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the-scandalorian · 1 year

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Ok idk if this works for drabble tonight or not but I’m eager for whatever you you have-

Mutual Din’s thoughts/actions while waiting to hear from her. Did he take other clients? Obvs he did after a while but like was he a lil hung up on her at first? Or was he right back to business just distracted? What went through his head? I know you gave us a lil in part two I’m just greedy 😛

for you, my darling xx

Mutual!Din x f!reader cw: angst, spice, drinking, blow job, masturbation note: takes place between part I and II

Every day for that first week, Din tells himself: there's still time. Three days, four, five... There’s still time.

His nights are booked with clients. His days, for the most part, are long and slow. His com is quiet. He reads, he exercises, he checks in with the covert.

Six days. There’s still time.

Every night, every client makes him think of you—either in similarity or in difference. One has a smile that looks a little like yours. He gets request after request to keep every piece of clothing and armor in place down to his gloves: the exact opposite of what you’d wanted. One woman’s perfume has the same delicate floral notes as your shampoo.

Another client reaches toward his helmet—accidentally, innocently, a natural reflex when he’s fucking them so hard that their hands search for an anchor to prevent them from sliding too far up the bed—and he jerks away so fast that they gasp, their wrists caught tight in his grip.

Why had that reflex disappeared completely with you?

Nine days. Twelve. You could still call.

On a rare night off, he drinks too much from the minibar in his room. He can’t remember the last time he got drunk, but there he is, sprawled out on a too-big hotel bed, buzzed. It’s just enough to knock the edge off his inhibitions.

He fucks his fist to the thought of your mouth on his, to the perfectly-remembered feeling of your tongue slipping past his lips. He imagines you poised over him, crawling down his body slowly, lavishing attention generously, in a way only you’ve done for him. He strokes himself faster when he pictures you dropping low to breathe along the trail of hair that leads to his cock and ghost your lips along the v of his hipbone.

You’d make him wait, just a little. You’d make him hurt, just a little. You’d want him flushed and leaking, his quads tight, his hips just barely flexing upward in invitation despite his iron restraint.

But he knows that you’d be just as impatient. You’d be biting back a mischievous smile and fighting your own anticipation, forcing yourself to build it as you tease him.

You’d take him in your hand and kiss up his shaft slowly, lick a gentle circle around the head, and leisurely lap up the precum that beads there.

And he’d be shaking, fists clenched in rumpled sheets.

When you finally did take him into the wet heat of your mouth, it would be a little sloppy, a little eager. You’d want to take him deep, even if you are a bit inexperienced. You’d grip his hips and encourage him to fuck into the back of your throat until your eyes watered, until you gagged.

He’d have to be the one to slow you down, to pull you back.

Easy, easy.

He’d have to guide you with fingers wrapped around the nape of your neck and lead you into a steady, gentle rhythm. And he’d tell you how good it all feels.

Fuck, just like that. Feels so good, baby.

You’d like the praise. You’d be fed by the low pitch of his moans, by the way his voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks around him and suck.

And he’d be fed by the look in your eyes when they flick up to watch his face. He’d see something like hunger mingled with affection and the faintest glimmer of pride, your desire for validation completely satisfied by his words and the salt on your tongue.

Din finishes to the thought of your lips wet and glossy with him, shiny with his come. He wants to watch you swallow. He wants to kiss you right after, when you taste like him.

He wants to do so many things.

After two weeks, with a heavy heart, he thinks it’s still possible. Unlikely, but possible.

The days start to feel too long. He updates his online profile to include escorting and security work to help fill the hours that drag. He packs his schedule full, the calendar on this datapad a solid block of appointment after appointment.

Fifteen days. Twenty.

He doesn’t give himself time to think about you. He manages it all the same.

He finds himself replaying your conversations and thinking of questions he wants to ask you. He falls asleep imagining you tucked against his side, your head on his chest.

It’s not until one full month has passed that he truly stops hoping.

#mutual #mutual!din #ficlet #drabble #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you

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babsvibes · 1 year

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Bob's Burgers Fic Rec

Most of these are completed or completed pieces of an ongoing series. All are from ao3 because that's where my little freak heart lives. A few are explicit, so mind the tags on those stories. Also, feel free to drop your recs in the replies! If the spirit moves you, I would love to see more people make their own lists!

My Top 5 - Ship-Focused

Flowers, Birthdays, and Soulmates: by Vintage Madame. Rated T. The Belcher children knew the importance of turning 18. For Tina, 18 was the beginning of her own fairy tale romance. For Gene, 18 was the beginning of a new adventure. For Louise, 18 was the beginning of the end. A Bob's Burgers Soulmate AU, more details inside

summer slipped us underneath her tongue: by TullyBlue. Rated Mature. In an effort to help gather evidence on a story she's building a case for, Tina takes an assignment that has her writing some empty, fluff piece on some black tie party. Eventually, her eyes begin to wander away from her work for other possible distractions. Like the cute bartender, maybe.

through the grapevine.: by avatraang. Rated Mature. Louise hears about him through the grapevine. Different people drop different pieces of information, each one stumbling across it the way only people can —social media, attending the same event, a friend of a friend, or just plain old eavesdropping. However it happens, Louise finds the information always reaches her.

Denial: by lanan26. Rated T. Four times that Louise and Logan were in denial, and one time that they decided to do something about it.

sweet dream, saccharine: by addendum. Rated Explicit. Jimmy gets to know his neighbors in an unconventional, rather intimate way.

My Top 5 - Not-Ship-Focused

Breaking and Centering: by puff22_2001. Rated G. Linda takes Louise to the dump and Louise has no idea why. When she learns the reason, her love for her mother skyrockets.

Burger People Drabbles: by Prawnperson. Rated G. A series of drabbles centred around the burger people. Some canon-compliant, some not.

I'd Do Anything for Loaf: by puff22_2001. Rated G. Teddy makes the Belchers a meatloaf. It does NOT go to waste.

Nighttime Routines: by galacticfoxes. Rated G. Linda didn't have a nightly routine. She didn't wash her face, take a shower, meditate, read a book, or do whatever nice, clean people did. But there was still one thing she did every night without fail. Because if she didn't three kids would definitely not let her hear the end of it the next morning.

The Happiest Boy: by Prawnperson. Rated G. “Uh, Tina, you really made me the happiest boy today.” * Jimmy Jr. never wants to imagine a world without Zeke.

More ships!!

Boblin - I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings: by addendum

BLT (Bob/Linda/Teddy) - Nicknames Aren't All the Same by puff22_2001

Louigan - Push and Pull: by abby_the_fox

Louisica - guess you're lucky that it's dark now: by TullyBlue

Mort/Teddy - A Little Bit Gay: by bloodstonepentagram

Tinimmy - Bits and Pieces: by eroticfriendfictions

Tina/Becky Krespe - Read Across America Day: by IncurablePeppermint

Zekina - Things You Said While You Were Sick: by HatterRed. theangrypomeranian also has a lot of good zekina

#bob's burgers #fanfiction #fic recs #babsbles #so many good ones in here and some I probably missed but I love too I swear!!

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drewsaturday · 2 months

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Oversensitivity About My Major hours

i know the backlash to business majors tends to be for like... stock bros who want to take over their daddy's company or see wages as a game, rather than the rest of us just doing it for survival purposes, but sometimes i do wanna shake ppl by the shoulders and point out a few things lmao.

business degrees, at least in the US, are some of the cheapest and most widely accessible fields to major in. every college that's known for being available online, cheap, and with options that make it easy for adults who already have to work, all at least have a business administration degree option, if not others in that field.

leaning on that, the kinds of jobs that are more accessible are ones with remote work options, and business degree jobs fall into that. i'm not going to major in something with entirely in-person job prospects when i can't go places in-person.

there is a certain level of privilege to be able to major in something you actually like, if your interests don't align with computer science or whatever. if i had any financial stability in my family (or more interesting online/cheap options) i would also go for the stuff i'm actually passionate about. but liberal arts degrees don't exactly pay well nor are they very conducive to avoiding student loans. if i majored in something i actually like i would be fucking myself over. if you're like me and are instead choosing to fuck yourself over for the sake of passion, cool! love that for you and i do genuinely hope it works out. but maybe examine the resentments you're forming to people who are trying to give themselves a better chance of survival as a way to distract yourself from how hopeless your own future now feels.

and while you can obviously take an occasional marketing class now and then regardless of your actual major, if you are in a creative industry you have to at least acknowledge that you're completely fucked if you don't know how to market yourself or track your business finances. if you don't get hired at a big business and have to rely on tiktok to get customers and clients, you're going to live long enough to become the #Girlboss you hate.

idk why this gets to me so much since i would rather be majoring in something else, but i guess that's kinda why it does get to me, which means i should probably chill out and join the bandwagon because i'm also suffering as a result of business degrees being propped up over everything else.

and i'm sure if i were lucky enough to be an in-person student actually meeting and dealing with other people in my major i would hate business majors too.

and a lot of other things come into play, like how we shouldn't Have to sacrifice income for pursuing our passions, or how you can still learn about business principles while in a different industry.

but... sometimes i think those attitudes mow over how many problems could be avoided if your favorite minecraft youtuber had an HR department for their server instead of having 0 understanding of what it takes for a proper business to run, because at the end of the day all the fun shiny exciting creative endeavors people want to make jobs out of do necessitate an understanding of paying taxes.

#txt #again i know it is more about the kind of person that willingly goes into that field #more than criticisms about the field itself or people like me #but it gets soooooooooo annoying so here we are

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violetlunette · 2 years

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So, I wrote this after I came across posts about Bakagou and Tenya. In these, people would say things like, “Everyone goes on about Bakagou telling Izuku to kill himself, but never bring up that Tenya tried to murder someone,” or “People go on and on about Bakagou, but Tenya’s actions were worse and no one talks about him!” And so on. Due to getting distracted by something shiny, I temporarily forgot this argument. But I remembered it, I’m here, so, let’s get this posted because Tenya deserves better. (Keep in mind that one or two points might be outdated however.)

First of all, why are people comparing the two?? The situations were and are COMPLETELY different. But even if we did compare the actions of the two, I argue that Bakagou’s actions would still be worse than Tenya’s. Yup. I said it, and I’m going to explain why. This is mainly a Tenya defense post, but there are Anti-Bakugou and Bakugou Critical elements below. As I’m talking about Bakagou’s past, I will be kicking a dead horse and bringing up topics I’m sure we’re all sick of hearing by now. Oh, and yes, this is very opinion-based as the whole point is me explaining why I think Tenya has the moral high ground and why his actions didn’t bother me. There may also be some bias as while I don’t hate Bakagou I have an INTENSE dislike for him. Ye have been warned. ACTUAL TRIGGER WARNINGS: I will be discussing bullying, suicide baiting, and attempted murder. If any of these offend you, please move on.

Okay, so here’s the basics of the situation of each and their actions;

During the sports festival Tenya’s brother was attacked by a serial killer named Stain simply because Tensei wasn’t like All Might. He was severely wounded and hospitalized, almost dying. Luckily Tensei survived. Sadly though, he was disabled and injured to the point where he’d have to give up his hero career. Tenya is enraged at the man who did this to a big brother he idolized and worshiped. Blinded by rage and grief, Tenya decided to go after the Hero Killer and take him down. This almost got him killed, and Tenya had to be saved by his friends.

Bakagou was born with a powerful quirk that everyone thought was cool. Even before he got his quirk, Bakagou was shown to be smarter than the other kids, a talent he used to demean Izuku others. Because of these two qualities no one ever scolded him for his actions, so Bakagou did whatever the hell he wanted. Mainly, he bullied a boy his age with BOMB powers even though said boy couldn’t do ANYTHING to protect himself, for their entire childhood. Bakagou always wanted to be the strongest and felt a constant need to prove it.

“Wait a minute! Isn’t the whole point of this post is to explain why Tenya’s actions weren’t worse than Bakagou’s? How can you say that when Tenya tried to KILL someone. Bakagou was just a bully, right? How can you say he was worse?”

Well, let’s get into that, shall we?

First off, Tenya had a VALID reason for feeling the way he did unlike Bakagou (we’ll get to that).

Tenya’s beloved brother, who was also his hero, was almost murdered and severely injured!

Imagine seeing someone you loved at death’s door in a hospital attached to machines, tubes, and the like. Imagine spending hours/days--I don’t remember how long Tensei was in surgery--being able to do nothing except pray that person will live. And by some miracle, that person does live, only to discover that despite all those agonizing hours/days, he’s still going to have lasting injures. That he had officially lost EVERYTHING he spent years dedicating his life to every day. His entire lively hood was stripped away, and why? Because he didn’t meet some guy’s standards of “hero.”

Tensei wasn’t a bad hero. Far from it, he was actually a good hero and a genuine person. We get proof of this in “BNHA: Vigilantes” where we see that he’s a great guy with the best of intentions. However, just because he wasn’t exactly like All Might, Stain decided he wasn’t good enough and decided to end him (as far as I know, Stain meant to kill Tensei).

How would you feel in Tenya’s position? I can’t speak for anyone else, but my fury would go beyond words. So much so that I too would forego justice for vengeance. Would that be right? No, it would not. But here’s the thing; NO ONE EVER SAYS THAT IT IS.

No one pushes aside the fact that while Tenya’s feelings are understandable, his acts are NOT okay. He’s called out, scolded, and told WHY it’s wrong, that it’s not heroic of him to hunt someone in cold blood. And oh yeah—there are consequences for his actions. His recklessness and need for revenge almost results in four people getting killed, gets Manuel’s and Gran Torino’s teaching licenses revoked for 6 months along with a pay cut. He also almost loses his arm. The most important thing from all this, though? He learns his lesson and takes active steps to get better, which we SEE in action. Most importantly, Tenya never repeats the actions that got him and others in trouble. Again, he LEARNED his lesson.

