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narcissarina · 2 months

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Darkened Desires

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 1,088

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

PROLOGUE

“It shouldn’t have come to this.” This wouldn’t have happened, if she could just listen to me! I would not have done that, she was suppose to be mine, mine alone. How dare he laid his hands on her. I should’ve just chained her, isolate her, keep her all by myself. If only she kept her curiosity to herself.

Very well then, curiosity does kill the cat. I’ll be having my own fun to chase and to hunt her down, until she admits that every part of her is mine.

CHAPTER 1:

THE SUN

Nothing makes my morning much more delightful than working in a Café that me and my friend own, a smile spread across my face as I greet a customer with delight, “Hello, welcome to Tulipa Purissima. What can I get you today?” I saw a smile from the little girls face as she waved at me and pointed right to the menu of our café.

“Mommy, mommy!” the girl yelled with a high pitched but adoring voice, “I want a strawberry cake!” the girl added, on the other hand—the mother, was busy speaking to her phone while holding the little girls hand. This very much reminded me of how me and my mother were. I let out a soft laugh as the girl was too eager to have her strawberry cake, pulling her mothers sleeve and arm, whining and pushing her. The older woman didn’t flinched nor yelled at the girl, she just pat her head and hold the call, pinching her daughters cheek.

This is so adorable to watch.

After a few exchanged mutters from the mother and daughter, they placed their order and find their seats. Those two really did remind me of my mother and me, how she’ll always take the call either a call from relatives or from her workplace, then we’ll go to a café and I sulk at her from taking too long.

I laughed and passed the order from my friend, who will make and serve the orders. This is how me and my friend, Estrella do and pick our parts, we also switch roles from time to time.

As I serve customers, call out their name to pick up their order, something caught my attention—someone. Group of men dresses in fancy black tuxedo inside the café, they haven’t get anything yet. I assume they were only bystanders, I sigh and look for my friend to make sure, “Estrella?” I called, she hums in response and finishing the last order and gave the receipt to the customer.

“Those men..” I point towards the right side of the back of the café, trying my best not to seem rude to point to customers and not wanting to be find out that I’m talking about them, “they haven’t ordered anything yet, right?” I asked, worry hinted in my voice. Since I feel a bit of intimidation towards of group of men, worse part is that they even dressed up in black expensive tuxedo’s.

My friend took a quick glance and stared at me in the eye, shaking her head and wiping her hands with tissues, “No,” she hums, “I haven’t seen a single one of them come to front and claim their order.” She added, Estrella has a knack for remembering faces of customers for the day and know who’s had ordered and who didn’t, “and they don’t seem like a regular here either.”

I sigh and got out from the counter, “I’ll deal with them, we can’t have bystanders here.” I murmur to myself and to Estrella to hear, she gave a thumbs-up as if it’ll motivate me and have such courage to speak with those dangerous looking men.

There were three to seven people in this table, two on either side of the bench seat and a man in the middle—sweating and fidgeting, as if he’s being threatened by these men. I approach their table, my hands clasp together and I cleared my throat to bring their attention to me, “Hello, gentlemen.” I utter, trying to steady my voice and not stutter or eat my words up. I continue, “I—uh noticed that you guys haven’t order anything here yet and that an atmosphere you bring inside Tulipa Purissima is unsettling, if you all don’t mind, I kindly ask you all to leave.”

A man with dark purple hair and in a short hime cut with lavender highlights, I assume he’s a little older than me but with a baby face like that and how he stood out from the rest of the men, I think I know who’s in charge of the group. He spoke, his tone flat and uninterested, “so we just need to order and you’ll leave us alone?” he asked, his eyes darkening and piercing the more he look at me dead in the eye.

I think I want to curl up into a ball and cry to my mommy.

My lips sealed shut, his voice raspy and husky. I don’t move an inch and I peel my eyes away from his deadly gaze, “uh. I- I mean.” I started stammering, I could feel my heart beating and racing, my legs wanting to give out and run to my friend Estrella.

Help, I’m scared.

He waves his hand lazily, his palm resting his chin and elbow on the table. “Whatever, get me some dark coffee.” He said, tone still flat and uninterested. He turn to his colleagues—or that I assume that were his colleagues, it feels like more a security than old friends…

“You all order some, my treat.” He murmured but it was loud enough to be heard by the others, I took out my handy-dandy notebook and write down all their orders. I’m so glad that I keep this thing all the time with me.

After placing and telling me their order, I noticed the man looking at me. The one in the middle, his eyes big and wide, his hands trembling and fidgeting—as if he’s telling me to help him.

“I don’t want to intrude but,” I said and lean over the table and look at the man, but I don’t lean in too close. “I’m sorry sir but are these gentle folks seems to bother you nor are they intimidating you?” I asked, my tone strong and full of concern.

I could feel a burning sensation at the back of my neck, and I know who’s eyes they were…

Link:

Chapter 2: THE MOON

#genshin impact #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche smut #modern Scaramouche #Mafia!Scaramouche #dark romance #genshin smut #Dark Desires Series #sorry for being inactive #i hope y'all like it #darkened desires series

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im-a-marvel-ous-hoe · 5 months

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Baby, Please Come Home | Bucky Barnes (1st Day of 🎄)

(Credits to the owner of this gif!)

