#savor the pits you might not get any again for a long time

[miyoriia]

trans day of visible. this is what i look like

#catgirl dreams #girl zenith #savor the pits you might not get any again for a long time

[itsjustjackie55]

Prize Winners

Justin Herbert x reader

Warning: Smut ahead!! Don’t read ahead if you’re uncomfortable. Minors DNI!!!

A/N: Also this isn’t edited its the early morning and I’m going to bed, goodnight everybody 😂

Watching the last few minutes of the game was so nerve racking. Having a pit in your stomach, you were feeling anxious and impatient just wanting your man home, close to you, safe and healthy.

Spending the past few months during the season you grew happy to be there and spending any time that you could with Justin. He was your giant stuffed bear you couldn’t help but cuddle with when you were cold and needed comfort. He was your safe space and you his.

With all the losses in the season you noticed how much of a toll it took on him. You noticed the nights he was gone from the bed watching tapes from earlier that day seeing where he went wrong.

And in the mornings when you turned over to snuggle closer and just feeling colder since he was gone already.

He grew out his beard and let his hair get even longer than before. You just couldn’t help but feel a little sad about seeing him grow grim.

Focusing back on the man on your tv screen you savored the moment seeing him in uniform with a smile that reflected yours at the final field goal of the night. Signaling the end of the game was the cheers from all the fans who were in the stadium watching.

You felt happy not only for the team but for your man. He could get a clean slate and some healthy motivation.

He needed this.

Texting him a congratulations and telling him to celebrate the win. You felt excited. Your man might be moving from his funk these past few weeks, it was only earlier this week he started talking a little bit more and spending a little less time in his head, but still progress was progress.

Cleaning up the house and getting ready for your man to come back home you couldn’t help but remember seeing him smiling on tv earlier.

A pearly white smile, a lot of scruff and long hair. He looked so manly and soft all at once. You got excited and a little flustered thinking about the last time you two were intimate together. Him between your legs, pounding rough into you while his short chin hairs scratched at your neck.

You didn’t even hear Justin call you name to stuck in your daydream. He liked the way you looked laying in his bed soft eyes matching your smile. He was happy to be home.

Jumping into his arms, you loved feeling him flush against you, clothes on or off. Kissing him deeply, feeling his soft lips and beard on you lips was so comforting. One hand wrapped around your body and the other caressing your head deepening the kiss, you both felt love spark again.

Moving his long legs from the doorway to the edge of the bed, Justin felt victorious, as did you.

Moving his lips down your neck and pulling back to admire your body only dressed in his larger jersey and your panties, he smirked thinking how lucky he was tonight. From winning a game to having a gorgeous woman in his bed in front of him. He loved everything about tonight.

Sitting up impatiently and taking of his shirt you moved to kiss him hungrily. You loved to be on him, pleasing him. Getting off the bed and pushing him down you undid his shorts pulling them down, setting his dick free. A sight you will never get over.

Licking him from base to tip you loved the way he tasted.icing your head back down you licked and kissed him from his groin up to his lips, while your hand wrapped tightly around him pumping, spewing praises to your man. All he could do was moan and grip harder to your back side.

He loved when you did this, praising him for doing the bare minimum at home and for doing his job and being away from home he loved coming back to you. Pulling you up and flipping you over he only pushed the jersey you were wearing up and pulling your panties to the side.

Justin just couldn’t help but stare at you before he licked a long strip up to your clit.

Kneeling down some more to be closer to you he gripped you legs tighter when he felt you grip his locks and try to push his head away when he sucked your sensitive, swollen bud. Loving this scene he only moved his head crazily. Wanting a better taste. Your juices coating his cheeks, jaw, lips, and tongue. You loved it, he was eating you out like he hadn’t ate the whole day. A starving man he was.

As he went to reach your boobs and toy with your nipples he felt you grow closer. Looking up and making eye contact with you was what set you loose. Shaking legs an arched back and a man between your thighs, you felt it then. His neediness coming out. Catching your breath you looked up at the 6’6 god admiring your red thighs.

Beard burn was sure to set in within the next round. But god did you love it.

Pulling him close and kissing him harsh, moaning cause of your taste on his lips. You tugged at his member pulling him onto the bed and straddling him. Goddamn did you feel like you won first place in a race. Lining him up and sinking down you felt a good stretch.

Both of you moaning at the same time. You looked down at his face while he looked down at your deep connection. Looking back up in time to catch you lean forward to kiss him and start moving your hips.

Justin grasped at your ass giving it a harsh smack when you stuck you tongue in his mouth.

“Oh my God angel,”

“…you feel so good”

Nodding and moaning out in response you started moving faster. Lost in the feeling you didn’t even care about your legs starting to shake and the ache of your beard burn rubbing against his hips.

Feeling you spasm around his dick, he started touching you everywhere, just like you taught him. Justin started getting lost to when he felt you cumming down hard on him. Squeezing him like if that was the only way you could hold onto him.

He planted his feet on the bed, hands on your hips while you were leaned forward, head placed in his neck, he started pounding into you.

Moaning louder and squealing when you felt his tip brush against your cervix he couldn’t help himself to pull out, staying deep inside you as he came hard, dick twitching and chests heaving.

The both of you feeling like you won the lottery and super lucky.

🪽 ⋆ ⟡ 𓂃 ﾟ｡🪽 ⋆ ⟡ ﾟ｡🪽 ⋆ ⟡ 𓂃 ﾟ｡🪽 ⋆

A/N: This is based off this request, im not gonna be super active with writing right now because of school. im just super stressed and want to dissacoiate from school and everything so I wrote this, also I’m joining a sport so i might not have as much time to write, im so sorry 🥹

Anyway… umm you guys are more than welcome to talk to me, my inbox is always open for anything and everyone 💜

#justin herbert #justin herbert imagine #jackie’s latest 🪽 #justin herbert smut

[joansiefics]

CRASH, BOOM, BAM!!

