You Weren’t Mine To Lose Masterlist

In My Head

summary: The thought of Din plagues your mind—and it won’t be long until it’s forced onto your lips.

note: “Streets” by Doja Cat. That is all.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, a ~hint~ of spice, a classic cliché is used

rating: M

word count: 3.406k

previous ⟸ masterlist ⟹ next

“… lodging.”

Keep reading

(Idk why I thought this but I think it’s funny) Imagine din and reader going back to visit Karga for a job and reader is a apparent heart throb to most of the villagers (not that she knows) and like “hi mrs. Parker” Friday style, these women are see them walking by going “hi Reader~” with cara teasing of reader the whole time having to tell the ladies that reader is already taken with din.

A/N: you are my very first  request, so i decided to do a full, bonifide one shot! thank you so very much!! 🥰💕💕

oddly enough, din doesn’t show his bucket in this until the very end. 💀 it became really cara-centric for some reason. hope that’s okay! 😖

also, the trope of “everyone collectively loves person, but person is so utterly oblivious to it” is, without fail, one of the funniest bits any piece of media can pull lmao.

hope you enjoy! 💗

content: references of sex (kinda), saucy language, gender neutral!reader (my first time writing a gn reader 😲), reader being completely “no thoughts head empty” type of oblivious, cara just brutally teasing reader, soft!din makes an appearance!, cara is also kinda a bisexual icon???

word count: 1,775

“... What do you mean?” 

Cara looks at you strange. She searches your face for a few seconds longer, eyebrows furrowed, trying to see if you’re serious. 

“Are you fucking with me?” She deadpans evenly, and you tilt your head slightly, blinking. You slowly shake your head, raising an eyebrow.

“No...?” You drag out the word and Cara barks a sudden, loud laugh at your genuine confusion, tossing back her head as she does. She straightens up in her seat, still chuckling lightly, and picks up her glass of spotchka. Cara leans against the backrest, draping her free arm over it.

“You’re really not fucking with me, huh?” She mutters with a grin, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a low, long sip, her eyes not leaving yours. You frown, puzzled.

“Cara, I have no ide—"

“Everyone wants to fuck you.” Cara interrupts and it takes a moment for the blunt, vulgar words to register, but when they do you feel heat rise in your cheeks. You visibly recoil, sputtering out an answer.

“I— What are— There's no—” All Cara does as you fumble over your words, getting more and more red in the face, is shrug, an easy grin on her face.

“Yeah, everyone wants to get in your pants, can’t say I blame ‘em.” Her grin turns downright predatory and it gives you the final push to spit out a reply.

“WHAT?” The word comes out incredulous and far louder that you had meant, causing you to cringe at the sound of your voice reverberating in the cantina. People glance over at you and you give the crowd a sheepish, nervous smile. Thankfully, everyone turns back to whatever they were doing, no questions asked. Then your head whips back to Cara, whose all smug-looking, to shoot her a glare. Your face is positively burning, and you just know she can see it.

“Are you fucking with me?” You throw her own question back at her, but it falls flat because all it does is grow the shit-eating grin that’s plastered on Cara’s face. She shrugs, gesturing around lazily to the room at large.

“Jax, the Rodian over there, gives you puppy dog eyes, Kol and Zaltor— the Trandoshans, not the Togrutas, by the way— look at your ass every time they get, that pink Twi’lek gal over there practically fawns over you— think her names’ Numa or Nima or something, the Duros over there...”

Cara continues listing off more and more names, and with each one (some who you know and have spoken to) you feel yourself getting more and more flustered. You sink low in your chair, staring wide eyed into your spotchka, hands on your temples.

“Good Maker.” You groan, placing your hands over your face and slumping onto the table. Cara (finally) stops listing literally the entire population of the village and gazes at you quizzically. She tilts her head.

“Don’t like being the sex idol of the town?” She teases and you groan again, louder this time. You glare up at her through your fingers, still furiously blushing. Oh, how you wish Din was here to beat the snot out of Miss Dune...

