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singsweetmelodies · 1 year

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katiee, your lovely styria anon is making me have a breakdown over piarles races that are very significant to not only their careers but also to each other

like this makes me remember monza, they will always have monza! they're tied together, their names are inked next to each other in history and the fact monza is their favourite race win?? like it was the race pierre got to fulfill one of his biggest dreams, the biggest possible fuck you to rb & everyone that doubted him. for charles, it's the race where he got the meaning of belonging, the understanding of the true power of ferrari and tifosi, it's where he finally felt accepted and loved. monza is theirs individually but also theirs collectively, only they have felt true magic there

and in 2019, it was a hard weekend for pierre (with the press conference picture you reblogged, with still processing anthoine's death, with dealing with the true weight of him going back to toro rosso), but he was so happy for charles anyways? and in 2020, it was a hard weekend for charles, a ferrari double dnf in monza of all places in one of the worst years ferrari has ever lived through, and then it was a huge crash, even he said that it was big. for charles, whose first response is to always ask about the car or yell at himself, he was so shaken up that he couldn't stop saying that it was a huge hit. he would have had bruises for days and that idiot was so happy with pierre winning that he not only postponed his medical check up but also watched the podium. how many drivers except the ones on the podium, even watch it?? he also nearly threw off romain to hug pierre. charles is never happy unless he wins and he was GRINNING for him like he had won it himself

charles and pierre always continue to place their friendship over everything else, they keep choosing each other every single time because they know what they have, even platonic, is something special, is something they'll never have with someone else. it's just them against the world, against every other person

they've been each other's number one constant their whole lives (i would have said este too but with the ups and downs in their relationship, i don't think he's a constant the way charles is) and now they share such a huge thing.

I can see them keep coming to visit monza again and again together, even when they've both retired (even if they have failed to recognise that they're soulmates in more than just the romantic sense hehe)

monza is theirs, they've made it theirs, and nobody can ever take it from them.

ahhhh, HIIII my lovely monza anon, and sorry for being the most distractible person in the world and only getting to this reply now 🙈🙈 but omg. THIS!! every word you have said here makes me ‼️ in the best way possible.

like. their names forever being inked together in history at monza... find me flat on the FLOOR omg. it always makes me think of that one interview where pierre is talking about them watching f1 on charles' couch and dreaming about making it one day, but knowing how small the odds are. but now they're HERE!! those two little dreamers are here, they made it, and they made it together, and monza will always be a reflection and an irrefutable proof of that. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

ALSO!! everything you said about them being happy for each other's monza wins despite everything is just... yes. yes yes YES. in both 2019 AND 2020, it would have been more than understandable if pierre and charles weren't visibly happy for each other/didn't go congratulate each other. but no. they literally said "no <3" and "he's my best friend" and celebrated each other as though they were the ones who had won. and i just. ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. they just mean so much to each other, even if you put all shipping aside - their support and genuine joy for each other is just absolutely beautiful, and definitely something special in this sport.

and everything you said about them being constants for each other... gahhhh, go straight for my heart, why don't you? like. that is one of the things i love most about piarles. the history, the familiarity, the "of course i'll be there with you" of it all. it just makes me want to scream and cry and tear my hair out because THAT. that is what otps are made of. that is the epitome of childhood best friends to lovers and i just... AHHHHHHHHHHHHH ❤️❤️❤️

and as for that second-last paragraph of yours... you know, i feel like this is something that should become a fic. 20k slow burn best friends to lovers; them going to monza year after year and making it a tradition because "it's our place, pear. no matter what happens, it's ours" 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️ and!!!! oh my GOD... i was just listening to the song walls by louis tomlinson earlier tonight, and. that lyric "for every question why, you were my because?" THAT. don't you think that would be the most perfect title for a piarles monza fic like this?! ‼️‼️‼️

... anyways. yes. well this answer got incredibly long and rambly, to the surprise of none 😅😅 but, monza anon, i love you so much and thank you so so very much for sending this amazing ask 😍❤️❤️❤️

#asks & answers #anon #monza 2019 #monza 2020 #piarles #OH MY GODDDDD this idea has gone and lodged itself in my brain now ngl #20k best friends to lovers... slowly slowly figuring out what they mean to each other as they visit monza year after year...#realising that nobody else shares the memories they do... nobody else can compare...#!!!! ❤️❤️❤️#i love it a dangerous amount asgdjdgdkdhdkhd #and god knows my wip list is already way too long; but...#this idea. this IDEA #it's monza. MONZA!! how can i say no #so ahem. uh. i guess that makes it... styria fic; montreal fic; monza fic for the list of piarles race fics i HAVE to write at some point #i'm not crazy at all this is fine. it's all fine. it's FABULOUS #*head in hands*#but i can't even regret it bcs i love them so much and just. MONZA ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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bigwhispersbluebird · 3 years

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BTS reaction when they are jealous (Hyung Line)

Author’s Note: I often read a lot of reaction based fics and realize that perhaps my take on it is a little different. So here it goes. Do tell me if you like it or agree or just anything. Also, I am new to this so excuse me for any mistakes. Thanksss

Warnings: None

Seokjin or Jin

He watched from far as a man in his 20s approached you from behind as you finished the call you had excused yourself to attend. Judging from your reaction, he concluded that you knew the guy. Even though he couldn’t hear a word, your comfortable laugh, the way you slightly hit his shoulder while talking and mimicked his body language, Jin felt a weird irk inside him.

Don’t misunderstand, Kim Seokjin was very confident about himself but there was a part of him that often wondered if he was enough. He might be handsome but there were more handsome people around. He was not the smartest or the most athletic and he came with a load of baggage. So much that he couldn’t cross the room to where you were standing and openly declare that you were his gorgeous and brilliant girlfriend.

His thoughts were intruded by the chime of his phone.

“You okay?”, your text read and he looked up to spot you a few tables away. The young stranger gone now and your eyes only on him.

“No. I am Jin”, he replied in his usual manner, trying to hide the truth, cracking the worst joke ever in the process and wincing at himself as soon as he sent it.

He watched as you laughed unabashedly as soon as you saw the screen, your eyes glistening and he realized that this laugh was just for him.

“You must be really in love with me if you laughed at that”, he sent and watched as you read and suddenly the same look overtook your face that he had seen on himself so many times when he was with you.

He only took his eyes off you when his phone chimed again.

“Of course. Who else would ever compare?”

Yoongi or Suga

This was getting annoying for him. Yoongi would call himself a pretty calm person especially after the ten years of life as an artist had made him immune to almost everything happening around him. But this was getting on his nerves.

You had walked into HYBE tonight and after just being at Genius Lab for a few minutes, you had asked about Do-Yan and went to seek him as soon as Yoongi told you that he must be in PDogg’s studio. Had it been a one time occurrence, Yoongi wouldn’t even have cared enough to think much into it but after this becoming a routine, he was over it.

Do-Yan was a talented young producer who was contracted for TXT’s new album. You were heavily involved in the A&R activities of BigHit Music and were actually the person who had discovered Do-Yan. In your perspective, he could be a great asset and while he was just here on a temporary basis, you wished to persuade him to sign him as a BigHit producer permanently. PDogg had agreed with you and now you both were on the task of convincing him to stay.

Unaware of this all, Yoongi decided to do something about the situation. As he typed the messages to the management team, he knew that this was very petty of him but he was beyond the point of caring right now.

The next time you asked him about Do-Yan, Yoongi did not look up from his computer as he said, “He has been moved”.

“What?”, you were shocked to say the least. “Moved? What do you mean moved?”

“He will be working with Bang PD directly now so he will be in the other building.”

“So, he signed the contract?”

Now Yoongi was getting agitated, “Why do you care so much?”, he had turned his seat around and was now only focusing on you. His tone was still calm but inside he was screaming.

Oblivious to the storm inside him you said, “Why wouldn’t I? He must have else he would not have said yes to that since...”, Yoongi was not even listening anymore.

“He did. I talked to the management myself and got him to say yes”, Yoongi said. His voice low and his back now turned to you. “You can move there as well if you want to see him and care about him so much”.

“You...but you didn’t know”, suddenly all the pieces fell into place in your mind and you scolded yourself mentally for not noticing it yourself.

“Yoongi”, you called out to him softly as you moved closer to his chair. “Jagiya”, you called again as you kneeled beside his chair, taking his hand lightly in yours.

“I just wanted him to join the company so I was spending most of my time on that. I am sorry that I did not clear it to you. I’ll make up for all the lost time now that you’ve got it done”.

Yoongi couldn’t even remember what he was angry about as you placed yourself on his lap, pulling him close to leave a gentle kiss on his lips.

After a while your phone rang and you announced that you had to go for a meeting. As you inched closer to the door, you remembered something and without even turning around you said:

“I can’t believe you got him moved”

You closed the door behind you but not before hearing his low chuckle.

Hoseok or J-Hope or Hobi

“I think Yeonjun and I should perform on something more sexy?”, you said with your eyes fixated on his face waiting for a reaction.

His eyebrows furrowed and then as if thinking about it, he immediately turned to you, nodding, “Yes, I think it will work great with both of your stage personalities”.

You were surprised. This was not the answer that you were expecting. You had hoped that he would get jealous like all those TikTok boyfriends.

But you were not going to be dejected so easily.

“Why don’t you help with the choreography?”, you suggested, a plan already forming in your head.

“Y/N, I would have been offended had you not asked me”, he said as he showed off his gorgeous smile.

After a few days when you three started working on the performance, you tried to make Hobi jealous. You would suggest even more suggestive moves but he would just think about them and excitedly agree to them or politely decline saying how it does not fit with the steps.

He would watch as you danced, concentrated and focused, but unwavering.

After weeks of this charade, you grew tired and when Yeonjun excused himself to leave for a music show you exasperatedly sighed in front of Hobi who was monitoring the recently shot dance practice video of yours.

“I don’t think you even care about me”.

“Huh?!”, Hobi was bewildered. “What?!”

“Yeah, you don’t care if I go throw myself in someone else’s arms”, your voice was loud in the empty dance studio. You lowered it again, “you don’t care”.

“Y/N”, Hobi was now closer to you, looking straight into your eyes. “I care. I care a lot. I care that this performance is amazing because this is a great opportunity for you. I care that your steps show exactly how good of a dancer you are. I care and that is why I would never let anybody else do it instead of me”.

You were surprised. This was not what you were looking for but it was a pleasant difference.

“And I would care if it was not a performance. I would, I do care if anyone even looks at you in the wrong way but I would never take it out on you. I want you to be able to perform without worrying what I would take it as. I want you to be loved by everyone in the audience”.

His arms slowly snaked around your waist and under your sweatshirt, “just not the way that I do”.

Namjoon or RM

Namjoon had watched you the entire night, his eyes refusing to leave your figure as you rushed around the venue making sure everything was perfect.

It was the last concert of the tour and you as the tour manager were adamant on making it memorable and smooth. Double-checking everything, you finally allowed yourself a moment of peace as you saw your boyfriend rehearse his performance for Trivia: Love.

Namjoon locked eyes with you, smiling and rapping his lines as if talking to you. Suddenly, you felt the weight of something on your shoulders and you looked away from the stage realizing that it was your assistant, Alan, who had just covered you with his jacket. You smiled gratefully as he extended a hand holding your coffee.

“You should rest for a while before we meet back for sound check”, he suggested and you looked at your watch to see that he was right. Tonight was going to be hectic and a power nap was definitely needed.

You had not even realized that the stage was now empty and the leader was standing right by your side. His eyes were not on you, but on the man now sitting beside you, glancing at his jacket on your shoulders.

Shrugging the jacket off, you asked, “Are you done? Any issues?”.

Not answering your question, Namjoon kept staring at Alan and you felt bad for the poor guy. You asked again and this time Namjoon’s lips turned into a smile, “None, jagiya”. Jagiya?!

Now you were the one staring daggers at him but he did not waver. Instead, with the same smile plastered on his lips, he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, pulling the zipper closer together as he made his way to where Alan was sitting. Alan immediately got up, excusing himself and vacating the seat that now your boyfriend occupied, his hand reaching across your shoulder to pull you into him.

You resisted.

“ ‘Jagiya’. Really?! Really, Namjoon?”

He just smiled at that, genuinely this time. “Come on, you know I lose all calm when it comes to you”.

“Calm and senses, both”, you murmured as he laughed and pulled you closer and you let him, closing your eyes and resting before work would call you again.

#bts #bts reactions #jin #seokjin #yoongi #suga #namjoon #rm #hoseok #hobi #jhope #bangtan #fluff #jealous #reader #kim namjoon #min yoongi #kim seokjin #jung hoseok

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tipsydipsydo · 3 years

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Birthday Gift [M]

Pairing: octopus hybrid! Jimin x human! Reader x octopus hybrid! Seokjin

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Sex Toys; Masturbation; Double Penetration; Anal play; Oral (f.); Exhibitionism + Voyeurism; slight Overstimulation; Strength-/Power-Play; Praising; Petnames; Orgasm Denial; Teasing; Edging; Tentacle-Play; Jimin has a tentacle tongue...

A/N: Finally it’s done! That’s my sweet and short Birthday-Gift for my dear friend @breadoffoxy and I hope you like it Baby~ I’m so sorry that it took me so long!! But I’ve finally written it and I really hope that I ruined you at least a little with it!

Status: unedited

[Links]:

▪BTS Smut Drabbles | My Writings

▪Blog Navigation

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

Within a single second your whole face, your ears and even your neck burns in the color of beet red and you have some struggles to gulp properly. Quickly you turn the package around and put the ripped wrapper over it, looking around in your silent and empty apartment. Even though you alone at home and Jimin is already at work... you’re panicking that someone would see you with such an obscene object, too embarrassed to even look at it. You literally expected everything... just not that. Not such a gift with such a comment in the card he wrote.

Today is your birthday and you was more than exited to know what your Boyfriend Jimin got you for your first shared birthday, especially after he teased you for weeks with subtle hints. The little comments he dropped here and there made you with every new day more curious but you couldn’t connect the details with another. At the end of the day you didn’t knew anything new except the fact you’d die out of curiosity before your birthday arrive.

Now ‘the day’ of all days finally arrived and you are flustered beyond belief, in fact a little mortified somehow. Despite all of the shame you sense, there is arousal pooling between your legs. You can’t resist the urge to pull the damaged wrapper away and to look at your gift once again. Almost automatically your front teeth are gnawing on your bottom lip and the slowly growing ball of lust makes itself noticeable in the pit of your stomach. Yeah, Jimin makes definitely sure you’ll enjoy yourself and keep your needs satisfied.

In front of you, on the surface of the table lays a new tentacle dildo which is still wrapped in the hygiene plastic bag. It’s a little bigger than the one you already own and has a slightly different coloring. Your boyfriend knows how much you love that toy, integrated it more than once in a play session and learned quickly how to use it to drive you completely insane. One time you quietly mentioned that you wish you’d have the money to purchase a second dildo of this type... you have a weak spot for double penetration and the unique texture of the toy made you almost addicted to it.

‘Happy birthday, my Darling!

I hope you enjoy your day off and that you like the first gift I’ve got you for your birthday~ ;)

I’d love to see you using the toy and his sibling when I come home from work... would you do that for me? It’s essential for the next presents I’ve organized for you.

Love, Jimin’

Oh god... you don’t even dare to imagine what Jimin have planned for you, it sounds so delicious yet so unholy and sinful. You have no Idea how you’ll survive the night after he gave you those instructions.

You’re so lost in your own pleasure that you didn’t even noticed that someone arrived and opened the front door, let alone that two figures are now standing in the door frame of the bedroom and watches you silently.

The suction base of the smaller dildo is attached to the flat plastic panel you’ve bought some time ago to be able to use this toy without hands in bed as well. The length of the tentacle dildo is completely buried in your cute ass, your stretched out rim gripping the girth firmly and hold the toy in place. It’s so deep in you that your ass cheeks almost reaches the plastic surface, your feet and your back on the wall are supporting your body weight.

Your birthday gift, the new and bigger tentacle, plunges into your tight pussy in a rapid pace and causes such beautiful and delicious squelching noises... so nasty and filthy. The big toy stretches you so wide open, up to the point that you are sure your pussyhole would gape if you’d take it out. Your arms are aching from the weight of the toy and the strength you have to put into the thrusts to make the friction really pleasurable. But all of this doesn’t stop you to pushes your own limits, this feeling of getting stuffed so fucking full with tentacle turns your brain to mush. You can’t think properly anymore, the only thought in your ruined brain is about cumming on these dildos so often until you pass out.

