assured him that she’d write it down somewhere, just in case. Poe doesn’t know if Acer had ever thought about it again. It hurts more than it should.

Poe straightens up, forcing himself to return back to the present day. Y/N’s pausing with the replacement of the panel, staring at him with a quizzical expression. “You alright there, Captain Mechanic? You look upset.” Poe shrugs, flattening his face back into neutrality. “I’m just thinking about a friend of mine. It’s easy to lose people in this line of work, and I don’t know if she’s going to be alright.” Y/N’s usual smirk loses its conviction. “It’s hard to lose people, isn’t it? Even when you get away, there’s always someone that doesn’t.”

The room falls silent except for the beeping and whirring of the engines. Y/N seems lost in thought, then slowly closes the panel on the wall. She walks over to Poe, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, people have a way of making it out. Maybe they’re alive after all and just unable to check in at base.” Poe frowns. “Actually, I don’t feel better.” Y/N’s face drops for a second, and Poe continues. “Do you know why? It’s because I had a pristine white jacket, and you are going to get grease stains on it. Your hands are filthy, you realize that?”

Y/N breaks out into laughter. “Here you had me worried, I thought I offended you or something. But you’re worried about grease? How are you an ace mechanic if you can’t stand grease?” She moves towards him as if she’s about to rub her dirty work gloves on his jacket sleeve, and Poe catches her wrist just in time. “If you keep that up, I’m going to turn this ship around and drop you off at that Star Destroyer again.” He tries for a glare, but Y/N’s grin just broadens. “We’re about three parsecs from base. Would you make a return trip to the First Order just for me?” Poe grumbles, dropping her hand. “I might. I just might.”

Poe has never been happier to see the entrance lights of the Resistance base hanger in his life. He rushes through the entrance codes before dropping the ship into a perfect landing in the designated zone. Poe, Finn, and Y/N file down the entrance ramp, but they’ve barely taken five steps into the hanger before there’s an excited shout from one of the ship workers. “Y/N? Is that you?” Y/N’s beaming as she is swept up into the embrace of a beige-clad mechanic. “Stars, Jala, how is it that the First Order didn’t break any of my bones but you have?”

This mechanic- Jala- just laughs. “First I didn't see you for months, then I heard that you were dead. Sorry I’m happy to see you.” Y/N holds up her hands. “I’m still alive, don’t worry about me. There was no way I was going to curl up and die in a First Order cell, it would kill my reputation.” Jala snorts with laughter, then cocks her head at Poe and Finn. “Who are they?” A teasing glow enters Y/N’s eyes, and she slings her arms around their shoulders. “These are the hotshots that pulled me from a Star Destroyer. Isn’t that something?”

Poe can’t help but grin. “We’ve been arguing this entire trip back and now we’re your rescuers? I would have liked the thank-you a little earlier.” Y/N makes a face at him. “Unfortunate.” Jala glances over at a message popping up on her comms unit, groaning. “I have to get back to work. You should probably go see the General and tell her you’re back, but we’re catching up after this! I know you’ve got stories to tell.” Y/N raises a hand in a mock salute. “I’m not sure I’ll have that many stories, Jala. Almost everything is classified, I’m afraid.”

Jala waves a casual goodbye, promising to drop by later with some drinks and expectations of Y/N’s anecdotes. Poe, Finn, and Y/N start heading down the twisting and turning corridors of the Resistance base to find Leia. On the way, Finn turns to Y/N with a curious look. “You know, you never really told us why you were in that cell in the first place. What, you were trying to find Resistance supporters and got captured?”

Y/N shrugs as they disappear down the halls. “It was mainly just recon work gathering intel from the First Order bases nearby. I think somebody found out or tipped off the stormtroopers, because all I knew is that I was relaxing by myself and then the First Order shot down my door.” They’ve arrived at the main debriefing room of the base, and although Leia’s in the middle of a critical discussion with some advisors, her eyes light up when she sees Y/N walk through the room.

To pass the time until Leia can greet them, Poe glances over at Y/N. “You were doing recon work in the Unknown Regions? Then you weren’t a tactical officer, you were a spy.” Y/N nods. “Exactly. I would relay information back to an anonymous receiver, and I did it for a long time until I was ambushed.” Poe mulls this over. “That reminds me of someone. Did you ever know a fellow sender named Acer?”

Poe figured it was a long shot to ask Y/N about Acer, but the second he says her name Y/N’s gaze locks onto his. She tries to play it off, but Poe can tell that he caught her attention. “I do, actually. How do you know her?” Leia is approaching them now, only a few feet away. “I’m probably not supposed to say this, but I was her receiver. We worked together for months before she disappeared. Do you know what happened to her?”

Y/N’s eyes widen. There’s something new in her gaze, a stunned realization. Poe can’t quite name the emotion, but he’s certain that Y/N knows something that he doesn’t. Y/N looks over at Leia, then back at him. “No, I- I don’t know about her. You were her receiver?” Poe nods, smiling slightly in spite of himself. “Yeah, until she dropped off the air. How did you know her?” Y/N gestures loosely with her hands. “We, uh, ran into each other as spies. While we were in action.” Y/N pauses for a second, then continues on, as if the words are racing out of her without even thinking about it.

“She mentioned you, I think. She kept making some joke or something whenever she mentioned her receiver. She never said a specific code name, but she’d always use some play on words about applause.” Poe chuckles. “I could see that. My name was Bravo, it was probably because of that.” Somehow, the thought stings like a vibroblade. Somewhere out there in the world, Acer was talking about him to another spy. She laughed to herself and made jokes that only the two of them could know, even when she was speaking to someone else. Stars, he misses her.

Leia notes the break in the conversation and smoothly begins speaking. “Y/N, it’s so good to see you again. We were worried that you were captured by the First Order.” Y/N winces. “I was, actually, but Poe and Finn managed to break me out.” Leia smiles at them. “I would ask why the two of you were in a First Order detention block, but I have a feeling that I don’t want to know.” Poe and Finn chuckle quietly, but Y/N’s expression still looks strained.

She turns to them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the General for a moment.” Finn nods, turning briskly down the corridor once more. Poe, however, is still wary over Y/N’s sudden change in demeanor. He leaves the room, but pauses just outside of their view, hovering by the wall as if checking his weapon. It’s hard to hear them from the hall, but Poe can just make out Y/N’s voice. It’s changed again, and sounds unhappy, almost angry. She’s asking something, a question. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell him?”

Leia is beginning to answer her, but Poe can’t make anything else out. He waits for a couple more seconds, then continues on down the corridor. Even after he’s left the room behind him, Poe can still hear Y/N’s voice echoing through his mind. What was Leia keeping from them, and why would it be important enough to render even the never-serious Y/N L/N into a state of panic and disarray?

radio silence tag list: @kesskirata, @ubri812, @itsnottilly, @20th-centu-fairy-girl

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron series #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #star wars series #poe #poe imagines #poe series #star wars poe #star wars poe imagines #star wars poe x reader #star wars poe series #poe x reader

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goldenchan-fx2thepeacock · 3 years

Text

Don’t Go Running Off Into Danger, Even If I Do pt 2

So, I have no clue what a publishing schedule is. So here, have more of this dumb fic at 11 pm. FUCK SLEEP! SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK!

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Chapter 2

Danny and Jazz managed to finish just in time to put everything away before their parents got home. He’d actually managed to have a ghost free night. But the peace wasn’t going to last. And this wasn’t about ghosts. He got slammed into his locker. “Hey look, it’s Fenturd. What’s with the dumb picture of Phantom? You’ll never be on his level,” Dash said and laughter broke out. Danny groaned. At least they didn’t know he was trans. He’d be beaten twice as much if they knew. The locker door closed and locked. “Seriously Dash? I have to get to class!” He yelled through the metal. “Whatever Fentina. No one cares! Oh hey, it’s fresh meat!” Dash went away from Danny’s locker. Danny had found out a way to make it so he could open his locker from the inside without it being outerwardly compromised. He jumped out. It was those kids from last night. “Leave them alone Dash. They haven’t even been here for a day yet. The rules are that newbies get a probation period,” Danny crossed his arms. “I don’t know Fentoenail. Would you like to take their beating?” Dash mocked him. Danny sighed. He’d have to do this. “Any day,”

Danny regretted everything. Dash had hit him twice as hard as normal and his locker trick wasn’t working. Everything hurt. He was going to miss Lancer’s class. At least his ghost sense wasn’t going off or something. Lancer wouldn’t miss him. Suddenly, his locker opened and he tumbled out. He yelped. “Are you okay?” The girl twin said. “No worse than what I’m used to,” Danny brushed himself off. “You didn’t have to do that,” The boy twin told Danny. “Yeah, I kinda did. The probation period is sacred. Dash knows that,” “Probation period?” The boy said. “A rule we made up last year. If Dash really wants to break it, I take the beating instead. Fenton gets to take the beating so the new kids don’t have to,” “That’s not fair. You should report him,” “Nah, he threw like four perfect throws last night and is exempt from punishment,” “Football?” The boy gave Danny a knowing look. “Danielle- I mean Daniel Fenton to the main office,” The loud speaker said. “Oh come on! At least it was probably just a misread,” Danny was fuming. The beating plus being deadnamed was getting on his nerves. “We have to head there too,” The girl said. Danny shrugged and let them follow him.

Lancer called them all in at once. “Sup Lancer. Can I help you?” Danny leaned against the wall. “Mr Fenton. You and I both know that you need to show me more respect. W-what happened to you?” Lancer looked up from his papers. “Just a certain football star. Nothing I can’t handle. He broke the probation period,” “That’s a rule between students. I have no need to enforce it,” Lancer sighed. “I have no clue why you of all people were chosen for this, but you are too be Mr and Ms Pines guide around the school,” “Jazz not good enough for you? Had to pick the ‘slacker’ Fenton?” “Daniel, mind your tone. Jazz is our top student,” “We all know I’m destined to fail in life. Can I get their timetables?” “Yes of course. Listen Danny, both you and I know you’re capable of better grades. I don’t understand why you don’t try,” Danny wasn’t in the mood for Lancer’s pep talks. “I’ve got more important things to worry about,” Danny grabbed the papers and stalked off with the Pines Twins on his heels. “Why didn’t he do anything about Dash?” the boy asked. “He has no reason to. Not like I’m about to ask,” Danny handed them their timetables. He’d seen that the girl was named Mabel and the boy Mason. “We’ll start with your classes Mason,” “I prefer Dipper,” “I’m not calling you by a dumb nickname. Let’s go,” Danny growled.

Just as he was about to lead Mason to his first class, a royal pain in his ass showed up. “Daniel! I require your assistance, little badger,” “It’s bound to be another plan to get in my mom’s pants. Go away,” “Now, don’t be like that. I’m the mayor after all. You should be honored,” “Plasmius, shut your goddamn mouth. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck,” Danny said so that only Vlad could hear. “Well, something’s got you in a tizzy. I’ll ask later. I should tell you though, it’s about Danielle,” “What did you do to Dani?” Fury. Wait, he had to get the kids to class. “Nothing. It wasn’t me. You should ask your ghost hunter girlfriend,” Vlad grinned. Fucking Valerie. “Come on kids. You’ve got to get to class,” Danny ignored Plasmius. Valerie was going to die.

