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blubffsd · 1 year

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— WORLDS COLLIDE.

summary: It's the world cup final, your boyfriend and his national team reached the final again. But this time he's playing against your country.

note: play "The Great War" by Taylor Swift if you wanna a better experience.

thank you so much @http-isabela for make this with me, this is yours too girl 😋😋

warnings: a lot of drama.

Mia is in the bathroom of the hotel room looking at the shirt she is wearing. It's the France jersey, with the number 10 on the back and her boyfriend's last name too. At another time she would have been proud to wear it, but now she feels uncomfortable. She knows she doesn't want to use it.

This event and football itself is very important to her boyfriend and it's also important to her. Not only because of Kylian, her whole family has always been related to this sport and her father was a player too.

Her boyfriend's parents and his little brother are in the room too, they're all totally excited and all they're talking about is who could win the match. Obviously they are sure that France will be the winner and they really want it to be so. But Mia can't say the same.

She leave the bathroom under the gaze of Fayza, who noticed her strange behavior today, but didn't want to tell her anything. Mia walk over and sit next to Ethan, and he rests his head on her shoulder.

—Hey, I don't think I should go, I'm very nauseous and I don't think that going to the game gonna be the best, what if it's a virus or something contagious?

—Oh, please. –Ethan laughed– what you have is called nerves, you're afraid to see Kylian play, I understand you.

The fear is actually seeing Kylian win.

—Come on, Mia. Don't be negative, you'll see that we'll do very well –this time it was Fayza who spoke to her trying to calm her down.

—I can even see the photo of us kissing the cup just like in 2018 –her brother-in-law hugs her by the shoulders.

Why does everyone assume she wants France to win? Mia doesn't know what to do or say, she wants to think of something else so they will believe her and leave her alone in the room, but she knows they won't allow that. Kylian needs her there to feel good, but this time she doesn't want to support him.

Mia stays in the room with her boyfriend's family until it's time to go to the stadium. She leaves the hotel knowing that what is about to happen is not going to be easy.

And that what happened in 2018 is going to happen again, no matter which country she support.

As she walk into the stadium her boyfriend is on the pitch warming up with his national team, he's pretty determined to win today. His ambition doesn't let him think about anything other than the possibility of raising the cup a second time and fulfilling his dream again. On the other hand, her love for her country, her father and the sport doesn't let her think about anything other than seeing Lio win the cup, even if it means that her boyfriend loses.

Mia had even seen several comments on instagram posts from people who expected her to support her boyfriend's country, since it was the place where she lived now. Even several Kylian fans had sent her messages threatening her to support him and not her country.

Mia knows that this isn't a normal football match, it could say that the pride of two countries was being played. And that both the Argentines and the French expected her to support their respective countries. The Argentines because it's her country of birth and she is the daughter of one of the most beloved football players in the country, and even Messi's former coach, also because of the good relationship she has with some players and their families, and the French because she is the girlfriend of their biggest star and they don't want her to distract him.

She feels like everyone is waiting to see what she does but even she doesn't know what she wants to do.

Mia knows that she doesn't want to support her boyfriend's country, she knows that she feels like a black sheep sitting on the side of France and she also knows that now all the Argentine media are attacking her, like in 2018.

Mia knows everything that is happening and everything that she is feeling right now but she doesn't know how to act in the face of it. And it's not very easy to think about that when she has a camera in her face as she sit next to Ethan in the stands, knowing that her dad will be disappointed at the moment he sees her in the Kylian jersey.

Behind Mia are her in-laws sitting, with Jirès and Melissa and on the other side Hakimi and Hiba, who don't stop talking about how very proud she must feel to be about to see her boyfriend be world champion for the second time.

Everything that was happening around her is making Mia very nervous, it won't be long before the game starts and she knows that there are many people in the stands recording her to prove or deny that she is supporting Kylian just by seeing her reactions.

All the people sitting around her supporting her boyfriend are talking but she doesn't really pay attention until she hear her name.

—Right, Mia? –Jirès is looking at her waiting for her answer.

—Sorry, I didn't hear you, what?

—Your father was a player for the Argentine national team, right? –Mia nod– and he never made it to any world finals, right?

—No, but he won World Cups in Argentina as a coach.

She doesn't know why he asked her that, but it made her feel bad. Mia feels Melissa's gaze on her, so she turns to look at her and see her mocking face.

—The good thing is that now you are with a true champion.

What did she just say?

What did she mean by "a true champion"? Was it a roundabout way of saying that my dad was a failure or something? Or did she just want to praise Kylian and chose the wrong words?

Mia wants to believe that it wasn't malicious, but Melissa's expectant gaze on her, waiting for some reaction on her part, makes things clear to her. And she weren't going to let her humiliate her dad like that.

She is about to say something she'll regret later, but Ethan interrupt her saying that the game is about to start.

When the game started and she saw the Argentina players touch the ball, she remembered the times her dad took her to see him at his games or training sessions, the way he told her how proud he was to be able to say that he played for his country, and how he always taught her that she never have to forget where she came from or the difficult situations she went through, because that's who she is.

Mia remembered all the conversations that he and she used to have, everything they used to do before she moved to France, before everything changed.

She can't screw it all up again, so she gets up from her seat to do what she wanted to do since she arrived in Qatar: cheer on her country.

Mia knows that there are many French fans recording her while she sings "Muchachos" or other songs supporting Argentina, she is aware of all the signs that her brothers-in-law, her in-laws and her boyfriend's friends have given her to sit down and shut up, but honestly at this moment she cares in the least.

After a while of shouting to the beat of the Argentine fans, she sits down while she feels the disapproving looks of her boyfriend's family. They are looking at are so badly that it really makes her uncomfortable, but she tries to ignore it.

This is the moment that she and her father had waited all their lives and what they think didn't affect her joy and her desire to support Argentina at all.

The atmosphere in the box is tense after Mia have supported Argentina with the France shirt on, she were too brave to do that.

But obviously everything got worse.

Mia feels how her breathing paused, the whistle blows, it's a penalty kick for Argentina.

Everyone around her is too deep in their own mind to notice her happy face.

The person in charge of kicking the penalty is obviously Lio, she does't know how it happened, the only thing she saw was the ball going through the net of the French goal.

Her body acts on its own at this point. Lio scored the first goal of the game, she gets up from her seat shouting with happiness like the rest of the Argentines.

Right now she doesn't care that she is wearing the France jersey, that Ethan is next to her, or that her boyfriend can see her. Nothing matters now.

Ethan took her arm with a lot of force making her sit again.

—What's happening to you? You're crazy, don't do that again. –her brother-in-law looks at her angrily, with a frown and a glare.

—Ethan let me go, you're hurting me –she raised her voice so he can hear.

But he ignores her words, so in a sudden movement she let go of his grip, seeing that he left the mark of his hand on her arm.

—How dare you support Argentina and then celebrate their goals? You have my brother's number jersey on your back.

—Calm down Ethan, I couldn't help it.

It's my fucking country that scored, what you do expect me to do? Cry?

—Don't do it again.

Mia is about to answer but Hiba grabs her shoulders stopping as a sign to shut up, so she did.

—Enough both of you, silence. Don't make a fuss here. Ethan, relax, please. –Hakimi intervenes this time seeing the tension between the two of them.

—I can't calm down, she's celebrating that we're losing. –he turns to see Achraf and then back to Mia.– What's wrong with you?

She knew this was going to happen and she couldn't be more sorry she went to the game.

—Ethan, please. It was an impulse, let's focus on the game, there are cameras everywhere. –says Hiba trying to end the discussion.

Ethan looks at Mia for the last time and she prefer to remain silent.

She turns to see Hiba and smile at her, as a sign of gratitude for having calmed the situation, but she just nods.

After 13 minutes where Argentina has absolute possession of the ball, Di María scores the second goal of the match.

Mia rises from her seat again, whooping with excitement, as she watches the players from her country hug each other.

This time no one stopped her.

The only thing she thinks about is her father, who could never win the world cup when he was playing, knowing that right now he is probably shedding happy tears at home, almost feeling the cup in his hands.

When her excitement fades a bit, she sit down again, then Ethan tosses her jacket onto her lap, the jacket that's been on his since they sat down. Mia looks at him confused.

—You're a fucking traitor –he yells close to her face.

Wilfried puts his hand on Ethan's chest, pulling him back away from her.

—Stop son, don't do that.

Mia keep seeing his angry face, she never seen him like this.

—You don't deserve the shirt with my last name on your back –he yells even louder.

She feels how her pulse quickens.

—Kylian deserves more from you, it can't be that you don't support him when he needs you the most –Hiba brings her face closer to Mia whispering– Stop doing stupid things, you're crazy. You're wearing Kylian's jersey and sitting next to his family as you clap for the enemy.

Enemy? It's my country, my people, my father and his dream, it's all my life.

—Have respect for him.

Mia doesn't know what to answer so she looks back at the field.

The first half passed, with a 2-0 result with Argentina winning. She is all the time with her eyes fixed on the field, she doesn't have enough courage to look at someone.

Now Mia is sitting between Hakimi and Ethan, both of them mad at her.

She is deep in her thoughts, she doesn't know what to do, her father will be devastated if he sees her supporting France and Kylian will be more than disappointed if he sees her continue supporting Argentina.

It feels like two worlds about to collide, her life in Argentina and her life in France. Her father and the people she loves against her partner and everyone around them. Both sides expect her to be with them.

She doesn't notice that the players have returned to the field until she hear the whistle of the referee starting the second half of the game.

The match continues with France without scoring a goal, the players already a bit tired and making fouls.

But the time came, a player falls in the Argentine area after a push from Otamendi, the referee whistles indicating the penalty.

Kylian is going to kick it.

Mia feels her body tense, everything in her wishing he would miss the penalty. She closes her eyes feeling guilty about her thoughts.

Seconds later she hears everyone around her scream with excitement, she opened her eyes and saw all the French people celebrate, Ethan, Hakimi, Hiba, Wilfried, Fayza, Jirès and Melissa scream and hug each other with excitement.

Mia and Ethan make contact for the first time after the fight, his eyes teary from the excitement and joy of his brother's goal. Joy she doesn't feel.

Her eyes go to the field, looking for Kylian. She realizes that he was already looking at her, pointing at her, dedicating the goal to her. She smiles slightly, feeling completely guilty.

The celebration ended, just a minute after scoring the first goal, Kylian scored the second.

Her body completely tenses up, her breathing stops for a few seconds, it's the same feeling as when she was 8 years old and she saw her dad lose a game. Maybe he feels the same now.

Mia wants to cry and run away, she can't be there.

Everyone around her shouts with joy, Kylian on the field hugs his teammates.

Once the celebration is over, Kylian turns his gaze towards her, her eyes met his. She can't take it anymore and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands.

—Are you seriously crying? –she looks up and sees Achraf, looking at her with anger and disappointment. Mia tries to say something, but no words come out of her mouth.

The rest of the game was intense, Argentina scored another goal, wanting to avoid another fight, she just lowered her head, put her hands together and mentally thanked for the goal.

Not long after, Kylian tied the game for the second time. Making a goal that, in addition to achieving his hat-trick, would change everything.

Ethan is excited, shouting and celebrating, telling Kylian from afar that he is the best, that he is incredible.

The last minutes of the game were the worst.

Dybala took the ball from Kylian, preventing the tiebreaker at the last minute, making her boyfriend yell in frustration.

The game ended and the penalties came, the players and the referees are preparing for what is to come.

Mia takes her jacket and head to the bathroom, she needs to calm down a bit and be alone. Ethan didn't take his eyes off her until he saw her disappear into the crowd.

Once inside the bathroom she takes a deep breath trying to control her breathing, everything around her is spinning, she is about to have a panic attack.

Mia grabs her phone as fast as she can and send a message to the only person who can help her right now.

Mia tries to take big breaths to calm her thoughts but she can't. Ethan hates her right now. Hakimi and Hiba are upset with her. She doesn't feel comfortable there at all.

Mia wants someone to understand at least one of her reasons for supporting her country. Although she knows that the simple fact of being her country was enough. But there is much more than that.

She hears someone knock on the bathroom door.

—Is occupied –her voice is shaking.

—Miss Mia? Mrs. Antonella sent us, she said that she spoke with you recently.

She opened the bathroom door to find two security men, both of whom gave her a slight smile and guided her to the opposing team's box.

Mia manage to calm her breathing and her mind on the way to the box, knowing that she would no longer have to deal with the disapproving looks reassured her a lot.

She finally arrive and see Antonella waiting for her, she rushes over to hug her.

—Tranquilizate, ¿sí? No pasa nada –she says while stroking her hair– Ya está.

Mia nods her head and give her a small smile.

—Decime entonces, ¿qué pasó? (so tell me, what's happened?) –she sees the concern on her face.

—No me siento cómoda allá, no me puedo hacer la triste (i don't feel comfortable there, i can't pretend to be sad) –she laugh a little– no quiero volver (i don't wanna comeback there)

Anto smiled at Mia again.

—Bueno vení, vamos a ponerte otra cosa, que te van a decir mufa acá si te ven con eso puesto. (Well come on, we're going to give you another shirt, because if they see you with that shirt they're going to tell you that you're bad luck.)

Antonella goes to the box to look through her things and returns with an Argentina shirt with the number 24.

—No tenía ninguna yo, así que le pedí a las chicas y la novia de Enzo te prestó esa (I didn't have any t-shirt, so i asks the girls and Enzo's girlfriend lent you that one.) –she gives her the shirt and guides her to the bathroom.

Mia walks into the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. She knows that if she changes her shirt she betray her boyfriend and that everything would get worse, but she doesn't care.

She leaves the bathroom with the Argentina shirt on and she feels more comfortable and safe being on that side of the stands.

Just as Mia sit down next to Antonella, the referee blows his whistle indicating to Kylian that he should take the first penalty. He kicks and scores, the entire audience celebrates with him. He looks happy.

—Silence –Anto laugh– My husband is going to kick.

Everyone wait for Lio to kick with sweaty hands and heart to the fullest, ready for anything. Antonella was the first to shout the goal, being imitated by all. They all hug each other. Mia hugs Mateo, completely moved.

The next penalty was missed, Dibu Martinez saved it. The silence from the French audience was chilling. Argentina for its part celebrates and praises its goalkeeper. Happiness overflows her.

Her phone was ringing with messages from your father, full of emotion about what is happening. Mia feels her teary eyes, his dream is coming true.

She hears Antonella call out to you and point to the field, Kylian is grabbing Enzo by the jersey. Antoine and Olivier try to calm the situation, while Di María and Cuti Romero keep Enzo away from her boyfriend.

Mia sees Kylian's angry face while Enzo was talking to him, surely provoking him, he points in her direction. She feels her skin crawl when Kylian turns to where she is and looks at her and her shirt.

Enzo doesn't stop with the taunts, she doesn't know what he's saying, but he keeps pointing at her until Oliviar punches him in the face.

Security intervenes and separates them, but her eyes are fixed on Kylian, who didn't move from his place, looking at her from afar, his eyes reflecting pain.

The people around her yell in anger at the interruption of penalties.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, making she looks away from Kylian.

She stares at her phone for a few seconds, feeling a slight pain in her chest.

Mia gets up from her seat without wanting to attract anyone's attention and lock herself in the bathroom, quite overwhelmed by everything that's happening, and not wanting to face whatever it's going to happen.

She looks at her in the mirror while she thinks about everything that will happen when this is over, she doesn't know what will happen, but she knows that it will not be good.

She hears everyone nearby yelling and you open the bathroom door to find out that Argentina just won.

All hugging and crying with joy.

Her dad's dream came true, the dream that made her wait for him for more than one birthday, the dream that made her dad not go to the hospital when you were born, the dream that forced her to love football to spend time with her dad.

The moment she has been waiting for her whole life has just arrived. And she wants to cry with happiness, her dad is surely the happiest man on earth and she is happy with that. Although she would have liked him to have been just as happy on her birthdays, or everytime he was with her.

Mia leaves the bathroom coming back to reality, all the happiness she felt a second ago gone. She is thinking about Kylian now, she needs to talk to him and try to explain something to him, if she can, but she knows that he won't want to and that no one is going to let her get close.

Mia feels the tears running down her cheeks, everything she said really hurt her, mostly what she said about her dad, but she can't blame her, although it hurts, she's right after all.

She puts on her jacket, the same one that Ethan had thrown at her completely angrily a few hours ago, and she goes to the exit of the stadium.

She takes the first taxi she finds and go to the hotel, she quickly goes to her room once she arrived and put her things away as fast as she could.

She takes the first shirt she finds and take off Enzo's to put that one on.

She looks for the fastest flight to Paris and buy tickets for the first one available.

She has to go.

She can't see Kylian, she can't look him in the eye.

She brokes his trust in her.

His brothers hates her

His father looks at her with contempt.

His friends do the same, reminding her that everything she did was wrong.

She rushes her steps in the lobby to leave the hotel as soon as possible, she takes another taxi, this time bound for the airport.