MOSTLY BUCKY BARNES X READER

SUMMARY: You and your parents got in a car accident, while on your way to a holiday resort. You had several injuries, but your parents weren't so lucky. Luckily Tony, Natasha and Bucky saw the accident happen and helped you.

WARNING: Death (of family members), Car Accident, Blood, Injuries (cuts, concussion...), Crying over death, Held back against will (actually helps the reader), Nightmares, Blaming self.

REQUESTS are OPEN

MARVEL MASTERLIST

Add Yourself To My Taglist

“

”

You let out a satisfied sigh as you snuggle deeper into your makeshift car bed. The air in the car was stilled and you focused on the acceleration of the car as your dad made a turn onto the quiet highway, the broadcaster keeping himself awake with his own silly jokes and the light stertor breathing of your mother sleeping in the pushed back passenger seat, all cozy and cuddled up in her heated blanket. You squinted your eyes open as the winter sun was shining morning rays through snow clouded skies onto your face and you welcomed the slightly warmer feeling on your skin.

You let out a groan as you reposition yourself to let your numb side sensitize. "How'd you sleep?" you hear your dad's gruff, hoarse voice move through the stilled air.

"It was good, but my left side is entirely numb" you answer with a chuckle.

You mother utters a few tired and dreamful mumbles as the tyres slide on the road soothing her back into a light slumber. "I was thinking we could stop at a chick-fil-a for some breakfast before we drive the last few hours, what do you say?" your face lit up at his suggestion

"That sounds amazing, I could do with some food" your stomach growls in agreement with your statement.

It didn't take long before you saw a part of the red logo in contrast against the white, sheet of clouds, excitement bubbling in the pit of your empty, growling stomach. A few more miles covered and your dad was pulling into the drive -thru. The lady at the last window stretched her arm out, handing your dad the paper bag filled with deliciousness. The heavenly smell of waffle fries, chicken nuggets and sandwiches reaching your nostrils and making your mouth water. The smell made your mother stir, before she tiredly opened her eyes, searching for the source of the appetizing smell. Your dad handed the paper bag over to you, for you to pick out your food and you gave the paper bag to your mother, after taking your chicken nuggets, waffle fries and bacon, egg and cheese sandwich.

Your dad ate his food while keeping his tired eyes trained on the road as he drove. Your mother sat up and nibbled on some of her waffle fries, while you quickly devoured your portions of food, but still savoring every taste on your taste buds. You finished the last bite of your sandwich, wiped your hands and corners of your mouth with a napkin and put the rubbish in the now foodless, full of trash, paper bag.

"Thank you dad" you thank before plopping back down on your back.

"You're welcome".

The car became silent once more and your eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion of a term's hard work and determination finally taking over. You can hear the whispers of your parents trying to have a conversation without disturbing you, the sleet pattering on the window, the soft tunes form the radio and the gusts of wind as other cars dangerously speed past yours, lulling you to sleep. You could vaguely here the conversation between your parents.

"Do -- want me -- take over ---- bit, honey?" some of your mother's caring words reached your ears as she asked your father.

"No, -- fine"

"Honey, -- been driving -- eight hours and ---- awake even longer ----, maybe -- should let me take -- wheel ---- bit, while you ---- rest?" your mother's voice was filled with concern.

"I'll stop at -- next gas station, -- we -- switch, okay?" your dad gave into the offer, the thought of sleep to good to turn down.

"I love you guys" you mutter from the backseat, a smile tugging at your lips, satisfied with the perfect life and loving and caring parents.

"Love you too" your parents said in unison, enlisting a small giggle to tumble over your lips - maybe a giggle of happiness, maybe a giggle of satisfaction, or maybe a last giggle before a storm, before a teared world, before the ruining of a perfect life.

The next line of events was all a big blur to you. You remember you were happy, smiling and giggling before you fell asleep, but you woke up with your head spinning 'It feels more like my whole body is spinning' and sharp pains running through your legs 'Did I sleep my legs into feeling numb again?' and then came the realization - you were thrown from one side of the car to another and crashed through the window as the car tumbled down a hill. You were scared, confused and anguished. But then it hit you...your parents - where are they? are they okay?

"Mom?! Dad?!" you called, your voice faltering, shaking and small.

You tried again "Mom!! Dad!!" - nothing.

By now the adrenaline was surging and pumping through your blood, filling your veins, the pain slightly dissipating as the only thought was your parents. As you took in your surroundings you noticed the thick, cold snow you were laying in with your left cheek sunken deeply into it, the snowflakes falling on you and the location of the car crash, which was at the bottom of a steep hill, a few meters away from you.

With every last bit of energy you push yourself onto your feet and trudge towards the wreck, trying to lift your feet as high as possible to escape the deep snow. You want to run to see if your parents are okay, but even though the adrenaline is anaesthetizing any feeling of discomfort or pain, you feel out of control of your own body. 'I'm useless, my parents might need my help and here I am, taking my sweet time getting to them.'  

Arriving at the wreck, you fall to your knees, next to the crumbled car. The stinging of the wet and cold, icy snow going unnoticed as you try to spot your parents in the battered car. "Mom!!!!" You call out with a tremble in your voice and a lump forming in your throat. "Dad!!!!!" The stinging tears in the back of your eyes escaping a bit through your lacrimal duct, almost freezing to your numb, rosy cheeks.

Through your blurry vision you can make out your mother's figure hurled against the dashboard. The mere thought of your mother being injured, pumps regenerated adrenaline through your tired body and out of utter impulsiveness you push half of your body through the hole where a window used to be. The few remaining shards of glass stuck to the side, slices the material of your shirt. "Mom!!! You gotta wake up...please!!!" You try grasping her shoulders with your numbed hands, shaking her vividly.

The overcharge of blood rushing to your possibly concussed head and overflow adrenaline causes a buzzing in your ears, blocking out the slushing of the oncoming car's tyres in the snow. "Mom, please... open y-your eyes" You beg with quivers. The panic only seeps deeper into your already thumping heart when you don't feel a pulse on your mother's wrist. "No, no, no, no, this can't be happening" You mutter to yourself, moving your tremulous hand to the main artery in her neck, desperately searching for even the slightest pulse.