Oh, and here’s something that people tend to overlook--

STAIN WAS A FUCKING SERIAL MURDER. He wasn’t some innocent individual. He wasn’t even just a thug! He was someone who actively hunted and murdered people for not meeting his standards of hero-dom.

It was wrong for Tenya to go after Stain because it placed TENYA in danger, and it’s not heroic to go after with the intent to kill. That being said, I’m not going to feel too bad that he wanted to put a crazy serial killer down.

Now let’s look at Bakagou;

As I stated at the start, Bakagou grew up arrogant because he was more intelligent than the other kids, had a great quirk, and was never scolded by anyone. No one even really called him out for being a jerk. (YMMV) Because of this, Bakagou grew a massive ego and wanted to prove that he was the best. As a result, he fought a lot of other kids. (It’s hinted he used to bully others as well, but I’m willing to bet the story changed that to “they challenged Bakagou first” shit.) And who was his main target? A QUIRKLESS child. Bakagou attacked someone over and over again who could NOT defend himself. To top it off, Bakagou got others to help attack Izuku as well. Did he purposely tell others to attack Izuku? None that I can see, but he did lead his friends and took pleasure when he saw others following his lead in class.

Stuff like this went on for TEN years. TEN. YEARS. From 4 to 14.

Time skip to the start of the story to Bakagou’s first interaction with Izuku. At age 14—old enough to have grown a conscience by then—is shown blowing up Izuku's desk, backing him against a wall, and taunting him. (In front of a teacher who doesn’t do a damn thing, btw.) Then when class is over Bakagou destroys Izuku’s notebook, throws it out the window, threatens him with violence once again, and then ends it by telling Izuku to jump off a roof so he can be reincarnated as someone with a quirk.

Why? Because he found out that Izuku wanted to go to UA.

And the reason for all this? The reason for years of bullying? His hatred of Izuku? Because Bakagou couldn’t understand why Izuku was constantly kind, so he made up a bullshit reason in his head that Izuku was looking down on him. That’s it.

No tragic backstory, no CONFIRMED abuse in the story, nothing. Bakagou was just spoiled by society and felt insecure around a boy who actually acted heroically. Izuku did nothing to earn the abuse Bakagou did to him. Izuku was constantly kind and even risked his life to save Bakagou on multiple occasions. Yet, just because Izuku made Bakagou feel insecure about himself, he would lash out--with bomb powers--while doing everything he could to tear Izuku down.

There are several reasons I’m more sympathetic to Tenya;

First off, the target of Tenya’s rage, again, was a SERIAL KILLER. An adult who could always defend himself. (And did.) Not to mention Stain earned Tenya’s anger through his actions of TRYING to MURDER his brother and DISABLING said brother for petty reasons. That’s a valid reason to hate someone.

Now, I’ll admit that the validity of emotions is subjective, but I don't think that Bakagou feeling insecure about himself justifies years of torment. Especially when Izuku never did anything. All Izuku ever did was be kind and maybe tell him to stop picking on others.

The next reason I sympathize with Tenya and not Bakagou is the state of mind they were in when they performed these actions.

When Tenya went after Stain he was riding high on emotional turmoil. He wasn’t thinking clearly. His mind and judgment were clouded with grief and anger as someone he loved was hurt. It’s hard to think clearly under those conditions.

Meanwhile, every time Bakagou hurt someone his mind was clear. He knew EXACTLY what he was doing and in some cases they were premeditated. With a clear mindset, Bakagou chose actions that caused harm in some way. And why? Because it made him feel better. No one forced him and the only emotion pushing him was envy, it was a clear and conscious choice he made. And these were choices he made FOR YEARS. Hell, he even unleashed a move that he KNEW could have killed Izuku in a “calm” state.

There's also the aftereffect to take into consideration; No one was seriously injured by Tenya’s actions except maybe the murderer who was stopped and locked away. Izuku doesn’t have physical scars, but he does have mental and emotional scars. Before U.A. Izuku was terrified of Bakagou—and with good reason. He flinches instinctively when Bakagou raises his voice. His low self-worth? Result of Bakagou’s bullying. Whether the story is willing to admit it or not, his actions had a lasting effect on Izuku, and they still affected him to the present. (Until the narrative decided to casually push it to the side and hope no one noticed anything.) This brings me to my next—and admittedly pettiest—reason that allows me to forgive Tenya and not Bakagou is how the narrative treats them. As a person who loves stories, I tend to judge how a story reacts to its characters and their actions more than what the characters themselves do.

The story handles Tenya’s actions in a way that satisfying. There is not one moment when the narrative tries to justify, play down, or explain away Tenya’s actions. Every time it’s brought up, it’s mentioned as a failing on his part. Tenya was wrong to put himself in danger. It was wrong for him to go after Stain with the intent to kill. His recklessness not only almost got him killed but almost got him killed. Even Tenya admits he fucked up. And it didn’t take 300 chapters plus 11-10 years to realize this. He learned his lesson and got better. He realized that his actions were dangerous, and he never does it again. Tenya even tries to stop others from making the same mistake in the future. More importantly, he’s never rewarded for his actions.

We don’t get that with Bakagou. After a certain point, the narrative ignores or downplays Bakagou’s deeds, which I made an argument for in a past post.

It’s only recently that we start to address these issues, and even then they’re barely touched on.

Does Bakagou learn his lesson……...debatable, but I’ll be generous and say he has. Yet despite that, he still acts like the same arrogant brat he was in the beginning. He still attacks Izuku and tells him to die. He still charges into danger without thinking things through and has to make it all about him. (YMMV)

Is it all his fault? No. Bakagou was NEVER scolded for his actions. He was never told what he was doing was wrong by anybody. Maybe if SOMEONE had pulled Bakagou aside after he nearly killed a fellow student and told him, “Hey, I know you were playing the villain, however, as heroes we try to avoid killing people, and you went too far here.” MAYBE he would have learned the lesson sooner. Aizawa, All Might, I love you both but was it REALLY that hard to pull the kid aside and scold him? I’m not looking for public shaming here, just SOMEONE to tell him that he was wrong.

And maybe if the rest of the class would stop ignoring his action and treat him the way Class B treats Monoma, Bakagou would get the hint not to be an asshole to everyone he meets. But no one ever did, so it took over 200 fucking chapters for him to finally admit he was wrong.

But here’s the thing that gets me; Bakugou’s actions are usually rewarded, or ignored, no matter how bad they are. Think about it, when does Bakagou ever suffer as a result of his bullying? When does he suffer the consequences of hurting Izuku another?

Told Izuku to kill himself after threatening him with physical harm and destroying his property? Never brought up again. (And no, getting possessed by Sludgy doesn’t count. That wasn’t a result of his actions, it was bad timing.) Tried to kill Izuku while potentially endangering Ochaco and Tenya because he threw a hissy fit? Learns a part of Izuku’s secret and gets the first clue about OFA, then is comforted by the person he tried to kill AND All Might. Seriously, the worse he gets is a “grow up” from Aizawa the next day. (There are other moments as well, but I digress.) The point is that 8/10 his actions are ignored or rewarded by the narrative, which turns any sympathy points I may have had to irritation.

To summarize:

1: Tenya’s reasons for wanting to hurt Stain were valid and earn by something Stain did. Bakugou’s reasons for hurting Izuku FOR YEARS were out of petty jealousy and shit he made up.

2: Tenya went after a killer. Bakagou went after someone who couldn’t defend himself repeatedly for TEN YEARS.

3: Tenya wasn’t in his right mind when he went after Stain. Bakagou was in his right mind every time he hurt Izuku.

4: There were consequences for Tenya’s actions. There are none for Bakagou’s bullying.

5: Tenya learned his lesson right away and apologized to those he troubled. It took Bakagou forever to realize he was acting shitty.

6: The lasting damages of Tenya are minimum. Bakagou’s actions are overreaching the entire story, whether they’re brought up or not.

7: Tenya did it ONCE. And again, it was under emotional distress. Bakagou hurt Izuku time and time again for YEARS out of petty jealousy.

Again, these are two different circumstances and as I said you can’t compare the two. If you’re going to compare Bakagou to anyone, Endeavor’s the better fit.

#can't believe I forgot this in my backlog #Tenya vs Bakugou #I mean #at first I thought the comments were a joke #but nope they were serious #tenya defense #iida tenya #ida tenya #tenya ida #tenya iida #ingenium #anti bakugou #bakugou critical #bnha meta #mha #bnha #long post #may be a bit out of date on some things

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zodiakuroo · 3 years

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pierced

idk what to tell you this is just 2k of pussy eating (don’t blame me blame eren brain rot)

18+, minors dni

part 2

“What did you do?!” You say, incredulously. It’s a rhetorical question, you can see exactly what he’s done. Eren stands in front of you, shamelessly, with his pants and boxers dropped to his ankles as his flaccid penis hangs between his thighs. Your attention is mainly focused on the brand new, shiny titanium barbell that goes through the head of his dick.

“Do you like it?” You can tell by his posture and the shit-eating grin on his face that he’s incredibly proud of his newest body modification.

“Why on earth would you get a piercing there?” The bulbous head is just few shades of pink darker than the rest of his pale shaft. You wince in your seat, imagining what it would feel like to stick a needle right through your most sensitive parts.

“Well, it was a dare and Jean bet that I wouldn’t so I had to.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, fully aware of how silly it sounds as he says it out loud.

“Of course.” You mutter. What other chain of events would lead to your boyfriend coming home with a fucking Prince Albert. “Does it hurt?” You lean in just a little closer and notice the little bit of dried blood where the jewelry pierces his flesh.

“Nah. Didn’t feel a thing.” He says with a wink and begins dressing himself again before dropping down on couch next you, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest.

“You’re such an idiot.” You giggle, nuzzling your head into his neck, inhaling the heady scent you’ve come to associate with him.

“There is one thing though.” His voice is softer, lacking it’s usual self-assured tone. He can’t say that he’s happy about what he’s about to tell you. In fact, had he known about this small detail beforehand he might not have gone through with that stupid dare.

“Hmm?” You respond noncommittally, too preoccupied by your current task of leaving gentle kisses on his jaw and giving him the soft affection you know he loves but will never ask for.

“No sex for a month. Piercer’s orders.” His eyes drift down cautiously to gauge your reaction.

You stop in your tracks and frown up at him. At first you think he’s kidding but no such luck. “Oh my god.” You groan. “You’re such an idiot.”

Three days.

A grand total of three days.

It’s sad really, but you should have seen it coming. Like Eren Jaeger’s libido would ever let him go a whole 30 days with no sex.

He blames you and the way you prance around the apartment in those tight, short shorts. How is he not supposed to want you when he has to spend the day watching your tits bounce around in that white tank top, nipples just barely visible through the fabric?

It’s not like you put up much of a fight anyways. The way that man has you wrapped around your finger, all it took was a few well-placed touches and whispers of how much he misses the way you feel and the way you taste. Just like that, Eren has you naked, legs hanging off the edge of the bed with his face buried in your cunt.

“Love this pussy.” He murmurs, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Can’t live without it.”

He knows that he can’t be inside you. He knows. And yet he continues to torture himself because this is as close as he can get to what he really needs.

The rough pads of his fingertips massage your wall making you buck into his hand, silently begging for something deeper. He laps at you with his tongue, running it from your clit all the way down to your hole, licking up the slick that leaks out around his knuckles.

You feel the sparks of pleasure heating up your abdomen and you squeeze your thighs around his head, weaving your hands through his long, mahogany locks. ‘Eren’falls from your lips over and over in breathy mewls that only encourage him to keep going. His fingers put in double time hitting the special spot deep inside you while he seals his lips around clit and pulls it into his mouth. You dig your heels into his back to give you leverage to rut into his face as he pushes you closer and closer towards an inevitable orgasm.

You’re so hot and wet inside, squeezing so tight around his fingers. His mind conjures up memories of how good it felt to have your gooey walls clamping down on his dick and the soft cries you let out as he split you open.

He’s rock solid in his sweats right now and his cock hurts, sensitive tissue swelling and pulsating around his still fresh piercing. But he can’t think about that right now. All that’s on his mind is how badly he wants to be inside you right now. Any of your holes, it doesn’t matter which. But they’re all off limits.

Quite frankly, it pisses him off.

There is no choice but for him to take his frustrations out on your body. He slowly drags his fingers out of you, marveling at the way your needy cunt tries to pull him back in.

Before you can even protest Eren presses his fingers, still warm from your pussy and covered in your cream, against your lips.

“Open up.” He practically growls, voice thick with arousal.

You part your lips in response, letting him clean his fingers off using your tongue. Reflexively, you close your lips around them and begin to suck, moaning at the taste of yourself.

“God, princess.” He pants with his jaw slack. “Want your mouth around me so bad.”

It only motivates you to take his fingers deeper. Deep enough to make you gag as your drool runs down his knuckles while you swirl your tongue around his digits.

The way you look at him doesn’t help either. Usually you’d shy away from eye contact when he makes you do something embarrassing like this, sucking on his fingers like you’re sucking on his cock. But tonight is different. You stare straight at him with that heavy-lidded gaze, eyes glossy and full of want. The frustration is killing him, he can’t stand to look at you anymore so instead he gives his undivided attention to your cunt.

“Babe you wanna know something?” His breath fans over your soaked core, making you twitch in his hold. Something gives you the feeling that he’s not really talking to you, he’s talking to what’s between your legs. Although he’s not even looking at you, you still nod your head yes, so wound up you’ll take anything from him at this point.