She ruined everything, like in 2018.

note: i really tried my best this time lol

tags: @suzysface @mrswhitethornbelikov

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian x reader #mbappe imagine #mbappe x reader #mbappe one shot #mbappe #football imagine #football one shot #football x reader #football

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iwantjaketosullyme · 1 year

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𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

…but, big spoon, you have so much to do and i have nothing ahead of me.

➺ pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader (fluff/angst) ➺ summary: seeing jake was easy, seeing toruk makto not so much. (w/c: 2.8k) ➺ warnings: minor mentions of war & death a/n: inspired by mitski's 'your best american girl' nd dedicated to our fav all-american boy <33 na'vi dictionary at the end !! gif credit goes to @/worldofpandora

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Seeing Jake was easy.

It was shirking clan chores in favour of being held in the safe cocoon of his capable arms on a lazy afternoon, the two of you splayed out on the forest floor as it welcomed you into its clutch, soft grass embracing you, gentle breeze lulling him to sleep. As he slumbers you trace his features gently, eyes first, then nose.

You coast over the worry line that creases just like that when he senses a formidable threat, like the rogue palulukan that strayed a little too close to camp the previous week (or the persistent Omatikaya child that insists on having you braid his hair exactly when Jake’s sat down for you to rebraid his, meaning a rushed job and less scalp scratches for him).

Cautious fingertips are guided by the smattering of tanhi that litter his face, a map provided by Eywa, tiny stars aligning to lead you to your final destination - your favourite destination – his lips.

Being Seen by Jake was even easier.

- flashback -

Two weeks have passed since the fateful day your people reclaimed your ancestral home from the Sky People. The injured have been treated and deceased loved ones have been mourned and committed to Eywa. Now, the clan must celebrate.

Young ones chase after each other's tails (knowing the mood is good enough for them to escape chastisement from their parents), potential lovers dance around their feelings as they dance around the communal fire and elders thank the Great Mother for the privilege of witnessing another night like this – too many eclipses have passed since the clan could revel in shared joy like this.

The evening’s jubilations wind down as eclipse approaches, but the air is still charged with a sense of collective anticipation; you are yet to do what you do best. Gathered clan members form a blue sea, bioluminescent tanhi a mirror image of the stars in the skies above as they seat themselves on fallen logs.

Deep inhale, shoulders rolled back, head held high and gaze cast over young and old alike, you open your mouth and sing. Entranced, Jake looks up from where he was refilling his cup of pongu pongu (after falling victim to a particularly wily adolescent Na’vi bartering for the drink reserved for adults of the clan) and his amber gaze settles on you as he listens to the legend of a valiant Omatikaya warrior made song. His legend.

His song rolls off your tongue, volume ebbing and flowing like the waters of the Eastern Sea, reaching ‘ahhs’ and throaty ‘oohs’ conveying the highs and lows of his Pandoran alterlife. Sweeping peaks and troughs in the notes you belt out paint the picture in his mind of the mountains climbed and valleys traversed on his quest to find his humanity in a Na’vi body. Dulcet tones undulate from the soft pillows of your lips into the attentive ears of every clan member gathered around the fire, demanding the rapt attention of all that can and will listen.

Your voice betrays you, wavering slightly when you make sudden eye contact with Jake. He gawks at you unashamedly, his expression reminding you of the awe and excitement of a child watching kenten unfurl their luminous fans for the first time. Inwardly, you curse the power that this vrrtep has over you; you never get distracted! No doubt Ninat would be teasing you about this mishap til Eywa calls you home. That skxawng always liked to argue that she’s the better vocalist.

Final note lingering in the air and resonating in the hearts of those around you, you graciously accept the compliments offered. Soon after, you make a swift break for your marui, unaware of your newly acquired shadow following after your hurried steps as if still woefully caught in the spell your voice had cast upon him.

You flit about the marui, humming under your breath as you search for the herb and nectar concoction Tsahik gave you after overhearing you complaining to Neytiri about putting your vocal cords under too much pressure. An appreciative hum leaves your parted lips as the mixture soothes your throat, before a male, gravelly and obnoxious “Ah, shit!” cuts through your minute of peace, followed by the clang of a pot falling.

A stunned squeak escapes you before you have the chance to stop it, eyes widening as your ears fold back and your brow muscles raise in shock before furrowing in confusion. A moment passes.

You slowly crane your neck to look behind you, chancing a glance at whatever, whoever it is that managed to sneak into your marui and elicit such an embarrassing reaction from you. The fallen pot is still rattling on the floor as you lock eyes with the perpetrator and your upper lip raises into a sneer. Of course, you think to yourself, as if the vrrtep has not bothered me enough tonight he has come back for more!

“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake greets awkwardly, eyes shifting between your defensive posture and the offensive pot that he had tripped over in his dazed stupor. He brings his fingertips to his forehead before extending them towards you in a gesture of respect, and for a moment you are pulled from your derisive train of thoughts as your eyes follow the raised veins on his hands and you feel an unfamiliar feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach – much like the kindling of a new flame. Your examination of his anatomy comes to an abrupt stop when your eyes hone in on his outstretched fingers. Four fingers. Alien fingers.

“What is it that you want?” You throw the words at him, eyeing him up and down in an admittedly pathetic attempt to intimidate him. You are well aware of his prowess as a warrior; you’d only spent the latter part of the evening waxing poetic about it. Despite this, you cannot help but feel as if you must prove yourself to be a formidable threat to him, to this man who was once a tawtute imposter in a Na’vi body and has now made himself an imposter in your home.

He inches towards you cautiously, arms outstretched by his sides and palms open, intending to communicate his lack of malintention as he clears his throat and opens his mouth to answer you. Your eyes remain vigilant, ears pointing up, alert and awaiting his response. A series of unintelligible noises is all you hear, his mouth opening and closing in such a stupid way that you almost find it endearing. Almost.

Further incensed by the lack of answer, you jerk your head towards him, tail lashing behind you, impatient, “What is it then? Speak!” You begin to pace in front of him, agitated and expectant of an explanation. “Or do you only know how to stare?”

As if jolted back to reality, Jake blinks blankly before retorting “Damn, you sound just as good when you talk, pretty girl”. Astounded, your pacing comes to a halt, allowing you to baulk at his insolence – there is a notable pause as you compose yourself once more. His lips pull back into a self-satisfied smirk as he greedily absorbs your reaction, and there is a dangerous glint in his eyes, eyes too small to belong to a native Na’vi, that calls to you. You decline the call decisively.

“You still have not answered my question, Jakesully,” you attempt to regain control of this odd interaction, remaining firm in your affronted demeanour. “Speak!”

He lets out a huff of laughter under his breath, made bashful by the reminder of his inexplicable attraction towards you. “Well…I guess I heard ya singin’ out there and I-” he shakes his head, looks down and brushes a hand over his face, lips puckering to blow a gentle whoosh of air as he exhales. You feel his breath waft over your face and refuse to register the way it stokes the flame within you.

“I knew I gotta tell ya that you sound amazing, heavenly, even, unlike anything I’ve ever hea-” his reverent rambling is cut short by your cackle that pierces his ears that had perked up in delight while he sang your praises. He looks up to observe you doubling over in sarcastic laughter and waits, confused as ever, for you to explain yourself.

“Skxawng,” you rebuke, “do not insult my intelligence by suggesting you understood a single word other than your name. Neytiri has told me of your incompetence,” you lower your voice and let the venom seep into your tone, “Jakesully.”

He meets your narrowed eyes with a challenge in his stare, his right eyebrow, yet another tawtute feature, quirking up. “You’re wrong y’know,” he tilts his head to the right and nods as if still contemplating your rude interjection. In spite of his shock, he does not appear deterred in any way and for a moment you fear that your attempt at resistance is futile. Perhaps you have grossly underestimated his proficiency at your native language and have embarrassed yourself.

He continues, “I understood you calling me a skxawng just now.” A cheeky smile creeps onto his face as he basks in his ability to rile you up. “But I figure that might as well be my name with how many times Neytiri’s called me that”.

Insistent on finding a fault in his words, you give him an incredulous look and respond, “Now you dare to criticise the tsakarem?” A disbelieving scoff leaves your lips. “Impertinence!” Your words, however, do not have their desired effect as he remains unbothered by your jabs, seeing through them completely.

“C’mon pretty girl,” Jake tries to reason with you, “y’know that’s not what I meant.” Encouraged by the involuntary huff of defeat that leaves your body that has grown weary from the night’s activities and this back and forth that is honestly fraying your nerves, Jake perseveres with the determination of the Marine that he is. “Now stop deflecting ‘nd take the compliment.” You relent, albeit reluctantly. “Call me crazy but the way you sang out there…it felt like I knew exactly what you were sayin’, even with my thick Jarhead skull.”

He takes a breath before more words tumble out of his mouth. “I know you were singin’ about me. I never thought I would mean enough to the Omatikaya people for someone to write a song about me.” He surprises you by laughing self-deprecatingly – in the short time you have interacted with him you have become used to his natural bravado. “I never thought I would be enough for anyone to write a song about me.”

Jake wants to tell you more. He yearns to speak of the cosmic force, the pull he felt towards you the moment he heard your voice for the first time. The pull he feels tugging at his heartstrings now, plucking away at them, composing a tune to accompany the siren song of your voice. For a moment he thinks he might just really believe this Eywa shit now.

But he doesn’t tell you. For once in his life he holds back. Instead, he moves even closer to you, every inch of his eight foot figure towering over you as he encroaches on your personal space. Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as you take him in. All of him.

Spurred on by your favourable change in expression, Jake reaches forward to place a warm hand on the snug of your neck. His other hand’s forefinger and thumb frame your dazed face as he caresses your cheek with a reverential tenderness you would have never attributed to him. He shifts his grip down to your chin and tilts your face upwards, so that eye meets eye.

As your steely resolve weakens into something soft, something pliable, you are rendered boneless against your own will, putty in his hands – carbon fiber-reinforced bones be damned. He is held captive by the unexpected, soft trill of your laughter, spirited away by the light breeze that has entered like the melody of a windchime. Eyes of molten gold bore into your soul and he sees you. He Sees you.

- end of flashback -

Seeing Toruk Makto, however, was anything but easy.

You smile to yourself as you recount how you and Jake met, but are quickly sobered by the realisation that no other clan member would even fathom speaking to Jake so disrespectfully – speaking to Toruk Makto so disrespectfully. And so you are forced to confront the reason why you could not stand the man, even if he ensured your clan’s survival by bringing an end to The Great Sorrow.

You fiddle with the purple tassels of your breast covering, made up of the fallen strands of a tawtsngal plant that you had painstakingly braided to be in likeness to the whispering tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. The Tree of Voices.

To the ignorant tawtute that threatened to populate your beloved Eywa’eveng like pests it was simply one of the many flux vortex hubs that rendered their alien inventions useless, stripping them of their ill-perceived superiority and reminding them that they do not belong here. But to you, it was an awe-inspiring wonder that was the source of many a song composed by you and crooned into the ear of a fussy baby, sung to soothe an ill elder or belted out to relay the ballad of a beloved fallen warrior.

With the stories whispered in your ears by the ancestors, you weave the tapestry of the clan in song form. It is for this reason that Jake had taken to affectionately calling you ‘parrot’, explaining to you that they were birds that once lived on Earth and repeated what was said by others.

Your garment was not only of totemic value, symbolising your role in the clan as an esteemed singer, but was also a love letter to the sacred place that birthed your passion for the art of song - and in doing so established your roots in the intricate network of the clan.

If only you had known of what was to come, you lament. That a day would come when the very roots of the tree that planted you firmly within the clan would be so easily uprooted by the wretched Sky People and their demon machines. On that day, you felt as if your place in the clan was uprooted with it; you had lost your communication channel with the ancestors, and therefore your muse.

You sit up and detach Jake’s arm, limp with sleep, from your waist. As you look upon his face you try to reconcile all the affection he has extended to you with the fact that he once was a Sky Person, working for their destructive cause.

Before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of resentment stirs within your belly as you question why the Great Mother would choose to allow your life’s joy to be so mercilessly taken from you and yet bestow the revered title of Toruk Makto on such a man as Jake.

How could she turn her back on you? Strip your pride from you? Replace you with a man born not of Na’vi, but of the immoral tawtute? You cannot help but feel that Jake is more Omatikaya than you ever will be now, as you think of what you long to be.

His mate.

Mate to Toruk Makto, rider of last shadow, yet unworthy to stand with him, even in his shadow. The honour of being under this dark, ominous, yet protective shroud was reserved for a select few - the chosen ones. Proven warriors who have sacrificed their lives, their existence on this terrestrial plane for Toruk Makto, like Tsu’tey, or dutiful daughters who have overcome prejudices born from murder for Toruk Makto, like Neytiri. Not for glorified parrots. Not for you.

You heave a gentle sigh, banishing those thoughts with a soft shake of your head and rest your head back on Jake’s shoulder. Tense shoulders loosen as you shuffle back into the warm comfort of his body. Your finger begins tracing again, up, up, up his arm before a tentative hand opens up to grasp one of his larger ones.

Curious eyes explore the network of veins that branch out along his hand like the roots of a tree, like the roots of the Utraya Mokri. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you reminisce the first time you had been in such proximity to the veins on his hand and the feelings they aroused in you back then.

Perhaps, you muse, you could find solace in him the same way you once did in your sacred trees. You lean in, pursed lips relaxing to place a tender kiss on each of Jake's fingers, all four of them. The same fingers that once instilled a deep rage within you. The same fingers that held you with a love that can only be Eywa-given. The same fingers used to tame the mighty Toruk. A part of you, no matter how distant or small, knows that in these capable hands you can rest easy.

So yes, your struggle to See Toruk Makto may yet prevail, but Jake? Jake you would always See. It is with this conclusion that your hold on his arm slackens, and half-lidded eyes flutter close. You slot yourself into the space within his body that is made for you. Two bodies mould into one. Little spoon into big spoon.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

palulukan - thanator // tanhi - na’vi bioluminescent freckles // pongu pongu - na’vi alcoholic beverage // kenten - fan lizards // marui - tent // oel ngati kameie - I see you // skxawng - idiot // tsakarem - tsahik-in-training // tawtsngal - purple pandoran flower // tawtute - sky person, sky people // eywa’eveng - na’vi word for pandora

#✦•·.· 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 ·.·•✦#jake sully x reader #jake sully #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar imagine #jake sully x omaticaya!reader #jake sully fanfiction #avatar #jake sully imagine #avatar x omaticaya!reader

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gabessquishytum · 23 days

Note

Oh OG Warprize Hob Anon wherefore art thou..... I just thought it was time to show thanks and appreciation for one of the best AUs (imo) to come out of the Dreamling ship. Not a week goes by where I don't think about their writing, and spin headcanons and scenarios of my own in my head. One of the most underrated aspects of their writing I think is Dream's ruthlessness and cruelty in that AU, it's so rare to see Dream just be a toppy asshole all the way through, fellow fans seem to prefer to see him as an emotional bottom twink 😭. One of the rare AUs where Hob is allowed to be the sensitive wanton bottom all throughout 🤤🤤 Ohh OG Warprize Hob Anon, I miss your writing so much, I hope to see your writing grace this dashboard once more, especially with more dark Dream moments. For my fellow fans, I thought I'd do a small thing and compile all their asks here. I'm so sorry if this is sloppy, but I just copy-pasted these here.

Warprize Hob AU

Anonymous asked:

I don’t know where this came from?? Dubcon/noncon cw, or it’s kinky roleplay if you prefer that. But...

Hob fought bravely, a solider in the war of greater men. He even crossed blades with terror in all black, the Nightmare King himself once. They said it was better for a solider like him to die with honor than to be taken alive. But when the tide turned and Hob’s own sworn sovereign fell, all he wanted was to live. He laid down his blade, expecting to be taken into chains. But not chains like these.

He kneels, blindfolded, on the bed, naked other than pure gold bondage, thin chains that truss him everywhere. Gold binds his hands at his back. Gold cuffs secure his ankles, connected by a flimsy thread only put there so it could be snapped apart. Gold laces around his tits, catching in his chest hair. Gold threads between new ruby piercings in his nipples—still so sensitive that even the touch of silk sends bolts of pure heat through his body. Every time he twitches, he sees stars. Gold loops like garters around his thighs, connected to the glimmering chain around his hips. And gold ribbon cages his achingly hard cock and full balls.

Hob is so, so hard. He has been since they fed him sweet candied fruits laced with a magic that heated his blood until he was begging those faceless servants to please, please let him come. They didn’t. Instead, he was bathed and perfumed with jasmine oil brushed through his hair (everywhere). He was opened with gentle touches and generous oil, a marble plug nestled inside him, blessedly cool against his burning skin. He was left on the bed with a final chain connecting his collar to the bedframe.

His prick so hard in its confines, and the plug is not enough. He still feels terribly empty. Against his own will, he finds himself rocking back and forth, rubbing his thighs together, desperate for anything that might help him get pleasure where he needs it most.

Until with no warning, a hand touches his head. He stills. He thought he was alone. Strong, thin fingers brush down his face, linger on his lips. A gentle thumb pushes inside his mouth. Hob moans, body thrumming like a harp just to be touched so simply.