Temporarily giving up on your mother, you try wiggling yourself further through the hole to your father, but with no use when a strong pair of arms snake around your waist, pulling you out of the car. "No!!! I have to get to him!!! Please!!!" You cry out to the stranger, but you only get pulled further from your parents with you struggling against the stranger's grip. You kick and twist trying to free yourself while the sobs break through your chest. The adrenaline is now ineffective, making you feel exhausted - drained - and the pain stimulus finally reaches your brain, making you whimper a bit.

Over your heaving and the still, slight, present buzzing in your ears you can hear sirens nearing your location. You are now almost fully depending on the stranger to hold you on your shaking, glass shard invested, legs. You can hear someone talking to the stranger holding you "I ask-- Jarvis -- scan their vital- ---- --- dead." You try to piece the snippets of vaguely heard conversation together, which makes bile rise to your throat and you concentrate hard to swallow it back down. 'I could be wrong, I mean I only heard some of the conversation...yep, I'm DEFINITELY wrong' you try to convince yourself.

The tightening of the arms around your waist pull you out of your internal reassurance. All senses heightened you perceive the snow, in which your knees somehow came to sink in, feeling like a fire blistering any skin it comes in contact with, the talking of the few men, clad in blue uniforms, deafening you, as the wheels of the gurney whooshes through the snow as they take your parents to the ambulance - "my parents" - you say hushed, more to yourself than anyone else. The pair of sturdy arms turn you around and one hand comes up to the back of your head, gently nudging it forward into the stranger's chest, blocking all the view from your parents' figures covered by white sheets.

The steady heart beat, of the stranger, eliminates the chaos around you and in that moment it's just you and the kind stranger, in whose arms you feel safe. The calmness settles in you - the silence before the storm - the calmness before the reality. A few more minutes pass with the stranger holding you in their arms stroking your tangled, snowflake invaded hair when the shock enters, destroying all calmness. If you were standing your knees would have buckled, but you were already sitting with your knees in the snow leaning back on your ankles.

The sadness is to overwhelming, holding back all the tears and only making dry sobs leave your body. "They are gone" You say disbelievingly, shaking your head in slow horizontal directions. "I'm really sorry for your loss" this is the first time you hear the stranger's voice, but you like it - it produces a certain serenity, perfect for the situation. You pull away from the stranger and he removes his arms from your waist, and you almost instantly miss the feeling of comfort. "Thank you for uhhh..." you pause a bit, trying to collect yourself "thanks" you get the only word out that you can think of suitable, while pushing yourself to your feet. The man also pushes himself to his feet, brushing of the snow from his pants.

"Bucky" he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for you to shake. There is a small silence before you reach out, shaking his hand "Y/N" "We should probably get your wounds checked out, it looks kinda bad" Bucky says sincerely. You haven't even given thought to your injuries, you were solemnly focused on your parents - 'they're REALLY gone' - your mind begins spiraling again. Bucky rests his flesh hand on your shoulder, preventing you to give into your spiraling thoughts, and usher you towards a car. "My friends and I are going to take you to our infirmary where we live. You'll get better treatment there." Bucky keeps talking to you, trying to keep you from dazing.

In any other situation you would have had questions: 'where do you live? how can I trust you? who are your friends?'  But in this case it's different: I just lost my parents and nothing can be worse than that, what do I have to live for now?' The opening of a car door, breaks through your thoughts and you hesitate a moment before you silently climb into the backseat, Bucky following right behind you. The contrast of the freezing weather outside and the heated air in the car, sends a shiver of pleasure through your spine. "These are my friends, Natasha and Tony" Bucky introduces the two people sat in the front of the car, pointing to each of them when saying their names "this is Y/N" he tells them, pointing to you. You didn't even notice there were people in the car, until Bucky introduced you to each other.

'Say something' you mentally scold yourself for your awkwardness "hey, nice to meet you...thanks for, uhh, you know what" you say. "No problem sweetie, anytime" Natasha says with a soft smile, before turning around and focusing in front of her. The shock, adrenaline rush and fuzzy brain definitely took a toll on you causing your eyelids to feel heavy, fluttering closed, before you force them open again "Get some sleep doll" Bucky says, hugging you closer to his warm body. Without having to tell you twice, you let your eyelids close, only this time you keep them closed.

After a long drive, of which you have no recollection, the car pulls up to the tower. Bucky picks you up in his arms, careful not to push any glass shards deeper than they already are, and carries you to the infirmary, swiftly but steady. The entire time that the doctors treat your wounds, Bucky stays by your side and after an hour the doctors and nurses leave the room, satisfied with their work.

The annoying beeping of a heart monitor, the bright fluorescent light hurting your eyes even through closed eyelids, the tight skin around the penetrating IV and the bandages almost, not quite, but almost stopping all blood flow through your veins, wake you up from your sleep. The light hurts your eyes but you force them to stay open and scan your surroundings. "B-Bucky" you ask unsure with a hoarse throat "Your awake" he says cheerfully, grabbing a drink of water. He gently puts one hand at the back of your head, slowly pushing it up and putting the brim of the glass to your lips. You take a few small sips, letting it soothe your dry throat before you thank him for the water.

Bucky rests your head onto the pillows again and makes his way back to the chair he's been sitting on for about an hour. After a long silence in the room, but constant debating with yourself, in your head, you ask the question that has been floating in your mind. "What's going to happen now? I mean like...with me? Where do I go?" you rush through your questions almost forgetting to fill your lungs with oxygen. The heart monitor beeping rapidly and the lines spiking as your heart's rhythm increases "Hey, hey, hey, calm down...okay? Just breathe for me." Bucky waits for you to calm your breathing before he continues "For now, you're just going to heal. Once you're all healed, we can contact some of your relatives, maybe you can stay with them" Just the mentioning of staying with one of your immoral relatives cause goosebumps to form on your skin. "Our umm...my relatives? they don't really like us...me, they don't really like me" you say, confusion clear on your face as you try to correct your sentence. "Well then, you can stay here at the tower, with me..." Bucky suggests, quickly adding "that's only if you want to" not wanting to push you into anything. "Yeah, I...I'd like that" you say with a smile tugging at your lips.