At lunch, he purposefully turned into Phantom and waited for Valerie on top of the school. She took no time at all. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Dani,” He glared at her. “I didn’t do anything to her! You’re going down ghost!” “Am I really?” Danny was pissed. She wasn’t getting any mercy today. He teleported behind her. “What the... HOW?” “Where is she?!” He growled. “What do you care? She’s always off on her own,” “Does it look like I care Valerie?!” “How did you know?!” “I know more than you seem to think. Tell me where Dani is. NOW!” He froze her feet. She looked terrified. “What’s wrong with you!? Why do you care so much about her? Ghosts don’t have feelings,” Danny lost it at that point. The laughter was dark. Hollow. Horrible. Val’s terror was visible. “Don’t have feelings? DON’T HAVE FEELINGS? FUCK YOU! I’M SO TIRED OF ALL THIS!” “Phantom, calm down,” Val was terrified. Danny wasn’t done. The rings were threatening to come down and expose him to her. “So you admit this is real? Would you like to know how it feels to die Val? How it feels to live on the line between life and death? Wait, I can’t do that! You don’t have a deactivated portal in your basement that I can make you turn on while your inside. I don’t have a stupid jumpsuit with your dad’s face on it so I can take off the that sticker. You don’t have parents that threaten to rip you apart molecule by molecule for just exsisting! You don’t have to see a future where you become evil because you cheated on one test and your family all died! Can you even begin to comprehend what I go through? Ever been cloned? And forced to do something incredibly painful so that one clone can get fixed and watch another get lied too? And that’s just the brunt of it Valerie. Keep telling me how I don’t feel. How I’m nothing!” Danny screamed at ice engulfed their feet. Val’s eyes went wide. “D-Danny?” She said quietly. “Congratulations! You aren’t as niave as the rest of Amity Park! How does it feel?” He’d snapped. “Calm down! I’ll tell you where Dani is!” She shrieked. That hollow laugh came back. But instead of an angry rant afterwards, he just sunk to his knees and screamed. It wasn’t a wail. It was a scream of pain. Of being done with the world. “I can’t do this anymore,” He sobbed and the rings went down. All that was left now was a beaten, broken Danny Fenton. “You should change back. I’ll take you to Dani,” Danny nodded and followed her. “Sorry I broke down. I’m just sick of people telling me that I can’t feel. That all ghosts can’t feel. You don’t even bother talking to us, ya know?” “Ghosts lie,” “And so do people! I’ve talked to the ghosts. Listened to them. Heard their stories. I protect people, but I protect them too!” “How do you know those aren’t just acts?” “Cause they make sense. I’d have the same response if it was me. If my parents burned down the place I was in because I got caught being gay,” “I’m confused,” “Ember. I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone. But you need to know that they all have reasons for being the way they are. Skulker’s family was hunted, so now he hunts to prove his strength,” “Maybe we should talk to you more,” “Maybe you should. No one asks to die,” “But your parents say that ghosts don’t remember their lives. They’re the leading experts,” “That’s like putting a ten year old in a room of babies. They’re the expert by default in that situation, but an adult would be the expert the moment they walked in,” “Why don’t we know about that,” “Dying is traumatizing. Even half dying is traumatizing. It’s taboo to mention it unless you’re told. No one explains it until they’re ready. And talking about a life before that is almost wrong,” “How did you learn?” “Skulker told me during the Christmas Truce. Ember told me one day when she just wanted to be left alone, but I did too. I guess things end up working out in weird ways,” “The Christmas Truce?” “On Christmas Eve and Christmas, ghosts have a truce. No one is allowed to fight anyone that day. The Ghost Writer broke the truce and Walker got to haul him off in just means,” “We really know nothing about ghosts, do we?” “No, you don’t. They even have a party. I got invited last year. Skulker let me make the star! It took me weeks to get it right,” Danny smiled at the memory. He’d made a scale model of a blue giant that went through it’s life stages. “So there’s a whole society?” “A government. Systems. Main rules. Taboos. Just cause we’re ghosts, doesn’t mean we don’t have a system,” “I’m sorry,” “What?” Danny nearly froze. “I’m sorry that I made so many assumptions. I never should’ve chased you or any ghost like that,” “Keep them out of Amity Park and send them back to the Zone. Most ghosts forget that living is dangerous, so they just rampage. I keep trying to talk sense into them, but they’re pretty stubborn,” “What about the dog?” “Dog? You mean Cujo? I was trying to stop him from trashing Axiom. He was trying to get a toy. I’m sorry that recked your life Val,” “My life? Wrecked? When compared to you, my life is a dream. It’s not like I died,” “I guess you’ve got a point,”

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Thanks for reading. I just like fics where Val finds out, and this one seemed like an okay place to stick it. Dani is fine. I’ll fill you in on that next chapter, but I should get some sleep.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #trans!danny #trans!dipper #danielle (dani) phantom #valerie gray #mr lancer #red huntress #cujo #skulker #ember #ghost writer #christmas truce #gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #I know Dipper's real name because I learned about the series through journal three #ocs

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anauthore · 4 years

Text

A Cigarette for Your Thoughts? (Kenny McCormick x Reader) {SERIES | One}

Summary: You run away from home. You hide from rumours. And most importantly, you give second chances.

Pairing: Kenny McCormick x Reader - South Park

NOTE: Every part of this series can be read as stand-alone, or as part of the series itself! If you don’t want to read each part on Tumblr, feel free to check out links to the work on the below websites:

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Next Part

The night was dark, not even the reflection of the thousands of stars making the slightest bit of difference. You sat on the cold ground with your back against a tree, your face tilted toward the blackened sky as you breathed out, calming yourself and trying your hardest not to make much noise while the hot tears rolled down your cheek.

You squeezed your arms, digging what was left of your nails into your windbreaker that did nothing to shield you from the cold. It happened again, as it always does, but even expecting it didn't help you really cope with it; your mom was arguing with whoever she was dating this month, their drunken stupor unfortunately interrupted by your presence as you walked through the front door.

That was all it took- one slap across the face later and you were gone, cold and alone at a train crossing on the far side of town. You'd been there through sunset, and you were sure you would fall asleep under the canopy to the sound of crickets.

You stretched your legs out in front of you and sighed, eyes closed, before the sound of approaching footsteps put you on alert. You quickly formed an excuse in your head- 'sorry officer, I'm just waiting for my mom to pick me up'- but once the figure got closer you recognized him.

Kenneth McCormick. Kenny, the school's plug for nearly any drug you wanted. Kenny, the kid so poor that South Park had canned food drives for his family. Kenny, the most perverted playboy troublemaker in grade 11.

Had you really ended up that far away from your side of town? You began to scramble to your feet, but the startled gasp emanating from next to you stopped you in your tracks.

"Jesus fuck- Sorry, I didn't see you there."

You apologized quickly, albeit quietly, and mumbled something before starting to stand again.

"No, it's alright," Kenny shook his head, an unlit cigarette appearing in between his right index and middle fingers seemingly out of nowhere. He paused for an uncomfortable amount of time, tilting his head before he speaks once more. "Hey, aren't you- don't you live on the other side of town?"

You nod, confused. "Uh, yeah, how'd you know?"

He shrugs. "I see you get on the bus from Mr. Mackey's window."

You stare blankly at him. Although it was somewhat creepy... you couldn't help but feel a little flattered. You were average at best; you hung out with a few other people, each equally as unnoticed by everyone else as you. You weren't in any notable clubs, sports, or teams and you got decent enough grades: nothing to warrant being noticed by anyone, let alone someone that was easily recognizable by the entirety of the school.

He ignores your expression and rummages through his hoodie pocket for something. "So, why did you end up at this end of town?" He pulled out a lighter that looked to be on it's last ends, the paint chipped so much that you couldn't tell what colour it had been.

"What makes you think I 'ended up' here?"

"Sweetheart," the hints of a smile wiggled their way onto his expression before he placed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it and taking a puff in one go; "no one decides they want to come here unless they're looking for drugs, and you don't strike me as the type to throw your life away like that."

He plopped next to you, smoke calmly floating upward as you mulled over his words. What if you did want to throw your life away? It wasn't as if you really had anything left here: South Park was where you had lived your whole life, and although everyone else had mountains of stories to tell, you had nothing but the tales of your mom's iron fist and her many, many boyfriends.

After a moment, you spoke again, softer now that he was right next to you. "What if I wanted to? Buy something, I mean."

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Then I doubt I would've found you just sitting here."

You looked away, a little embarrassed at your retort. He was right: if you were here to buy, you wouldn't be curled up against a tree, shivering in the cold of the night.

He puffed again on his cigarette, glancing at you only when he was sure you had been eyeing him for a little bit. He flicked ash off onto the ground and offered the smoke your way.

"Do you smoke?"

You hesitated, but decided that you really had nothing else to lose.

"Now I do."

Kenny puffed air through his nose in a quiet laugh, watching you with a smug smile as you took it and breathed in- and then immediately had a coughing fit.

He chuckled, scooting closer and patting your back to help you catch your breath. You grimaced, repressing a shudder.

"I take it that this isn't your thing."

You shook your head, breathing again to clear the smoke from your lungs while you watched the lit end of the cigarette glow dimly. Once you were satisfied with the air to smoke ratio, you raised the stick up to your mouth again.

"Pull it into your mouth this time, then inhale. You won't cough as much."

You took a mental note and followed what he said, and he was right; you held it in and exhaled when you thought it had been in your system long enough, the back of your skull beginning to tingle as the nicotine worked it's magic.

He must've noticed you relax, because he gave you a thumbs up and fished another Pall Mall from his hood.

It was silent again, neither of you speaking and instead getting lost in the world of tar and probable lung cancer.

When one of you did speak, it was again on the topic you thought you'd managed to avoid, but you guess not.

"Why all of a sudden?"

"Why what all of a sudden?" You puffed on your cigarette some more, getting a hang of not choking every time you did so.

"Did you choose to," he gestured to your smoke clouds, "start that."

You shrugged. "Why did you?"

“One word: Stress. Lots and lots of it.”

You nodded in agreement. “Me too, then.”

He nodded back, and again you both were left to each other’s company and the patterned inhaling and exhaling. Once your cigarette had turned into a nub, you threw the butt under your foot and rubbed it into the asphalt with the toe of your shoe. Kenny hadn’t finished his, yet, you’d noticed, so all you had left to do was to make small talk or lean against the tree again.

The quiet was too much for you, you quickly realized, and so, even though you weren’t much of a talker, you started to talk.

“So, what’s it like? Being popular, I mean.”

He laughed, flicking ash away again. “You think I’m popular?”

“Everyone does.”

He shook his head again, denying it. “Nah, that’s just ‘cause I’ve been lifelong friends with Cartman and his little posse. I’m nothing special- just another McCormick working his ass off to get the bare minimum only to end up addicted to something or other.”

You gave him a look, somewhat concerned. Sure, you knew he wasn’t the best apple in the bunch, but to hear him talk about himself so self-deprecatingly surprised you. He was always somewhat douchey around everyone else, constantly flirting with girls and making fun of anyone else around him- including teachers and parents. He must’ve noticed your sympathy, because he quickly apologized.

