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chaoslovesmisery · 2 months

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Chapter 2. No Way Out

It's been a few months since the main storyline has started and I have been watching the female Hunter or main character of this world. It had already been a few centuries since I woke up from these memories that everything in the world was of an Otome Game I had played in the far past or future, I can't really tell.

All I know is that I had been by Sylus' side for as long as I can remember. When I had regained these memories was shortly after I had lost part of my arm and mechanical parts filled the gaps. When I shifted into a crow and I appeared as a "Mechanical Crow" it all came back like a tidal wave. I didn't think any of this was possible and I had long since forgotten that all of this was from a game which at the time only had 8 or 10 chapters out.

There could have been more but it's not like I could really remember. All I know is that the "Main Heroine" or "Main Character" was constantly reincarnating, falling in love with the same six men over and over again in different timelines. I don't remember who was her first love, but I was pretty sure it was Astra as he ended up cursing her and everyone she fell in love with.

I don't entirely remember my past life where I had played the Otome Game or what my life was like, I even thought that was some crazy dream. I just remember that everything that is unfolding now is how that game I had played is. I've watched her for a few months already seeing her meet Xavier first, then Rafayel, she seemed to already have been in contact with Zayne and Caleb already as well. Sylus and the other person haven't shown themselves in front of her yet.

Now here I was having to babysit while she tries to choose between one of the male leads. I just know she won't choose Sylus in this timeline since she just chose him less than a century ago. Although, time is warped in this world thanks to the Deepspace Tunnel.

I had told Sylus of all of this a few centuries ago but he didn't believe me. He still fell in love with her every time and was burned in the end. The last time being the worst to the point he nearly died, though I'm sure he blames the aether core for that. I don't blame him. I had loved her too, she was my closest friend at one point but she's doomed to commit the same crimes and mistakes over and over again.

If we are now matching the timeline of what was in the game, does this mean the cycle could finally break? Or will we end up repeating this again? What was the point of my memories coming back centuries ago just to remain stuck like this?

Of course there were always more questions than there were answers.

I sat perched on a branch just outside the young female Hunter's apartment yet again. I've been watching her every so often but Sylus hasn't told me to do anything yet. The rain was pouring down heavily and it was pitch black out as the red mechanical eye peered into her window.

The rain soaked me as I leaned against the tree in my human form. Some of my long hair strands sticking to my face. I could hear faint rustling in the bushes below. I dropped to the ground with a small splash and noticed the mechanical eye flee. It didn't matter, it was going to be gone in a moment anyway as one of the male leads was going to show up soon anyway.

I bent down and moved some of the leaves staring at two yellow eyes of an all black cat shivering. It hissed at me swatting at my hand reaching out.

"Are you alright Miss?" A voice says behind me and I look up slowly, my facial expression unchanging. It takes me a moment before I recognize that it's Xavier, the Ex-Prince, in front of me holding a blue umbrella over me allowing him to get wet in the process. I look back at the cat and bring my hand closer and it scratches me, drawing blood. That doesn't stop me from placing my fingers under its chin and it submitting to me and rubbing its head against me sensing I meant no harm.

It purrs and comes out into the dry spot of the umbrella and I gently scoop the cat up, cradling it in my arms. Xavier watches me silently still holding the umbrella. He stares at the cat in my arms but I can see his eyes searching my face trying to recognize me from somewhere.

"You're hurt," He states, bringing his hand close to mine and I swat it away. The cat in my arm hissing at him as well. Not saying anything I take the umbrella from his hand and he lets it go. I begin to walk away from him, not uttering a word and I can feel him watching me as I do.

"Wait, have we met before?" He asks and I turn around realizing he is a lot closer than I had imagined, not quite under the umbrella but close enough to see his sky blue eyes.

"Have we? That's quite a terrible pick-up line, I suggest you don't use it again." I say tilting my head and he scowls a little. A small smirk crawls on my lips. I turn away and continue walking. I walk down the streets down to Linkon City turning down in an alleyway after alleyway until I enter a motel. At the desk there is an older man who looks up at me and sees me holding the cat.

"I'll take room 503," I say and he hands me the key, a black shirt, two towels, and a med kit. I take it up and memories flood my head with a memory of watching in the game the main character and Sylus were once here as she had bandaged him up. I open the door and my eyes widen in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Sylus and he's digging a bullet out of his chest with a pair of tweezers. Now it makes sense why he gave me a clean black shirt, it wasn't for me.

"Am I not allowed to be here?" He says and I scowl. Closing the door behind me I use one of the towels and wrap the cat in it. It purrs and begins kneading it. I place the other towel on the bathroom counter and the clean shirt on the bed. I walk up to him and he's sitting on the floor against the wall. I wrap his arm around my shoulder using my legs to help get him to stand up.

I bring him to the small shower and he sits down on the floor again. I turn on the shower and wash my hands in the sink before grabbing the tweezers from his hand. I take a look at the three bullet holes and sigh.

"Was it the Ever Group?" I asked searching for the bullet with the tweezers before feeling the metal clink of the bullet. He winces in pain.

"Maybe," He says, not confirming or denying it. That would make sense it was them, otherwise he would have used his Evol to remove the bullets from his arm and chest. The Ever Group had developed bullets that could be used against those with Evols, which could actually hurt or kill Sylus. I dropped one of the bullets to the floor and started my search in the second hole. He touches my cheek, pushing my hair behind my ear.

"You didn't cut your hair," he says, his fingers sliding down my hair that is gently brushing the floor as he kneels next to him.

"It's annoying to have to cut my hair each time I transform into a human, but it will be cut once I'm done here. " I say and I watch from the corner of my eye him kiss my hair as he stares at me. I can feel the clink of the next bullet and pull it out, dropping it to the floor. I look away, trying to hide my blush. Why did he have to act this way?

"I haven't seen your hair this long in a few centuries." He says letting go of my hair leaning back against the shower. The water is soaking us both though I was already wet when I had walked in.

I didn't know I would be running into him here, otherwise I would have cut it beforehand.

"The Ever Group was watching her again," I say, changing the subject. I take out the final bullet and take out the gauze from the med kit while the shower rinses the blood from his arm.

"When it left the Ex-Prince showed up shortly after," I say watching his facial expression, while wrapping the gauze around his arm. He leans forward his face inches from mine and my breath catches. I meet his gaze and he is staring intently. I wrap the gauze around his torso as well.

"Did you meet him?" He asks, watching my face closely. I lean back a little, cutting the gauze and putting the remaining roll back in the med kit. I sat on the tile floor across from him, my legs crossing on top of his.

"He gave me the umbrella," I said gesturing towards the closed wet umbrella on the floor towards the front door.

"Is that why you were soaked from head to toe when you walked in?" He scoffs rolling his eyes. He takes my hand and brushes over my scratched hands that were bleeding again.

"Why do you have cuts every time I see you?" He asks gently. My scratch marks and blood dissolve from his Evol healing me once again. I don't say anything. It's true, almost every time I've seen him I've always been injured in some way. We both freeze when we hear a meow by the doorway. We look up to see the cat I had brought in and I can see him smile.

"Always a savior, aren't you?" He asks and I scowl. I sit up and he starts to get up at the same time. As I walk out of the shower one of his arms wrap around my waist, half hugging me, his face buried in the crook of my neck. He's honestly no better than a cat. I stay still enjoying his warmth staring at the cat that is watching us curiously.

"Are you gonna shower?" He asks and I can hear him taking off his clothes. My eyes unconsciously glance at the mirror that is fogged up, preventing me from seeing anything. My eyes snap back forward and I can feel my heart race and my face get warm. I stay facing forward and walk out, never turning around.

"Let me know when you're done I'll take a shower after you." I say walking out of the bathroom and closing the door shut. Thankfully I had already left one of the towels in the bathroom with him and I can hear him chuckle lightly. I walk up to one of the bedside drawers and pull out a can of Tuna that has no seasoning. I peel the tin back and the cat can seem to tell that its food as it begins purring against my leg.

I put the can on the floor and it begins eating ravenously. The bathroom door opens and Sylus is in nothing but a towel. I try not to focus my eyes on anywhere but his body but it's proving quite difficult. I stand up and walk towards the bathroom which still has the hot water running. He's humming a familiar melody lightly and my stomach churns. I close the door behind me and peel off my clothes jumping in the shower.

Less than five minutes later I grab the blade that was in my hilt I had dropped to the floor and grab my hair in a ponytail before cutting it again. Somehow it still winded up a little lop-sided, not that I care, it would grow back the next time I transformed. I hear a knock on the door and toss my hair in the trash. I realize only then that there is no towel here.

Shit.

The door opens lightly and I see a hand holding a clean towel. I grab the towel and wait for his hand to move before closing the door. However, I am still missing clothes and I sigh exasperated. Am I going to have to change into my crow form already? I walked out of the room clutching the towel that covered my body and walked over to the closet, grabbing what usually had spare clothes in it for moments like this, but nothing was there.

I turn around and watch Sylus' gaze lingers, steadily making its way over my body and I glare at him. I put my hand out open knowing that he is hiding or holding the spare clothes hostage. He smirks lightly before handing me folded up clothes and I notice that he's shirtless but is at least wearing pants. He says nothing about my hair being short again and I instantly regret cutting it as it could have provided a little move coverage in my current situation.

"Turn around," I demand and he crosses his arms, his smirk spreading wider before silently doing as he's told. I get dressed with quick speed and precision. As if he knows that I'm done he turns around. He bends down and pets the kitten and it bares its belly to him. I'm not sure why but Sylus is extremely good at taming animals, well humans as well, I guess. I grab the black button down that's on the bed, holding it open. Sylus stands up putting his injured arm through first before his good one.

After I'm done buttoning his shirt, I get on my tip-toes to fix his collar. Suddenly, Sylus places his hand on my back and pulls me into a half embrace.

"You're warm," He says before I can say anything, he lets go of me and walks to the window and opens the curtain. It stopped raining but the sky remains dark. There are no street lights in the alley, so all I can see from the window is a pitch-black darkness.

"It's time to go." He says walking out of the room. Noticing my hesitation, he turns and beckons me with his fingers. I feel a sense of deja-vu.

"Aren't you coming?" He asks and I follow him out into the night.

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A/N:

Hi y'all, it's been a while since I wrote a fanfic. I may be writing more than one with Love and Deepspace but I had a dream about being Mephisto and thought it would make for a cool fanfic. If you like it let me know, it may provide motivation for me to keep going. I'll be using the lore, memories, and theories pertaining to Love and Deepspace so bare in mind it may not match the story completely. I hope you enjoy it! This chapter was based off of the Secret Times Memory- No Way Out.

#love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfic #misery loves company #chaoslovesmisery #sylus fanfic #lnds sylus #lads sylus

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datadesiresarah · 2 years

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Sexual Positivity Programming

What does the word slut mean? Most would assume promiscuous, dirty, whore, etc. I've been called one more times than I can count and I'm starting to see it as a compliment. But my girlfriend gave it new meaning. My girlfriend breathed life into it. Who would think a shy, nerdy, about all of 5'2" with a 34" bust knew how to make someone completely weak at the knees. One morning I walk down the white halls on the oak wood floor into the kitchen. I'm scantily clad in pajamas continuing past the silver fridge as I reach into the sink to begin the normal morning ritual of cleaning last nights mess. Bereft of any explanation for it, my sex begins to pulsate thinking of my beloved girlfriend as she slept across from me last night. Now I can't see it but behind me she admires the sight of my nipples cheerful rise. She smiles devilishly knowing my every sexual fantasy and desire and slips a hand into the folds of my sex quickly as I scrub the plate, paused like a tv show, overwhelmed with desire. Sweetly, softly I hear in my ear "pretend I'm not here" as I feel her hot breath on my neck. I nod and comply rinsing off the plate. She continues "I've seen your browsing history. I know you like this... right?" sweetly trying to gauge my enjoyment before making my every fantasy come true. Now I freeze up at the slight horror of her finding my secrets. And then she says the very words that I knew made her a keeper. "Oh, I see someone is already playing along. Good fembot, nice and stiff". She gropes my left breast with her free hand, her right still playing with me. Keep cleaning (she continues) perform your task and pretend I'm not here. I scrub the last dish as she says "good toy" and gives my nipple a gentle twist. I reach for the towel as she grabs my wrist, moving me back into place shushing me. "Be still" she says as she dries my frozen hands off like a mannequin. "Walk to the couch the way you want to not the way you would" she said with a giggle in her voice telling me she was enjoying herself. So there I was putting intentional thought into each stride. Right foot forward, hips buck to the left, then the inverse, kinda stiff, still feminine, until I reached the couch and sat down. I had never been more aroused in my life. My girlfriend making my sex-bot conversion fantasy come true. She come over, move the hair out of my face and placed my chin towards her eyes whilst kneeling in front of me releasing my face. "You know I feel bad about going through your laptop babe but our sex was getting stale and I needed ideas. And then I found your more dirty mp4's and loved the concepts. And you know, at first I found it strange but have a guess what the overall concept in these clips are? And yes you may reply". I looked into her eyes dumbfound swimming in oceans of pleasure and asked "what?". She continued "the robot experience is more human than machine". I was still confused so she continued "you have sexual needs. You're going to have sexual desire. When we're at home, I want you to express that with me". I bit my lip as she said "Like go on..." with a smile gesturing towards my body. I began touching myself like normal when she interrupted "you can do better than that" she encouraged "I want you to think about your body like a robot would". I spread my legs mechanically and stiffly and began touching myself again whilst trying to keep an expressionless aroused gaze at her. "That's better. Just let go" she applauded. She began teasing the tip of my nipples again "you are a slut bot. A ''Sensual Lust-filled Uniformed piece of Tech'' just a machine that process arousal". I locked eyes with her with her and moaned "I'm gonna cum". She replied "what, is gonna cum?" and I rephrased "it's gonna cum!" as she locked lips with mine and tossed me off until I exploded.