“Oh Babygirl... I see, you followed my instructions like I said. Hmm, such a good girl you are for me. I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

Jimin’s teasing voice and his chuckles let you snap out of your lost thoughts, your eyes widen at the sight of Seokjin besides him. The taller man leans with crossed arms against the opposite of the door frame and smiles devilishly at you. His eyes are dark and full of lust and the thin fabric of his chinos aren’t hiding anything of his hard and aching boner. He’s showing you in a shameless manner what your little unintentional show did to him.

“Sweetheart, you can’t imagine how happy I was the moment I found out about your tentacle dildo... there are a few things I was worried to tell you about. You need to know, Seokjin and I are a little different to... normal humans. We have special abilities and features... we both are octopus! Hybrids. Besides our normal human limbs we own four other octopus arms and if we want to, we can show them off. What about we show them to you and make you feel even better with them? I’ll only accept those silicone tentacles for foreplay and self-pleasure now, is that clear? Now, get off of those toys and let us make you cum until you can’t scream anymore...”

You’re only able to nod, trying to process all of this with your mouth agape but they even let you collect one single logical thought. Pulling the toys out of you and remove the panel completely, Seokjin takes the place behind you instead. Then you can already feel very realistic, slippery tentacles wrapping themself around your thighs, opening your legs even further and holding you with a tight grip in your place.

Jimin goes on his knees between your legs, eyes sparkling brightly in a color you’ve never seen before and his lips opens in a smirk. His tongue pokes out, only the form of the muscle reminds you of a human body part. The texture is completely different, has now a bumpy structure but looks kinda similar to Seokjin’s tentacles... slowly the certitude sinks in. It’s the fifth limb, one of Jimin’s tentacles.

“I know how much you love to have my tongue between your legs, you have such an insatiable oral fixation, don’t you? What about we combine these two things with each other, getting tongue-fucked by my tentacle... hm? Spread those swollen pussy lips for me and show me how your greedy, gaping hole clenches around nothing. Expose your pussy for me.”

These are the last words before Jimin drowned himself between your legs.

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havin-a-wee · 3 years

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can you plz make one where harry is um you know, eating the girl out basically and zayn walks in on them and well, a threesome occurs. please.

Red Handed

pairing: Harry x reader x Zayn

warnings: oral (female and male receiving), threesome, double penetration

word count: 2.2k

i don’t know how i feel about this one but im not rewriting it. i got another request for a zarry threesome so this covers that too.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, grasping at the curls that sat on top of your boyfriend’s head.

As soon as he returned home from the studio where he was working on the One Direction reunion, he had pounced on you, sucking hickeys into your neck and running his muscular hands up and down your sides. Luckily for him, you were in the same mood, your panties dripping by the time that he walked through the door.

Harry has different states of arousal. There’s his harsh-dominant side, which usually comes out when he’s had a bad day, or when you’ve been a bad girl. Then there is his soft dominant side, which is a favorite of yours. While you love everything about him, there was a special place in your heart for when he gets in that mood. There are days where he just wants slow, passionate, missionary sex, and sometimes he wants to bend you over his desk and spank you until you can’t sit.

But today he was aroused in a special way. He was in the mood to make you feel good, no matter what. And that is how you found yourself laying on your shared bed with his face between your thighs.

He hadn’t shaved in a while, and to say you were enjoying it would be an understatement. The sharp bristles that lined his bright pink lips were brushing up against your sensitive folds, and the sensation was something that you could get used to. His tongue was buried inside your pussy and he was twirling it around, reaching deep inside of you. He lapped at your sopping hole, slurping up the juices that were spilling out of you. His nose was pressing against your swollen button and you squirmed underneath him. His hand came to press against your pelvis, holding you down. “Stay still pretty girl, I need y’to finish on m’tongue.” He pulled away momentarily to talk to you, his fiery breath hitting your cunt and sending vibrations straight through your body. When he brought his mouth back to you, he was sucking on your clit this time.

“I’m gonna come, Harry.” He hummed against you, increasing his efforts to bring you over the edge. As soon as he let his teeth graze your clit, a powerful orgasm wracked through your body. It was strong, reaching all the way to your head making your vision go blurry.

Usually, you enjoyed coming down from your climax, but this time your bliss was interrupted.

“Holy shit!”

Your eyes snapped to the source of the voice, and Harry’s lips detached from your core and he searched for where the noise came from.

Zayn was standing at the door, hands covering his face. “Zayn! How long have you been standing there?” Harry’s cheeks were red, and you could feel that yours were too.

“Sorry! I promise I’ve only been here for a second! You just left your jacket at the studio and the door was open..” He spread his fingers slightly, peeking through the gaps he had made. You scrambled to grab the blanket underneath you to cover up your most intimate parts. You clutched it up to your chin, your knuckles resting by your neck. Harry looked up at you, but it wasn’t the look you were expecting. You thought his eyes would be wide, his eyebrows raised in shock. But you were met with a smirk, and he gave you that ‘you know what I’m thinking’ look. You did know what he was thinking, but it took you a second to actually process what he was proposing.

The two of you have discussed a threesome before, but you had never taken active steps to go through with it. Both of you could be a bit jealous, so you thought he wouldn’t actually want to share you with anyone else. But when he lifted up his finger to signal that he would only be gone for a minute, you knew he was planning to go through with this. And you couldn’t have been more excited.

He got up from the bed and you sighed slightly from the loss of body heat, the blanket now being your only source of warmth. He motioned for Zayn to follow him outside the door, and you watched as they shuffled outside, closing the door behind them. You could hear that they were talking, but you couldn’t make out the actual words being shared in the conversation.

After what seemed like hours, Harry stepped back in the room.

“Zayn said he’s down to do it, but we’re only doin’ this if y’okay with it 100%”

“I am, but only if you want to H.” He nodded and opened the door wider, allowing for Zayn to stand next to him. Harry walked further into the room, leaving Zayn to close the door.

“If we are gonna do this, there ‘ave t’be some rules.” Both you and Zayn nodded, listening intently and the shirtless man talking. “First of all, no kissin’ her,” he looked at Zayn with a stern look, asserting his seriousness over the topic. Zayn nodded prompting Harry to continue. “Second, you listen to her. Neva’ do anything without askin first.” Zayn nodded again. “And finally, do not finish inside her.” He looked back at Zayn, and you could tell that his stare was intense based on Zayn’s reaction.

“Got it.” Zayn responded. He seemed to gain some of his confidence back after Harry’s stare turned back to you. Harry sat down on the side of the bed and you scooted over to sit next to him, still clutching the blanket to your chest.

“Will y’suck Zayn off baby? Wanna watch y’make him feel good.” Harry caressed your cheek with his ring-clad finger. You nodded eagerly, giving him those doe eyes that you know he loves so much. He pats your cheek softly calling you a good girl and then standing up and taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. “Go on sweet girl, let him see how gorgeous y’are.”

You slowly removed the blanket from your body, suddenly feeling a lot more self-conscious. You watched Zayn make his way to stand in front of you, slipping off his jeans and boxers at once, throwing the dirty clothes to the side. His erection sprang free, precum already leaking out of his sensitive tip. He was big, not as big as Harry, though. You propped yourself up on your knees, your mouth inches away from his cock.

Before taking him in your mouth, you looked over to Harry for approval one more time. “Go ahead petal, it's alright”

And with that you connected your soft lips to his tip, sucking harshly and letting the precum coat your tongue. He groaned in satisfaction when you finally took him all the way into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and swirled your tongue around his throbbing member, pausing only to catch a breath.

You gagged slightly when you pushed him to the back of your throat, but you persisted, curling your toes to suppress your gag reflex as best you could. He moaned out praises and curses; you bobbing your head up and down his cock, and you could feel the veins that lined his shaft. Tears welled in your eyes and you gagged again, this time removing your mouth from him and wiping the saliva from your face.

Instead of going back to work on Zayn’s prick, you looked up at him and batted your eyelashes, then turned to Harry in the corner. He was palming himself through his boxers, and you could tell by the tent in his pants that he was painfully aroused. You didn’t like ending a blowjob before the guy could finish, but you wanted Harry there.

He took the hint, standing up quickly with his hand still applying pressure to his crotch. Instead of coming straight to the bed, he opened the top drawer on his dresser, pulling out a small black bottle and handing it to Zayn, who immediately opened it and pumped the transparent lube into his hand.

Harry made his way to the bed, easily lifting you onto his lap. He turned so his back was facing the headboard, allowing for him to lie down while you straddled his lap.

You could feel the bed lower underneath the weight of Zayn as he climbed on the bed with the two of you. Harry gripped onto the back of your neck, pulling you down into a passionate kiss. He nibbled on the soft skin of your jaw, making his way down to your neck. Harry had always been a fan of hickeys, and you loved it too, so you knew that he was leaving his mark on you.

Goosebumps erupted by your waist when you felt Zayn’s icy hand contact your side. While you busied yourself kissing along Harry’s collarbone, Zayn leaned to the side so he could see Harry. “Has she done this before?”

“A few times,” his words were cut off by his heavy breathing, “and she does the plugs too, but she’s always been a bit sensitive, right m’love?”

You hummed against his neck, not wanting to remove your lips from him. “Lemme know when y’got her lubed up.” Zayn responded with a slurred yes, and the fingers that he had covered in lubricant met your puckered hole. You shuddered at the cold, breathing a sigh of relief when Zayn massaged it in with his warm fingers.

Zayn announced he was finished, and Harry lifted your head to look into your eyes. “Y’ready lovie?” You nodded frantically, your aching core so desperate for friction that you were grinding softly on Harry’s lap. He counted down from three, and as soon as they pushed in, a sharp sting of pain rang through your backside.

It was a strange feeling, the pleasure of Harry pushing into your sopping cunt mixed with the pain of Zayn pushing into your impossibly tight ring of muscles. You sucked in a harsh breath, and Harry could sense your slight discomfort, pulling your lips down to meet his. It took you a few minutes to relax, the new sensations causing your body to adjust slower than usual.

When the pain was fully replaced with pleasure, you nodded at Harry. You bit your lip in anticipation, attempting to prepare your body for what was to come. Harry lifted his hand to give Zayn a thumbs up because Zayn couldn’t see your face.

You lifted your hips up, leaving only the tip of Harry’s enormous cock inside of you. You could feel Zayn doing the same in your second hole, and your heart raced with excitement and arousal. You sat back down and Zayn slammed back into you simultaneously. All of your moans melded together in harmony while all three of you found a rhythm that benefitted all of you. Zayn’s hands ran up and down your sides as you gripped onto your boyfriend’s shoulder, gritting your teeth. Both of them were entering you at the same speed, and after only a few minutes your vision was going blurry.

“God Y/N, y’so fucking tight,” you heard Zayn huff out from behind you. You saw Harry smirk in front of you, his hands reaching down to play with your puffy nub.

“H-harry..” you whined out. Normally you would be embarrassed that you had almost reached your climax already, but the feelings rolling through your body were so wonderful that you couldn’t care less.

After one last lift of your hips, you were out of energy to continue riding Harry. He thrusted up into you only moments later, and it felt even better now that they were doing the work.

“Can feel yeh’ squeezin’ me Y/N, y’close already?” You could only nod, your head too far up into the clouds to produce any sort of verbal response. “Go on love, y’deserve it.”

Zayn slammed again into your ass while Harry continued to pound into your pussy while his finger rubbed circles on your bundle of nerves. Zayn’s hands had snuck around your body to play with your pebbled nipples, pulling at the sensitive spots. It only took one more thrust from each of them for you to come undone, and not even a minute later you could feel Zayn’s hot ropes of cum filling your tight hole. Harry didn’t let up though, ramming into you harder until he reached his orgasm, painting your soft walls white. Zayn pulled out first, and chills covered your body when he fully removed himself. You heard him shuffle behind you as he cleaned himself and you up, and you could feel his load leaking out of you. Harry pulled out of you as well, and a breathy sigh escaped your lips at the feeling of being fully empty again. You sat up along with Harry, watching Zayn turn towards the bathroom.

“S’okay Zayn, I can clean her up.”

“Sounds good,” Zayn took an awkward pause. “This was fun, maybe we should do it again sometime.”

He slipped out the door as discreetly as he came in, and you were once again alone with your boyfriend. He had a dopey grin on his face when you looked at him. “What did yeh’ think?”

“I thought it was incredible, and I’m really glad we tried it out. What about you?” You realized you hadn’t really talked to him about how he felt about it, even though you know he was the one who brought it up.

“It was fun, but I don’t think m’a huge fan of sharin’ yeh.”

You smiled at his adorable response and nuzzled your head into his chest, never wanting to leave his warmth.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles request #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #request #smut #fluff

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Note

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

#prompt fill #anon request #Feysand #Feysand fic #Inner Circle #Feysand fluff because I can't help myself #mentions of rape #Mentions of SA #acotar #acotar fic #time travel

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edwardelricsrightarm · 3 years

Text

"A lesson without pain is meaningless. For you cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once you have overcome it and made it your own...you will gain an irreplaceable fullmetal heart." - Edward Elric

In honor of disability month and the FMA 20 year anniversary I wanted to address some Thoughts™️ about the series.

It's not often you see a disabled protagonist in media where their disability is integral to the story without taking up their entire character, even more so with anime. Yet, Fullmetal Alchemist has not just one disabled Protagonist, but two. The Elric Brothers are an exemplary representation of disability in media that I find myself reflecting on often as a disabled person myself. If you haven't completed the manga or Brotherhood, skip this as it will be brimming with spoilers.

(Mangahood will be my point of reference because while 03 is good on its own merits it's not as fresh within my immediate memory, and I am far less familiar with it. Keep this in mind, I've watched FMAB 10 and a half times whereas I've finished 03 only once years ago.)

The story highlights their disabilities immediately, Edward being a double amputee and Alphonse being without his ENTIRE body, only having the senses of proprioception, sight, and hearing left. Yet, despite this being key to the story and an integral part of their characterization, it is only one facet of their motivations and doesn't take center in the narrative, which is refreshing. It's not inherently negative to make a narrative centered on the characters' disabilities, but often this model of a story goes very wrong very fast and starts to feel hollow (no pun intended). FMA avoids this by making their disabilities a clear part of the plot and their motivations without allowing it to consume the entire story, so the Elric Brothers don't suffer the "my disability is all of my character" problem that many disabled characters are relegated to in a vast portion of media, all while being strong and competent.

Recap:

The brothers wished to revive their mother, but their good intentions cannot change the atrocity of their mistake, Truth makes this abundantly clear from the start. Edward loses his leg first, a punishment for "stepping" into God's shoes and transgressing the place of humans in their world. Alphonse loses his entire body, unable to feel any warmth or simple comforts like food and rest, when all he wanted was to feel the warmth and comfort of his mother's embrace again. At first, Alphonse's entire being is consumed by the gate, but Edward acts immediately, refusing to lose his little brother and refusing to allow his arrogance in this plan to cause his brother's death for only following his lead. Edward gives his right arm to have the gate give back Alphonse's soul, and stated clearly in his panic that he'd give his entire self to save Alphonse if that's what it would take, but Truth took his dominant arm only, showing something akin to mercy, although the character of Truth is capriciously strict and hard to describe as "merciful".

Through giving up his right arm, Edward regains his Right Hand Man, his little brother and best friend. His only remaining family, who he feels responsible for protecting in the absence of their parents. He felt immediately that he'd made a grave mistake, instantly full of regret as he realized the gate had taken his brother. In that moment he was willing to give anything to take it back and undo the suffering his arrogance caused his brother, yet Alphonse was still to suffer more to come. Ed tied Alphonse's disembodied soul to one of Hohenheim's collected suits of armor, managing to at least keep his brother alive in some way. One could say that Alphonse's punishment functioned as a secondary punishment for Edward, showing him how easily his hubris could have cost him what he has left in his obsession with regaining what they'd lost, their mother. A very clear symbolic reminder of the weight of his actions and how he'd misled his brother in his own naive ignorance. Even in giving another limb away to drag his brother's soul back out of the gate, he couldn't offer enough to bring him back intact. Thus is the law of equivalent exchange.