“No. This is a nightmare.” You growl out, going back to digging your face into the table, hoping the sandstone would just swallow you whole. Before Cara can reply, a new voice sounds up.

“U-Um, hi.” You stiffen and turn your head to the side to see two Twi’leks, one taller than the other, standing next to the table. They seem a bit nervous, fidgeting with their lekku and rocking on their feet, but something tells you they’re here for... something. The moment you meet Cara’s gaze, your face blanches.

“Kill me now.”

“Hey, pretty ladies.”

You groan and Cara flirts at the exact same time, Cara’s strong voice unfortunately gaining the upper hand. Both Twi’lek giggle, and the taller of the two, the lavender skinned one, flutters her eyelashes. Even more unfortunately, you make eye contact with her. She flushes when you meet her gaze.

“O-Oh my— Stars, um hi!” She and her companion devolve into giggles again and you force yourself to sit up. Giving them a forced smile, you rest your hands under your chin and elbows on the table.

“Hello. What can I do for you?” You ask through gritted teeth, attempting to keep your strained voice relatively nice, while also fighting back both the blush that’s still on your cheeks and the urge to shoot Cara with your blaster. Thankfully, the Twi’leks have gotten over the apparent “meeting their idol” giggles, because now the shorter one places a dusty tan hand on the table and leans in. A bright, stunning smile spreads across her face, but something flirty burns in her eyes.

“Mm. Me and my sister here have just been seeing you around so often.” She says, voice a obviously practiced mix of playfully coy and feigning ignorance. You glance from her, to her lavender sister, then to Cara. And your luck must really be in the gutters, or maybe Cara just wants to torture you—or both— but the mercenary only offers you a grin, lifts her spotchka to her lips, and sips. Your hands curl into fists.

“Yeah, I—” 

“You’re talking to Mando’s squeeze, babes.” Cara interrupts yet again and all three sets of eyes land on her. Two of them moon-eyed and incredulous if not also disappointed, one of them so embarrassed that Carasynthia Dune, you are a dead woman—

“Really?” The lavender Twi'lek’s eyes are so blown wide you almost think they’d roll out of her head. Her sister looks just as awestruck, and both look a tad bit fearful. You go to speak, but Cara (you’re really starting to hate her) opens her mouth again and beats you to the cut.

“Mm hm. Y’all are hitting on the Mando’s sweetheart. Pretty bold, honestly, he’s real protective over this one.” The blush you put all your hard work into smothering returns full force at Cara’s words, and the Twi’leks start looking a bit flustered themselves, though for another reason.

“So sorry!” The lavender one breaks first and goes running off to a Rodian and Zabrak sitting at a far table. She leans in close, seeming to whisper something into their ears, and suddenly all three of them are looking at you with a strange mix of disappointment, lust, and fear. You hastily look away and hide your face behind your hand.

“Aw. Shame.” The tan Twi’lek purses her lips, pushing herself off the table, and you begrudgingly force yourself to look at her. She gives you that stunning smile again and winks.

“You know I’m here for you.” She says and sashays off to where her sister is. Across the room, she gives you another wink and flutters her fingers. Pretty sure that all your bloods’ in your face, you turn to Cara, slowly.

“Cara.” You say her name lowly, looking her dead in the eye. She’s grinning, and blows a lock of her hair out of her face. She feigns an unassuming, innocent look, but both you and her know better.

“Yeah?” She’s walking on thin ice and she knows it, but you also know she’s never been afraid of risk.

“I’m going to kill you.” You say, coming across as deadly serious as you possibly can. Cara’s grin widens, her eyes twinkling, and she downs the last of her spotchka.

“I know,” She starts and she shrugs, “But you know I couldn’t resist.”

You want to reach over and smack her a good one, but a voice alerts you to a certain someone at your side.