“I read online,” He goes quiet for a moment, distracted at the way your weeping hole clenches around nothing, almost like it’s begging for him to fill it. “That dick piercings feel real good in pussy. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Eren bends down to lick at your dripping hole, he slides his tongue all the way down, making sure not waste a single drop, stopping just above the tight ring of muscle making your squeal in surprise.

”Can you imagine it?” He drags is fingers from your lips, leaving a path of saliva down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach until he reaches your clit, rubbing the sensitive numb in slow, steady circles with his thumb while you fist the sheets trying to swallow the sounds he’s coaxing out of you. “How it’s gonna feel inside you? How it’s gonna hit that spot that makes you go dumb?”

Sure, he sounds composed but when you look down at him and see the way his pupils are blown wide, pretty pink tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth, you know he’s imagining it too.

“Gonna drive you crazy.” His calloused fingertips dig further into your pudgy thighs, clipped nails leaving little crescents indented in your skin. “Make you even more crazy for my cock than you already are.”

“Yeah ‘ren.” You gasp as he runs his tongue through your folds. “Wan’ your cock.” You babble mindless agreements at whatever filth he’s spewing, too fucked out and desperate for his cock to care.

Like the bastard he is, he chuckles at your response, satisfied with knowing that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He leans forward and presses the flat of his tongue against your entrance, telling you (wordlessly) what he wants.

Beg

He wants you to beg for it.

And of course you oblige. You chant out ‘please Eren, please Eren, please Eren’ over and over again as if you’ve forgotten every other word.

He rewards for your obedience by pushing the slippery muscle into your hole, nice and slow savouring the way your tart essence covers his taste buds.

“Fuck- more please.” Your back arches off the bed in response but his left hand splays across your abdomen keeping you in place.

His right thumb is still rubbing you, pressing harder, going faster while he drives his tongue even deeper licking up all of your juices like a man starved. He devours you shamelessly, the sloppy sounds only drowned out by your pornographic whining. He thrusts in and out, in and out, in and out, fucking you with his tongue, making sure to taste every inch of you.

Your flavor is addictive, he can’t get enough. He grunts against with his face shoved against you, sending vibrations from your core, right up your spine. His fingers and tongue assault your pussy mercilessly, setting every single nerve on fire.

“Baby- ah- I- I’m close” you whimper, feeling tension brewing in your core, threatening to burst at any second.

“No.” The hand that was playing with your pussy comes down hard on your puffy clit, the sound of the smack echoing in the quiet room.

You let out a cry, so high pitched you can hardly believe it’s your voice.

“Can’t come until I do.” Just like that, he’s off of you completely, leaving you trembling without his touch.

The pain and frustration have tears brimming at your lash line. How cruel of him. To dangle an orgasm right in front of your face before yanking it away. You begin to stammer out pleas, begging him to touch you again, but they fall on deaf ears.

“C’mon princess. ‘S only fair right?” He looks up at you with the sweetest, emerald puppy dog eyes, juxtaposing the lewd way he licks the remnants of your arousal from his swollen lips.

It’s not fair at all. You weren’t the one who decided to get their dick pierced on a whim. Why should you have to suffer? But there’s too much blood in your throbbing cunt and not enough in your brain so you can hardly put together a coherent sentence, let alone argue with him.

“Gonna edge you like this every day yeah?” He shifts his body to hover over you, using his arms to hold himself up so that his nose barely brushes yours and stray stands of his messy hair tickle the sides of your face. “Till I get to fuck you again.” He dips down to kiss you on the lips. It’s barely more than a peck, far too chaste and gone far too soon.

“Christ, I can’t wait to fuck you again.”

#eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren yaeger smut #eren smut #aot smut #eren yaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yaeger x reader smut

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yourlocalshittywriter · 3 years

Text

The Duty of a Hero - Part 2

Author’s Note: Hello! Here’s part two to my first fic of many to come. Besides some mentions of pain, there are no major triggers in this story! So, I hope that y’all like this story, and here’s Part 1 in case you haven’t read it yet!

Songs to Go Along: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd, Blackbird by The Beatles, Sunshower by Chris Cornell

The afterlife is nothing like how I expected it to be. It’s no different from sleeping, really. At least, that’s what I thought.

Silence, then ringing, then white noise, then voices, then hospital noises, and then the sounds of the city outside of the room. Darkness, then white light, then hazey colors, then figures, and then the view of my hospital room. Numbness, then fatigue, then soreness, and then pain.

I was alive? How? How in God’s name was I alive? How the hell did I even get here? What happened? How long have I been out?

All of these questions raced through my mind as my senses returned and I observed my surroundings. I looked to my right, where a starry night sky presented itself to me through my window, an IV casting a haze in front of the right side of my window.. In front of it lay a vase of flowers, a few cards, and one large, shiny, silver staple.

I sighed at the sight of the staple, a symbol of the very reason I was in this state in the first place. What did the piece of metal mean to me in the first place? Why had it presented itself to me on this bedside table? Was I supposed to take it, keep it as a trophy, a reminder, a warning, maybe? I decided to ponder the staple’s reason for presenting itself to me later, and with that, I turned to my left.

To my left, I saw the rest of my room, a heart monitor, the door, and a chair that housed my sleeping teacher, the man I had rescued. I smiled, I had saved him, I had succeeded. He was still alive and sleeping as if none of this had ever happened. The overwhelming wave of relief crashed over me and the water from the tsunami drowned my senses as well as my eyes. I smiled through tears, my balling straining my throat, but I was too happy to care at the moment.

I desperately wanted to jump out of bed and give Mr. Aizawa the biggest hug ever to make sure that he wasn’t with me in what was really the afterlife, but my weakened state wouldn’t allow that, and he’d probably kill me for touching him.

I didn’t realize how loudly I was crying, but apparently I was loud enough to wake up the man passed out at my bedside. His hair rose with him, a sign that he was using his quirk, but as he looked around the room to see no intruders, his defensive stance ceased and his hair fell before pooling back around his shoulders. Then he turned to me and found that I was awake.

Mr. Aizawa smiled the biggest grin before engulfing me into a bear hug. I hugged back, content with my situation, before I felt wetness flooding my shoulder. I was confused, before the erasure hero pulled back and met me in a tearful gaze. His face was red from crying, the usual dark circles under his eyes had gotten so ridiculously dark that they looked like somebody had painted his under eyes with black paint, and his cheeks were concerningly gaunt.

“You're alive, thank God, you’re still alive!” Mr. Aizawa sobbed, rubbing his eyes before running his hands through his hair, “You’ve been out for the past week in critical condition!”

My heart stopped at this revelation, a week? I had been out for a week? What happened in that time? Oh God, what about the training camp? Were the others okay? What about the villains, had they been arrested? What happened to Dabi?

I looked over to Mr. Aizawa again, who was still regaining his composure, before asking him, “Mr. Aizawa, are you okay?”

He turned to look at me after I said this, his face still pained and his tears still steadily falling. He looked horribly skinny, his clothes practically hanging off of his body and his hair was a disheveled mess, as if he had been pulling it out.

“You’ve been on the brink of death for the past week and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” Mr. Aizawa croaked.

I looked at him, locking eyes with him and maintaining a stern gaze before speaking. “Yes, I am asking you if you’re okay. However, you just avoided my question completely. So, I’m asking you again, are you okay, Mr. Aizawa?” The man seemed shaken by my forwardness, and he took a shaky breath before continuing.

“No, kid, I’m not okay. Not in the slightest. I’ve been kicking myself for the past week because I couldn’t fulfill my duty as a hero or a teacher. I’m meant to protect you, but you had to save me from some lowlife while you were already injured. You could’ve died and it was all my fault!” Mr. Aizawa lamented, his breathing becoming more and more unsteady as he fell into a hole of self-deprecation and despair.

I sighed, my face falling as I sat up, dangling my legs off of the side of my bed. I took a deep breath as I balanced my weight on my injured legs, which were covered in bandages that I assumed were there thanks to Dabi. Each step felt heavier than usual, even though I could tell that I had lost some weight by the way my hospital gown hung off of my weak form. With every step, I felt like my aching feet were becoming one with the bitterly arctic linoleum beneath me.

Mr. Aizawa was pacing and practically ripping his hair out as he mumbled awful things about himself. He was so distracted by his own mind that he didn’t even notice me stumbling towards him until I had wrapped my arms around him, effectively freezing him into place.

“Mr. Aizawa, I saved you for a reason,” I began, locking eyes with him in a stern gaze, “I saved you because you would do the same for me. You may not notice it, but everyone in Class 1A cares so deeply for you. You’ve changed us all for the better even if you yourself don’t notice the immense impact you’ve had on all of our lives. I could go on about how much everyone’s changed since day one, but that would take me hours. So, please just take my word for it. You are worth saving, Mr. Aizawa.”

After I finished my little rant, Mr. Aizawa was smiling through tears, tears of pain becoming tears of joy. We both had a long way to go, but this was the beginning of the road to recovery. I smiled, the pain I had felt eating away at me only moments ago became something that lingered in the back of my mind along with things like what I wanted for dinner and remembering to thank everyone who got me something while I was in the hospital. It faded into insignificance, just like the staple that sat on my bedside table.

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dodo-begone · 3 years

Text

New Normal

Pairing: Yandere!Tubbo x Reader (with some Ranboo)

Request: we need more yandere tubbo i absolutely love the way you wrote him shdhhfjd........ maybe a short fic or some headcanons elaborating on "waking up in the mansion one day"? maybe the reader gets more afraid than going along with it .. I'd love to see ranboos aspect regarding tubbos behavior as well 👀

Word count: 2.3 k

Warning: yandere, kidnapping, drugging

A/n: This is all platonic. Nothing romantic. Also this was meant to be short not this long oh lord.

The night had been unforgiving to you as of late. Every night you felt like you were being watched over. It was so weird. It didn’t matter if the windows were open or not. Or even if they had blinds over them. Your paranoia was being fed by every noise emanating from the darkness. Now you weren’t afraid of the dark, never had been. But now, oh god the dark was terrifying. The unknown of the dark scared you. Anything could be hiding in there. And with this new “admirer” of yours, your newfound fear of the shadows was being fed a damn feast. The last straw for you was when you came home one night and saw your window broken and front door open. It spooked you too much; what if they were still inside? You couldn’t risk that.

That’s how you found yourself in Tubbo’s house, on his couch, hunched over and shaking over a cup of tea. You don’t remember why you came here, in all honesty. There were so many other people you could have chosen that were more than capable of protecting you. There was Sam, Bad, Sapnap, even Technoblade. Yet you still went to Tubbo. He was a comforting presence for you. And you just really wanted some comfort for this new fear of yours. Is this what I child felt when they were scared of the dark and needed a flashlight? God now you feel so bad for making fun of little kids for needing those.

“Hey are you okay,” a hand just fucking attacks your shoulder and you wip around. Oh god what if the guy got you now- wait it’s just Tubbo. Wow you overreacted there. Your swift actions shocked Tubbo, making him take a few steps away from you. He held his hands up in the air; an attempt to show he meant no harm to you. But you were just relieved at the sight of Tubbo.

“I don’t know,” a lump was forming in your throat. The tea isn't helping at all. You were so upset that you couldn’t even tell what flavor it was. Nor did you ask Tubbo, but that didn’t matter. Only distractions mattered now; a way to get your mind off of the paranoid thoughts. “I think I am”. Your grip on the cup tightened. Some of that was you trying to ground yourself, but another part of it was just tension. It was becoming harder to breathe and you had no idea why. There wasn’t a reason. Start breathing normally again- uh what was that breathing exercise?

Tubbo came around the couch and sat by your side. “Hey, can you look at me really quick?” He grabbed your hands and you looked at him. Somehow looking into his eyes made it harder to breathe. “Okay now repeat after me- wait not repeat. Uh, do what I do. Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to reply before he started. “Okay take a deep breath with me. In through the mouth for five and out the nose for four. In for five, out for four.” A small pattern formed from the mantra. Something about the exercise was extremely comforting, but you were never sure on what it was. Well you knew it had to do with slowing your breathing and helping you focus, but you felt like there was something else to it. There had to be something else to it. Why else would it be able to calm you so well right now?

It took a while, but you finally calmed down. Well, “calmed down” being a relative term. You were tired and numb inside. Your attention was completely focused on the flames in the hearth. They were mesmerizing. Happily dancing away, illuminating the room.

You hadn’t realized what was happening. All you remember is looking at Tubbo and then everything just became blurry. The sting of tears stung your eyes. Oh, you were about to cry again. That’s so annoying, stupid. You had just calmed down and yet you’re still crying. Craving human contact must be a symptom of sadness or some shit because you looked at Tubbo for comfort. And he gave you exactly that; opening his arms to give you a hug. Without a second thought, you essentially flew into his arms. He accepted you immediately and held you close. The tears that had once been contained by a damn once again ran free. Slowly you grew tired. Oh how you despised the act of crying and how it drained you so. A little nap wouldn’t hurt.

__________________________________ The sunbeams were attacking you and it hurt so much. So bright, demanding. You didn’t want to get up. Sleepiness still held you captive, flowed through your body like the very blood you had. Yet the light was relentless, attacking your closed eyes through it’s armor. A valiant effort was made to stay asleep and keep the sunlight out of your eyes. But it was futile. Rolling over did nothing but illicit noise and made you mildly uncomfortable. When you finally gave in, you just stared blankly at the wall.

For a wall, it was pretty. Kinda. It was plain but a stylish kind of plain. A timeless look. It took ages to finally muster the energy to even sit up, but you still did. The view changed yet it didn’t at the same time. It was pretty empty in the room. Three doorways, two next to each other on your right and one on your left, a bed, some curtains, a small nightstand, and a bookshelf. Other than that, there was a ton of open space.