Now that we've reviewed some of that basic symbolism and the motifs the story draws upon with limbs and body parts in relation to characters, let's move on to each individual brother and break it down, shall we?

Edward Elric is a very realistic protagonist, this is one thing a majority of us familiar with this series can agree upon. He feels like a believable teen boy, with layers of complexity to his character while also showing arrogance and immaturity that is unsurprising at his age. He expresses unwillingness to kill and avoidance of unjust violence from the beginning, and has a strong moral code after the ordeal of committing the taboo.

In some characters his cocky personality would typically become grating, yet the story explains in itself why he is this way, then builds upon this to develop him into an incredibly mature character who is willing to admit when he's absolutely wrong and adapts to new information and context for the crisis unfolding around him as it comes, even if he remains crass. This arrogance is shown from the start to be a manifestation of insecurity, self loathing, and repressed guilt. Edward is a logic driven person, he has a very unique thought process, which is where my interpretation of him as autistic comes in. Edward's awkward social demeanor, somewhat abrasive and cold approach to some, and his trouble coping with nonsensical societal structures all stand out in this way. Furthermore he clearly shows hyperfixation, hyperactivity, special interest, and infodumping behaviors that are all too familiar. He's picky with food (*cough* the milk thing), has very little filter and speaks his mind bluntly even if this can warrant conflicting responses, yet at the same time struggles with vulnerable emotions, and he is frustrated when his own routine or itinerary are interrupted by forces beyond his control. All of these things Scream autism with comorbid ADHD. Many traits are shared between the brothers, and I'm quite certain they're both on the autism spectrum based on behavioral patterns. Neurodivergence aside, Edward's physical disabilities are undeniable.

Despite his bratty persona, Edward is fundamentally kind and uncharacteristically gentle and soft around the edges for a shonen protagonist in many ways. He cries openly on many occasions even if he struggles talking about his trauma and burdens in words at times, he feels pain, grief, and compassion so intensely it throws him into action on a regular basis in the narrative. In this way he's also a fantastic example of non-toxic masculinity (though in other ways he has displayed more toxic traits, he's just a kid). He acts on his heart, even if he's led by his mind and logic in most things. His humanity, value for life, and care for others will always win over his logic, and he shows a sense of personal responsibility for doing the right thing even if it harms him in the process. Ed is clearly shown having ghost pains in his lost limbs which is honestly an interesting detail to include, I don't think I've ever seen that aspect of amputation shown in media aside from FMA. It's also shown that when Ed's automail arm breaks this is a HUGE problem for him, but he's also shown to be very good at working around this in difficult circumstances. He doesn't become completely helpless, even if majorly weakened.

Alphonse is an extremely lovable and compassionate boy, brimming with altruism and care for others. Even in his noncorporeal state he pursues a better future and he's not helpless by any stretch. Edward clearly states Alphonse is the superior fighter for example, and it's not just because of his armor body being so large. He's *talented*, that's a fact. Al is every bit as clever and capable as Ed, moreso in some ways, and I love that about his character *because* he's so clearly disabled. He has no sense of pain, he is completely incapable of sleeping, he can't eat, can't relax or find comfort, he can only exist and think. This causes him to overthink in all his time alone, this is debilitating. He clearly is absolutely sick of the loneliness this causes, and he often feels helpless though he's not. He has doubts and fears that consume him in relation to his armor body, he questions his own personhood, even. Yet, Edward is stubborn and staunch in affirming that no matter what he's dealing with, he is fundamentally still a human being that is loved and irreplaceable. Alphonse is powerful and his body gives him some advantages, but it also sets him back, and the brothers know this even when others claim Alphonse's state is somehow a good thing. I have hEDS, a disability that comes with advantages as well as the major downsides, so I can understand and relate to Alphonse here. I too am told my disability is a boon because of flexibility and because I'm less likely to fracture bones, but I'm twice as likely to injure my ligaments and joints, which people ignore.

The brothers are both disabled, both flawed, both show weaknesses, but they are competent, determined, and strong in their own right. They are rounded characters that exist for more than to be pitied or condescended to by able bodied characters around them. They put their entire being in everything that they do no matter what that is, and they don't know the meaning of giving up. These traits that they're made of truly make them a shining example of disability in protagonists for others to look to for reference when writing their own disabled characters.

Even though by the end Edward has regained one limb and Al has regained his body, this also doesn't just deus ex machina reverse their disability or make it go away. It's clear that Alphonse's body is weak and has to be rehabilitated upon recovery, and Edward is still missing his leg and bears the scars and pieces of the port from his automail arm. They weren't suddenly made able bodied upon recovering these things, they reclaimed what was lost through struggle and grit, but the narrative didn't give the impression that their disability in itself was something to be fixed, which is important. They wanted to recover their bodies, but this doesn't erase the effects of their disability.

It was about Edward atoning for leading Alphonse into their mistake and saving his brother from suffering further, it was about them proving they can keep moving forward no matter what, not about getting rid of their disability in itself or putting themselves down because of the disabilities. This, to me, as a mentally and physically disabled viewer, is so important. They achieve their goal, but this doesn't in any way erase or undo the effects of their initial losses, they find ways to adapt and move on but they're still affected and still disabled. They always will be. That can be so important to see in comfort characters, and as a disabled individual who's had both brothers as comfort characters since I was a child, their impact on my own journey is surprisingly tangible for fiction.

#fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #character analysis #disability month #disability positivity #disabled #fma 20th anniversary

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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

Text

on bren and feeblemind.

(cw: lots of caleb backstory. self-explanatory, i think?)

this isn’t something i’ve talked about on my blog yet, but since the campaign has begun drawing to a close, i want to make sure i say my piece on the popular theory that bren/caleb was institutionalized because trent ikithon feebleminded him to disable him.

my piece being that it’s exceptionally unlikely he did—at least as a premeditated plan. this kind of theory also falls prey to the exact beliefs ikithon has tried to exploit in caleb.

for our mutual reference, i’ll quote the spell description of feeblemind.

FEEBLEMIND (PHB) 8th level enchantment

Casting time: 1 action Range: 150 feet Components: VSM (a handful of clay, crystal, glass, or mineral spheres) Duration: Instantaneous

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

considering the characteristics described and implied by actors other than ikithon—caleb and astrid prominently—who are not motivated to deceive on ikithon’s behalf, feeblemind is not consistent with caleb’s mental break.

fact the first: when bren broke, he became violent and spellcasted.

when astrid describes the circumstances in which he was taken to the vergessen sanatorium (e89, 1:49:30), she refers to his lashing out as “creat[ing] a lot of sparks everywhere else” and rubs at burn scars across her neck. she says that they had to subdue him because he was too dangerous. all of these statements add up to a bren who was viciously spellcasting at his friends and mentor when he broke down.

this wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been feebleminded. feeblemind explicitly prevents the affected creature from casting spells or activating magic items. in that scenario, the only thing bren would’ve been capable of is throwing hands. from him? not very dangerous at all.

how do we know astrid wasn’t lying or intentionally deceptive? because she (and eadwulf) still cares so much for caleb that she risked her life multiple times to aid him. no one who would give caleb a map to a secret volstrucker vault with her own handwriting on it (e127, 29:29; and 30:57)—or intentionally fail to counterspell him when ikithon could’ve seen her do so—would lie to caleb about ikithon attempting to permanently feeblemind him if she knew.

to preempt the idea that astrid had set the m9 up: it’s very obvious she didn’t, since trent ikithon had clearly had no forewarning of a break-in. he would’ve at least been waiting in the vault, already prepared to subdue them quickly, if he’d known.

so it’s fair to determine that astrid would either be honest to the extent of her knowledge to caleb or make it clear that she couldn’t answer him. since she didn’t imply the latter, we can assume she was being honest. and because of astrid’s competence, it’s highly probable she would’ve noticed if his behavior was symptomatic of feeblemind over the years.

fact the second: bren’s mental condition repeatedly improved and regressed while he was institutionalized.

astrid states this in the same conversation about their subduing him after his breakdown (e89, 1:50:50). considering this with the context of their romantic relationship prior to his breakdown, her genuine care for him, and her rise to power that included accompanying ikithon frequently to the sanatorium (e127, 31:07)—astrid would’ve had the motivation and the opportunities to visit bren in person. she could’ve also kept well-abreast of his condition.

actual times of improvement and decline in the mental state that astrid first observed during his breakdown wouldn’t be consistent with feeblemind. although it reduces the victim’s intelligence score to 1, they still retain thought and their sense of identity without problems.

this is a maintenance of consistency and (relative) reason. feeblemind does not actually damage a person’s basic perception of reality. but the health of bren’s behavior throughout the years was instead very unstable.

fact the third: caleb doesn’t remember anything from the burning of his home up to his healing by the unknown cleric.

in the conversation with astrid in e89, he asks her what happened when he broke and explicitly says, “the last thing i remember is my home” (1:46:58). when he first tells beau and nott about his past, he explains that he doesn’t remember much of what happened to him there (e18, 2:51:54).

beyond the reduction to their intelligence, feeblemind doesn’t affect the victim’s ability to form memories. caleb’s keen mind feat and established narrative element of his eidetic memory would’ve still been present as well. therefore, feeblemind alone can’t explain such a significant, near-empty gap in his memory. he would still remember something.

even the possibility of trent ikithon altering them directly is precluded by the fact that the cleric’s healing removed the alterations to caleb’s memory. if all those years had been magically blocked away, they’d have returned when he was healed of everything else.

fact the fourth: sometimes, people really do just break.

nothing about caleb’s backstory is inconsistent with just... being a person living their life, even a terrible one. he was a young man that believed so zealously in his country and his purpose, abused by a powerful older man, that he did many horrible things and believed they were right. until finally he did something that he couldn’t process and broke down.

there’s two reoccurring, underlying assumptions i’ve noticed behind why this theory seems to be so compelling and popular:

caleb just seems so remorseful and traumatized by his double patricide. there’s no way he would’ve willingly murdered his parents. ikithon must have known and decided to preempt his inevitable betrayal.

everything we know about bren, especially from the horse’s own mouth, suggests that he had been willing (at least up until his mental break) to murder his parents. he was literally an extreme nationalist—a fascist, if you will. he was lawful evil (twitter source). he gratefully executed many “criminals” put in front of him, more than likely by burning them to death based on his ptsd. victims whom we now understand may not have been guilty of anything at all.

he was glad to do what he thought was best for the dwendalian empire, and he truly thought being volstrucker was the correct path. trent ikithon, his abuser, treated him as his favorite (e110, 3:30:58). because he believed.

that fervent faith, in fact, is the key to something like his breakdown in the first place. hearing the dying screams of his parents, bren was forced to confront a violent dissonance between his radical beliefs that condemned traitors (as he believed until the cleric’s healing) and the intuitive horror of murdering his parents that he couldn’t reconcile. this fathomless sense of betrayal is why caleb so deeply despised ikithon and himself.

a young evocation wizard who didn’t want his parents dead would’ve run into that burning house, feebleminded or not. someone magically compelled to set that fire would’ve understood what happened as soon as the charm left him and would definitely remember every detail once the cleric healed him.

caleb is remorseful and traumatized because he willingly murdered his parents. as well as many others.

it can’t be that simple. caleb was institutionalized for eleven years just because his abuser pushed him too far? there must be a more nefarious reason. ikithon even said he basically stored him for later.

putting aside the fact that bren having a breakdown in the way he did makes complete sense for his situation, ikithon’s “claim” that he orchestrated all of caleb’s subsequent years is not only something he never actually says (e110, 3:16:34)—it is a claim that’s patently absurd.

i’ve written meta that discusses this in the past (link here). essentially though, the number of moving pieces and assumptions that would be needed for such a series of events is ridiculously improbable. even assuming that ikithon feebleminded him—so that caleb’s mind would be intact when he ‘woke up’—even assuming that ikithon somehow procured the service of a cleric of the archeart—a banned deity in the empire that would oppose ikithon...

why in the world would he ever reasonably believe that caleb widogast, the man he viciously betrayed and lied to and abused, would do anything to benefit ikithon?

trent ikithon is a mortal man. he has power, yes; enchantment magic, authority, and a history of abuse and manipulation over caleb’s head, yes. but ikithon is a mortal man. not a puppeteer in the sky piloting people’s bodies.

he certainly wouldn’t have led caleb to a whole new family that would change everything about his life for the better. a family that would love him, truly—a family that would help him heal, bear the weight of his guilt, and find a real future waiting for him again instead of a self-destructive end. a family that would fight tooth and nail for caleb’s sake against ikithon.

abusers lie. their biggest lie, the one they always circle back to in the end, is that their victim is unique: that there is something which makes them deserving of abuse, and that their abuser is both right and inescapable.

ikithon is read as honest because he chooses his words carefully and has the self-confidence to believe it. everything he’s claimed about caleb and his past have either been implications that he encouraged others to reach for him or platitudes empty of everything except gaslighting intent.

caleb has escaped. and everything ikithon wants is to convince caleb and his friends that he continues to control caleb’s life, that caleb is special, so he can regain some influence over a man who’s come to command so much power.

the idea that caleb must’ve been feebleminded—that he couldn’t have just had a mental breakdown like so many other prospective volstrucker before miraculously, then strenuously, recovering to create a hopeful future for himself—falls into the trap of validating ikithon’s lies.

trent ikithon didn’t see and believe in caleb’s ‘full potential’ before anyone else did. he didn’t foresee a single ounce of the man’s struggle to put himself back together after what he suffered. caleb was not institutionalized to serve as a toy to one day pull back out of the closet. there was no feeblemind or other secretive plan that could only serve to obfuscate the brutal truth:

ikithon abused a boy until he shattered, and tried to hide the evidence. a crime that he’s committed against countless other children. plain and simple.

so that’s my piece.

caleb widogast—bren ermendrud—was not the victim of a premeditated feeblemind from ikithon, based on the mechanics of the spell. even more importantly, the narrative of his and ikithon’s stories would suffer if he was.

now,

A LOGICAL POSSIBILITY I WON’T DENY.

what if ikithon feebleminded him as a method to subdue him after the breakdown?

this is more or less an alternate theory that’s irrelevant to the points i actually wanted to make. but i want to talk about it anyway because it’s kind of fun.

fact the bonus: bren spent eleven years in the sanatorium.

eleven years is a long time. he would’ve been able to save every 30 days after the initial failed save. the exandrian calendar has about eleven 30-day periods every year. assuming a feeblemind spell cast on him just prior to his institutionalization, that’s somewhere around 121 possible save attempts, give or take a few.

what’s the likelihood of him actually saving? to go through the mechanics:

normally, feeblemind reduces a person’s intelligence score to 1, modifier -5. caleb, as a variant human, possessed the feat keen mind from the beginning both mechanically and story-wise. this would make his intelligence score 2, modifier -4, even after feeblemind.

as a level 1-2 wizard, he would’ve had proficiency in intelligence saves. this would be +2 to his save.

in total, the modifier to bren’s intelligence saves would be -2.

in order to cast feeblemind, trent ikithon would have to have been a minimum level 15 wizard. this leaves two possible proficiency bonuses to determine his spell save dc: +5 or +6.

it’s probably safe to assume that his intelligence score is at least 18–20, likely 20. this would be a modifier of +4 or +5. (his intelligence could be 22+ if matt wanted to be a real dick, but let’s assume otherwise.)

spell save dc = 8 + spellcasting score mod (for wizards, this is intelligence) + proficiency bonus.

this means trent ikithon’s possible spell save dc is somewhere from 17–19.

therefore:

at minimum—17 being ikithon as a level 15–16 wizard with an intelligence score of 18–19 at the time of casting—bren would have to roll a 19 or nat 20 to make the save with his -2 save modifier.

at a dc of 18—ikithon either being level 17–20 or having an intelligence score of 20, but not both—bren would have to roll a nat 20.

at a dc of 19(+), it would be impossible for bren to save without additional bonuses such as bless.

i don’t have the brainpower to calculate some real statistical probabilities, but depending on your opinion of trent ikithon’s probable capabilities at the time of bren’s mental break, he may have been able to save against feeblemind sometime during the eleven years he spent at the sanatorium.

naturally, this has the earlier-mentioned conundrum of remembering that return of clarity once he was healed by the cleric, should ikithon have been retrieved to recast the feeblemind and altered his memories. nevertheless, it may or may not be a fun thought to play around with.