“Hey.” Din’s low, modulated voice gentle pulls your attention to him and you turn your head to look up at your silver-clad lover. Even with the dark T-visor, you know exactly where to look to find those soft, doe eyes beneath it. A small smile creeps across your face.

“Hey.” You reply and he offers a hand to you, which you gladly accept. Like always, his hand is large and warm and strong, and it makes you feel completely at peace. Din helps you up to your feet, settling you close, but not too close, to his side. 

“I got the next few pucks, and the kid’s already in the Crest, so we’re ready to head out...” Din trails off and tilts his head, and you can feel his curious gaze roam your face. 

“Your face is... pretty flushed. Are you feeling okay?” He asks it so gently and sweetly, his gloved hand still holding yours, that it’s almost enough to make you forget why your all disheveled in the first place. Letting out a forced, somewhat breathy laugh, you pull your hand away to cross your arms over your chest.

“Um, yeah, yeah— I’m good.” You assure him, but Din knows you so he turns his attention on Cara, whose sprawl in her seat, looking like a satisfied loth cat.

“What did you do?” He asks, keeping his voice neutral, but there’s a hint of that good ol’ Din Protectiveness seeping in too. Part of you celebrates that Din’s finally here to beat up Cara, but all the other parts of you just want to hop on back the Razor Crest and get the Hell out of here. Cara lazily raises her hands in mock surrender, tilting her head into her shoulder.

“Just playing, that’s all.” She replies, eying your spotchka from across the table. She and Din are in some type of staring match even as she reaches and snags your drink. You don’t care enough to protest. Din stares at Cara for a few seconds longer before he shifts on his feet and turns back to you.

“Ready to go, cyare?” His voice is like warm like sunshine, and it makes your entire being light up. You nod and smile, uncrossing your arms to grab his hand. His thick fingers close around yours, encasing your hand in his.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” You reply as you both start walking, tethered to one another by the most sacred link you can while in public. Din and you walk side by side, a Mandalorian and his beloved, through the cantina and out the door.

Cara watches you leave, then looks around at all the inhabitants of the cantina who had also watched you and the Mando leave hand-in-hand. She nearly laughs at all the looks of disappointment. You really were the village heart throb.

And as Cara downs the last of her (your) spotchka, she ponders,

Dammit. Wish it was me instead of Mando.

ghosts

—CHAPTER THREE: happy

pairing: Javier Peña x f! reader

previous part | next part | masterlist 

a/n: okay wow, this was at 3k when I promised it two weeks ago and now it’s 5.7k. just a slight continuity warning: this whole series is kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the narcos timeline bc I can’t remember when they were in Medellin or when Connie left and came back all relative to everything happening with Carrillo so don’t hate me, I’m going to make it work out I think

also just a general thought – to everyone who responded so well to the last two parts, your enthusiasm is what made me get this part done and edited, tell your fav authors you love them whenever you get the chance ! it makes a difference :)))

The day had been sort of a daze. 

By the time the sun had set gently behind the horizon, muting the sunlit sky into hues of lavender, you were already a few drinks deep, laying back on the front steps of the complex. Time was passing, the seconds turning to minutes, turning to hours, playing out so beautifully in the sky overhead with clouds and colors floating, changing with every breath, and you weren’t moving. You just couldn’t find the energy. 

Not to take a picture, not to flip through the diligently kept journal in your lap, not to do a damn thing but drink. It wasn’t a solution but at this point, it didn’t seem like it could do any more damage. 

The lavender grew darker. The soft orange of the streetlamps ignited up and down the length of the barely busy street. Windows that had previously welcomed the temperate afternoon breeze shut to the aching chill that blew in with the gradual fall of the blanket of dusk over the city. Glasses and bottles clinked with a cheer of ‘salud’ in the small restaurant down the street, couple’s arguments behind closed doors leaking into the street, the roar of a motorcycle’s engine being cut short as the chastising slap of a mother knocked the poor boy in the adjacent alley out of his confident bluff. All the little things. 