“Sorry. That got a little deep.” He stomped on the butt of his cigarette just as you had before. “Nah, it’s okay. Everyone knows my name, everyone knows my game. Nothing else to say about that, really.”

You accepted that he wasn’t going to elaborate any more than that.

“What about you, huh? What’s it like, being invisible? No offense.”

You cracked a smile for a split second. “None taken.” You pulled your legs in to sit indian-style. “It’s alright. No one notices when I slip away- not even my parents. My friends are good, but like- I dunno. They’re like anyone else. More like ‘acquaintances’, I guess.” You shivered, what little heat you’d been keeping trapped under your legs dissipating since you’d changed your sitting position. Kenny noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you came all the way here without a decent coat?” You could sense judgement in his tone.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to grab one between my mom’s boyfriend and my mom ganging up on me.”

His eyes widened a little bit and he glanced to the side. “O-kay. Noted.” Then, he began to shed his jacket, offering it to you by the hood. “Here. I’m plenty warm, plus I have a house over there I could go to if I got too cold. You need it more than I do.”

You didn’t accept it at first; you tried to say no, but he insisted, and you weren’t going to refuse twice. You were freezing, and the night was only going to get colder.

You pulled it on, and you could tell he’d worn it constantly- and not just because it was the only thing you’d ever seen him in. The fur it was lined with was short and stiff, and the pockets were ripped on the inside, not to mention the stains that spotted it. It smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol, and of course, like a high school boy. You zipped it up and pulled on the hood, not as cold as you’d just been.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

And it was left like that for a long time. At least, long enough for you to doze off and get woken by Kenny standing over you, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hey, you shouldn’t sleep out here.”

You rubbed your eyes, looking up at his silhouette. “I can’t exactly go home, Kenny.” Your voice was groggy and you sounded annoyed. Still, he didn’t seem to be disturbed by your sudden change of face. Instead, he almost seemed to have empathy towards you. You weren’t sure if you liked that or not.

“I know.” He repeated himself again, trying to word his question so it didn’t seem so out of place on the dark street you sat on. “I know. Do you want to come over? It- I can find a place for you tonight.” He stared at your unwavering expression for a moment before he spoke again. “You really shouldn’t sleep out here.”

And he was right. You shouldn’t-

So, you stood and followed him back to his house. The one that was falling apart- that smelled like cigarettes and other pungent drugs that made you wrinkle your nose in disgust- that put up a decent fight against the cold beginnings of Winter in South Park.

#anauthore #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #quotev #wattpad #southpark #kenny mccormick #kenneth mccormick #kenny x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #series #part one #a cigarette for your thoughts #writers on tumblr #fanfiction on tumblr

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literameera · 3 years

Text

White Sails

2433 words

The oceans going to swallow him whole some day and only then could he die happy.

Caspian already gave his soul to the sea, his first great love. Initially I was excited for him and how he got to live out his dreams. He’d write to me about his exploits, I’d gasp and laugh when appropriate, as if he can see, and finally when the stories ended, I’d write to say that I’ve been living the same way: wake up, work, eat, sleep and mostly anticipate. He’d tease that I live like a widow refusing to believe her husband's dead, wasting away staring out the window, hoping for him to someday return to her. Like the ship of Theseus every time he left a part of him had been replaced, how long has he been a man I couldn't recognise, a ghost wearing my lover’s skin.

Only the wooden planks stepped on by Theseus himself belong to the original ship, the rest are imposters high off the glory of His name. Your skin cells regenerate every twenty-seven days – and it’s been longer than that since my hands held his, the wind already swept all memories of my words from his mind. He can only belong to one and she’s infinitely larger than me. To him, her cold embrace feels like coming home. It’s selfish – I’d remind myself – selfish to want to steal what makes him happy all because I feel lonely, he’s loved the ocean long before he’s loved me, and he will long after. I can only hope she’s kind when she does finally take him. I’ve heard that saltwater burns your lungs and that a body only sinks for a moment and as it fills with water it floats to the top, I don’t want them to find his body, he wouldn’t want them to either. I hope his clothes weigh him down and 80% becomes all of him, that he sinks to Atlantis and the sun never feels him again, we don’t deserve it.

But then he comes home, the wind in his hair, salt clinging to his skin and horribly chapped lips, he kisses me hello and I get a taste of what he feels. He tells me he’s missed the warm water from the shower while I wash his locks, that his land legs haven’t grown back yet so can I hold on just a little tighter ‘to make sure I don’t fall of course’. I tell him our neighbours' gossip and he laugh and gasps when appropriate and says that he’s missed the shop at the end of the street, in the morning he’ll grab groceries and those chocolates he’s loved since he was a kid, and some things never change. When it’s quiet and we lull we watch the sun set, sitting on a linoleum countertop in the kitchen, he glows orange in its light and tells me he’s missed me.

When a whale dies its body sinks to the benthic zone, there where there’s no sun, no blood, no heat, no me, or him the oceans creatures eat on its flesh, their entire life's sustenance reliant on an animal they’ve never seen alive and blobfish get their namesake feature from the rapid shift in pressure, they essentially burst while being pulled up by fishermen. The universe is kept spinning by forces we don’t know and can’t name and one day the sun could burst, and we wouldn’t know until 8 minutes later when its light should touch us and won’t. But it did that day, the light travelled through a solar system to shine on him, and shine on me, and that’s how we met. It was fate. Eight years later it’s still fate when Caspian wakes up beside me, his skin a warm brown, like the terracotta pots he brings back to accommodate my ever-growing garden, and his tousled hair a sun-bleached orange, the roots betray their natural umber colour (the same as the eyes he was currently hiding behind tired palms), men like him are born out of stardust, and they can’t help but to replicate its heat. He’s looking at me now, his warm hands place a stray strand of my own umber hair behind my ear and pauses on my cheek, my bronze skin a slight contrast to his, brown eyes reflecting brown.

‘Let’s go over the plan, alright Leya?’ He breaks the silence, ‘we’ll lock up, give the keys to Theo and Honora, they promised to water our plants and dust the place while we’re gone, we pick up your jumper from the market –Eilidh promised it’ll be done by then- and then it’s me, you and wherever you can land your finger on a map.’

‘Yeah, I can’t wait. Me, you and The Caspian’ the smile I give him falters and my bottom lip trembles. He frowns.

It was my idea to come with him, I was tired of being alone and he was tired of forgetting synonyms of vast for his letters home, I knew he exhausted all the ways to say I love you when he started to transcript theology to me:

‘They believe that next to Christ, that’s what they call him, there was a man that lived in sin, two in fact but only one of them matters. They don’t know anything about this man, not even his name, except for his last words. And they were that of forgiveness and salvation. A man whose entire history is left out of the book that chronicles it. We know nothing of his home, his family, his life, not even his crimes, but we know that he loved and was loved in return. I don’t believe a lick of it but by God these people are good storytellers.’

I did want to go. Maybe the second I see the flickering reflected crescent moon on the ocean waves I’d decide I never wanted to leave, that the past 25 years of living and four years waiting can all be justified by that one experience. But I also couldn’t just leave. He was the one with adventures and loose ties and sea salt, and I’m the one that waits. The diligent partner with a cup of tea and open arms for him, who were we if not that? Who am I without anticipation and loneliness? For years, my life was contingent on feeling and watching a ticking clock, and now I just get to be free? It doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound fair on the woman I used to be, the one still waiting. He knows how I feel, he must, from the furrow of an eyebrow I know he’s got me pegged.

‘Remember the night before I left- the first time that is- and I kept going over lists, obligations and checking everything twice, I even meal prepped your food for months in advance. And you told me everything will still be here when I get back...’ He pauses to hold my face in both hands, brown eyes locked on brown eyes to make sure I was listening, ‘everything will still be here when we get back. If you don’t want to go that’s fine, we won’t, I’ll spend the next six months right here with you, and every day after that if you want me to. I’m tired of you being alone. But if you do want to go... We lock up, see the world and come back, it’s that easy.’ With that he kisses my temple -the most delicate part of the head – and climbs out of bed.

Honora and Theo promised to give all the leftover perishable foods to the family around the corner, they have seven kids and not enough to feed them all. They also ensured once a week every plant will be watered, all letters brought in, and the surfaces periodically dusted. The jumper Eilidh had made was beautiful, she told us wool is preferable when wet because it resists water and keeps you warm. She made it green, in case I miss the trees, and Caspian paid her double. I had hoped the air would be electric, brimming with something, as if it knew I’m leaving this time too. Everything was the same, same as it's always been and same as it always will. And I won’t be, I’ll go out there, replace my ships planks and come back me, but not wholly or maybe as more, and if Caspian’s with me the whole time who would notice the change, all of my red strings connect back to his.

It was half a day's journey to the port, and I felt it all. At some point my head was pulled to rest on his shoulder and every time the sun shone particularly bright he held a hand over my eyes to shield them. When we were close to enough to the sea to smell it, the briny tang light in the air, he came into himself, as if he swallowed sunlight, and grinned.

I hate this. Caspian told me I will at first, I haven’t got the familial love he has. A runaway father that was only 19 when he met his future wife at the port. The family was forcibly moved to a landlocked town when opportunities dimmed and Caspian's childhood was spending every holiday possible making the hours long treks to the beach, with just enough time to wiggle his toes in the sand and swallow lungsful of water when learning to swim, and when he was older it was learning how to sail with his father. Finally, it’d get too cold to continue so his mother would swaddle him in towels and place him on her lap, until he eventually grew too big for her, together they’d watch the sun set. He told me once that it was like the water was just a mirror and everything radiated pink and orange and golden hues until finally... darkness, and there was twice as many stars as usual. Then they’d go home and count down till the next summer. His love was intergenerational, it’ll grow on you, trust me. But it won’t, I hate this. I feel sick & disoriented, it’s too loud and quiet at the same time. Like when people move from a bustling city, heavy in smog and movement, to a quaint village, and there they find the crickets and pollen too much to bear. There was none of the sounds I was accustomed to and all too many of ones I wasn’t. I can’t even swim.

How did we plan for weeks and not think that I would need to know how to swim?

Caspian had finished prepping the sails and letting us go in the wind's direction, promising he’ll take us as far East as he can find – and then carry on. He had tried to explain all the terms to me, but words like ‘jib’ and ‘hull’ and ‘tiller’ easily slipped out of my mind like water. Instead, I stood by the helm and just watched him work, focusing on the beads of sweat running down his forehead and pushing supper down as far deep as it goes, as to not ruin this for him. When he had finished, he gave me the tour, showing me the saloon, where to cook, where to rest, where to pray, how to store in such a small space and when I was overwhelmingly exhausted from the information swimming in my head, he grabbed some pillows and blankets and led me back to the cockpit. There he prepped everything like it was our bed at home and laid down, gently pulling me down with him, our knees were bent awkwardly, and we were closer together than usual. That’s when I understood When I was younger my mother would bring me to visit her friends and after the initial gasps and hugs and ‘my how you’ve grown!’ they would largely ignore me to talk to each other. One of her friends, Mariam, had a baby boy that would sleep in a wooden bassinet pushed to the wall closest to where I was sitting, when he did stir, they’d finally address me again and tell me to rock him slightly, let him be lulled back to rest. Here, we were lightly rocked side to side by Poseidon himself and entire galaxies shining down on us, like a sleeping baby in a bassinet. I didn’t know there could be so many stars and still such a vast darkness. Caspian told me about the constellations he knows and the ones he’s made up, his own mythologies mapped out above us. And when I was too tired to listen, eyes drooping and his words bleeding into each other he tenderly held my elbow to help me up, shifting so I could rest my weight on him, and walked me to the bed, trying as best he could to push my dead weight into the cramped space. Leaving only for a moment to bring the pillows back in, before climbing into bed besides me.