#caleb widogast #trent ikithon #blumendrei #cr #cr meta #critical role #critical role meta #critrole #bren aldric ermendrud #bren ermendrud #abuse cw #mental institution cw #prim post #prim says some things #long post

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buckybabybaby · 3 years

Text

Birthday Wish (Part 2)

A/n: As promised, part 2 to last years Bucky smut to celebrate this blog turning 4 last Thursday! (And me turning 28...) Two people on AO3 requested this and apparently I'm a people pleaser, so here's your update, 1 year later!

If you're not over 18 please don't read.

Proof read by way of a text-speech device

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Female)

Word count: 2822

Warnings: 18 + Smut. Oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, Bucky has a big ****, all the good stuff ;)

Plot: part 2 to Bucky finding your fan blog, even more rewards for the birthday girl

Part 1

(This 2nd part probably won't make complete sense on it's own, smut is smut but there's a tiny bit of plot)

Birthday Masterlist – the other fics I've written on my birthday in the past 4 years are all here

Main Masterlist

*****

“Bucky?” You push weakly at his chest to get his attention. “Where you serious about that date? This isn't just because it's my birthday, is it?”

Bucky's mouth pauses in its decent down your neck as he pulls away to look at you questioningly. You can't help your doubts, not now you're no longer so fuzzy-headed, the reality of what has, and still is happening, too much to process as his warm body presses against yours distractingly.

“What do you mean?” He asks, running a comforting hand up your arm.

You want so much to just ignore your uncertainties and let this against-the-bedroom-door-make-out continue, as even with your damp underwear and friction burned thighs, there is no taking away from how painfully romantic this moment could be.

If only you were sure of his feelings.

“This isn't some pity thing, is it? Because I don't want that. If that's all this is going to be, please tell me now before it goes any further.”

“I said I like you didn't I?”

“Technically, no.”

“Oh.” Bucky's face falls and you hate that you've caused it. “M'sorry. I should have made it clear from the start; this is not because its your birthday, its because its you. This has been a long time coming, I guess this forced isolation just heighten everything and that’s why I made a move earlier today.”

“Really?”

He nods so rapidly it makes you giggle. “I swear. I wish I was better at expressing myself so you'd know how much I mean it.”

“Sometimes we don't need words,” You reassure him, curling a hand into his hair to pull his lips against yours once more, letting him take the lead as you sink back into the feeling, moving his hands to your shirts buttons when he hesitates for too long.

“I'll prove it to you, Y/N,” He mumbles against your mouth, retracing his path back down as he busies himself with opening up your blouse. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Tipping your head back to rest against the door, your eyes close on their own, overwhelmed once again by how well you seem to fit together.

“Is this how you always dress?” He asks, referring to your lack of bra as his hands skim across your breasts.

You hum. “I don't remember the last time I got dressed properly.”

“Shit,” He breathes against the swell of your chest, “If I'd known...”

Your self satisfied laugh gets caught in your throat as he suddenly drops to his knees before you, one hand propping your right leg over his shoulder whilst his other holds you tight to keep your balance. His soft hair brushes your tummy, and you fight to keep your breathing from becoming erratic when he peers up at you, looking so submissive even though he's definitely the one in charge right now.

Bucky tugs at your soaked panties. “Let's get these out the way, yeah?”

Pressing his lips into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, he gives you a moment to catch up to his plan.

“What if I fall?”

“I won't let you.”

It's so easy to believe him when your body is almost buzzing in anticipation. The moment you give permission, your panties are ripped at both edges and pulled away from the sticky mess of your centre, your shriek of protest making Bucky grin, hard.

“Hey! I liked those!”

“I'll buy you more,” He promises, spreading your legs a little further to get better access. “Besides, your blog said you would like that.”

Whimpering, you realise this is all your own fault. A second later, however, your ruined underwear is the last thought on your mind when his lips finds your core and his tongue licks a long line up through your slick.

“Fuck, knew you'd taste good.”

You can't answer. Bucky doesn't waste any more time speaking, putting his mouth to better use between you legs, finding your clit in no time and sucking on it until you see stars. He's an expert at making you shake in pleasure, something you'd never doubted and in fact wrote quite extensively about, but it's nice to be proven right.

More than nice, actually. You're still sore from his thigh, responsive in the best way, and he's quickly building you up to another high as he eats you out like a starved man. The heat swirls in your tummy, your own mouth dry as you pull on his hair to warn him you're close.

Bucky can tell. You can feel his smirk as he doubles his efforts, his own little moans vibrating into you as the hand holding your thigh moves to join his mouth in wrecking you for anyone else.

The instant his fingers push inside you're gone. The stretch makes you cry out, curling into his hold, your whole body being supported by Bucky while you shake through your orgasm. Tears form in the corner of your eyes as he slows down but doesn't stop his movements to guide you through it, letting up just as the pleasure turns sharp.

Slumping back against the door out of breathe, you try to rest your weight back on your own legs, failing miserably when your limbs are still so shaky. Bucky coos sympathetically, rising back up and taking you fully into his arms, your legs naturally wrapping themselves around his middle.

“You're so fucking hot.” It's said in a mutter before he makes you taste yourself on his tongue.

The passion behind his kiss is shocking, despite the two orgasms he wrung out of you. In this position you can again feel his erection, still constrained in his tracksuit, and even before you've fully caught your breath you're trying to wriggle your way out of his hold to help him out.

He sets you down with a puzzled smile. “What do you want?”

“You. Inside me.”

There's no use trying to be coy when he's seen you at your most vulnerable. Bucky chokes at your brazenness, smile growing wide as he drags you with him towards his bed, peeling your blouse off your arms before lying you gently across the sheets.

Fully naked in front of him for the first time, your instinct is to cover up but he stops you, hands catching your wrists and pressing them back to your sides.

“Keep them there, okay?”

You nod mutely, watching spellbound as he stands at the foot of the bed and finally starts to strip. His sweatshirt comes off first, thrown to the carpet somewhere to be dealt with later, and then the bottoms are gone too, leaving him in just his briefs, bulging at the front and visibly stained.

You reach out a hand before you know what you're doing. “You wanna help, pretty girl?”

“Please,” You beg, sitting back up to perch on the edge of the bed and blink slowly up at him, letting your fingers graze just above the elastic of his underwear. Teasing for a second or two to keep him on his toes, you wait until just as it looks like he's about to snap to pull at the band and let the fabric fall down and off his legs.

“Fuck,” You both say at the same time.

He's big, bigger that you'd thought, and you have thought about it a lot. If he's uncomfortable under you're wide-eyed scrutiny he doesn't show it, just lets you stare until you've had your fill.

“That's not gonna fit.”

Your voice breaks as you fail to hide your fear, only glancing away briefly to send a worried look Bucky's way.

“It's all right, doll,” He whispers, the shadow of a smirk gracing his face as he guides your hand to his cock and encourages you to wrap your fingers around his length. “We'll make it.”

The warm weight under your palm distracts you effectively, and you enjoy the power it gives you over this normally unbreakable man, collecting the precum leaking out of the tip you work to set up a steady rhythm. He's impatient, thrusting in to your grip until he can't take it any more.

“Stop, stop. Or this will be over before it's begun.”

You're surprised, you didn't think you had done much yet, but he seems pretty affected if the tremble of his hands pushing yours away are anything to go by.

Closing his eyes to gather himself, he steps away momentarily to dig something out of his wardrobe, laughing quietly at your pout when he returns.

“M'not going anywhere pretty girl.” Bucky taps a square package against your pursed lips, making you gasp in realisation. “I just thought we might need one of these?”

He drops it onto the bed by your side in invitation for you to take the lead. Picking it up, you quash the nerves threatening to come back, instead concentrating on ripping the side open carefully and placing the condom at the end of his cock just as a question flits through your mind.

“Wait. Why do you have this? Did you plan-”

“No, Y/N,” He rushes to clear up. “Sam put them in my bag as a joke, seems I'll have to thank him for it now instead, huh?”

You don't answer, but silently agree as you finish rolling the rubber down his length. Now there's no pretending where this is going. Sensing your hesitation, Bucky leans in to kiss you again, lowering you back against the bed sheets while he explores your mouth and waits until he can feel you relax.

Placing one last peck to your lips, he settles, stood, at the perfect height in between your legs. “Ready?”

“Uh huh.”

“We'll go as slow as you need, okay?”

Smiling up at him, you help him swipe his cock through you folds, eliciting a joint inhale, before he finds your entrance and starts to push in.

If he looked big, it's nothing to how he feels. Your fingers scramble across the sheets to ground yourself, so full you think you might burst, and he's not even halfway in.

“Breathe for me, Y/N.”

His whole body is tense against yours as you try your best to do as he says, breathing in unsteadily. When your eyes meet you nod, and he continues the slow slide inside of you until your hips meet when he's fully sheathed.

“There we go, told you you'd be fine.”

You laugh weakly. “M'being split in two.”

On anyone else that smug look would be off putting but with Bucky, it's just makes you roll your eyes fondly. His hands smooth across your waist as he lets you get used to the feeling, staying still even though you can see it must be torture, and that makes you determined to relax for him, the slight sting where you're joined fading with every murmured praise.

A minute ticks by before Bucky clears his throat.

“This is called cock warming, right? Read about that on your blog too.”

He speaks so casually and you clench around him in shock. You hadn't even considered that that was what you were doing but you suppose he's right, kind of, and with the way he looks as he struggles not to move you'd be more than happy to try it properly in the future.

There's nothing prettier than the flush spreading across his cheeks as his chest heaves.

Still feeling full, but deliciously so now, you urge him to move with a shift of your hips. His own roll in to yours experimentally, and when you show no signs of pain he does it again, this time drawing a small moan out of you.

“Knew you'd be good at this too,” He confesses with a harder thrust, checking you reaction as he increases his pace. “Fucking made for me.”

You can't disagree when you fit together like a puzzle. Letting him take complete control, he doesn't disappoint, swiftly lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder like earlier and finding the perfect angle after only a few trial strokes, leaving you grabbing at the sheets once more.

It doesn't take long for you to get close again. Never letting up on hitting all the right spots inside you, it's like he already knows your body so well, and you're in heaven as the pressure builds up.

“Look at where we're joined.”

You obey immediately, watching mesmerised at the wetness shining on his cock, at the way it forces your body to open up to him, at the obscenity of how big he looks pushing his way in and out of you.

“Pretty girl's gonna cum again, yeah?”

It's not a question but a demand. You hum in affirmation, too far gone to form actual sentences, only just about able to untangle one of your hands from the sheets and press two fingers against your clit.

“I-I need-”

“Let me.”

Your hand is swatted away, replaced by his, rubbing circles over your clit whilst you try to not scream. It's too much, all your senses are heightened, and with one final thrust you're falling over the edge, clenching around his cock so tightly you'd be worried about hurting him if you weren't completely lost in the feeling.

Bucky doesn't last much longer either. His thrusts slow into a sort of filthy grind of his hips into yours, and then he's pulling you up by the waist to be as far inside you as possible before letting himself go with a loud groan. Echoing that noise with one of your own, you allow him to half collapse on top of you to ride out the high, still moving in and out of you minutely, prolonging the orgasm for all that its worth.

You stay joined together like that until the aftershocks have worn off and you have enough strength to tug him fully down on to you. Protesting, he stands back up and pulls out of you gently with a grunt, discarding the condom in the general direction of the bathroom bin, then crawls back up the bed to take you in his arms, laying face to face as you catch your breath.

Shy now, you hide your face in his chest, tracing patterns over his skin with a content smile. He moves the hair covering your face aside, chuckling silently when he realises the plastic tiara is still sitting atop it, slightly askew but otherwise unharmed.

Carefully untangling it, he places it safely on his bedside table. “We need to shower.”

You don't move. “In a minute.”

“Okay, doll. One minute.”

Eyes heavy, you sink into his hold, the comforting sound of his heartbeat lulling you into sleep until he shakes you back awake.

“Hey, I meant it. We need to clean up. And you haven't had your cake yet.”

Yawning, you ask hopefully, “Cake?”

“Yeah, I, er, baked it myself. I hope it's okay, I've never really-”

How can he be so endearingly nervous just minutes after he made you orgasm, three times, you don't know. “I'm sure it'll be lovely, Bucky. Thank you.”

He shrugs, still blushing. “S'okay.”

It's quiet for a while longer, just basking in the afterglow, but there's something you really need to discuss.

Steeling your courage, you dive right in. “So, where'd we go from here?”

“Well, I'd like it if you'd be my girl, but it's up to you.”

You heart flips as you sigh in relief. “I'd like that.”

His delight at the turn of events is obvious too, pushing his lips to yours quickly before stating semi-seriously, “I better not read anything about this on that blog of yours.”

He confuses you for a second, having completely forgotten what had gotten you into this position in the first place. Laughing, you throw one of your legs over his waist, cuddling up to him even closer.

“Hey, Bucky,” You start, sitting up out of his hold to better look him in the eye whilst you ask the question you've been meaning to since the beginning of all this. “Do you follow me on there?”

“Maybe.”

You shove his arm playfully. “Maybe? Bucky! Yes or no!”

“Maybe,” He repeats with a smirk, not letting you interrogate him any more as he slides off the bed and scoops you up in to his arms. “Come on now, Y/N. Shower, cake, then back to your bed.”

“Why my bed?”

“'Cos it's clean,” he says bluntly, making you flush.

“Oh.”

“Hmm.”

Struggling to stay awake, you allow him to manoeuvre you into the bathroom, inside the shower, and under the warm, soothing water.

Bucky grabs the soap when it becomes clear you don't intend to do it yourself, being particularly delicate with his touch over your still sensitive skin. “So, did you enjoy your birthday?”

You don't reply with words, just lean in to press a smile-filled kiss to the corner of his mouth, but that's probably answer enough.

*****

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #The gif is not really relevant but he's so attractive here so I had to add it...#Not sorry

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apossessionadaybreak · 3 years

Text

Father’s Day Special

“Hey dad, I got you something” I announced, barging into the house.

“Hmm? Oh you shouldn’t have, there’s plenty of better things to spend money on than your old man.”

“Dad, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been wearing the same set of clothes every week. It’s Father’s Day! You deserve to have something new.”

He laughed. “Guilty as charged, put it in my room and I’ll have a look at it later.”

I did as he said, smiling to myself. I would do anything to make my dad happy, he had been so strong, so amazing, raising me all on his own. Not once had I ever heard him complain or lose his patience. If only I could do more for him… As my mind wandered, I began to feel a little woozy. Shopping for dad must have taken more out of me than I thought. I had even tried on some of the things I had bought for him. Of course I already knew his measurements but it was just for fun, to see the difference in size. I’m not sure what I was expecting, the pants sagged around my ankles and dropped down the moment I tried to put them around my waist. The belt hadn’t been any better, being way too long for someone like me to even consider. Still, I had earned at least a short nap. Surprisingly I could barely even keep my eyes open as I dragged myself to the bed. I was out in moments.

I gasped as I opened my eyes. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few seconds but something felt… odd. I somehow felt… thicker? Heavier? I shook my head to try to clear it which only reinforced the feeling that I had somehow grown a lot in a very short amount of time. I blinked and even the way my face moved felt strange. Looking down I saw that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. For one there was a lot more hair than I remembered, the thickest region right in the middle of my chest and more covering the rest of the front. I felt rather than saw, lines spanning my torso, defining muscles I had never bothered to develop. They were accompanied by a layer of fat and yet all of it felt, just right. Appropriate for a man my age. That thought gave me pause, I wasn’t sure when I had begun thinking of myself as a man but it certainly wasn’t within the last five minutes. Acting on instinct, I began to stretch. It felt good, better than I had ever known, the way my muscles pulled and tightened all around me. I took a deep breath and inhaled a scent that I knew instantly yet couldn’t place the name of. It was a few moments before I realised that it was coming from ME, it was what I smelled like. I took a few more tentative sniffs to confirm before putting my arms back down. I shook my head, I had hair all over my body in places I didn’t even remember. Everything felt distinctly familiar and foreign at the same time. I looked up to see a mirror, and saw my dad staring back at me.