Hello hello hello! Alondra here! I haven’t written anything in a long time, so I apologize if this is shit lol I’m doin a 12 days of Christmas sort of thing and I’m praying that this doesn’t flop 😅

Christmas Masterlist <- check out my other holiday fics! ✨

~~~~

“Merry Christmas, doll.” I heard Bucky’s voice through the phone, his tone in a slightly higher pitch than usual. I smiled to myself as I sat down on the couch, startling Alpine for a moment as she was just starting to fall asleep. She yawned and stretched out her little white paws in front of me, her claws peaking out as she started to climb onto my lap. The princess has spoken. Looks like I’m gonna be stuck here for a little while.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.” I spoke. The realization that we’re not spending Christmas together this year comes fluttering to the front of my mind no matter how much I've tried to ignore it these past few weeks. The only sense of warmth I have of him in our house is some old shirts he left behind and our baby Alpine. She’s quiet and craves cuddles, just like her dad. “It uh… it doesn’t sound as good on the phone as I was hoping than in person, does it?” He chuckled out, trying to find a way to lighten the mood. I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me. “No, it does not.” I replied, clutching my phone close to my ear trying to imagine that he’s here right in front of me and his voice isn’t so staticy.

“You want to say hi to Alpine? She’s right here.” I looked down at the small animal on my lap as my hand began softly scratching her head. “Of course I do! Put her on.” I placed my phone on the arm rest and pressed the speaker button on my screen. “You’re on speaker, baby.” I heard him shuffling on the other end of the line before speaking up. “Alpine? You there?” The cat’s ears turned up and looked towards my phone. “You takin’ good care of your momma?”

She stood up and leaned closer to my phone, inspecting it. It’s like I could see the cogwheels in her head turn as she wondered how she could hear her dad’s voice if he wasn’t here. “She’s been keeping me company.” I smiled and heard him laugh on the other end. “Really?” He said. I could almost picture him smiling. “Yeah! We’re best buddies now. We have so many intellectual conversations.”

“I can’t wait to see it in person. I gotta get Sam to help me figure out how to take a video so I can just do it without messing up when I get home.” I chuckled at the thought of poor Sam having to deal with Bucky’s lack of phone knowledge and the constant bickering they’re bound to have. I swear, sometimes he really does act like a 100-somethin’ year old man. “Sergeant Barnes, you are something else.”

“Hey, you know I still have trouble understanding! I didn’t grow up with this kind of thing.”

“Then how is it that my grandmother is able to figure out Facebook better than you?” I laughed as he grumbled. “Your grandma had more time to figure it out! It’s not my fault she’s hip.”

I could just imagine what his face looks like right now. His eyebrows are probably scrunched up, his gaze is on the floor and his lips are pouty and just waiting to be kissed. I let out a chuckle and looked around our house. The decorations were put up soon after Thanksgiving. We played Christmas music in the background as we both decorated our tree, Alpine seeming to think this is another place for her to climb and make hers. Once Bucky put the star on top, everything just felt perfect, even though I knew I wouldn’t see him on the day of. “I’m really sorry that I wasn’t able to be there this year.” He said. “I tried my best to – ”

“Bucky, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, I completely understand. Our line of work doesn’t exactly allow us to have vacations, sort to speak. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I know, doll, but still. I thought I would at least be home for Christmas.”

“I know, baby, I know but there’s nothing else we can do about it. We’re in two different places and flights are backed up, so I guess we’ll just have to make due with what we’ve got.” I could feel tiny vibrations on my leg as Alpine purred against me, my hand not stopping to show her love. She seems content. He sighed and spoke up once again. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I smiled. “I know you will.”

He cleared his throat as if he was trying to mask the sound of something. “Bucky… was that.. were you in a – ”

“Baby, did you get the thing that I sent you yet?” He cut me off as I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. “Um.. no, no I haven’t. I haven’t gotten anything.” He let out a groan. “No? Are you sure? FedEx promised me it would arrive in time for Christmas.” Alpine leaned in closer to my hand as I scratched the top of her head. “Doll, can you please do me a favor and keep an eye out for it? It could be arriving any minute.” I smiled to myself as I nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“I wanna hear as you see what I got you for Christmas.” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Bucky, you know I will love whatever you got me, but what I really want is you and I don’t think FedEx can send people over like that.” He let out a laugh. “Maybe they’d let me if Steve was to put in a good word.”

“You’re such an idiot.” I laughed and Alpine stirred in my lap, a quiet reminder for me to not move or else she’s gone and she’s the only thing in this house keeping me company. I could hear him huffing on the other line as I tried to figure out what he’s doing. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“What do you mean where am I? You know where I’m at.”

“No, I mean are you outside? I could hear you huffin’ and puffin’. Are you trying to keep warm?”

“Maybe there’s another reason why you can hear me breathin’ so hard. I’m talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone and she misses me just as much as I miss her.”

I stayed silent for a moment as I processed his words and gasped. You cheeky little fucker. “James!” My outburst along with Bucky’s laugh startled Alpine once more as she got up and left. “No! Kitty come back!” I could hear him practically wheezing in the background as she left to God knows where in our house. “What happened?”