Once you regained some more consciousness, you slipped out of bed. There was a jingle, but you didn’t really pay attention to it. You definitely heard it, you just thought something fell on the floor. Whatever it was could wait. The unexplored room was just waiting for exploration, though you could have easily explored it from your bed because of how empty it was. When you got to one of the doors, you slowly opened it to reveal a closet. It was absolutely filled with clothes you liked. Or some you were missing. Didn’t you own that shirt at home? And that one too? Huh, what a coincidence. Pretty cool.

Not even two steps away from the closet was another door, which you also slowly opened. Didn’t want to hit anyone. Through that door was a bathroom. It was pretty big and pretty. Very shiny and clean. There were some care products in there, some shampoo and conditioner. But you stopped yourself from looking too much. You didn’t want to snoop. It was rather rude to do.

Grogley you turn toward the last mystery door. It was all the way on the other side of the room. Man you weren’t awake enough for this. Yawning, you start your way to the other doorway. That must be the way back to the rest of the mansion. Sadly you didn’t get far. Not even halfway there before you were stopped. More accurately tripped. Something made your foot slip from underneath, making you fall onto your stomach. Everything ached, but your ankle felt weird. It was a different pain. When you tried to pull it closer to examine it, something stopped it and the sound of metal hitting itself rang across the room. You nearly give yourself whiplash from how quickly you turn your head.

A metal cuff clung onto your ankle which in turn was connected to a tense chain. At the other end of the chain was one of the bedposts. Specifically the one closest to the closet and bathroom. That’s odd. Okay now what’s going on here? Oh did Tubbo do this to make you feel more secure? Well it was and wasn’t working all at the same time. Because who puts an ankle chain on somebody?

A knock interrupted your thoughts. From your spot on the floor, you whipped your head back around to the last mystery door. You stayed quiet, wondering if you were just imagining noises. But another knock soon came. It was undeniable, very pronounced and purposeful. Whoever was out there- what could they be here for. Panic started to overtake you again, but the sound of Tubbo’s voice coming from the other side of the door caught your attention.

“Can I come in,” Tubbo announces his presence again with another round of knocks. With the amount of noise you made, you were pretty sure he knew you were awake. But you still replied to him.

“Yeah you can.”

Not even a second after you reply, the door slowly opens and Tubbo peaks his head in. He seemed to have woken up with some bedhead, which made him look boyish. A little careless for physical appearances, which can be an endearing feature. Tubbo gave the room a sweeping look, checking for something. What exactly, you couldn’t tell. But apparently he was satisfied because he opened the doorway entirely. You swiftly stood up, getting as close to the door as you could.

On the other side of the door was Tubbo in some pajamas. He looked a little sleepy, but his happiness shone through it. You smiled at the sight of him, happy that someone came to get you out.

“Good morning, Tubbo!” You gave a toothy grin and spread your arms to emphasize your joy. “Sleep well?”

“Good morning!.” He gave you a toothy smile in return, but it looked odd. Like it was forced, nervous even. But you must’ve just been looking too far into it. “I slept pretty good. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept like a fucking rock,” you reply with a little laughter. “Honestly? Best sleep of the month, man. Really needed it. Thanks for letting me bunk at your place last night.”

“Not a problem at all,” his smile soon became more natural, much bigger. “I really enjoyed having you over”. It seemed like he was going to say something else, but stopped himself. The nervous look reappeared on his face, and you gave the most reassuring look you could. “So about you moving in-”

“Oh yeah that,” your smile disappeared as quickly as it came. “I can’t just do that Tubbo. I just can’t.” Tubbo seemed saddened by your response. “It’s not like I don’t want to live with you,” you explained. “I’d love to live with you and Ranboo, but I have other responsibilities. Things that have to be done very far from the mansion. Seriously, I’d love to stay.”

“Then stay.” It was a simple statement on his part. You thought it was a little banter.

“I’d stay if I could Tubbo. But I gotta go.”

“You can’t go.”

“Yes I can, Tubbo. Now can you please unchain me, I gotta go.” You lift your ankle and shake it along with the chain for emphasis.

But Tubbo doesn’t even give it a look before answering. “You can’t leave.”

His actions are words are a bit worrying now, huh. This is just a silly prank. Any second now he’ll say it’s a joke and release you. Yeah, any moment now.

That moment never comes though.

“Come on now,” Tubbo starts to lead you back to the bed. “Get back in bed. You still look tired.”

“I’m not tired Tubbo,” your voice hardens to emphasise the fact that you really don’t need this shit right now. “Look I’m completely fine and I have to go. This joke isn’t funny anymore. Just unlock the fucking cuff and I’ll be on my way.”

You two stop at the bed and he gently ushers you in. Climbing on the bed to give you a hug. Struggling against him does no good. If anything, it just makes things worse. He just tightens his grip like a damn python. Wtf why is this kid so strong and clingy? This definitely isn’t a good combo.

“Look you aren’t fine. See?” He emphasizes his point by hugging you tighter. Which you don’t like and groan in protest. “You need to rest. It’s fine. You’re home.”

Internally you start to panic. Yo, hold up, what the hell is he talking about? You know damn well you ain’t home or agreed to stay here. So what does he think he’s doing?

There’s a cough from the doorway, and both you and Tubbo’s attention is diverted to the newcomer. At the threshold of the room is Ranboo. A platter loaded with food held between his hands. He looks awkward standing there. And you don’t blame him because you felt awkward just being in the hug. You couldn’t even imagine the embarrassment you’d get from walking in on this shit. When your eyes meet, he gives you a small, unsure smile.

Movement behind Ranboo catches your attention. You look behind Ranboo’s legs to see Micheal clinging onto Ranboo’s pants. He looked so happy. Well, happy being debatable and interpretive. He looked normal but he was making his little happy noises. Micheal bounded over to you, stretching his arms out while making the most adorable little oink noises. You look between Tubbo and Ranboo for any sign. Literally anything for them. But Tubbo just encourages you. So you pick up Micheal and hold him close to your chest.

Tubbo gives a cheer of joy while Ranboo joins in, though a little less enthusiastic. Still the fact he sounded genuinely happy about this situation was worrying. Especially since he knew what was going on. Knew how wrong it all was. Micheal had no idea. Happily oinking way in your lap and messing with your hands. Suddenly two sets of arms entangle themselves around you; pulling themselves toward you for a hug.

Looking down at Micheal, you now question if the backstory you were told about him was true. Was he actually found wandering around? Or was he kidnapped, just like you?

#c: tubbo #c: ranboo #tw: yandere #yandere #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp!tubbo #dsmp!ranboo #tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #yandere tubbo #yandere ranboo #yandere tubbo x reader #tw: kidnapping #tw: drugging #dsmp!ranboo x reader #dsmp!tubbo x reader

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aetherarf · 3 years

Text

For Crow Anon!

[[ Crow Hybrid!Reader, Summary: You didn't want to hide your own features, but... Well, those who were wholly human ended up judging you over it. At least you could pass as human most of the time, but it got harder to hide it... especially when you had a partner. You just wanted to toy and play with your countless shiny trinkets, with no shame, only to get caught...

Total Word Count: 2'227

Scaramouche Word Count: 1'317

Zhongli Word Count: 910 ]]

Scaramouche

"Where in the world...?"

He had been looking for you, you hadn't come home, worst of all, he even got you that pretty, expensive necklace that you insisted you didn't want, but you stared at with wide eyes every single time you walked by the display holding it, and he wanted to bring you out to dinner and offer it to you then... But you just didn't come home.

Would he admit that he was scared something happened to you and he would raise rip both the Abyss and Celestia to shreds than to let something happen to you?

No, but he absolutely would do it.

So, following the hear-say of people who had seen you, until he had been walking amongst several ice-covered hills, having been said that you went in that direction--alone shockingly.

He was shaking from the bitter cold, bundled up--most wouldn't recognize him as the Sixth Harbinger right now, he almost looked like a cold child wandering around alone in the cold. He felt ridiculous, but it was worth the shame to ensure you're safety.

He saw... some light. A hole in the side of the icy hills. If nothing else, he was going to hide from the bitter chill for a few moments if you weren't in there.

He walked in, and...

He stared.

He marveled.

It opened up, quickly, after the initial entrance, and were it not for the light from inside, he would have passed by it. There was... countless things piled around, he distantly thought of a dragon and its hoard. He crouched down, looking at one of the few piled--Shiny mora, of which many seemed freshly minted, or freshly shined. Some were just shiny stones that were quite nice to look at, if he was honest, some jewelry, some of which had dulled metals but fine gems, or dull gems and fine metal...

He stood back up, looking around.

It felt... silly? Oh, someone could easily invest all of this, but it felt like a child's wonderland, where they would store all their treasures.

But it wasn't a child's wonderland, he discovered, upon hearing you gasp, and he turned to look at you, and he...

Again, he marveled.

You were very much you, but countless features pointed that you were no longer human, or at least, you didn't look the part. Fluffy feathers that shone with iridescent colors in the right light, hands darker with nails that looked more like claws...

he took a step closer,

"What," he said, softly, "What happened? You look--"

"Different, I know," you cut him off, terrified of his response, "Freakish, monstrous, horrifying... I... I didn't want you to see." You admitted, not wanting to hear what insults he'd throw at you.

But there were no insults, he just... blinked, shocked.

"You didn't want me to see? What, do you think I'd suddenly stop caring about you if you looked... like this?" He said, venom on his tone, but it was only defensiveness, and perhaps concern. "That doesn't answer... well, anything. Why do you look like that?" He asked, nearly demanding.

"This is..." you hesitating, "What I normally look like. I... I just hid it from you."

"Why?" He asked, "Why would you hide it from me?" Scaramouche was more insulted than anything--yes, he didn't have the nicest voice and he was oftentimes harsh and insulting...

But he did try to be kind and loving. Even if he was snappy, with you it meant nothing, and he was bad with words, but ...was his displays of affection not enough?

"I just," you fumbled out, looking for your words, "No... Wait, I... I'm not making something up, I'm-I'm just panicking," you blubbered out, tearing up... And be sighed, walking closer to you-

And he just cupped your jaw with his hands, using his thumb to wipe away a few tears that trickled down your cheek.

"You're afraid of being insulted or mistreated, blah blah... I get it, and..." He hesitated, "I'm hurt you didn't tell me, but I can't say it changed... What I think about you."

'How I love you', the words went unspoken.

He let one hand fall to your shoulder, and his other hand gestured to the massive trove of shiny treasures, "However ... What the fuck is this?!" He asked, baffled, even now, at the scene before him.

Your feathers fluffed up, and for a moment, you managed to be taken aback by your own collection, "I've collected all this!" You gestured, dramatically... But remembered the shock in his voice, and almost curled in on yourself, making yourself look small .. afraid.

"I," you said, slowly, "I just... Didn't want you to deal with it, so ... I keep it pretty far from everyone."

To that, he sighed softly, looking over the scene of your treasures once again.

"And here I was," he began, pulling a small box out of his pocket, "Hunting you down because I thought you were hurt." He tossed the small box onto one of the many piles, "And you were just having fun."

You all but scrambled over to the box, struggling to open it with your claws, until...

Oh.

He got...

It was a necklace. The one you looked at over and over. It was expensive, but so beautiful and... Shiny.

"You," you said, softly, "You got me the necklace."

He just... Shrugged. "It's nothing compared to this," he huffed, almost a laugh as he looked down at his feet, "You just... Seemed interested."

You struggled more than you'd like to admit to get it out of its casing, temporarily abandoning the box as you got it out.

"I am! I am... Oh, it's so pretty..." You dangled it before your own face, mesmerized...

"You don't have to act dramatic," there was a degree of scorn in his voice, "It's just a trinket."

"No, no, it's not! I--Look, this is all money or... Shiny things, like-" you reached down and grabbed a gem from the ground, a quartz that was almost like a weapon, "I can't bring a lot with me, and I feel so... Discomforted, without something to toy with," you set down the gem, and your gaze, returned to the necklace, "But this.. oh... It's wonderful... And people wouldn't look twice, they wouldn't look at me like a freak for having this!" You cried out, blissfully, "I love it, I do, it's my favorite treasure..." You held it to your chest... And he sighed.

"Dramatic," he sighed, lovingly, "Alright... I don't like you going so far from everyone, it's not... Safe." He looked at the cave, "How about I get something in place so you can have your little hoard... Near our home?" He asked, and you were... Shocked. But a good shocked.

"Really?" You asked, "You're... Okay with this?"

"Of course," he said, "Everyone has a vice, something that gets them through the day, Tartaglia has violence, Signora has her vanity, I have my general rage and knitting..."

"Wait, you knit?"

He stared at you, with a completely unreadable expression for a few seconds.

"no. As I was saying, we have something. You have this, and... Well, I don't want you to feel like you have to hide it from me. I don't want you to hide from me, either," He examined your form, in all its... Unique beauty.

"... Thank you, Scara." You said, softly.

"... Right," he looked away, unsure how to respond, "For now, let's go home. I'm cold." He complained, bitterly.

"Can we bring some of this home?" You looked to your hoard, "I've always been so scared of losing it..." You admitted.

"... Alright. We can come back tomorrow, too. I don't think the spare room is big enough for all of it, but it should be good until I can figure something else out..."

He was already planning the best solution to letting you save every little mora you've stowed away...

Zhongli

Jueyun Karst wasn't exactly the best location--Under the mountain, of which plants that rooted deeply and seeped a honey-colored liquid that could encase full people within a matter of minutes, but it was safe. No one came out this far, and long walk from the Harbor was a pain, but...

You sighed, relieved as you looked upon the piles of objects, from coins to gems to honestly just random objects most would have abandoned and forgotten, but you wanted to keep, if only because you knew they would be alone in the world, but undeserving of being forgotten with its subtle beauty...

...