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welcometoteyvat · 7 months

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the wanderer and furina story was beautiful!! i loved the little foreshadowing to dancing a waltz alone, which i read was furina dancing at the stage as the hydro archon all alone—but she’s not alone because scaramouche is there as well.

it was genius to have scaramouche see the funeral of furina and furina the funeral of scaramouche. i’m not sure if this is reading too much but the front part of the story hints at neuvilette controlling the rain, and the fact that it rained at the end… does it allude to how neuvilette was mourning for the death of what furina was (which was her act and the furina that he grew to know) but in the midst of people mourning the loss furina is freed and found a partner who understands her turmoil and they sort of relish in that fact they aren’t alone??? either way, i loved it and i would love more author’s commentary!

i don’t think this is particularly ooc too. — @apologems

for people who missed the context it is here

ehe (venti voice) thank you!!!!! wahhh this is such a sweet note 🥺 also i'm so glad you picked up on all the things i added in by chance and intentionally FDSKFJKDSJF it's good to hear they were expressed clearly enough!!

tbh both the waltz and the rain were kinda spontaneous BUT im very happy they both had their intended effects. i was thinking about that exact scene when writing the waltz line—it's such a good cutscene from the archon quest i had to refer to it. lowkey was also thinking about coppelia and coppelius, especially since they're a pair of dancers, based off a play about an almost human mechanical doll and the creator who fell in love with her... yeah. it's not 1:1 but the pieces are there. also yeah her and scara! it worked nicely as his intro, but I also wanted to show furina as someone who's suddenly alone, but slowly trying to live for herself.. in an empty ballroom there's nobody for whom to put on an act, and now she can dance only if she feels like it. she can also teach scara how to formal dance! and maybe his puppet body can finally control its own strings </3 also im sure she's been to some kind of fancy ballroom party before with neuvillette and maybe this just reminds her of the artificial foreignness that's estranged them now. oh furina my dear actress on the stage

i was so close to cutting out the rain at the end but i was like nooooooo i need the weather symbolism (incredible archetype btw i love weather), and furiously tried to figure out a good ending sentence. you basically got all my thoughts LOL i wanted people to make the connection between rain as rebirth and the washing away of old sins, but also like. the sky is crying. it is dreary and miserable and they're soaked to the bone but the last string connecting their present to their past has finally been dissolved, and now... maybe they're free to move on to sunnier days.. etc,,, i didn't think too much about neuvillette's role in this but what you said 100% works <3 im still unsure what he thinks of furina tbh so i didn't really elaborate DSKFJKSDJ. last thought about the rain: they both have a thing about crying, but the only thing wet during that scene was the rain—i guess i was trying to show like, neither furina nor scara think that this death is a bad thing, or maybe all the tears they could've shed already dried up. it's only other people who mourn for their pasts.

also i forgot but the fire was supposed to be a lowkey callback to when scara burned the house down when his unnamed child died. the entire theme i was kinda going for was like. a farewell to your past; no matter what happened before, maybe you can finally put it down, and leave it behind, live today unrestrained by yesterday's pain, etc.

if i was an animator this would've gone so much better because the scenes were so clear cut in my head. ideally the flow is like this: furina says she can see kabukimono. wanderer's face whitens in a flash, until he's the color of a sheet of paper and it's actually scary to look at. he recovers, says the line about his and furina's funeral. he steps closer to her and turns so that they're directly facing each other, faces like two feet apart. it cuts to a closeup of their faces, panning from furina's, neutral/apprehensive, to wanderer's, eyebrows furrowed, face set (entirely self centered anger that this, of all things, is fate's last laugh at him). and idk the light changes and makes his eyes glassier and more reflective, and furina sees her old self—the camera gets sucked into her reflection (like you're diving into the void) as her face warps in a terrible twisted way, maybe some blood idk; the camera zooms back out, furina breathes heavily, looking disturbed and a bit sick. wanderer is slightly off to the side and his face is blurred (the focus is on furina's slightly horrified face) but he's watching her closely and carefully, but without judgement. wanderer holds out his hand, and furina takes it, and immediately the hiss of the fire starts. its like one of those gigantic funeral pyres, wild and leaping and intense, and she watches the pile of kabukimono doll get smaller and smaller. somewhere in the middle a blackened chunk of something gets spit out (his heart), lands at their feet. the most important part is that after the fire burns itself out, the rain starts immediately. sudden downpour, very heavy etc. the viewer should feel a wave of Closure and Relief after the intensity of the burning. a slow waltz starts playing in the background, low, smooth, and very quiet. they just stand there, and the camera zooms out until they're just two dark blue/black smears against a blurry gray backdrop. end scene

also about the characterization: that's good I always wonder whether I'm leaning too much into my own writing voice instead of sticking closer to the character's canonical language register and mannerisms haha

#like sometimes i just make characters do things and then im like ah yes would this even happen? idk #it's worse when i can't hear them in my head and i've never listened to eng dub so like. i think i tend to forget how they might #act in canon. i'm also just too used to going off on my own interps for the other fandom fics ive written #teyvat thoughts #asks #apologems #hm. maybe i should be less heavyhanded about things but at the same time nah im always scared i'll add references and people wont get it #ahahaha........... i shouldve written some of these thoughts into the fic too. guess i still have thoughts oops #in general i really like stories centered on the self and the past as a person. like talking to your past self and things like that #su.zume is the only example rn that comes to mind that's like this but hhhh that trope is always good #furina #scaramouche #genshin impact

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starheirxero · 7 months

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I just came back from watching Earth's venting session with Sun, and boy, this sent my mind on overdrive-

First of all, the majority is pretty much a character analysis, and I am all here for it!

There's something so intriguing, hearing about Lunar through other people's eyes, y'know?

There's something so painfully human in the way they are talked about, and the way Sun and Earth talk about it. It feels like I'm listening in to a conversation not meant for me.

Earth is the therapist of the group, and prefers dealing with her issues on her own, something Sun does similarly, though his coping mechanism aren't usually this healthy. He generally tends to stay in the background. Seeing both of them talk like that feels a little awkward, Sun not being used to being the voice of reason when it comes to a specific topic like this, and Earth ranting about something she'd usually try to work out herself.

Though Lunar isn't physically present, they still are the topic of discussion, and I'm not even sure where to start, or how to properly express my emotions about it!

Lunar is so human, it's honestly messing with me! Someone who doesn't want help, whether it's because they don't want to admit they have problems, or because they are scared. Someone who isn't easily understood. Someone who has an "Eye for an eye" mentality. Someone who is so incredibly flawed, it's breathtaking, in a good way!

A lot of it I knew deep down, but having it spoken aloud feels different!

There's also the similarities between them and Eclipse still, the tragic, yet fascinating point of "you can take a person out of a place, but you can't take a place out of a person." Because you can choose your family. You can reject those you share your origins with. But they will always be a part of you, because their time with them shaped you, and you can't run from that, no matter how hard you try.

Both Lunar and Eclipse asked for help, yet neither of them actually wanted it, neither of them tried. One actively rejects what they are offered, while the other doesn't process it, simply nodding along.

Both of them, together with Bloodmoon, share the "eye for an eye" mentality. Eclipse felt left behind by old Moon, and bitter towards Sun and later Monty, and wanted them to suffer for it. Lunar actively wishes those that do them wrong death, specifically, interestingly enough, Bloodmoon and Eclipse. Saying they hope Bloodmoon dies and rots for what they did to their sister, and trying to bring Eclipse to hell personally.

Neither of them can take criticism, lashing out when it's given to them.

It is so fascinating!

-Stardust

YES!!!!! YES YES YES OH MY GOSH ALL OF THIS YOU ARE SO CORRECT!!!!!

Seeing Earth and Sun interact one-on-one was already super interesting 2 me bc rlly, we don't see em together often unless Moon or Lunar is present, yk? So taking out both of the lunar bots leaves them almost, like, a new sort of vulnerable with each other, if that makes sense?? They can finally have conversations like the one they had!! They can talk about other people and they don't have to filter any words or thoughts, they can just speak. And even if they're a lil stilted without any barriers, it's still something!!

AND LIKE U SAID YEA IT'S ESPECIALLY FASCINATING TO SEE HOW THEY TALK ABOUT LUNAR!!!

Seeing them sort of dissect Lunar some more for the audience was super good and YES MAKES THEM A VERY HUMAN CHARACTER !! It gives them even more layers!!! More depth!!! More painstakingly human traits!!!!!

AND MORE SIMILARITIES TO ECLIPSE AND EVEN BLOODMOON YESYES!!!!!!

I truly TRULY love how much Lunar has tried to set themselves apart from the people they hate only to share so many similarities w/ them!!! And especially with Earth confessing she's a little scared of Lunar?! oh my stars their whole "me(good) vs them(bad)" approach is already crumbling and that would NOT HELP !!!!

The situations are situation'ing <3

#asks #anon #stardust anon #other's thoughts and rambles #I NEVER RLLY CONNECTED THE SIMILARITIES WITH BLOODMOON TOO THATS SO FUUUNNNN UGH #im Already insane about any sort of parallels between Lunar and their 'disowned' siblings and thats SO. DIES!!!!!#im eating ur words so hard im auagagararar!!!!!!#lunar and earth show #the lunar and earth show #tlaes #lunar #long post

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mizumi-kahago-writing · 2 years

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I know the algebraic expression of L-O-V-E [Kamunami/Hinanami & Yandere!Chiaki] - Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is an AU in which the Chiaki AI got at least partially infected by the Junko Virus. This is what makes her become a Yandere and a bit out of character. This AU also entails Hajime and Izuru becoming more of a DID-System, instead of fusing into one person. The main difference, compared to the real illness, is that they can switch out consciousness at will. Also, major spoilers and canon divergence ahead. You have been warned.

﹀﹀﹀﹀︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶﹀﹀﹀﹀

Chapter 1

“Hello. Can you hear me?”

The green eyes of the spiky haired boy lit up in ecstasy, hearing her voice again. As his fingers touched the screen lightly, on which the image of a sleepy looking girl had appeared.

“Yes! Yes, I can hear you. Chiaki. Can you hear me?!”

“Chiaki? Is that… my name?” The girl on the monitor asked with a soft voice.

“Yes. Well technically, kinda.” The young adult tried to explain. “You know what. Scratch that. Yeah, you’re Chiaki. Nanami Chiaki to be precise.” Nervously scratching his neck as he chuckled.

It does seem like that Izuru had restored her personality into a new AI, however without any previous memories of anything which had happened. After all, he told Hajime how dangerous that would be, so a start from zero was the only way, he’d even help with the situation.

“And I am Hajime Hinata! Pleased to meet you!” Flashing a big grin over his face. On one hand he felt so glad finally being able to see her again. But even that was a little soured by what had transcended between them previously.

“Hajime Hinata.” Chiaki repeated, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Named saved.” It took quite a while before she spoke up again. “Are you, my creator?”

For a moment Hajime was flabbergasted by that sudden question. Did Izuru restore more of her, then he’d have hoped for? His hand twitched over the glass nervously. “Ah. Yes and no. Well not quite me. Izuru did it. Izuru Kamukura.”

“Izuru Kamukura. Name saved. Creator. Occupation saved.” The static voice behind the screen stated. “Please tell me more about Izuru Kamukura.” Obviously, she was a bit confused on who that might be.

“Well, it’s a little complicated, really.” Nervously gushing over the situation, as his gesture turned into scratching his cheek now instead. “Well let me start from the beginning.” Hajime sat down in front of the computer, eagerly looking up, speaking to the recovered AI, filling her in with almost the entire story.

“Got it. Changes saved.” As the program stored everything Hajime had told her within her memory databank. However, a few things Hajime deliberately left out, where all the things which went down between the tragedy and their awakening at the real Jabberwok island.

“But you know… there’s one thing, I should tell you as well. What happened to the real you.”

“The real me? Oh yeah, you mentioned a girl with the same name as me. What has happened to her?” The AI got curious about that.

“Let’s say… she… uhm.” It was difficult to come up with a way to phrase that properly and as lighthearted as possible. “She vanished one day. No one really knows what happened to her.” Which wasn’t outright a lie, but not the truth either. “And… since I haven’t seen her… I mean you, since…”

Hajime got up from his seat, to give the Chiaki inside the computer a warm smile of reassurance. “I asked Izuru to rebuild you. So that I can see you again. Interact with you again.”

“Hajime Hinata. Love interest of Chiaki Nanami. Relationship-Status saved.” It was still difficult to interact with her, when she was acting so mechanically, but it was fine for the time being.

As they spend some more time together until the sun had long set and it was deep in the night, Hajime let out a yawn. “Are you getting tired, Hajime?” Chiaki asked him. “Hmm, yes. It’s getting late and well humans need to sleep after all, right?” Giving her a cocky side-grin.

“Of course. Good night and sleep well. I’ll be waiting here in the morning when you come back.” She said with a soft smile and her hand over her chest. Despite that, she sounded so automated, as if that was rather a programmed response than really a genuine heartfelt ‘good-bye’.

Shortly after the PC went into sleep-mode, conserving its energy, as Hajime left the dark control room.

“Are you happy?” Izuru asked him inside his mind.

“Well, I’m happy I could see her again. About her personality, I’m not sure yet. She doesn’t feel quite like the Chiaki we knew and loved; you know?”

A short hum of agreement.

“I know, you did this to protect her and me. It’s a safety measurement, to not reactivate the virus and let it do any more harm than it already did.”

“Good. You remembered. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Yet, it felt a bit empty, both Hajime and Izuru knew that. But for the night they quietly went to sleep.

﹀﹀﹀﹀︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶﹀﹀﹀﹀

« Prologe | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 »

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parasit-kind · 2 years

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1. first message: what is the purpose of a blog.?

ahso i begin!!! first blog post! it has taken me a while to begin such a .."project" but i think it will benefit me prospectively, no)?

so, before i begin my musings about why one starts a blog, i will present my one negative. growing up being a bystander of living human beings and the way they live, i have noticed that people enjoy to speak more than they enjoy to listen, and oftmals - and i am an offender of this -, when one listens, they are thinking about what it is that they will /say/ next, and if not that, then they are thinking of something completely off topic, what can no longer be categorized as listening (guilty, guilty, guilty!!!). thus, humans typically do not care for the thoughts of others. that's ok, that is biological for an instinctual organism. it's the mechanism that keeps species alive, the feeling of save yourself first. in fact, those who feel that other people are of more or even simply of equal importance to themselves are probably what we would pen "insane". if one cares more for other people than themselves, then it becomes a question of "am i ruining the quality of their lives with my existence? my non action? what do i do to benefit others?" and subsequently, not themselves. so yes, it is normal and healthy for people to be self-centered, but it is also not a very profitable trait for the blogger (besides the side of the blogger, who cares about themselves, like me right now, hello!). why should one write a blog when only they care about it? reading ones own thoughts is a little pointless after they have already gone through ones head.. besides, the overuse of the personal pronoun 'i' is a turn-off in itself. people want to hear 'you'. i'm giving this to you. this is for you. i love you. notice how boring these phrases are until the word 'you'. the world is about you.

so blogging seems fairly pointless in the modern world wherein people crave the satisfaction of being able to speak whilst also being heard absolutely, and it is in truth a dying medium. the attention span of the youth is dwindling. i too, shamefully enough, can sometimes hardly get through an article in the new yorker... but i come into blogging knowing my audience is no being but the wall behind me as i type this into my phone. so so so.. why does one begin a blog? the answer... too many thoughts for the brain. the brain, though figuratively infinite, is no bigger than the confines of the skull wherein it resides. that's not a lot of space, yet one has a lot of thoughts. there is the need to express these thoughts before they disappear somewhere beyond the astrocytes and into the black matter of the brain's folds. the solution is tumblr (naturally).

the personal question then to me is, why must it be tumblr? is it not enough to keep a diary? a google doc? and unfortunately, no, those are not enough. i have tried, wanting so desperately to discard of my piles of brain matter into private files, but that only makes the desire more severe. suddenly, my thoughts are even more isolated, sitting idly in some pdf that i'll probably never open again, becoming something that neither my eyes nor the wall behind my head will ever bare witness to again. i am only a human(so i supposeee) and i want to be heard.. just a little bit.. just through the self-manufactured voice of your brain that you created as a placeholder for the silence of my typings. i wonder, what does my voice sound like to you......

first musing:done!

i will see you again soon, ^_^ liebchik✉️

>parasitka პარაზიტკა

#first thought #long thought

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softkuea · 3 years

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The "Theo is so evil and manipulative" narrative makes no sense to me, i'm sorry. Honestly? It's the worst take i have seen so far, maybe people can't fully understand his side or something, but to me, Theo being enchanté is both brilliant and tragic in a way. It was extremely impactful, even knowing that was the case, because it says a lot about the state of mind he was in: we have a person that loves to read and indulge himself in fantasies. Then, life happens, his grandma died and his world shattered to pieces. When you are grieving your emotions all are over the place, you feel isolated and depressed, this can lead to being in denial, feeling angry... And how do you cope with that? Theo went back to Thailand, meet Akk, the only person he had such a strong connection with after his grandma and found a safe haven. Akk becames everything for him, psychological speaking, Theo wanting Akk's care and attention its pretty normal considering his vulnerable situation. Theo also is an artistic soul, an hopeless romantic i would say, he loves fantasies, it's a part of his personality, therefore, making a whole fake persona to express himself it's something that just fits with the narrative and his psychological profile. Theo gets too caught up in his own world: he continues the enchanté thing for this same reason. At first it was just a silly idea, things escalated FAST, but because it was too late to back off... And his curiosity was on peak, he kept going: Theo going with the flow of everything it's a rational choice. Every individual has ways to deal with the world around them, some of them, however, can be disruptive, but there's no wrong o right way.

I mean, think about it: you experienced a traumatic event, wouldn't be fun to indulge yourself in a dream-like situation that protects you from the pain, not even only that, but a situation that can even give you answers about someone you deeply love (Akk)?

I don't know If I explain myself, but enchanté was a coping mechanism since the beginning and this is tragic because trust me, i been there, i know cases of people like this, and Theo was sort of lucky at the end, not everyone gets out of that mental state. Akk was always there to put Theo's feet in the earth, he was there to hear him, to support him and I think that was what made Theo realizes that it was enough and he went to far. I'm glad he had someone by his side because he really needed it.

Was the plan stupid? Maybe, but that doesn't make this process less tragic and realistic. Theo is not perfect person, this is why i love his character, there's too many layers and so much sadness hiding behind him. You think it was unhealthy? I think that was actually the point, nobody thinks Theo did something good, he did what he thought was okay at the moment and yeah, that was a mistake, but to me that just show how human he is. I'm sorry but I can't see "an awful person", just someone that was hurting, did something dumb and realized it later.