I had never heard my dad scream before but somehow his deep voice still remained thunderous and commanding. I began to breathe faster, panicking. It was weird to say the least, to see my father, always so strong and stoic, having a meltdown. I swallowed hard attempting to calm myself and figure out just what the hell was going on. I scrambled to my feet, not even remembering having sat down. The weight and strength of this body nearly threw me off-balance even as I tried to stand up. Hesitantly, I looked into the mirror again, and saw my dad once again, making the same horrified face I had in my mind. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, feeling my huge chest inflate as I did so. Without even meaning to I felt blood rush straight to my member. I groaned, as if it wasn’t weird enough being in my dad’s body. I looked around me to confirm my surroundings. I seemed to be in my dad’s room. The shopping bag I had dumped here earlier was lying on its side. Looking down, I saw I was wearing the pants and belt I had tried on earlier except now they sat snugly around my waist, a perfect fit. I thumbed the material, scarcely daring to believe myself. I had shopped at the store so many times previously with no strange effects. Could something as simple as trying on clothes impart such supernatural properties? I wondered if my dad was in my body, experiencing the same weird scenario I was but given the complete silence throughout the rest of the house I was inclined to think otherwise. Somehow, I was possessing my dad’s body, filling out his suit pants. Now that I had gotten over the initial shock, another part of me couldn’t stop thinking how awesome this was, against my better judgment. I was my Dad. I was my own father. “This is crazy!” My dad’s voice boomed out of MY mouth, vocalising MY thoughts. I wanted to laugh, felt a mad urge to laugh and before I knew it was doubling over in the middle of the room, a lovely bass chuckle escaping my lips. My mind raced with all the possibilities that had opened up to me, I couldn’t even begin to describe the insanity of what was happening.

I felt my face with my thick, calloused fingers, feeling the tickle of the short bristles of hair on my head. A beard, I had an honest-to-goodness beard, well groomed and maintained. I ran my hands over the rest of my body, feeling newfound strength in my limbs and appreciated the WEIGHT of this body. It had never occurred to me just how well built, well proportioned my dad was but now I was seeing it in an all new light. I felt a bucking against my briefs as a small dark patch appeared on the trousers I had just bought. I laughed, I had always been a boxers man myself but couldn’t argue with how well the fabric supported my girthy new package. I ran my fingers through the dense pelt covering my chest and belly, taking a moment to circle my nipples, so much bigger and more sensitive than my own. My hands wandered down to my crotch and I began to unbuckle and unbutton, all thoughts of taboo replaced by the white haze of pleasure. However, as I slid the pants down past my knees, I began to feel woozy again, exactly how I felt before… this happened.

Coming to my senses, I quickly pulled the pants on again, the discomfort disappearing as quickly as I dressed. I couldn’t even begin to understand my powers but thought it best not to get too crazy for now. I flexed, striking a pose in the mirror and laughed as my dad obeyed my every command. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my dad’s wallet. An idea coming into my head, I grabbed and thumbed through the wad of notes and cards stored within. I, my dad had never liked spending money but today was Father’s day and he, I deserved to enjoy myself. I quickly located my car keys and phone, smiling as I unlocked the latter with my strong fingers. I couldn’t recall the password at the moment but with a quick fingerprint scan I was reading through all of my dad’s messages. Details and memories of my life flowed smoothly in, informing my movements, my thoughts. I snapped up a crisp white button-down from the closet, swiftly pulling it on and tucking it in to my trousers. I tilted my head and arched my back as I felt my body a second time through my clothes. The fabric stretched tight as it hugged my skin, my nipples, me.

Panting, I retained the presence of mind to grab a set of my, my dad’s clothes and moved to leave it in my room. Knocking on the door, I swung it open to reveal my body, lying still on the bed. A quick check revealed I was still breathing. Resolving to study my powers later, I laid the pile of clothes on the desk before closing the door behind me.

I wasted no time driving to the local mall where I had purchased my gifts. I walked around the same department store I had been in just hours earlier but failed to uncover anything unusual. The only difference was the way other people looked at me, talked to me. Gone were the glances of disdain and fake smiles for the teenager grabbing clothes far too big for him. Now they were far more attentive, sincerely giving their best pitches, eager for my approval. I smirked and shook my head, my budget had expanded far beyond what they had on display. I strode out, leaving them to gaze at my impressive back. A small grumble sounded from my stomach and I grinned. Following the smell of sizzling meat I sat myself at the fanciest restaurant in the area. I politely declined a menu, I already knew my favourite. “Steak, medium-rare, and a glass of your finest red.” The waiter nodded and retreated as swiftly as he came. I looked casually around the room, easing my bulk into the soft cushions of the chair as I made myself as comfortable as possible. All around me were people who probably never even gave my dad the time of day now shooting glances in my direction. As they should be, despite my usual appearance I was not a man to be taken lightly. I rolled my shoulders and unlocked my phone, studying up on my life as I waited.

An hour later I walked out, fully satiated, having left a generous tip to boot. I felt a small pang of guilt as I saw my face in the glass, my dad would never spend this much money but I consoled myself that it was just for today, he deserved to enjoy himself. I was certainly enjoying myself. I strolled around, exploring stores I had never even looked at before.

“Billy!” I turned around at the sound before I could even process the words, somehow my dad knew this man. I gave him a once-over, he was taller than my dad but seemed just as fit. I felt a smile come to my face and a bulge in my pants.

“Evening Phil.” The words left my mouth as easily as flowing water. This was my son’s, my, best friend’s dad and fellow lawyer. I grimaced a little, the mix-ups were getting more frequent and slightly worrying.

“Looking good my friend, finally using that paycheck of yours?”

I laughed. “Gifts from my son. For Father’s day.”

“Ahh they grow up so fast don’t they? Nicky gave me a tie though I wouldn’t say no to a new belt either, suits you well.”

I glanced down and smiled at my handiwork. “It is nice isn’t it?” I grinned as a plan began to form in my mind. “Perhaps he’s waiting to give you the rest.”

Phil snorted. “Yeah, right. If that ever happened I’ll need to send him for an exorcism.”

I laughed harder than before, he had no idea how close he was to the truth. “Was good seeing you Phil but I must be going. Places to be, errands to run.”

We waved each other goodbye as I stepped in the direction of the tailors. A bespoke suit would do very nicely and Phil would indeed look nice with a handsome new belt around his waist. Might give a new sparkle to his eyes, I thought to myself, grinning madly as I did so. Happy Father’s day indeed.

#daddy bear #beard #suit #male possession #father's day #long story #dad #father #bear

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gagmebucky · 4 years

Text

hiiii i wrote this awhile ago but took it down because i was 👉🏼👈🏼 embarrassed about it (because i do not have the skill to pull off peter parker) and sorta still am but everyone’s been so nice to me about it i thought the best way to repay the kindness by posting it for those who did like it 😅 (originally inspired by spider man 2 with andrew garfield but loosely set in the 2018 issue of the amazing spider-man.)

in which the guys are making fun of peter and accidentally see a video of him fucking you. (includes avenger!peter x girlfriend!you, peter’s pov, voyeur!steve and voyeur!bucky, a sex tape featuring d/s dynamics, bondage, praise kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex.)

do not repost.

—

Despite being twenty-one years old; a proper adult who lives with his high school sweetheart, a photographer doubling as a seven-year veteran vigilante in the dangers of New York, Peter Parker is still considered as a super-powered amateur to his seasoned peers.

Nonetheless, given his success in countless battles in the state, country, world and even galaxy-wide, he more than qualifies to hold the title of Avenger; it’s official now. A laid-back induction ceremony and his very own identity card: a sturdy rectangle, shiny with full clearance and all. Yet, as an official member, his teammates still treat him like he’s that same goofy, out-of-his-depths sixteen year old.

To be fair, yes, his style of heroism isn’t the most serious. He favors levity in the face of danger, a cheeky flare with smart quips and an infuriating grin. Even after taking a beating from the worst of foes, his demeanor never wavers because in the end, he wins. The villains are slayed and the people are saved, even comforted by the boyishly confident way he works.

But beyond that persona, he has grown into a skilled warrior. On that note, he wants to be regarded as such—at least, to a certain extent. The jokes and teasing, poking fun at his age or the shenanigans he gets himself into, don’t bother him. No, his playful wit handles it with relative ease, and he’s a good sport about it. The only thing that he’d want to see change is some recognition that he isn’t a naïve kid anymore and is fully capable of taking charge when needed.

With his recent acceptance into the gifted pantheon, he’s intent on making that known. The jesting can continue but he wants it to be with an understanding of his capabilities. Luckily, a perfect opportunity has presented itself to showcase his abilities: a training session.

He’s late. And yes, he knows that’s probably not a good impression to make.

In his own defense, it isn’t technically his fault. He forgot that you, his personal alarm clock (amongst other things), left early this morning because you volunteered to help his aunt move. Four years of mornings and nights, he’s gotten used to—and prefers—your languorous wake-up call.

Without your reminder, he regains consciousness fifteen minutes after the scheduled time and ends up scrambling to the compound. In a flurry, he throws on his suit—unknowingly backwards, he realizes later—trips at least three times over his own footing before he finally springs out of the balcony with webbed bursts.

When he reaches his destination, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are unimpressed; mid-simulation, it powers down. Both super-soldiers whirl around to face him, fixing raised eyebrows at his disheveled arrival.

He adjusts his now front-facing suit and shuffles forward into the space with as much confidence as an interrupter can have. “H - hey, guys,” Peter greets sheepishly and manages what he hopes is a charming smile, absentmindedly fidgeting with his phone. “Lookin’ good for a couple of geezers.”

Unfortunately, Steve Rogers is not charmed or disillusioned from the tardiness. “You’re late, Parker.” His arms fold, and he shakes his head when punctuating his disapproval with an echoing, “Again.”

Thankfully, to his right, more relaxed and cool, Bucky Barnes steps up. “C’mon, Stevie. Y’can’t be that surprised,” he chimes in matter of factly, contrasting against his friend with amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. “What’d you expect with Parker?” He gestures at the younger superhero. “Kid’s gonna be late to his own wedding.”

(Beside the point, but worth noting, he will not be late to meeting you at the altar. That is, of course, if you accept when he pops the question. Which is going to happen relatively soon, considering he has the ring in his nightstand drawer.)

The consult seems to relax him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right and—Peter, you—seriously, man?!” Steve sputters the last bit when he glanced over to see him blatantly check the notification that’s vibrated in his hand (on the device that is ruled to be stowed away during training). “Now the phone?!”

Even though he shouldn’t, being on thin ice with Cap and all (pun not intended), Peter’s gaze flickers down to see your contact name appear on the screen, and he can’t resist. While Bucky guffaws a laugh at his audacity, he’s swiping up to pull up your text thread.

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:37AM: spider boyyyyy you’ll never guess what i found in a box labeled ‘peter’s junk’ ;;;)

peter, 10:37AM: those magazines are NOT mine and i don’t know how they got there.

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: not quite but close, naughty boy

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: for a man who depends on keeping secrets and a penchant for home movies, you might ought to keep a lock on your phone unless you want someone to see me like this...

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: (video attached)

Immediately, he recognizes the pornographic thumbnail. One glance, and he’s remembering the first couple of times you guys explored the exhibitionism side of things. It was at the end of his freshman year of college and taped on a phone he thought he had lost. But he must've forgotten it at his aunt’s house, and she tossed it in the box until you came along.

Although there’s been plenty more made, he recalls that one being a shared favorite, his especially. When long-distance duty calls, it was his go-to media. The angles, your face and body beneath the lights, the sounds it caught, you once asked if he considered switching to cinematography instead of photographer

Subconsciously, his teeth run over his bottom lip, feeling that blazing spark of desire igniting in the pit of his gut, partially at the memory and partially at what’ll happen once you guys can re-watch it together; his thumbs start typing away with that message.

“Peter!” Steve’s exasperated voice snaps, but to no avail—the real gall of the youngster, or the effect of you. His weight shifts toward his best friend, and he nudges him with his elbow. “Kids these days!” The hundred-something year old’s gaze cocks a brow back over. “Is that why you were late? Blowing off training to text your girlfriend?”

The text delivers with an audible bloop. Finally, his concentration gives, and he can look up, though his expression is clueless from the last minute. “Huh?” His brain registers what he missed, and he winces. “Sorry, Cap. My bad.”

Bucky chuckles. “Give him a break, Steve,” he faux comes to his defense, a teasing quality underlying his tone. “He’s young and in love. It’s not his fault he’s pussy-whipped.” He cracks him an antagonizing grin as Peter rolls his eyes. “He can’t go an hour without sending those little weird pictures with heart eyes, or she might not know he’s thinking about her.”

“As if you know anything about romance, old man,” he fires back and presses past them with squared shoulders, correcting him quite seriously: “And they’re called emojis, by the way. But that’s not what I was doing, if you want to know so bad.”

The brunette tilts his head thoughtfully, and small hackles arise for reasons he doesn’t understand, or pay attention to. “You know, I do want to know really badly,” Bucky decides and poses a question to his left, “Wouldn’t you, too, Steve? Aren’t you curious what his girlfriend sent that was so much more important than training?”

The blond mimics his actions and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I am.”

Peter’s eyebrows pinch while his skin tingles and the hair on the back of his neck stands straight up. “What—” Before his senses process it, one of the super-soldiers plucks his phone out of his hands and darts back beside his best friend. His jaw drops as he tries to follow after him. “Bucky, you asshole—”

“Some spidey senses, huh?” The Winter Soldier lifts it high over his head, utilizing his six-foot stature against his five-ten like elementary school bullies do and older siblings to their juniors. “Haven’t ‘cha heard about sharing with the class?” He laughs and practically stiff-arms him to squint up at the screen. “Aw, he can’t wait to see her. What’s it been, more than two hours since you two saw each other last?”

Conceding to the height difference, Peter stops his physical efforts and diverts it to someone reasonable. “Cap, you gonna help me out here?” he addresses the entertained onlooker in the most friendly voice he can manage.

“The kid’s got separate anxiety not just from his girlfriend but phone too, Buck,” Steve drawls with a lopsided curve of his lips. He side-steps Peter to stand next to Bucky, and for a second, he thinks he’s on his side despite the tease, but he simply adds a stern, “So be careful. You don’t want to break it, or Parker will have a fit.”

Peter crosses his arms and scowls. “Ha, ha,” he retorts dryly, only somewhat amused by their banter. He tilts his head up at them, and the duo look thoroughly pleased with themselves. “You know, you guys are kind of dicks.”

“No, we’re your mentors, kid,” Steve corrects with a wink and rests his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “This is a lesson. No phones—” He jabs his thumb back in reference to the device’s unlocked screen: “—when you’re supposed to be training.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chimes in upon glancing up from his phone. “And a little advice, women don’t like clinginess. Try being a little more stern and see how that works for you. If you’re able to manage that. But I won’t hold it against ya if you can’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter patronizes with a bob of his head, biting back a response pointing out the hundred-something year old’s inexperience. Instead, he focuses on the electronic readily loaded up with some private content. With that, he decides to do the rational and mature thing and ask nicely. “Noted. So, uh, can I have my phone back now?”

To his shock, Bucky merely flashes a smirk and his thumb scrolls half-heartedly over the thread. Thereafter, he leans toward Steve and raises his cell for him to see. “Oh, look, it’s a video,” he teases. “What could Y/N send that would take priority of training?”

There’s an unspoken let’s see then a metal finger taps the play button. Before Peter can think, much less react, Captain American and the Winter Soldier are watching how he effortlessly renders his pretty little girlfriend into a cute nonsensical yet eager mess—

In his point-of-view shot, the ratio holds in portrait view in a bid to capture every bit of you. Above you, the camera focuses on you and your beautifully debauched state beneath warm lighting where it’s unalienable that the camera was made for you.

Your eyes are dilated brightly, desperate with desire as your lashes flutter up at him. A sheen coats your features and glistens like glitter at the highest points of your face while the shape of your face is framed by your stretched arms.

Your wrists are bound over your head, splotched with expertly sprayed strong, white webs. The mesh sticks them together in a criss-cross, comfortable but nearly impossible to break out of, fixed in place atop his headboard. The tautness tugs a mild strain on your figure so your breasts are jutting out like an offering, and it’s obvious he’s taken advantage of it. Darkened marks adorn your glowing complexion, peppered across your décolletage with imprints of his teeth; including your nipples, sucked swollen and tender.