"Why don't you get some more rest and we can talk again in the morning, finalize all the plans and so forth?" Bucky says when he sees your eyes drooping and your best efforts to hide your yawns. "Okay, thank you again Bucky, it really means a lot to me" You say already closing your eyes "Goodnight doll" He leans forward pressing a kiss to your forehead "Goodnight Bucky" He walks back to his seat and plops himself down, getting comfy for the night.

' "I love you guys" "We love you too, Y/N" and then *CRASH*...glass shatters everywhere, penetrating any flesh in its way. I feel the tingling as the blood drips from the lacerations on my arms and legs. But then I remember, my parents, "Mom, Dad!!!!" I see their lifeless, covered in blood, bodies against the dashboard. Then I hear my mother mumble the last few words, coughing on her own blood, spewing it onto her clothes "You... could have...saved us...Y/N" and then she exhales her last breath. '

You scream yourself awake and jolt up on the gurney. Sweat is dripping down the side of your forehead, your breathing is hitched and the heart monitor is screaming at you, trying to pull you back to reality. The last string of your daze snaps as a strong pair of arms wrap around you for the second time that day. "It was just a nightmare" Bucky cooes softly into your ear, swaying you back and forth on the gurney. "It wasn't just a nightmare, it was real" you pant, the words of your imagination mother replaying in your head 'You could have saved us Y/N'

"I could have saved them Bucky" you whisper into his chest "You couldn't do anything Y/N" "I could have..." you pause trying to think what you could have done. You know it's your mind playing tricks on you, you know your mother would never say such a thing, but you still can't ignore it. "You could have what?" Bucky asks, trying to lure you into accepting that you couldn't do anything. "I could have...I don't know" you sigh giving in with no answers "You couldn't do anything, okay?" Bucky waits for you to voice your acceptance "O-okay" you answer. "Just try and sleep some more, I'll be right here when you wake up doll" Bucky settles in next to you on the narrow gurney hugging you tighter to his chest, breathing exaggerated breaths for you to follow.

Falling asleep again you didn't have any nightmares - maybe the last time that you wouldn't get nightmares, well at least for now. But Bucky would always be there, by your side, swaying you to calmness and holding you to his chest - the chest of the once stranger that held you tight on the day of THE awful incident.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x injured reader #car accident #tony stark #natasha romanoff #avengers x reader #mcu #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

[wasabito]

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

#bokuaka x reader #bokuto x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut

[kythed]

I have a fic request for Kuroo! A childhood friends to lovers situation based off the song Take my Hand by Picture This! (Just a cute song that has been haunting me because Kuroo ❤️)

I have been through and stalked your blog and I love it! I also saw the ficmas prompt list and I’m looking forward to requesting those too!

I hope this is okay and thank you so much! Your stuff is a joy to read! ❤️❤️❤️✨✨✨

take my hand

kuroo tetsurou x reader

hope you enjoy <3

five.

“You’re my best friend,” he tells you, swallowing the heart that keeps straining to burst from his throat, to lay itself at your feet in all its humiliating devotion. “Of course I love you.”

And he does love you, he reassures himself, letting you walk ahead of him. Just not in the way you think he does. He struggles to keep his eyes above your waistline, tearing his gaze from the hem of your skirt and pointedly pinning it to the back of your head, where your hair is loosely tied with a glossy silk ribbon. His efforts succeed for nearly thirty seconds before he again finds his eyes tracing their way down your neck, down your back, down to the arch of your waist and the flare of your hips, relishing the curve of your--

Damn it. He abruptly stops in his tracks, rubbing his eyes until he sees only stars. (Maybe if he rubs his eyes with enough vigor he’ll stop noticing things he shouldn’t notice while looking at his best friend.)

“Tetsu,” you say, turning around with a laugh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly, blinking hard.

He’s not fine.

four.

Life is painful when you’re in love with your oldest, dearest friend. Let Kuroo Tetsurou be the first to testify that when you’ve grown up with someone your entire life, when you’ve made the long, tedious trek from diapers to graduation gowns with them, it feels almost sinful to find yourself slipping into daydreams about pressing that person against your wall, about hearing them whisper your name on soft linen sheets, about kissing them breathless and glassy eyed until the sun plunges beneath the horizon with a brazen wink.

He hates himself for staring at you and hoping to catch you staring back. He hates himself for letting your words wash over his head, unheard, in favor of watching the way your lips curve and curl when you speak.

Most of all, he hates himself for loving you so fiercely in a particular way that would surely sour your stomach and send you running.

“I love you too,” you say, waiting for him to catch up and fall into step beside you. You take his hand and lace your fingers with his as you make your way up the street to your house. The windows glow a domestic orange, dimly illuminating the patch of asphalt before your front door.

It’s nearing seven now-- the gentle clinking of silverware and some sort of faint, savory scent from within inform you of dinner’s impending commencement.

“I know,” he says, cracking a crooked smile. You roll your eyes as he brushes a mocking kiss over your knuckles. “I’m hard to hate.”

three.

Most of the summer passes uneventfully, according to Kuroo’s standards. He manages to keep himself in check, even as he spends each and every day with you, dawn til dusk, savoring your presence the way a starving man savors his last ration.

He manages to treat you almost exactly as he’s treated you his entire life-- like a best friend. He tells his silly jokes that make you giggle and groan simultaneously. He pushes you off the pier when you least expect it, howling with laughter as you resurface, sputtering and flinging fiery invective. He shares an earbud with you as he walks downtown with you by his side, arm slung over your shoulder with carefully calculated composure.

He almost makes it to autumn without incident.

The small, hidden moments are what gives him away, though, layered within false nonchalance and easygoing grins like brightly painted matryoshka.