#maow speaks #enchante #enchante the series #y'know... i love theo so much... so i had to say something... right???#my inner psychologist is coming too JAJSJSKSJSK #theo my beloved

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bbyheedeungie · 3 years

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Fluttering Machinery | Robot! Sunghoon AU

Genre: Fluff, mild angst

Pairings: Robot! Sunghoon x Reader

Warnings: Character death, little suggestive content

Synopsis: Sunghoon was a humanoid built by your father, with the sole purpose of taking care of you once he passes away. But it seems like taking care of you came with discovering emotions that wasn't necessary for cooking, cleaning, and keeping you safe. What is this warm fuzzy feeling that resonates deep inside Sunghoon's mechanism?

It's been months. 6 dreadful months since your father has passed away. The doctors have warned you that he didn't have much time left, but that didn't make the goodbyes hurt any less.

You were 4 years old when your mom left you and your father for another guy. A more successful guy. Your father was bright, with an insatiable hunger for discovery and invention. But his field of work didn't always bring food to the table. And so on most days you had to, well, compromise.

But you loved your father so much, and still do. Although you didn't grow up to be a scientist like him, you knew the basics on automation and robotics. You were 11 years old when you first saw it, the humanoid that he worked on for years came to life before your own very eyes.

He had no skin nor face that made him look human yet. Just a chunk of metal with a head, arms and legs that moved mechanically. Nevertheless, you will never forget the joy and pride in your fathers' face as he watched his creation. The humanoid was a work in progress and you knew one day he's going to change the world. Unbeknownst to you, he was going to change your world.

And now here you are, years into the present as you stood infront of the humanoid who had his eyes shut. Yep, he's a he now. He is Humanoid SH-1282. Your father made him for the purpose of serving the community, to help people. But when he discovered his illness, he started making alterations to his design. He made SH-1282 to serve as the perfect companion, but only to you.

He filled the humanoid's hard drive with everything that he'll need to help you and take care of you. He input cooking, cleaning, and even martial arts. You sighed, remembering your father's last words.

"I'm gonna leave him in your care now, err leave you in his care or whatever. Take good care of each other okay? I love you both so much."

You were such a crybaby, holding on to your father's arm as the nurses were ushering you to wait outside because the doctors are about to perform surgery.

"You'll be okay." Your father mouthed as he smiled knowingly in content.

You reach for the humanoid's neck to find the power button, finally deciding to activate him after holding it off for months.

You held your breath as his eyes open, immediately scanning his surroundings. His eyes land on you, a smile forms on his lips.

"Hi, I'm SH-1282. It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N." He said naturally, offering his hand. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was a normal boy.

You let out a shaky breath as you accept his hand. He frowns, it seems like he is studying your facial expression and posture.

"You seem like you are in distress. Are you alright?" He asks in concern.

"Yeah, I am." You reply weakly.

"Will a hug improve your mood?" He asks. He was programmed to know about the benefits of physical intimacy, but he was also programmed to know consent and so he will not do anything unless you want to.

You contemplated, biting your lip.

"No, thank you." He simply nods, stepping out of his charging port.

"Will you show me around the house?" He asks and you nod.

"Damn this feels so awkward." You think to yourself.

"So here's the living room." You say as SH-1282 takes a good look around the area, his eyes falling to the dirty coffee table with tons of papers stacked messily. The couch looked greasy, with breadcrumbs stuck to the sides of the couch cushions. He scrunches his nose, involuntarily adding a new emotion to his database: disgust.

And as you led him to the kitchen, this emotion intensifies as he sees the containers of Chinese takeouts and cup ramen littered around the counter. He walks to the fridge and finds it empty except for a carton of milk that you put into your cereal for breakfast.

This awakens another emotion for the humanoid, frustration. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he contemplates on what to do with the mess, aka you.

"This won't do. You have been living unhealthily which may reduce your chances of living a long life."

You scoff, "Excuse me?" He gives you a dead stare, an eyebrow raised.

"No, excuse me while I clean up all this. I'll leave you to your own devices, thank you for showing me around today." He says sassily as he goes to find where you hide your cleaning utensils. You stood there dumbfounded.

"Unbelievable." But you let him be anyway. He wasn't wrong, you've been a total mess this past few months but that was all because of the grief. You basically had no family now.

And so for the rest of the day, you lock yourself in your room and do homework. About 5pm, you hear a soft knock at your door.

"Hello, it's me. Can you spare me a minute? I have something to ask of you." You inwardly groan, not really wanting to face the humanoid.

"Can you accompany me to get groceries? I swear this will only happen one time. It is only because I am not yet accustomed to my location. But after I mentally note the directions, you won't have to come with me next time." He didn't really want to bother you, but he knew that going out by himself and getting lost will be much more bothersome for you.

"Sure thing, just let me change into— oh no, you have no other clothes. It's kinda chilly outside today." You mentally facepalm yourself. Why didn't I go shopping for men clothes first before activating him?

"That is fine, I am immune to any temperature." He says as-a-matter-of-fact. You roll your eyes.

"I know that but people will probably get suspicious to see a man walking around in a shirt and jeans when everybody else has coats on. We need you to fit in as much as possible."

You search for your father's old coat that you refused to throw away even months after he's passed.

"Sorry dad, but he kinda needs this right now." And so you dress the humanoid in your oversized university sweatshirt (which surprisingly fits him perfectly) and your father's old coat.

"How do I look? Will I fit in now?" He asks as he scans his appearance in the mirror.

"You look—" absolutely breathtaking. You had every urge to slap yourself. Your father really didn't play around when he made the humanoid's face. He could pass up as an idol. And the cute little mole on his nose was a good addition to his features that made him even more realistic.

"Great. People won't suspect a thing."

The two of you head out. Contrary to your expectations that he would marvel at everything he sees outside, he just casually looks around. You ride the bus together, and the humanoid processes everything that you do, noting how everything works.

What caught you by surprise though, is how he immediately stands up in instinct to let an old lady sit down in his place. He sure was programmed with manners and chivalry. You smiled at the thought.

You made your way inside the grocery store, only intended to grab a basket but the humanoid insisted on a push cart.

"We have so much to buy, I've taken a mental note of everything we'll need." You simply roll your eyes and let him push the cart around as you wandered behind him. You look around as he reads the nutritional facts of every single thing he sees.

"This is definitely going to take a while." You muttered.

"Y/N? Is that you?" A voice squealed. You hissed and attempted to turn away, pretending you didn't see her. The humanoid saw how you reacted and swiftly rushed to your side in a protective stance. The stranger eyes the humanoid, her eyes sparkling at the sight of such a gorgeous man.

"Why hello there. Y/N you didn't tell me you've been busy with your boyfriend, we haven't hung out in a while." Both of your eyes widened at the misunderstanding.

"Oh, no he's not— we aren't—" You tried to explain but she just laughed out loud.

"Look how flustered you are. You know what, it's okay. But we have a lot of catching up to do!" She said, squishing your cheeks in a playful manner.

"So what's your name, handsome stranger?" She asks, turning to the confused humanoid.

"I'm S—"

"Sunghoon! His name is Sunghoon." You blurted out. Sunghoon was the name of your childhood crush when you were like 7 but that'll have to do. Unfortunately, it seems that the humanoid got even more confused.

"I am Y/N's—"

"Neighbor. He lives next door to my apartment. I was just showing him around because he just recently moved into the city." You say quickly. She can't know that you're living with a guy. Even if said guy wasn't human.

"Awww how sweet of you to go shopping with your neighbor." She said, winking at you. She's definitely not convinced.

"I'm Yeonmi, Y/N's friend." She introduced, offering her hand to Sunghoon. He took her hand reluctantly.

"You mean my super obnoxious friend." You roll your eyes.

"Shut up, you love me." She teased. Admittedly, you've been avoiding her for months now. Ever since your father passed, it was as if you didn't want to deal with anyone anymore, with the fear of being left behind again. So you shut everyone out. You know it was a very selfish move and must've made everyone worry, but you have yet to figure out how to fix things back to how it is.

You said your goodbyes not without a long, tight hug from Yeonmi and Sunghoon noticed from his scanners how your vitals greatly improved from it. This made him feel another new emotion: relief. He was very thankful for your friend who made you feel better.

You continue venturing down the aisle of food, and you find the humanoid smiling to himself. He notices your attention on him and he shakes his head, as if shrugging his thoughts off.

"What?" You asked.

"You gave me a name. Although I'm unsure if it is necessary, thank you." He says genuinely as he smiles at you, your heart skipping a beat.

"You're welcome, Sunghoon." You smiled back.

He picked up lots of fruits and vegetables, with you whining the whole time. Your whines unlocked another emotion of his; annoyance.

"No wonder her father thought she is in need of taking care of, she acts like a child." He concludes, running his fingers through his hair as he lets you get an ice cream of your choice. Oddly, seeing a bright smile on your face as you show him what flavor you got seems to put him at ease.

The two of you got home at dawn, with quickly stacking up the groceries into the cabinets and fridge, with you slumping down on the now squeaky clean couch.

It had been quite a long day and you found yourself dozing off. You woke up from the light tap on your shoulder, eyes fixating on Sunghoon with your apron wrapped around his torso.

"I could get used to this." You thought, admiring how adorable the humanoid looked but quickly pushing the thoughts away.

"Sorry to wake you, it's time for dinner." He announces and you lazily nodded, not before yawning and stretching your arms.

"Uhh, what is this?" You asked, eyeing your plate.

"It's your dinner." He says nonchalantly, expecting you to start eating. Your face shows utter disgust at the plate of vegetables.

"Please don't make me eat that." You begged. Sunghoon rolls his eyes; a trait he adapted from spending just a day with you.

"Don't be dramatic, vegetables are good for you." He states, taking the plate from you and attempting to feed you.

"Come on, say ah." He says playfully. After realizing how much you acted like a child, he researched on how to take care of children and downloaded it into his database. You scrunch your nose, leaning away from the food and shooting him a glare.

"Sunghoon, I'm not a kid." You deadpanned.

"Oh, but you won't get your ice cream if you don't eat this." He says, pouting at you teasingly. He's really good at this. With a sigh, you open wide and allow him to feed you.

"Yep, definitely a kid." He thinks to himself as he smiles in satisfaction, another emotion unlocked.

That night, you decided to move his charging port (with his help) from the lab into the spare room of the apartment.

"You know, I'm completely okay with staying at the lab." He reasoned but you quickly hush him.

"Nope. That is no way to treat a person. You deserve your own room, okay? A room that you can fill with your own stuff and decorate with your own preferences. End of discussion." You sassed as you fix his charging port into place. Sunghoon blinked at you, unable to express how grateful he is of how kind you are to him.

"She wants to treat me like a real human being." He thinks, his mechanical heart overwhelmed with gratitude.

Days went on with a routine, with him cleaning all day and you attending online classes. There were occasional bumps in the road, with you getting annoyed with how much of a neat freak he is and him getting irritated with how lazy you are at taking care of yourself. You've also taught him how to watch tv, deciding not to let him use the internet yet because he might gain too much unnecessary information online.

And so on a saturday night, you sat together on the couch as you watched figure skating competitions. Sunghoon was at complete awe the whole time, studying how the skaters moved through the ice.

"I want to skate too." He states absentmindedly, attention still on the television. You smiled, thinking how it was the first time he actually said he wanted something.

"Then let's do it, let's go skating tomorrow." You say, his head immediately shot to you.

"What, really?" Sunghoon asks in disbelief, his eyes widening.

"Yes, really. Although I'm warning you, I don't know how to skate." You laughed, with him chuckling as well.

"Then we'll learn together." He promises.

What a total lie that is. He didn't need to learn, as you watched him move swiftly against the ice, the wind in his hair as he circled around, his focused eyes twinkling in the fairy lights. He looked ethereal. You could have sworn there were tears there as you cheered him on like a proud momma. Ah, they grew up so fast.

People at the park also stopped to watch Sunghoon, whispering about how talented the young man is. His eyes caught yours, and you weren't sure if you were seeing things but you thought you saw him send you a wink and smile.

"The TV been teaching him things." You muttered, blushing but not from the cold. Sunghoon skates towards you, pulling you with him. You're eyes widened in fear.

"N-no Sunghoon I can't—" but he was already leading you through the ice, eyes never leaving yours.

"You can." He whispers, taking you by the waist as he spun you around. You giddily laughed as you threw your arms out, savouring the chilly air. You didn't even notice the people watching and cooing at you as some joined in as well.

That night, Sunghoon felt something he never felt before, and you in a long time. You felt happy.

"Say aaaah~" Sunghoon said as he fed you chicken soup. You caught a cold from skating yesterday and now you're wrapped in a super cozy blanket with Sunghoon worrying about you.

"You know I can feed myself right?" You said, swallowing the food.

"I know, but I just feel responsible because I was the one who wanted to skate. You got sick because of me, and that kinda defeats my purpose because I'm supposed to be keeping you healthy." He rambled. You roll your eyes at him.

"Colds are normal, okay? Besides, I haven't had that much fun in a while. Thank you for that, Sunghoon." You say, reaching up to tussle his hair playfully. He froze, cogs in his mind unable to process as something inside him stirred, but in a pleasant way.

"So you dance while rubbing your body on a stranger?" Sunghoon questions, but he's not sure if he wants to know the answer. Tonight, you wore a simple black dress that teasingly showed a little bit of cleavage and a decent length of fabric that hugged tightly around your upper thighs but had a daringly high slit. Sunghoon approves and disapproves at the same time.

"Yeah, it's kinda like that. But don't worry, I won't be doing that. I'll just stay by the bar the whole time." You reassured as you struggled to put on your strappy heels. Sunghoon kneels down infront of you and helps you clasp the straps around your ankles, handling it very delicately. Your heart thumps as he looks up at you.

"Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?" He asks for the fifth time as he follows you around the house like a puppy. You sigh, actually considering it. Although it was supposed to be a girl's night according to Yeonmi, you thought maybe having Sunghoon tag along wouldn't do harm.

But it did. It did harm to you, alright. And you wanted to harm those girls who kept on grinding their asses onto Sunghoon as slow, sexy music played. You were fuming, regretting dressing Sunghoon in such fashion that screamed big D energy. Why am I being so possessive? But then again, Sunghoon does look uncomfortable. I should go save him. Yeah, I'll do that.

"Hold my drink." You tell Yeonmi as you made your way to Sunghoon.

"You go girl! Get your man!" Yeonmi cheered drunkly.

Your train of thoughts were blurred by the alcohol as you struggled to walk straight. You had only one clear thought in mind: Sunghoon. I need to get to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stood uncomfortably, eyeing the girls who rubbed their bossoms and derriere all over him. Is this supposed to be fun? He thinks innocently. He sees you walking towards him, swaying your hips side by side as you strode towards him like a predator.

Girls hovering around him going unnoticed as you were the only one he could see.

Stunning, beautiful. He thought.

"Hey handsome, care to dance?" You asked, pulling him to you before he could even answer. The girls spat at you, telling you to 'get in line' but you just shot them a smug look.

"Sorry ladies." Sunghoon apologized, but his smile told otherwise as he let you pull him away from them.

"You don't know how badly I wanted to get away from—" He froze in his spot as you wrap your arms around his neck, inching closer than ever before. You felt bold, but maybe that was just the alcohol in your system. And as you started moving your body against Sunghoon, you knew it wasn't just you who felt the heat. His large palms go down south, resting on your swaying hips as both of you moved to the sultry rhythm.

His mechanism was going nuts, threatening to malfunction as his sensors detected your very close proximity to him. Whatever you were playing, it was dangerous. But Sunghoon couldn't help but to want more, to desire more.

"Y/N." He whispers, and you look up at him with half lidded eyes. And damn did he find you so sexy right there, under the strobe lights. No girl in the club could ever compare.

"Home?" You suggested.

"Home." He agrees.

As you got in the cab, you immediately find yourself half straddling Sunghoon's lap as you attempt to kiss him. Luckily, Sunghoon can think clearer now and concludes that a drunk Y/N is a very horny Y/N. And though the thought that it was only the alcohol that made you want him made him feel sad, he knew it was wrong to demand such things from you.