“Peace, my prize,” a deep voice, peaceful as slumber, murmurs. The blindfold is pulled down and Hob blinks blearily into the face of the Nightmare King himself. He smiles, confident and regal, and slim fingers caress his side, down to his ass, and push against the plug until it finally presses where Hob needs it. "I will give you what you crave.”

Gabe:

Mmmm yes!!!! I love this.

Hob as Dream’s chosen prize after his victory in battle? Oh yes, excellent. I particularly adore the idea of Hob being unknowingly fed some kind of aphrodisiac to make him needy - Dream wants him to be willing, so he will simply make sure that he has no choice but to be.

Also, the preparation... Hob would usually be utterly humiliated by such an act. It's so impersonal and degrading. But all he can think about is how much he wants to cum, so he spends the whole time whining and begging for more. By the time Dream gets to him, Hob is spreading his legs like a well trained whore who's never known anything different. He's nearly forgotten the battle and his instincts as a warrior, he just wants to be fucked. Anyone could come into the room and have him and Hob would just be grateful.

But he isn't for just anyone, oh no. He's the king’s prize, his spoils of war. He suckles desperately on Dream’s thumb, sticks his arse out temptingly and generally tries to make himself as tempting as possible. He aches, and his brain is fuzzy, the king is absolutely the most beautiful thing Hob has ever seen right now.

Not to mention his cock is perfect - the most perfect Hob has ever had inside him. It's as though his body has been molded perfectly for the king’s cock. He's not sure if he's ever cum so many times in his life.

When he comes back to himself several hours later, sweating and sticky and aching... he knows that he should be angry and hurt. He should get up from the beautiful bed and find some way to escape. But. He's tired, and hungry. The bed is comfortable, and the king is staring at him with sparkling black eyes.

He rolls over. Cum trickles gently down his thighs. The king holds out his hand, one of those candied fruits held between his long pale fingers.

Hob opens his mouth.

Anonymous asked:

Hiii I’m the originally war prize hob anon, lured back because I was blown away by how you and everyone else responded to the idea! Amazing work, go team.

Here’s more. (It’s so long. I’m sorry)

At first, Hob was confined to the bed chamber, a decoration, a pretty thing—and so rarely has Hob ever considered himself pretty. Pretty was for swallow-boned young men and women with smooth thighs. Pretty was not him, full bodied and furred. He has always pleased his lovers, they have found him handsome. But most have expected him to take charge and take care of them, not to—to—

Submit with spread legs and open mouth. To tempt. To eat sweet aphrodisiacs from those long, pale fingers until he’s begging to feel them for inside him. Sweet humiliation.

The king wants this. They pass long nights pounding Hob’s pride to shreds. He learns to beg under the king’s cock, his cruel mouth, and the touch of those inhuman eyes. Even sober, he only has to think of the king and his body floods with hot want. But still. Hob doesn’t understand.

“Why me?” He dared ask the first week, the king with a hand fisted in his hair, thrusting into him so deep and slow, Hob could feel it in his throat.

The king paused. A cool hand trailed down Hob’s back. Gathered the chains that pooled at his back, the ones he hadn’t yet snapped in his fervor. “I am interested.”

Hob meant to press him, even at the risk of his own peril, but the king slammed back into him and every thought vanished.

And then Hob is brought out of the bed and taken to kneel at the throne during the days too, chained to the king’s hand. At first, Hob assumes he is meant to be a symbol of the king’s power. Or a toy to warm the king’s cock when the duties of court grow dull. (Hob is both.)

But then comes a night when the king ponders battle plans for his next great war. And he turns to Hob.

“My general suggested we surge ahead and meet the enemy at their own gate. You rolled your eyes.” The king looks at Hob as if he is peeling the layers of muscle and bone away, finding the heart of him. And Hob realizes that all day, the king had noticed him listening. Not always—sometimes the king prefers to see him squirm, prefers to press the heavy gold plug into his hole and watch Hob strain for hours to keep it in, only to fail. During those hours, Hob had not heard a thing.

But when the king had allowed Hob to rest his head against his solid thigh, Hob had listened. And he had been seen doing it.

“Your enemy will expect a frontal attack. A show of strength. For you are a strong king. Respectfully, that’s a brave way to kill many of your own men.”

“Hmm.” The king says nothing else. He beckons until Hob kneels again at his side, the bowl of candied fruits, as always, sitting on the table. The king plucks one up and offers it to Hob.

“My lord,” Hob breathes. “Why do you care what I think?”

Hands brush through his hair. “Eat,” the king murmurs.

This king wants something. He waits for something. Hob cannot work out what. Yet.

He eats.

Gabe:

Assfggjkl og warprize anon!!!!!!

I am so taken with Hob’s thoughtfulness, his curiosity. His fearlessness. And I think that Dream is rapidly becoming besotted with these things too.

Hob isn't scared of him. No matter how ruthless and harsh he is, no matter which way Dream forces Hob to bend, he always springs back up with those curious eyes, wanting to know what's next. Dream suspects that he doesn't need the aphrodisiacs at all - that Hob would be willing to spread himself out in any arrangement of Dream’s choosing. But Dream is afraid of rejection, and Hob enjoys the lustful oblivion just a little bit too much to ask for a change.

Hob is clever and capable and good with his hands. When Dream comes to him wounded from some accident or skirmish, Hob knows exactly how to bind the flesh carefully but firmly. He rests his head in Dream’s lap after, like a beloved pet hound. His breathing is so soothing, Dream even manages to fall asleep. He wakes up and Hob is already between his legs, ready and waiting to be choked on the king’s cock as usual.

Dream fucks him instead, as ferocious as ever but this time with a purpose. Hob is his prize and the world ought to know about it. From now on, he'll have Hob smelling of his cum, always. He'll have him littered with bite marks and bruises. He'll keep Hob close, make sure the end of his gold leash is always within reach. He'll bring Hob to the battlefield, if he must.

A creature as magnificent as Hob must be treated as he deserves. And Dream alone can give him what he needs.

Anonymous asked:

War prize hob anon, here!!! I am loving the responses to this idea! So many amazing brilliant takes, love to see it.

The talk of whether Hob would escape or stay and be spoiled inspired me (glorious takes on both sides) so I drabbled on the subject…

It takes time. Trust. And a letter opener left unattended.

That night, Hob slides quietly as he can out of the silk sheets. He sits astride the sleeping king, his face turned toward the moon, his neck a deceptive swan’s curve. And Hob raises the blade to it.

One slice. And he is free.

It does not matter, he tells himself, that he has never been fucked so well. That the king is kind to him, relatively. He could take Hob with violence and pain or share him. Instead he feeds Hob fruits to heat his blood so that every time he plunders his body, with fingers, tongue and cock, Hob welcomes him.

Even the humiliations and hurts of his new service are given a sweet edge. The way he was spanked for misbehaving, hard and brutal, until his skin was red and tender. Followed by a hot tongue in his ass. The way he was made to kneel for hours and hold the king’s cock in his mouth. Followed by servants massaging the aches from his body and tending to his bad knee. (Yet another reason Hob is a poor choice for a prize.) In the king’s service, Hob might hurt. But he rewards him with such care…lavishes attention on him until Hob cannot come any more.

No. Hob has to do this. He must escape. He has his pride. This is just pleasure. Nothing more.

“Well?” The king’s voice interrupts his turmoil. Oh gods. He is awake. He surges up, knocking the blade from his grip. A hand clamps on his thigh, another on his wrist and he is rolled on his back, away from the blade. The chain between his wrists, once wide to allow him movement, slithers shorter until the cuffs kiss, and the collar tightens just enough to threaten his breathing. For all his battle prowess, struggling it gets him nowhere but squirming and pinned. The nightmare king settles over Hob like a dragon on top of its hoard. He stares unblinkingly down at him.

“You could not do it,” comes that deep whisper. Hob stills. “You are a well-trained solider yet for nearly five minutes you sat with a blade at my neck and did not make your move. Why?”

Hob swallows. A hot open mouthed kiss blooms just under his jaw, followed by the press of teeth. Even without the candied fruit his body sings for this man. What is happening to him?

“My pet. My prize. You must already face great consequences for this disobedience,” the king says. “I may not let you come for weeks. Answer me or it will be months.”

“I had to try. I had to—I don’t understand.” It isn’t the first time he has asked, pled, begged to know. “I’m at my wits end. Please. Why me?”

Fingers slip between them to tease at his hole and Hob resists the powerful, heady urge to submit and grind against him. For as long as he can before his resolve crumbles into lust. It will not be long. It never is.

The king gives the same maddening answer he always gives. The only one, whispered against his lips. “I am interested.”

Gabe:

Hnnnnng.

Og warprize hob anon…… i hope you know that you’ve created a beautiful monster and we’re all horny about it. i hope you also know that your words are beautiful and your prose is delightful. it’s a pleasure to read.

Oh but the turmoil Hob goes through. There’s nothing that the king can do to soothe the way his mind is twisting and turning, bouncing between loyalty to himself and some mad, misplaced loyalty to this nightmare of man. What does Hob owe Dream, really? His life? What kind of life is this?

He could set himself free. He thinks he’s almost worked it out. He could take away the one think the king seems to want. He could make himself… dull. Boring, predictable. Uninteresting.

But.

He thinks about long, thin fingers running down his spine and soothing the perpetual ache at the small of his back. Warm salve on his knee, applied at the king’s own orders. His body rigid and sweating in the night from some bad dream, suddenly embraced by cool arms. A kiss on his brow in the early morning. He’s been so greedy for those things, has coveted them and gloried in them. How can he live without them now?

Worse: what would the nightmare king do with a broken toy? Hob doesn’t want to find out.

He bounces in Dream’s lap with renewed fervor when he’s finally allowed the privilege of taking the king’s cock again. But there’s a heat behind his eyes, a kind of determination that he’d thought long dead and gone. He’ll find some way to win this game, this strange warped little battle. His own feelings be damned, Hob will not be broken. Even a king must have some chink in his armor, somewhere.

Dream raises a delicate eyebrow and almost, almost smiles. Pulls his prize closer by his golden leash.

“Interesting.”

Anonymous asked:

Hiiii warprize anon here! Glad to see people are still warprizing hob, I think it’s good for him. Truly, anons, you are doing glorious work with that AU.

I wanted to write dark obsessive dream next in all his dubcon glory next but no one cooperated? Have some less porny character introspection instead ig…

It’s amazing how little it takes for a grown man to become used to being a pet. As weeks stretch into months, Hob revels, just a little. In the lustful linger of eyes on his body. In the quirk of that cruel mouth when Hob pleases the king. The eager stirring of his cock even before he eats aphrodisiacs. Even his punishments—even the hot lash of the whip—begins to feel like sacrilegious worship. Gasping for breath, holding his thighs spread as the king buries himself in his body certainly is. In the blackest and most honest hours of the night, Hob knows the truth. He is starting to like it.

That’s the danger of the king’s service.

Hour by orgasmic hour, the king is twisting himself into Hob’s mind and body like a key carving out its own lock. He demands Hob’s submission, his pleasure and his desire for his own. But how many people had the king had in such a way? How many prizes have knelt, and learned to live at his pleasure? And where are they now? Abandoned surely, replaced. Hob is the chalice the king sips from now but he is one of dozens, maybe even hundreds. The king might have taken a prize from every battle won.

Hob is…not special.

He kneels on his cushion, waiting for the king who has stepped from the throne room, and reminds himself.

Footsteps approach and stop just behind him. Always, when the king is away, a guard is assigned to keep a close eye for Hob’s protection, though none are allowed to take his chains in their grip. Not unless Hob runs. Daring, the guard plucks at the chain between his nipples until it swings against Hob’s chest. He holds his breath.

“How’s it going?” A voice drawls. “Knees a little tired?”

Hob glances at the door for the absent king before raising his head. The guard above him smirks like he knows a joke and Hob is the punchline.

“Yes, rather,” Hob replies. “Even with the cushion.”

“His majesty seems to like that,” he muses.

Corinthian. That is his name. He’d heard the king give him orders with iron in his voice. The way one talked to a guard dog who wasn’t trusted. A creature who couldn’t be taught to fear the whip.

“You’d know better than me.” Hob meets his eye as best he can through the man’s dark glasses. He is very handsome, golden and strong. Perhaps this is the answer. Perhaps prizes who lose their luster are given other ways to serve.

Corinthian tilts his head. Hob feels his eyes trace down the marks the king left. Lurid love bites at his throat and faint fingertip bruises on his hips. “I really don’t. Suppose I’m not his type.”

“Surely you’ve seen the others then.” Hob replies. He keeps his hands folded where they’re bound at the small of his back.

“Other … prizes?” Corinthian’s grin only grows. “Sweetheart, no. You’re the first.”

Hon stares but senses no lie. “Can’t be.“

“Picking a prize always been his right but he’s never felt the need to use it until now. Until you.” The man leans closer, dangerously into his space. Hob feels him breathing, he’s so close. “I’ve heard the sounds he pulls from you at night. He must have years of pent up energy.”

Hob’s throat is dry. Something fragile, winged and stupid flutters in his chest. But before he has to think of a reply, Corinthian snaps back to a respectful distance an instant before the doors swing open, and the king sweeps in. He climbs the stairs, slinks back to claim his throne. Hob is still reeling when his cool hand finds his chin and tilts his head up.

“You did not move,” the king says. It is not a question but an expectation.

Hob shakes his head. For a long moment his eyes glitter down on him, simply watching. Then fingers card through his hair and he is guided to rest his head against his king’s knee.

Gabe:

Lying face down on the floor after reading this tbh. Like. What can I say? What can I add?

Knowing that he's the only one is a further kind of beautiful torture for Hob, because once again he's asking himself over and over again: why? Why him, above anyone else? There's a part of him in agony over his imprisonment, the curtailing of his freedoms, the fact that his mind and body are no longer his own. Then there's the part of him who wants to know why, so he can be good. He needs to know how he can keep the favour that he has miraculously obtained.

And Dream? He never gives answers. If Hob even dared to ask more than a small, sobbed "why me?" in the midst of some blissful torture, Dream wouldn't bother to answer. Hob thinks that the king likes him kept ignorant and confused. It's another way to keep him in line. He's always dancing on a knife's edge, wondering whether the king will eventually toss him aside - never knowing if he's truly safe.

So he'd better be as good as he can. Never give Dream a reason to throw him away. But he will slip up eventually - its only a matter of time...

Anonymous asked:

As requested, here’s some warprize!hob being punished by dark!dream for bad behavior. Also… thanks panickingstudent2’s last ask for some very specific inspo!

The king chains him up by his wrists. No gold cuffs with velvet interiors here. Not for this. This is punishment, work fit for dungeons, cold and deep as his king’s displeasure. Hob is already delirious from too much candied fruit. The cage has been cruelly clenched around his hot, aching cock for days now but he needs to be fucked, he needs it, he needs it.

“Mercy,” he begs but it won’t do him any good. He’s been begging for days, his cock and balls hot and aching.

Fury is divine on the nightmare king’s face. Other kings would simply kill him. Leave his body for the ravens. But Hob’s king will not let him go.

“I would have you obey me,” the king says. Fingers brush against his hole and don’t even push in where Hob yearns for them despite himself. He cants his hips back weakly, but the fingers go away. “But if I must bring you low again and again, I will. And I will enjoy it every time.”

He steps back. And the whip snaps through the air and white-hot fire flashes across Hob’s back.

Wet agony blooms across his shoulders and bloodred welts.

“You know why I must do this,” the king says. “You know why it is my pleasure to do this.”

The whip lashes again and again, fire licking across his skin. It doesn’t stop when Hob screams. Or when he sobs. When it’s done, his entire back glows like an ember. The king faces him, eyes black holes in his pale, sharp face. He places a cool hand on Hob’s back and he presses into the soothing touch, whining like a newborn babe.

“Please, I’m sorry, please, pleasepleaseplase,” he breathes. The king twists him around until the cuffs pull tight. He drags the plug from his hole, and finally buries himself to the hilt in his ass. Hob wails. Hands tangle in his chest hair and pull him flush against his king, as he plunges in and out at a ruinous pace. Being finally filled is sweeter relief than when the whip stopped.

“Say you are mine,” the king says. Once he was quiet, and constrained whenever he touched Hob and this is why—the need in his voice is barely bridled. Hob is not the only desperate one. “Say it.” The king bites, sudden and sharp at Hob’s earlobe.

“I’m yours—Morpheus!” His head snaps back as his body thunders through a cruel, dry orgasm. He doesn’t hear the king’s soft gasp against his ear, or register the name he’s cried. He’s in pain, from his cock to his shoulders—yet Hob floats. Perhaps he could fly.

Love, Warprize Anon

Gabe:

Hnnnggg. I am. Deeply obsessed with this. I love it when you drop these beautiful snippets for us!!! Hob calling the king by his name in the middle of a punishment/orgasm? Talk about a mind-fuck. Poor thing, he's truly terrified.