Maybe you were projecting a little, but you figured it was alright. Not like anyone would see you like this, save for those who were truly desperate or brave to seek out the adepti.

You wondered if you, yourself, were simply desperate or brave, hiding everything so far from the human world, to have your own safety, as you lie within the piles of shiny objects, lifting one hand and a handful of objects, watching as they fell back to the ground, some between your fingers, some off to the sides...

it felt good to let go, to no longer refine your body to what appeared most human. Not that it hurt, but... it was like not bending your knees when you walked, capable, but it felt awkward and odd and after awhile it ached, and you wanted nothing more than to rest...

"... Love?"

You jerked up, eyes wide open as you saw a figure standing at the entrance to your little, hidden abode, shadow casting over you as the sunlight hit its back.

"Zhon-Zhongli," you stammered out, trying to force away your feathers, your claws, but in your frazzled state, it didn't work, you wanting to sob as you failed, "You-Why are you here?" You asked, trying to do anything to distract from the situation as you barely managed to stand.

He looked around the area curiously--nothing beyond simple curiosity.

"I wanted to see the state of Jueyun Karst. You said you were leaving on a trip, so I thought it'd be a good time." He said, without a concern as he examined the area, "This... reminds me when I was young," he said, idly, crouching down and grabbing a small, blue gem, "May I ask why you're here?"

You were... confused. He seemed so lax about the situation, as though nothing was amiss.

"I..." You watched as he examined the stone, and then turned that gaze--as petrifying as it felt in this moment--back to you. "... I just, i like shiny things," You admitted, childishly, "This is a... I didn't want anyone to know, about that or about," you looked down to your chest, and gestured, "Or about me."

Zhongli nodded, "I see. Many who exist in a human world and do not exist as a human feel similarly... However, why would you hide," He gestured to the area around him, "All of this? It doesn't seem to be greed, for not everything here has... well, monetary value."

"I said," you sighed, "I just like shiny things. Have you... Never seen a bird steal a gem or a shiny pebble, just because it looked pretty?" You asked.

"Ah, so you have some avian tendencies." One second, he looked normal, the next, intricate, golden horns were set atop his head, "I am not quite human either, my dear," He said, "Only I think my existence is a little more insidious than your own." He admitted, with a painful amount of truth.

"... I suppose you do. But you were--you are loved by the people of Liyue. I'm..." You looked down at your hands, the claws that tipped your fingers, "I'm just me."

"That is where we differ, my dear," he grabbed your hand, "You say you're just you. But that's everything, you're you. Perhaps-" There was a moment of silence, "Perhaps there were those who taught you to hate yourself, either from envy or a simple lack of understanding, but there is no other you..."

You didn't really have much response, "You don't have to comfort me, you know. You wanted to live a human life," you ceased for a moment... panicking, just a little, "And I'm, uh, not a very human person to have in your life. You can just go."

You could start back from the beginning. You've done it once, you can do it again.

Zhongli stared at you, the gaze in his eyes wild and dark, as though you had both personally harmed and upset him.

"When did I say I did not wish to have you in my life?" He asked, harshly... He then cleared his throat upon realizing your discomfort, "I have many years to live, and none of them have truly been human. You bring joy to my life, and that is all I care for."

He moved forth, tilting your chin gently to press a kiss to your lips... and you sniffled.

"Do you wish to go home," he looked around him, "And bring some of this with us? It must be exhausting to keep coming back all this way."

You looked at the area around you.

"Could... could we actually?" You asked, perking up, and he just smiled sweetly.

"Of course... What better way to make my little crow happy, than to make sure they can have their hoard safe at home?"

"... Thank you, ah'Li."

"Thank you for trusting me."

271 notes · View notes

ignisaeri · 3 years

Text

It was dark when Oikawa blinked open his eyes, feeling as if a hundred tons of weight had suddenly dropped upon his chest. His head throbbed, sending pounding rhythms of pain reverberating through his skull.

Iwaizumi, he thought.

Instinctively, he twisted his head to the right, ignoring the sharp pain that tore up his neck, trying to see past the twisted metal and broken glass that now separated him from Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan?” He croaked out loud.

Oikawa dragged his left arm upwards and pushed it underneath him, trying to shove himself upwards in order to catch a better look. He stopped when the weight on his chest only increased, the sudden change aggravating something in his sternum and sending a ragged cough tearing through his body.

Oikawa’s arm gave out as his head dropped down, the coughs subsiding slowly. Blood pooled in his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, spitting it out. It spattered in dense drops against a large piece of the shattered windshield.

“Iwaizumi,” he called out again, remembering the look of terror that had eclipsed the other man’s face seconds before the trunk had slammed into their car.

Nothing answered him.

The car had completely flipped. Oikawa struggled, left arm pushing uselessly against the large piece of metal that was pinning him flat on the ground. His back scraped against cracked pieces of glass, and he could feel some of the larger shards digging into his flesh as he tried to move the metal off his chest. To his left, the car door seemed to be torn off, and Oikawa shivered as the cool night air brushed against his bruised skin. His right arm was completely unresponsive, lying limply next to him. Pain shot through his legs as he moved them weakly, kicking against the contorted interior of the car, and his sternum was a ball of pure agony.

“Iwa-chan!” He hissed, becoming increasingly desperate. “Answer me!”

“Oikawa.”

The voice came from outside the car, through the opening where the car door had been. A pair of shoes appeared in Oikawa’s view, followed by a set of legs.

Iwaizumi bent down so he could stare into the car, face impassive. “Shittykawa, don’t move.”

Oikawa let his arm drop, instead craning his neck so he could see Iwaizumi’s face better. “You’re okay,” he breathed, acutely aware of how the other man’s skin was pale and unblemished, as if he hadn’t just been driving a car that was hit by a truck. “You got out?”

Iwaizumi paused. “Yea. Yes, Oikawa, I did.”

His head was fuzzy, making Iwaizumi’s words sound distorted and warped. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the distracting feeling. His eyelids slid shut, too tired to stay open.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi’s tone had changed, sounding desperate and terrified. “Open your damn eyes.”

Oikawa grimaced, forcing them open anyway. The simple task seemed far too tedious.

“That’s it,” Iwaizumi breathed. “Keep them open, okay?”

“Why,” Oikawa grumbled, his breath coming short. “Not like there’s anything to see anyway.”

Iwaizumi’s smile was strained as he knelt closer, a hand coming to hover over Oikawa’s. “What? You don’t want to see me? You’re always boasting about how beautiful your fiancé is.”

He seemed to take a deep breath before letting his hand fall, fingers curling around Oikawa’s.

“You are pretty,” Oikawa rasped. “I’m just tired.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi said. His head dipped up and out of sight before coming back into Oikawa’s view, eyebrows furrowed in obvious fear and frustration. “Where are they?” He murmured softly.

“What?” Oikawa asked, unsure if his exhausted brain had just hallucinated his fiancé saying a full sentence.

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing. Seriously, Oikawa, you can’t go to sleep. Not yet.”

“You say that every morning,” Oikawa mumbled.

“Because you never get up. You sleep until you’re nearly late for work, with your stupid alien pajamas and stupid stuffed toys.” Iwaizumi stopped, huffing out a quiet chuckle.

“I love you so much,” he said, lacing his fingers in between Oikawa’s. Oikawa frowned. Iwaizumi’s touch was feather-light, like soft wind ruffling the leaves in an abandoned cemetery. Were Oikawa’s nerves that messed up?

“Wha’ about- the driver? Truck?” Oikawa asked, gradually becoming aware that his words were making less and less sense. “Is he-?”

“I think he’s dead,” Iwaizumi supplied. “He hit us pretty hard.”

“H’ was on his phone. I, I saw.”

“Trust you to notice something like that in the middle of a crash.”

“I’m ob’er’van,” Oikawa slurred. The pounding in his head had gotten worse, and there was an uncomfortable lump trying to slide its way up his throat. He swallowed, pushing it back down. “One o’ my best' trai’s.”

Iwaizumi hummed distractedly, eyes tracing worried circles over Oikawa’s face. “It sure is,” he said.

Oikawa glowered. “Is ‘verything, okay? You… nev’r agree with me.”

That seemed to give Iwaizumi a pause. “It’s fine, Shittykawa. Trust me.”

“I tr’st you,” Oikawa said, watching the dark spots dance farther across his vision. The pain in his chest and legs had mostly faded away into a dull ache. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Iwa-chan, ‘m I dy’ing?”

“No,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “Absolutely not. You have to live, Oikawa. Think of your parents, and Makki and Mattsun. Takeru. Kageyama and Hinata would be destroyed too."

“And you?”

“I’d be devastated,” Iwaizumi said, staring down at him.

A lazy smile spread across Oikawa’s face. “Good th’ng I’m not dy’ing th’n.”

He coughed, the lump in his throat finally winning the battle and sliding into his mouth, turning into a pool of blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth. Each cough wracked his body, sending new jars of pain through his chest and legs.

Oikawa’s eyes floated shut again, and he let them, too tired to care. His hearing started to blur out, static drowning out the panicky tones of Iwaizumi’s voice.

He jolted back into existence at the feel of an absolutely freezing hand smacking against his cheek.

“Stay awake,” Iwaizumi growled.

Oikawa groaned. “Wh’y ar’e you so cold?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi retorted hotly. “You can’t sleep yet.”

“M’kay. Not yet. You’re so’ nice t’day, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a sound, his head snapped upwards. New sounds filled the air - not Oikawa’s ragged breathing or Iwaizumi’s rapid shuffling, but loud, wailing sirens accompanied by harried shouts and flashing lights. Oikawa grimaced. Too loud and too bright.

“They’re here,” Iwaizumi breathed. “You’ll be okay, Shittykawa.” He was grinning, and not the sly ones he saved for when he hassled Oikawa, but a real, genuine one that Oikawa had only seen a dozen times throughout his life.

“Love y’ou,” Oikawa said around a mouthful of blood.

“I love you too,” Iwaizumi replied. He dipped down, pressing a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead. “Live a good life for me, alright?”

“F’or you?” Oikawa asked feebly. One of his hands reached upwards, trying to catch the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt as the man pulled himself to his feet. “W’here y’ou goi’ng?”

“It’ll be okay,” Iwaizumi said. He smiled that genuine smile again. “I love you, Oikawa.”

And then the strange men and women were here, surrounding Oikawa. They yelled at each other, bringing long tubes and strange metal contraptions that wrapped around the gnarled car. But Oikawa only had eyes for Iwaizumi’s retreating form. Then he blinked, and Iwaizumi was gone.

The exhaustion became too much to bear, and the dark spots that had been slowly sliding into his view flared up, enfolding his whole world into black.

~~~~

“I think he’s waking up,” a familiar voice whispered, strangely subdued.

“I’ll get the doctor,” a second person said. There was the sound of rustling fabric and scraping chairs, and then more silence.

Oikawa groaned, eyelids sliding open. His blurry vision showed a drab ceiling, a dark mass sitting in the center of his line of sight.

He blinked, and the shape sharpened into the face of a man.

“Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, leaning cautiously over his head. His eyes were red, the areas underneath puffy and maroon colored, as if his friend hadn’t slept properly for days. The corner of his mouth wobbled slightly.

Oikawa struggled upwards, startling when Hanamaki set a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Stay still,” he said, looking insanely worried. “Don’t rip anything out.”

It was then that Oikawa noticed the clear tubes that disappeared into his arms, attached to beeping machines that surrounded the white sheeted-hospital bed. Hospital. He was in the hospital.

Oikawa coughed once. “What happened?”

His voice was raspy, the simple act of talking making his throat hurt.

“It’ll be okay,” Hanamaki said, his tone reminding Oikawa of a very different scene, of Iwaizumi repeating the same words before disappearing into the swarm of paramedics.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa tore the top of the sheets away from his body with the arm that wasn’t in a cast, forcing Hanamaki to grasp his shoulders in order to press him back to the bed.

“Don’t move,” Hanamaki said again, teeth clenched.

“Iwaizuimi,” Oikawa said, struggling against his friend’s grip. “We- we were in the car - the truck - where’s Iwaizumi?”

Hanamaki wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Matsukawa’s coming back soon, with the doctor, and your parents are in the cafeteria.”

“Makki,” Oikawa hissed, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles as he tried to sit up. “Tell me.”

The door to the hospital room burst open again. A tall, thin woman walked through briskly, dressed in a long white coat, spectacles perched upon the tip of her nose and sleek shiny hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dark circles were ingrained underneath her eyes, clear signs of a shift that had gone on for too long. Matsukawa trailed after, clearly unsure of what he should be doing, gaze darting lightly over the room.

“Oikawa Tooru,” the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard she held in her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Oikawa replied. “But Iwa-ch-”

“You were brought in for injuries sustained in a car accident,” she interrupted. “Five broken ribs, internal bleeding to your abdomen, a fractured arm and leg, as well as a concussion. Now, Oikawa-san, I hear you’re a volleyball player. You may be able to play again, after extensive physical therapy. The fracture in your legs will heal without incident, but I am concerned that your broken arm will interfere with your ability to play.”

The thought of not being able to play volleyball was like a physical blow to his stomach. This panic, however, was quickly swamped over with a rush of trepidation as the doctor spoke again.

“The man in the car with you passed away.”

Oikawa blinked.

“What?”

Matsukawa lowered himself into one of the chairs next to Oikawa’s bed. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Iwaizumi’s dead, Oikawa.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor offered softly. “If it’s any consolation, he died on impact. He felt no pain.”

Oikawa stared blankly at her. “He can’t be dead,” he insisted, voice gaining traction. “I saw him after-he was fine-”

“You were most likely experiencing the effects of blood loss,” the doctor said, gently.

“No!” Oikawa shook his head, adamant. “You don’t understand! I saw him after- he wasn’t hurt at all-he kept telling me to hold on and stay awake-I-”

He choked on the sudden onslaught of tears that rose up his throat, bracing his hands against the bed. “I saw him. Dead people can’t look like that-they can’t talk-they can’t smile-,” he whispered, remembering the grin on Iwaizumi’s face.

The doctor looked at Hanamaki and Matsukawa helplessly. “I’m truly sorry, Oikawa-san. Denial is common for-”

“There’s nothing to deny!” Oikawa snapped, suddenly furious. “There’s nothing to deny, because Iwa-chan can’t be dead-”

Hanamaki slid a comforting hand over the back of Oikawa’s palm, and Oikawa sobbed. “He was there,” he murmured, voice wavering.

“I know,” Matsukawa said, forcing a strained smile onto his face, even as clear tears left tracks down his cheeks. “It’ll be alright, Oikawa. ‘Maki and I are here for you.”

Oikawa met Matsukawa's eyes. They were dewy, the anguish of losing a friend clear to see.

“He told me to live for him.”