“You made me scare Alpine out of my lap!” I whined as he continued to laugh at my expense. “Hey, you were the one who got the joke late and yelled, scaring our poor baby Alpine! That’s not my fault!”

“It is too! If you hadn’t made that joke, I wouldn’t have reacted that way!” I’m sure my face must be red from embarrassment as he continued on. “And to answer your question, with no hidden dirty jokes, I went out for a walk. I couldn’t stay in that hotel with Sam trying to find ways to decorate my arm with holiday decorations. Note to self, don’t let Sam buy tinsel and say it’s for the “tree at the Stark Tower”.”

I smiled at the thought of Steve being in the middle of these two teasing each other like children and not knowing which side he should take. Hearing his voice, even if it’s not crystal clear, makes me forget for a moment that he’s not here. There’s almost this sort of echo in the house that really makes you feel like you’re alone. It still breaks my heart, but I wouldn’t tell him to make him feel even worse about it. He’s trying his best and that’s all I could really hope for.

But I do wish he was here. Wherever Bucky goes, that’s home.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that you didn’t take the trash cans in like I asked you to.”

I was silent for a moment as I thought about what he said. “You didn’t, did you?” I shook my head and spoke. “Um no, I’m pretty sure I did.” I tried to lie and pretend like I didn’t forget, which in fact I know I did.

“Oh, really? Hmm… are you sure? ‘Cause something is telling me that you forgot.” I smiled and leaned back more into the couch and got comfortable. “I know I tend to be forgetful, but I’m pretty sure I already took them in.” I heard him chuckle. “Alright, alright I’ll believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, baby..”

“Trying to put the guilt trip on me even when you’re not here, baby?” I laughed and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. “I’m just stating the facts.. oh, hey, one second! I’m getting another call. I’ll be right back.” I waited for him as he placed me on hold and began to browse through Netflix to look for some good Christmas films to watch.

Before I could go to my suggestion list, I heard the doorbell ring.

“Weird, wrong number…” I heard his voice once again as he took me off hold. “Hey, I just heard the doorbell ring.” I spoke as I went to stand up. “It’s probably FedEx. Go check it out and take me with you!” I stood up, grabbed my phone and went to go and find a sweater to quickly put on. “Just uh do me a favor.” He requested. “Sure, baby. What is it?”

“I know you’re lonely at home, but try not to check out the delivery man too much, okay? Even if he is very handsome.” I laughed and shook my head. “Ohh, I don’t know Barnes. I gotta see what kind of a package I’m lookin’ at here.” I joked as he laughed. I walked over to the front door and opened it. My body stood still as my phone fell out of my hands.

“Delivery, for Mrs. – ” Before he could even finish the sentence, I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me. I could feel and hear him laughing against me as his arms embraced me tighter into him. I could feel the cold air from outside come into the house, but I didn’t care. He was warm and he was standing at our doorstep.

He pulled me back so he could look at me and I could see a sheen of tears in his baby blues as he leaned down for a kiss. Both hands cupped my cheeks as he held me in place, his cold lips meeting my own. He’s grown out his stubble and it lightly tickled my top lip. I reached my hands up to tug at his hair and felt him smile against me as soft moans of content left his mouth. He pulled away too soon for my liking and looked down at me and laughed.

“Did ya miss me, doll?” I pulled him in for another kiss as he mumbled against my lips. “I can hardly tell.” His metal hand moved a strand of hair away from my face as he continued to smile at me. “But… how are you here? You’re supposed to be in – ”

“I know I know but we managed to finish the mission early and catch a flight. Turns out, Steve doesn’t mind using the Captain America card to get on a plane while running late.” He chuckled. He rubbed small circles on my cheek as I leaned into him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He leaned in to grant me one more kiss before pulling away to make a comment. “I know it seems hard to believe, but I made you a promise that I will try to be home for Christmas and I keep my promises… unlike someone I know who didn’t bring in the trash cans.”

Fuck…

“Oops? You’re not upset, right?” I asked as he shook his head. “No, baby I’m not upset. I could care less about them. I’ve just gone and gave myself the best present a guy could ask for… the love of his life, crying and cheeks reddened in his arms, clinging to him with all the might they can muster..” He laughed as he held me against him.

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere… now let’s get inside, get a warm drink and see if we can warm ourselves up with each other.” He winked as I playfully slapped his arm. “Let’s go surprise Alpine.”

“Ahh! That’s right!” He walked in and yelled out. “Alpine? Daddy’s home! Where are you sweetheart?” I closed the door behind us and smiled at the thought of him finally being home. He took off his jacket just as she came out from wherever she was hiding. He crouched down as she walked up to welcome him home. “Hey, you. Ya missed me?” He chuckled as he looked up at me.

“Doll?”

“Yeah?” He smiled up at me, his cheeks rosy as he uttered, “Merry Christmas.”

~~~~

I hope y’all liked it! Please let me know your thoughts! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #christmas imagine #Bucky Barnes christmas #Bucky Barnes Christmas imagine #12 days of christmas #12 days of ficmas #please go easy on me #i haven't written in so long #i hope y'all like it #✨🎄✨🎄

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theredengineapologist · 5 months

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I decided to publish my first Jameward short fic!