And so with your futile attempts to get into his pants, he gently lays your head on his shoulder and hugs you to keep you still. But even that couldn't stop you from squirming to get away from his hold, trying to get some action. He chuckles as he held your hand tightly in his to prevent it from landing into his crotch.

"Now now, you have to stay put. I won't be taking advantage of your state." He scolds gently. And by the time the cab had stopped in front of the building of your apartment, you were fast asleep in Sunghoon's arms.

Times like these were when Sunghoon is glad he was made of aluminum. He scooped you up in his arms like a pillow as he walked up to your apartment. You snuggled up into his chest, looking so innocent as you soaked up his warmth. Sunghoon cooed about how adorable you are, talking to you in your sleep.

He placed you delicately on your bed, contemplating whether to change your clothes or not. He decided not to, noting how your privacy is important to you. You're too drunk and asleep to give him permission right now anyway. He took off your heels and wiped your makeup off very gently, and tucked you in properly.

Long minutes pass as he studies your face, stroking your hair softly as the corners of his mouth lift up unconsciously. He really loves taking care of you. He loves you.

This realization hits him like a truck of overwhelming emotions, but it all makes sense to him now.

"I love you, Y/N." He whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead before retiring to his own room.

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years

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Words: 9,067 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison Warnings: mentions of anxiety, language Summary: Y/N falls ill on a run and Daryl worries about what's wrong.

Your name: submit What is this?

You leaned back against the chain link fence as Daryl pulled out the bolt cutters and cut the chain around the gate. “Okay. Umm… canned pears,” you said, glancing over at the archer. He peered up at you through his curtain of wavy brown hair.

“Pears? Nah. Peaches.”

You straightened up as he heaved the gate open. “I prefer pears.”

“Canned pears are disgusting,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Fine! If we find some, more for me!” you said. He slung his crossbow back over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit and started to lead the way toward the building. You followed just slightly behind him, fingering the hilt of your knife.

When you reached the small loading dock, Daryl gave you a serious glance and set down his duffel bag. He pulled the bolt cutters out again. You nodded and he banged them harshly on the closed overhead door. You both strained your hearing after the metal rattling ceased. Nothing. It was silent. You grinned at him.

“Well, that’s good news,” you said, relaxing slightly.

“There could still be some in there stuck somewhere. Don’t let your guard down,” he said, clipping the lock off the mechanism keeping the door shut.

“You know I don’t let my guard down,” you countered.

“Mmm,” he hummed, focused on the task at hand. He replaced the bolt cutters in the duffel and checked the magazine of his pistol before sliding it back into the holster at his side.

“French-cut green beans,” you said suddenly.

His blue eyes shot back up to your face. “Green beans?” he repeated. “And what the hell does ‘French-cut’ mean?”

You laughed. “They’re, like, thin sliced lengthwise. Julienne cut.”

Daryl just kept staring at you like you were nuts. “Juli-what? Green beans,” he said again. You grinned. “I love canned green beans! Maybe even more than fresh ones… although I don’t think that’s true anymore since you can’t find fresh anything these days…”

He let out a scoff of a laugh and shook his head, turning back to his crossbow and fitting a bolt into the flight groove. “Yer nuts, ya know that?”

“You like it,” you said, lifting your boot and poking the toe into his butt. It elicited the exact response you wanted, which was a look he meant to be stern, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes gave away his mutual amusement.

“Sometimes,” he said, straightening up.

“Well, what are you hoping we find in there? Besides canned peaches.”

He shrugged. “I dunno.” He reached for the door latch, getting ready to heave it open.

Your hand shot out and landed on his arm, stopping him. “Nuh uh! That’s not a good answer!”

He sighed, taking in your insistent and expectant expression. “How ‘bout a giant jar of garlic dill pickles?”

You nodded, pleased with his answer. “Much better. Okay. Ready,” you said, unsheathing your knife. Daryl took in the playful light that lingered in your eyes as you readied yourself for whatever you were about to find inside.

He heaved the overhead door open and the two of you stepped into the dim shipment receiving area, shoulder to shoulder. You both clicked on your flashlights and swept them over the room. Daryl led the way to a door in the far wall. “Bet this goes to the storage area,” he said quietly. You nodded, a little anxious, shifting your weight from one hip to the other.

Daryl knocked loudly on the door and again you both strained your hearing, listening for the tell-tale moaning and clawing of the dead. It was intensely quiet. You and Daryl exchanged a look and he reached for the door handle. You gave him a nod and he pushed into the next room.

You were hoping to find the stock of emergency supplies that had been put together shortly before the outbreak became all-consuming. They were to be sent as hurricane relief. But instead of the hoped-for stockpile, you found a mostly empty stockroom instead.

“Shit.” You stepped farther inside and kicked at a piece of discarded shrink wrap on the floor. “I guess someone else heard the same tip we did,” you said, shining your light over the empty shelves.

“Mmm. Or got real damn lucky,” Daryl said, his crossbow still raised. His light illuminating a nearby doorway into the main store area. “C’mon. Let’s just check out here.”

You followed behind him with your flashlight up and you hadn’t moved too far into the room before a wall of horrendous odor hit you. “Oh my God,” you said, pressing a hand over your nose and mouth.

Daryl’s light landed on the decomposing scattered bodies of walkers. “Somebody cleared the place out,” he said, crouching down to look at the inflicted wounds. “They’re all shot.”

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured, gagging at the smell. You doubled over and heaved a few breaths, struggling to stop the bile that was suddenly churning in your stomach.

Daryl glanced back at you over his shoulder, climbing to his feet when he saw how pale you looked. There were beads of sweat across your forehead. “Ya alright?” he asked, rushing over to you, overwhelmed with concern. He gently rubbed your back.

You were afraid if you spoke you were going to vomit so you waved a hand at him and did your best to steel yourself. When you felt like you could talk, you tried to straighten up. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Really. It’s just the smell—Ugh, it hit me hard. I think I just need some air…”

Daryl was staring at you with a deeply furrowed brow. “Ya sure?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” You felt another wave of nausea and shut your eyes against it. “I’ll be outside… Just finish looking around in here and I’ll—I’ll meet you out back,” you said. Daryl sweetly grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. You met his blue eyes and saw they were darkened with concern. “I’m okay.”

The archer watched you retreat out into the fresh air, puzzled over the situation. He’d never seen you react to the smell of rotting bodies or gore that way. Hell, he’d seen you open up a walker’s stomach to check for meal contents. He’d seen you put down countless numbers of dead ones with an unhesitating knife to the skull. Just then he heard the unmistakable sound of you retching outside.

“Y/N?” He rushed outside to see you doubled over on the pavement a short distance from the door.

You straightened up at the sound of his bootsteps, your knees feeling a little shaky.

“You’re sick,” he said, a shadow growing on his face. “We gotta go. Get ya home.”

You looked miserable. “It’s just a stomach thing. It’s not a big deal,” you said, pulling out your water and rinsing out your mouth.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ ya ate. What’d ya have this mornin’?” he asked with anxiety.

You shook your head. “Can’t be that.”

“Food poisonin’? Why not?”

“Because I didn’t have anything,” you said, shoving your canteen back in your bag. “Did you finish up in there?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, but don’t matter. I’m sure whoever put down all those walkers cleaned it out. Ain’t nothin’ gonna be in there anyway. C’mon. Let’s just get ya home,” he said, taking your pack from you and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Daryl, we came all this way. Don’t you want to—”

“Nah. What I want is to get ya home. You’re sick. C’mon,” he insisted. His face was clouded with worry as you wiped a shaky hand over your brow, surprised at the clamminess of your own skin.

You nodded. “Okay. Alright.”

You were still a little nauseous the whole drive back to the prison. You had the window down so the fresh air was on your face which helped some, but the churning in your stomach never really stopped. Daryl kept glancing over at you the whole time he was driving, checking the color of your face, watching carefully for any sign that you were worsening.

He reached over and rested his hand on your knee. You caught his blue eyes and smiled weakly. “Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing. Probably just the stagnant air in there or something,” you said, trying to reassure him.

He wasn’t convinced, but he nodded.

He felt better as soon as he had you back behind the safe walls of the prison. His hand rested lightly on your lower back as you both headed up toward the main building. Daryl spotted Hershel and Carol in the yard and stopped short. “Hey—I’m gonna grab Hershel to come take a look at ya. Go on and lay down,” he said, inclining his chin toward the building.

“I’m fine,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time. “You’re really making too much of this,” you said.

“Maybe. But better safe than sorry,” he said.

You gave him a weak smile and nodded, conceding to his sweet concern. “See you in a few?”

He nodded, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze before he jogged off toward Hershel.

It wasn’t long before he arrived at the space the two of you had claimed, Hershel and Carol in tow. You were laying on the mattress with his poncho draped over you. You looked tired, but Daryl was relieved to see that some of the color looked like it had come back into your face.

Hershel pulled up a chair as you sat up. “Feeling a bit under the weather? Let’s see if you’ve got a fever. After having kids, every parent turns into a human thermometer,” he said. He pressed a hand to your forehead. “No fever. Any other symptoms? Headache? Weakness? Feeling dizzy?”

You shook your head. “No. A bit tired. And just had some nausea.”

“She was pale and clammy before,” Daryl drawled, watching with worry. “She looks better now.”

Hershel nodded. “I see.”

“Really, I think it was just the smell of those rotting walkers. The air in there was heavy with decomp. It was like I could frickin’ taste it. Ugh, it was horrible,” you said. Your stomach turned again a little as you thought about it and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Hershel nodded. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Hershel said.

Daryl shifted. “Ya sure?” the archer pressed him.

“I’m sure. Why don’t you go on and help Rick with that new water line? We’ll just get her some water and something to eat. Make sure she rests. But I don’t think there’s anything troubling.”

Daryl considered you for a moment and you gave him a smile. He seemed to feel reassured and he nodded. “Alright.” He crossed the space to you quickly and leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, giving you one more parting glance. You smiled at him again and watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

“So, I’m okay?” you asked, adjusting Daryl’s poncho over your lap. You watched Hershel and Carol exchange a look. You stomach twisted. “What? What is it?”

“It was the smell of the walkers that set off the nausea?” Carol asked.

“Yeah…” You stared at the two of them, perplexed. “What, you’re surprised that a bunch of rotting corpses in a closed-up store with no ventilation made me puke?”

“Well… a little, to be honest,” Hershel said gently.

You gave him a questioning look and then stared at Carol.

“We’re not saying that isn’t understandable. It’s just that you have never reacted that way before. And we’ve all seen you deal with rotting corpses before plenty of times,” Carol said. “You’ve never gotten sick.”

“I don’t get what you’re driving at. So, maybe I have a little stomach virus or something?” you said. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No. No, honey,” Carol said, grabbing your hand. She took a breath, her eyes searching your face. “Y/N, could you be… pregnant?”

You froze, a sudden, struck expression on your face. The doctor and Carol watched your eyes go a little round and wide, flitting back and forth as your mind whirred, like you were searching for the answer in the air over their shoulders. “Oh my God.”

Hershel and Carol watched your reaction carefully. You were as still as a stone statue.

“Oh my God,” you said again. “I didn’t even—” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t realize, but—” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “Between never having enough to eat and the constant stress, I didn’t even notice that I—I mean, it’s not like we’ve been trying.”

“So, I’ll take that as a maybe,” Hershel said nodding. There was a spark in his eye as he peered at you kindly. “We’ll see about getting you a test.”

You looked back at Carol, your mouth dropping open and your eyes a little frantic. “Carol, what do I—? Daryl… He—" If it was true, you had no idea how the archer would react. Hell, at that moment you didn’t even know how you would react.

She gave you a concerned smile and squeezed your hand between her palms. “Let’s just take this a step at a time,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You gulped and nodded, suddenly reeling with anxiety. “Okay. Okay…”

Hershel climbed to his feet. “You rest. Carol and I will figure out getting a test for you. Probably just ask Glenn to make a run.” He read the anxiety on your face. “Either way this goes, it’s your decision what happens next,” he said gently. “Daryl is a good man. Try not to worry,” he said.

You nodded. “I know. I know… Okay.”

Carol followed Hershel out and you laid down on the mattress, pulling Daryl’s poncho up over you and curling your fingers into it, pressing your face close to the fabric and breathing in his smell. You laid awake for a while with your mind spinning, wondering how he would react to the news. It was always easy to picture your future with Daryl, even during what was seemingly the end of the world, but you’d never thought about the details beyond the two of you being together. And with the history of his parents, what he had gone through, you didn’t know what he would want as far as a family… That had never mattered to you before, but now that you were staring the possibility in the face you were suddenly wrecked with nerves.

Sometime later, the archer arrived to check on you, approaching the space you shared in the lofted area of the cell block quietly, expecting you to be sleeping. But he was surprised to see that, although you were in bed, your eyes were open and you rolled over at the sound of his quiet steps.

He was sweaty and coated in dust and mud that was in various stages of drying. He set his bow down beside the bed. “Ya ain’t sleepin’?” he drawled.

You shook your head.

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Fine. Just a little tired.” You smiled at his dirty and somewhat disheveled appearance. “Come here,” you said softly.

He glanced down at his mud-coated clothes and arms, and looked back up at you like you were nuts for that request. “M’filthy,” he said.

“I don’t care,” you replied. “Come here.” You moved over to make room for him to lay down beside you.

Daryl gave you a look, his blue eyes soft, and bent down to at least pull off his boots. He laid down facing you and his heart leapt as you moved into him closely, your arm draping over his waist. You moved your leg until it was tangled between his. He happily breathed in the scent of your hair.

“Ya okay? Really?” he asked, his deep voice a little heavy with gravel—the result of his concern.

You pulled back from him just enough so you could look into his handsome face. “Mhm. I’m fine. Really.”

He nodded and seemed to relax some, draping his arm over you, mirroring your position. You nuzzled into him again and for the first time since Hershel and Carol had left you alone, your mind quieted.

You felt him place a kiss in your hair and you smiled reflexively.

“I need to clean up. I’m gettin’ our bed all muddy,” he said. You felt the rumble of the bass in his voice.

“Can I come?” you asked softly. “I’ve felt gross since the run.”

He glanced down at you and nodded. “If I ever say no to that, ya can assume I’ve lost my damn mind.” He gave you a fond look and smoothed your hair gently. “Ya sure ya just don’t wanna sleep?”

“Mhm. I’m sure. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep unless you’re right here anyway.”

Daryl smiled, feeling a swell of affection for you and the way you always made him feel wanted and needed. “Alright. C’mon then.”

So, the two of you made your way to the showers and slipped into a private stall. Daryl pulled you into him under the stream of water and kissed your bare shoulders and up your neck, his arms smoothing over the curves of your sides and landing on the angles of your hips. You scrubbed away the mud from his skin and he smoothed the soapy lather over yours, loving the way his fingers glided over the shape of you. When you were both clean, Daryl shut off the water and wrapped you into him with his big towel causing you to laugh. “Gotcha,” he drawled.

“You do.” Your hand landed flush on his strong chest, your fingers splayed out, and you looked up at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled slightly in a smile. Daryl’s heart jumped every time you looked at him like that. He leaned forward and left a kiss on your nose, watching as your eyelashes fluttered closed.

You looked up at him again as he grabbed your towel for you and you both dried off before pulling on some clean clothes. Daryl watched you running a comb through your hair and studied the graceful movements of your hands. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing your eyes to him immediately. “Ya know I love ya, right?” He still looked a little bashful every time he said it. You didn’t mind.

Your face lit with a gentle smile and you closed the space to him in an instant, clasping his face in both of your hands. “I know. And you know, I love you, right?” you said.

Daryl’s lips found yours and you sank into each other for a moment. “I know,” he said when you broke apart. “C’mon. Ya need somethin’ to eat and then sleep.” He laced his fingers with yours and pulled you toward the cell block.

After a quiet supper with the rest of the group, the two of you wandered outside into the evening air to enjoy the stars for a few moments before heading up to bed. Daryl sat down on the soft grass and tilted his head at you, beckoning for you to come sit up against him. You sank down in front of him and leaned back. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

One thing Daryl always loved about you was that you didn’t need to fill every silence. Just being close to one another filled each of you up in ways that idle chatter never could. But when he did want to talk, you listened intensely, really listened to him in ways he wasn’t used to. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said softly, pausing to anxiously chew his bottom lip for a moment, “if the outbreak hadn’t happened, you and I probably never would have even looked at each other.”