But it isn't just fear, is it? It would be so much simpler if he could say that he's scared and be done with it. So much easier to handle that emotion. What he feels is more that fear. He's grown attached to the king, longs for him when they're apart and fears him when they're together. When he tries to imagine a life away from his capture, he can't even manage it anymore. It's impossible to see beyond the king, who looms so large in Hob’s thoughts all the time. He's obsessed, addicted, terrified, longing to be taken and horrified by the idea all the same.

All he knows is that his king has power over him that he will probably never comprehend. Perhaps its time to surrender and acknowledge that he's lost. He no longer belongs to himself. He belongs to Morpheus.

-Love Yan Anon <3

Aww, hey Yan Anon!!! It's nice to hear from you. And thank you for highlighting OG Warprize Anon and their incredible work (you're a trooper for scrolling through and copy/pasting everything, seriously). Warprize au has definitely been a big hit, as it rightly should be, and it's great to look back on how it all started. Hopefully OG Warprize Anon is out there doing great and knowing that they inspired many, many people.

Hopefully we'll see more content for the Dark Dream enjoyers out there. I certainly lean towards a mean toppy Dream myself, although I'm not immune to Obliterating That Twink either. There's room for everyone in the fandom - and don't forget to leave comments for your favourite authors as Yan Anon has here. It's a great way to encourage your faves to write more of the stuff that you love!

#yan anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #warprize hob #cw dubcon #cw drugging #cw intox #cw pain #cw physical abuse

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vodika-vibes · 13 days

Note

You are a true blessing to this generation of Star Wars fans tbh

May I have female (ex Jedi) inquisitor!reader x empire!cody

Can be fluff or something more serious like an interrogation or a mission

Love you sm <33

It Only Takes A Spark

Summary: Your relationship with Commander Cody is wrong. You know it. He knows it. Yet, neither of you are willing to let the other go.

Pairing: Purge Trooper Cody x F!Inquisitor Reader

Word Count: 2764

Warnings: Mentions of Torture, though nothing is shown in detail

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So...when you said you wanted imperial cody and imperial reader, you really meant you want almost 15 pages of these two doing everything in their power to stay together in spite of everything thrown against them, with a little fix-it hand waving. Right? Because that's what I wrote, lol.

“Ma’am,” You open your eyes and turn your gaze towards the man standing in the doorway, “We’re about to land.”

“Thank you Commander,” You reply, your voice soft as you slowly push to your feet. Pain shoots up your legs, a lingering gift from the Grand Inquisitor.

Commander Cody remains in the doorway, his expression blank but there’s a hint of concern leaking through the force, and you can only sense it because of how well you know the man. “Are you in need of medical treatment, ma’am?”

“I’m afraid that this is nothing that can be fixed, Commander.”

There’s a sharp burst of irritation and frustration and despair, and you glance at him. You know that he’s irrationally protective of you, and you know that he hates everything about this situation, but he’s usually better at containing himself than this.

For a moment there’s no movement, and then Commander Cody reaches out and presses the button that controls the door, allowing the door to slide shut. The room dims, no longer lit by the bright lights of the main part of the ship.

You watch as he pulls his helmet off and stares at you. “The Grand Inquisitor tortured you again, didn’t he?” He’s trying, so hard, to hide the fury in his voice, but he’s not trying hard enough to hide from you.

“You know I’m not a very good Sith, Cody.” You remind him gently, “I felt too deeply as a Jedi, and my Master thought that that would make me a good Sith. Instead I just became…apathetic.”

“You’re hardly apathetic, sarad.”

You glance at him, and tilt your head slightly, “I think you see more of me than anyone else.”

“That I can believe.” Cody absently passes his helmet from one hand to the other, “Tell me, do you think we’ll find a Jedi on this planet?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “No.” You finally admit, “I think the Grand Inquisitor doesn’t expect us to find anyone here either, but we have to investigate anyway.”

“Good. I’m so…tired of hunting Jedi.”

You’re quiet for an even longer moment, “You volunteered for the position, Cody. You could have stayed a regular trooper.”

“Yeah, and we both know that it’s the only way that I was going to get that advanced aging issue handled.” Cody scoffs, “Plus…” He pauses, “Nevermind.”

“Go ahead. Speak your mind.”

“Joining the Purge Troopers meant that I’m able to protect you, sarad.” He frowns, “Well, in theory. I still can’t protect you from the Grand Inquisitor.” It’s a ridiculous sappy notion, and yet you can’t help but feel touched.

You shake your head, putting the emotions in the little box with all of the other things deserving of your protection, “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to.” Cody replies, and he sounds so tired that you feel a sting of guilt.

He doesn’t belong here. He’s too good for this life, for the Empire. But then, you’ve always known that.

The comm on his wrist chimes, and you watch as he glances at it. Cody exhales slowly, and for a moment his emotions are a whirlwind around him, before they vanish completely, and he pulls his helmet on, “We’ll be landing in five, Ma’am. Will you be joining us up front?”

You don’t answer for a moment, and then you nod once and pull your own helmet on. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Cody leads you through the small ship, and he settles himself at your shoulder as it lands on the planet's largest landing pad. Hardly necessary, you think, but people are funny about Inquisitors showing up on their planet.

You walk down the landing ramp, and a trembling man greets you on the landing pad. “It’s an honor to have an Inquisitor on our humble planet,” He stammers, wringing his hands, “But I assure you, there are no Jedi on Mora.”

“Perhaps.” Your voice is flat, “A report was made, and so we shall investigate. I trust this will not be an issue.”

“No, no! Of course not!” Somehow the Governor wrings his hands even more, “However, if you do find a Jedi…I hope you know that we aren’t harboring them willingly-”

“I will not make any accusation until I determine whether or not there is a Jedi on this planet.” You interrupt, “I wish to speak with the man who made the report.”

“I…yes…of course.” The governor nervously turns his back on you, “This way. I will be more than happy to show you where he lives.”

“You already know who made the report?” Commander Cody asks.

“Well, yes. He was very proud of it, you see.”

You’re sure that if Cody wasn’t wearing his helmet, he’d be glaring at the Governor hard enough that he’d burst into flames. And, frankly, you don’t blame him. Everything about this situation is screaming that it’s going to be a false report afterall.

Still, a job is a job, so you allow the nervous man to lead you through the winding streets, until you reach a massive house. The Governor’s house, he explains proudly. There’s a young teenage boy sitting on the front steps, nervousness rolling off of him in waves.

The boy looks at you, and then at Cody, and then back to you. Before he looks at the Governor, “You never said that actual Inquisitors would come to interrogate me!” He blurts.

The Governor glares at the boy, and opens his mouth to say something, but you take a step forward, and he stills. “Commander,”

“Ma’am?”

“Ensure the Governor here doesn't run off. Feel free to shoot him if you have to.” You order. You hear Cody unholster his pistols, and the Governor whimpers in fear, but then you’re focused on the boy.

He’s Pantoran, with messily cut lavender hair. His eyes are wide with terror. His clothes are filthy, but not the carefully curated filth that you’d expect from a teenage boy…more like someone who works hard labor.

“You are the person who made the report?” You ask.

“Y-yes ma’am. But I wouldn’t of if I knew that you’d actually come here.” He blurts.

“Then why did you?”

“Um…well…” He nervously fumbles with an old comm, “We…a message went out…”

“ A message?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

The boy opens a message on his comm and hands the small device to you. There, written in black and white, is the message the boy mentioned. A monetary reward to anyone who reports a jedi to the planetary government.

“We…my ma and pa…we don’t have a lot of money. And I thought…that amount of credits would be enough that we’d have enough food-” The boy rambles, “I’m sorry for wasting your time-”

You pass the comm back to the boy, “Did you ever receive your payment?”

“Yes ma’am, though it was a lot less than he promised.”

“Hm.” You turn your attention to the Governor, “You can go.” You say to the boy. You remain still and quiet as he runs off, and it’s only when you’re sure that the boy won’t get involved that you speak again, “I’m find myself very curious,” You murmur, “As to why you might want an Inquisitor and a Purge Trooper on your planet.”

“I…I didn’t have a choice.”

“Is that right?”

“You have to believe me.”

“I think you’ll find that I do not have to do anything.” You correct quietly, “Commander, bring the Governor inside. We need information from him.”

“Yes ma’am,”

You absently wave your hand at the door, using the force to force it open to allow Cody access to the building. You follow him inside, and shut the door behind you.

“Do you wish to be present for the interrogation, ma’am?”

“It is probably for the best.”

“As you say.”

It takes Cody three hours to pull all of the information out of the Governor, and you watch, impassively, as the nervous man’s body lies sprawled on the ground between the pair of you.

“What do you think?” Cody asks as he cleans his knife.

You’re quiet for a long time, “I think it’s incredibly ballsy for him to claim that that Rebellion forced him to do this.”

“I agree.” Cody checks his knife and then slides it back into its holster, “That said, the Rebellion would probably do a lot of things to get their hands on an Inquisitor and a Purge Trooper.”

You pull your gaze away from the body, “You believe that we are the targets then?”

“Would make sense, wouldn’t it?

“It would.” You agree, “Generally speaking, hunting the Rebellion falls under the purview of the Imperial Army, not the Inquisitors or Purge Troopers.”

“You’re not wrong.” He’s quiet, “We should return to the ship and leave. I do not want you in any more danger than you have to be.”

You open your mouth to say something, and then you pause and tilt your head. “Ah. I fear that this is no longer our decision.”

“What do you-?”

Cody isn’t able to finish as the door bursts open, revealing a large group of people in mismatched armor, led by a man wielding a purple lightsaber.

“...well, it looks like there actually is a Jedi on this planet, ma’am.” Cody says dryly.

“So it would appear.”

Mace Windu, who you thought was dead, slides into the opening stance of Vaapad. “Lower your weapons. You’re both under arrest.”

“Well, seeing as you don’t have any actual authority in the galaxy, I would argue as to the legality of the word arrest,” You say flatly, “But very well. Stand down Commander.”

Cody pauses, and he releases a heavy sigh, as he slowly lowers his weapon to the ground and raises his hands. You, however, just raise your hands.

Mace Windu pulls your lightsaber from your waist, and hooks it on his own, and he roughly slaps force suppressors around your wrists.

Which is unfortunate, really. Since the force was the only thing keeping you conscious.

The last thing you hear as the world goes dark is Cody’s loud cursing.

Cody impatiently paces the cell that he’s been thrown in.

Well, it’s a room, with its own fresher and a very comfortable bed. But it’s still locked from the outside, which makes it a very comfortable cell, but a cell all the same.

He feels naked without his armor, but he does understand why he wasn’t allowed to keep it. He wouldn’t have allowed an enemy combatant to keep their armor either.

At least they gave him clothes to wear. Comfortable clothes even.

And he is getting three meals a day, though, tellingly, no one has come to deliver the meals personally. Instead they’re being delivered by Skywalker’s protocol droid.

Not that Cody’s been too eager to talk to anyone.

His mind is locked on his sarad. And on the way she crumpled when the cuffs were slapped around her wrists.

Cody’s no fool. He knew that she was badly injured. He knew that she was using the Force to keep herself going. He hadn’t, however, been aware as to the extent of her injuries.

If he had he wouldn’t have allowed her to leave the ship at all.

Not that it matters at this point, of course.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his cell door sliding open. Cody half expects to see that damned droid again, so he’s genuinely surprised to see Rex and Wolffe standing there.

With Obi-Wan Kenobi standing behind them.

“Cody!” Rex and Wolffe hurry into the room, stopping several feet away from him, “You’re alive!” Rex says, “I thought…for sure-”

“As if I would die so easily,” Cody replies, “I heard that you went down with your ship, though.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs awkwardly, “I did. I got lucky.”

“How’d you become a Purge Trooper, vod. I thought only NatBorns were slated for that.” Wolffe says, a frown on his face.

“It makes sense,” Obi-Wan says from the back of the room, “Anakin would absolutely want to keep you close.”

“I volunteered.” Cody says flatly, and when the three men jerk back in surprise, he continues, “Where is she? The Inquisitor I was with. What did you do to her?”

“She’s in the infirmary.” Rex answers without thinking, “We didn’t hurt her, vod.”

“I want to see her.”

“No one’s being allowed to see her.” Obi-Wan says, “She’s too dangerous.”

Cody’s smile is all teeth, “I’m dangerous. And I’m going to be more so unless you let me see her. And that is a goddamn threat.”

“Okay, easy there vod.” Wolffe says, “General, we can let him see her, right? So this doesn’t become a thing?”

“I think we probably should.” Obi-Wan agrees, sounding slightly shaken, “You’re not going to cause any problems, are you commander?”

“That depends on her.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Obi-Wan pushes his hand through his graying hair, “Let’s go then.”

The infirmary where they’re keeping his sarad isn’t that far away. Which makes sense, you wouldn’t want an infirmary for prisoners located in the same place as an infirmary for everyone else.

Obi-Wan opens the door with a wave of a keycard, and then Cody ignores the three men walking with him. He pushes between his brothers and crosses the room to the bed where his sarad is sitting and peering out the barred windows.

“Hey,” She turns at the sound of his voice and he jolts when he sees her normal eye color, rather than the striking gold he had gotten used to, “Look at you.” Cody murmurs as he sits on the edge of the bed and presses a hand against her cheek, “No gold.”

Her lips turn up into the tiniest smile, “No force.” She offers as she holds up a single wrist.

“Are you okay?”

She considers his question for a moment, “I’m not in pain,” She finally says, “I had forgotten what it was like to not be in pain.”

“Oh, sarad.”

“I’m okay, Cody.” She reassures quietly, “Are you?”

“Yeah. They’ve been very kind so far.” He carefully tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Has anyone come to talk to you yet?”

“No. No one.”

“Well, that’s okay then.” Cody says with a sigh, “I’d be cross if they were interrogating you while you were recovering from a medical procedure.”

“You’ll be cross anyway,” she points out as she lifts one hand to press against his, “You’re so protective.”

“Someone has to be.” Cody replies.

Her small smile fades slightly, “Cody…”

“Hm?”

“...if you want to stay here. To stay with your brothers…I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She says quietly, “You…don’t belong with the Empire.”

“And you do?” Cody asks, not touching on her first comment.

She drops her gaze, “We both know that my master will never let me go. You don’t deserve to suffer my fate.”

“My place, sarad,” Cody replies as he uses a single finger to lift her chin, “is by your side. No matter where you might be.” He leans in and lightly bumps his forehead against hers, uncaring for the audience. “It doesn’t matter what you choose. Whether it’s returning to the Empire, staying here with the Rebellion, or moving to Tatooine to pick up moisture farming. I’m going to be right there next to you.”

She stares at him, and then her nose scrunches up adorably, “Moisture Farming?”

“Hey, you never know. Maybe you’ll like it.” It’s something of a relief though, seeing some of her personality peeking through the shroud of apathy she adopted to survive the Empire.

Cody brushes his finger down her cheek, an idea starting to form, “You know…” He murmurs, “We could stay.”

“They’ll never let me stay.”

“They,” Cody says, his voice raising slightly so that their audience can hear you, “are two members of the Jedi Council who were so incapable of doing their duty that they allowed a large number of their padawans to get kidnapped and tortured.”

“...rather uncalled for, Commander.” Obi-Wan mutters from the doorway.

“If and when your Master comes looking for you, he’ll also have to deal with me. And I’ve become very good at killing Force users.” Cody adds with a wry smile.

She sighs softly, and her eyes close, “Alright then.” Her free hand comes up to press against his cheek, “We’ll try it your way.”

“I promise, sarad, no one will ever hurt you again.”

And a genuine smile crosses her face as she moves her other hand to press against his cheek, “Well, if you say so then it must be true.”

#star wars #tcw #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

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Cries Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort as always

Bucky Barnes x F Reader Oneshot 2000 words Angst, more angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Set post TWS. He thinks nobody notices.

Sometimes, Bucky cries at night.

Sometimes, it’s a silent crack in his facade, where tears will melt down his face in the shower, and he’ll let the water wash them away, hoping that nobody will notice how red his eyes are when he finally comes out.

Sometimes, it’s because even though he knows logically that everything he’s suffered through is over now, that there isn’t a gun strapped to his back anymore, and that the people who are coming to torture him have already been and gone, he doesn’t really know, so, all he can do is lock himself away, and weep, fearful and panicked, until he eventually snaps back to the present-

and sometimes, on nights like this one, it’s whilst he’s sleeping.

He hasn’t kicked the sheets away from his body in a fit of despair, like he does when he’s stuck reliving some awful kind of memory and he forgets that it’s just a blanket, and not some form of restraint.

He’s curled up, head calmly on a pillow, with hair fanned across his temples from where it’s slipped loose from the braid he’d put it in that morning.

but, Y/N is close enough to see the tears running down his face in uneven rivets. She can see the flush of red in his cheeks, and his nose as his lower lip quivers.

Her heart aches, guilt and sympathy flooding her at once. She’d only left him for a couple of hours, to go to a bar with a friend. It suddenly seems like a very selfish use of her evening, despite how Bucky had been insisting that she accept her friends invitation for at least the past week.

“Oh, sweetheart” she sighs, placing her glass of water carefully on the nightstand, “What are we goin’ to do with you, huh?”

The man stirs a little, sniffing and tensing before his eyes flutter open.