~~~~

Oikawa breathed in, long and deep, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of spring flowers. He stood in the center of the green grass, surrounded on all sides by tall stone pedestals.

He let his fingers loosen, a single white lily drooping from his grasp to land on the top of one of the pedestals. Oikawa knelt slowly, folding his knees under him.

Iwaizumi Hajime, the words engraved in the stone said. 20xx ~ 20xx.

Oikawa cleared his throat. “Hey, Iwa-chan. It’s your birthday today, you know?”

The grave did not respond. Oikawa was silent, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind, accompanied by the chirps of lonesome birds sitting in the newly blossoming trees.

“I talked with your mother this morning. She’s doing well, as is your father.”

Oikawa chuckled, absentmindedly pulling at the cuff of his shirt.

“Hanamaki and Matsukawa finally got married. They’ve been pining after each other since 6th year.”

Oikawa sighed. “I never told anyone this, but I know you were there that night. I don’t know how, if you somehow managed to stay as a- a ghost or something until the paramedics came or if you just refused to die like the stubborn person you were, but I know I didn’t hallucinate you.”

“You were there,” he repeated. “Somehow, you saved me. I never got to thank you for that.”

“I miss you,” he told the headstone. “But don’t worry. I’m still playing volleyball. Japan won the Olympics this year. Chibi-chan and Tobio-kun annoy me everyday. ‘Maki and ‘Matsu invite me over every Sunday for a movie night. I’m doing well.”

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then lowered them until they rested gently against Iwaizumi’s carved name.

“Fear not, Iwa-chan,” he said, smiling as obnoxiously as he could.