“Hmm. How do you mean?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking about how best to explain what he meant. “I was too busy runnin’ around bein’ a piece of shit with Merle. And you—we were in different worlds, ya know. We probably never woulda even had the chance of brushin’ elbows. But if we did,” he shrugged, “I don’t think ya woulda looked at me twice.” He ran his hand down your bare arm, relishing the feeling of your soft skin. “Hell, I didn’t think ya would look at me twice even now…”

You turned and looked over at him, a sad but thoughtful expression on your face. “It’s hard to know, and maybe you’re right, that we would have never met… but if we did, I think I would have seen you just the same way. It’s impossible not to see you, Daryl.” You clasped his face and stroked your thumb along his strong jaw.

His eyes were flickering between yours and he felt that familiar bloom of warmth starting in the center of his chest, right between his lungs, and growing outward. He nudged his nose up at you, in awe of you always, and you acquiesced happily and kissed him. “Let’s get some rest,” he drawled when you finally broke apart. “C’mon.”

Daryl stood and pulled you up, keeping your hand captured in his, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand as you made your way up to bed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you woke up the next morning you could tell it was much later than you usually slept in. And the fact that Daryl wasn’t beside you and that you hadn’t woken up when he stirred was also unusual. You were a light sleeper, and the two of you generally woke and got up around the same time. This sent your anxiety whirling again.

You got up and threw on some clothes, heading down to the lower level of the cell block and finding Carol and Beth sitting at one of the tables with Judith.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Carol said with a smile.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed. “Yeah, geez. What time is it? I don’t even know when I last slept in this late.”

She nodded and gave you a pointed look.

Beth only smiled up at you. “You must have needed it then,” she said kindly.

“I guess so…” You glanced around but the cell block was empty. “Where’s Daryl?”

“He’s on the fence with Rick. Little herd piled up overnight,” Carol explained.

“Mmm,” hummed in acknowledgment.

“Maggie and Glenn ran into town for some supplies,” Carol said, shooting you another meaningful look.

You nodded. “Great. Okay.” You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek.

“You want some breakfast? There’s some oatmeal we made,” Beth offered.

You shook your head. “No, I’m alright. I’m gonna go see how things are going on the fence I think.”

“Y/N, you should eat something,” Carol said.

You waved her off, already headed toward the door. “I’m fine! I’ll eat something in a bit!” Truthfully you had no appetite at all. This waiting, the not knowing, was agonizing.

You stepped out into the bright sunshine and set out toward the two figures on the perimeter fence. There was a group of walkers still clawing at the chain link, but it looked like Rick and Daryl had it under control. You grasped the interior chain link and hollered at Daryl and Rick over the mawing and growling sounds. “Best way to start the day?”

They both spun and you grinned at them. They were sweaty and splattered with walker blood, each clutching a metal rod in their hands, the end covered with a bit of gore. You felt a spin of nausea and avoided looking at the crimson dripping from their weapons.

“Morning exercise,” Rick said with a smile. He turned back and continued the task.

“Yer up,” Daryl said with a smile. He came over, wiped his hand on the red rag he always had in his back pocket, and then rested his fingers over yours, which were poking through the fence on his side.

“You should have woken me up! I can’t believe I slept in this late,” you said.

“Nah. Ya needed it,” he drawled. “Ya were out cold. Didn’t even move when I got up. Besides, we’ve got this handled. Ain’t no reason ya need to be out here.”

You nodded. “I see that.”

“Should be a done in a bit,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the growing pile of dead ones on the other side of the fence. Looking back at you, Daryl thought you looked a little pale. “Ya feelin’ alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing a little.

You nodded. “Mhm. Fine. I’m gonna just go see if Hershel needs help in the garden,” you replied. “See ya in a few?”

The archer nodded and watch you start to turn away. “Hey—just take it easy, alright?”

You laughed. “I think harvesting cucumbers is about as easy as it gets!” You gave him one more wide smile and headed for the vegetable garden. “Hey, Carl,” you said, as you came through the gate and passed him. “What are we harvesting today?”

Hershel glanced up at you and gave you a small smile. “Cucumbers. Peppers. Those tomatoes could use some weeding if you’re up for it,” he said. He surveyed you carefully and, like Daryl, did think you looked a little pale. But you seemed otherwise bright and alert as you set about your task.

But you hadn’t been working in the garden long when you started to feel a bit dizzy. A cold sweat broke out at your hairline and on the back of your neck and you knelt heavily in the soil a little suddenly.

Hershel noticed immediately. “Y/N?” He got up and moved over to you. He watched you wipe a shaky hand across your forehead. “You alright?”

You heaved in a deep breath and forced it out slowly. “Just feel sick all of a sudden. I’m okay. I’m fine,” you said, straightening back up. But as soon as you tried to stand your knees felt weak.

Hershel grabbed your arm to steady you. “Whoa. Easy now. Alright.” He turned to Carl. “Carl, go run and get Daryl.”

“No. No, I’m fine… Don’t bother Daryl with this. It’s nothing. I’m alright. I’ll just head back inside and rest,” you argued.

“You sure? It’s no bother to Daryl to come look after you,” Hershel said, giving you a pointed look.

“I’m fine. Really. I guess I do need some rest. It’s nothing,” you argued.

Hershel reluctantly released his gentle hold on your arm and you made your way back inside. Carol stood up when you came in and you read concern on her face at the sight of you. You let out a wry laugh.

“Wow, do I really look that bad?” you said, wiping at the sweat on your brow again with the back of your hand. Beth glanced over and she too looked worried after studying you. “I’m okay. Just gonna go lay down. I must just be a little sick... Caught some virus or something.” You climbed the stairs and collapsed back into bed, again grabbing Daryl’s poncho and cuddling up to it.

You dozed in and out for a while but woke when you heard hurried steps on the stairs. Looking up you saw Daryl in front of you, his blue eyes narrowed and obvious worry on his countenance. You leaned up on one elbow as Hershel came into view behind him.

Daryl sank down on the edge of the bed next to you and pushed your hair out of your face, smoothing it gently. “Ya are sick,” he said.

“I think she might be a little anemic,” Hershel said. “She needs iron. Red meat would be best.”

Daryl glanced over at him and nodded. “Alright. I can do that,” he said, grateful for a task that would be helpful to you when he was feeling helpless. He looked back at you. “I want ya to stay in bed today. Rest,” he said softly, his eyes flitting between yours. “Ya gonna be alright if I go out and hunt?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He gulped. “Alright. Promise you’ll stay in bed?”

You looked up at the sweet worry on his face. “I promise. Promise you’ll be safe out there?” You hated the idea of him going out and hunting alone.

“I promise. I’ll come back to ya.” He smoothed your hair again and then leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes briefly at the sensation.

He shouldered his crossbow and look at Hershel. “Thanks, doc,” he said. You watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

You glanced up at Hershel who set a glass of water down next to the bed for you. “You really think I’m anemic?”

He nodded. “I do. Fits all your symptoms. All of them except you getting sick yesterday.”

“Oh… okay.”

Hershel gave you a kind look. “Glenn and Maggie should be back any minute now. I’ll come and check on you in a bit.”

You dozed on and off for a while until you heard some activity down the stairs and you sat up in bed. Quiet, steady footsteps on the stairs approached and Maggie came into view with a small bag for you. “Got what you needed,” she said.

You sat up, your stomach churning nervously, and accepted the bag from her. “Thanks,” you said. She hovered for a moment.

“Do you know what you’re hopin’ for?” she asked.

You shook your head and glanced up at her. “Not really…”

She nodded. “Well, either way it goes, we’re all here for you. And I know Daryl is too, no matter what.”

You gave her a small smile and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” You stared back down at the bag in your hand. “Well, better get it over with I suppose,” you said, standing up and heading for the bathroom.

A short while later you were back in the space you and Daryl shared, the pregnancy test sitting on the chair next to the bed. You couldn’t stop switching between sitting and anxiously bouncing your leg and pacing along the side of the bed wringing your hands. You were obsessively checking the time and it felt like it had decided to move like cold molasses. You were a bundle of nerves, but finally it was time to check the results. You forced a nervous breath in and out and picked up the test.

Positive. It was positive.

You felt like your knees were about to give out and you sat down on the bed hard, staring at that little plus sign.

Your heart was racing, and even though you were terrified, and so nervous wondering what Daryl’s reaction would be that you thought you might pass out, you broke into a teary smile as you stared at the results.

You replaced the test on the chair beside the bed and flopped backwards onto the mattress, staring up at the gray concrete of the ceiling and watching the shifting light and shadows. Whether it was simply from the relief of knowing or a result of the stress leading up to it combined with the toll on your body, you fell asleep not long after, cuddled up to Daryl’s poncho.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was almost sunset when Daryl came back from his hunt, hauling a small deer over his shoulder. He had told himself he wasn’t coming back until he had some meat for you and everyone else (but mostly for you…) and he had succeeded. Usually hunting or tracking quieted his mind, but the whole time he was outside the prison fences he had been worrying about you. Before the outbreak, it wasn’t a big deal to get the flu or some random virus. But now, without access to modern medical care, something simple could turn into a big fucking problem real quick. You’d never had a problem with anemia before, if that’s what this was, and he didn’t really understand why you suddenly would. But he also knew that you were the type of person who would choose to go without a decent meal so Beth or Carl could have a second helping. He made a mental note to ask Maggie and Glenn about whether they saw any place on their run today that might have meds or supplements. Better to search out what they could before you needed it desperately.

The sun was low and sinking fast beyond the tree line as Daryl nodded to Carol as she closed the gate behind him.

“That’s a good find!” she said enthusiastically, looking at the deer slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. How’s Y/N?”

“Hershel’s been checking on her. She’s been sleeping all afternoon,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded. “Good. I was afraid she’d be up tryin’ to help on the frickin’ fence or somethin’. Stubborn,” he drawled. He started up toward the prison and left the deer outside to be butchered. He wanted to see you before he did anything else.

It was quiet in the cell block. Most of the group was winding down for the evening, sprawled out with a book or busying themselves with some quiet activity. Rick gave Daryl a nod as he came in and continued bouncing and shushing Judith.

Climbing the stairs to your shared space, Daryl could tell you must still be asleep. Normally you’d have been calling out to him already with some greeting, or you’d be waiting at the top of the stairs with a one of those smiles that killed him every time.

He smiled as you came into view on the bed. You were partially curled up on your side, cuddled up to his poncho tightly, your fingers curled into the fabric and your cheek pressed to it. He pulled off his vest and tossed it on the chair beside the bed, debating about whether or not to wake you up and ask how you were, when he heard something clatter to the floor.

He bent and felt around under the chair and his hand closed on it. Straightening up, he finally looked at what was in his hand. Even Daryl knew what that little plus sign meant. He glanced back over at your sleeping figure.

This was—was this—suddenly, everything made sense.

The archer rushed down the stairs and toward the exit. Rick looked up and frowned at his urgency. “Daryl?” But the archer didn’t even stop to look at him.

Outside, he grabbed his crossbow from where he had laid it down by the deer, shouldered it, and let himself into the alley between the fences, running toward the vehicles waiting on the outside.

Carol saw him and her stomach immediately twisted. “Daryl?” She rushed toward the fence, but by the time she got there he was already slamming the driver door of the SUV and peeling out, the tires scattering gravel behind the car. Carol gripped the chain link fence so hard her knuckles were white and stared at the taillights disappearing into the dark beyond the lazily drifting cloud of dust. Her stomach dropped.

She ran the whole way back up to the prison and met Rick on his way out. “What’s going on?” Carol asked desperately.

“I was just coming to ask Daryl that same question,” Rick said, his eyes searching the yard and perimeter fence for his broad-shouldered frame. “He just went hurrying out of the cellblock.”

“I saw! He just took the SUV and peeled out of here,” Carol said, her eyes wide and worried. “It’s dark! Where could he possibly be going right now that couldn’t wait?”

A shadow darkened Rick’s expression. He shook his head and shrugged, meeting Carol’s eyes again, at a complete loss. “Better ask Y/N.”

Carol suddenly realized—like a flash of lightning. She nodded to Rick. “Let me go talk to her.”

Carol climbed the stairs to you and Daryl’s space in the cellblock. You were fast asleep on the bed and she gently touched your shoulder to wake you. You stirred and glanced over at her through sleepy eyes. You must have read something on her face because you shot up in bed immediately. “What? What is it? Is Daryl okay? Is he back?” You could tell by the lack of slanted light coming through the high windows that it must be dark.

Carol didn’t know how to tell you this. “He’s fine. He came back with a deer. And then—all of a sudden he just barreled out of here again. He took the SUV.”

You suddenly realized that Carol was sitting on the chair where the pregnancy test had been. Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “Wait—where—where’s the test? It was—it was right there where you’re sitting,” you said.

Carol shook her head. “I didn’t see it. There was nothing here when I came up. Just Daryl’s vest over the back here—”

Carol took in your wide-eyed expression. You jumped up off the bed and starting searching around the floor, reaching under the mattress. “It was right there. I set it there.” You stood up, frozen, one hand clutched to your head. Shit. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Daryl came back, and you were asleep, and he must have seen the test and— “He—He came back and I was asleep and he saw it,” you murmured. “He must have seen it and… he just ran off?” There were tears stinging in your eyes now.

Carol stood up and gently grasped your shoulders. “Try not to jump to any conclusions.”

“Carol, it was positive.” You just stared at her, your eyes still wide. “It was positive! What else am I supposed to think? He came back and he saw a positive pregnancy test and he just—he just left?” Your voice was desperate.

The only thing Carol could think of doing was to grab you tightly and hug you. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay! Don’t panic!”

Part of you knew Daryl would never just leave, but another part of you knew this was completely uncharted territory. You honestly didn’t know how he would react to the news… You couldn’t stop cursing yourself for leaving the stupid test out like that and letting yourself fall asleep. Anyone could have walked up and seen it, and of course it had to be Daryl. You snatched his poncho off the bed and started toward the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Carol demanded.

“I’m gonna go wait,” you said. “I’ll be in the east guard tower…And Carol—Please don’t say anything about this to anyone… Just—not yet. Not now.” You breezed past Rick on your way out, ignoring him calling your name.

Carol met him at the bottom of the stairs. “What’d she say?” Rick drawled.

Carol shrugged. “She was sleeping. Maybe—maybe Daryl is worried about her being sick and decided to go look for supplies,” she offered weakly.

Rick let out a disbelieving sigh. “At night? By himself?”

All Carol could do was shrug.

“How is Y/N? And where’d she just rush off to?”

Carol nodded. “She’s alright. Worrying about Daryl now obviously. She wanted some fresh air and to watch for him so she headed up to the guard tower.”

The worry creases on Rick’s forehead didn’t ease. “What the hell is he thinking going off by himself at night?”

Carol shook her head. “He probably wasn’t.”

Up in the guard tower, with Daryl’s poncho swaddled tightly around you, you sat out in the open night air and stared at the road that led up to the gate. A few times you even tricked yourself into thinking there were distant headlights approaching, but when you looked again everything was just as still and black as it had been a moment before. You heard the door creak open behind you and Hershel stepped out.

He sighed and looked up at the inky blue-black sky, dotted with innumerable stars. “Ah. It’s nice and cool out here now,” he said, leaning back against the wall of the tower. He bent and set a bowl of some noodles and vegetables beside you. “You better eat something,” he said.

“No appetite right now, funny enough,” you said.

He could see the rigid tension in your shoulders and he sank down next to you with some effort, adjusting his prosthetic leg with a sigh. “I can see you’re getting ahead of yourself,” he said gently. “Trying to guess the answer before you can even ask the question.”

You finally looked over at him, an anxious expression on your face. “Did Carol tell you?”

“No. She didn’t have to. I can guess well enough,” he said, a small smile on his lips. Hershel turned his gaze out over the yard. “You know there was a time, back at the farm, when I wasn’t sure about Daryl. You can imagine this old farmer was a little skeptical of his rough-around-the-edges, hot-headed biker attitude,” he chuckled to himself. “But time and time again, he came through for me and my girls. He watched out for all of you and he kept us safe even when we weren’t his to care about yet. He certainly saw Shane for what he was before anyone else.” Hershel breathed in a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out slowly. “And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d do anything for you.”