Title: Under Lavender Skies

Summary: James would have liked it if he and Edward could run side-by-side forever. AKA James proposes to Edward and they get married. That's it. That's the fic.

This is the first time I've written Jameward fic and the first work I decided to post publicly in years, so please keep that in mind. ^^;

Inspired by this post by @shelli-gator

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honestlydarkprincess · 1 year

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i lit the match, the firemen can do the rest

for @swiftiediaz & @monsterrae1

buck/eddie || rated: e || words: 6.6k

The house was quiet, too quiet. Eddie had just gotten back a little bit ago from dropping Christopher off at one of his friends houses for a sleepover.

It had been a couple weeks since his Tía Pepa had started setting him up on dates and so far Eddie had been on three dates. They weren’t bad dates but they hadn’t done anything for him. Eddie could admit that he had had a nice time. Dinner was good, the company was fine, but that’s all it was. Nice. Fine. Eddie wanted more than that. He wanted…everything. He wanted someone who knew him better than anyone else, who made him feel both like his feet were on the ground and like he was flying high. He wanted Buck.

But Buck didn’t want him.

Or, the one where Eddie is pining and decides to drive over to Buck's. He doesn't expect to walk in on friends-with-benefits Buck and Natalia and he definitely doesn't expect the night to end with him getting everything he's ever wanted with Buck.

read on ao3

#SHE'S FINALLY HEREEEEEEEE #god i put my soul into this fic i haven't posted anything above 6k in two entire years #i hope y'all like it #jess.writes #my writing #buddie #buddie fic #buck x eddie #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 fic #911 fanfic #jess.fics

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remapped-soul · 4 months

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ao3 link. spotify playlist.

#luna.writes #my stories #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #charlos #charlos fic #f1 rpf #f1 fic #the (rude) baby is here finally after year #i hope y'all like it #its time to let this baby go and start on new projects #charlos university au

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teteminne · 3 months

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I’d love to hear something about A Game of Love for the WIP game

Hii, thank you so much for the ask and for tagging me in the game as well!!

So, A Game of Love is an AU I talked extensively with @palominojacoby about a long (long) time ago, but that (unfortunately) didn't make it out of my drafts yet. It is a modern jonsa AU of the movie What Happens in Vegas, that rom-com with Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher. Here's a snippet!

Four days later, Sansa wakes up with a blinding, awful headache, and a taste so foul to her tongue it nearly makes her sick.

“By the gods…” she moans, sitting up on the too-soft bed of her hotel room. Anya had let her keep the room she’d gotten for herself and Harry in a rare gesture of goodwill - or apology, perhaps - . It was clearly a room meant for a couple, with lots of flowers and a myriad of heart motifs, but what had crushed Sansa’s heart had actually been the bed, draped in silk-satin sheets and enormous, truly far too big for one person alone…

Sansa lets out the highest high pitched scream of her life, flinging herself off the bed and onto the floor in a painful flash. The man laying by her side screams too, though much more gravely. A shout, really, filled with the awful surprise of being woken up by a particularly shrill siren. His wide eyes find her once he sharply turns her way after shooting straight up into a sitting position on the bed, and then widen further - a thing she wouldn’t have thought possible, really -.

“Others take me!” the man curses, voice so rough it is more of a growl, really. Sansa covers her face with her hands, knees brought up to her chest, wanting to cry. She can’t believe she’s done this. She’s always known hookups aren’t for her - there’s nothing wrong with them, not at all, it's just that she has a particular way of seeing sex, always has, really, and to her, it is like… an spiritual experience. Like a momentary simbiosis. The thought of merging herself like that with someone she doesn't know, doesn’t love… she’s never wanted that and she can feel her heart sinking in her chest at having done it. “Are you… are you crying?” the man sounds horrified. Sansa lowers her hands, looking up into his face. Well… her cheeks redden. At least she’d done well for herself.

“No.” she denies, swallowing her tears and smiling wetly up at him. It’s not his fault Sansa has drunkenly done this. By the way he is flinching at the daylight shining through the window, he must be nursing as bad a hangover as Sansa is. It would be cruel to make him feel bad about this. “It was just the light.” she lies.

He looks a bit suspicious, but thankfully doesn’t question her further. Sansa thinks it might be because he wants to believe her - he’d looked thoroughly stricken at the possibility of having participated in something that’d make her weep -. That sweetens him in her heart, and her features soften further. The way the muscles of his shoulders lose their tension in response assures her she’d been right.

His clothed shoulders. Sansa blushes; it was a very fancy dress-shirt that he was wearing. As fancy as the dress she had on. Had they truly been in such a hurry they’d not even fully undressed? She’s still wearing panties! Had he just pushed them to the side to…

She immediately interrupts that train of thought, mortified.

Slightly awkward in a sort of endearing way, the man offers her a hand to get up off the floor. Sansa coyly takes it, smiling a bit, trying not to think about how she must have makeup smeared all over her face.

But then, once she’s standing, her hand in his, she feels the hard coldness of skin meeting metal, looks down, and at once drops his hand, shouting in rage:

“You’re married!” she bellows, indignant.