The next morning, we stopped on still waters, and he taught me how to swim. In the afternoons, after I showed him my grandmothers' recipes for the cold, he tried to teach me more sailing terms and by the evening I’d read to him under the dimming light, I’d have to stop after a moment, too nauseous to read the words. It was a routine we near perfected in a month. I could tell he was happy; he was drowning in it. Shockingly, I was too, a saloon that smelled like garlic and spice, secured down potted herbs, dry storage spaces filled to the brim with my books, and his slow breaths when I should be asleep, was enough. On days the wind was too bad to pause he’d make me use the knots he taught me and shout what I need to do if we tip over, the exhilaration was more than anything I’d ever known.

Resources would run low, and he’d dock in the port of a country I'd never heard of, a culture unfamiliar and language unknown. With limited communication and lots of points & smiles we’d buy what we need and when our food was restocked, I’d ask to stay a few days more. We’d integrate ourselves in the local community and learn how to say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and plan to return in the holiday season. We’d make pocket communities across the world and relish in hot water and write letters to the people back home.

#tw religious themes #tw death mention #tw drowning #writing #writers #writers on tumbr #prose #writeblr #studyblr #white sails #ask to tag

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zealouswerewolfcollector · 4 years

Text

A Poetry Lesson

Maedhros/Ingwion because why not? This is just silly fun except for the last part, which isn’t fun at all, I have to warn.

On Ao3

At first, Ingwion paid no mind to the air of excitement in the library. It was enough to know that it wasn’t about him; he was a frequent guest here. He also knew that it wasn’t unusual for impromptu poetry discussions to take place here or for scholars to meet for debates. So the prince stayed in his corner, reading the newest poems that had been written down at his request. He wasn’t always able to visit the poetry gatherings, but he didn’t want to miss anything. When he was done, he chose several poems to show his mother and stood.

On his way out, he glanced at the small group gathered around a desk. He knew two of the loremasters; the other three were young, possibly only apprentices. The younger ones were whispering among themselves, while the loremasters were silently watching the elf who was hunched over a scroll, writing or rather drawing something, judging by the careful movements of the quill. One of the apprentices asked a question, and when the elf raised his head to answer, Ingwion, to his surprise, recognized Nelyafinwë, King Finwë’s eldest grandson.

The Noldo was dressed plainly, in dark green and grey; he had no adornment on his head and wore his hair in a simple style—three narrow braids going from each temple to join together on the back of his head, the rest of his hair tumbling freely down his back. Ingwion wondered if he should approach, but Nelyafinwë seemed busy. Ingwion didn’t have much time either; the hour of the mingling was nearing, and he had to be with his family to sing for the waxing of Telperion.

He came back to return the poetry collection he had taken when Laurelin was in full bloom and found Nelyafinwë there again. He was alone this time, but for reasons he didn’t understand, Ingwion still hesitated for a moment before approaching. Nelyafinwë didn’t look surprised as he greeted Ingwion formally but warmly.

“I have seen you here before a few times,” he said when Ingwion took a seat in front of him.

“A few times? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to have seen you a few times,” Nelyafinwë said with a slight smile.

Ingwion was thrown off for a moment by the familiarity in the Noldo’s teasing words but found out that he didn’t dislike it.

“Why didn't you let us know?” he asked. “You could stay with us as long as you wish. Our doors are always open before Finwë’s kin.”

“Thank you, but I have to decline,” Nelyafinwë said. “As tempting as it sounds, I have found a very cozy place to stay in the city. Besides, I am not here as a prince. I have come to help your scholars draw maps of the northern lands.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert in mapmaking.”

“Oh no, I am no expert. I am sure these will get redrawn later. I have traveled quite a lot, though, so I can offer my experience.”

Ingwion looked at the scroll on the desk. “You are being modest, Nelyafinwë. These are very well-drawn.” Nelyafinwë’s smile grew a little brighter, and Ingwion felt strangely proud for causing it. “What region is this?” he asked, pointing at the map.

“This is a cave system in the northern part of the Pelóri,” Nelyafinwë said. “It is so huge that we haven’t reached the end yet. Every time that I go there, I explore a little more and come back to expand the map. It is fascinating. The entrance is hidden from view. We would not have discovered it if not for Aulë. He told my father about it, and we went to explore it. I often go there now. Imagine any cave you have seen. Now imagine it a hundred times more vast and beautiful. Wait, I will sketch it for you.” He drew an uneven line on a free corner of the scroll. “This is going to be redrawn anyway,” he said smiling. “And maybe they will appreciate my drawing.”

Ingwion watched as Nelyafinwë’s hand moved gracefully, and under his quill, various misshapen towers took form, swords hanging from the ceiling, miniature mountain chains, monster teeth, and rock icicles.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nelyafinwë asked. “I have tried to do it justice.”

“It is,” Ingwion agreed. “Though I cannot imagine spending so much time in a cave, no matter how wondrous the rocks there are.”

“I don’t spend that much time there,” Nelyafinwë said. “That is why this map is still incomplete. There are so many places to go and so many wonders to see. If you go far enough into the north, the stars shine so much brighter. The light of the Trees is just a faint shimmer, and at times the sky itself is painted with many different colors. Words aren’t enough to describe its beauty. Maybe you should give traveling a try? I am sure you would enjoy it.”

“Listening about it is much more enjoyable,” Ingwion said.

“Is it?”

Nelyafinwë’s smile was almost smug, though still kind, and Ingwion sputtered, hurrying to save the situation.

“I only mean that I prefer plains and woods over caves,” he said, though it wasn’t the only thing that he meant. The way Nelyafinwë’s eyes glowed radiantly when he was talking was also very enjoyable. “I would rather stay here and listen to stories about different places, than travel myself. There is no place better than Valmar, no mountain fairer than the Taniquetil.”

“How could you know that if you have not seen the other places?”

“There are a lot of marvelous places to see here.”

“Really?”

Ingwion decided not to take offense because he liked the smile on Nelyafinwë’s lips.

“Obviously,” he said with a smile of his own. “Have you spent all your time here drawing maps?”

“Of course not. There is time for work and time for fun.”

Ingwion didn't know why the way Nelyafinwë said the last word made him shiver.

“Speaking of work,” the Noldo said. “I am done for now.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “But I will be here later.”

Ingwion expected him to continue, but Nelyafinwë said nothing else. He only covered Ingwion’s hand with his and squeezed it. Ingwion barely stopped himself from looking down because he knew it would make this situation even odder. Instead, he held his breath and focused his gaze on Nelyafinwë’s face. It seemed too long before the Noldo got to his feet and said his farewells. Ingwion was surprised to find himself still smiling after Nelyafinwë left.

He waited until Telperion waxed and waned twice before he returned to the library. Nelyafinwë was there, as he had promised.

“It looks like you have finished your work,” Ingwion said, noticing the absence of maps on the desk.

Nelyafinwë looked up. “I will be honest. Drawing maps is not the only reason I am here,” he said. “The Library of Valmar has the largest collection of poetry. I enjoy reading it.”

“I am quite sure that you are reading Elemmírë,” Ingwion said, laughing a little.

“Guilty,” Nelyafinwë smiled, raising a book.

“You know she is not the only great poet we have. Every second Vanya tries their hand at it, and many succeed.”

“Is that so? Do you write poetry too?”

“I...” Ingwion didn't know why he was so flustered. Maybe it was because of the intensity in Nelyafinwë's gaze or because of the barest hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “I have written several hymns to Manwë, which my mother put to music.”

“Oh, I would love to read them! Do they have them here?”

“No, no, they aren't good enough to be kept in the library.”

“I truly doubt that. If you want to prove it, you will have to sing them for me.”

Ingwion couldn't tell if the Noldo was serious or not. “Just not in the library, Nelyafinwë,” he joked. “Or the real poets will beat me up with the books.”

Nelyafinwë laughed. A clear, ringing laugh like the bells on the bay tree which grew in front of Ingwion’s window. He had put up the silver and golden bells himself, had added, removed, and replaced them until he had perfected the sound.

“I am too an avid lover of poetry,” Ingwion said before he could regret it. “I can show you works by other poets if you wish.”

He read the surprise in Nelyafinwë's eyes. The Noldo stood. “Lead the way,” he said.

In the back of his head, Ingwion knew that his offer entailed more than poetry books, but he wasn't sure what exactly, was reluctant to think of it. Maybe Nelyafinwë truly only wanted to read poetry, maybe the Noldor were just overly friendly. Yet the other day Nelyafinwë's touch on his wrist lingered for a moment too long.

He walked to a remote corner of the library, away from everyone’s eyes, preferring to ignore the perfectly good poems on closer shelves, acutely aware that Nelyafinwë was just behind him. His heart was fluttering with excitement. When they reached the shelf, he stopped in front of it, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Some of my favorites are here,” he said, turning to Nelyafinwë.

He drew a sharp breath. He knew the Noldo had been following him, but he hadn’t expected to find him so close. Nelyafinwë was tall for a Noldo, nearly at height with Ingwion himself, and he was beautiful in a stern, intimidating Noldorin way: high cheekbones, piercing eyes, proud nose. Ingwion felt his heart in his throat. He raised his hand slowly, without fully realizing what he was doing until his fingers were almost touching a long, dark red curl that fell over Nelyafinwë's ear. He stopped himself, feeling suddenly that he couldn’t bear it, that he would be struck by lightning if they touched. The air was as thin as on the peaks of the Taniquetil. He struggled to breathe.

“Nelyafinwë,” was all he managed to gasp.

“You may call me by my mother name,” Nelyafinwë said in a hoarse whisper. “Maitimo.”

“Maitimo,” Ingwion repeated slowly, rolling the name in his mouth, delighted by the way his lips came together and parted, his tongue touched gently the back of his teeth to form the sounds. It made him feel bolder. “Aptly named,” he said.

“Am I,” Maitimo said with the confident smile of someone who knows the answer very well.

“Yes,” Ingwion said anyway. “Thank you for allowing me to use it. Every time I said your father name, it felt like a slight against my cousin.”

Maitimo laughed, and all the tension was suddenly gone. Ingwion was once again reminded of the sound of bells as the bay tree swayed in a warm breeze. He had no idea why he had thought Maitimo's beauty intimidating just a moment ago. It wasn’t. It was gentle like the light of Laurelin after the mingling when there was still just a hint of silver in the gold. The corners of Maitimo’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Ingwion took Maitimo's curl between his forefinger and thumb. It was soft. He felt lightheaded. He was unafraid in the relative privacy of this little corner, ready to do anything.

“You are not like how I remember you from our last visit to Tirion,” he whispered.