The way his chest constricts almost painfully when you laugh at a pun he’s ad-libbed on the spot, sending a flurry of butterflies freewheeling in the pit of his stomach.

“It really wasn’t that good,” he chuckles, tenderly watching as tears of laughter prick at the corners of your eyes and you grip his forearm in an attempt to steady yourself as giggles rack your body.

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree, struggling to catch your breath. “It was awful, and that’s what made it so funny.”

(He makes about a dozen more puns that day, feeling like he’s won the lottery whenever you so much as smile at his pitiful attempts at wordplay.)

The way his hands tremble when you turn around and ask him to tie your bikini string before you jump into the lake, the way he bites his lip so some horribly incriminating comment about how he really thinks you’d “be better off without the bikini at all” doesn’t slip out from his mouth.

“Thanks Tetsu,” you chirp after he ties the string around the back of your neck in a neat double-knot. You give him a wink and take off towards the water, kicking up sand in the process. “Last one in buys lunch!”

(He was already planning on paying anyways.)

The way he sits up a little straighter when you lean over and slip a hand under his arms to press ‘skip’ on his phone while you listen to his playlist-- you’re so close he can smell your lip balm.

“Sorry,” you say, smiling apologetically. “I don’t really like that band.”

(Later that evening, Kuroo goes through his Spotify and deletes every single song from that band he has on all of his playlists.)

Yes, he manages to keep himself in check outwardly. But inside, he can feel himself digging his grave a little deeper with each passing day. He watches the sands of summer run through his fingers with the dread of a man counting down the days to his funeral.

He just knows that one of these days he’s going to slip.

two.

He’s right, of course. There’s only so much emotional torment one person can humanly endure. It’s just that he’s hoping he can extinguish this inconvenient, one-sided flame before August comes around. Maybe then everything can go back to normal, whatever normal might entail.

Needless to say, Kuroo’s hopes are dashed before summer comes to a close.

It’s a sticky July evening when you and he drive out to an empty parking lot at the edge of town, a blanket and an old transistor radio in tow. You’re wearing a pale yellow sundress that falls to just above your knees-- he’s glad it’s not any shorter, and that the breeze isn’t quite strong enough to lift your hem.

“I think I can see Orion’s belt,” you say, pointing towards somewhere far into the cosmos. Kuroo squints, trying to follow your finger.

“I don’t think that’s Orion,” he says. “Looks like a cat to me.”

The two of you are sitting on a blanket spread across the hood of his car, craning your necks to make out vague shapes in the stars. Between you, slow, muffled music trickles out from the radio’s small speakers, some sort of vintage tune from the forties.

“How in the world are you seeing a cat?” You shake your head, giving him a hard poke on the shoulder. “Looks more like a swarm of astral bees than anything.”

“Astral bees,” he repeats with a laugh. “Laziest constellation interpretation I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not lazy,” you protest. “It’s accurate.”

Kuroo just smiles and shrugs, sneaking a glance at you. Your face is bathed in milky starlight, eyes wide as you peer up at the cloudless sky with a blend of wonder and appreciation. There’s some competition, but he thinks this might be the prettiest you’ve ever looked in a single moment.

As if you can feel his stare, you turn to catch his gaze. A gentle smile breaks onto your face, and you absentmindedly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with the endearing shyness of a schoolgirl. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, mirroring your grin. “You just… look nice right now.”

“No, seriously,” you laugh disbelievingly. “Is there something on my face?”

“I am being serious,” Kuroo insists, fidgeting with the blanket beneath his palms. “You look good. Yellow suits you.”

You flush, glancing down at your dress. You bought it two summers back, and he’s seen you in it a million times before. This is the first summer where he’s really seen you, though. “Well, thank you. It’s a warm night, so I figured I was better off in a dress than pants.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, breaking eye contact to squint up at the stars. He grins and points, finger trembling slightly. “I think I can see where you’re coming from, with the bees.”

one.

A staticky, syrupy waltz comes on the radio, bleeding into the cracks in the comfortable silence. You sigh contentedly, leaning back onto the windshield. “I like this song. It’s… nostalgic.”

Kuroo cocks an eyebrow at you. “You’ve heard this before?”

“No,” you laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. “But it reminds me of times gone by, you know? Like, this is the sort of music I imagine playing when a soldier reunites with his wife after the war.”

“When he comes running out of the train and drops his bags on the platform,” Kuroo continues, watching you carefully, “only to sweep his girl off her feet and spin her around wildly.”

You nod, sneaking a glance at him. “You really know me that well, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes crinkling with humor. “But I get it, too. It has that old fashioned romance thing goin’ on.”

“Mhm,” you agree. You reach over and fiddle with the radio’s volume, turning it up just enough to round out the sound completely.

Kuroo sits for a moment, watching you close your eyes and hum along to the music. Then, a sudden boldness taking the reins, he hops off the hood and walks over to you, extending his hand. “Take it.”

“What?”

“Take my hand,” he insists, so you do, gingerly placing your palm atop his. “We’re going to dance.”

“Oh, no,” you laugh, nonetheless letting him help you down from the car and resting a hand on his shoulder. He lightly places his own on your waist, leading you out into the parking lot. “You know I can’t dance.”

“I can’t either,” he reminds you. “But I want to dance with you right now.”

As you begin to sway slightly to the music, Kuroo pulls you a little closer to his chest, letting his chin brush the top of your head. “Why are you into that whole idea?”

“What idea?” you ask quietly, letting him lead you in slow circles around the lot.

“The idea of an old fashioned love.”

“Oh,” you say, laughing as Kuroo spins you in his arms, catching you before you stumble. “I’m not sure… maybe because it seems more constant than love today. Like, today, if you tell someone you love them, it’s a compliment, not a promise. But back then, it was a vow. It meant something.”

Kuroo swallows, looking down at you. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, threatening to burst out of his temples. I’m about to do something I might regret.

zero.