They’re muddled, she thinks, and even in the dark she can see how full they are.

For a second, the blur in his vision scares him. He blinks, frantically trying to see, to convince himself that he’s safe, and that the warm drowsiness he’s clouded with isn’t drug induced-

Before he can really start to panic his gaze finds Y/N. Fresh tears fall, but, he as he sees the woman he loves, watching him with a gentle expression, he can’t help but let out a sigh, soft and tired as he reaches up, arms slipping out from under the blanket so that he can grasp at the empty air between them;

“Baby” she coos, tone thick with affection, “Hey”

The gesture is so sweet, so his the confused look on his face. Her fingers lace through his, and she guides his metal knuckles to her lips, nuzzling into the smooth, polished surface so that she can kiss at them, as he looks at her with the same lost expression.

“Did I wake you?” he hears her ask, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too”

He shakes his head a fraction, a tear rolls off his nose;

“C’mere, sweetheart” Y/N sighs, kicking her socks off, “It’s late, we should both get some sleep”

She’s already abandoned her clothes in the corner of the room, and she’d neglected to put makeup on. She’s glad about that when she realises that he’s just going to keep starring up at her from behind wet lashes.

“Budge up”

Her voice is gentle. Bucky follows the prompt and adjusts his position so that she can slip under the covers beside him.

God, it’s warm.

His metabolism runs quick, and no matter how cold he tells her he’s feeling, she thinks there’s always a strange heat to his skin. It’s clinging to the sheets, now. To the covers and the pillow case, which Y/N can’t help but notice is soaked.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, tone concerned now, “huh, can you tell me?”

He blinks again, unsure and not present enough to formulate a coherent response.

She tilts her head and places the back of her hand flat across his brow.

It’s warm, too. The skin is clammy and, as she goes to card his hair back she realises that it’s damp with sweat.

“Are you sick?” she wonders, not really expecting a response anymore, “Is something hurting you?”

She wants to work it out. To figure out why she’s come home to her partner weeping in his sleep, but, all her questions do is cause the crease between his eyes to deepen.

“You don’t feel good” she realises, “It’s okay… c’mere, I’m right here…”

The relief that floods his expression is heart wrenching.

He isn’t in a fit state to try and rationalise his feelings. They both know that.

He’s still half asleep, and the half of him that’s awake is crying.

He feels bad, and he doesn’t understand why, and all he knows is that Y/N is there, and he loves her, and if he’s going to feel like this then he’d rather do it with her stroking his back, and his hair and his cheeks the way she is—

“shhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhh” he hears her breathing, “Shhhhh, shhhhhh, shhhh…”

The whole thing is so soothing. The way she’s letting her fingers trail up over his temples, and back down beneath his eyes while she hushes him. The way he doesn’t feel like he has to hide, or try and reign himself back in, and the way that he’s finally unlocking his jaw, letting his lower lip quiver alongside his fractured breathing.

“Sweetheart” Y/N whispers, “You are so safe… You’re safe, and home, and everything is okay…”

That’s nice to hear. It’s always nice to hear, but, right now, in his current state of distress, Bucky thinks it’s particularly lovely.

“I’m right here” she continues, “… I love you…”

His eyelids flicker lightly as he drifts between being lucidity and dreaming; It’s strange.

Whatever rest he’s managing to capture is hollow, and fragile, but he’s-

He’s not totally aware of himself, either. He’s definitely not awake.

He’s feeling things more than anything else.

He’s feeling the occasional stab of panic that’s making his arms tighten around his partner. He’s feeling the waves of sorrow that are making his throat close up as he cries, lamely… without a fight, without knowing why.

and, he’s feeling Y/N’s fingers in his hair.

He’s feeling the comfort she brings him, by just holding him close and letting him be vulnerable against her chest.

Because he is vulnerable right now.

It’s the most vulnerable he gets really, and he only ever does it with her.

Sometimes not on purpose. But always with her.

Y/N knows it, too. She knows that, that is why she’s fighting so hard to stay awake herself.

She should be sleeping, too. She’s been up since dawn, herself- but she can’t bring herself to rest. Not when the man she loves is holding onto her this way. Not when whatever part of him that’s clinging onto consciousness, is fighting so hard to just be upset.

He just wants to hurt, to hurt and cry and heal, and he so rarely lets himself do that, that holding him through the process seems like the very least she can do.

Being awake isn’t necessarily key to her holding him. They spend all of their nights together, locked together like puzzle pieces.

But, she feels like she owes him some attention, at least. Since he’s trusting her with this version of himself, and positive attention is one of the things that he’s been most starved of over the years.

Affection is up there on that list, too. So, she tries to drown him in that, too.

“Sweet, sweet boy…” she whispers, “…It’s okay…”

She tangles her fingers in his hair, feeling her heart swell protectively at the sad little noises he makes in response to either her voice or the increase in physical contact.

“You’re safe…” she reminds him gently, “…you can keep crying… It’s all alright…”

Nobody is ever going to hurt him again.

She knows it’s true. She knows that nobody is ever going to get close enough to even try ever again, but she can’t help but tighten her arms around him.

Because he’s starting to shake, now.

He’s actually trembling with fear or sadness or some kind of mixture of the two, and she can’t help but bring one of her palms over to cup his cheek.

God, it’s cold with tears.

And his jaw is chattering too—

“Oh, love” she sighs, “What’s going on in there?”

The vein in his throat is pulsing. Sweat beading by his hairline.

And then, his eyes snap open.

Fear overwhelms the sadness for a second and then, he’s wheezing;

He’s gasping for shallow, frantic, panicked breathes and reaching out to pull himself into the soft skin of her chest.

She’s his safe space. She’s always been his safe space and he’s terrified, and sad, and he’s just been thrown back to reality from some heinous memory that he shouldn’t have had to live through in the first place, and he- He can’t breathe, and Y/N- she means that he’s safe. Because she keeps him that way, and no matter how many flashes he gets pulled into, or out of, she means reality, she means home-

And this isn’t new. Him waking up in a frantic, fit of despair and using her to ground himself is a nightly occurrence. Even though her waking with him isn’t. That only happens when he needs her.

He needs her now.

Because he’s not quietly sobbing anymore. No, now, he’s weeping.

“I-I-I’m falling” he gasps, “F-fuck, I—”

“No” she says instantly, “No, you’re not…C’mere… C’mon..”

The falling ones mean it’s a bad night.

She’d found that strange at first. That after all the things he’d suffered through, it was the falling dreams that left him in the worst condition.

But then they’d talked.

They’d talked about how the rest of what happened was painful in a different way.

It’s traumatic, and usually involves some gruesome form of torture, but no matter what half-repressed memory his mind can through up, it never quite matches the agony or terror of falling.

Of losing his grip, and knowing that something beyond awful was going to happen when he hit the ground. Of screaming until his voice gives out, and not being able to breathe and, god- it was his first taste of the powerlessness that was going to end up consuming him for the better part of the next century and he’s always hated heights, and it was such a long way down—

��Breathe, baby” she whispers, voice melting against his brow, “You can breathe, it’s okay- I’ve got you.”

“I-I- can’t” he splutters, because he really hadn’t been able to, when he’d lost his grip on the train and fallen, and he’d been spinning towards the ground surrounded by snow, he hadn’t been able to drag any air into his lungs, and, god, oh god—

“Look at me…” Y/N murmurs, “Bucky, it’s okay… It’s alright- you’re safe…”

He is looking at her. Wide eyes too focused and terrified to refill with tears;

“Breathe” she insists, stroking his cheek with her thumb, “inhale, baby… with me…”

And so he does, mimicking her before spluttering out a deep, aching cough.

“Good job” she praises, “I’m here, love— nothing bad is coming”

She knows that’s part of it.

That part of the reason falling is the worst is because it’s the build up to the rest of the awful things.

The anticipation is the torture. The hopelessness of knowing that agony is coming, and he can’t do anything to stop it—

“Nothing is going to hurt you” she promises again, “It’s over… It’s all over…”

And that does it;

With one last frantic, desperate inhale, he’s back to weeping.

Sad, uncontrollable, sobs wracking his chest over and over again, because he believes her, and he knows that he’s safe with her.

And that means he can move on from the terror, and feel the sadness instead.

He can let himself feel the total, all consuming grief, and upset, and pain.

Because he never could, before.

They never let him do that. But Y/N does. She gives him a safe space to process whatever hell he’s experiencing, and right now she’s helping him with this.

Whatever this is.

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hotpocketpena · 1 year

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Pop Princess

Pedro Pascal x Fem Reader

Summary - you’re a superstar. Having performed on some of the most famous and largest stages in the world, you are in your peak.

You’re a huge Star Wars fan and when you get invited to The Mandalorian Season 1 premier by an old fried, you meet an unexpected man, who you never thought would catch your eye…

Warnings - Swearing & mention of kissing.

Notes- I’ve been throwing this idea around in my head for so long, I just never knew how I’d want it to play out. Well finally I think I made it go in an ok directionnnnn, anyways enjoy😬

Also I apologise for past and future posts for BUTCHERING the beautiful Spanish language😢

———————-

Adrenalin.

A euphoric high, combined from nerves, excitement and thrill. That is how it felt for you every time you picked up the microphone & sang to hundreds, if not thousands of people.

The bass from your music blasting through the huge stadium speakers sends vibrations up and down your body as you dance to the ending of your final song of the night.

“Thank you so much Miami! You have been amazing! Goodnight!” You cheer into the bejewelled black microphone & jump down the disappearing part of the stage.

Your fans still screaming for more as you use the crawl space under the stairs and head to your dressing room to wind down.

“Amazing job tonight killer Queen!”

“Best show of the tour so far!”

“You never fail to amaze us!”

The crew shout as you walk past them. You smile at everyone as you walk into your dressing room, your manager following closely behind.

“Uh, Ben. Can I have just ten minutes to myself before we talk?” You ask, throwing yourself on one of the couches in your dressing room.

Ben, your tour manager of four years sits on the armchair across from you. “I’ll just be brief.” He says.

But it’s never brief.

You roll your eyes and rest your head on the top of the couch, ready to heard whatever Ben has to say about the show. He always has some input on how you can be more energetic or more enthusiastic on stage. And you always tell him the same thing.

“Now that show was brilliant, don’t get me wrong.” His thick British accent makes it really hard to be annoyed with what he says. “But I think you could just be-“

“More energetic sweetheart. You are amazing already but the show needs more sparkle!” you mock him, with a terrible attempt at his accent.

He opens his mouth to speak but closes is quickly. “I do not sound like that.” He whines.

“Well no. But, you do say that to me after every show. And I always give my all when I’m out there.” You say.

He sits in the back of his chair and crosses his arms. “Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like the fans need more. Maybe more fireworks or more dancers or-“

“Ben.” You sternly say his name, knowing where this is going.

“I love you, but you need to get out of my dressing room.” You say as sweetly as possible.

“Fine! If you don’t want to hear about my amazing ideas, then I’ll go and tell them to someone how appreciated them!” He taunts, standing from the chair and swaying his hips to the door.

“I hear Danny from sound looooves your ideas! Go tell him!” You shout, silently thanking the heavens that he’s leaving.

Ben leaves you at peace, and you settle back into the couch, kicking your feet up on the coffee table.

Just as you’re about to sigh, there’s a knock at the door.

“God damn it! Can’t a girl just have five minutes of peace after doing a very long two hour work out while also singing!” You groan, hoping the person behind the door can hear you and will take it as a hint to leave.

“I guess I’ll just leave you to it then princesa del pop.” A beautiful, husky voice shouts from the other side of the door.

It’s a voice you’ve been waiting to hear for 10 days. And you’ve been itching to see the beautiful face behind it.

You jump from the couch, using the last bit of your energy and make a b-line for the door.

“Pedro!” You scream, jumping into his arms. You wrap your legs around his hips and he grips onto the bottom of your thighs.

“Hello baby. Have you missed me?” He chuckles speaking into your hair.

You give him a big squeeze and jump down from his embrace. Your lips crash against his in a hungry but loving kiss.

Your lips move together in sync, releasing all the built up tension of not being able to kiss his sweet lips for so long.

When you break from the kiss, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and takes your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“I only managed to catch the last forty minutes but you were amazing tonight my little superstar.” He says sweetly, his voice like honey.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!”

“Well I had to sneak away from set and get one of the assistants to lie for me to make it, but I’m here.” Pedro plants a quick kiss to your lips.

He takes your hand into his and you both walk into your dressing room. You notice he’s not in his usual casual attire. He has makeup still on from filming and his hair is all messily done.

“Did you-did you literally take of from the Mando set and rush here for me?” You ask with a serious tone.

“I would have been here sooner, but the fuckers make me take the suit off the second the cameras are off and we’re done filming. Normally I head over to wardrobe to take off all the under garments that go under the suit, but I escaped before they could catch me.” He chuckles, dressed in an all black mesh outfit.

You gasp at him. “Yeah because last time you came to one of my shows in the whole fucking suit. And got so drunk that you drank beer out of the helmet. And then threw up in it once you drank all of the beer.” You laughed, sitting next to him on the couch. He pats his knee for you to put your legs up and you do with gratitude.

“And you know that it’s against the Creed that you should never take your helmet off in front of a living being.” You smirk, knowing he hates how much you love the show.

He tuts and rolls his eyes. “My god you need to get a life.”

You chuckled. “The way of the Mandalorian is my life.”

Pedro pondered for a second. “Hang on, we started dating after the premier of the first season of the show right?” He asked, his brows raised while he ran his hand up and down your leg.

“Yeah, why’d you ask?”

“And we’d never met before the premier?”

You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“Uhhh,” you stuttered. “Yeah I think so.”

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but before the premiere of the show, I’m pretty sure you didn’t know who I was. And I obviously knew who you were. I’m sure I went to say hi to you, but you just smiled awkwardly and walked away. But right after the showing, I swear you were all over me like a fly on shit.” Pedro’s voice was inquisitive.

He was right.

You got invited to the premier as John knew how much you love Star Wars, and Boba Fett was your favourite character. So when the opportunity to go to The Mandalorian premier, you squealed and cried.

—————

The day of the premiere you were so excited. Taking inspiration from the Mando armour, your designer created the most beautiful 2 piece suit in the colour of the armour.

You knew of Pedro before the premier, having seen a few of his movies, but you’d never met him. On the red carpet, you two did have an awkward encounter. Pedro was the star of the show before you showed up.

As soon as you walked on the carpet, all the cameras and eyes were on you. You’d said that you didn’t want all eyes on you or to take shine away from the amazing people who had worked on the show, so you took a few photos and headed inside where you could mingle with a few people.

Just before the showing, Pedro walked over to you, a clear attraction from his side, having watched you perform at events for many years, he took a serious liking to you.

You thought he was cute, but because you didn’t know him, you just thought of him as a cute guy. He walked over and said hi to you. You gave him a sweet but awkward smile and excused yourself to head to the bathroom.

The show had started and boy was it amazing. As soon as it ended, John and Pedro stood from their seats, giving small nods while looking around at everyone cheering them on.

Pedro looked over to you and gave you a wink. You felt your heart stop and your palms began to sweat.

Is this what love at second sight looks like? You thought taking him all in.

Once everyone had disappeared from the theatre and headed into the bar area, you were on the hunt for him. Wanting to continue the ‘what could have been’ conversation. If only you had taken a few seconds to speak with him before, this would be a lot less awkward.

You take a deep breath in and begin your strut towards him. Luckily, he’s with John, so if things go awkward, you can lean on him to get you out of a sticky situation.

“Hey! Look who it is! We were just talking about you!” John cheers, holding his glass of brown liquid towards you to join him.

Pedro quickly spins to face you and his face turns a blush red. He clears his throat and wipes his sweaty palms on the back of his pants, hoping that it’s not too obvious that he’s nervous.

“Who knew you had such talent in that big ol’ head of yours!” You joke, pulling John in for a hug. He hugs you back, squeezing you just a little too tight.

You let out a joking ouch and break from the hug. You turn your attention to Pedro and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s beautiful.

You both look into each others eyes and not a word is spoken. It’s like everyone in the room has just disappeared and only you two remain. You could stay looking into his beautiful chocolate eyes forever.

“Now I want you to meet the star of the show.” John snaps you out of your trance. He moves around the small circle table and throws his arm over Pedro’s shoulder.

“This is Pedro, our very own Din Djarin. The man behind the mask.” John beams, being very proud of Pedro.

“And this lovely lady is-“

Before John could finish, Pedro interrupts.

“We’ve met before.”

You let out a shy laugh averting your eyes from him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you and a smile beams across his face at your laugh.

“I’ve been to a few of her shows actually, she’s brilliant.” He says with adoration.

He’d been to more than a few. At first, Sarah invited him to go, as she also really enjoys your music. He didn’t think anything of it first, but once you got on stage, he was hooked.

Pedro had been to about 20 of your shows over the years, sometimes even going alone just because he wanted to enjoy the shows you put on and admire you from afar. When he found out you were coming tonight, he wanted to shoot his shot.

Usually when celebrities come to your shows, you invite them backstage and hang out with them for a few drinks, discussing the show and other things. Pedro never made himself known, he’d been too nervous to go backstage.