Maitimo tilted his head. “I am different in Tirion. There I am Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, grandson of Finwë. Among the Vanyar, I am not as noticeable. I rather enjoy the anonymity. Here I can be Maitimo, an ordinary Noldo, who has come to draw maps, read poetry and kiss the crown prince.”

Ingwion looked into Maitimo's eyes, barely daring to breathe. “You are falling behind on the last part, aren't you?”

“Then it is time to rectify the mistake, wouldn't you say?”

“I would.”

Ingwion leaned forward and did what he had wanted to do since the first moment he laid eyes on Maitimo. He felt the Noldo’s smile against his lips, his fingers in his hair, his warm breath. He pulled Maitimo closer, shivering when they were chest to chest, sighing when the other elf deepened the kiss. Ingwion forgot for a moment where they were, forgot himself. His spirit was floating, his body was non-existent except where Maitimo’s burning touch connected him to the physical world.

Maitimo broke the kiss but didn’t move away, just turned his head a little, so his lips were now brushing over the shell of Ingwion’s ear. His arms tightened around Maitimo’s back. His awareness was slowly returning, and he was already looking out for every little noise that could disrupt their moment.

“The library isn’t the best place for this,” he said regretfully.

“Not very adventurous, are you?” Maitimo laughed and made no attempt to move.

“I don’t have the luxury of anonymity, Maitimo.”

“Do you have the luxury of privacy? You promised me a song, remember?”

Ingwion didn’t remember promising him, but he still nodded. “Maybe somewhere else,” he said.

“Maybe,” Maitimo whispered. “Maybe you can pay me a visit while I am in Valmar.”

“What did I say about anonymity?” Ingwion laughed. He shifted a little and finally let go of Maitimo, sighing. “You should come to me.”

Maitimo frowned. “I am not enjoying the idea of making small talk with the entire Vanyarin court.”

“I will choose not to be insulted,” Ingwion said. “But that wasn’t what I meant. There is a hidden way to my chamber. You should come straight there.”

“You are adventurous after all,” Maitimo grinned. “I will come. I suppose your chamber is more... comfortable than my lodgings.” He took Ingwion’s hand. “Tell me how to find you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist.

It took Ingwion a while to find his voice to answer.

---

His wild look slid over the surrounding warriors as he slowly walked back. Ingwion expected it to linger on himself for a few moments longer, but it didn’t. There was no recognition in those eyes, no hesitation, no fear, nothing except stifling, overwhelming despair. Ingwion found it hard to believe that this was Maitimo.

Maedhros, that was how they called him here. A harsh name in a harsh land. Gone was Maitimo, the silvery sound of the word, gone was the ringing of the bells, gone was the softness around the mouth. He was all sharp angles now, hard lines, bared teeth for a smile, smoldering embers for eyes. His only hand holding the sword wasn’t shaking, and Ingwion knew that he would fight to the death, knew that it was what he wanted.

An image came unbidden to his mind. Maitimo opening an eye, as Ingwion turns on his side and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear; Maitimo raising a brow in amusement, as Ingwion's slightly trembling fingers outline his face, slide along his brow, his cheekbone, leave feathery touches on his soft lips; Maitimo lifting himself up on his elbows, gently pushing Ingwion down by the shoulder and leaning over him, Maitimo's hair a curtain hiding them from the world, as they kiss.

During the long, terrible war, Ingwion had seen the hardness of the people of this land. There was no other way of living under Morgoth’s shadow except turning to stone. Ingwion had gotten used to it to the point that the sweet bells of Valmar seemed a distant dream. Or so he had believed. Now everything inside of him rebelled against the thought, refused to recognize the dazzling prince he had once kissed in the library of Valmar in this ferocious, rugged creature, tempered by loss and defeat.

He wondered if he should go after them, if he should kill Maedhros; wondered if it would be more merciful than what Eonwë had done, but before he could make a decision, the brothers had disappeared, and he knew he would not see them again.

He turned back and walked to his tent. The war was over. He would soon return to gentle Valinor, to majestic Taniquetil, to golden Valmar, where people smiled, and Maiar sang, and when the zephyr blew, the silver bells on the tree in front of his window rang as in laughter.

#silmarillion #maedhros #ingwion #silm fic #zwc fic #this is the first fic with this pairing on ao3 #it's so funny to me :D #can't believe i wrote 2000 words of these idiots flirting #or trying to #this has been on my mind #since that post about ridiculous tolkien ship names #which i can't find now

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zerochanges · 4 years

Text

2020 Favorite Video Games

I don’t know if I am an outlier or if this is the same for everyone else but I really did not play a lot of games this year. 2020 was a very harsh year for all of us, especially for me for some personal reasons. So to get to the chase, I am just gonna say it left me not doing much in what little free time I did have, and I didn’t play much either. Usually I try to keep my lists for ‘favorite of the year’ to only titles released that year but since I played so little this year, screw it. I am gonna include any game I played this year regardless of release date.

Collection of SaGa

By far a flawed rerelease. It’s bare bones: there are no advance features you would usually expect out of these kinds of emulated rereleases like save states, fast forward, or rewind, and there was no real effort made to touch up almost 30 year old localizations that had to meet Nintendo of America’s then harsh standards. This really is just 3 roms slapped into a nice looking interface with an option to increase the game speed (which by the way you better use, the characters walk very slow in these old games).

I am bit harsh here, but only because I thought the Romancing SaGa remasters and the upcoming SaGa Frontier remaster all looked like they got a great budget and a lot of love while this is just another Collection of Mana situation (moreso specifically talking about Seiken Densetsu 1/Final Fantasy Adventure/Adventures of Mana part of that collection). I would have loved to see Square Enix do a bit more for these older games. Or at least include the remakes. Seiken Densetsu 1 had two great remakes, both unused in Collection of Mana, and all three of these original SaGa titles have remakes that have never seen the light of day outside of Japan. How great would it have been to get the Wonderswan remake of SaGa 1, as well as the Nintendo DS remakes of Saga 2 and SaGa 3?

But my gripes aside, these games are still fun as they ever were. Replaying SaGa 1 specifically during the holiday season really helped calm me down and made me feel at ease. It’s easy to forget but even in their Gameboy roots there are a lot of funky and weird experimental choices being made in these games. They aren’t your run-of-the-mil dragon quest (or considering the gameboy, maybe pokemon would be more apt) clones.

Raging Loop

Perhaps my favorite game of the year, Raging Loop is one of the best visual novels I have ever played hands down. The level of creativity and splitting story paths that went into it is simply mind blowing. The basic premise is both a wonderful throwback to the old days of Chunsoft sound novels while still modern and somewhat reminiscent of both Higurashi and Danganronpa. Essentially you play as Haruaki, a poor slub that got lost in the mountains with no clue where to go until you stumble upon an old rural village with a strange history and even stranger superstitions. Before you know it there has been a murder and the Feast is now afoot.

The less said about Raging Loop the better, although I do want to say a lot about it one day if I ever can write a proper review of it. This is a gripping game that will take hold of you once you get into it though and never let go. I actually 100%-ed this and I very rarely do that. I got every ending, every bonus hidden ending, played the entire game twice to hear all the hidden details it purposely hides on your first play through, played all the bonus epilogue chapters, unlocked all the hidden voice actor interviews, collected all the art work, etc, etc. I was just obsessed with this game, it’s that damn good! And the main character is maybe the best troll in all of video games, god bless Haruaki.

Root Double

From Takumi Nakazawa, long time contributor to Kotaro Uchikoshi’s work comes a game any fan of Zero Escape or Uchikoshi in general will probably enjoy. Root Double, like its name suggests is a visual novel with two different routes, hence Root Double. The first route stars Watase Kasasagi, the leader of an elite rescue team in the midst of their greatest crisis yet that could lead to nuclear devastation as they try to evacuate a nuclear research facility that has gone awry.

The other route stars Natsuhiko Tenkawa, an everyday high schooler whose peaceful life is thrown into turmoil when he stumbles upon a terrorist plot to destroy the nuclear facility in the city and his attempts to stop them. Together the two separate plots weave into one and creates a really crazy ride. Part Chernobyl, part science fiction, any fan of the genre will easily enjoy it. And hey it’s kind of relevant to include on this list too since it just got a Switch port this year (I played it on steam though).

Snack World

I was shocked upon starting Snack World as it is instantly incredibly charming, witty, and downright hilarious at times yet I heard almost zero people talk about it. EVER. This game is Dragon Quest levels of quirky though, and the localization is incredible. The game has such an oddball sense of humor that works really well with its presentation right down to the anime opening video that sings about the most bizarre things. Instead of the usual pump up song about the cool adventure ahead we get stuff like wanting to go out to a restaurant and eat pork chops.

The self aware/fourth wall breaking humor is just enough to be really funny, but doesn't overstay its welcome and always makes it work right in the context of the dialogue. And finally, just everything; with the menus, the name of side quests and missions, and the character dialogue -- are all just so witty and full of quirky humor. This is one hell of a charming and funny game and addictive to boot.

Trials of Mana

Trials of Mana has gone from one of those legendary unlocalized games, to one of the first major breakthroughs in fan translation, to finally getting an official English release complete with a fully 3D remake. In a lot of ways from a western perspective this game has had an incredible journey. As for this remake itself, I really found myself having tons of fun with it. I loved the graphics, and the voice acting while a bit on the cheaper side almost kind of adds to the charm since both the graphics and acting really give it an old PS2 vibe. I know that is probably just more me being weird but yeah, I had to say it.

I really hope Square Enix sticks to this style of remake more often, instead of just doing Final Fantasy VII Remakes that break the bank and involve extensive tweaking to both plot and game play. I’ll take smaller budget projects that play more like the original game any day personally. I wouldn’t mind if they also deliver a brand new Mana game all together in this engine either.

Utawarerumono Trilogy

This year saw the release of the first entry in the series, Utawarerumono: Prelude to the Fallen--and thus finally after three years since the sequels Utawarerumono: Mask of Deception and Utawarerumono: Mask of Truth came out in 2017 the trilogy is now complete in English. I ended up binging through Prelude to the Fallen very fast shortly after it came out and immediately jumped on to the sequels. Perhaps the best part of 2020 was that I finally played all three of these fantastic games, and did so back-to-back-to-back. Playing the first Utawarerumono was an experience I will never forget, it was like visiting old friends again that I haven’t seen in ages, by and large thanks to the fact that I saw the anime adaption of the game when I was much younger, nearly a decade ago. Back then I would have never of dreamed that I would get to play the actual game and get the real experience.

And it only got better from here, as all three games are such wonderful experiences from start to finish. The stories are all so deep, and by the time you get to the third entry, Mask of Truth, it’s crazy to see how they all connected over so many years and weaved together into a plot much bigger than they ever were. What carries it beyond all that though has to be the fun and addicting strategy role playing game aspect, which while a bit on the easy side, is still so much fun and helps make the game feel better paced since you get to play the conquests your characters go on and not just read about all the battles they fight. Beyond that the games are packed full of awesome characters, and I know I’ll never forget the amazing leads in all of them. Hakuowlo, Haku, and Oshtor will all go down as some of the greats to me.