She doesn’t even wait to see the confusion in the stranger’s eyes take place on his face, looking all around for her heels, her purse - and the condom. By the Gods, let them have used a condom -, fully enraged, when she is suddenly surprised by the stranger’s own bellow:

“You’re married!” he accuses, pointing indignantly at her.

Sansa swirls to look at him, unbound and dirty hair flying all around, head pounding - truly pounding. This might be the worst hangover of her life - and follows the line of his finger to where it points: her own left hand, where a shiny, tiny band of silver - or is it white gold? Oh my, it is white gold - elegantly circles her ring finger. An unknown band of white gold; she’d left Harry’s ring to him back at the apartment. Besides, that one had been gold, with a big diamond on top. Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

“No, no, I’m not….” she mumbles, baffled, mouth dry.

She looks up, wordless, only to find the man holding something, pale all over.

“What?” she asks; “What is it?”

Quietly, he turns what he’d been holding around: a picture. It’s a picture. Of him, and her. Kissing in front of a man in a sparkly suit. She has a plastic bouquet and is wrapped in what she knows, in her gut, to be his jacket. He has what she can only assume was her veil haphazardly wrapped around his shoulders. He’s somewhat dipping her, and she is clumsily holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

It’s a picture. A picture of them getting married.

#jonsa #sansa stark #jon snow #jonsa fic #wip game #got #i hope y'all like it #revisiting this actually made me want to post it

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 4 months

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Not Needed

Harry Potter went missing the night the Potter’s died. The Magical world looked for him but to no avail. No Hogwarts letter was ever sent, no messy mop of black hair appeared on the first day of school. To the rest of the world he was as good as dead. A shame that no one counted on adoption.

Some tags: Falling in Love, Getting Together, Smart Harry Potter, Bookworm Harry Potter, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Harry Stays Out of the War, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Top Draco Malfoy, Draco Runs Away

Ao3

Gifted to @brainrot-has-overtaken-me

#Drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry James Potter #XxTheDarkLordxX Writes #Advent Month Day 19 #Getting Together #Harry is Adopted #It's what he deserves #I love this #even if it's a bit different #I hope y'all like it #I'm kind of nervous about the response to this one #because it's so different from my usual stories #I don't have anything like this one #if you are inclined but no pressure #let me know what y'all think of it

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nosleepgummitato · 4 months

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So I finally finished this piece, using entirely watercolor markers (and water) and a sharpie :>

It didn't turn out how I envisioned it in the beginning, but I think it ended up turning out better than I wanted it to be before, so that's good.

#traditional art #watercolor markers #sharpie #painting #sort of #i suppose since they were watercolor markers it would count as a painting right?#i think so #well i find her adorable and I'm going to hang her up in my room someday because yes #:D #i hope y'all like it #my art #honestly #of all my recent art. I'd hope this one gets the most notes #i worked real hard on it tbh #and I think it turned out real nicely <:)

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solusminds · 1 year

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"I'm Sorry..."

A little drawing of Forgetting Dreams!Dream and OSD!Dream because why not. I feel like FD!Dream wouldn't realize that OSD!Dream isn't a younger him at first. Anyways, fluffy hugs!

FD!Dream belongs to Me

OSD!Dream belongs to @calcium-cat

Bonus!

#osd!dream #fd!dream #art #drawing #one small dream #forgetting dreams #dreamtale #undertale #undertale au #i hope y'all like it

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flooded--skies · 3 months

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the joy of going to the aquarium; or, growing

all quotes from the monterey bay aquarium website and these articles; 5 fascinating things travel does to your brain, nine reasons travel is good for your mental health, the psychology behind over-(and under-) packing

#webweaving #web weaves #webweave #webweaves #web weaving #my webweaving #aquariums #monterey bay aquarium #poetry #idk how i feel about some parts of this #but! first webweave!!#happy with that at least :)#i hope y'all like it

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moondirti · 2 years

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masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Rated: Mature Word Count: 3.3k Summary: You've been The Mandalorian's safe house medic for a while now. After a near death experience, he asks you to accompany him on his travels. Warnings: Mild gore, graphic descriptions of an injury, language Notes: This was originally posted on ao3! (You can find that here). There are a few more chapters out on there, if you wanna check them out. Once I get around to editing them I'll crosspost them on here :)

The Mandalorian is at your doorstep, again.

He limps in when you greet him, his movements strained but graceful with what seems to be practised poise. Usually, you’d quip about the length of his absence - ‘it’s been 6 standard weeks Mando, you had me thinking you were dead’ - but he shoves the child in your arms with alarming urgency, which silences you up until he manages to make his way to your operating table. It’s only then you notice the blood trailing in after him, and his heavy, laboured breaths.

The immediate panic that overwhelms you at the sight is both paralysing and demanding. Acrid bile crawls up your throat; you do your best to hold it back as you tuck the child into the couch, ensuring he’s safely secured behind a throw pillow before letting the urgency catch up to you. This situation is all too familiar, frighteningly so. Your hands tremble when you douse them in antiseptic soap, quivering against the crushing wave of anxiety swelling within you. You have to be thorough in washing up, any contamination of his wound would be disastrous - still, it’s hard to think about anything other than how slow you’re being, about all the ways you could potentially mess this up.