“I need you to do something for me,” he says, voice low and thick with caution. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Please,” he says, voice breaking. He knows that if he doesn’t do this now, he never will. You look beautiful to him in this moment, dancing with him in the empty parking lot to the faint melody of an old waltz. Your eyes glisten with life, your lips gently parted, hair slightly curling over your cheeks.

You roll your eyes once but nonetheless close them obediently, relying a little more on his arms to steady you. He swallows. “Okay. So, imagine we’re living in the 1940s.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling slightly. “I’m imagining.”

“Imagine I enlisted in the war, and I just got back home. Imagine you’re waiting for me at the train station.”

“Mhmm,” you say, trying your best to envision the platform. “You look good in that uniform, Tetsu.”

He chuckles. “I look good in anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Get on with it.”

“Imagine I come sprinting out from the train and you’re waiting there with open arms. This song is playing on the platform speakers. I ask you to dance just like we are now.” Kuroo watches you grin, feeling his heart flutter. “Then, imagine I tell you something.”

Unconsciously, you shift closer to him, almost pressing your body flush to his. A breath hitches in his throat. “What do you tell me?”

He leans down, brushes his lips against your ear. “I love you.”

You open your eyes, head cocked, slight confusion cloaking your features. “You mean, like…?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “No. I mean, like, I love you. Not just in a friend way. In that old fashioned way you were talking about. I love everything about you. I’m in love with everything about you.”

“Tetsu…” you breathe, searching his face. He gazes down at you seriously, not a trace of humor tainting his stare. He takes a deep breath.

“I love the way your hair falls in the summer. I love your stupid, annoying laugh. I love how your hand fits in mine. I love the way you rant about anything and everything and expect me to listen, and I do because I can’t help but get excited about what you get excited about. I love you like a soldier loves his wife,” he says, the words flowing out like a river bursting from a dam. “I love you so much it hurts, and it scares me, and I’m sorry if this ruins stuff between us, but I just had to--”

“Shut up.”

He blinks, mouth gaping. “I-- what?”

“I said,” you whisper, gripping the back of his neck and guiding his face down to yours. “Shut up, Tetsu. You talk too much.”

Then suddenly you’re kissing him, and he can’t believe it, but he kisses you back like it’s what he was born to do. He lets you crash your lips into his and watches as shooting stars burst forth and the planets align. Somehow, your hands find their way up into his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks, and his own travel down to your lower back, pulling you as close as humanly possible, so tightly he never wants to let go. He revels in the warmth of your skin, the icy, tingly sensation of your lips, and when you pull back, it’s all he can do to refrain from pulling you right back in again.

There’s a brief silence. His lips are swollen, his lungs are devoid of air. “I… wow. Just, wow.”

You grin wickedly, slipping your hand into his. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a while now.”

“You have?” he asks, eyes wide in disbelief. “I didn’t notice.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you laugh. “You were too worried about not letting me notice you staring at my ass every chance you got.”

Kuroo flushes but gives a sheepish smile, massaging the back of his neck. “You know, I really thought I was being smooth about it.”

--

As it turns out, you love him back. And not just in the best friend way. You love everything about him, his stupid jokes, his loud, booming laugh, his teasing, his smile, his successes and his failures. You love how your hand fits in his. You love that it took him years and years to admit to himself that he loved you, too.

Kuroo Tetsurou may not be the smoothest guy in the world, but he’s certainly the only one you want. And you’re certainly the only one he wants.

And that’s really the most you could ever ask for.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo headcanons #kuroo tetsurou headcanons #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsurō x reader #kuroo scenarios #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #friends to lovers

[pedros-mustache]

loquacious

summary: you’re not normally this expressive.

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ or i will fight you): protected sex (not specifically mentioned), kinda sorta cockwarming, dirty talk, .2 seconds of cumplay, breeding kink if you squint. also: language, x fem!reader.

a/n: there is no plot, but i very much enjoyed writing this prior to my three hour thesis presentation tomorrow. v much would enjoy smoft sex with ezra. also: sorry mom

it’s simple, unrushed this time. 

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and two pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble. 

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building. 

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now. 

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep. 

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“shit. you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just...” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time. 

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates. 

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so big.”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but fucking fuck—i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.” 

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat. 

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as... pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.” 

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest. 

tomorrow’s worries can wait.

#ezra (prospect) #ezra x reader #ezra smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #x fem!reader #pm writes

[simpz-art-stash]

A friendship poisoned by bad blood between brothers.

Day 4 - Poison for Starsfic’s prompt list!

Have a lil fic from the rp which inspired these drawings <3

Fang had of course went the same route as she usually did via cloud. Picking up Mei and telling her to wait atop one of the nearby skyscrapers. That she'd stay connected with her via phone call to allow her to listen in just in case. And that she'd call for her help if it felt like backup was needed.

Hopefully that would not end up being needed.

But the closer she approached the peak of the tower, the more her instincts were screaming at her to bail. She could only chalk it up to nerves at that point.

Just seeing his blurry silhouette in the distance waiting for her left her a lil uneasy as she approached.

Red stopped pacing when he caught her approaching. He glared silently at her, trying to look mean. However, the pained look in his eye made the effect more akin to constipation.  

"You have 1 minute to convince me I shouldn't just throw you from this roof." He said, hoping she'd be combative and he could explode on her.

"Well you're lively as ever.." Her brows furrowed a little, at least he didn't look like a dead mess inside like she did. Though he did look like he'd been put through a few restless cycles... Stepping off the cloud, her eyes barely glanced around to the garden, her sights set on him. Everything put back as it were as if their little scuffle hadn't happened at all. She stopped a few feet from him, looking just as uncomfortable to be there. "I need you're help. There's something ancient and evil lurking beneath the city working with Spider Queen. And someone told me that you've dealt with it before..." She claimed. "I'm not looking to reforge what we had because I know you're right. That we can't be together...But I was hoping at the very least..that maybe just for this, we could truce?" She looked at him hopefully.