Ys: Memories of Celceta

Ys: Memories of Celceta is a full 3D remake of Ys IV, a rather infamous game in Falcom’s Ys series. Not to get bogged down too much into the history of Falcom but by this point they were facing a lot of hardship and had to outsource this entry to other developers, and thus passed it on to two particular developers they had a business relationship with, creating two unique versions of Ys IV. Tonkin House who had worked on Super Famicom port of Ys III with Falcom ended up creating their own YS IV entry, Mask of the Sun for the very same system, where Hudson soft who had produced the much beloved Ys Books I & II remakes for the Turbografix (PC Engine) CD add-on created their own Ys IV entry Dawn of Ys for that console. Both games followed guidelines and ideas outlined from Falcom themselves but both radically diverged from each other and turned into completely different games.

Falcom finally putting an end to this debate on which version of Ys IV you should play have gone and created their own definitive Ys IV in 2012 for the Playstation Vita. I played the 2020 remastered version of this remake on my PS4. I even bought this on the Vita when it first came out but I am horrible and only horde games, never play them. So it was a lot of fun to finally play this.

Memories of Celceta is probably one of the best starting points for anyone looking to get into Ys, especially if you only want to stay with the 3D titles as out of all the 3D entries this explains the most about the world and series protagonist Adol Christian. Beyond that it’s just another fantastic entry in a wonderful series that has a few good twists hidden behind it, especially for long time fans of the series.

Random Video Game Console Stuff

Xbox Has Blue Dragon: I actually got an Xbox One this year for free from my brother. Because of that I started to play Blue Dragon again and there’s a lot I would love to say about this game. I don’t know if I am fully committed to replaying it all the way through however but I find myself putting in a couple hours every few days and enjoying myself again. Does anyone else remember Blue Dragon? I feel like it really missed its audience and had it come out nowadays and probably for the Switch it would have really resonated with the Dragon Quest fandom a lot more instead of being thrown out to die on Xbox and constantly compared to Final Fantasy VII and the like which it had nothing at all similar with.

The Turbografx 16 Mini: This was probably one of the best mini consoles that have come out and I feel like thanks to the whole 2020 pandemic thing it was largely forgotten about. That’s a shame, it has a wonderful variety of great games, especially if you count the Japanese ones (god I wish I could play the Japanese version of Snatcher included), and a wonderful interface with fantastic music. One of these days I would really like to be able to play around with the console more seriously than I have already.

Fire Emblem Shadow Dragon Never Existed: So Nintendo localized the first ever Fire Emblem game on Nintendo Switch which is awesome to see them touching Famicom games again--I haven’t seen Nintendo of America rerelease old Famicom titles since Mysterious Murasame Castle on the 3DS, but their trailer hilariously made it seem like this is the first time ever they released Fire Emblem when in fact they had already localized the remake Shadow Dragon on the Nintendo DS nearly 10 or 11 years ago. I and many other fans I talked to all found this really hilarious, probably solely because of how much they kept repeating the fact that this is the first time you will ever be able to experience Marth’s story.

All that aside though I have to say the collector edition for this newly localized Famicom game is probably the most gorgeous retro reproduction I have seen in a long time, and I really spent many many hours just staring at the all clear glass mock cartridge. I have found myself really obsessing over retro reproductions during 2020, and obtained quite a few this year. I really hope this trend continues to go on in 2021 as recreating classic console packaging and cartridges is a lot of fun.

#video games #collection of saga final fantasy legend #SaGa #SaGa I #SaGa II #SaGa III #Raging Loop #Root Double #Snack World #Trials of Mana #Seiken Densetsu 3 #Utawarerumono #Ys #Ys IV #ys memories of celceta

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mangobilorian · 4 years

Text

Milk | (explicit) v

Paring: Din Djarin x Reader

Words: 6609

read chapter four read on AO3

After you and Crix finish eating, you both go outside, giving Mando the privacy of the house. It seems a little overkill to leave the man an entire house to himself (and the bounty), but he deserves that much at least. And while the Tatooine night isn’t as beautiful as the sunsets, the stars more than make up for it.

“There, you see that,” you say, pointing towards the right side of the sky. “Somewhere in that constellation is my star, and the system that surrounds it.”

“Beautiful,” Crix replies. “You know, I never studied astronomy on Alderaan, too happy with history to bother. And we’ve explored most of the galaxy anyway.”

“I guess. I’m pretty sure we know less than we think we do. The Unknown Regions could be twice or three times the size of the Core and all the Rims combined. Think about it!” Crix laughs and takes a sip of his tea. A sleeping tea, this time, cooled and perfect for an easy rest.

“How many constellations do you know?” You pause, taking the time to mull over the question. When you dreamed about finding your brother, you studied the stars. You plotted different routes he could take, the planets he could reach given the fuel capacity of his ship, which ones he’d avoid or welcome. Charts of the skies were imprinted on the back of your eyelids, day and night.

It also helped, that your time doing finances for your parents gave you constant practice with math. While you weren’t the next big physicist, you knew enough to plot coordinates. And make finance sheets compatible with different holo programs.

Somehow, in all that studying, you enjoyed learning about the stars. Not enough to make a career out of it (and what a useless career that would be), but it’s a fun enough hobby. “I can point out most of the constellations that make up the Known Regions,” you grin. “And if we’re talking Mid Rim in, I could tell you the different constellations in the main languages from their systems.”

“Oh? You know many languages and are a budding astronomer. I see.” Rolling your eyes, you shuffle a bit. The sand is as irritating as always but- you could get used to it. Probably. “If- you mentioned becoming a pilot and following your brother were your dreams, right?” You nod, looking at Crix. The night is too dark, however, so you only see a shadow. “I could teach you how to fly, if you want. If we can get a ship.” You pause, dumbfounded.

It’s so easy for Crix to offer you flying lessons when it took Mando so much kriffing effort to even agree.

Crix would be a better teacher. He’s gentle and softhearted. He’ll give you corrections sandwiched between compliments and encouragement. A far cry from Mando’s disastrous lesson. Maker, you can imagine it: you, a few years from now, with fantastic piloting skills honed by an ex-rebel pilot.

But flying with Crix would mean letting Mando go, and you’re not sure if you want that. In fact, you’re not sure if flying is a thing you want to do for yourself and not for your brother. Your mind hurts at the implication, though, so you steal a sip of Crix’s tea before thinking of your reply.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to give an answer when- “Or, we can go to Anchorhead, and see if there’s a book about stars. For you to take on your trip with your Mandalorian.”

Oh. Oh. You release a breath, stomach giddy and confused. Crix knows you better than you know yourself, you realize. Which you shouldn’t be surprised about, honestly. Your brother held your identity so secret that only Crix knew he had family, but that didn’t stop him from telling Crix every embarrassing story from your childhood.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” You hear Crix chuckle.

“You’re welcome.” The both of you stay quiet for a moment, content to sit next to each other in silence. It’s a stark difference from the thick tension between you and Mando. And there’s always tension whether it be sexual or emotional or- or anything else. “Tell me about your parents,” Crix says softly. “What are they like?” You furrow your brows. You already told him all about them before.

But this is the first time Crix wanted to know something, the first time he asked an actual question. Taking your silence as rejection, he says, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to-”

“They’re nice. I think, once they get over the fact that you’re a boy, they’ll like you. Of course, they’d learn their firstborn son had lied about his death in a plot to destroy the Empire, but,” you shrug, “they’ll learn to internalize their grief and move on like everyone else.” Crix stays silent, and you worry that maybe what you said isn’t the sort of thing he was looking for.

“My dad… he likes his caf with just a little sugar. No cream. He can’t drink lactose without getting an upset stomach. He loves sour treats, especially the lemon tarts imported from Naboo. His favorite color is orange, and he doesn’t like speaking when he has to. My mom,” you pause, choking back the urge to cry.

You don’t know why you suddenly want to bawl, but, just as you feel the familiar urge of drowning, Crix places a warm hand on your elbow. You suck back your tears and continue.

“My mom loves plants and pretty things. It’s why she likes the b-bar girls so much. They’re prettier than me. But she loves me, in her own way. She buys me d-dresses and skirts, but they never fit. She sees everything as a project, a slate for her to fix,” you fiddle your fingers, thinking of all those beautiful clothes the bar girls wear while you get too-big or too-small garments. The colors shine and shimmer on the Twi’leks, Togrutas, Pantorans…. They never glitter on you.

“She likes lemon tarts too and takes her caf with cream and lots of sugar. If she had the choice, she’d probably travel, looking for the prettiest things in the world and leaving me and dad behind. But she lo-loves us so m-much,” you sob, burying your face in your hands, chest squeezing. It’s been a while since you last cried, much less about your parents; the last time you shed a tear was before Mando… before you and Mando….

Life is so different now; you’re so different. You’re no longer a bumbling, naive girl with dreams too big to ever complete. Truly, you’d been a fool to ever think that you’d track your brother’s journey through the galaxy, years after his supposed death. But you found a man who made you feel what love is like (is it love?), and you found the truth about your brother on the first planet you landed on, and somehow, in the past month, you found out how to be just a bit stronger, a bit less rambling and insecure.

None of that would have happened if Mando never saved you that day when you got in his way, surely endangering himself and his bounty.

But you can’t deny that, for the first time, you miss your parents. You’ve changed, yes, but- Maker, you miss them so kriffing much. In the holodramas, the young girls that go on adventures have no parents, while you willingly left yours behind. Crix pulls you into a sideways hug, and you lean in.

“Shhh, it’s ok. Thanks for telling me,” he says, after your tears dry and sobs stop. You realize that you’ve probably been out here for an hour, and Mando is definitely finished with his food and armor cleaning. Voicing your observation, Crix agrees, and you head back, wiping your face one last time.

When you enter the house, you find Mando closer to the door than you thought. Odd, but not unwarranted. Crix breezes to his room, claiming the sleepy tea made him exhausted, and leaves you alone with the bounty hunter.

“Where’s the bounty?” you ask after an uncomfortable silence. Mando points to the corner at the man, gagged, bound, and unconscious. But not tied to anything. “He won’t escape?” Mando shrugs, and his armor gleams from the moonlight.

“I broke his ankles. He won’t run anytime soon. Once he’s in carbonite, he’s not a problem.” Mando walks over to you, a hulking man of metal, and gently brushes his knuckles against your cheeks. “Does that scare you?” You gulp.

“No,” you say. Because you’re not. You think. You know how Mando can get, how all bounty hunters act when the prey is caught and the hunt ends. But breaking a man’s ankles seems unnecessarily cruel but- you know Mando would never hurt you.

“No, I’m not,” you smile, leaning into the gloved hand that now cups your cheek. This is what you wanted, right? For him to touch you like he loves you, like he’s a romantic interest in the holodramas, and you’re the main character. So why is your heart pounding with a little dread?

“Good.” He pulls away from you quickly, and you almost want to bring him back closer but- you’re not foolish enough to think he’d like that. Mando is blunt, quiet, and scary. Independent. He doesn’t need a girl like you, lost and chirping away, tugging at his hand for affection.

“Okay,” you reply because you don’t know what else to say. With that, you turn to Crix’s bedroom, but stop in your tracks. Would Mando…?