By the time you’re done, Mando has already removed the back plate of his armour and collapsed atop your surgical station. Your chest squeezes, crowding your drumming heart tight against your stomach and threatening to turn it over. It’s apparent there isn’t time for speculation on your end. Nor is there space for stress; you try to dodge yours by mindlessly talking as you rush towards him.

“You usually contact me before you land. I would have had time to get numb spray.” Your words spill, toppling over one another in haste. He’s never come to you this hurt; you rarely get any other patients. You’re out of practice. Severely.

Your guiding hands help him shift so you can pinpoint the location of his wound. It’s just a way off his waist, in a spot thankfully away from any critical organs. The blood has soaked through his under armour by now, parts of his skin melded to the fabric in a way that provides little give. You worry your lip, opting instead to snip away at the cloth over stripping him bare just yet, for respect of his creed.

Along the edges of the oozing gash, his skin is singed and blackenned. It might be a blaster shot, but with the amount of bleeding, you can’t be too sure. Those tended to do more damage to the innards than the outside, the heat of their shots like a cauterizer of sorts.

“C-Comms… Comms down. Couldn’t.” The modulation of his helmet does little to aid the legibility in his broken voice. He’s out of breath, wheezes racing after every word. You press a wad of sterile gauze onto his flesh; that almost knocks him right out, you notice, based on the way he stills for a couple moments afterwards.

“Shhh, shush. Don’t speak, just focus on breathing and staying alive for me. I don’t have much to numb the pain, I’m sorry.” You gulp when the blood soaks right through the gauze, forcing you to bring out a thicker piece of cloth. “I’m sorry,” your choked apology is more for yourself than for him.

“Sh.. Shushing m-me?” In face of the extenuating circumstances, the dying hunk of metal on your table attempts to joke with you. And if it weren’t for your fixation on his injury (and your persevering, stomach-churning worry for him), you might’ve laughed.

Unfortunately, you are too busy gawking at the pus that escapes from under your makeshift compress.

“Maker, Mando. How long have you been hurt?” You don’t wait for a response before you change up tactics, washing the area using a canister of water with one hand and picking a sterilised vibroblade from your tray of tools with the other. “Don’t answer that. Be quiet. This is going to hurt.” He’s silent, but the tensing of muscles is all the indication you need. He heard you.

You try to be quick, keeping as steady as possible while you cut off necrotized skin. Mando provides little in ways of reassurance, other than the occasional grunt, letting you know he’s conscious. It doesn’t help, you want to tell him, but you figure he’s earned the right to complain a little. That isn’t going to stop you from giving him hell later, though. Not with the state he kept himself in, not with the ceaseless blood that continues to pour over your fingers as you work. You curse, softly enough that you hope he doesn’t pick up on it.

He did.

“T-That bad, h-” He coughs, and you pull away just in time as his body seizes with it. The vibroblade veers dangerously close to his hip. “H-huh?”

“Yes, you fucking fool.” You mutter, absolved in your work. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you because I need you to understand never to do this again. Never leave something this bad unattended.” Your aggression is entirely unwarranted. You don’t blame him, of course you don’t, but telling him off is the only thing keeping you from weeping. You want him to be okay, it’s on you if he doesn’t end up okay.

“C-Cauterised… cauterised it.”

“Oh,” Your chuckle is humourless as you slice off another piece of burnt flesh. “Is that what this is?” Pulling back to inspect your work, you check for any remaining infected areas. “Don’t answer that. Stop speaking.” You repeat. When you’re somewhat sure of yourself, you wash the trauma again, then duck to pull out a heavy jar from under the table. You thank the Maker that you went out on a bacta run yesterday; you’ll need a shit ton of the gelatinous substance now.

After changing your gloves, you use the fresh pair to pick up a glob of the gel and lay it down on the now clean wound. While you do, you reel over standard procedures to guarantee you haven't missed anything. Are you making the right choice, not stitching him up? An uncomfortable memory resurfaces to scream at you - you can’t undo anything once you wrap this. It’s critical you make every right decision.

You study the wound. The shape of it is too irregular to warrant stitches, and the slightest fluke on your end will cause Mando unnecessary pain. You can’t trust your nerves with it. Bacta is the safer route.

Hesitantly, you place a patch over your work with a note of finality. Your fingers graze his heated flesh as you smooth out the edges, and in any other case, it would pull a blush to your cheeks. But now, Mando’s continued, eerie silence concerns you above all else. Your gut lurches to your throat.

You attempt to draw in a shaky breath. “H-Hey, I’m gonna need to roll up your shirt to be able to wrap the bandages around.” Your voice quivers, adrenaline rapidly dissipating to uncover stone-cold fear. He doesn’t answer. “Mando?”

Nothing. His body lies completely motionless, unresponsive to both your inquiry and alarmed prodding. Your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“Mando!” You jump to check his pulse, but he is startlingly fast given his current state. One large hand shoots to wrap around your wrist, stopping you.

“...okay.”