It was always the little things. 

Keep reading

Markus Moreno: SuperVillain

oops I made a really long multi chapter thing

-

Keep reading

So, India is dying.

Look, I know a good number of you are from the US and things aren't amazing there either, but my country is literally on the brink of collapse. So I'd love it if we could talk about that for a minute.

If you can't do anything else, please just read and reblog.

A second COVID wave has taken out the healthcare system. There are no more hospital beds. There's an oxygen shortage. There's a critical vaccine shortage. The Central Government has thrown its hands up and is passing the baton to the State Governments to do what they can.

There are over 16 million covid cases. A record 330,000 new cases reported yesterday - comparable to the US at its peak. 187,000 dead as of today.

There is no plan.

Mass cremations are taking place. The cremation grounds are running day and night and they are short on wood. People are watching their loved ones die while waiting for a hospital bed, and then they're unable to give them the proper burial rights.

Hospitals are overwhelmed. Patients are being confined, two to a bed. They're the lucky ones.

We are on the verge of people dying in the streets.

This is the second-most populous country in the world. The largest democracy. A country that encapsulates over 15,000 years of recorded human history and has endured everything from famine to invasion to colonisation.

We might be at the end. This might be the thing that does us in.

People are dying.

People are dying.

People are dying and there is no plan.

More good news? Variants are popping up. A double mutation strain has shown up. It is resistant to current vaccines. This will not go away. This is the devastation they warned of when the anti-maskers were out protesting the minor inconvenience of covering their face in public.

My country is on the verge of an emergency state. Our government has failed us. This is as dire a situation as it ever could be.

Look. I don't do much with my life. I write fics, some of you have read them and that's pretty much it. I spend my days with my head in the clouds because that's where I like to be.

But two days ago, my grandmother tested positive, had to be taken to hospital and the ambulance caught fire.

She barely made it to the urgent care she needs.

So, here I am, using whatever meager platform I have to cobble this request together. Because I have to do something.

If you can, donate.

Or spread the word.

Help. Please.

G.O.M.E.R.

Frankie Morales x fem!physician reader

summary: Injured, designated driver Frankie brings his drunk friends into your emergency room. Based on this ask by @reluctantshipper.

words: 2.4k

warnings:  alcohol, some catcalling, language, general ER doc jadedness

a/n: unbeta’d. Notes to follow.

MASTERLIST

“Um, Doc, we’ve got a problem.” Trisha, your triage nurse and one of your best work buddies, ducks her head hesitantly into the hidden corner where you’re charting. 

“What is it, Trish?” Instantly, you’re on red alert. Such is the life of the night shift emergency physician. 

Trish grimaces. “Nothing like that.” She fidgets with the clipboard that’s in her hands. “Just, your next patient is refusing to leave the waiting area.”

You shut your tired eyes. “He can come back to triage or he can get the fuck out of my emergency room. I don’t care which.”

You feel, rather than see Trish’s wince. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, opening your eyes and shooting her a little glance of apology. “Just, long night.”

Trish’s eyes flicker down to your newly bare left hand. “I know,” she says simply.

And she does. You’ve talked divorce many, many times with Trish over a beer. She’s got a heart of gold and the patience of a saint.

You heave yourself up with a deep sigh. “Okay, so what’s the deal with our guy? Is he drunk? He sounds drunk.”

Trish scoffs. “His friends sure are, and that’s the problem.”

Oh, god. 

Keep reading

Burnt out // Rex x Reader

For the person who requested the breakup imagine, Tumblr ate your request: 

Rex x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warning: Breakup

“We were a perfect match. Maybe that’s why we burned out.”

It started subtly. Rex didn’t call or message as much when he was away. Whereas he used to call every chance he got, you were now lucky to receive a short message saying, “sorry can’t talk, I’m ok.”