The angle trails down until it reveals the sight of him mercilessly pounding inside of you. His better-than-average girth is sliding in and out of your tight channel; slicked in shared translucent essence, creaming around the base, your inner walls visibly clinging to his cock with every backward stroke. His hand splays on your mound, using his thumb to abuse your engorged clit. He easily keeps the sensitive nub pinned under his control despite your wildly twisting hips.

Like the display, the soundtrack is equally obscene. Loud, your stuffed depths gush and squelch as skin slaps rhythmically. Your breathy, wanton moans overshadow both, drawn out whimpers, almost nonsensical other than the syllable of his name. A melody of neediness, you sound so fucking pretty, (depraved, like a whore, you once told him during your little film marathon with a sly smile), and for him specifically.

The frame pans upward and confirms you look just as good. A perfect mess, unhinged by the skilled ministrations of your boyfriend. Passion beads on your forehead like reflections off of a diamond. Panting, your lips are plumped from kissing parted with mewls of pleasure.

“P - please—I need to—can I - I please—” You’re begging like the sweet little thing you are, incoherent babbling the result of his excessive edging. Of course, you know better than to give into the sensations ravaging you; instead you ignore your visceral desire and ask him for your release. “Peter, please!”

A deep chuckle vibrates behind the camera as his big hand slides into view, trailing over your jiggling tits to the slope of your throat. “Maybe,” he says breathily and grasps the line of your jaw between his fingers. “Open your mouth first, babe.”

No more preamble necessary, you follow his direction, your pink tongue flat over your Cupid’s bow. Immediately, a long string of his saliva drips into view and onto your taste buds; the vulgar act is accepted with a swallow and a quivering moan of, “T - thank you.”

“Good girl,” he praises huskily, and the voiced approval has you visibly shivering. “Alright, then, pretty girl. Make it good for me, and c’mon—”

Before your otherworldly reckoning washes over you and his teammates can watch your bliss immortalized in film, Peter snatches his property back.

Not much force is necessary as Bucky’s grip has been stunned loose. A dark expression permeates on young hero’s face but not because of embarrassment; if he was still nineteen or eighteen, he would’ve been mortified that his titular superiors caught a depraved glimpse of his sex life, on both his and your behalf. Rather than, there’s just a flit of annoyance when he folds his arms.

“Shit,” Bucky is the first to speak, exhaling the swear raggedly. His blue pupils have widened in obvious attraction, dilated dark, blinking rapidly as if it’ll help calm him down from the clip of you, his innocent seeming girlfriend, all ruined and begging. “Parker, fuck, I - I didn’t know you got down like that.”

There’s a swell in his chest, pride beating steadily while he remains reticent-faced. He prefers you keep your bedroom activities secluded there. Yeah, he likes to be in control and you like to be controlled but it’s only in a sexual nature. Yet, their reactions—stunned, embarrassed and viscerally affected—surges smug satisfaction he’s never known before through his veins.

Even the prestigious Captain America is bothered, though he may try to hide it. He clears his throat, a flustered pink coloring his cheeks. “Peter, uh,” he says, barely maintaining the confidence to look him in the eye after witnessing his girlfriend like that. “We - we shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.”

“Uh-huh,” is Peter’s response, a hint of a smirk curling on one side of his lips. “Why don’t you guys call me after you’re finished with your cold showers, and we can actually train. Until then, I’m gonna go to my girl who’s more than eager to handle mine.” He pauses. “Maybe if you guys ask nice enough, I might let her show you how well I’ve trained her.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #marvel smut imagines #spiderman x reader smut #marvel smut #heh I am going to pass out #I..#goodnight im off me ass sjdjjsxj

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

Gone to Plan

(Thanks @janekfan for the inspo and encouragement!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754072

Jon hates taking days off. The archive’s been in chaos since he took over but not for lack of trying. But he’s in charge, he’s The Archivist, and he needs to prove to Elias that he’s qualified for the job, that his offhand comments and glances when he thinks Jon can’t see are wrong. He’s good enough. He has to be.

So that’s why he’s not called off. He can’t miss a day, even if the thermometer hovered around a high 38 last night. There’s too much work to do and too much to prove to himself to Elias. Jon’s not stupid though, he’s got his scarf wound around his face as not to spread his germs to Rosie as he passes her, or his assistants. (Thank the powers that be that it’s January, and his scarf, gloves, and bundled torso blend in with the other Londoners hustling through the streets.) Jon’ll get there early and leave late so he can minimize the contact he has with everyone else. He doesn’t think he’s contagious, but he plans to lock himself in his office and record statements all day, just in case.

But when have things ever gone to plan?

So here he is, the January chill a welcome relief to his feverish skin as he travels the short block into the Magnus Institute from his usual bus stop. Its not yet 8, and the sun is finally cresting the skyline, a watery grey light reminding the weary man of just how early it is. With shaking hands, he unlocks the glass doors of the humble building with the key Elias had given him all those weeks ago (“I noticed you’ve seemed rather overwhelmed during work hours. If you think coming in early or leaving late will help you do your job better, who am I to stop you?”) and hurries his way into the building and down into the archives, burying a cough into his scarf as he locks himself into his dark office.

It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jon reckons he can go a day without seeing his assistants; Tim and Sasha are happy to occupy themselves without his direction and Martin—well, with any luck he’ll be too intimidated preoccupied with his work to bother him after Jon rejects his first offer of tea. Tea would be nice though, Jon thinks as he closes his office door and surveys the piles of paperwork and manila folders haphazardly covering and lining the area around his desk. He falls into his chair, the metal legs screeching against the cement in a way that has him seeing stars. Jon hadn’t realized his head was pounding, but god he was sorely aware of it now. He rattles a cough into his elbow that lasted a full thirty seconds; the effort of it left him sweating and he peels off a few layers of his ensemble rapidly, discarding scarf, gloves, overcoat, and two oversized sweaters (one being a What The Ghost sweater he’d stolen from Georgie and had consequently “lost”).

Jon rakes a hand through his curls, grossly aware of the thin sheen of sweat on his scalp and opens the first of the manila folders piled high on his desk, just about eye-level. He leaves his fingers tangled in his curls, tugging slightly, hoping the pressure will help him stay focused, and stares at the words on the page. Reading has been a cornerstone of Jon’s personality, but looking at the page now, he wasn’t sure he had ever been literate. The letters swirled and morphed on the page, pulsing slightly to the beat of his pounding head.

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring at the page, this same page of the same folder, the statement of…someone…when he hears a cacophony of familiar laughter outside his door, in the bullpen where the three other desks and three other chairs resided. Sasha is laughing, likely at something Tim had said. Normally, he finds the laughter of his friends coworkers delightful, even calming, but the pitch of Sasha’s voice feels unbearable today, too high and just sharp enough to send a shiver of irritation down his spine. Or was he just cold? God, he’s freezing. He looks around desperately for his discarded sweaters and pulled them back over his head, just managing to pull the second sweater over his torso before an onslaught of shaking takes over his body and he’s quaking uncontrollably in his seat until the shivers die down. His jaw aches from the chattering of his teeth and he kneads it with his thumbs while trying to massage his temples with his other fingers. Jon ignores the knock on the door to his office, choosing on a whim to let them believe he wasn’t here at all, while booting up his laptop. Maybe reading the statement aloud will help him comprehend it.

“Jesus—fuck!” He had made his way, painfully, through the whole statement, pausing through bouts of chills and hot flashes, taking almost an hour to record what would usually take twenty minutes. It had seemed to record on his laptop just fine, but now that he was trying to listen back to it, the audio was nothing but static, though the wavelengths in the audio file would suppose otherwise. How the hell was he supposed to do his job if he couldn’t even trust his equipment to hold up its end of the bargain? Jon slammed his hands against the desk in frustration as he cursed his laptop, cursed Elias, cursed this stupid fucking job, completely forgetting he had decided to pretend not to be here. The low murmur of conversation that had been floating from the bullpen pauses for a moment, before becoming quieter and more intense. Goddamn it, now they would be worrying about him and asking questions and wasting their time and his time and god his head hurt and he was shaking he was cold hewashotandcoldandmiserable-

“…Jon?” Comes a hesitant voice from the other side of the door, mercifully without a knock. “Are-are you in there? Are you alright?”

“’course I’m alright, Martin,” he spat the name like it burnt him to say it. “I’m a grown man, I don’t need babysitting.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Tim. Goddamn. They had the entire cavalry outside his office. “None of us saw you come in and Sash and I were here before nine, which mean you either spent the night or were here way too early, which I’m pretty sure violates Archive rules.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond but his words are buffeted back by a coughing fit that rattles his chest and leaves his throat raw. “Quite sure, thank you. Just—” Another fit, mercifully shorter. “—a little under the weather today.”

“Can you just open the door?” Ever the diplomat, Sasha’s voice was plaintive and serious. “That sounds serious, Jon. We can make you some tea or get you some cough suppressant-“

“I did just buy a lemon tea that’s s’posed to be great for a cough,” Martin adds, voice pitching up eagerly for a moment.

Jon hopes his silence speaks for him as another wave of chills rips through his spine, leaving his entire body aching with the tremors.

“Sims, here’s the deal.” Tim’s voice was serious now, the playful banter gone. “We are trying to be respectful, but the door isn’t locked. We can come in if we need to.”

Jon wants to be angry with them. He feels angry, how dare they not trust him to know his own limits, to treat him like a child, to care for him and love him like family. He opens his mouth to tell them off, but of course, his body betrays him. A cough rattles through him so hard that he bends over involuntarily, doubled over by the force of his lungs trying to eject themselves from his ribcage, and slams his head on the edge of the desk in the process. He groans, the blow doing nothing to ease his headache, quite the contrary, and he knows he’s lost all hope of his assistants leaving him alone.

A chorus of “Jon!” and “are you alright?” come from the other side of the door before he hears a mumbled “fuck it” and hears the door swing open and the cacophony of shoes on his cement floor.

“Jesus, Jonathan Sims.” The archivist’s eyes are squeezed tight, pain and fever overwhelming his senses, hands balled in fists held against to his chest, trying to fight the tremors wracking his body. Jon feels cool hands against his forehead and cheeks. “You’re burning up. Sasha, grab the first aid kit, will you?” They shouldn’t be doing this; they have more important things to right now. They have leads to chase and statements to file and he can deal with this himself he’ll be fine. He opens his eyes, ready to tell the trio off and make a curt rejection of their help, calm and composed, but his vision is swirling now just like the statement was earlier; he can’t seem to focus on any of the faces in front of him. He feels the tremors ease slightly as his body turns hot now, feels his face flush and skin prickle with sweat, and suddenly he needs to be on the floor. The cement is cool and dry and it’ll make him feel better-

“Woah-hey! Jon! Tim-help me…” “We got you, boss man, stay upright for now, yeah? Let’s set him down gently, ready?”

“Thermometer says 39—Jesus. I grabbed some water. Should we call 999?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Jon? Call the ambulance?”

“Don’t…call me Jonathan…”

Jon’s eyes open, wincing, to the harsh ceiling lights of the document storage room. He feels weighted down, limbs heavy, and as he adjusts to the room he certainly wasn’t in earlier, he looks down to see a mountain of fabric covering his body. Sweaters, coats, blankets, scarves, hats, shrugs, every scrap of cloth in the entire institute must be piled on him right now. No wonder he can barely move his arms.

“Oh, hey, Jon.” A cool, soft hand passes over his scalp and smooths out his curls, and Sasha comes into view, hair swinging over her shoulders, expression soft. “You scared us a bit there.”

Jon blinks for a moment, mouth open as he tries to find words and croaks out a cracked, “Sorry.”

Her soft laugh, tinkling like a bell, sounds calming again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good day for the archives if the scariest thing is a bit of a fever. Here.” She holds out a water bottle, and he squirms his hands out of his cocoon of layers to accept it, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cool liquid passes his cracked lips. “How does your head feel?”

Jon presses a hand to his forehead lightly, feeling a small square of gauze at his hairline. He frowns slightly, searching his fever-addled memory for what caused it. Right, the coughing fit. “I’ve been better,” he mumbles diplomatically. “Headaches mostly gone, though.” It was a dull throb now that his neck was constantly tensing against the shivers that had wracked his thin frame.

“You can thank Martin for that, actually. Apparently he’s a pro in head and neck messages. Who would’ve guessed, right?” Tim’s voice calls, just out of sight, and Jon sits up on his elbows to see the rest of his staff, sitting on the floor, surrounded by files, laptops illuminating their faces. Martin shrugs shyly, gaze flicking between Jon and his laptop like he wasn’t sure where to look, mumbling something about migraines, or maybe his mum. “We should start a side business. Been trying to think of good names all afternoon.”

“Afternoon?” Jon croaks, glancing fervently for the clock he knew wasn’t in the document storage room. “How long-“

“Like four or five hours. You woke up a couple times to drink some water and take some paracetamol and fever reducers, which is the only reason you’re not in your own private ward at St. August’s.”

Jon frowns to himself. Four or five hours? He’s wasted a whole day, not only for himself but for his staff too. “Right well, thank you all for watching after me, but I feel fine now. You’re all welcome to return to your desks.”

Martin huffs out a laugh this time, something of pure incredulity. “Right, like we’re going to pretend you didn’t pass out with a fever of 39 into my arms and weren’t shaking like a leaf and sweating and coughing so hard you nearly gave yourself a concussion-“ Tim presses a hand to the other man’s shoulder firmly and he cuts himself off.

“Alright. Point made.” Jon’s voice wavered more than he likes, and he watches the two men rise to stand behind either side of Sasha.

“Jon,” Sasha’s voice is soft. “We were worried about you. You’re our boss and our friend, and we don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Especially since you control our pay raises.”

“Tim!” A swat to his chest from two hands, one small and dark, the other larger and pale.

“Why did you even come in today?” Martin’s eyes are softer now, the bite that was in them earlier replaced with compassion. Compassion for Jon.

“I-I really don’t. But…thank you. I see your point.” Jon sits up now, watching the top few layers of bundling tumble off him in a small avalanche, but pulls as much of the fabric as he can over his form to shield himself from his own admissions. No use in putting up a front now. “I suppose I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. Overworked, even. I was worried about the consequences of being behind with all—all the statements and write-ups and supp-supplementals and figured I could get through a day without incident and take the weekend to recover. I was wrong, clearly.”

In lieu of harassing him over being wrong, Tim chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, we’re your assistants for a reason. We saw how much you have on your plate right now.” He gestured to the little castle of manila he and Martin had been sitting in. “Half of that is stuff you could have given to us. But, either way, the Archive won’t crumble if Jonathan Sims takes a sick day. Hell, I’ll bet you a round of drinks at Molly’s it’ll still be standing after a sick week.” His eyebrow is cocked playfully, but the impact of his words is not lost.

Jon rubs a hand against the nape of his neck, the miraculous lack of tension reminding him of Martin massaged his head and the thought is so intimate he blushes and suddenly can’t meet the eyes of his assistants. He wishes he could remember it. Perish the thought.

“A compromise,” Jon offers, finally focusing his fever-addled mind. “Two rounds if you trust me to come back when the fever’s gone.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Tim’s hand is the one he shakes, half in jest and half deadly serious, but it’s Martin’s eyes he can’t tear his gaze from.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #fever #hurt/comfort #not really sure what this is tbh #but it was fun #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #fanfic to a tea

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aerialcedrick · 3 years

Photo

PINTEREST | MUSINGS | INTRO | TASKS

[ DA’VINCHI, HE/HIM, CIS MAN ] — [ CEDRICK CHANDLER ] is a grandchild of [ HERMES & EROS ] with the power of [ ENHANCED SPEED & WING MANIFESTATION ] . they were born in [ 1998 ] and have been in nemean lion since [ 2016 ] . with the change, they [ ARE TRAINING IN ] the [ HERO ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ LIFTING WEIGHTS OR TEACHING YOUNGER NEMEAN LION KIDS SPORTS ] . if you’d like to meet them try the [ SUN ] building .