No, he wouldn’t mind that you and Crix would share a bed, right? Crix had voiced his concern, but Mando had to see you weren’t interested in Crix like that. Besides, the couch is too small for both you and the bounty hunter. And there is no way Crix and Mando would share a bed. The thought almost makes you laugh, but you stop the sound from bubbling past your lips.

And yet…

You breeze into Crix’s room, tugging at the spare linens in his closet and stealing the second pillow off his bed. He shoots you a knowing smile, even winking at you which you pointedly ignore. Mando doesn’t say anything when you throw the couch cushions on the floor, doesn’t even move when you settle between the spare blanket, motioning for him to share the pillow.

Later, with Mando’s arm across your waist, armorless except for his helmet, you shut your eyes and try to sleep. You dream of stars and spaceships and siblings.

*****

Mando had stayed behind with the bounty on the homestead when you and Crix left.

He had wanted to leave the man’s injuries unattended, but he caved and allowed you to brace his ankle after you pressed a kiss to his helmet. The man cried when you did, almost reaching a hand out to touch you, but Mando stopped him.

“He’s a killer,” he said. You didn’t mention the fact that Mando’s a killer too. That he shot Ras Drun because he didn’t want others to kill him first and- you shove that thought out your traitorous mind. Killing is part of the job; he doesn’t like what he does. Mando is the only justice the galaxy can get, the type of justice that tracks criminals over systems.

When you and Crix reach Anchorhead it’s as dull as before, but the library isn’t. Small, dusty, and on the brink of collapse, the library teems with old books. Tatooine is decades behind on literature, but the stars don’t change much, and Crix secures you a book with paper pages. Paper! An outdated thing, yes, but the book is so beautiful. You thank Crix many times over, and he laughs it off like the good would-have-been brother-in-law he is.

The book, titled The Scholar’s Guide to the Galaxy’s Stars and Systems, Edition Twelve, sits on the bottom of your bag. Crix pushes the bag, filled with tea and milk and bantha jerky, at you, making you promise to come back.

You leave that night since Mando prefers travelling when the oppressive heat doesn’t cook him in his armor. He returns the speeder bike in Mos Eisley and drags the bounty through the sand, braced ankles and all. It’s a blessing that the man doesn’t wake up; you can’t comprehend the pain he’s going through, killer or not. It serves as another reminder that, much like Tatooine, the real galaxy is full of pain and suffering, more than the small glimpses you had back home.

The trip back to the Crest is silent, Mando not speaking even when you arrive at the ship, opting to open the hatch and climb right in without sparing you a word.

You place the bag on the floor gently, mindful of the inner contents, and crouch down. The milk will go sour soon, so you should probably drink it now. Before you can continue contemplating what time to drink your blue milk, you hear the tell-tale signs of the carbonite sealing around the bounty.

As the hiss dies down, you look towards Mando on the other end of the ship, then at the bounty’s face, mouth wide open in a silent scream. You wonder if the braces you gave him would be enough to help him heal while he spends time in his frozen prison.

Sighing, you reach back into the bag to pull your book out when Mando suddenly towers over you. A bit spooked, you scoot back.

He looks so large standing there, a mountain of metal. You know the corded muscles that sculpt his body; you know that if you reach out to the tiny spot below his ear, and give him a little kiss, he’d treat you with a groan. But it’s been so long since you two had any real time together (not counting last night because you both were tired), despite it being three or so days since you landed on Tatooine. Your face heats up at the memory.

You expect him to reach out to you, to speak and say what’s on his mind. Instead, Mando pushes past you and heads up the ladder. It stings like rejection, but you push the feeling down. You have no right to feel that way.

After a minute or so, the ship rumbles, and you feel the Crest rise into the air. You should’ve gone up with him, so you can help plot the coordinates on his next bounty or something. You want to be more useful, less like a burden.

With another sigh (geez, when did you get so gloomy?), you trudge up the ladder and into the cockpit. Mando sits in the main chair, broad and unwavering as always. For a moment, your throat goes dry, and you wonder what to say. Thankfully, he beats you to it.

“We’re going to Cato Neimoidia,” he says, not bothering to face you as he speaks.

You calculate the distance on your fingers, almost surprised at how quick the journey would be. You’ve never ventured that far into the galaxy before, much less to a Neimoidian purse world. “That’ll be, what, five and a half days of travel?” Mando wheels his chair around.

“Yes,” he says, curtly. Oh. Well all right. You fiddle your fingers a bit, unsure on how to proceed. It’s always been slightly awkward around Mando, but you got used to it. Now? Now, there’s something different, an underlying tension you’re not quite sure you like.

Suddenly, you’re reminded of the last time you were in the cockpit, horny and frustrated. Back then, you still had faraway dreams of tracing your brother’s path. But when you finally got the answers you ached to have… that means it’s all going to end, right? You should’ve stayed with Crix when he gave you the chance. Because as much as you want to stay with Mando, maybe he doesn’t want you to. But he did offer to continue your piloting lessons, and he never explicitly said he’d kick you out.

“W-would you like some milk?” you ask after a long, long time of standing. “We should finish it before it spoils. Crix said-”

“I know what he said.” Mando turns around, and that’s as big of a dismissal as you’re going to get. It stings, just a little, to be pushed aside so easily but- what can you expect? He doesn’t owe you anything even if you wish he had a little more tact.

So you hurry downstairs to your bag and split the glass of milk between two packed cups. You leave yours downstairs, a snack for when you read your new book, and take Mando’s up the ladder, careful not to spill.

When you re-enter the cockpit, Mando has his head in his hands. “Are you all right?” He flinches at your voice, not bothering to acknowledge your presence. You set the cup down on a flat surface, making sure it won’t spill on the controls you only just managed to remember. Looking at them now, you can barely tell which meter is the gauge for the hyperspace fuel and which one is for the oxygen levels in the ship.

“Yes,” Mando replies, and you realize you had forgotten what you even asked. Without a thank you, he picks the cup up, and you take your cue to leave him his privacy. When you descend the ladder, you fight the urge to throw your forehead against the wall and scream.

Why is he being so kriffing cold? Why? Things were good before Tatooine. Great, in fact. Those three days were both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. And the cantina? Stars, you almost gave him a handjob in public! So you don’t understand why Mando is being so- so stiff.

Part of you thinks you should’ve known this might happen, that your days of happiness and bliss wouldn’t last. He’s a bounty hunter, not a prince. Bounty hunters don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves; that’s a business infraction. But another part says that he might’ve changed. Might’ve actually wanted to be nice, and that, beneath all that metal, he’s still a man. A man with toned muscles and a stiff co-

Okay. You should probably stop there. You’re mad at him, right?

Shit. You don’t know what to do if you’re mad at him or if he’s mad at you. You wish Crix were here; he’d give you great advice.

And suddenly you have a bright thought, a glaring epiphany. Crix. You remember how quick Mando was when he slammed Crix into the wall and threatened him. You thought he got over the initial animosity since he allowed you to stay on Crix’s homestead while he did his job. Maybe Mando stayed territorial, possessive. But while your growing arousal surges at that thought, another part of you shivers.

Yes, you like the feeling of him dominating you in bed. But dominating your affections? Your emotions? Who you could care for or be around? That doesn’t sit right with you at all. Especially since he has the gall to be jealous over your long-dead brother’s fiance.

With a sudden spike of anger, you take a sip of your milk for some much-needed energy and climb the ladder once more.

Before Mando can even turn in his seat, fully helmeted with an untouched cup of milk on the console, you wheel his chair around yourself.

“Why are you like this?” you say, not really sure what you mean, but you know you have to get this off your chest.

“What?”

“This,” you wave your hands in his general direction. “Cold and mean. We were fine before- before Tatooine, and we come back, and you’re all grumpy. You don’t say anything on the ride here. You don’t say thanks when I give you milk. And you don’t even know what you’re doing wrong! I just don’t get it, and you don’t have any right to-”

Mando cuts you off by grabbing your wrists and pulling you in until you’re sprawled over his lap. “What-”

“Can you please shut up?”

“No,” you glare, your reflection distorted on his helmet. You try to wiggle away, but his grip is too tight.

“Listen to me. Can you- stop moving. I get it. You want to go back to that shit planet and be with your new boyfriend. But you said you wanted to learn to fly, and that little rebel farmer doesn’t even have a ship.”

You freeze, unable to process what he said. But when you do, you become infuriated.

“Boyfriend?! What boyfriend? Last time I checked, Mandalorian, you’re the closest person to fit the bill! Did you really think Crix and I are- are dating? You and I slept on the floor last night! Together. I know you have a bucket on your head every day, but are you actually that dense?” You don’t know where the sudden venom in your voice comes from, but it’s there, glaring and loud and stinging.

You try to squirm away, too angry to deal with the blank, metal facade in front of you, but Mando pulls you tighter to his chest. “You seemed so happy with him, and told him about your parents that I thought-”

Wait.

What?

What do your parents have to do with anything unless- he heard you, didn’t he? Heard you cry and sob about missing them. And somehow, your words made him believe that you and Crix…

“You thought what?” you say, softer, forcing the bite out your voice.“He asked about my parents, Mando. So I told him. Just because he’s a guy I’m friends with doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.”

“Oh.” He sounds so… sad yet still gruff. Resigned. It almost breaks your heart, and for a moment you let yourself wonder about his personal life, about his parents. He’s never mentioned them, and you highly doubt he’d start talking now, but-

“You can always ask,” you say, and Mando brushes a finger against your cheek. “But next time, please don’t jump to conclusions. For both our sakes.”

“Hmm.”

You take a moment to linger in the aftermath of your miscommunication and- Maker, you feel so proud of yourself. For being able to handle the situation without any lasting consequences, for not fumbling over your words despite feeling overwhelmed. You might be a little high on adrenaline (his accusation almost gave you a heart attack), and you really, really want to laugh, or cry or sleep but- you hold it in.

It’s ridiculous to think of Crix as anything other than a brother. But given that Mando is a touch-starved, emotionally stunted bounty hunter who can’t even show his face or divulge his name, he didn’t understand how simple your relationship with Crix is. How can anyone reach the conclusion that you and Crix are an item when you gave up an actual bed to sleep on the hard floor with Mando?

“Are you angry with me?” he asks after a long while. You shake your head immediately. No, you’re not angry. Or even scared. Because, while Mando breaks his bounty’s ankles or shoots them point blank, he’s still vulnerable enough to ask if you're angry with him. To grow soft at the mention of parents.

You move to get up, but two gloved hands on your hips stop you. What-

Something hard and stiff presses against your inner thigh, and you fight the urge to squeal. Only now, far departed from that dirty cantina, do you remember the familiar feeling of want nestled in your stomach. You forgot how much you craved more of Mando’s body until his actual boner juts into your thigh, a reminder of what exactly will come next.

And while some part of you wants to be petty and leave him hanging for being a jerk who talks first before thinking, you also desperately want him to take you right there in the cockpit. Or rather, you just want to be in his arms forever.

“Fuck,” Mando grunts when you adjust yourself in his lap. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” you breathe out, hands already reaching between your bodies to where his cock tents, stiff and proud. You debate taking off his thigh armor but decide against it even though you really want to feel his muscular thigh.