"You're coming to me to help defeat the Spider Queen yet again?? Are you serious!? Are you all REALLY so INCOMPETENT that you cannot just handle her for once!? She's not even that strong of a demon, she just keeps getting lucky!" He snapped.  "Why don't you go ask your ole daddy to save the day on this one?? I've got better things to do!" If she would just leave, get angry and run off, he wouldn't have to....

She grimaced at him blowing up at her. Any other day she'd hardly find it all that hurtful to listen to him rage his frustrations into the air about her. But then he had to go and make things personal. And she only barely manged to keep her composure at him throwing her dad into the mix like that. "My dad's missing Red...I can't.." She sighed, crossing her arms as she glared at the ground. "Interesting." A voice of static crackled to life in one of his ears. His father's voice. "Proceed with what we discussed." Red winced at the static in his ear, but tried to pass it off. "Your... dad is missing?" He asked slowly. "UuuuUUGHHH!! FINE! Just... fine, let's sit down, have a drink, and talk it out, Monkey Princess." He waved her to follow over to the table. He reached under and brought out the drink. Rather spicy water, even for him. Ancient and potent looking. He must really feel bad about their break up...

She shot him a glance, almost a little surprised to see him succumb to her words. Honestly thinking he would've told her to just 'get over it' or 'who cares'. This only stoked what little hope she had for them. She breathed out a little, "Thank you.." Before she made her way over with him, sitting herself down opposite to him. Though she'd abstained from drinking for as long as she could, all the stress was just begging her mental status to relax.

He poured the drinks white she was settling, slightly obscured to her when he did. 'Better you than me,' he thought as he dropped in the poison. This was a mantra he'd adopted over the centuries when he started to feel bad about the things he did. This was the first time he didn't quite believe it. He picked up the glasses and handed the poisoned one to her. He sat across from her and took a bigger drink from his than he ever normally would, needing this for courage not to knock the glass from her hands. To her, it would just seem that their falling out was harder on him than he let on.... which was true.  Evidenced by him  brushing a finger over his old facial scar, something he didn't even realize he did when he was anxious. "So what in the realms could POSSIBLY have you worried about that self-important pestilence infesting the sewers calling herself a queen?" He FINALLY asked.

Though a part of her wanted nothing more than to just drink the night away like it were any other, she knew they had more important business. And considered that through the end of it that maybe it would be better to simply savor what she could of what time they had. Opting for once to speak over her drinking for the first time in a while. "She's working with someone..someone a lot more powerful. An ancient demon with dark magic..." She contemplated aloud, "We think it might've been what gave her the boost she had when she tried to take over the city the first time..but we're not sure." She glanced at him. "You feel it too though don't you? The city has been restless for weeks...something worse is coming." He winced when she didn't immediately start drinking.  He did contemplate about the city being restless.  "I thought that was just me being a surly bastard." He tilted his head in thought.  But now that she mentioned it, yes, for once, it did seem to effect more than just him. He sighed and sat back, swirling his glass, looking bitterly into it.  "That would make sense, I suppose.  That something bigger than her would be what's allowing her to be more effective at her job than usual." Fang nodded a little, "We've got a name to her but..we're unsure of just how strong she really is. She's managed to put a curse on my brother..an lead my father down a path even I can trace him back to..she calls herself 'The Lady Bone Demon." There was a bit of an avid silence between them before that same gravely tone crackled to life in his ear, "Interrogate her on this enemy." If she wasn't going to off herself then to them then they might as well gain any intel they can on this enemy.