GENERAL

Full Name: Cedrick Chandler Nickname(s): Ricki Age: 23 Date of Birth: December 13, 1998 Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland

FAMILY

Parents: Jenelle Chandler (mother) & Leroy Chandler Sr. (father, non-biological), Hermes (grandparent) Eros (grandparent) Sibling(s): Leroy “Roy/Junior” Chandler Jr. 16, Zeke “Zee” Chandler 9 (younger brothers, non-demigods) Pet(s): Female Doberman Pinscher named Kahlúa Family’s Financial Status: Middle Class

BIOGRAPHY

Ricki’s parents had him young. Jenelle, a child of Hermes, had chosen to live a life separate from her godly relatives. She had the power of omnilingualism and was studying foreign policy in undergrad, keeping the secrets of her skills to herself. College is the time for experimenting, and a threesome with a child of Eros left Jenelle and Leroy with a baby they didn’t know what to do with. Jenelle took a leave of absence from school to carry but never returned and Leroy finished his degree. The couple tried to look at Ricki’s conception as an act of love, something they both took part in, and decided against a paternity test in favor of raising him as their own.

Ricki was 6 by the time Junior was born and wasn’t showing any signs of being a demigod. His speed felt like a gift and they put him in sports young, having played little league, soccer, and eventually running track in high school. Jenelle had a feeling he’d inherited his speed from her lineage, but never put that pressure on Ricki. Ricki was always a popular, likable guy and is incredibly close to his father. He loves kids and would do anything for his little brothers. He was a gifted athlete and though the Chandlers knew his skills were likely genetic, from Hermes, they chose to keep their kids out of the know.

Junior year of high school was when his wings were discovered. An uncontrollable itching in his back made him claw and scrape at his skin, unaware what the issue was. A few x-rays showed wings growing under his skin. That’s when his parents looked at each other and realized the truth: Ricki was not Leroy’s son.

It took Ricki a long time to process this but he tried not to be distant, instead spending more time at the gym and hanging out with friends as a distraction. He started cutting class and lingering at the mall with the wrong crowd, even started stealing and getting into trouble. The day his parents told him they were sending him to NL he almost caused a riot. He’d worked hard, and having to admit that work wasn’t his own felt stolen. If it was up to him, he’d ignore the stretch in his back as long as he could.

When he got to NL he finally began embracing his powers out of a need to make an impression and show off. He liked being fast and knew with the right training from the right people he could be faster, better. Something about becoming a hero made him feel strong and important and special and he liked that. He got closer to Hermes, but still struggled to get close to Eros, and didn’t make any immediate efforts to work with his wings.

The growing pains got so bad that half way into coming to Nemean Lion Ricki started taking pain killers to help with the pain, but they made him distant and spacey. He didn’t take them long enough to form any strong reliance, and is going into this year trying to embrace his wings and learn to control them. He hopes to ask to shadow Levi, finally ready to take charge of his power. He wants to be proud, to learn how to soar. Also, he kinda can’t graduate from the hero track until he does.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Da’Vinchi Height: 6 ft 3 in Style/Aesthetic: Athletic, track jackets, varsity jacket, jeans, basketball shorts, cleans up nice and always has his chain on. Has his ears pieced and one either has a silver hoop, little diamond, or hanging cross. Always has a fresh fade and always clean shaven. Extras: Ricki is a HUGE sneaker head, the type to stand in line early when a special pair drops, and has a section in his room where some never worn sneakers are on display. He buys really expensive running shoes and has a few custom pairs he wears on special occasions. He’s serious about his kicks. Also he gets manicures with a clear coat so his nails are always on point/clean and he’s best friends with his manicure lady.

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: charming, outgoing, approachable, compassionate, understanding, hardworking, optimistic, fair-minded, honest, spontaneous Negative Traits: inconsistent, reckless, overly confident, occasional bursts of anger, forgetful Hobbies: Collecting sneakers, playing sports, he’s a bit of a show off, going to the gym, hanging out/needs to be around people Habits: forgetful/will sometimes agree to double plans, has a hard time not moving and has a LOT of energy so if he’s still too long you’ll catch him bouncing his leg or pacing. Has issues with focusing for too long and has a short attention span. Over exerts himself.

EXTRA

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Temperament: Sanguine. Sanguines tend to be more extroverted and enjoy being part of a crowd; they find that being social, outgoing, and charismatic is easy to accomplish. Individuals with this personality have a hard time doing nothing and engage in more risk seeking behavior. Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Hometown friends/family friends

Best friends/Good friends met at NL. Ricki is really social and definitely rolls with a few crews

A ride-or-die. I imagine Ricki has a lot of friends and is friends with almost everyone because he’ll go up and talk to anyone but he needs at least one day 1. I imagine Ricki has a close main crew that has a group chat and acts up together and would love to get a few chars together (4 or 5) to make that friend group dynamic a thing. Bonus: giant text threads hehe

Someone he’s super protective over, he would pull up in a second.

Additionally, someone who is super protective of him.

Others on the hero track he can train with.

A few enemies. I imagine some people think he’s annoying or a bit of a show off, he’s that kid that’s good at most things. Past friends who are current frenemies! Some friendly or unfriendly competition. Ricki doesn’t always feel the need to prove himself but unfortunately he never backs down from a challenge because he’s not a little bitch so he WILL agree to stupid dangerous shit.

People that were close to him when he was taking a lot of painkillers and would recognize a similar shift in his behavior.

Romances. Past flings or partners, someone who has a crush on him, someone he has a crush on, give me all of it! An almost-something-now-nothing. A friend who wants to use him to make someone else jealous but he’s in on it. Your char is his friend and he doesn’t like their partner/he’s your partners friend but your char doesn’t like him! Past lovers to friends, past lovers to enemies (bad breakup, now it’s all attitude). FWB. ALL OF IT. Ricki isn’t necessarily a player but he’s not that committal. He’s the type that comes off as boyfriend material but then forgets to text back and skips dates to train and then wanna act confused when you’re mad. Then he go and buy you ice cream and flash you his smile and you let him inside anyway.

Roommates/apartment mates in the sun building!

Anything and everything!! Ricki is super versatile.

#ive never hated myself more than in this moment skmdng #nlintro #intro #ricki #nicer to read on his blog bc the headers are orange <3 #addiction //#not exactly but just in case <3 #pinned!

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ezrasarm · 4 years

Text

Inconsequential

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: the not very uplifting product of an existential crisis (do with that what you will), main character death ...or is it?

A/n: listen, I’m not even sure where this came from. One second I was listening to Indifference by Pearl Jam and the next... this. I’m sorry okay? Also, yes, the gif is from Interstellar.

[ masterlist ]

You’d missed it.

Just barely.

Your last chance to get home from the toxic green moon and you had missed the sling back by minutes. It was Ezra who in his obstinance not to admit you were stranded had tried to chase the damn thing. His efforts were fruitless of course with the beat up and burnt out pod. It was like a row boat trying to catch up with a cruise ship. There was no comparison.

Your fuel reserves were just enough to get you to the freighter. No more, no less. You had never considered the possibility you wouldn’t make it. You hadn’t wanted to. But now you didn’t even have enough to get you back to the green rock that had been your own personal hell for cycles on end. “I’m sorry, dove. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Ezra, silhouetted only by the light streaming in through the window, muttered as the power inevitably went out. You had enough food and water to last you a little while. You were comfortable enough. It was your oxygen supply that would be the issue.

“It’s alright Ezra.” You hummed back but he was already shaking his head. You were stuck, floating in its orbit, so close to the rock it felt like the slightest nudge could send you back.

“No, it’s not. It’s my fault we missed it.” He rebuked, gaze dropping to his feet as he sat on the cot in front of you. Sure it was easy now to count back the minutes and wonder what would have been different if you had just kept walking instead of taking that water break, if you had woken up a little earlier, if you had taken a left instead of a right but none of that mattered now. What was done was done, you had decided. There was no use mourning the loss of a future that never came to fruition. With all the possibilities in the world you would never drag yourself out of bed with that kind of weight on your shoulders.

“Besides, it’s not so bad.” You remark. “We’ve got a view some only ever dream of seeing,” you say gesturing out the window to the moon, so close but so far away and dwarfed by the planet it orbited. That, dwarfed by the emptiness of space beyond it. It was funny how perspective worked that way. The forest had seemed so vast when you were on the ground and yet now it all seemed so insignificant. You couldn’t help but feel you could relate. You had never intended for your life to be quite this short but you supposed that wasn’t your choice to make. “We’re in as much of a home as we’ve ever had,” you go on “We’ve got food and water. We’ve got beds and blankets” you say, noticing the slight chill that had swept over the pod since the heating had gone out. “We’ve got each other...” you say, feeling the words tug at your heart strings when you finally process them. You and Ezra had never thought of yourselves as much more than work partners but you knew you cared for him as deeply- maybe even deeper than you had ever cared for anyone in your life before and you had no reason to believe he felt any different towards you. You had always looked out for one another, taken each other in when you had no place else to go and supported one another when you couldn’t support yourselves. “It’s not such a bad way to go.” You shrug up at him, a weak smile at your lips. “I’ve heard it’s just like falling asleep.” You say and you watch as the tension in his shoulders subsides with a tight sigh.

“You were gonna make a life for yourself though.” He noted, gaze still fixed on his feet. “You were gonna get out. You were gonna learn and travel until you found a place that felt like you belonged.” He reminded you. But those we’re just dreams. Ghost stories you told yourself so you wouldn’t give up too soon. You knew you would have to face them at some point- that reality would set in and you’d have to be prepared to let them slip from your grasp. That’s what you had done as you watched that freighter drift out of sight.

Ezra had never admitted this to you but those dreams- your dreams, had kept him going too. They gave him more hope than he could have wished to muster himself. It was part of the reason he had been a little overzealous on the harvesting front. Why he’d decided to take his time and indulge his greed. For you and him both to stand a fighting chance at achieving it.

“Maybe I’ve already found it.”You murmured, shuffling a little closer to him so your knees knocked against his own as you slipped his hand into yours.

“You don’t mean that.” He said, eyes wet with unshed tears when he looked up at you.

Ezra had given up once before he met you. He had accepted he wouldn’t see old age and he wasn’t convinced he wanted to but by some miracle he had survived. From there he went on existing day to day. It didn’t make much sense to him to try and do anything else. Until you cropped up in his life and all of that changed. Suddenly it felt like his life had purpose. He wasn’t so sure he was willing to give that up again but as he looked around the dead silent pod he finally realized there weren’t any other options. And with the calmness and resolve with which you spoke it didn’t seem so bad anymore. Maybe this was his purpose. To stick it out so you wouldn’t be alone when the time came.

“I’ve lived my life, Ezra.” You whispered, your free hand coming up to brush a rogue tear from his cheek. “This was all it was ever going to be.” You said. In truth, you weren’t sure there was a future for you beyond prospecting. The gamble, the risk, the thrill. They had consumed you. They were all you knew and now that the moon was spent you couldn’t help but feel that you were too. “But meeting you...” your words trailed off. “Meeting you was more than I ever could have dreamed of.” You explained. You could never have hoped for such true companionship. For as much honesty and trust and security as you felt when you were with him. That was‘s something you could have ever anticipated experiencing in your life. With that he sniffed back his onslaught of tears gave a curt nod and it was decided.

You weren’t sure what kind of love you felt for one another as you curled into each other’s embrace. If it was romantic, platonic or just sheer desperation to feel something in the drudged void of space but what you did know was it was strong and uncompromising. Having been drifting for some time now the pod’s insulation never stood a chance without the heating systems functioning. It was now below freezing and enough for your fingers and toes, your lips and the tip of your nose to feel numb as you gripped onto each other in your double layers of blankets. You’d never held each other so close before and you couldn’t help but wonder why now with the way you fit together so effortlessly.

With your ear laid to his chest you could hear each shallow breath and grounding beat of his heart beneath your head. His arm had snaked its way around you, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up at the small of your back. Your arms and legs felt heavy now as they tangled around him. He hummed your name softly, voice quiet and slightly hoarse from the dryness of what little air you had left. You both knew today would be the day you would fall asleep with no guarantee of waking again. You knew the air quality in the tiny drop pod had fallen dangerously low and you knew your consciousness wouldn’t remain for long.

It took you a moment longer to respond than usual and for a second his chest contracted at the thought that you may already have drifted off. With your muscles fatigued and brain slightly fuzzy, it took almost all your energy just to lift your chin to look up at him. “Mmm?” You groaned back, eyelids heavy as you pried them open and he felt his muscles relax slightly upon hearing your voice.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips pressed to the crown of your head and his breath, soft and warm as it tickled your hairline.

“For what?” You breathed back.

“For making this inconsequential existence feel a little more... consequential.” he mumbled, that honey sweet voice of his rumbling under your ear. You could feel each reverberation as it thrummed against his rib cage, and you felt the corners of your lips pull up into a watery smile. His heart beat picked up ever so slightly as his next words dawned on him but they never reached his lips, his breath growing shallower despite his resistance against the exhaustion tugging at him and threatening to pull him under the veil.

“I love you.” You murmured back, your eyelids falling shut as you focused on the pulse beneath your ear. “Ez,” You said, somewhere on the boarder of consciousness and un when you got nothing in return. “Ezra?” The name was choked as tears threatened to squeeze past your shut eyes. You hoped you weren’t too late for this too as you choked back a sob. You refused to let your last thought be a sad one as you clung to the dissipating heart beat. He heard you, you assured yourself. He drifted off knowing he was loved. That thought was enough for you as you let yourself slip into oblivion. It was soft, gentle and all encompassing, a wave of thin black silk drifting over you and causing your senses to go numb to anything else. You were unsure if the static that rung through your ears now was real or a product of your imagination as you teatered just on the edge, ready to follow in Ezra’s foot steps.

“KP-4N9, come in KP-4N9, this is KP-8F7, do you copy? over.”

“I repeat, KP-4N9, this is KP-8F7, do you copy? over.”

[ masterlist ]

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#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect)#prospect #prospect 2018 #Prospect (2018)#prospect fanfiction

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heavyarethecrowns · 3 years

Text

As Kate re-emerges more tanned and confident, a new Middleton girl takes a bow - May 2007

Amid the clatter of small talk and social niceties, it was a well-meaning attempt to rally a young girl's spirits: "Keep your chin up. Don't let them get you down. You'll be fine."

But when Tara Palmer-Tompkinson delivered these words of wisdom to Kate Middleton at a fashionable book launch, what was striking was not the kindness of the older woman's words but how superfluous they appeared.

For, since splitting from Prince William, Kate Middleton seems to have had very little trouble in keeping either her chin, or her profile, high.

ndeed it has become a much remarked oddity of Kate and Prince William's break-up that, in the weeks since her apparent heartbreak, she has never looked better...or happier.

Far from appearing shattered by the very public end of a romance that many - including Kate herself - predicted would end in marriage, Kate sans William is cutting a frankly far sexier figure.

Her hair is shinier, her skin more tanned and her dress sense more youthful than during her tweedy William days.

Far too dignified to accept the vast sums on offer for a royal 'kiss and tell,' she has, The Mail on Sunday has learned, drawn on the support and advice of a trusted few.

And, in the process, one figure has emerged above all as key among the newly single Kate's loyal coterie: her younger sister Pippa.

At 22, Pippa is three years junior to - and 4in shorter than - her more famous sibling but she has had an enormous impact on the emergence of this increasingly sleek and confident Kate.

She is, according to those who know her best, more sassy than Kate, more direct and, tantalisingly, less discreet.

And though these days she may pass largely unrecognised she is unlikely to do so for long.

After all, it was Pippa who joined Kate at the launch of Simon Sebag Montefiore's book on Stalin at Asprey's, Pippa whose hand Kate held as she left trendy London nightclub Boujis at three in the morning four days later, Pippa who will be at Kate's side when the girls attend the Kuoni World Class Cup Polo at Hurtwood Park, West Sussex - a tournament at which both Prince Harry and Charles have played.

In the weeks since her split from William, Kate has gleaned style advice from an executive at Vogue, discussed strategies for dealing with the media from Tatler editor Geordie Greig and, fascinatingly, turned to Guy Pelly, one of William's best friends, for entrance to some of London's coolest clubs. But it is Pippa who has been her ever present consort.

For where Kate's entree into high society was as the prettier 'add-on' to a powerful partner, her staying power may owe much to establishing herself in another, formidable, double act.

And according to one well placed source: "Kate and Pippa have already been dubbed The Wisteria Sisters - they're highly decorative, terribly fragrant and have a ferocious ability to climb.