You blushed at his comment. He’d been to a few of your shows? He’s never been backstage? You thought, wondering why he never took the invite, but you brush the thought off.

John rambles on about how the promotion for the show has been going and gets called away by someone, leaving you and Pedro alone at the table.

“So, how did you find the first episode?” He asks, shuffling on his feet.

“It was truly a masterpiece. You were amazing!” You express, trying to keep it cool.

He blushes, taking a step closer to you. “Thank you. It means a lot coming from you. The way you perform on stage is a work of art.”

Wow, your heart flutters

You engage with him in some casual conversation and head to the bar together to grab another drink. You both hit it off.

“So, uh, what are you doing in three days time?” Pedro ask taking a sip from his glass of whiskey.

“I’m performing at the Oscar’s.” You say. “Why’d you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink after? I’ve been invited to the Vanity Fair after party, but I can ditch that if you’re free?” He says, the whiskey giving him the courage he needs to ask you out.

“I was going to head to the Vogue after party but, I’d like to have a drink with you.” You blush, your wine helping you in this situation massively.

—————

“Now that I’m actually thinking about it…Did you only come over to me and John because you liked me as Din?!” Pedro gasps, pinching your legs.

You yelp and laugh. “Nooooo, of course not!” You lie. You never wanted to admit to him, but it was true. There was just something about him being the man behind the Baskar that turned you on.

“Oh my god it’s true!” He laughs, quickly standing from the couch.

He stands in front of you with a shocked face and hands on his hips.

“If I never took the job, you never would have gone for that drink with me would you? And you’d be shacked up with someone else who’d be playing Mano!” Pedro tuts, but his tone is jokey, wanting to get a rise out of you.

“Baby, come on. Please don’t make me say it.” You groan, throwing your head back on the couch.

“Say it.” He demands, kneeling down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees to balance himself.

“Fine! I felt more attracted to you as Mando. There!” You admit to defeat, wanting this conversation to be over and done with.

“But! The more I got to know you, the more I loved the man behind the mask. And I do! I love you more and more everyday, so it shouldn’t matter how I became attracted to you in the first place.”

Pedro laughs, patting your knees and playing a kiss on your forehead.

“And I love you princesa del pop. Even if you are a Star Wars loving freak.” He chuckles

“Your Star Wars loving freak.” You say, rolling your eyes at him.”

“Yes, yes you are.” He smiles at you lovingly.

———————-

#pedro pascal #the mandalorian #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin

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ladymunson · 2 years

Text

Is This Love

Fic summary: Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin is playing a gig at the Metro Club in Chicago, Illinois. You’ve been a fan since you saw them perform at your middle school talent show, around that time you’d developed your crush on Eddie. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had also been harbouring a secret crush on you for years. Will he finally shoot his shot?

This is my very first one shot, I hope you all enjoy it. Inspired by the Whitesnake song.

Word count: 3521

Warnings: Lots of SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), mentions of parents fighting, mentions of drinking and smoking, brief mention of fingering

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated, copied or posted to any other platform. Support content creators by reblogging.

You arrive at the club early, you know that the headliners don’t go on until 10pm but you wanted to get there before all the screaming groupies.

You’d dressed in a black mini skirt, a Metallica sleeveless shirt, black leather jacket, fishnets and platform boots. You show that you’re a actual fan and not just there for the gorgeous long haired lead singer and guitarist.

Eddie Munson. Your middle and high school crush. The one you’d never had the courage to act upon. You didn’t avoid Eddie but you tried not to get too close, you were worried that you’d blurt it out one day. You didn’t belong to the Hellfire Club but you weren’t part of the ‘in crowd’ in school either, in fact those were the people who bullied you but you didn’t care. You’d spent your evenings and weekends listening to heavy metal, watching the Star Wars movies and reading fantasy novels.

Eddie was a year ahead of you in school but you ended up graduating the year before he did, as he failed twice. His band had been signed as soon as he’d finally graduated the year after you. You’d moved out of Hawkins straight after graduation, wanting to get away from your parents constant bickering. It didn’t matter much as your mom ended up staying with you at least once a month, and the phone calls made you feel like you’re back at home.

Your apartment wasn’t huge, but you’d saved up enough money from babysitting, tutoring and your job in the bookstore. You were very proud of your place, it was on the outskirts of Chicago so the rent was slightly cheaper. You had to travel into the city for work so you knew the place well. You’ve been waitressing at a diner five days a week during the day, and you tend bar twice at the weekend. You hope to save up enough to start night classes next semester.

You know the security at the bar, having been a regular visitor since you moved to Chicago, so you had no problems getting in. Once inside you went to the bar for a beer and headed to a table where you’d get a great view of the stage. You know Eddie always stood on the left, the right when looking at the stage so you made sure you were in his eye line.

He might not see you due to the lights but if he did, you hoped he’d recognise you. You’d tutored him in English when you were back in school. He’d passed that class but failed to graduate due to failing other classes.

You nursed that beer for an hour before the club started to fill up, you know the bartender Liv as well, having tended bar with her at another location. She sends a fresh beer over with another bartender that you know, Carrie, who isn’t working tonight.

Carrie approaches the table, two bottles of beer in her hands, one of them is your brand. You look up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Liv sent you another beer, said you’ve been sitting here alone for like 40 mins. Date stand you up?”

“Nah no date, not in months. Just here to enjoy the music.” You reply, accepting the beer with a smile. “I’ll settle up with Liv at the end of the night.” You clink bottles together and take a drink.

------

Eddie is backstage, smoking a joint and drinking a beer. He can hear the sounds of Ten Seconds to Love by Motley Crue coming through the speakers, the walls are so thin. He has to be careful about bringing a groupie back here tonight.

He always picked a girl out from the crowd, the ones that looked at him with hearts and dollar signs in their eyes, and would dedicate a song to her. He’d always choose someone who looked like her. Then he’d invite the random girl backstage, to smoke and fool around, so she’d have a story to tell her friends. To make him seem like a real rockstar.

Lately though, he was tired of hook ups that meant nothing, that were forgotten almost as quickly as they happened. Tired of the girls saying his full name as his fingers were inside them. They didn’t know him, not really, they knew his stage persona. The one that’s full of confidence and sex appeal. Behind closed doors, he’s insecure, always thinking he’s not good enough. If he was he would’ve….

“Munson!!” The doors flew open as Gareth and Jeff burst in.

“Jesus H Christ! Are you trying to kill me?!” Eddie clutches his chest.

“Sorry but we had to….” Gareth says.

Jeff butts in, “Stop being such a wuss and tell him already!”

“I was about to but you cut me off…”

“Shut up!” Eddie yells, sick of the bickering that was just getting started. They stop and look at him. “Now… would you ladies like to tell me why you interrupted my pre show blunt?”

They look at each other, Gareth gulps before answering with his eyes on the floor. “Y/N is here.”

The room begins to spin. Either this weed is strong shit, or Eddie is having a panic attack. He hasn’t seen you in two years, since you left Hawkins after graduating. And yet the sound of your name makes him feel as nervous as he did the first time Corroded Coffin played at the talent show in middle school.

“Are you sure?” Eddie looks at both of them.

They nod. “Fuck!”

------

The first band came and went, you feel bad that they were so forgettable. They had some fans in the crowd but you couldn’t even remember their name.

Carrie had stayed with you, not wanting you to be alone. Guys have been giving you the eye all night but you’d not even noticed until Carrie pointed it out.

“What about him? He’s hot.” She says pointing to the guy standing three tables down from you. “He’s been staring at you since he got here.” He was good looking, blonde haired, tall and muscular. He was in a RATT vest and dark jeans, you could see the muscles bulging under his shirt.

“Not interested!” You give her the side eye.

“Okay well… you know that Liv is single?” You turn your head quickly, the serious expression on her face making you break out into a fit of giggles. “What’s funny?”

You can’t speak due to your laughter, Carrie huffs and pouts, folding her arms across her chest. Your laughter dies down. “I’m sorry Caz, just because I’m not interested in any of these guys doesn’t mean…”

She nods, “I get it y/n, just giving you options.” You smile and thank her as the second opening band start their set.

-------

Eddie pokes his head out of the door that leads to the backstage area to see if he can find you, he doesn’t even need to look very hard. He’d spot you during rush hour at grand central station. His crush having got to the point where he knew every freckle on your face, the shape of your lips, all the various colours in your eyes, the slope of your nose and of course the curves of your body.

The crush he had on you has festered over the years and he thinks it’s now more than a crush. He gazes at you, love in his eyes. You’ve grown your hair out since he last saw you, it looks the perfect length to grab. Eddie curses his mind, it had to go there. He turns back into the backstage area before his semi becomes a full blown erection and he’ll have to go and rub one out in the dingy bathroom.

He ignores the tent in his pants and goes back to the dressing room, relighting his joint and taking a long drag. He worries that seeing you when he’s on stage is gonna affect his playing…

“How do you guys feel about doing a… ballad tonight?” Eddie asks nervously. The guys smirk but say nothing, letting Eddie ramble on. “I mean I know we don’t usually, but you know that y/n is here and I’ve liked her for the longest time so do you think maybe…?” The guys burst into laughter. Eddie hangs his head in defeat.

They see how their laughing has effected him so they stop and look at each other. “What song were you thinking?” His head snaps up.

“You know we’ve jammed and played a few songs off the new Whitesnake album?” They all nod. “I was thinking Is This Love, it says all the things I’m afraid to say.” They all agree to play that song. Eddie has butterflies, he worries that you’ll reject or laugh at him but he tries to stay brave.

-------

The lights go out in the club, except those behind the bar. You feel nerves start to bubble up as the headliners, Corroded Coffin are announced. The crowd goes wild and there’s a loud guitar riff as the lights go on and there’s an explosion as the pyros go off and they break into their first song.

Eddie steps up to the microphone and begins singing, his voice is silky and beautiful. The sound going straight between your legs, you cross your legs to gain some friction. You’re embarrassed about doing it in plain sight but the sight of him and the sound of his voice lights a fire inside you. But no one seems to notice, everyone is too busy mesmerised by the band performing on stage.

The song finishes and there’s a huge round of applause, cheering and screaming. “Wow, now I know what all the hype is about!” Carrie yells over the sound of the crowd, you don’t answer, you simply nod.

“We are Corroded Coffin and here’s one you might know!” Eddie says, and slams his hand down the strings of his guitar and the recognisable opening riff of ‘Master of Puppets’ begins. You almost fall off your chair, you’re wearing a Master of Puppets shirt! Has he seen you already? They play the song flawlessly, you’re on the edge of your seat the whole time and instantly on your feet at the end. Cheering and clapping for them.

“What’s gotten in to you?” Carrie asks as you sit back down.

“Nothing just…” you point to your shirt. “It’s my favourite Metallica song.” Carrie smirks but says nothing. The band play a couple more original songs, you clap and cheer along with everyone else.

-------

“We’d like to slow things down for a moment, to catch our breath before our big finale. This song is dedicated to… y/n.” Eddie says, and the opening chords of the song began, you recognised them instantly. Your breath catches in your throat and tears form behind your eyes. And then Eddie starts singing.

I should’ve known better, than to let you go alone.

It’s times like these, can’t make it on my own. Wasted days, and sleepless nights. I can’t wait to see you again.

I find I spend my time, waiting on your call.

How can I tell you babe, my back’s against the wall.

I need you by my side, to tell me it’s alright. ‘Cause I don’t think I can take any more.

Is this love, that I’m feeling

Is this the love, that I’ve been searching for

Is this love, or am I dreaming

Is this love, ‘cause it’s really got a hold on me.

“Did he mean you?” Carrie asks as there’s the instrumental after the chorus. You turn to face her but you didn’t need to answer, she could see it written all over your face. “So that’s why you didn’t want me to help you get a date…”

“We went to high school together but I haven’t seen him in two years.” Carrie’s eyes widen. “I guess this means that he had a crush on me too.” Eddie locks eyes with you and continues singing.

Can’t stop the feeling, I’ve been this way before.

But with you I’ve found the key, to open any door.

I can feel my love for you, growing stronger day by day.

And I can’t wait to see you again, so I can hold you in my arms.

Is this love, that I’m feeling…

--------

When the song is finished, you and Eddie stare at each other. The crowd goes wild. He turns to look at Gareth and nods, Gareth counts in for the final song. You don’t stop staring at Eddie and the way his fingers flow up and down the neck of his guitar, the light shining off his rings.

The song comes to an end and the band thanks the crowd. Eddie looks back towards the boys who grin nod at him, he flashes a grin back and jumps off the stage. Making his way through the screaming crowd, ignoring all the girls who are manhandling him until he gets to you.

He reaches you, grabs your hand and pulls you out of your seat. Your face is flushed as you stand, he flashes that stupid fucking grin at you. The one that used to leave you with damp underwear, and pulls you towards the door.

-------

The air hits you as you get outside, a harsh change compared to the sweat inducing heat inside. Eddie begins to pull you towards his van but you stop him, leaning against the wall outside and reaching inside your jacket for your cigarettes and lighter.

Eddie grabs them from your hand, staring straight into your eyes, breath heaving. He drops them onto the floor and reaches for you, cupping your face and leaning his forehead on yours.

“Five fucking years, not waiting anymore.” Eddie says, brushing his lips against yours. You moan and grab the back of his head, pulling him closer. Your lips part, granting him access. He groans into your mouth as your tongue sweeps along his, taking in his taste. He tastes like beer, whisky and cigarettes. A combination you hadn’t even been aware that was your kryptonite. You let out a moan, your hands tangling in his hair.

He pulls away momentarily, catching his breath and looking around, trying to find a private spot. He spots an alleyway about fifteen yards from where you’re standing, grabs your hand, grins and drags you into the alley.

-------

You’re pushed against the wall and Eddie’s mouth is on yours again, tongues and hands exploring. Your arms are around his neck as he kisses the life out of you. Eddie’s hands grab your thighs and he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist and locking just above the curve of his ass.

His hands wander underneath your skirt, playing with the gusset of your underwear. “Holy shit y/n! You’re fucking soaked!” Eddie moans into your mouth as you continue kissing. The urgency of your kissing making your teeth clash together. Eddie stops kissing you for a moment and fumbles to find his belt and zipper, finding them after a moment and undoing his pants.

A thought crosses your mind and you lean forward like you’re going to kiss him again, but you instead take his bottom lip between your teeth and nip him gently. You feel his cock twitch under your ass and he growls. He pulls your underwear aside, and lines himself up with your heat, coating himself in your slick.

“You okay with this?” Eddie asks breathlessly. You let out a breathy “yes” and he begins to slide inside you. Your eyes roll back, your mouth opens and you let out a moan as he begins to fill your dripping cunt. Your walls pulsating around him, making him grunt as he continues to slide into you.

‘Jesus he must be fucking huge!’ You think to yourself as he’s still not fully inside you. You revel in the stretch as he bottoms out, completely sheathed in you. You feel… complete, like he’s a part of your that’s been missing all your life.

“You’re so warm and wet, and tight… fuck it’s like you were made just for me!” Eddie moans as he begins to move, sliding through your wetness smoothly. Gliding in and out of your heat like a man possessed. Your hands are in his hair again and you pull his face to yours, kissing him like you’re starved for him. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this y/n.” He groans into your mouth. “It always took every fibre of my being to not bend you over the lunch table and take you right there in the cafeteria.” You grin at the thought.

“Shit!” Eddie’s hips falter. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”

You look around the alley and spot a large crate in the corner and point to it. Eddie turns his head and nods, leaving his cock inside you as he grabs your thighs, holding you up and walks over to the crate. He sits on the edge, pulling himself further on while you’re still on him.

Your knees now on the crate and Eddie in an almost laying position, you grin at him. Leaning down for a quick peck on the lips before your hands press down on his chest and you lift yourself ever so slightly. A strangled sound leaves Eddie’s throat and you smile to yourself.

-------

‘Holy fucking shit! She’s gonna ride me! I never ever thought this would happen our first time.’ Eddie thinks to himself as you lift and lower yourself into him again.

Your wet velvety walls squeezing his rock hard cock, he can’t remember the last time he was this hard. You begin circling your hips and Eddie almost loses his goddamn mind, he’s never known anyone like you. You’re not only caring about your pleasure, but about his too.

Most of the girls that he’d hooked up with backstage have always been his priority, none of them even got him remotely close so he just got them off so they would leave. But you… you were something else!

Variating between circling your hips, rolling them and lifting up and sliding back down on to his cock. He tries to sit up so he can kiss you but you hold him down, winking at him as you move faster.

“Baby… slow down.” Eddie whispers, you stop and look at him. “I want you there with me.” You move your hands off his chest and he sits up, his left hand cupping the back of your head as he covers your mouth with his. His tongue flicking all around as he devours your mouth.

His right hand reaches between you, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves, making shocks flow through you. Eddie can feel the little flutters around his cock, he wants you to cum, to make the memory of how you feel as your walls clench and pulsate around him.

He releases your mouth, and groans out, “come for me baby!”