No, ‘see you soon’ or ‘I love you’ attached, but you brushed it off thinking, maybe it’s just a long mission or he’s just really busy. Then it leaked into his mannerisms when he was home, he would spend more time are the barracks and fewer times with you. When he was with you, it was awkward and tense. Comfortable silences were replaced with tense ones. Little things that used to seem cute to him, now left him frustrated or annoyed. He used to love how you hummed while you cleaned and how your feet shuffled when you woke up. Now, instead of small smiles, you were met with:

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, but I could really use some quiet.” and “Pick up your feet, the entire building can hear you.”

So, you made the adjustments, no realizing how you stopped feeling completely comfortable around him. And then you realized, the same thing was happening to you. You used to think it was adorable how he stole blankets, and how he didn’t help with dishes because he never learned how. Now, it drove you up the wall.  This was how you felt on first dates and when you have important house guests, not how you should feel around the person who you were in love with. Sometimes, it seemed like y’all would argue about nothing. Nights of snippy comments because someone left the light on. When you kissed him goodbye, he didn’t kiss back. Honestly, you didn’t know what happened to the two of you, but nevertheless, you waited for it to blow over. 

Then, one fateful night, in an effort to not spend another tense night on the couch, not actually watching the news, y’all agreed to go to 79′s with the rest of the 501st. That’s when it made sense. 

The two of you walked in, and when you looked up at him, he had that look of awe that he used to reserve only for you. But now, you watched him throw it across the room at an all too familiar togruta. That’s when you understood. He had fallen in love with someone else, and out of love with you. You spent the entire night deep in unhappy thought, but Rex never noticed- only occasionally ordering you more drinks, not noticing the four other still full glasses in front of you. He was too busy laughing at Ahsoka’s jokes. And God bless, you tried to hate her, but she was so nice and amazing, it was impossible to be mad at her. And it was hard to be mad at Rex for falling for her.  So now you were sitting in a booth, just sad. 

Finally, you had enough and you asked Fives and Echo to let you out of the booth. They both flashed you looks of concern, but you gave them a small smile of reassurance. You were almost out of the door when Rex finally noticed you left. 

“She looked upset- you might wanna check up on her.” Echo suggested, watching the Captain crane his neck around to look for you. “She headed towards the door.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’ll do that.” With that, he squeezed out of the booth and went out to find you. You were already a block away when he caught up with you. 

“(Y/N), what’s wrong, you left by yourself?” He asked, but made no move to grab your hand or hug you like he once might have. You sighed and crossed your arms, putting on a brave face. 

“Surprised you noticed. That you came.” You shrugged, it wasn’t snappy or accusatory, but just defeated. Rex knew what was coming.

“Of course, I came. (Y/N), what’s this about?” He was already puffing up for a fight, but you had left the ring a few hours ago. 

“Rex you’re not in love with me anymore. It’s obvious. And it’s ok, but please tell me so I can find someone who does love me like you did.” It came out as a plea, and Rex realized what you meant. His muscles tensed up defensively. 

“That’s not fair, (Y/N).” Was all he said, he eyes weren’t soft like usual. You shook your head and gave him a stare just as hard. 

“No. It’s completely fair.” You started, arms unfolding from your chest do gesture wildly, “Rex, if you’re still completely in love with me- like you were in the beginning- then please, help me work this out. But if not, then it’s unfair for both of us.”

Where there were once soft words and promises of forever, there were crossed arms, harsh words, and shattered promises. Rex knew this and only admitted it by letting his gaze drop to the ground. 

“I’m sorry.” It was soft and sincere and for the first time in a while, he actually looked sad to see you go. You just nodded, praying the tears would stay in until you were gone. 

“Ok then,” You paused and sniffled, Rex knew it wasn’t his place to wrap his arms around you anymore, but he always hated seeing you cry, “Take care of yourself, Rex.”

Rex watched you walk away for the last time, and just like that, it was over.  