"Pippa has just graduated in English from Edinburgh University and while other students are taking advantage of the last weeks of term to lie around in the meadows, have late breakfasts and long lunches and generally do very little, Pippa couldn't wait to get down to Kate and to London.

"She'll go back for the graduation ball at the end of June but it's clear that Kate is the key to unlocking a new social life for Pippa and Pippa is there to support Kate.

"So many doors were opened to Kate when she was with William and she's certainly not going to let them close now."

Certainly Pippa seems more than up to the task of putting a well-shod foot in the way of any door that threatens to shut now that Kate and William are no longer together.

According to one university friend: "As soon as Pippa arrived at Edinburgh, she was assiduous about joining the right social circle.

"At Edinburgh, the aristo crowd are divided into two social sets - one crowd who go to London for the weekend and are really into partying and hard drinking and the other who are more staid and go off to each others' country houses for weekends.

"Pippa joined the country set. She was very charming about it but quite ruthless in cultivating the "right" friends.

"If she found out that someone had impressive social credentials - the right title, standing, connections - she would immediately pay them a lot of attention where before she wouldn't have shown the least interest.

"She would leave notes in the pigeonholes of people she coveted as friends, desperate to arrange a time or date to meet.

"She was always well turned out to the point of being prim, always conscious of projecting the "right" image and, if she heard of other girls' "naughty" behaviour - too much drinking or partying or risque behaviour - she'd pull a face like there was a bad taste in her mouth."

Like Kate, Pippa attended Marlborough and, like Kate, her university ascent into the social elite was rapid. By the end of her university days, she could count Ted Innes-Ker and George Percy as flatmates - the sons of the Dukes of Roxburghe and Northumberland respectively.

And her boyfriend, who graduated two years before her, is JJ Jardine Patterson, an Eton friend of Edward and George and scion of a highly successful Hong Kong banking family.

"She met JJ through the boys," a friend said. "It really wasn't the family millions that attracted her to him but the social cachet."

Someone else who has met Pippa on many occasions recalled her as: "A charming girl who hung out with absolute toffs, most of whom are named after counties.

"She is incredibly well mannered and well-brought up. At dinner she always makes sure to speak to the person seated to her left and right.

"She has a lovely figure, much better than Kate's really. She's a very keen and aggressive tennis player. A mother's dream, in many respects.

"But she makes no secret at all of being very socially ambitious - almost aggressively so. She wants power and money."

Which explains perhaps, in part, the mixed feelings that Pippa has expressed to friends since her big sister split from her famous boyfriend.

According to one: "Pippa absolutely loved the fact that Kate dated William because of the cachet it brought but she's also quite pleased Kate's single again.

"She sometimes felt that her mum and dad tended to put Kate first, above her and her brother James, when she was dating William simply because of the extra responsibilities and practical considerations that went with that.

"And she was a little bit jealous that her sister was dating the future King of England.

"It didn't help that James, who's also at Edinburgh, would go around saying, "My sister's going to be the Queen of England." He can be very indiscreet.

"Also, Pippa's glad to "get her sister back". The two are very close and she never got to spend much time with Kate when she dated William. Kate would always put William first."

Indeed, Kate put William before all other considerations - personal and professional.

It is worth noting that, since their split, she has been promoted from assistant accessories buyer to accessories buyer for High Street store Jigsaw.

Pippa is similarly bright, but she is yet to fall upon a career path of her own. She enjoys travel and writing and has expressed an interest in journalism.

However, such thoughts are not foremost in the girls' minds this summer.

Instead, Pippa has moved into the Chelsea home that the girls' parents Carole and Michael bought for Kate and, according to a friend: "The two of them are enjoying being quite girlie together.

They have a mobile tanner who comes round and does their spray-on tan. They love shopping on the Kings Road.

They get ballet pumps at French Sole and Pippa loves Chloe clothes and has her hair done in Richard Ward's VIP section just like Kate.

"Kate gets sent a lot of free clothes and gifts and Pippa is very keen to get in on the action as far as that's concerned. She's happy to go along to parties and events on Kate's coat-tails."

Certainly there has been no shortage of invitations. On Wednesday, the girls will be at Mahiki - a favourite haunt of Prince William and the site of his infamous I'm Free! 'celebration' following his split from Kate.

The marketing for the club is looked after by Guy Pelly and it is Guy who is believed to have invited Kate and Pippa to Wednesday's Johnny Cash-themed party.

Kate and Pippa have also been invited to Richard Branson's pre-Wimbledon party - and have received invitations to the members' enclosure for the tournament.

They are on the guest list for Royal Ascot - though whether or not they will venture towards the Royal Enclosure remains to be seen - and have been invited to the Cartier Polo at Windsor Great Park on the last Sunday of July.

Ahead of them both lies the tantalising prospect of a summer of sisterly fun - with a social agenda writ large.

One close friend says: "Obviously, Kate and William aren't together any more but they have an ongoing arrangement. They will go to a couple of things together - things that were planned before they split and which William will honour.

It seems a bit of a habit among that set not to entirely sever relationships. There's rarely a clean break."

As we reported last week, William will go to the wedding of Kate's cousin on July 21. It is understood that they will also spend a weekend together in William's cottage in Balmoral in August.

Being in such close proximity to the man she once hoped to marry - and being so as 'just friends' - must be a prospect that Kate regards with profoundly mixed feelings.

However glossy her image and admirable her poise, there are, in the weight she has shed and the cigarettes she has started smoking again, clues to the effort required in presenting a positive face to the world she knows is watching still.

The importance of Pippa's place at Kate's side right now cannot, friends say, be underestimated.

"Pippa and Kate really are very close," says one. "Sure, they have a very like-minded approach to life and if Kate is leaning on Pippa at the moment who can blame her?

"The whole Middleton family were thinking of holidaying in Scotland this year but Kate felt it was too much of a thorny reminder of the last time that they were all together in Scotland, earlier this year, when they rented a great big house in Perthshire and waited for William to show up for New Year and he never did.

"Instead, they're looking at renting some fabulous villa in Tuscany or Umbria for a few weeks in August at the end of the summer.

"And goodness, I'd have thought by the time they reach August, the girls will need a break."

#duchess of cambridge #kate middleton #pippa middleton #article #proof

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arc-saber · 3 years

Text

The Way Forward - Did I write a Mandalorian Fic?

I fic-ing did. Or part of it. Look. I was bored and I’m almost always thinking about Star Wars. It was bound to happen.

No, but really. I’m not really a fanfic writer. I’m not great at it. and clearly, I start with a single, stupid idea and get side-tracked until I have a WAY TOO LONG bit of story. But my main pet peeve about a lot of fic is inconsistent characterization. So then I was like “WELL CAN U DO ANY BETTER, SMARTASS?” Answer? Mmnnmmnsssnng? I dunno. We’ll see.

Din Djarin finds himself in a predicament some years after parting ways with Grogu. Someone unexpectedly shows up to help. I W0ndEr WhO!?

Forgive my lazy backstory-ing... Story below the cut.

PART I

The Dark Saber. It had once been described to him as a symbol more than an item of power on its own. But its history said otherwise. It was both. The ancient blade was not only a feat of engineering that wedded ancient sorcery and Mandalorian tactical sense, but it was the manifestation of power on Mandalore itself. It had been forged, stolen, retrieved, lost and found again — its past was as dynamic as the story of Mandalore itself.

But today it was a tool and Din Djarin was using it to cut a hole in a scrapped hull so that he didn’t burn to death in a sudden deluge of acid rain.

The screeching metal and insulation giving way to the unyielding blade manifested on his helmet’s HUD as static while the rest of his feed grew grainy with sensor damage from the rain. Very technically, Din had known what he was getting into when he arrived on Lotho Minor, but he hadn’t been presented with a lot of options during the chaotic spiral landing he’d been forced into by his pursuers. It bothered him that he hadn’t known their affiliation and it was a troubling indictment of his life that there were too many groups with cause to target him as a general mark to make an educated guess … let alone the number of people scattered across the galaxy who had cause to target him specifically. It also bothered him that he didn’t know if these particular pursuers had broken off when he’d plunged into the junk planet’s acidic atmosphere. Or if it was personal and they had followed him to the surface.

With a heavy kick, he toppled his impromptu door into the cavity of the remains of a freighter and plunged inside after it. His armor had deflected most of the acid damage, but everywhere that beskar wasn’t was smoking and starting to sting as the rain soaked through the padding. He knew he should strip off what he could and try to allow it to dry, but after depositing himself with gravity against the far bulkhead, he was having trouble finding the will to move just yet.

About two clicks away, his shabby X4 gunship was little more than a smoking heap — his less than graceful descent having caused some pretty severe hull damage, not to mention now whatever connectors the rain was melting away. So unless he could miraculously a) find the parts he needed buried in Lotho Minor’s literal mountains of scrap or b) even more miraculously find an operational ship to get himself off the surface, he was stranded. Letting his head tilt back wearily, he let out a sigh that felt like it had risen up in him like a bubble through pitch. He was tired. He had been tired for three years — possibly longer than that — but when he’d been caught up in the concern for someone other than just himself, it had distracted him from it. His people. Then of course the kid. He sighed again, feeling as though the first hadn’t quite reset him as much as he needed. He should be relieved to only be responsible for his own skin again; what would he do here if he was also trying to keep a helpless child alive along with him? But the fact remained: whenever that brief time he’d spent as the child’s guardian crossed his mind, he missed it. Missed Grogu.

He didn’t know why lately in particular the odd little sorcerer had crossed his mind so often, but now hardly a night passed when he didn’t factor into Din’s fitful dreams somehow. Most of it was pure memory, but some seemed different — moments when he felt like he was being reached for. It was probably a result of wishful thinking. And right now, wallowing was not going to fix his situation. When he’d either sat out the worst of the acid evaporating, or simply dulled to the sting of it, he laboriously reached for the lightrod that was tucked into his belt. Raising it over his head, he could just make out the shapes of the ship’s interior by its meager glow. Most of what was left of the freighter had been picked clean by whatever locals there were here. Staying put would give him shelter, but nothing more than that. He lowered the lightrod again, disappointed, and pushed himself back to his feet. His unceremonious entry had granted him about a three foot opening through which he could now peek out and try to assess the weather.

A flash of movement and light bouncing off a metallic barrel was all the warning he got. Din jerked himself back behind the hull, milliseconds before a red blast scored the metal right next to his head. Falling back with a grunt, he wedged himself into the dark as much as he could while drawing his own blaster. He checked the charge. Decent. Outside, the sound of footsteps had distinguished from the rain just enough for him to guess at two pursuers. He edged back to the opening and did a quick double glimpse, ducking down as he popped his head out the second time, lining up a shot with the movement he saw. Two figures. Humanoid for the most part and well equipped against the hostile environment in full vac suits. “Dank — “ Another blast lit up the hull briefly overhead. “Ffffarrik.”

His free hand went to the hilt that hung at his belt. He could stay here and deplete his charge trying to take them both out before either got to him… or use the blade in the one capacity it had that had never failed him. Intimidation. Din could use a sword. He could use pretty much anything. But it wasn’t his first choice. If the Dark Saber was any other blade, he wouldn’t consider it, but the few times he’d ignited it, the effect was notable. Most people didn’t know exactly what it was, but they knew enough that they didn’t want to try to fight it. Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t dumped it down a canyon somewhere for Bo-Katan Kryze to go find on her own. It had caused him enough trouble over the past few years that that would make the most sense. Yet he held onto it and because of that, had suffered not a few varied encounters with Kryze and her clan and their attempts to force him into a tradition and history he knew nothing about and found he didn’t care for. That wasn’t his path — his way. It was something else entirely that had, before it knew him, labelled him a zealot.

He ignited the saber in his off hand, keeping his blaster at the ready. They were close now, but they had slowed down in the absence of return fire, approaching his shelter with caution. They would crowd to one side of the opening, one coming in first to provide cover, the second following up with the needed accuracy. Sure enough, he felt the hull vibrate as his pursuers flattened themselves against it. With little time, Din stepped back to give himself enough room to plunge the dark blade straight through the hull at about where he figured the second body would be. It met some affirming resistance and a modulated shout of shock came from the other pursuer. Din had hoped the sight of the blade would have scared off the remaining enemy, but with a stubborn war cry, the other was suddenly upon him, having whipped around the opening with a barrage of blasts chasing Din chaotically back to the back wall. When he felt one ricochet off his beskar, he’d lunged forward into a roll, losing the hilt of the Dark Saber in the process, but coming up at an advantageous position to fire his blaster.

A direct hit. He saw the flare of energy meeting his enemy’s breastplate and had almost enough time to lower his blaster with a spin towards the holster before the full weight of his attacker plowed into him. Confusion barely had a moment to sink in before he realized his error. He wasn’t the only one in beskar. Now this up close and personal, he could see the vac suit peeling away from the coated breastplate of Mandalorian armor. He only had a very brief moment to gasp out an admittedly daft: “What — ?” before the second attacker, proving to not be as skewered as he’d have liked, flung themselves into the opening, one injured arm hanging at their side, but the other wielding a blaster in an attempt to train on Din amid his grapple with the other.

“Wait— wait!” but they weren’t there to talk. He knew precisely what they were there for, and it was laying on the ground a few feet from any of them. Din had tried to yield the Dark Saber before. A few times, actually. But its inherent rules seemed to have cornered the clans, and him, into a more deadly negotiation for it. They would take it when he was maimed or dead. So now he would just as soon they didn’t take it. His attempts at getting their attention had only earned him a hard elbow to the neck, tossing him effectively into survival mode. With an uncomfortable twist of the body, he got a foot up on the bulkhead behind him and activated his jetpack. The unexpected surge caught his attacker off guard and plowed both of them straight out the opening, into the second shooter and rolled them for several yards along the littered ground.

The impact of their landing flung them apart, but the advantage of that for Din was an advantage for all of them and he was still outnumbered when he rolled to his feet, blaster raised. He swapped his aim from one to the other of his attackers, trying to give the impression that he had both of them covered at once while they simply had to train their blasters on him and start to close in slowly. “Are you with Bo-Katan?” he called out, hoping to get at least one talking. They did pause, but the grim chuckle told him he’d not only guessed wrong, but he also might have encountered a rival of Bo-Katan’s for the throne of Mandalore. “Of course.”

The prospect that he might die here — on a literal garbage planet — only filled him with weary resignation. But then — for just a moment — immense disappointment as he suddenly remembered a promise he’d made to Grogu as they parted. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured to himself as he stood on the brink of lowering his head and his weapon.

But the two others had stopped and craned around, one rapidly looking back at Din as if they suspected whatever he’d murmured had just summoned a problem for them. Unbeknownst to them, it was simply his outlandishly bad luck that had summoned a problem for all of them.

With a shriek like wrending metal — and indeed that was probably partially what it was — one of the mountains of scrap that had previously been looming over them, gave a violent buck, smaller bits of scrap now joining the acid that pelted them, shaking free from the towering metal monster that emerged and resolved into a four legged, open-mawed form that seemed to be made of the planet’s refuse itself, but fuelled by an oily hot fire from within its belly. As it swung around, a pronged foot came inches from flattening Din where he stood. He reeled back from the monstrous intrusion, no longer able to see his previous two attackers while he scrambled to get away from the brand new horror making itself his problem.

No words. No thoughts. Just survival as he reflexively activated his jetpack again and pushed off at an acute angle front he ground and away from the beast as it dove past him, mouth gaping for an improbable bite of pure scrap metal from the side of one of the hills. Perhaps the monster itself was distracted by its meal, but the teetering hillside caved and an avalanche of spare parts was suddenly rolling down from higher than even Din’s current altitude. Bits and pieces rang as they bounced off his armor and he strove to outrun the larger chunks he knew were coming. He managed to dodge the caved in hull of what looked to be part of a Mon Calamari cruiser, but found himself straight in the path of an untold tonnage of metal that was soon sweeping him out of the air and along with it in a tumble of junk that splayed out between the hills like a river of metal… and then in a breathless moment, charged straight over the edge of a dark ravine, carrying Din down with it.

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #fanfic #luke skywalker #grogu #i dunno i tag like i'm dying #will it get sexy!?#PROBABLY A LITTLE!?#dinluke #hopefully #we'll see if I can pull this out of a nosedive

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