“D-Don’t do that! Dank Farrik, don’t ever scare me like that.” You’re incredibly distraught, crying, actually, but the one thought that preoccupies you is how badly you want to smack him when this is over. You choke on your own spit in a half laugh, sniffing back the tears that begin to escape.

Your father’s face swims to the forefront of your mind, remarkably clear for the years it’s been since you’ve seen it. It’s almost too much to bear; you turn your head away from the scene at hand to compose yourself before you can sob out loud. You have a job to finish, you can’t afford to be thinking about this right now.

Distracting yourself, you lift his shirt, tucking it midway upon his torso. Aside from a sneaky glimpse at the way his muscles ripple underneath his bronze skin, you otherwise ignore his physique. The heat you undoubtedly hold for him does not need to grow any larger than it already is. No, right now, you need to focus on dressing the injury, getting him some food and a fresh pair of clothes.

It’s difficult to keep to your self-made resolution, though. Now that you are out of immediate peril, you can’t help but notice the magnetic force of a man the Mandalorian is under his armour. He’s just as sturdy and powerful, yet alive at the same time, fleshy beneath your fingertips. You bring the gauze to circle under his stomach, one hand sliding underneath him to grab the roll, and holy fuck; his abdomen is solid against you, not cut like a model’s washboard abs but firm and large and warm–

Mando grunts, noticeably exhausted from hoisting his body up for so long. Right, the bandaging. You apologise, voice too soft. And as much as you wanted to keep your arm underneath him, content to stay there forever, being reassured by his beating heart and prevailing warmth, you have to put his comfort first. Thus, you’re quick with the rest of it, wrapping the gauze around his abdomen ten times, plus once more for extra measure.

Just as soon as you’re done, you release a pent up gasp, bent on ignoring the violent emotions that crash down on you, the strange mix of relief, fear and security all too devastating in their severity. He’s no longer in any imminent danger of bleeding out, you’ve managed to pull this off. Your anxiety is ever-present though - it prevents any real solace you might glean from successfully not killing the one constant in your life. Perhaps you’d pursued the wrong career as a safehouse medic - you clearly aren’t cut out in situations where someone’s life was on the line.

While wrapped in your own contemplation, you fail to acknowledge the bigger challenge that awaits you.

Getting the piece of steel to relax for recovery.

Immediately, you’re punished for underestimating him, nearly toppling back in your seat when he decides to drop down from your operating table into a stunted stand. He places all of his weight on his unaffected side, grasping the nearby furniture for balance. His strained grumbles don’t escape you, either, and you wonder - in that brief instance - whether he wears that bucket on his head because he was dropped as a child.

“What are you doing?” You gawk.

He doesn’t respond, instead turning to check on the kid. It’s almost painful, watching him push himself beyond his limits for whatever justification he must think is fair. You sit for a little longer, staring, open-mouthed, as he continues to move around your living room, slower once comforted by the knowledge that his son is sound asleep. Maker, what is wrong with him.

“Mando.” He limps to your front door. He must not hear you, because if he is intentionally disregarding you right now, you’d kill him. “Hey!” You’re louder than you intend, but your voice is surprisingly firm. He notices, slightly peering over his shoulder at you. It takes all your willpower not to grimace at the endlessly dark visor that meets your gaze, your mind a symphony of conflicting notions. ‘Did you overstep?’ contested by ‘Who cares, he almost bled out on your hands.’

“I’m going back to the Razor Crest.” He shuffles awkwardly when your glare hardens. “To get a fresh set of clothes.”

“You’re joking.” He doesn’t answer. You know he isn’t. “Sit down! Sit down right now! I have a flight suit that’ll fit you, just stop ruining all my hard work.” You don’t mention that half of your horrible reluctance in letting him go is accredited to the fact that you don’t want to risk him getting hurt again. You can’t if you wanted to - you’re having a hard time admitting it to even yourself.

Begrudgingly, the bounty hunter does as asked, coming to lean against an arm of your couch, uncharacteristically careful in not letting his blood stained shirt touch the cushions. You stifle a sigh of exasperation; the contrast of his awkwardly hunched stature, clad in gleaming beskar, with the groaning man who was just on your table is nearly unbelievable. He’s so reluctant for all the power he possesses, so unsure of himself when placed in an environment of relative safety. You want to help him loosen up a little, to teach him the pleasures of home. You have no doubt that this man, who’d come barreling into your life, desperately needs one. Just the same as you.

You grimace at the swell of affection. His clothes. He needed some clothes. You’d occupy yourself with that.

The child does not like porridge, it seems.

He squeals and attempts to flip his bowl over, face scrunched up at you in displeasure. Tutting, you deposit a couple of dried jogan fruit into the mixture, hoping to satisfy him for the time being. His whines hush while he examines the colourful additions to his plate, poking at the purple cubes. Your shoulders tense, waiting for his consensus, hands at your hips like you’re expecting a death row sentence under an unforgiving jury. And, if possible, you stiffen further once the little terror grasps at a fruit with three little fingers, bringing it up to his open mouth.

He swallows faster than you can blink. You don’t think he chewed.