Two months later: 

You spent quite a few weeks crying over him, but eventually, things got easier. Fives and Echo were the only ones who kept in touch with you, and they checked up on you, but you never saw Rex again. Soon, You started going on dates, or more accurately your best friends forced you on dates. Some of them were ok, and some of them were hilariously bad, but no one was quite like Rex. But you kept going on, and eventually, life was close to normal again- even if your apartment was quieter and colder than it once was. 

But occasionally, you would run into some of the older members of the 501st. You would flash a friendly smile and wave, but turn around and walk the other way to avoid an awkward conversation. They would wave back, remembering when their captain was so in love with you that he couldn’t think straight. Then, you realized when you lost Rex, you also lost a lot of amazing friends. Soon inside jokes turned into awkward waves and those turned into pretending you didn’t see them. 

And even worse, occasionally you’d catch a glimpse of someone who looked strikingly like Rex and your heart would stop. Then you would realize, this trooper had green armor and a similar haircut. But that didn’t stop the memories of love and laughter of the good times when you felt more love from a man worlds away, but it also tore open the wounds of the bad times, when you felt the loneliest when he was lying right beside you. 

After the war:

It might have seemed dramatic, but four months after the breakup, you decided to move. You chose one of the more developed planets in the outer rim and found work rather easily. No more Rex, no more memories, a fresh start, and it went well. 

But even then, when the war was over and the Empire rose from its ashes, rumors of the Jedi and the clones swirled and demanded to be heard- even in the outer rim. And every now and then, you couldn’t help but wonder what did happen to Rex, because somewhere in your heart you still loved him and always would. 

#SOSCuba is trending on Twitter and I figure it’s only a matter of time before it ends up here so friendly reminder that if you’re NOT Cuban and especially if you ARE American if your idea on how to “help Cuba” doesn’t begin and end with calling for the end of the US blockade on Cuba that literally every country in the world supports ending except for the United States and Isr*el which is preventing Cuba from distributing its five homemade COVID vaccines and other lifesaving medicines to its own people you have worms for brains and couldn’t give less of a shit about the Cuban people

Too little too late (1/?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Marcus Moreno x reader

Plot: Steve and the reader were dating when he decided to go back in time and stay with Peggy. When things don’t work out with Peggy Steve decides to go back to the future to be with the reader. Unfortunately for him, the reader doesn’t want anything to do with him because she was pregnant when he left. Things get even more complicated when Steve finds out the reader moved on with a widowed father and fellow superhero named Marcus Moreno.

A/n I don’t know how many parts this is going to have but I hope you guys will like it. I’m sorry but there is no Marcus in this chapter. Since I split this part in half, part two will be up by Sunday.

Keep reading

Transatlantic (Steve Rogers One Shot)

Written for the Cap 2 Challenge by @justsomebucky and @imhereforbvcky

Prompt: ‘Be safe, if you can be’

Summary: After Peggy rejects Steve, he finds company in you, a British Brigadier who is more than meets the eye.

Pairing: Steve x Female Reader (with surname. First name is your own)

Warnings: Angst (Possible proof reading errors)

_______

Striking out with Peggy was the worst thing that had happened to Steve.

One stupid misunderstanding and she’d frozen him out. He was just staring at the map on the wall with a sense of melancholy, not even fully appreciating that he’d got Bucky back.

“That’s a sour face,” came a female voice from his right. “Chewing on a wasp?”

He turned around to see you, in a different kind of uniform, wearing pants and a Brigadier’s sash. Had you got those on by mistake or were all girls adept at kicking ass like Peggy over in Britain?

“Sorry?”

“You look a little glum,” you smile kindly. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, no I’m good. Thank you,” he blinks in bewilderment. “Uh…sorry if this is rude but…umm….”

“It’s the threads, isn’t it?” you look down and laugh. “Confused more than my fair share of Yanks lately with it. I was in the women’s auxiliary engineering corps but there was a bit of an accident you see.”

Keep reading