--------

His words instantly trigger your climax, making you cry out and hold onto Eddie for dear life. You’ve never experienced an orgasm this intense before in your life. It’s the kind that you’ve read about in magazines. The one that makes your eyes roll back, tears flow and your entire body shake all over. You thought those kinds of orgasms were a myth… until now.

-------

Eddie comes with you, but he’d had never had his cock squeezed this tightly before. It’s like your cunt is trying to strangle him and milk him all at the same time, it makes his climax run longer than he’s used to. You hold each other for a while, coming down from your high and trying to catch your breath.

Is this what people mean when they talk about soul mates? Eddie cynical brain is starting to think that may be a very real thing.

You smile, “that was… something else!” You breathe out.

Eddie looks at you with hooded eyes, “mine now?”

“I’ve always been yours Eddie.” He grins and lifts you off of him, sliding your underwear back into place.

Eddie looks at you and smiles, leaning in to gently brush his lips across yours. He pulls back just enough to touch his forehead to yours. “Marry me?!”

The end

Taglist: @sweetpeapod, @nycbaby21, @b-irock

#eddie munson #stranger things 4 #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #master of puppets #strangerthings

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quitealotofsodapop · 13 days

Note

Bai Heb is reincarnation of one of the Emperor's daughters? Bai He adopted by Wukogn and Macaque and neither realizing this is the Jade Emperor's daughter because the daughter she was the reincarnation of was one of the few that were never public knowledge? Jade Emperor discovering this when he lays dying and realized the mortal girl Sun Wukong had tried so hard to legally adopt and care for in both the eyes of the gods and the eyes of mortals is none other than his own daughter because he'd never met her in person?

referencing the weird dream I had about Bai He interacting with the Jade Emperor and the Queen Mother.

I think thats what the dream was implying.

Jade Emperor and Queen Mother have some bad history regarding their daughters.

The specific one mentioned in the dream - Zhinu? She was the seventh born and a goddess of weaving; she wove clouds into heavenly vestements for her parents.

And is the protag of "The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl".

One day she fell in love with a mortal cowherd named Niu Lang. A big celestial no-no. Especially she and Niu Lang had two kids. A even bigger celestial no-no!

Zhinu feels homesick one day and uses her enchanted cloud-clothing to visit her parents. But they won't let her leave. The Queen Mother is so adamant on keeping Zhinu from Earth that she tears a rip in the sky that becomes the Heavenly River (the Milky Way).

On earth, Niu Lang figured out that his wife has been kidnapped by her family. His loyal ox turns out to be a disposed god of cattle (weird detail but who knows, maybe Shennong was hanging around) who manages to boat Niu Lang and the two kids to a spot just across the Heavenly River where the married couple can see, but not touch one another. Only once a year can divine birds help carry the family across the river to reunite with Zhinu.

The story is meant to be an explanation for the literally "star-crossed" stars Vega and Altair (with baby stars Beta-Aquilae/Alshain and Gamma-Aquilae/Tarazed their kids) which meet eachother along the Milky Way once a year.

Not much more stories come from what happens to Zhinu and her mortal family after wards. But I imagine she's not on speaking terms with her parents. In my LMK idea, they're chilling in a piece of deep space away from the nonsense of the Celestial Realm. Having literally become stars and transcended the cycle of rebirth in a way that none of the celestials can imagine.

In addition to Zhinu, my chinese mythos storyline has the royal couple have had a falling out with;

Songzi (1st born) - was so disgusted by their treatment of Zhinu that she willingly went into the cycle of rebirth and eventually became Guanyin, Bodhisattva of Mercy.

Yin Wuming (2nd born) - reincarnated and became a demon hunter + Nezha's mother, and rejected the offer of reascension.

Princess Iron Fan (born after Zhinu) - who was expelled for falling in love/marrying the Demon Bull King.

So where does Bai He fall into this?

No idea.

Then again... imagine the heartbreak that would have occured if their truly youngest/last-born did not survive their earliest years. A daughter that they hid from a world ravaged by celestial war, but ultimately lost anyway to disease or misfortune. They would never by able to recover emotionally.

Now imagine that tiny soul reincarnated into a little mortal girl, who somehow contained enough divine power to harbour the White Bone Demon (a possible avatar of death itself) and not immeditaly breakdown into dust?

A pair of stone monkeys and/or a human scholar and a pig are now accidentally the guardians of the youngest Celestial Princess. Very magical girl-esque backstory for Bai He.

And the Jade Emperor only realises how familar the little girl at his side is in his final moments...

#lmk bai he #lmk lbd's host #lmk jade emperor #lmk queen mother of the west #lmk xiwangmu #lmk s4 spoilers #lmk aus #chinese mythology #death mention tw

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piratefalls · 2 months

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i don't have a snarky opening line this week. have fic instead.

masterlist.

(make me) misbehave by r_holland

Alex Claremont-Diaz has done it again. The Texas-born singer-songwriter released his fourth studio album second skin Thursday at midnight. Full of Claremont-Diaz’s signature lyricism, critics are praising the album for the cohesive image it paints. second skin is the result of a young writer at the top of his game, and every lyric depicts for the listener a picture of a sun-drenched secret romance. Fans are clamoring to be the first to uncover the mystery girl at the center of it all, although Claremont-Diaz remains tight-lipped on the subject… -- Or: Alex Claremont-Diaz is a singer-songwriter rising up in the music industry. Henry Fox is the shining star of an acting empire. This is a love story.

NFWMB by cricketnationrise

5 Times Alex Fights Customer Service for Henry + 1 Time He Doesn't Have To

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by coffeecatsme

“Alex?” The name makes Alex stop halfway to the register and look back. Henry is standing in the same spot, shifting from foot to foot, before he juts his chin out. He meets Alex’s eyes. “Where are you traveling to?” Or, Alex picks up a stranger on a road trip, only to realize too late he's the missing Prince of Wales.

We've Got To Stop Meeting like This by everwitch

Alex books an Airbnb studio with a shared bathroom. The other studio is occupied by a man with lush pink lips and impressive personal hygiene — really, he’s super diligent about lathering and rinsing. Alex would know, seeing as the lock to the bathroom is seriously unreliable. Or: the Airbnb romp you didn’t know you needed.

quad shot americano by saintlynomenclature

Like always, Henry’s made it perfectly—the espresso is rich, decidedly not burnt, and the cinnamon tastes like it’s been infused rather than sprinkled in. “How the fuck do you do this?” Alex demands, taking another sip as Henry laughs at him. “If I tell you, you won’t come back.” Henry smiles, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. Alex lets his eyes follow the line of Henry’s shoulders, falling down to the veins in his forearms after the ends of his bunched-up sleeves. The ring on Henry’s left pinky doesn’t reflect in the lowlight of the back corner—without the sun glinting off of it, Alex can finally see that the surface of it is engraved. “If you think coffee's the only thing keeping me around, sweetheart, then I need to try harder.” The blush coats Henry’s cheeks again. He dips his head bashfully, eyes skating away from Alex’s face. “Whatever will I do with you?” he murmurs under his breath.

- Or, Alex spends an exorbitant amount of money on coffee.

Not So Silent Night by inexplicablymine

Sure, Alex can admit in the deepest recesses of his mind, at two in the morning, when the Liszt is playing forlornly like some kind of bugle call for grief, that whoever the fuck lives next to him is on another level with the keys. Or Alex has no idea who his piano playing neighbor is, but Alex knows one thing for certain… This means war.

Airplane Mode by clottedcreamfudge

Getting into an argument with someone in the airport lounge had probably been a mistake, in hindsight; Alex knows this. But with so many fucking delays and the fact that the signal on his phone is currently making it about as useful as two paper cups joined by a piece of string, he’s kind of on-edge. It’s not entirely his fault that he snaps. Attractive people with perfect hair who take the last almond croissant before Alex can get to it probably just need to understand this. Alex is at the end of his tether, and he will not be swayed by, “Well, I was here first,” in a British accent so smooth it could butter bread.

something more, something right by rizcriz

Alex blinks at him, seemingly entirely unimpressed. “So, you’re just going to pretend we’re not in love with each other?”

here the whole time by HypnosTheory

Alex frowns, massaging Henry’s scalp. “It feels like you’re getting headaches more often babe. Anything wrong?” “It’s nothing,” Henry says, melting under Alex’s fingers on his scalp. “My suppressants are just killing my head. Think I’ve been taking them too long, I probably need a break soon.” Alex hums thoughtfully. “Or you could get off them for good.” -- Married and bonded, Henry and Alex decide it's about time to get off suppressants and start enjoying their bond fully.

Of Who I Am (Golden) by MayQueen517

There's magic and Henry is hiding something. Alex is determined to figure it out at all costs.

Dependence is a Childhood Illness by aubsoluteaudacity

As he stands by the counter and waits for the kettle to boil, Henry goes over his illness management tactics in his head. Drink lots of tea and water. Take more medication whenever he reasonably can. Never, ever, let anyone see how sick he is. He has been following this mantra since his late teens. Royalty isn’t allowed to miss an event because of a cold. It simply isn’t done to stay in bed when there are hands to press and ribbons to cut.

pictures of you (pictures of me) by yeolocity

alex keeps polaroids.

If You Love Something by allmylovesatonce

Alex calls Henry to tell him a funny incident from his day. When a miscommunication sends them both reeling, both of them are questioning if the other is wanting to end their relationship. Their friends take things upon themselves to get them to see eye to eye.

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat by firenati0n

Alex invites Henry to his Extremely Specific and Ethnic Friendsgiving dinner, issuing a stern warning—no beige foods and no colonizer behavior. So basically, Henry's screwed. In an effort to find the perfect recipe, Henry stumbles upon a popular TikTok chef who thirst traps from the neck down and flusters Henry to his core. But his food is banging, along with the bod. A recipe for feral disaster. Or, Alex is an anonymous thirst-trapping chef on TikTok. Henry is an amateur cook who needs a recipe for Friendsgiving. Alex knows Henry's watching. Henry doesn't know it's Alex. Shenanigans ensue.

it's midnight in Texas by viciouslyqueer

When Henry mentions a charity polo match in Connecticut, Alex doesn’t think much of it. When Henry asks him on a date and puts him on a plane to Paris, Alex smiles and lets himself be romanced. When Henry says he wants to do it right, Alex is too in love to protest.

we should get married by smc_27

He’d spent most of the week sitting on the floor with his laptop open on the table, typing away about absolute nonsense in between sessions and phone calls with immigration and a lawyer trying to see if it’s possible there’s any way in the world he can stay in America while this gets sorted. The good news is this doesn’t bar him from trying again and just returning when it all gets sorted. Not that that will be easy, but still. It’s a possibility. He makes the absolutely foolish mistake, after pouring his second drink, of googling ‘marriage visa’ as if that will be the answer to any or all of his problems. Allows himself a brief, excruciating moment to imagine he has someone to marry and make that a reality. But then…he does, does he not? OR, a greencard marriage AU

i need that charles dickens by @whimsymanaged

Henry’s flatmate (and crush) Alex is suddenly obsessed with Charles Dickens. But when Henry asks to borrow Alex’s Dickens, he quickly learns that Alex hasn’t, in fact, been talking about a book.

Amazed at How We Talk (Once, Successfully) by @sparklepocalypse

And, well. Fuck that guy. Alex isn’t about to rub elbows with people who can’t even stand to be in the same room as him. Alex isn’t sulking when he sidles up to the bar and steals a man’s whisky. He also isn’t sulking when he obtains a second glass, this one neat. Or when he snags a large plate of canapés from one of the waitstaff and nonchalantly strolls out of the room. (Movieverse; a riff on the trope that asks, What if Cakegate didn't happen?)

like a bridge over troubled water, i will ease your mind by anincompletelist

And then— relief. So palpable that it sends more tears springing to his eyes, a sob at his lips that Henry quiets with a kiss. Everything from the past week was so much, had been building up pretty much from the moment Henry first left, and leaving him teetering on the edge of fine and definitively, very much not fine, one more useless appearance or shitty headline away from breaking into a million pieces. And shatter he had. But somehow, by some miracle, he’d been able to wait until Henry was here, was back with him in their home, to do it. His safety net, his safe place, his everything; the only one capable of holding all of his broken shards and figuring out how to piece them all back together again in the aftermath. The only one who has asked for the privilege of being there to do it.

Truth by cmere

Alex always does this, hauls every base fucking instinct that Henry has out into the open between them, plain for both to see. And every time it happens, Henry expects him to laugh it off or give him a hard time, but instead he just encourages it with soft, pliant lips and greedy fingers until Henry gives in to himself and his desires. Alex has never made him feel bad, or odd, or disgusting, always treats him with the utmost patience and care. Henry loves him so fucking much. It's just past midnight on Alex's birthday and he's going to get what he wants. Which is, of course, to give Henry what he wants.

as always, if you want me to tag you in future lists just let me know!

@starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp

#rwrb #rwrb fic #rwrb fic rec #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb rec list #firstprince #red white and royal blue #alexhenry #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

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alienatedtsuki · 5 months

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Redefining the normal | Post Chapter 698/699, NaruSasu/SasuNaru Part III

before today is over by oshit Above him, Sasuke leans over the edge of the pier to watch. Naruto hears him laugh and even with his face draped in shadow, he can imagine Sasuke’s cheshire grin, eyes crinkling with mirth. He feels Sasuke smiling at him. Naruto would pluck every star from the heavens to keep that feeling. - This fic is about a fantastic day near the sea that boys spent with each other. How Sasuke tries to court Naruto is way too cute. NaruSasu/SasuNaru | First Date | Talks about Feelings (12,280)

Baker's Dozen by mylilchickadee In the aftermath of war, Sasuke struggles to deal with his new life while Naruto struggles to deal with him. Love, friendship, and baking. - First, amazing recipes. I love the idea of how Sasuke decided to express his fondness for Naruto with baking. Second, this fanfic has a lot of angst; all the problems are there, and there are even some suicide attempts from Sasuke's side. But they eventually figured everything out. NaruSasu/SasuNaru | Angst | Baking | Gardening | First kiss | Love Confessions (24,820)

Enough by MadeNew Their final battle is ending. Sasuke's winning. And then he wakes up in a world where Naruto was never born - and all the changes that come with it. - Sasuke is sent by Naruto to another dimension, where he figures out how life would be without him in it. I love how well Sasuke is written in this fic; this is what I call an eye-opener. His talk with Minato is incredible. NaruSasu/SasuNaru | Angst | Parallel universe(he goes back to Naruto at the end) | Love Confessions (6,607)

Won't Let Go by ninagum (orphan_account) Naruto and Sasuke wake up at the hospital after the war, worn-out, with an invisible red-string still laced between them. "You’ve called me your friend so many times... But..." "Say it." "I don't think you really mean it like that." - This fic is one of my all-time favourites. In this one, Naruto kills the council! I was so happy when I read it; I love darker Naruto in the fics. I love how the writer decided to encapture their dynamic with a lot of angst, passion, and open questions. It took some time to find what would work for them. This fic is just exceptional. NaruSasu/SasuNaru | Angst | Dark Naruto | Happy Ending(They are together in every universe) (66,441)

And here's the reason why I wasn't there…I am learning how to draw so that I can add cute fan art to every recommendation post. This is my take on the ending of a cute comic about Naruto saying Sasuke is his friend. Enjoy <3

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beaniebeensbaby201 · 1 year

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NETEYAM X HUMAN READER

A/N: potential spoilers down below for those who have not watched ATWOW

Spoilers in the ending where I put an A/N so do not read that please

ALSO THIS ISNT REALLY A SCENE FROM THE MOVIE SO PLEASE DONT HATE

A/N: I'm still knew at putting links in but this is part 2 if anyone has tips on how to use tumblr that would be great

You may NOT copy this, with or without my permission.

Summary: Y/N grew up with Jake and Neytiri's children as her parents were killed during the first war. She was the same age as Neteyam. They grew up together. They both harbored feelings for each other, but they both knew they couldn't be together due to them being different species.

I was the only one who knew how Kiri felt. Everyone would call her a freak, and I was a human who didn't belong here. Yet, somehow, the family showed me that it is okay to be different, that I was no outsider to them.

Night had fallen as I was with Neteyam. We both spoke on our feelings to each other, but we could never act on them. I was human. He was Na'Vi, who was destined to Mate with the next Tsahik. He was to be the next Olo'eyktan, and I would be just a regular human.

"What are you thinking about?" Neteyam asked, as I was unusually quiet.

"Nothing." I lied.

I stared at the stars above us as we were riding on his Ikran. It was rare for us to ever be alone, as I was always with Kiri, learning how to heal from her and Mo'at.

"You're lying." I sighed, he didn't even have to see my expression to know I'm lying.

"I don't want to ruin the moment Nete." I rest my head against his back, as I heard him let out a sigh.

My arms circled around his body, I was smaller than him, as he was an alien, who would grow to be ten feet tall.

"We're going to be having this discussion sooner or later by my parents." I squeezed my eyes shut as I buried my face deeper into his back.

"I know, I know Nete. But can we just have this moment?" He huffs in response as I scoot closer so my legs entangled with his as he pats his hand on my thigh.