Time stills for the moment with which he ponders upon his opinion. Then, like a mini critic, he gazes over at you with an intense stare, noting your unease in his silence. To fill the tension, you prattle:

“You’ve got centuries worth of wisdom in those eyes of yours, kid. Don’t unleash it all on me.” His large ears quirk upwards in recognition of your voice, followed by a small ‘patuu’. You scoff, petting the top of his head. It’s more of a response than his father usually gives you, that’s for sure. “I’m guessing you don’t like the fruit, huh?” And though he can’t confirm, he doesn’t fuss when you take the bowl away from him.

In its wake, you succumb and give him a box of the blue macarons that he loves so much. You almost die when he shoots you a grin with those tiny teeth of his. If Mando couldn’t fight, you’d kidnap his kid from right under him.

Speak of the devil. “You shouldn’t give him those. He goes wild with the sugar.”

Stars, for such a large man, he is astonishingly light-footed. You roll your eyes dramatically, taking the tray he carries and placing it by the kitchen sink with one grand move. You’re pleased to learn he has eaten all of the food you’d cooked, even the dessert you threw in as an apology for being so bossy last night.

“I say let him have at ‘em. You probably only feed him ration bars anyway.” You hum, starting on the dishes. Mando grunts but doesn’t say much else, plopping down by the child’s highchair. You notice the way he teeters when he puts too much weight on his injured back - partly because his broad shoulders stretch the flight suit you’d given him when he does - yet strive not to think too much about the pain he’s in; you just changed his bandages, and he looks to be healing fine. That’s all that should trouble you.

Besides, he refuses to take any painkillers, something about this being the way.

Still, you find it’s hard to waive off. Ever since Mando had first sought your services, almost half a cycle ago, he’s grown to occupy the gaps in your life. Your nighttime fantasies would always lead to him and his hulking frame (now you had the image of his muscled back to refer to instead). Your weekly visits to Greef’s cantina would be spent inquiring on the hunter’s whereabouts (in the least conspicuous way possible, you liked to tell yourself). Kriff, you even kept a cupboard of equipment exclusively for him (as if you regularly saw other patients, anyway).

The Mandalorian has officially taken root in your life - and that is a reality that’s too disastrous to face at the current moment. Scrubbing your dishes harder, you rub your hand raw with the sponge and welcome the subsequent irritation; anything is better than the realisation that just dawns on you.

And, as if cursed by the Maker above, Mando goes ahead and makes your struggle a hundred times worse. “Thank you.”

You blink, turning to face him. Opening your mouth, you try to muster a comeback worthy of a martyr, only to shut it and simply nod.

When you circle around to continue the dishes, you discover you lack the energy.

Groaning, you forfeit moments later and seat yourself across from the object of your turmoil. Mando is unmoving, though you can feel him studying you from behind his helmet. You watch the child munch on a macaron while you prepare yourself for the word vomit that will inevitably tumble from your lips.

“You could have died,” is all you manage.

He tilts his helmet slightly at you. “I’ve been shot before.”

You shake your head. “You let it fester for too long.”

“I tried to cauterise it.” His voice drops a few octaves in response to the accusation. You repress a shiver.

“And when that failed, did you seek help immediately?” It’s rhetorical, but he shifts as if he wants to speak. “You could have died.” You re-emphasise the severity in your tone. You can feel your veins work overtime, supplying you with twice the normal amount of blood to fuel the distress that courses within you. Does he not understand what that means? The child stops eating for a second, glancing between the two of you with a furrowed forehead.

“I was systems away. It took me a while to get back to you.”

“I’m not the only medic in the galaxy.” Certainly not the best. You figured Mando knew that, and if not, then you’d probably need to evaluate him for a concussion.

“I didn’t want to.” You should have found the implicit answer in his blunt words before you push for clarification, because nothing could have prepared you for what comes next. “I don’t trust anybody. Just you.”

Oh.

You figure he deserves an award for being the only person to have ever shut you up for this long. There’s nothing to say, at least, nothing you know how to say. It makes sense; he is a wanted man, and to be so vulnerable in front of just anybody is a death wish. So you sit there, hands clutched in your lap shamefully and shoulders slumped. The kid chitters in concern, shimmying out of his chair. You stretch your arms out to him as he totters atop the table, needing to pick him up, desperate for the comfort he’d bring.

“Okay.” The peaceful withdrawal is unlike you, but you concede nonetheless.

The three of you sit like that for a long while after, soaked in morning light. It isn’t until the baby falls fast asleep upon your chest does Mando interject again.

“Come with us.” The request is spoken with a resounding, weighted meaning, one which should hit you with full force. This man, this Mandalorian, who has sworn to a life of secrecy, has invited you to impede on what he holds the most dear. You can't comprehend why he would want that - you’ve made it pretty clear you’re a nightmare to deal with - but some part of you recognises this as his own surrender. Just as you acknowledged his uncertainty in trusting others, he appreciates your worry for him.

Frankly, that’s a mortifying notion. You choose not to ponder on it just yet. Rather, you smile, holding the kid the tiniest bit closer.

“Okay.”

chapter two →

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #reader insert #star wars #fanfiction #din djarin #grogu #baby yoda #series #x reader #i hope y'all like it #i haven't been on tumblr in a while #pedro pascal #The Remedy #smut #angst #fluff #friends to lovers

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