“I’ll live for you.”

~~~~

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

#iwaizumi x oikawa #iwaoi #iwaizumi #oikawa #ficlet #fic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #ao3 #fic recs #my fic #i crave validation #and spite #half the things i do are out of spite #angst

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alderaani · 3 years

Note

Maybe a mixture of 65 and 58 with Wolffe or Rex please?

58 - Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed

65 - One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other

A/N: from this prompt list! thanks so much for requesting something, i’ve been having a crisis of confidence over writing the past couple of weeks, but this got me back in some sort of groove.

warnings: slight injury, canon-typical violence, very mildly suggestive.

Wolffe x gn!reader:

He hasn’t spoken to you in hours. You eye the rigid line of his back across the hangar as he directs the men unloading munitions and salvaged equipment, the sharp, pointed motions of his hands and the angry jerks of his bucket as he snaps off orders spelling out his agitation.

“Maybe I should -,” you start, before Sinker interrupts, his hand on your shoulder forcing you back onto the crate you’re sat on, while one of the medics wraps your ankle.

“Uh, no you shouldn’t,” he says. “Give him some time to cool off. You gave us a real fright out there, you know?”

You wince. It had been a split second decision down on the surface, an unexpected attack that had left you pushed at the edge of the camp and separated from the rest of the 104th with a new batch of shinies who hadn’t even earnt their paint yet. The detonators in your backpack seemed a better option than getting gunned down, but setting them had put you perilously close to the blast zone. You don’t remember much past the wave of heat and the sensation of flying; the next memory you have is waking up in the transport with your head in Sinker’s lap, his pinched face staring down at you.

“That’s what he’s mad about? But -,” you splutter, eyes darting between Sinker and Wolffe’s distant figure. “Would he have preferred I just wait to get shot?”

You go to stand again, but pushing against Sinker’s grip is like wrestling with an iron bar. The medic yanks on your trouser leg, too, grunting that you need to stay still.

“Of course not. But, come on, you know he gets stupid about you. Think he’s more mad with himself that he let it happen.”

You frown. Now that doesn’t make any sense. “What? Sinker, what are you talking about? What you mean, he gets stupid about me?”

Sinker stares at you in silence for a couple of seconds, while the medic - Gruff, you think - shakes with laughter.

“...Boost was right.” He shakes his head in bewilderment and a small amount of disgust. “I actually can’t believe it. You really are that oblivious. Maker, not a braincell between the pair of you.”

He eyes Gruff, who has finished with your ankle and has moved onto sluicing out the gash on your forearm to assess the damage.

“Can you believe this?”

Gruff snorts. “I try not to believe anything around here, you leave me out of this, Sinker.”

“What are you talking about?” You whine, glancing over at Wolffe again and jolting when instead of meeting the back of his helmet, you find his visor staring back. He stays like that for a second before stiffly turning away, his hands clenching into fists. You want to be angry, furious with him for pinning this on you, but instead you feel your eyes sting. Dropping your gaze, you sniff hard, blaming the way your throat constricts on the hard day rather than the furious set of Wolffe’s shoulder.

“Oh no, I’m not gonna be the one to let that tooka out of the bag,” Sinker laughs, then catches sight of your expression. “Hey, are you - osik. Look, he’ll come back round. He just doesn’t like getting scared.”

You’re about to snap something back, how you didn’t exactly enjoy almost getting blown up either, but if you speak you’re not sure if tears will come out instead. You’re saved by Gruff pushing to his feet.

“That arm needs stitches and if we get up to the medbay I can use a bone knitter on the ankle. Give me a hand, Sinker?”

You only look back once as they hoist you up between them, your stomach dropping like a stone when you find Wolffe is nowhere in sight.

Things seem only marginally better the other side of the fresher. It’s never the same without water, and you stayed under the sonics too long, trying to wash away the phantom feeling of grime, so now your skin feels tight and dry. All you want is to curl up in your bunk and sleep for the next several rotations, but rest won’t come.

Every time you lie down all you can think about is Wolffe turning away from you, and then you spend the next twenty minutes oscillating hopelessly between rage and wanting to find him and apologise.

The knock on your door is actually a relief - it pulls you away from sitting at your desk, rolling your comm in your hand and trying to convince yourself that typing out a message when you’re tired and emotional is a spectacularly bad idea.

At least, it’s a relief until you see who’s on the other side.

“Never, ever do that again.”

Wolffe looms over you, quietly furious, his bucket under one arm. You let go of the door controls and try to step backwards, but he follows, boxing you in between your desk and the wall. After a second of staring at him, jaw working soundlessly, rage floods through your bones to settle hot in your belly.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” You snap back. “You’re behaving like a child.”

Wolffe slams his helmet down on the desk, expression spasming. “Didn’t have - you could have died.”

“So could you!” You protest, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were being attacked, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Wolffe snarls, running an agitated hand through his hair. “And you decided to get yourself blown up.”

“To save the men!” You counter, pushing up close to him as anger outweighs intimidation. “You’d have rather I just let them get mown down by a pack of B1s?”

Wolffe scowls and pushes in too, so that you’re chest to chest and glaring directly into each other’s faces.

“ Of course not, I - They’re trained soldiers. Trust them to do their job next time and work with them instead of being a distraction.”

A distraction? The absolute nerve of him. You make a small shrieking noise in the back of your throat and drop backwards to try and relieve the urge to smack that stupid frown right off his face. What’s almost worse is that the words actually hurt. His attention and approval always mean so much to you, more than you’re willing to admit even to yourself. For him to treat you like a wayward child...it stings. Badly. And you never go down easy when you’re backed into a corner.

“A distraction to who?” You spit. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass about this. The others have to make calls like that all the time and run the risk that it won’t work out, and you never go after them about it. What the hell makes me so different?”

Wolffe splutters. “Because - because -”

He breaks off and swears something in mando’a. For a second, you think he’s going to push you. His hand comes up, but instead of shoving it fists in your shirt and pulls.

You stumble into him, his other hand catching your hip and pinning you against the plastoid, and you open your mouth to ask him what the hell he’s doing -

His mouth slants over yours.

Your mind goes blank, screeching utterly to a halt. The world narrows down to the dry press of his lips, the heavy weight of his hands, and you cannot believe this is happening. Almost as quickly as it starts, though, Wolffe lets you go with a small gasp, so abruptly that it gives you whiplash.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes wide. His tongue darts out and touches the curve of his bottom lip. “I’m -”

In the half-second it takes for you to catch up, you realise several things: Wolffe just kissed you. He kissed you, and Sinker was right; you are both idiots. You would really like him to do it again, but instead the bastard is now trying to apologise for it.

Without really considering it, you slide your hand round the back of his neck, sinking it into the hem of his blacks and tugging him back down. Your back hits the wall with an oomph as you press your lips urgently to his, pouring in every desperate month you’ve spent pining after him as your free hand scrabbles for purchase on his armour.

For a moment Wolffe is totally rigid, a taut line of shock, his lips stilled against your own. For a moment, you think you’ve completely fucked this up. But then he makes a noise, a little groan in the back of his throat, and his hand comes up against the wall next to your head, returning the kiss hungrily, desperately. His other arm snakes round your waist, and you could drown in him, you really could. His hand dips under the hem of your shirt and you gasp into his mouth at the warm touch. Wolffe huffs and licks in, the first slide of his tongue and the slick wet heat of his mouth electrifying something in your veins. You whine, high and needy, hitching upwards as far as you can.

Without breaking contact Wolffe’s hands slide down over your ass, grasp under your legs and lift, wrapping them around his waist with only a small grunt at the effort. You pull his bottom lip into your mouth and graze lightly with your teeth, savouring the shudder that runs through his body before pressing back in, sealing your lips together as he moves, carrying you with him.

He stumbles backwards, hands steady under your thighs, until his knees hit the back of your bunk. Then he goes down, catching you so that you land with your legs either side of his body. It dislodges your mouths and he stares up at you, his eyes wide, his lips kiss-bruised, a flush high in his cheeks.

“Shit,” he says again, but his voice is soft and dazed. You laugh softly as he clears his throat, hand coming up to thumb over your cheekbone. “I, uh, guess we’ve got some things to talk about.”

“Yeah, but later.” you say, leaning in and stealing another kiss. “Much later.”

taglist // @nelba @bad-batch-of-fics @majorshiraharu @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @battletales @bluejay6800 @snippytano @missinashkin @iscream4clones // list here

#commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #commander wolffe #wolffe #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars fanfiction #alderwrites #god just being able to finish something is a RELIEF

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romioneficfest · 3 years

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Little Unicorn Day Center

Title: Little Unicorns Daycare Center

Prompt: day 2 - meet cute

Rating: G

Author:

Brief Summary

Any Content warnings:

Hermione had cared for many children in the three years since she had opened the Little Unicorns Daycare Center, and she had always been careful to be impartial and fair to every little boy and girl that walked through her doors.

But she couldn’t deny that Lily was one of her favorites.

The vivacious red-headed girl had been in her care for around six months, and it had been obvious from the start that she was different from the other kids. She was well ahead of the group on her reading comprehension, and she had a highly developed sense of humor for her age. She also loved to tell detailed, fantastical stories about magical creatures, and people flying around on broomsticks, and Hermione was amazed at the depth of her imagination.

Hermione had only ever met Lily’s mother, Ginny, who shared her daughter’s long red hair and quick wit. Ginny was always in and out of the cottage in a hurry when she came to drop Lily off or pick her up, but she was always friendly enough. She knew that Ginny was in publishing, and her husband in law enforcement, jobs that surely kept them both very busy, so Hermione didn’t think anything of the quick visits.

It never struck her as odd, either, that she had never met Lily’s father; it was common for her to deal with one parent more than the other. She finally met him on a cold, snowy day, when the front door opened and Lily burst in, shedding her hat and gloves before she had even made it past Hermione’s desk, and a tall, gorgeous red-headed man trailing behind her.

He smiled apologetically as he bent to pick up Lily’s things to hand to her. “Sorry about that. Is she always like this?”

Hermione’s fingers brushed against his as she took the gloves, and she was surely imagining the spark that ignited her skin at the contact. “Oh, it’s um…” Hermione unconsciously raised her hand to flatten her bushy hair before scolding herself. This man was married, and it surely did not matter how her hair looked. “It’s finger paint day. I’m sure she’s just excited.”

“Oh, that explains it, then. Can’t say I blame her.”

He gave her another brilliant smile, and she melted as she looked up into his vibrant blue eyes. Lily had bright eyes, too, but hers were an almost unnatural shade of green. Ginny’s, if Hermione remembered correctly, were brown, and for a fleeting moment, she hoped that maybe the man was a family friend or something. But then she saw the shiny gold detective's badge pinned to his trousers, and the hair color, of course, was unmistakable. Even so, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Will you be picking Lily up this afternoon?”

“Nah, Gin just had an early meeting this morning. She’ll get her later, like normal.”

Hermione hoped that her disappointment wasn’t glaringly obvious. Her instant attraction to this man was undeniable, but it was also incredibly inappropriate. He was a parent of one of her charges, for goodness sake! Hermione put on the most neutral smile she could muster and then motioned to a pile of papers that she was certain were nothing more than coloring sheets. “Okay, I hope you have a lovely day. If you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to work.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.” He leaned to the side to look through the open doorway into the playroom beyond the lobby. “Bye, Lil! Be good!” Hermione heard no response from the adjacent room, but he turned without one and gave a slight wave of goodbye to Hermione before heading back out into the cold.

It was several weeks before she saw him again. Lily again raced through the door while her father ambled in behind her and smiled at Hermione. “Must be finger-paint day again,” he said teasingly as he approached the desk. “I realize I didn’t properly introduce myself before. I’m Ron.” He held out his hand for Hermione to shake and she took it, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm.

“Hermione.” Their hands remained linked for just an instant longer than was probably proper, and Hermione forced herself to break their gaze. “Lily’s a wonderful child,” she said, determined to focus on the little girl.

“Yeah, she’s a hoot. She—“ Ron cut himself off with a frown and fished a buzzing pager from his coat pocket. “Sorry, duty calls.” She caught another glimpse of his badge and nodded in understanding. “Nice to see you again.”

“You, too.” Hermione lifted her hand in farewell, and she was so distracted by the view of him from behind, that it completely slipped her mind that Ron was not the name of the other parent on Lily’s paperwork.

She saw Ron several more times over the following months, and he was always so charming with her. Hermione was horribly embarrassed by her attraction to another woman’s husband—though she had noticed that he didn’t wear a ring—and even worse, the fact that the feeling seemed to be mutual. She wanted to believe that it was just his personality, that he was the outgoing type, and not that he was a man who would shamelessly flirt with other women. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would do such a thing. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself how unseemly her behavior was. Either way, Lily would be moving on to kindergarten soon, and she could forget all about Ron.

Usually if she saw Ron, it was at Lily’s morning drop-off, so Hermione was surprised when he appeared one afternoon at pick-up time. He was quieter than usual, not his typical cheery self. “Lily!” Hermione called to the other room. “Time to go!”

“Coming!” the little girl hollered back as Ron approached her desk.

“Hi,” he said, his tone soft. She didn’t know him all that well, even now, but he actually sounded nervous. “So, I um...wanted to ask you something?”

Hermione’s heart started pounding, and she rubbed her palms against her jeans anxiously. “Sure,” she replied, and she hoped he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

He hesitated, and then blurted out, “Are you free for dinner tonight?” He must have registered the look of shock on her face at his overt invitation, and he began to ramble. “I’ve got to take Lily home, but after that, or—or maybe this weekend we could—“

Hermione gave a vehement shake of her head and lowered her voice to hiss at him, “That is wildly inappropriate!” As much as she couldn’t deny that there was a chemistry between them, acting on it was a whole different matter.

“I—“ He seemed taken aback by the severity of her response. “I can take the rejection, but...inappropriate?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Yes. I don’t make it a habit to fraternize with—“

“Uncle Ron!” Lily’s exclamation and pounding footsteps cut her off and stopped her cold. The little girl threw her arms around one of Ron’s long legs, and he reached down to pat her head.

“Hey, kiddo. Have a good day today?”

Lily nodded. “Where’s mummy?”

“Waiting at home, and your dad is picking up your brothers.”

She then glanced at Hermione before gazing up at Ron with a knowing look beyond her years. “Did you come just to say hi to Miss Hermione?” Lily half-covered her mouth to whisper loudly to Hermione, “My mummy says he fancies you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Here she had been berating herself all these months for nothing. She wracked her brain, but she couldn’t recall Lily ever mentioning her father or Ron by name, and she had never addressed him directly until now. She had just been assuming that Ron was off-limits, and couldn’t remember ever being so pleased to be wrong.

Ron’s face was red with embarrassment, but he was still smiling shyly at her, and the look was incredibly endearing. “Did you really think I was her dad? Haven’t you ever met Harry?” Hermione shook her head.

“No, I haven’t, actually. I saw your badge and, well, your hair—I just assumed.”

“So...any chance that changes your mind about dinner?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione crouched down to the ground and motioned Lily over. “Maybe you could tell your Uncle Ron,” she said in a stage whisper, “that I fancy him, too?”

Lily nodded eagerly before scampering back over to Ron. “Uncle Ron! Miss Hermione said she fancies you.”

Hermione straightened and beamed at Ron. “Seven okay?”

“Tonight?” Hermione nodded; she didn’t want to wait any longer to get to know him better. “Brilliant. Seven it is.” He took Lily’s hand and led her toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Hermione with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

#hpfic #Romione FicFest 2021 #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #Rated G #Ace Safe #No content warning #citrus free #Queue up for the Dragon

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redgoldblue · 3 years

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thinking... thinking...... post loading in brain......

none of the thiefsome are cishet. obviously. they all like women and men and also whatever shade of not-that their partners are. and they’re all shades of not-that they all looked at the gender options that were cleanly presented to them on a nice silver platter and went ‘hm. no. let’s go steal a gender.’

BUT

I don’t think any of them have actual... identity labels. not rigid or stable ones. Parker collects labels like she’s a magpie and they’re shiny things, keeps them in her nest and occasionally brings them out and puts them in front of her - (on the more literal front, when Hardison realised that’s what she was doing he found a little queer-owned etsy shop and bought her tiny flag pins for all the identities she uses. she doesn’t always wear them even on the days she does have clear labels, because sometimes she doesn’t care if other people know and sometimes the pins feel bad on her skin, and on the days where it’s the latter but not the former she can just come down and tell the crew, who are the only people she ever cares about whether they know anyway, but it’s not unusual to see her with tiny flags on her collar or shoulder or pinned on one of hardison’s scarves when it’s cold and she’s stolen them, and it never changes anything for any of the others but it is nice to know) - so most days, if you ask her, she’ll have an answer for you, but it probably won’t be the same as the next day or the one after, and if you prod she’ll explain to you that the labels aren’t her, they’re accessories just like the pins are, they’re things she pulls out because she feels like it but in the end, deep down, she’s just Parker. When it really comes down to it, Parker is always just Parker.

Hardison, I super agree with @faorism‘s post that he has thought about his gender and also his sexuality, really thought about it and analysed it and twisted and turned it to see how all the angles glint in the light; once when he was a teenager, and then again post-parker and eliot, when he can specifically see how it shines under the lights of his partners. unlike Parker with her core Parkerness but then all her shiny shifting changing labels, Hardison actually does have a firm locus of his identity, gender-and-sexuality wise. problem is, it doesn’t exactly fit any label. He won’t protest or really mind if you call him bisexual or demigender, because those things are... technically correct, they fit the 1s and 0s of his code, but people aren’t just code. He has rainbow flags somewhere on most of his profiles, and if you really press him on it, he’ll just call himself queer. If you try to go any further on it, or keep pressing, all you’re gonna get is a very fact-driven two hour lecture on shifting cultural and historical ideas of sexuality and gender.

Eliot was young when he realised he wasn’t... right, but the fact is it’s just not something that has ever come up for him since. no chance of exploring attraction to men in his small town or the military, and there ain’t a huge amount to explore there anyway - he likes men the same way he likes women, except where it’s slightly different, and that is what it is. and frankly, he’s had bigger problems his entire life than the fact that he never quite felt like he engaged with his body or the world or the idea of being a ‘man’ in exactly the way all his buddies did. not a lotta chance to go finding Judith Butler texts when you’re in the middle of Afghanistan getting tortured by an agent from you’re-not-even-sure-what government. But eventually, a few years into being part of the crew, Parker or Hardison (or Sophie, who knows she’s a Woman but is only so willing to say that because she’s done the same searing self-analysis Hardison has) says something and Eliot hums and agrees. And then Parker asks him what he likes to be called, and he says he doesn’t know. and then, because she looks disappointed and it’s Parker, he says he’ll think about it. (the next day Hardison sends him a list of labels and one-sentence definitions with no other commentary.) and Parker, because she’s Parker, asks him again and again, at regularly scheduled times every day, for the next two weeks, until one day she appears behind him and before she can ask he says, “I don’t know. but that’s alright, yeah? It is what it is, and I don’t need to know.” And Parker knows a whole lot about not knowing, so she accepts that.