Bringing one hand to your mouth, Mando lets you take his glove off with his teeth, and you take a moment to appreciate his darkened skin, calloused and large. Together, you and Mando pull his pants down just enough for his cock to slip out and- Maker, it’s so much better seeing him in the light like this. The veins, slight curve, the leaking-

With a jolt, you realize that this is the first time you’ve ever seen any inch of unprotected skin (aside from his wrist). Maybe it’s a step in the right direction, an achievement to show that he’s willing to reveal parts of himself.

You spit into your hand, much like the way you first touched him so long ago, and reach for him. You give him firm, slow strokes, and Mando rewards you with a groan. There’ll be no kissing this time, you mourn sadly, but he might give you access to his neck. The thought makes you giddy.

With a little maneuvering, you manage to tug enough of Mando’s clothes down and reveal his equally tanned skin underneath. He lets you, surprisingly, but jolts when you first press your lips on the dip above his collarbone. His cock even twitches in your hand.

Mando gets tired eventually, though, and he wrenches your own pants to your knees. You stand up for a moment, basking in his attention, and undress the whole way, throwing the pants on the floor, soon followed by your shirt and undergarments.

Kriff, you feel all the blood in your body burning, aching for more Mando, for more of him, helmeted or not. He eases a finger into you, and you gasp, body opening up again after a few days of celibacy. He presses the pad of his finger right into the ridged, highly sensitive part of you, and you drool against his neck.

“F-fuck, Mando, right-”

You climax not soon after, two of Mando’s fingers curved upwards into you while one thumb rests above your clit. When Mando slides between your folds and begins thrusting, it’s like the past few days never happened, and you’re right back normal. A simple girl with dreams of following her brother through space. A girl with a useless, hopeless crush on a masked bounty hunter.

It takes you begging for his helmet to come off to make Mando twist you around so your back presses against his chest. The position is new and exhilarating, and it sends shivers of excitement up your spine.

Mando touches you, all of you, and as his mouth sucks wet hickeys on your throat, he thrusts up into you. There’s no measured pace, no cadence with his motions. It’s pure, wild fucking and- there’s something like desperation there.

With him squeezing a nipple in one hand and covering your eyes with the other, it’s up to you to rub your clit, chasing down a second high as your head lolls back to rest on his shoulder, chest heaving from Mando’s rough thrusts.

Moments later, bright white flashes behind your eyelids, you’re entire head going fuzzy and airy and wired and- fuck, you go limp in Mando’s arms. With a drawn-out groan, he finishes inside you, a trickle of his release gliding down your aching thighs.

When you think it’s time to go, Mando keeps you there, and you feel him soften, sometimes twitching. It’s… new but not unwanted. In fact, the whole experience has been something novel, a new achievement indeed. He presses a gentle kiss to your ear, and you swoon, happy to pretend for a little longer.

Promising to keep your eyes closed, you allow yourself to be picked up and off his lap as Mando grabs his helmet from the floor, groaning at the sudden emptiness. And, when your eyes begin to droop and you don’t need to force them closed, you let him tuck you into a co-pilot chair, his cape draped over you like a blanket.

*****

Din doesn’t remember why he first asked you to join him on Tatooine. All Din knows is that he didn’t want to leave you behind on the Crest, all sad and lonely, especially not after he fucked you for three days straight.

And it’s not like you ask to come to missions, only prompting questions about the next destination, so Tatooine would be a change of pace.

You were mildly interested in Nevarro, but while he’d left you behind on the Crest before, he didn’t dare bring you there. If Paz catches wind of you— weak and starry-eyed—the whole Covert would wonder why Din would choose someone so soft. But Din doesn’t want you to make more younglings for the Covert; boiling down your purpose to a breeder seems so… demeaning. No, he doesn’t really know why he wants you next to him. Something about you makes him… start questioning things.

So he takes you to Mos Eisley, buys you a drink as if he were just another man, and watches as you almost gag at the taste. It stings a bit, but what did he expect? Din Djarin is not the definition of a “good date” and never has been.

And then he has to control himself when your pretty little hand cups him through his pants with the promise of more. Fuck, the dirtiest words escape your mouth. You surprise him, but he should’ve known that you’re a little vixen under all your awkward fumbling. Or rather, you grew more confident to show that side of yourself after a month under Din’s rough tutelage. After all, you’re very different from the stuttering girl who spilled details on one elusive Devaronian bounty.

Everything in the cantina goes well, the buildup of something dirty and satisfying just barely out of reach. Then you go and meet that odd, grimy, ex-rebel, and Din has to watch you smile at his stories and stay at his farm.

He thinks of you during the entire hunt despite the rational part of his head telling him to stop. You are… well, Din doesn’t know what you are. What your relationship is. Are you his girlfriend? Would that make him a boyfriend? Din doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend. The word itself seems a little… immature. Young. Juvenile. And Din is too old to be using those words.

He’s only ever had lovers, most of them seedy, and no one near serious. But you- you sleep in his bed, allow him to ravage your inexperienced body, and clean up the ship. You want to learn to fly, want to trace your brother’s footsteps, want to seem like an older woman rather than the small girl you are.

He wants to be at the farm with you, have you on a real bed regardless if there’s company (but he really does not want to share) but- there’s a bounty to catch. And if Din takes out his personal frustrations on the boy, he’ll never tell. Thankfully, the kid’s already weak ankles break easily. Gagged, bound, unconscious. Easy money.

But when he arrives to see you and Crix watching the kriffing sunset together, he feels an ugly coil settle in his stomach.

And fuck, Crix gives you everything you want. He knew your brother. He was a pilot who could teach you better than Din can. And Crix makes you smile and laugh and talk about the personal details of your life that you never divulged to Din. Even worse, Crix is still young, younger than Din. And you’re fresh and green, barely into adulthood and- and Din used you.

He knows you were willing, but he still thinks himself a little monstrous for taking advantage of you. Cabin fever, his shebs. All his talk of taking it slow led to three days of sex, three days of leaving you in the dark about everything in his life while he takes and takes and takes from your innocent body.

Din resolves himself to be silent, to not make your departure from Tatooine any harder than it has to be. Half of him thinks you would actually stay with Crix, and he’s happy you don’t. But he hears you talk about your parents, and Din, for an achingly long moment, wonders if you'll ever share that information with him.

He wonders if his parents would have liked you. And shit- he hasn’t thought about them for years, not after Death Watch showed him the Way, and Din Djarin became Mando. The fact that you- an unassuming, stuttering girl makes him remember, makes him question… he doesn’t know what to think about that.

His only reprieve is holding you at night on the hard floor of another man’s house where he can’t even take his helmet off to kiss you. You’re as soft as ever and Din… Din feels emotions other than lust when he hugs you close.

Then he returns to the ship, and Din’s constantly reminded of Crix everywhere. Your little book about the stars— an interest that you never told Din before. The tea sashays you bring: a drink you actually enjoy instead of Din’s atrocious gift at that cantina. Hells, the milk you pour into a cup and give to him.

And then- then you storm back up, demanding to know why he’s acting cold and blunt, not realizing that he’s building his walls because of you. With his heart caught between his ribs, he only says what he thinks is true. That you and Crix have to be together because there’s no way in all of Corellia’s hells that you like Din as much as he likes you.

Fuck, it feels so good to admit that in his head. He likes curling you into his chest at night, likes draping an arm around your shoulder at seedy cantinas, likes kissing you senseless. Likes teaching you everything whether it be sex or piloting or carbon freezing.

Before you, he resigned himself to thinking of himself as more metal than man. More Creed than person. He was Mando like all other Mandos, plain and simple.

With you, he can be Din Djarin. He can approach a past buried under pain and devotion to the Way.

He wants you to understand, just for a bit, how he’s in pain at the thought of not having you. Because he knows for a fact that if you were to leave… he’d go right back to being Mando the bounty hunter, one of many other bucket heads, follower of a stiff creed from a broken planet.

So right now, angry and hurting, he pours out his frustrations only for you to respond back with more determination and grit that he’s ever seen. And while the jealous, irrational part of him says Crix made you stronger, he’d be blind to not realize that no man could change you. He has no right to say that he’s the one responsible for your new-found strength.

While Din taught you not to stutter and how to suck cock, you grew up on your own. No longer chasing long dead relatives but now your own desires. Din’s happy you chose him to continue to be in your life, so fucking happy and reassured and safe.

So he stops you from leaving and shows you just what you do to him.

He takes you right there in his chair, even taking his helmet off to kiss your neck because he needs you. All of you. When he finishes inside you and keeps himself there, he almost confesses his fucking feelings like the love drunk fool he is. But the words don’t tumble past his lips, not even as a whisper or murmur.

Din feels how tired you are, though, too tired to head down the ladder yourself. So he dresses you back in your shirt and tucks you into the co-pilot chair, snuggled under his unfastened cape. He watches you sleep, as creepy as that sounds, and sips the milk. It’s an odd taste, and he doesn’t know why you like it so much.

He doesn’t know a lot about you actually. You said that he only had to ask about your life, and you would answer. But that might mean giving up his own history, and Din’s pretty sure he’s not ready for that anytime soon.

Din buckles down in the chair, refraining from thinking about the events that happened a few minutes prior. He watches the NavComp chirp the coordinates to Cato Neimoidia and thinks about the next target, a girl slightly younger than you. Wanted because she killed the man who slaughtered her family. If Din had a stronger moral compass, he wouldn’t take the job but- he needs the credits to support you. And the younglings back on Nevarro.

He only hopes you don’t find out the grisly details of the job and, since Guild members don’t ask questions, he won’t know more than he needs to. Because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you reacted badly to the truth about his next bounty. Doesn’t know what he’d do if you realize he really is a bad man who preys on weak, young girls, whether or not he had to stow them on his ship in the middle of a firefight.

Sighing, Din spares one last look at you before heading downstairs. He picks up the book Crix bought you, flips through the pages, and settles on your home planet. For the next hour or so until you wake up, Din memorizes every single bit of information about your home world, ingraining then in his head. He wants to say he’s doing it out of curiosity but the growing romantic in him says that he simply wants to impress you.

So he learns about the local vegetation, biomes, unique animals, big cities. The singular page devoted to the planet is half scientific, half cultural. There’s a big festival coming up, and Din pulls up a galactic standard calendar. If he catches the next bounty within a month, he might be able to bring you back home in time for it.

He thinks you’d like to be back home, if not for the festival then for your parents. He remembers what you said about them, about the too-big clothes and Naboo lemon tarts. Selfishly, Din wants to celebrate the festival with you, wants to know what it’s like to have fun with someone he likes, wants to see your face light up with surprise and joy because it’s Din, not anyone else, who brings you home.

And, with a nervous fidget, he imagines what it would be like to meet your parents. What their reactions would be to seeing their precious daughter with a Mando bounty hunter bound by a code that hides his face. They won’t like me, he thinks sourly, but at least you do. Snorting, he realizes this is the first time he’s ever entertained the thought of seeing someone’s parents. How… domestic.

By the end of his reading, Din feels more confident, more self-assured than he’s been in a long time. He’ll show you how he feels when he’s ready. And he hopes that, when the time comes, you aren’t scared off.

a/n: sorry this chapter took a week to x-post on tumblr! I’ve been having major computer issues and had to get a new one :(

read chapter six

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #a way out #din djarin x female reader

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