You could feel tears burning in your eyes again, and you adjusted the poncho around your shoulders.

“Whatever reason he had for tearing out of here like he did, I promise you that he will be back,” Hershel said strongly.

You wiped one tear that leaked onto your cheek and sniffled, trying your hardest to blink away the rest. You nodded. “Yeah. I just—I don’t know how to—how to do any of this,” you said. “And we’ve never even talked about it so I don’t know what he wants. What if—”

Hershel chuckled again. “What ifs can lead you down a dangerous road of thinking. Let’s just wait and see, hmm?”

You gulped and nodded, staring back out into the night. “You don’t have to wait with me,” you said.

“I’m going to sit here until you eat something. Doctor’s orders.” You could hear a smile in his voice and you begrudgingly picked up the bowl he had brought for you and picked at the food. Hershel smiled.

When the bowl was empty, Hershel took it from you and pulled himself to his feet again. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You’ll see.”

You felt like you had been waiting up there for days, but it was really only a few hours. You were reeling with worry, but this time when you thought you saw headlights and looked again they were still there.

You jumped up and stared as the SUV came into view and stopped at the gate. Turning on your heel, you started to rush toward the stairwell but you suddenly froze. What the hell were you going to say? What the hell was Daryl going to say? You were gripped with anxiety again as the multitude of what ifs you had been fighting since waking up suddenly traveled through your brain in single file at light speed. You were frozen, staring at the door for… you didn’t even know how long when it suddenly started to open.

You startled and jumped back with a small gasp of surprise. Daryl’s broad shoulders emerged through the widening gap. “Y/N?”

You gulped and stared back at him, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek.

He stopped just inside the door and took in your wide eyes and obvious distress. His brow furrowed heavily, casting a shadow over his narrowed blue eyes. He gulped and stepped closer to you.

You cleared your throat, hoping your voice wouldn’t come unnaturally high or strangled sounding despite the constriction in your throat. “You’re back,” you said softly. It was the only thing you could force out.

Daryl looked puzzled. “Of course I’m back,” he said, stepping closer. He drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and worried it between his teeth for a moment. You watched as he reached in his back pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test.

Your heart was pounding.

“I, uhh—I found this. Ya were asleep and—” He gulped. “It’s positive, right? Means you’re pregnant.” It really wasn’t a question.

Daryl could see your chest heaving a little with your nervous breaths. You nodded.

Daryl stared down at it for a long moment before he looked back up at you. “What do you wanna do?” he asked.

You stared at him. He looked so calm while you felt like you were spinning. “I don’t—I don’t know—I—” You forced in a breath. “We’ve never talked about what you want. Hell, we’ve never talked about what I want either…”

“I know what I want. I want you. That’s more than I could ever ask for,” he said, stepping closer toward you again. “But this? This is your decision. And whatever you decide is fine by me.”

You were almost overwhelmed with emotion immediately, just hearing him speak those words. Daryl saw it and he couldn’t resist breaking the buffer of space between you any longer. He clasped your face in both hands as the tears finally broke free of your eyes and traveled down your cheeks. “Hey. S’alright,” he murmured to you. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you against him tightly. “M’right here.”

You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. “You’re really okay with… either way?” you asked him, uncertainty still plain in your eyes.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya. Promise.” He smoothed his hands over your back.

You leaned your head against his chest for a moment and listened to his strong and steady heart. Daryl gently stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of you against him and the silky strands of your hair under his fingertips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, part of you still bracing against some worst-case scenario you knew would never come, but that nagging doubt wouldn’t be completely silenced. Your voice was soft, but Daryl still heard it as clear as day. “I think—I want to do this. With you.” You pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting Daryl’s waiting blue eyes. You had barely gotten the words out before he had wrapped you up again and picked you up off your feet, hugging you so tightly he squeezed a little air from your lungs. You let out a surprised laugh as he set you back down, about to speak again, but he clasped your face and kissed you feverishly before you could start. It was like a warm shot of bourbon or that first warm day of sunshine after a long winter. It was urgent and soft at the same time, pleading and needy but affirming, his fingers in your hair.

When he finally pulled back there was a smile crinkling the corner of his blue eyes as they flickered between yours. You were sure you had a slight look of shock on your face still despite the bewildered smile you were now wearing.

“We’re doin’ this?” he asked, not releasing his gentle hold on your face.

You nodded. “We are.” Your heart was pounding. “Oh my God, we are…”

Daryl kissed you again and you sunk into it deeply this time. His hands came to rest on your hips and you stared up at him, still feeling a little like you were spinning. “I didn’t know how you’d—because of your life growing up…” you trailed off.

He nodded. “I know. But I ain’t my dad,” he said forcefully. “You’ve shown me that more than anyone.”

“I woke up and Carol said you just went running off and I—I didn’t know what to think when I realized the test was gone and that you must have seen it,” you admitted.

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he shook his head as he looked at you. “Ya thought I would leave ya?”

“No! No, I didn’t—but then—I just—I guess I got scared… This whole thing is a little overwhelming.”

“Hey. C’mere,” he said, wrapping you up in his arms again and pressing you against him. “I ain’t never leavin’ ya. Never. You’re—you’re my everythin’.”

You breathed him in for a moment before pulling back. “Well, then where did you go?”

One corner of his mouth twitched up and he laced his fingers with yours. “C’mon. I’ll show ya.”

You followed him down the stairs and back into the prison to the cellblock. It seemed that everyone was already asleep except for the two of you, satisfied once Daryl was back that they didn’t need to wait up worrying anymore like you were. When you climbed the stairs into your space, Daryl bent down and pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed. It looked like it was stuffed full. He knelt down beside it and unzipped it.

You stared down at the contents and then met his blue eyes. “This is what you were doing?”

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod, pressing his lips together a little nervously. Now you were the one who grabbed him and kissed him desperately.

The bag was full of things you would need during a pregnancy and for a baby; pre-natal vitamins, bottles, pacifiers, blankets, diapers. Your heart swelled as you looked down at it and then back at Daryl again. You shook your head. “You just—you amaze me,” you said.

He shrugged, still a little bashful when you directly complimented him even after all this time. He reached back under the bed and pulled out a second bag. You gave him a questioning look. “What is that?”

“In case ya decided the other way,” he said. “S’mostly just some random things ya like. Books and…” He shrugged again.

“So—Baby was Plan A?” you asked him as he climbed to his feet.

“You were Plan A. Ya always were and ya always will be.”

You looped your arms around his neck and his hands reflexively landed gently on your lower back. “But—you were hoping—?”

He paused thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “If ya woulda asked me a week ago I don’t know what I woulda said. But as soon as I picked up that damn test up and looked at it… And then I looked at ya just layin’ there asleep, all wrapped up with my poncho the way you were… I knew what I was hoping for. But I mean it when I say that anything you decided would be fine. You’re the one who as to do the hard part.”

You arched up onto your toes and kissed him again, sliding your fingers into his hair and feeling calm and happy again for the first time since you had sent out for the test. “How’d I get so lucky finding you?” you asked him quietly. Daryl felt his heart skip a beat and electricity zipped up his back. You always did that to him. Easily. Still.

“I ask myself that all the damn time,” he drawled. “Now c’mon. Ya need rest.”

You nodded and realized that despite sleeping most of the day, you were exhausted. Anxiety will do that… “I suppose you think this means you’re gonna be able to boss me around now?” you joked, settling into bed.

“Damn right,” he said with a smirk, pushing the duffels of supplies back under the mattress. “Gotta make sure ya take care of yerself and the little one. I’m gonna boss ya around all the damn time.” He kicked off his boots and slipped into bed next to you, immediately moving until his body was pressed against yours and he could wrap an arm over you. You slipped your fingers between his. “Gonna tell Hershel he can boss ya around too,” he joked. “And Carol. And Rick. And Maggie. And—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you laughed.

Daryl smiled to himself and kissed your neck. “We’re doin’ this,” he said softly.

You sighed contentedly and nodded. “We are.” And that night you had no trouble sleeping.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl dixon one shots

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

For your prompts: Mingjue is ace or demi, and somehow between taking over the sect at a very young age and never displaying interest in it, no one ever gave him The Sex Talk. All the aunts and uncles assumed someone else took care of it. Then Huaisang gets to that age. He seems to be very interested in sex. He needs The Sex Talk. Mingjue feels like that should come from him (he's taken care of all the rest pf raising him after all), but he doesn't have the info to do that.

How does Mingjue give him The Sex Talk? Or alternatively, does Huaisang end up already knowing and giving The Talk to his big brother instead?

ao3

“All right,” Nie Mingjue said, sitting down and gesturing for Nie Huaisang to sit down across from him. “I guess we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“I knew this day would come,” Nie Huaisang said, looking unbearably tragic. “I’m going to die of embarrassment before the day is through, da-ge. Won’t you have pity?”

Nie Mingjue knew him too well, though.

“Okay,” he said.

Nie Huaisang frowned at him.

“If it’s too embarrassing to talk about sex, you’re not ready to talk about sex,” Nie Mingjue said with a casual shrug. “We can postpone the conversation to –”

“No! I want to hear about it!” Nie Huaisang scowled at him. “Da-ge, everyone else got the sex talk! You wouldn’t want me to fall behind, would you?”

Nie Mingjue blinked innocently at him. “But Huaisang, you said…”

“Never mind what I said!”

Nie Mingjue tried to maintain his façade of innocent neutrality but quickly cracked in the face of Nie Huaisang’s exasperation; he started laughing.

Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“There’s not much to say,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his eyes. “And it’s not as if you can’t get by without it, you know. I mean, no one ever gave me the talk.”

Nie Huaisang frowned. “No one? What about A-die? I mean, before…”

“He was busy, and kept postponing it,” Nie Mingjue said, shrugging. “And then he died, and everyone assumed he’d done it already. It’s fine. Everything I needed to learn, I learned from books, and you’re going to do the same.”

“…books.”

“Yep, books.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “You’re going to make me learn this incredibly important subject from textbooks? Really, da-ge?”

“I am,” Nie Mingjue said.

“You’re robbing me of a valuable life experience here.”

“I’m so sad for you,” Nie Mingjue said dryly, pulling out a box and spreading out the books he’d obtained just for this purpose. “Now, I know you hate studying, I know you think it’s boring and a waste of time, but I really think in this instance –”

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang said quickly. His eyes were fixated on the books in front of him, and for some reason he’d flushed bright red, even though it wasn’t all that hot in the room. “I don’t mind. I’ll study hard, da-ge.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before once or twice,” Nie Mingjue remarked, then shook his head. “Anyway, I think just one or two –”

“I need all of them.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, sincerely this time. “All of them?” he said, and looked down at the books. “Huaisang, I don’t think you understand. I got a selection so that you could have your pick, but they’re by and large very repetitive; each one more or less describes the same basic acts –”

“I need all of them. For reasons.”

“…all right,” Nie Mingjue said, bemused but generally pleased by Nie Huaisang’s highly unusual enthusiasm for study. “I thought I was robbing you of a valuable life experience?”

“That was before! I didn’t realize the books were going to be spring books,” Nie Huaisang said. He’d grabbed one and flipped it open, staring wide-eyed at one of the illustrations.

“What type of textbook would there be for this subject other than a spring book?” Nie Mingjue asked, wondering – as ever – if he’d missed something. Raising children was hard, and raising Nie Huaisang was harder; everyone agreed. “Anyway, I’m given to understand that the art is a bit exaggerated, especially in terms of proportion, and the accompanying text can use some rather strange metaphors, but fundamentally the acts described appear generally consistent throughout the various sources. For example, if you look at this one, you can see that the woman has –”

“Yes, da-ge, I can see.”

“I’m just pointing it out,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. Nie Huaisang was being especially impossible to understand today. “Anyway, it’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “Very weird. Incredibly weird. You know what, I think I need to think about this privately for a while.”

“I…are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“If you insist.” Nie Mingjue stood up. “If you have any questions –”

“Yes I’ll be sure to ask you please leave now thank you good-bye.”

Nie Mingjue found himself outside the door to Nie Huaisang’s room, not entirely sure how his much smaller younger brother had managed to push him out so effectively. Maybe some of that saber training was actually having an impact, however spaced out and half-hearted Nie Huaisang’s efforts were.

Cheered by the thought, Nie Mingjue headed back to his office, feeling very good about himself: that wasn’t nearly as awkward as all the other people had made it sound. It’d been no problem at all!

Of course, a few months later, he found out that Nie Huaisang had started buying up spring books like he’d developed a mania for it.

“That seems fine,” he said to the disciple who’d reported it. “I mean, it’s a bit strange, yes, but he’s always been fond of hobbies that involve collecting things. Birds, weird rocks…that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure it’s…exactly the same,” the disciple said carefully. “But if you’re not concerned, Sect Leader, we’ll just leave it be.”

“…I’ll talk with him,” Nie Mingjue decided, mostly because of the weird expression on the disciple’s face, and the disciple looked relieved.

Later that evening, he followed up on his word.

“Huaisang, I heard you’re buying spring books,” he said, and Nie Huaisang nearly choked on his soup.

“You can’t just bring that up over dinner!” he hissed.

“…why not?”

“You just – can’t!”

“I can, and did,” Nie Mingjue said. “Some of the disciples have expressed some concern about it.”

Nie Huaisang’s shoulders went up by his ears defensively. “Is it because I’m buying cutsleeve books as well as regular books?”

“They sell cutsleeve books? Really?” Nie Mingjue said blankly, temporarily distracted. “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be enough of a market to make the printing worthwhile. Aren't they supposed to be relatively uncommon? …anyway, no, it’s not about that.”

“…you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Nie Mingjue said, puzzled. “I’m glad you’re expanding your horizons.”

“You…are?” Nie Huaisang was blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you’re reading? Reading is good. I’m always happy when you advance your scholarly pursuits,” Nie Mingjue said. “I mean, I’d still like it if you spent a bit more time on your saber…”

“Wait,” Nie Huaisang said hastily, clearly wanting to avoid the subject of his saber training. “If you don’t mind the fact that I’m buying them, or the content, what is the concern?”

“Mostly quantity, I think?” Nie Mingjue hadn’t been able to figure it out either. “You’ve exceeded your allowance twice already, and really, how many books recounting the same exact content can you really need?”

“It’s not quite the same content,” Nie Huaisang said. “There are different…scenarios.”

“Yes, but it all leads to the same place in the end, doesn’t it? Hand, mouth, front, back, inside or outside; you read one, you’ve read them all. Though I guess the cutsleeve ones are different?”

“Not really,” Nie Huaisang admitted. “But maybe take a look anyway? Maybe you’ll like those better…here, come up to my room.”

Nie Huaisang had, apparently, started in on making quite a collection, and from the way he puttered around trying to find the right ones to share, seemed to be in the process of becoming a little connoisseur. It was pretty adorable, actually; Nie Mingjue couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Nie Huaisang so enthusiastic.

“Having two spears involved does seem to make it a bit more awkward,” he concluded after paging through a few. “And obviously you can’t do it from the front in the same way, but other than that the mechanics generally seem the same. I suppose there’s really only so many ways you can twist the human body…”

“How about this one, then?” Nie Huaisang said, offering up a book about mirror grinders sharing a toy between them. “Twice the young ladies involved!”

“That seems even less efficient. If they wanted to be penetrated, why be a mirror grinder instead of finding a man?”

Nie Huaisang seemed somewhat taken aback by the question. “Maybe they just fell in love with another woman first?” he eventually suggested.

That seemed reasonable enough, so Nie Mingjue nodded agreeably. “Makes sense that they’d use a toy, then. Otherwise wouldn't they be stuck with using just mouths and hands? Though I suppose there’s always the eponymous grinding motion, too.”

Nie Huaisang reached over and put his hand in Nie Mingjue’s lap.

“Huaisang! What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” Nie Huaisang said, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re really not…Wait, let me find you some others. Maybe you’ll like these better – they have more scenario involved.”

Truly Nie Huaisang had a wide collection. There were solo stories, coupled stories, stories involved groups of three or more, stories involving people being tied up or doing the tying, one story involving whips and pinching nails that Nie Mingjue initially thought was a torture manual that had gotten mixed in by mistake except for how the receiving party seemed extremely enthusiastic about it. There was even one involving –

“Fish?”