(When people get nosy with Hardison about it when Parker’s around, she always just sits back and smiles bc she likes hearing the lecture. After that conversation with Eliot, when people occasionally start trying to ask him about it, either because they’ve seen him with Hardison or - because after that, he realises that he actually doesn’t need to stick so hard to ‘man’ anymore - because he’s having a gendär day where he has his hair in lots of braids and is loaded down with rings and cuffs, when Parker is around to see the questions, she always steps in front of him, points to something off-screen half-shouting ‘would you look at that!’ or saying something completely off-the-cuff and mildly insulting about the person’s appearance. no-one ever accused Parker’s distraction techniques of being subtle, but they are effective. and Eliot always kisses her when the people go away, in that fleeting top-of-the-head way that means it’s a thank you, so she keeps doing it.)

#one day at nana's breanna comes up to them and says 'hey. i'm a lesbian.' and they're all like 'that was so... confident. what.'#'i mean thank god you're not straight i guess but we don't know how to deal with this'#Leverage #Parker #Alec Hardison #Eliot Spencer #Leverage meta #thiefsome #queer #meta #hitter hacker thief #mine #20 pounds of crazy in a 5 pound bag #age of the geek baby!

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Prologue Chapter 1

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times. Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared, momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now, Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

#creativitwins #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Roman Sanders #TS: Fall of Romulus #this features #10% more plot but 100% more logan #this is the second full fic ive ever done and the first multichapter so feedback appreciated :o

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thedragonnerd · 3 years

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Fic: Love Languages

Headcanon suggested by a lovely anon, which spawned into a fic. Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Words of affirmation

Receiving compliments or words of encouragement are not uncommon for Namaari. She has gone through life aiming to be the best at everything she does – the best leader, the best warrior, the best Princess – and along with her success come compliments on her fighting techniques, her decision-making skills, and even her ability to look formidable in her formal attire.

As royalty, people lavish her with praises when they see an opportunity to get into her good graces, despite the obvious lack of sincerity behind their words, and it tires her to deal with fawning citizens. She loves her people, but she’d rather they’d love her back truly; false words mean nothing.

Chief Virana does not give out compliments easily, and is often faster to critique than to encourage. Namaari pretends her mother’s approval is nothing more than something important to receive from her Chief, but in reality, she craves hearing soft words such as ‘well done, Morning Mist’, whenever she is lucky enough to have them bestowed upon her.

As she grows up, she decides that sweet words are nice to have, but ultimately unnecessary – nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement is needed, before one can place it aside and move on to more important things. And then Raya comes back into her life.

Raya, who can flirt endlessly with elaborate innuendos until Namaari rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. Raya, who is quite happy to press herself closer than absolutely necessary in their sparring sessions, just to set out some unspoken physical challenge.

And yet, when it comes to providing a genuine compliment, Raya practically freezes.

‘I like…like your hair,’ she mumbles one day to Namaari, glancing off to the side in order to avoid making eye contact. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, even though earlier in the day she had made a lewd comment about a sword which didn’t even have her blinking.

For some reason, Raya’s lack of suaveness when it comes to providing true compliments delights Namaari, and she hoards each instance close to her heart, happy in the knowledge that every word spoken was genuine in its meaning.

In return, she starts to gift Raya with compliments of her own.

For Raya is not used to receiving compliments, at least not in a long time. Her Ba used to provide encouragement and compliments often, but that was many years ago, and now he hesitates to put them into words sometimes, unsure of how this new dynamic works when he’s looking at a grown-up daughter rather than a small child.

Namaari has no difficulty in sharing them though.

‘You look very beautiful today,’ she tells Raya softly one evening, when they are having dinner. Raya stammers out some incomprehensible response, and spends the rest of the meal staring down at her bowl, occasionally darting her eyes over to Namaari.

‘I love that hairstyle on you,’ Namaari says to her a few days later, watching as Raya braids her hair back with expert precision.

‘Umm…thanks?’ Raya squeaks.

‘Your techniques were excellent today,’ Namaari informs her after a sparring session. This time, Raya just nods, and clears her throat before trying to awkwardly change the subject. Namaari can still see the smile on her lips though.

Eventually, Raya becomes better at both giving and receiving words of affirmation. Namaari learns how true compliments can be more meaningful than expected.

It isn’t the most important aspect of their relationship, but they like to encourage each other all the same.

Acts of service

Raya sees how much of a burden Namaari perpetually takes onto her shoulders, in her duties for Fang. She is so focused on helping her people rebuild and expand, or going away on diplomatic missions to help form better relations with the other lands, that she forgets to take a moment to breath sometimes.

Raya wants to take some of her stress away, by helping her carry out some of her duties or at least be involved in organizing certain aspects of the expansion projects, but she discovers quickly that Namaari is somewhat of a perfectionist. It is almost more stressful for her to find herself out of the loop or uninformed about decisions, than it would be to allow her undertake the duties in the first place, and so Raya finds it more helpful to just back off from the work unless asked to provide support.

It’s also a way for Namaari to feel as if she is atoning for her past actions. Raya wishes she wouldn’t feel the need to do so, but it is something they’ve argued about before, and they always end up stuck in a perpetual loop.

One of the ways Raya can help however, is with her cooking.

Namaari is an awful cook (something Raya unfortunately discovers herself with one ill-fated meal), but she is fascinated by watching Raya conjure something up in the kitchen.

Gone are the days of living off jackfruit jerky; with so many fresh and interesting ingredients at her disposal, and with the occasional reminders from Ba when she is unsure about something, Raya makes a whole array of different foods over the months.

It’s one of the best ways of getting Namaari to relax, Raya finds. Every mealtime when Raya is behind the pot, Namaari will abandon whatever work she is doing, and will sit and watch Raya finish making the dishes. They’ll always eat it together, and for a short while, Raya can feel the stress lift free from Namaari as she laughs over Raya’s words and enjoys good food.

Gifts

The first gift Namaari ever gave Raya has almost become a symbol for their entire complicated history. It represents new friendship, betrayal, and after so many years…forgiveness and a fresh start.

Namaari gives it back to her not long after the return of Kumandra, before she can second-guess herself.

‘It was a gift,’ she says, half-expecting it to be thrown back in her face. But Raya runs her finger gently over the surface of the dragon pendant, and then sends her a small smile. The next day, Namaari sees it hanging around her neck once more.

Once they start dating properly, Namaari can’t get it out of her mind how much the gift seemed to mean to Raya, both times.

‘She still doesn’t have that many personal belongings,’ Namaari informs Sisu, as an explanation as to why she was forcing the dragon to accompany her around endless market stalls in Talon, looking for the perfect gift for Raya. ‘I figure it’s because she was on the move so much in life, she couldn’t carry a lot.’

Sisu makes an ‘mmm’ sound, clearly not buying her reasoning completely, but allows the topic to drop when she’s distracted by shiny objects at the next stall.

Namaari finds a small knife that can be strapped to a wrist and slipped up the sleeve. She knows how much Raya prefers to be carrying at least one weapon with her at all times, and this would be perfect for diplomatic meetings – subtle, and easy to hide. And indeed, Raya wears it continuously after receiving it as a gift.

On another visit to another market, this time in Spine, Namaari spies a comb with a beautifully carved handle.

‘For your hair,’ she says in an attempt to be casual, thrusting it awkwardly in Raya’s direction that evening. Raya loves it, and it is indeed used every night before bed to comb out her braids.

Every time Namaari has to travel on diplomatic missions, she now ensures that she brings back something small for Raya.

‘I love the gifts,’ Raya tells her one day. ‘But I love even more how it shows you’re thinking of me when you’re away.’

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, a small golden ring drops out of Namaari’s pocket by mistake.

‘Is…is that my old hair band?’ Raya asks, peering over the side of the bed as Namaari scoops it up in a hurry. ‘I thought I’d lost that years ago.’

‘I found it,’ Namaari says defensively, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘I guess…I never asked you if you wanted it back?’

Raya shakes her head with a smile, but the following evening, she steps up behind Namaari, sliding her hand into her pocket. Namaari watches as she pulls out the hair band and threads it onto a small gold chain.

From then on, they both wear a gift from the other around their necks.

Physical touch

Sometimes, everything can become overwhelming, the past traumas so great that it seems suffocating. And in that darkness, sometimes the gentle touch of another is the only thing keeping the world grounded.

Raya goes six long years without receiving a hug. At the time, she doesn’t see it as a big deal – she’s grown up fast, and learnt that the world isn’t the welcoming place her father once hoped it could be. Even moreso, her Ba was the last one to hug her, and she doesn’t mind keeping it that way.

Now though, she finds comfort in the small touches. It’s in the featherlight way Namaari’s nose brushes against her neck as they curl up together in bed, waiting for the morning sun to rise. It’s in the gentle trail of Namaari’s fingers across her back, as they stand talking to others, and Namaari absentmindedly reaches out for her. It’s in the soft kiss against her temple, when Namaari has to go back to work after lunch.

Occasionally, she will need to be encompassed by that comfort, and in this moment, she will go and find Namaari, stepping closer until her forehead rests on her shoulder. No matter what she was previously doing, Namaari will pause everything, wrapping her arms tightly around Raya, and they stand there until Raya can feel as if she can breathe again.

Namaari has a habit of falling too far into her own mind sometimes. She is an outwardly composed and pragmatic individual, but internally, all sorts of doubts and guilt still plague her, and there are days where she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t doing enough in her life to atone for her past, or that she is a fraud who has no right in stepping up and trying to lead her people when her previous actions cost them so much.

It’s difficult for her to ask for help in these moments. Raya learns instead to notice the signs of a bad day, or whenever Namaari gets trapped into a downwards spiral, and she will take Namaari by the hands and sit them somewhere quiet.

There they can actually talk, and sometimes Namaari feels comfortable enough to share her fears. But the most important thing, Raya finds, is to slide an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and peppering her cheek and bare shoulder with small kisses.

Raya refuses to let her go until she sees at least one small smile.

Quality time

In the early days of the relationship, there is still so much separation between the two of them. Raya is in Heart, helping her Ba welcome back everyone to their lands, fixing up the buildings, ensuring the harvest gets started…There are so many jobs to do, and Raya knows Namaari is undergoing the same issues back in Fang, coupled with an expansion of their kingdom.

On top of all of this, there are endless council meetings and diplomatic missions, so if it isn’t Namaari being busy with politics, it is Raya, much to her annoyance.

Whenever they do get to spend time together, they ensure no minute is wasted. They have meals together, and spar together, and find all sorts of random ways to entertain themselves. Namaari loves to go out in the evenings and watch the night sky, attempting to teach the constellations to Raya; but Raya decides that these constellations are ridiculous, and so they create their own. Raya meanwhile loves to go for hikes in the woods, dragging Namaari along to discover new plants and wildlife, and occasionally climbing the trees.

They both love to sit in bed next to each other, quietly reading their books, or discussing their day. Sometimes, Raya will lie sideways on the bed, her stomach across Namaari’s legs and her arms hanging over the edge, so she can carve pieces of wood into intricate shapes, with Namaari reads out loud for the both of them.

Even after several years, and living together permanently, Raya finds herself reflecting on the fact that she never gets bored as long as she’s with Namaari.

They are currently lying in a field somewhere in the depths of Heart land, enjoying the sun shining onto their faces and the grass tickling their skin. She lazily wiggles her hand until it makes contact with Namaari.

‘Dep la?’ Raya whispers, and Namaari grunts in response. ‘You don’t get bored with me, right?’

Namaari merely shuffles closer without even opening an eye, resting her cheek against Raya’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mumbles, and she’s curled up so close that Raya can feel the vibrations of her voice on her skin.

‘Didn’t think so,’ Raya says in satisfaction. They continue to enjoy the peace.

#rayaari #raya and the last dragon #raya and namaari #ratld #raya #namaari #rayaari fic #rayamaari #this was supposed to be a headcanon #but it all was just like 'hello must get out of the brain'#some fluff to keep you guys happy #while i work on the concept au angst

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the-obiwan-for-me · 3 years

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Clan of Two

I had every intention of participating in Bo-Katan Week 2021 for the whole week. But real life is tough, and so is my main fic right now, and it just didn’t happen. But I got struck by inspiration when I realized last night what the prompt for today is. So, here’s my single contribution for Bo-Katan Week!

She found the boy in the tiny galley of the stolen gunship, nursing a mug of weak looking tea. The poor kid's face was swollen and angry looking. She wouldn't be surprised if his orbital bone was fractured. She knew from experience that that brute of a traitor, Gar Saxon, packed a punch.

Physically, he looked rough. But he was a Kryze, and he wore his emotions loudly, just like she did. Just like Satine. And he looked shell shocked and angry and drowning in grief, just like she felt.

She slid into the bench across from him and took a long pull off a bottle of tihaar she'd found stashed away. She passed it to him. He looked at it incredulously for a moment, then took his own swig, surprising her when he didn't wince like she expected. Perhaps the kid was tougher than she thought.

"How's your head?" she asked.

He picked at the label on the bottle for several heartbeats. "She was my mother, you know."

Bo-Katan swallowed the stone that seemed lodged in her throat, then nodded. "I know that."

He looked at her, dumbstruck, his unswollen eye blazing the same fierce crystalline blue as his mother's. He took another swig from the bottle, handed it back. "How did you know?"

Bo-Katan snorted a humorless laugh. "First of all, bleaching your hair only makes you look more like your mother." He glanced away, sheepish. "But mostly, it doesn't take much to spot a Kryze. And Satine is-" a sob she had not anticipated caught in her chest- "was my only sibling. You're no foundling."

He studied her for a while, working something through in his head. She sat quietly, giving him the room he needed to process. Then he finally sighed, squaring his broad shoulders. "Why didn't you try to kill me when you were with Death Watch, if it's that easy to tell?"

Bo-Katan sighed herself. "I wouldn't allow it."

He gave her another astonished look. It was becoming a habit. "You had that much power?" he scoffed.

She shrugged. "I was second in command. But, no, it wasn't like that." She picked at the label herself, recalling memories, some still too fresh to even feel like memories. She drowned them with a heavy drink of tihaar, then handed it to him. "Vizsla was tenacious, but he also could have the attention span of a Corellian grass squirrel. You would come up, and I would distract him."

He drank from the bottle and stared at her, his gaze hard. "Couldn't you have done that for my mother? Your sister?"

"Listen, kid, I never intended for that to happen!" she shouted, jumping to her feet to pace, gesturing wildly back in the imagined direction of Mandalore. "None of this was supposed to happen! I didn't even want to deal with those monsters! I tried to talk Pre out of it, especially once I knew that one had such a thing for Kenobi." The sob worked itself loose from her chest and she fought back the hot tears that wanted to follow it. The heat of her anger sparked the fire of her grief. "None of this was supposed to happen. I tried, Korkie. I tried." She stopped, staring down at her boots, wondering absently whose blood splattered them. "At least I got you out."

"I know." It was said softly, almost a whisper. She raised her gaze to meet his. "I….I just know."

"How do you know? Why should you trust me?"

"I mean, you did get me, and my friends, out. And I saw what you tried to do for others in the aftermath. You do care about Mandalore." He stood and moved toward her, resting a hand on her shoulder. He was tall, and broad chested, and in many ways reminded her of her father. But in so many ways, he was so completely, uniquely different. "And Mum trusted you immediately. She forgave you, instantly. I don't know much. She didn't talk about you except about when you two were small. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, it wasn't so bad that she couldn't forgive you." He squeezed her shoulder, let his arm drop. "So, I should probably try to do the same. I'm going to try, ok, Auntie?"

She reached up and tenderly brushed a hand along his cheek. She was so rarely tender. She had so rarely been shown tenderness. But she could be gentle for him. He was all she had left, now, and he was too much like his mother to be treated like every other ruthless brute that had shaped her. "This is how I know you're her child, ad'ika. You could dye your hair purple and grow a beard and cover your face with tattoos. But that, right there, is how I know."

He smiled sadly, his eyes shiny with the threat of tears. He took her hand from his face and squeezed it. "Vor entye, ba'vodu."

She squeezed back before letting his hand go. "No debts here, Korkie. I am in your debt."

He turned, rubbing his chin as he made his way back to the table, deep in thought. "What do we do now?" He drank from the bottle and handed it to her as she passed him, moving around the small space until she found a medkit.

"First, you let me patch up that face of yours," she said, sitting next to him before taking her own drink. "Then, if you're willing, we fight for our home. We fight for your mother's legacy."

He nodded once as she gently began to clean the cuts and scrapes along his face. "I am willing." He hissed in pain as she prodded along his orbital bone. It was definitely fractured. "But I don't know if I want to fight like you."

She picked up the bacta spray and gave it a shake. "Fair enough."

"And after that?"

"Well, we're family. We'll take care of each other."

He huffed out a breath. "You had a chance to be my family for eighteen years." He said it with a sharpness and bitterness she hadn't expected, sounding more like a petulant, angry teenager. He was an angry teenager, she reminded herself. Beyond that, even. The world as he knew it has been destroyed. Burned to the ground, in large part due to actions she had taken, or, at the very least, been able to prevent.

She had once been a teenager whose world had been burned to the ground, too.

So, she decided to try and take a page from her sister’s book. She forgave his sharp words.

She sighed, cupping his cheek softly, turning his face to hers. “I am beginning to regret that I didn’t take my chance more and more each day,” she said quietly. “We’re a clan of two, now, and we have to take care of each other. I won’t lose you, too. I plan on keeping you safe.” She rummaged through the medkit, pulling out the skin adhesive. “Now sit still while I glue this shut.”

He looked apologetic, took a sip of tihaar, and sat quietly, letting her work.

They sat like that for a while, Bo-Katan, working gently to glue shut a cut across Korkie’s temple. Korkie hummed a tune that Bo-Katan recognized as a lullaby her father sang to her and Satine when they were small. She mused to herself that she and Korkie would have nearly matching scars as she worked.

He suddenly jolted, looking up to meet her eyes. “If you knew she was my mum, can you tell me who my father is?”

Bo-Katan fought the urge to grimace, then gave herself a moment to compose herself, plan out the right thing to say. “Your mother and I weren’t really speaking when she would have been pregnant with you.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not at all.

But it also wasn’t the absolute whole truth, either.

She knew who the father was. Or, at least, she had strong suspicion. She didn’t need to be a mathematician to realize Satine had to have become pregnant during her year with the two Jedi. One of which had the same nose, the same strong jaw, the same auburn hair that was just beginning to show in the roots of Korkie’s bleached hair. It was an easy enough guess. She was surprised he hadn’t guessed it already, really.

But, for now, she’d keep it herself. This boy didn’t need to know that the man who had come to save his mother, but, instead, caused her death, was his father. One day, maybe. Maybe when he wasn’t so fragile. When the world didn’t feel so utterly destroyed for the both of them.

He seemed to accept her answer. He nodded once, closed his eyes, and settled back into letting her repair the gash on his temple, humming softly to himself.

There was very little she could do to make amends for all the horror she had allowed to be wrought on their home. But she could do two things: she could fight to get it back, and she absolutely would protect her sister's son until her very last breath.

#bo katan week #bo katan week day 6 #bkw 2021 #bo katan and korkie #bo katan kryze #korkie kryze #satine kryze #post the lawless #fudging the timeline a tiny bit #korkie is a kenobi #if you're reading something I wrote you KNOW he's going to be a kenobi

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