"Fine, but we are talking about this whether you like it or not." I stayed silent, I know it'd be impossible to run away from this no matter how much I want to.

I lift my head so I was resting my chin on his shoulder, our cheeks touching.

Neteyam's ikran starts to fly down as we were heading towards the forest.

"Nete, where are you taking us?" He didn't respond as he stared down.

I let Neteyam take my hand as we walked together in silence.

"Neteyam?" I called out, but still no response.

He finally stopped as we were at the Kasvapan River. The water glowed different colors, as I saw some fan lizards and I tapped one, I stared in awe as they started to spin in circles in the air.

"Why are we here Nete?" I asked, as he sat on a rock, his feet resting in the water, his head hung low.

"I want you to be my Tsahik." I gasped.

"Nete you know-" He cuts me off.

"I know that you are human, I am a freak." I slapped his shoulder lightly.

"You are not a freak Nete, you are beautiful. The way you care for your people, you are kind. You are brave, I love you, Neteyam. You will find the perfect woman to be your Tsahik." I spoke sadly, I was kneeling beside him on the same rock.

"That's the thing Y/N!" He growled in frustration, his eyes tearing up just the slightest bit.

"Nete." I grabbed his face, my fingers barely able to fit under his chin.

"Neteyam, look at me." I demand softly, his yellow cat-like eyes stare back at me.

"Eywa will find you a better Tsahik. You will be a great leader, you will fall in love and find the perfect mate. Even if it is not me." Neteyam started to cry, as well as I do.

"I see you, Neteyam. Forever you will be in my heart." Neteyam's shoulders started to shake as he continued to sob into my shoulder.

"Why does this have to be so hard?" I continued to rub his back as I hug the Na'Vi.

I too started to cry.

"I don't know Nete. But we will heal in time." My body was hidden by the blue wounded Na'Vi as we both cried.

"I love you, Y/N." I wish I didn't have to wear this stupid mask, I want to be able to kiss him, but we will never got to kiss.

"I love you, Neteyam."

3rd P.O.V

It was the next day as Neteyam and Y/N barely spoke a word to each other. Everyone in the tribe found it odd that the two best friends were nowhere to be seen together. They were always attached at the hip, or one would be flirting, and the other would be flustered. Y/N was with Kiri as she was trying to get her mind off of last night.

"You're quiet today Y/N. Did Neteyam say something to you?" Y/N bites the inside of her cheek.

"We were talking about the future. We're both hurting right now." Y/n whispered. Kiri was her girl best friend, she would go to Kiri sometimes for advice about Neteyam, or in general to talk and hangout.

"He's eighteen now, soon he will be the Olo'teykan. He will find the perfect Tsahik, and I will be y/n. The helpless little human who fell for a Na'Vi." I let out an angry huff.

"You are not helpless. Believe me, I understand." I sighed. Shutting my eyes tightly.

"I love him, kiri. I don't know what to do." I sobbed. The young Na'Vi throws me into her arms as I sobbed.

"We will figure it out." She promised.

Kiri and y/n went silent as they continued to make medicine. Neteyam had announced earlier today that him and his brother were going on a mission.

"They're back!" Tuk announced, causing Y/N to be the first one to rush out of the little home.

"What happened?" Y/n gasped as she rushed to Jake, who was holding Neteyam.

"I'm fine." Neteyam grunted.

Y/N pursed her lips as she stared at Neteyam. He had a wound on his chest and his head was bleeding.

"Sit." She demanded the boy.

He complies as she continues to ramble in Na'Vi, as if she were Neytiri, as his mother would pace out of habit.

"I'm fine y/n." Jake slapped his oldest son upside the head.

"You need to be taken care of." Y/n and Neteyam have not said a word to each other. Jake even noticed the slight tension between them.

"What's going on between you two lately? You're usually running around or doing something." The two continued to stay silent as y/n tended to the slightly wounded boy.

"It's for the best, sir." Neteyam was the first to speak.

"For the best?" Jake stayed silent for a moment, then he realized. They were falling for each other.

"He's the next clan leader, I'm a human." Y/n spoke, Neteyam, let's out hiss when she dabbed on his cut too harshly.

Neteyam knew she was getting worked up over the topic, as he placed a hand on her waist to calm her nerves.

Jake noticed the silent exchange. He felt bad for the two teenagers, if only it were easy.

"I mean, we can't even kiss because one of us would die from the toxic air that kills humans. I feel like Eywa has cursed me to fall in love with your son, only for me to never be able to be with him. I feel like this is her revenge because of what the humans have done before I was born." Y/n rambles, finally getting something she's always wanted to say off her chest.

The three grew silent, not knowing what to say to her strong outburst.

"Eywa does not give revenge." A woman's voice appears, as she realizes it was Neytiri.

"Then why has she given me a broken heart?" She continues to stare at Neteyam.

"I mean, I can't be with him. We can't be together we're different species. I don't have an avatar that I could transfer my soul into. It was just best that I stayed away from him!" Y/n stops as she let's out a few sobs as she runs out of the home tree.

Jake ran after her. She ended up sitting high up in the tree as she cried in her legs, hugging them closer towards her small body.

She felt a presence behind her, but she continues to sob. Jake sits down in front of her. She hugs herself tighter as she shakes her head in her knees.

"I know this is hard, believe me. Things will get better." Y/n scoffs in response.

"He's the next clan leader, Jake. He is destined to be a leader, I'm just a small human who will just put you all in more danger. I don't belong here. It would be best if I just stayed away from your son. Just until our hearts won't ache anymore." Jake runs his hand over his face.

The girl stopped sobbing, her eyes puffy her eyes were blood shot from all the tears.

"It's for the best for now, Jake." She climbs down the tree with ease, Neteyam taught her how to climb when they were in the forest one day and wanted to race. She didn't know how so that day the siblings taught her how to climb.

A/N: I Was thinking about a part w where she was with the sully when they get kidnapped and that she was the one to get kidnapped and not spider and she gets shot instead? Idk lmk what you think.

#avatar #neteyam x oc #neteyam x reader #kiri sully #jake sully #neytiri #tumblr fyp #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #james cameron

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 1 year

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Let's settle down for the night.

Quick summary: You’ve been each other’s for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: A lot of fluff 😩😩; may be inaccurate ‘cause, I gotta say, I’m a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff I’ve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, reader’s an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.

A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lil’ prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaand—I guess you’ll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there 😌😌😌, I do think I’m gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck 😀😀😀 it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

We’ve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years.

The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like he’s all armour. When the suns finally go down, he’ll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Din’s like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one single push. Or like a rock – with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. He’s also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day.

My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, I’d never let my guard down—but it’s just us, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’ve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack that’s almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Won’t have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships we’ve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, y’know, it’s—it’s what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems – it’s been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no trouble—yet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether we’re implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but I’m always curious.

A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.

“You alright back there?”

Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.

“Yeah, ‘f’course,” I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Can’t drink just yet, though, ‘cause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. He’s offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. “We’re safe,” I say confidently. We’ve been careful.

“I know.” Yeah, I know he knows. “I was just wonderin’ cause, y’know, you’ve been a little quiet.”

Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. “What, so you’re saying you want my ‘mindless chit-chatting’ back now, huh?”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. We’ve had a thing going for a while, now – it’s been just us for a while. I know he doesn’t mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I don’t know why I didn’t just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts he’d make during conversation when we’d cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?—well, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.

But still, he feels the need to explain: “Ah, you know I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that he’s always got my six; teasing me about things he’s told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I don’t tell him I love it, and I don’t tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.

He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. He’s tired – I can tell by the way he’s leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks me lowly.

I laugh. “You mean the day we’re currently spending together?”

He nods. “Tell me about it.”

Stars, I’m glad it’s getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ‘n’ square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.

“I liked it.” He scoffs. “I did. There’s been no trouble, and, y’know, I grew up on a desert planet like this.”

“Bantha farmers, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts.

I laugh again. “You bastard! You’re so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet they’ve never risked even chipping a nail.” Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild – we’ve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?—take up a job where?

The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violet—and Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Din’s no help in the communication sector there – the stoic type – but, if anything, he’ll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckin’ Bargain Town. Because, damn, we’re relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesn’t have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.

Speaking of the three of us, the kid’s absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that he’s being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I haven’t had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me was—was—a long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And he’s all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face – stars, I can’t wait until we reach a water supply.

“Are you looking at me right now?” I ask, amused.

He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I can’t see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if it’s really obvious. “You’re looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Good why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got your mindless chit-chattin’ to keep me company.”

Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.”

It goes quiet again – he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.

“Are you tired?”

Yes. My legs feel like they’re about to fuckin’ fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure he’s okay. So, I shake my head and say, “It’s only a little ways up till the next settlement.”

“It’s a lot further.”

My heart drops. “Oh.” Wishful thinking’s just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“D’you think we should stop?”

“No, we can—”

“I’m tired—” he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, “—let’s stop for the night.” He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.

Well, if he insists.

You know, it’s moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.

“You’re not cold?”

I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. “I’m not cold. I have, like, five layers on.”

He eyes me doubtfully. “Okay.” And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.

I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)—but Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his – he must be starving.

“We’ll get something better to eat when we get to the city.”

I snort. “It’s hardly a city.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks it’s for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that I’m good at it, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping everything to try. It’s nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, he’s so stupid sometimes.

I tell him flat-out, “We don’t have enough credits,” because we don’t. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely don’t have enough to purchase any food. We’ve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until we’re off-planet. Peli’s got—edible food—probably. I don’t trust it won’t make me shit my brains out as soon as we’re in hyperspace, though.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though. “We’ll get a worse ship.”

“Din.” Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.

He protests, “I’m not hungry,” and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder – I shrug him away.

“I’m already stuffed, so what’re you gonna do about it?”

He sighs in exasperation. “Thought you might say that.”

“‘Cause I’m just so predictable?”

“You’re stubborn.”

Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. “I’m stubborn?”

He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. “Yes.” The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and I’m suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.

I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. “And there’s not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.”

The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (don’t tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seemingly—nothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, he’d retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didn’t really hate or love anything – as long as he could consume it and it wouldn’t kill him, he’d tolerate it. Over the years, though, I’ve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesn’t trust ‘em. And he’s not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.

Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mould—so yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.

“How’s that taste?” he asks.

“Like dirt.” I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. “But—” I retract, “—sorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s sorta like that.”

He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.

“Turn around,” he tells me brusquely.

I wink at him and do as I’m told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.

I’m silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religion—but, oh, I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

“It’s nice.”

Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.

I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.

Calm yourself down. It’s just a voice.

“You should have the rest of it,” he continues, and there’s the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.

Oh, stars. He hasn’t got his helmet on. He hasn’t got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I can’t really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.

“If you like it,” I say dryly, “you should eat it.”

The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze when he’s done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesn’t slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmet’s back on.

I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyes—but Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. I’m no engineer, alright? I don’t exactly know what he’s seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that – that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bits—until it got fuckin’ stolen by a bunch of fuckin’ Jawas. Point is, isn’t it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as he’s looking at me now? Me, I’m admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he won’t be able to interpret the warmth of the lamp’s light on my face the same way as I did for him. I’m not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isn’t he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think I’m prettiest at sundown – something in my undertone, I dunno – but he’s only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks I’m—okay-looking.

Overthinking it again. Din doesn’t waste time with things he doesn’t think add to his life. He doesn’t think I’m just okay-looking.

“You’ve got a good voice,” I tell him, grinning widely.

“You’ve heard my voice before.” The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.

“I know.”

A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesn’t move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.

We’ve been each other’s for a long, long time. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. And I’m not exactly thinking critically, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but I find myself asking, “When Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?”

The mortification immediately sets in.

Holy kriff.

Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.

Holy kriff.

“I’m not—” I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, “—‘m not asking you to marry me, Din. I was—I was just wondering ‘cause, y’know, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, and—and I was just thinkin’ that maybe—” you pause, glancing up at him; he doesn’t move a muscle, and there’s nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, “—maybe I’d like to see—what—you—look—like.”

Wow. Wow, I’m almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.

I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave I’ve dug for myself. “But I’m not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.”

He says nothing, does nothing.

I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, “Damn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,” under my breath, like it’s a secret, like he can’t hear every fuckin’ word I’m saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.

Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, I’d rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. We’re as close to married as the real thing anyway. Din’s more of an actions-over-words kind of guy – I don’t need to call him my husband. It’s not like—well, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I don’t need to call him my husband. He’s just—my guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that he’s my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: “You’re my person. I’m yours.” Words aren’t his forte.

“I’d marry you.”

I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. “Hmm?” I ask, drifting back to the present.

“I’d marry you,” he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. “Right here. If you want me.”

Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.

Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. “Not here.”

“Where?”

I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. “I dunno.” And I really don’t, because—because I didn’t think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out together—type. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else – not necessarily love. Didn’t take him for the marrying type.

I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. “Just somewhere prettier, I guess,” I decide on. “Not this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Y’know, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where there’s stuff in there waiting to kill you.” I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.

He tilts his head. “Like, with mountains?” he asks.

I smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind mountains.”

He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. “We could go to Takodana?”

Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? That’s actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Din?” I ask, more confident.

He grunts and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“‘Not really’,” you mock him, deepening your voice and attempting to widen your shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I’ve kissed you—between your legs,” he tells me, nervous, like I’ve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.

Heat blooms in my stomach. “Great work down there, by the way,” I tell him through a sly grin.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.

I smile and stare at him.

“Could I kiss you?” The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I don’t really have to filter anything out anymore. I don’t have any complaints – just some recommendations for fun we could be having.

Din doesn’t reply.

Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If there’s anything anyone knows about Din, it’s that he’s a Mandalorian first. He’s a Mandalorian before he’s mine – he’d never say it out loud, but we both know it’s true. I’d never ask him to choose because that’s cruel. Am I being cruel?

Either way, I can’t seem to stop, and I don’t seem to care: “I’d keep my eyes shut,” I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, I’m turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. “You know I’d keep ‘em shut. I wouldn’t look. I just—wanna—” you sigh, “—I just wanna kiss you. It’s nice, I swear. Nice feeling. I’d keep my eyes closed. Or—or you could tie something around ‘em?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Stars,” I curse. “I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Is ‘tired’ why you’re pressing onto yourself down there?”

He flicks his fingers over to where I’ve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I was—ha!—I was just warming up my hands.

I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Din’s, guilty as charged.

He sighs deep from within the chest. “You keep ‘em closed and we tie something around ‘em.”

Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I don’t really give a fuck because I’m about to kiss Din Djarin. I’m about to kiss my Mandalorian. I’m about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. I’m not possessive, I don’t think, but, gods, I—I—I can’t believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he won’t say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those we’re close with, like Peli—but, with me, he’ll talk for hours. He jokes that he’s just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.

Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head – unsanitary, sure, but, again, I don’t care, and my head’s reeling, and my heart’s racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and he’s so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and they’re brushing against the nape of my neck now, and—

“Can you take your gloves off, Din?” I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. “Please?” Stars, I’m pathetic.

Behind me, there’s the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.

And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.

I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ‘cause I didn’t call by it’s actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.

I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. “Y’know, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my child’s life, and their child’s life, just from the lines on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. “What do mine say?”

“All good things,” you reply shakily.

“Anything about Takodana?”

He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.

Then, he’s letting me go, leaning away—and there’s that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.

“Turn around,” he tells me, and I do.

It’s too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I could’ve seen the vaguest outline of him. But we’re not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.

His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and they’re warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.

His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When he’s between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. It’s thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though I’m not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I don’t reach out and touch his face—because it’s his. It’s his, and he’s taken an oath to keep it that way. He’s never initiated a kiss, so I’ve never asked. I’ve been content. I’ve been patient.

But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone – Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.

Stars.

I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.

I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how it’s slightly crooked to the right, like he’s broken it before (wouldn’t surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. I’m silent—and I’m grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? It’s like I’m seeing his face. I’m not, but it’s sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes – I can feel the muscles in his face release tension – for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. I’m not crying, but, fuck, it’s getting a little moist up in this blindfold.

His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that – kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Don’t cry.

“You look insane, mesh’la,” he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.

“Ah, bantha shit, baby,” I retort. “You’re loving this.”

And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.

Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.

He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.

I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.

Only, he’s not really smiling right now. He’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, “So pretty.” I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. “S’good. You look so good—like this. Y’look good all the time—”

But I’m kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.

The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.

And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.

Closer, closer, closer – that’s all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. It’s Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—

He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.

Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I can’t control myself – a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.

I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.

His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.

It’s—good. Really good. Can’t-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.

“Maker,” he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.

“Good?” I ask him.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. “We can do this—more often—‘f you want.”

“If I want, huh?”

He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. It’s just lovely, and I love it.

“Marry me and you can find out for sure,” he mumbles into my neck.

I can hardly hear him, of course – blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.

I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. “I can tell,” I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. “You’re so pretty, Din.”

“Marry me,” he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.

I grin. “Later.”

He curses, something in Mando’a. “We’re going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #rip razor crest #din you little fittie #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #din djarin #mesh’la is the cutest nickname 💀#grogu #is a little shit #but he’s perfect #i’m feral for this man #star wars

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