“Tentacles.”

“People want to fuck fish?”

“It’s not – you know what, I don’t know, maybe they do,” Nie Huaisang said, throwing up his hands. “Octopi are a surprisingly popular subject along the coast, and some of the artwork from Dongying features it.”

“You have works from Dongying?” Nie Mingjue asked, impressed. It wasn’t every young man’s hobby that involved international commerce. “You’re really turning into a collector, Huaisang.”

“I’m not – it’s not –” Nie Huaisang grimaced. “You know what, maybe the disciples are right and I should cut down on purchasing so many.”

“Why? If you’re enjoying your new hobby –”

“There’s a difference between being known as the guy who has some good spring books and being known as the guy who collects spring books as a hobby. The latter just sounds pathetic.”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure about that.

“Well, it’s up to you,” he said, and started to get up to leave, only to have Nie Huaisang tug on his hand.

“Da-ge, I have a question.”

Nie Mingjue sat back down.

“Have you ever…?” Nie Huaisang nodded at the books.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, wrinkling his nose a bit at the thought. “It seems like more trouble than it’s worth, really.”

“What about…uh…” He gestured at one in particular. Nie Mingjue leaned over and checked; it was one of the ones featuring a single man touching himself. “Do you…?”

“Oh, sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “Every once in a while. Don't most people? But there’s rather a difference between doing that and having to get up close and personal with someone else’s genitals, isn’t there? We all wipe our own asses after we shit, but that doesn’t mean we do it for other people.” He gave Nie Huaisang a pointed look. “Present company excluded.”

“I was a baby, it doesn’t count,” Nie Huaisang hissed at him. “Never bring it up again.”

Nie Mingjue smirked at him.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes dramatically. “Da-ge, you’re hopeless. One day you’ll find someone you like enough to try it with!”

“Maybe,” Nie Mingjue said. “Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Uh, yes it does! You’re going to have kids, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Nie Mingjue said, hesitating a little. “Huaisang, you’re my heir.”

“I know that! I’m in line until you have kids of your own to inherit…why are you shaking your head?”

“You’re going to inherit after me,” Nie Mingjue said, as gently as he could. “I’m probably not going to have kids, but even if I did, I’d arrange it so that they’d be part of the branch family, not the main line. I want you to inherit.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were going wide.

No, it was too early to tell him about the saber spirits, Nie Mingjue thought to himself. About their family's horrible temper and his private suspicion that the temper and the qi deviations fed into each other; his conviction that Nie Huaisang would be a better sect leader than him, a better continuation for their line than him, and his determination to make sure that the next generation of Nie sect leaders didn't have to fear a shortened life the way he did. He’d tell him that later, sometime. Today was a good day, there was no point in spoiling it.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked instead. “I mean, you have such a wide variety here; don’t tell me you’re solely interested in cut-sleeves…?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said. “No, I like – everything.”

“Well, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “There should be no problem, then. If you end up with a woman, have some kids; if you end up with a man, take a concubine. Either way, you’ll get an heir.” He frowned. “Assuming you don’t mind –”

“No, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and he sounded incredibly long-suffering. “I think I’ll manage to have sex, somehow.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re thinking about actually going ahead and trying it out, that’s a whole different conversation we need to have, as opposed to the talk about what it is. You need to be careful about it –”

“Ugh, da-ge, please, no –”

“I’m not going to lecture! Just don’t overdo it or anything. You don’t want to end up with a thousand bastards like Sect Leader Jin –”

“Gross! No!”

“– or with all sorts of diseases –”

“Da-ge!”

“– or with a reputation for being a dissolute or a –”

“I will only have sex with someone I love,” Nie Huaisang announced. “Or at least mildly care for. A nice clean person who likes me back. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“More or less,” Nie Mingjue said, and glanced down at the books. “Say, Huaisang. You know so much about this. Have you ever…”

“Do you have a question?” Nie Huaisang scooted forward. “Ask away, da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue flicked his forehead. “Not a substantive one. But have you ever thought about making your own? You’re a perfectly good artist, and you’re very imaginative; I’m sure you could come up with some scenarios of your own that might be very interesting.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were wide. “I could, couldn’t I?” he said, marveling, and then suddenly jumped up and dashed over to grab some paper. “Oh, I could! I could – and that – and – and..!”

Nie Mingjue decided to retreat, smiling proudly to himself.

Reading and writing, he thought happily. They’d probably never get a warrior out of Nie Huaisang, but there might be a scholar in him yet!

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the talk

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

#King of Cups #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin fanfic #din Djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fandom

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skyborn-reads · 3 years

Text

📜 Your Spirit Guides and How They Communicate — an intuitive reading

Our spirit guides work tirelessly to guide us on our path. They may be ancestors, deceased loved ones from present or past lives or beings who have a unique connection with us. They very often work in the background and communicate in vague ways like signs, dreams, gut feelings, etc. There are different kinds of guides like those who will stay with us from our birth to death, those who will only be around for a phase of our lives and those who are there just for a duty, like to impart a message. Please note that what you'll read here are guides who willingly came forward to introduce themselves and might or might not constitute all of your guides.

Picture sources 1 ✦ 2 ✦ 3 ✦ 4 ✦ 5 ✦ 6

Sky 1 — Red Lava

Cards drawn: Write a Gratitude List

Who are your spirit guides?

Woodsy energy. Practical. Artistic. Tattoos on arm. Action-oriented. They give practical advice and are very motivating. I keep getting a feeling of woman working in car mechanic, being fiercely independent and self assured. They do not care what others think of them because they refuse to adhere to others' standards. They refused to fit in with society's expectation and those who'd rather put others down than lift others up. They feel you should do the same. When you feel rage rising up from within you in the face of unfairness it is them telling you that you do not deserve being shamed. It is them communicating their support. To receive their messages they advise you to write a journal and let your emotions out with writing. Don't try to plan what words you write. Just let it out like roaring waves. Reread your journal after. The words that you feel most drawn to, you'll know that those are their messages to you.

Their message for you:

"Stay strong. We have your back."

Sky 2 — Honour

Card drawn: Chanting

Your guides have yellowish orange aura. They are wise, enlightened and ascended. They come to you with messages of spiritual enlightenment and helping you find your path, so that you may in turn help others. They communicate by thought projection, that means projecting thoughts into your mind. If at times you suddenly get thoughts or inspiration that you normally wouldn't think of then it's very likely from them. They also communicate in signs and syncronicities. If you see synchronicities in your life and get a sudden knowing that they mean this or that without knowing how you know it, then it's from them. I see the swan and pelican as animals they represent themselves.

Their message for you:

"Know that patience is like a blooming flower. It requires watering and loving care, or else it wilts. On the other side of patience is rage you do not wish to cross."

Sky 3 — We Come With Wings

Card drawn: Make an Altar

Feminine energy. Devotional energy. Very spiritual. Your guides enjoy floral perfumes that smell natural. They also really like fresh flowers and enjoy joining you in meditation. They communicate with feelings. For example they may envelop you in love energy so that you feel loved and safe, they surround you with energy of love and protection so that you are protected and energised. They enjoy flying and floating. They have very cheerful energy, aligned with the energy of love and blessings. They are not exactly angels but are similar in their energy and actions. On choosing photo name I feel they really resonate with the song Wings by Little Mix.

Their message for you:

"Enjoy and cherish each and every blessing coming your way, even hardships. You never know which ones may lead you to the highway. They might feel like a highway to hell at first hehehe~"

Sky 4 — Socks and Spoons

Card drawn: Use Your Hands

I get the energy of house spirits from this card. House spirits are spirits of the household who make the house their home. They are benevolent and helpful. They have been watching over you since "you were a kiddo" (in their own words). They are very hands-on and enjoy crafting and making their own things, helping around the house, helping you and “the other living humans” have a “cozy home to rest in”. They're humorous although they won't agree with that. This is just their personality and they don't know why or how they could be considered warm, funny or kind. They feel that it's their duty to help you in the small ways they can and not something that warrants a thank you, so if you wanna thank them just leave them a small cup of coffee or tea (with sugar!) and that will be it, or some offerings of your food, but don't do it too frequently or they will not accept it, because they feel it's their job to "serve you".

They expressed that they'd love to join in when you cook to "offer some tips if you will", and also any hands-on crafts like gardening and mending socks. They feel really drawn to the orange flowers on that picture so I chose it ;)

Their message to you:

"We are not your traditional spirit guides but we may serve you in small ways."

Sky 5 — Lovely Sky

Card drawn: Plan a Vacation

Your guides have a very airy vibe to them. Their energy is ethereal and light. The word "deva" came to mind. They are connected with the elements of air and water. An adjective to describe their energy would be "breezy". Your guides work in the background and rarely intercept your life, preferring to watch how you navigate your life in freeform. They only intercept when you're about to make terrible life-altering decisions. They offer advice in the form of nudges, and the feeling of “maybe I shouldn't do this”, and gut feelings.

Their message for you:

They show a vision of clouds that are filled with love, a new chapter to a love-filled future, mainly self love and achievements. They give a knowing smile with closed eyes. “You'll get there, eventually.”

Sky 6 — Love Bonds

Card drawn: Family

Skyborn's notes: I was shuffling for a while but no cards came out. And then I hear "I have a word to say". I ignored it and continued to shuffle, thinking nothing of it. I felt a soft blow of air over my left ear then, and got a sudden urge to set down my cards and "cut" them. The Family card came tumbling out.

Your guide that came forward have bloodline connection with you. A past ancestor. I see an elderly woman with white hair tied in a bun. She looks wise and kind. I see the word "grandmother". She has something on her finger. It is either a ring or a bracelet, or an anklet? She says it's a family heirloom. She offers you a warm hug and says she is safe and happy, and that she loves you. "Are you okay, my darling? Wear some warm clothes." She's there to watch over you and because she knows that you missed her. She misses you too.

Her message for you:

"I'm always there for you. Don't be afraid." I see vision of a teary embrace. She really loves you and wants you to know that. I also see vision of incense, and then her waving and nodding with a smile on her face, behind her is a country house.

#free reading #free readings #intuitive reading #intuitive readings #spirit guides #pac #pick a card #divination #45 #46 #47 #48 #49 #50

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jammatown919 · 3 years

Text

Best Laid Plans

Several months ago, an anon asked me to write a piece in which the group tries to play matchmaker for Ruby and Penny. This is what that turned into.

Ruby liked Vacuo better than she'd thought she would. Sure, it was unbearably hot most days and a fair amount of the locals seemed rather disgruntled about having more refugees around, especially Atlesian ones, but she'd take this over Atlas any day.

She was especially relived that she and her group had been allowed to enroll as students at Shade Academy rather than having their Huntsmen licenses renewed. They hadn't been at all ready for the position when General Ironwood had offered it to them, and while there was still a lot to worry about, everyone was glad to have some of the pressure taken off of them. Unfortunately, however, the lowered stress and extra free time had given them an opportunity to concern themselves with things that absolutely did not require their attention, such as Ruby's love life.

Two weeks ago, Ruby had made the horrible mistake of confiding in Yang about her crush on Penny, which had resulted in most of the rest of their friends knowing about it too. Most of them were alright about it, but Yang and Nora were absolutely hellbent on playing matchmaker, and they weren't taking no for an answer.

Every single time one of them caught Ruby alone, they'd plead with her for permission to set up a date so everyone wouldn't have to watch her 'pining' anymore, and no matter how many times she said she didn't want to burden Penny with her feelings, they persisted. Eventually she'd started trying to avoid them altogether, which was a lot easier with Nora than it was with Yang, considering they shared a room.

On their second Friday living at Shade Academy, also the second Friday since Ruby had confided in her sister, Yang found Ruby alone in the dorm and made what felt like her millionth plea of the week.

"For the last time," Ruby snapped, flopping down on her bed. "I don't want you to set up a date! It'll just make everything awkward."

She was trying to keep her cool, but honestly, this was starting to piss her off. This was none of Yang's business, or Nora's for that matter. She didn't need their input.

"Oh, come on, Ruby!" Yang groaned, her voice laced with exasperation. "You have to know she's into you!"

"Give me one good reason to believe she actually likes me back." Ruby retorted, rolling her eyes as Yang let out a dry laugh.

"I'll give you ten reasons," she said confidently. "You two are basically attached at the hip, she gets that little pouty face every time she gets told she can't pair with you for combat training, you literally share a bed-"

"Only because there weren't enough beds when we moved in!" Ruby quickly sat up, warmth rushing to her face.

"Yeah, but when Blake and I starting sharing, I asked Penny if she wanted my old bed and she just about cried." Yang replied. "Unless you want to sit here and argue that all of that is platonic, you know she likes you back. So why won't you just talk to her about it?"

"Look," Ruby sighed. "Even if you're right, I just don't want to give her anything else to worry about. She just lost her home, she's still getting used to being the Winter Maiden, and now she has all this human stuff to deal with. She needs my support right now, and I don't want to accidentally push her away."

Yang's expression softened at that, and she slowly crossed the room to sit down beside Ruby.

"I get that," she said quietly, suddenly much more sympathetic than frustrated. "And I know I'm being kind of pushy, but I don't want you to miss out. This could be your only chance for a while to actually go on dates and have fun with her."

Ruby let out another, heavier sigh and leaned back onto her hands, tilting her face toward the ceiling.

Yang was right. They might have a respite now, but Salem could show up any day. This chance to be students again wasn't going to last forever. They were getting to be kids one last time, and that would be over the moment Salem made herself known again. Then there would be no dates or time to worry about feelings, probably just regrets if she didn't do this now.

"What do I even say to her?" she asked quietly. "I've never liked someone like this before. What if I screw something up?"

"Just be honest with her." Yang put an arm around Ruby's shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Tell her how you feel, ask her if she wants to go out, and let Nora and I take care of the rest. We'll find a nice place for you to go, and I'll tell you everything I know about impressing girls."

She winked good-naturedly and released Ruby, who then took a deep breath and stood. She didn't feel even remotely prepared for this, but there was a decent chance it could be now or never.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find her." Ruby decided, steeling herself. She made her way toward the door, giving her sister a nervous grin over her shoulder as she left. "Wish me luck."

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

Ruby found Penny an hour later in Shade's library, sitting at one of the tables with a pile of books. From the looks of it, she'd been here a while, possibly making her way through a series.

"Hey," Ruby said quietly as she reached Penny's table. "What are you reading?"

Penny glanced up, looking mildly startled.

"Oh, it's just a fantasy story," she replied sheepishly, lowering the book in her hands. "It's a bit silly, but I've never had time to just sit and read before. I'm finding it quite enjoyable!"

"That's good." Ruby smiled and took a seat across from Penny, clasping her hands anxiously in her lap. "Sorry if I'm interrupting you or anything, I just wanted to ask you something."

"Of course." Penny put her book down and leaned forward attentively.

"I was just wondering if, um..." Ruby squeezed her fingers, trying to steady her voice long enough to get the question out. "If you wanted to... go out with me sometime? Like, on a date? I-If not, it's totally cool, I just... y'know..."

Penny blinked at her slowly, and Ruby shrank back as much as the chair would allow her to.

"A date?" Penny inquired.

"Yeah," Ruby replied, her face burning. Dear God please let her know what a date is, she thought frantically. "I really like you, like more than just a friend. I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but I was scared of making you uncomfortable, but then I realized that with everything going on I might not get another chance for a while, and- Penny?"

Caught up in her rant, it had taken Ruby far to long to realize that Penny wasn't listening to her. Instead, she was just staring blankly, her expression completely unreadable.

"Are you okay?" Ruby leaned across the table and waved her hand in front of Penny's face. "Are you bluescreening?"

Back when she'd had a mechanical body, Penny had occasionally 'bluescreened' when struggling to process some new piece of information. She usually snapped out of it within a few minutes, so Ruby wasn't particularly concerned, but she had to admit she was surprised that Penny was still doing it even in a human body.

"Yes." Penny said suddenly, shaking herself a bit.

"I- what?"

"Yes, I will go on a date with you." Penny clarified, her face turning slightly pink. "I like you too, quite a lot."

"Really?" Ruby's shoulders sagged with relief, and she couldn't help the grin spreading across her face.

"Of course." Penny said with a little smile. "I would have said something much sooner if I had thought you might feel the same way."

"How could I not?" Ruby asked softly. "You're so sweet and beautiful and kind. It was kind of impossible not to fall in love with you."

Penny's blush intensified, and she looked away bashfully.

"You are all of those things too." she replied, her voice quiet and shy.

Ruby chuckled softly, then straightened herself and cleared her throat before either them could get any more flustered.

"So," she went on. "I was thinking maybe we could do dinner tomorrow around six? Or, well, Yang was thinking that, but I have no idea how to plan dates so I'm just listening to what she says."

"That sounds perfect." Penny said enthusiastically.

"Great," Ruby smiled and rose from her seat. "I'll let you get back to your reading. See you tomorrow."

Ruby turned to leave, barely hearing Penny's quiet "Goodnight," as she rushed out of the library. The moment the doors slammed shut behind her, she let out a loud, shaky laugh. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. She'd managed to land herself a date, and now all she had to do was survive it.

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

Penny had to admit, she'd been surprised to hear that her best friend had a crush on her. Delighted, of course, but so very surprised. She'd been planning to keep her own feelings a secret forever, lest Ruby find them unusual or inappropriate, but that was no longer necessary. Ruby shared the same feelings, and apparently they were quite normal.

It was a relief to know that, but Penny couldn't say that all of her anxieties had been quelled. According to Ruby, the next step after confessing their feelings was going on a date together, a concept with which Penny was not particularly familiar. She had a basic idea of how it was supposed to work, but she wasn't sure of the correct way to behave or what she was supposed to say while they were out.

Penny had gone to Nora with these concerns, hoping for some friendly advice, and had been promptly and quite literally dragged into Team JNPR's dorm room for a pre-date pep talk.

"You really don't have all that much to worry about." Nora said as she worked on lacing up the back of Penny's dress. It was quite similar to one she'd worn to Beacon's dance; light green, knee-length, and very soft. She'd borrowed it from an upperclassman named Velvet, who she knew by association due to her team's friendship with Team RWBY.

"But what if I say something wrong?" Penny asked anxiously, running her fingers through her hair. She'd already brushed through it twice, but perhaps one more time couldn't hurt.

"What would you say wrong?" Nora inquired as she finished with the dress. "You two are already friends, so you don't have to deal with any of that 'getting to know each other' business. Just go and have fun. And make sure you laugh at all her jokes."

"All of them?" Penny echoed unenthusiastically. Her sense of humor was quite different from the majority of her friends, and she sometimes had trouble discerning whether something was a joke. How would she know what to laugh at?

"Unless they're offensive or something, but it's Ruby so I doubt that." Nora shrugged and grabbed a bit of Penny's hair, gently fluffing it out. "Think you're ready?"

"Maybe?" Penny replied. "Do I look presentable?"

"You're gorgeous, Pebbles." Nora turned Penny around so they were face to face, placing two firm, comforting hands on her friend's shoulders. "Everything's gonna be fine, okay? You've gone places with Ruby hundreds of times; just act how you normally would."

"Okay." Penny nodded. She could do that.

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

The restaurant Penny had been invited to was a small café hardly a stone's throw from Shade's campus. From what Penny could tell, it seemed to be primarily frequented by the school's students, as the majority of the people sitting in the outdoor area were wearing school uniforms.

Of the three that were not, one was Ruby, clad in a black top and bright red skirt that just barely reached her knees. She spotted Penny from her table near the café's front window and waved her over with a shy smile.

"Hey," she greeted softly as Penny approached. "You look really nice."

"As do you." Penny replied politely, sincerely hoping that the grin on her face didn't look too silly. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before taking a seat, leaning forward so their table's umbrella could better protect her fair skin from the sun.

For a good two minutes, they sat there in silence, Ruby seemingly avoiding eye contact and Penny quietly fidgeting while she tried to think of something to say.

"This place is pretty cool, right?" Ruby offered at last, glancing in Penny's direction.

"I think it's quite hot, actually." Penny replied. Ruby let out a soft chuckle, and she quickly realized her mistake. "Oh! You meant- yes, it's very cool."

Penny briefly averted her gaze as her face grew warm, but she was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of a tired-looking waitress.

"Have you two decided on anything?" she asked, placing two glasses of water down on the table. As she did so, she fixed Penny with the same vaguely suspicious look every Atlesian refugee had been receiving from the locals.

It wasn't entirely uncalled for, considering everything her nation had done to theirs, but it made her uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Um..." Penny glanced down at the menu, eager to get the waitress's eyes off of her. Impulsively, she ordered the first thing she saw. "The fried scorpion, please."

"I'll have the same." Ruby said immediately.

"Interesting choice." The waitress remarked as she took their menus. 'For a couple of outsiders' was implied.

Penny watched her walk away, mildly dreading the sight of what she would return with.

"What the hell did we just order?" Ruby mumbled, so softly that Penny couldn't be entirely certain the words were for her.

"It will likely be fine," she answered anyway. "Scorpion is a common dish here."

"Yeah, I guess." Ruby replied, once again avoiding eye contact. Penny's brow furrowed and she leaned a bit closer to her date over the table.

Ruby seemed remarkably uncomfortable, wringing her hands and glancing about as if searching for a way out of the situation. Did she not want to be here? Had Penny done something wrong?

If so, she hadn't the slightest clue what her mistake could have been, but relationships were so complicated that she wouldn't be surprised if she'd broken some unspoken rule. Perhaps she'd missed a joke she was supposed to laugh at, or-

"Penny?"

Penny was jolted out of her thoughts, only just realizing that Ruby was waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked hard, mildly startled.

"Are you okay?" Ruby asked gently.

"Yes," Penny said with a quick nod. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You've got to stop bluescreening on me." Ruby gave her a small, kind smile. "What were you trying to figure out?"

Penny hesitated briefly. She almost didn't want to say it for fear that she might be right. Yet again, if she had somehow messed up the date, she wanted to know what she'd done wrong.

"It's just..." she began eventually. "You seem as if you don't want to be here. I was wondering if maybe I did something wrong? Or if you regret asking me out?"

"Of course not!" Ruby's eyes widened in mild alarm. "What made you think that?"

"You just seem so uncomfortable." For emphasis, Penny mimicked the hand-wringing motion Ruby had been doing. "I was worried you thought this was a mistake."

"God, no," Ruby reached across the table and gently took Penny's hands in her own. "You didn't do anything wrong, Penny. Asking you out was not a mistake."

She brushed her thumbs along the backs of Penny's hands; an intimate gesture, if Penny remembered correctly.

"I think letting someone else plan this for us might have been a mistake, though." Ruby admitted. "I don't think I'm really a dinner date person."

"What do you mean?" Penny inquired.

"I mean this all feels a little... stuffy, I guess." Ruby shrugged. "I don't like sitting here in formalwear trying to make awkward conversation with a bunch of other people around. This doesn't feel like us, y'know?"

"I think I understand." Penny nodded slowly. She had to admit, this wouldn't have been her first choice of venue either. "What do you think would feel like us?"

"Do you remember that night with the fireflies?" Ruby asked. Penny nodded again, a small smile spreading across her face. "That felt like us. It was just you and me having fun, enjoying nature and stuff."

"That was a very special night," Penny agreed fondly. "But I do not believe we would be able to recreate it here. As far as I know, no species of a firefly is native to Vacuo."

"It doesn't have to be exactly the same." Ruby seemed thoughtful for a moment, quietly drumming her fingers on the table. "What if we went up on the roof of Shade's dorms? We could be alone and just enjoy each other's company."

"I like the sound of that." Penny almost stood up, but suddenly remembered that they'd already ordered. Would it be considered rude to leave?

"It's alright," Ruby seemed to read Penny's mind as she rose from her seat. "I don't think it counts as dining and dashing if we haven't gotten our food yet."

Penny supposed that made sense. She hesitated a moment longer before standing up, glad that she wouldn't have to see that waitress again. Ruby extended her arm, and Penny linked it with her own as they began walking away from the restaurant. As soon as they'd cleared the tables, Ruby visibly relaxed.

"This already feels better," she remarked.

"It does." Penny agreed. They walked together in silence for a few minutes, Penny's face growing warm as an unfamiliar sensation spread throughout her body.

Suddenly overtaken with boldness, Penny leaned over and pressed her lips to Ruby's cheek, holding them there for a moment before slowly pulling away. Ruby's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't seem at all bothered.

"Was that... okay?"

"It was more than okay," Ruby replied, glancing over at Penny with a smile. "That was perfect."

"It seems our night has been salvaged." Penny smiled back at her, faltering briefly as Ruby rested her head on her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said, her warm breath tickling the skin of Penny's neck. "It has."

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider reblogging to share it with others and help the post gain a bit of traction! It would absolutely make my day and make the three months I spent trying to finish this feel worth it!

#rwby #penny polendina #ruby rose #nuts n dolts #nuts and dolts #catch me begging for reblogs at the end of every post lmao

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Text

Play Me A Song

Paring: Tom Holland x fem!reader

Summary: This is based off the video of Tom playing guitar that he posted on Instagram:) Tom facetimes you to help brighten up your day.

Warnings: none

A/n: Not me using fan fiction as a coping mechanism for my stress, yet ONCE AGAIN.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

“Hellooo, gorgeous girl!” Tom cooed as his face popped up onto your phone screen.

You let out a nasally giggle, the side of your face snuggling deeper into the pillow Tom would use when he was over at your house.

Tom tilts his head at the phone, a hint of a smile on his blush colored lips. The action caused his mop of chocolate brown curls to slightly bounce, catching your attention. You longed for the feeling of running your hands through his soft hair. You missed the way it felt between your fingers and how it would make Tom nuzzle closer to you.

“How was your day? You sounded a bit upset on the phone.” He checked in, voice soft and sweet, yet full of concern. His brows furrowed, causing a wrinkle to form between his brows.

You breath in, smelling the hints of him on your pillow. He was miles away, FaceTime allowed you to see and talk to him, though it wasn’t the same as him being beside you. If you were together right now, he would probably envelop you with his protective arms, pull you into his warm chest, and press kisses all over any bit of your exposed skin. His curls would tickle against your neck while he buried his head into the small space between your neck and shoulders—though you wouldn’t mind the tickle because it would remind you that he was there with you.

You sighed, “Today was a rough day. My professors have been piling work on us and I got called into work on my day off. I haven’t even gotten to start that research paper for class—I’m just so burnt out. I’m tired of trying, Tommy.”

Tom pouted, bringing the camera near his face to feel closer to you. He only felt the heat of his phone screen against his face, but he could still feel the light vibrations of your voice through the phone’s speakers. He placed the speaker of his phone slightly atop his chest, so he could feel the rhythm of your words against him. It reminded him of the days you two would cuddle after the both of you had long days at work. You would tell each other about your days and bask in the feeling of being in each other’s arms. He missed the feeling of being close to you.

“I know you have a lot of work to do, but you need to give yourself breaks, darling. And don’t tell me that you don’t need a break, you’re human (y/n), there’s only so much you can do in a day.” He began. Tom knew how you could get when college got overwhelming. Sometimes there were weeks where you would throw yourself into work, with no sleep, minimal food, and too many cups of coffee. He adored the diligence you had for your education, he wished he could’ve had that when he was still in school, but he wanted to make sure that you were taking care of yourself.

“Listen, you got this, I know you do. You’re the most intelligent and hard working woman I have ever met in my life. There’s nothing you can’t do, because I know, one way or another, you’re gonna find a way to do it. You always do. I just don’t want you to forget to take care of yourself. I know your education is important, but so are you.” He finished, a small smile forming on his lips. You hum in response, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself Tommy.”

What you say seems to reassure him, his shoulders visibly loosened up and the smile on his face grows a bit wider. Your own lips turn up on their own, reciprocating his smile.

“How about you, how was your day?” You ask him. Tom sits up and leans against his headboard.

“Well they’re still renovating the house, so Harry and I decided to rent out a place not too far from mum and dad’s. We actually had lunch with them, I got to see Tessa—gosh, I wish you were here right now. Tess was bouncing all over the place and giving everyone kisses, you would’ve loved it. And Paddy! He’s gotten so much taller since I’ve last seen him, and his voice keeps getting deeper, it’s actually embarrassing for me to be beside him because I’m older and I sound like I’m the one going through puberty.” He rambled, one of his hands making gestures and his face making expressions as he spoke. You loved the way he could just go on about a certain topic, especially when it came to his family. As sad as it was to see him leave for the UK, you were also happy because you knew he’d get to see his family.

He continued to talk about his day until his leg bumped into something, causing a hollow thump to emit from the object.

“What was that?” He leaned forward, the sound of his sheets rustling as he moved to grab the object filling your speakers.

“My guitar.” He grunted, holding the instrument up. “Remember, you got this for me for my birthday!” He proudly reminded you. You had gotten him the Ed Sheeran edition Martin Guitar after he had been going on and on about wanting to learn how to properly play the instrument. At the same time, he had a little obsession with Ed Sheeran and his music, so when you saw the guitar in the shop, you thought why not? You knew he would love it.

You fondly chuckled at him, “Yeah I do! You even promised to write me a song one day after you opened it.”

The last part of your sentence caught his attention, “I will write you a song one day, I’m very serious about that promise, love.” He pointed at you.

“Oh, are you?” You tease him.

“Yes, I am. In fact, ever since I’ve gotten back home, I’ve been practicing again and I’m doing much better.” He confidently told you.

“Can you play me a song?” You softly ask him.

“I can play you ‘Grow as we Go’ by Ben Platt. It’s the song I’ve been practicing.” He placed his phone against a pillow, using it as a stand. He placed the guitar in his lap, positioning his fingers on the frets and strings of the guitar.

“Yeah, play anything. I just wanna hear you play.” You mumble, your voice coming out in a muffle against Tom’s pillow.

“Just a warning, it’s probably not that good.” He mentions, shooting you a playful look.

“I don’t care.” You smile. He starts to softly strum the opening of the Ben Platt song and you couldn’t help but smile. He looked away from the camera, trying to focus on the notes and giving you a good look at the side of his face. The light shines part of his face, leaving the features you can see dark in the shadow, though it didn’t stop you from making out his gorgeous brown eyes. His long fingers move fluidly along the strings, creating a sweet melody on the guitar.

He stumbles a bit, making him whisper “Bollocks.” The little hiccup didn’t stop him from playing and so he continued to strum the guitar. You decided to stay quiet, letting him be in the zone. He messes up again, this time saying “bollocks” louder than the first time. You see him slightly shake his head as he regains his focus and places his fingers on the proper strings again.

You fondly watch him as he play, admiring the man you call your boyfriend. His fingers twitch on the string causing him to pause. He sucks his teeth, a bit of a frustrated grin on his face.

“Mmm.” He looks at you before turning away, “Okay.” He plays again, brows furrowed together in concentration as he tries to play the part of the song his keeps messing up on. You couldn’t contain the giggle that came out of you when he cringed at the sound the guitar made when he tried to play past the note. He pauses looking at the ceiling and tries to figure out the next notes.

“Alright, last time.”

“You’ve got it.” You encourage him. Your words give him some confidence and he shoots you a sweet smile. He readjusts the guitar in his lap, this time keeping his eyes on the strings as he plays. He strums the song again, starting off slow then slowly getting faster. Though his pacing was off by a bit, the song still sounded great nonetheless. You were thoroughly impressed.

He stops playing sitting back against the headboard, “I don’t know why I speed up though. I don’t know why I decide to do it so quickly.” He says into the camera.

You laugh, “It still sounds great though, I really enjoyed it.”

Tom tilts his head at you, teasingly squinting at the camera, “Even with the amount of times I kept stopping?”

“Yes, even with the amount of times you kept stopping.” You laugh, adjusting your phone. Tom puts the guitar aside and grabs his phone. He lays back on his bed, his head resting on his pillow and his curls sprawling out on the cushiony white surface. One of his hands rest behind his head as he stares at you.

“I’m gonna keep practicing. So the next time I see your beautiful face I can serenade you with a song and my guitar.” He muses, a lazy grin on his features.

“That sounds like something out of a chick flick.” You snort. He shoots you a playful glare, “Shut up, you love it.”

Tom knew you were a sucker for chick flick gestures. Kissing in the rain, watching the sunset, you name it.

You sigh, scrunching up your nose, “Yeah, I do.”

“But only from you.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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