"Lady Bone Demon..." He furrowed his brow, not needing to be prompted by his father one bit on this.  "It seems like a familiar name, maybe I've come across her in my research." he shook his head.  "But do go on, please." he waved, urging her to divulge everything. "Someone did say that you've dealt with her before. It's why I arranged this meeting in the first place..they claimed that you 'dug' her up from the 'pits of hell.'" She pointed out, not really sure how true it was but she wanted to cover her source as he'd claimed he wanted no part in anything regarding it all. "I'm not pointing you at fault whatsoever, I don't think you'd purposely let someone loose like that just to give them the upper hand...I'm just going on the only lead I have at this point.." She claimed. Red Son's brow furrowed at that, and he wondered how closely his family was listening.  It had indeed been the Demon Bull Family to dig up this menace from the depths of the earth. "That's... That sounds like the ancient energy that my father had us dig from the earth... The one that possessed him.  The soul reason we blighted our names to team up with the Monkey King and Nyoodle Boy.  But we defeated that!  Noodle Boy dealt the killing blow!" So he had dealt with it before. "Apparently he didn't finish her like you thought he did, because she's underneath the city working to off us all." Fang stated, "All the signs are there, and this proves it." He shook his head, cursing his father's arrogance under his breath.  Not that Red would have done anything different, in fact he was one to help dig the spirit up, proud to help his father in his glorious purpose.  However, he was still sore that his father had turned on him and his mother, even if his mother had forgiven DBK. "So now this horrible power that possessed my father, nearly killed me, and already nearly destroyed everything anyone holds dear, is BACK?  With the Spider Queen of all people, that DOES explain how that little gnat took the city!" he growled and was on his feet.  "So?? What are you doing about it? What sort of measures are you taking to combat this?" She blinked a little in surprise at his sudden boisterous attitude, well at least he was putting his anger towards something more worthwhile instead of taking it out on her. "Weeell..we've got someone currently scoping out the sewers looking for them, in hopes that we'll be able to find out exactly where they are. We've also been looking for any manner of history regarding them, or any relic's that might be of use to us for this specific demon. As well as any other allies..but we haven't had much luck..we're sort of on our own here an I..well can I just be honest with you? I have no idea what the hell I'm doing..." Red had been pacing, but when she got down and honest with him, he stopped. He looked back at her, seeing the scared, vulnerable girl that she didn't let out much to anyone. She'd been working so hard to stop this, and she was floundering, and destined to fail. Maybe it would be kinder of him to end her. Maybe this was for the best. He came back and sat down, nearer to her. "Well. I suppose that..." he sighed. "Dont worry your monkey head about this. I will do everything in my power to stop this demon, then. Not for you!" He quickly amended, remembering his parents listening. "But to avenge my family's honor! Take down anything that thinks it could possibly be greater than the Demon Bull Family! The audacity of this Lady Bonehead." Hus ears were blowing out a tiny bit of steam after his fit of passion. And though it might've made sense to him that it would be best to truce in hopes of taking down such a powerful ancient enemy. His father apparently thought it just as much of a mockery the second time around than the first. Where Red saw logic, Bullking saw the only fleeting chance he had to finally one up his oldest enemy and lose what footing he could to overtaking the city. He didn't need the aid of ANYONE, the Spider Queen had simply gotten the jump on him. But he knew now that was just because of some devious relic. And he wasn't about to tarnish the family name further. So again he had to remind his son who was really making the demands here. "Remember your place child." He warned him, "If you value what little sliver of loyalty you have towards you're family you will do as I say. And follow through with your mission." A small chuckle escaped Fang then, and a tear almost would've escaped her had she not hid it by brushing back her bangs. "That's probably the most relieving thing I've heard all week..." She smiled at him, that glimmer of hope in her eyes in knowing he had her back. Her hand raising her glass to him as a toast, "May we both be victorious in the end." He felt his blood run cold at his dad's chastisement.  He knew he wasn't likely to be spared should DBK's wrath overflow.  His father had proven time and again that he was more or less expendable. He had a good upbringing, though, and raised his glass to her as well.  "May victory smile on the Demon Bull Family." he made as if to drink, but waited to be sure she was drinking first. Then he slammed his drink, standing up.  "We'll take it from here.  Just rest." he told her, brow twitching in dismay. She took her shot then, her face scrunching a bit at just how strong the after burn of it was before she sighed. "Thanks...I really needed this.." A tired smile stared down at the now empty glass, never the wiser. "I mean it..even if we'll never be able to speak to each other ever again after this. And pretend we hate each other's guts. I'll always cherish those moments spent between us all those years ago...Just so you know..in case something happens to you." She stated her claim, before slowly standing herself upright. "I'll always be here for you man." Oh sure. She was just going to twist the knife in his gut.  Curse these goodie two shoes and their sentimentality!  And she was outing him more and more to his family!  He should have used a stronger poison.  What if the alcohol nullified its effects?? "I will genuinely miss you.  Forgive me that I don't have your back..." he hunched his shoulders, thinking quickly.  His parents didn't have a visual on them, just an audio link, as far as he knew. Before her eyes, he started his agitated pacing yet again.  And suddenly, he yanked something out of his ear throwing it to the ground and crushing it under his boot.  "I'm so sorry Fang..." She tilted a little at his sudden abruptness to it all, having wondered if he was just getting misty at her being so forward of just how much she'd miss him. But watching his jerking motions prompted a bit of confusion to her. "What're you?-" Then there was a cough that escaped her, and looking back at her would reveal her holding a hand to her throat with a look of discomfort. As if trying to breathe only for further coughing to escape her. "Red?.." She wheezed a little, staring at him with a confused look. He paced a little more, trying to think of anything he could do to stop this.  Any antidote.  But there wasn't one, that's why they had chosen it.  At the cough, he froze.  "My father was going to kill me if I didn't--" was all the explanation he offered, before biting down hard on his tongue and turning his back to her.  Poisoning was one of his least favorite ways of killing someone.  Too personal, too up close.  Imprecise and messy.  This was DBK's own way of torturing Red, by choosing such a horrible demise. He couldn't look at her, and he turned his back, holding his head up.  "I'll take care of things from here.  Just rest." he repeated.  He tried to look dignified but he was close to throwing up. Further coughing ensued, her fighting just to get any ounce of air in her lungs at that point. Her mind finding it hard to focus on his words but she heard him, and she felt a sharp panic drop in her stomach as a swelling heat rose in her core. "W-what did you-" She tried to get another word in, trying to edge around the table to meet him, but found her limbs betraying her and forcing her to collapse on the ground with a cry. Tears pricked her eyes at the surge of heat that was becoming overbearingly hot within her. Like she'd just eaten a demon pepper, only it was causing her to lose every manner of senses and replace it with pure hellfire. Where all she could do was grip at her chest in agony and let out a wrenching noise as she bellowed out a pleading cry. But that wasn't the only thing that bellowed out of her right then, a plume of red smog began to leak from her nose and mouth. Only furthering her suffering as she choked on it all, unable to breathe in nothing more than the pure rage inducing concoction she'd had forced upon her. A sickened snarl escaped her right then as one of her hands gripped at the ground, clawing at it enough to leave marks buried into the concrete that had forged it. And though her breath was shallow, it warped in comparison to the haunting fury that now laced her breath. "What did you do to me?!!" She screamed. He tried to be cold and cool, aloof the way his mother had taught him to be.  A strong man, not a quivering, weak boy.  But when he heard her collapse on the ground choking he let out a pained cry of his own, ducking his head and covering his ears.  He should have just let his father kill him.  It would have been preferable to this!  His only friend choking to death behind him.  His eyes squeezed shut, causing tears to fall that he hadn't realized even welled up. The last scream made his blood run cold, a particularly horrid sensation for a man so hot.  Something was different about her voice at a primal level, and it caused him to spin around to face her.  Any pretense he had held before this point was gone, and his face was just that of a sick, scared child.  "Fang!" Another pained cry left her curled in on herself as she almost looked like she was having a stroke. But that couldn't of been farther from the truth as a wicked sense of something horrid radiated off of her, like a mix of dark magic and death. A whimper escaped her as her fur began to warp from its pure sunshine blonde to a morbidly dark black, her hands involuntarily flexing in on themselves as she let out a haggard breath. "I trusted you..." It was low, warped and hollow, and through it all somehow she forced herself up onto her knees. If not to just look back at him with a look he'd only seen her wear the first time they'd met when he'd fought for his life and given her that horrid scar of hellfire. A look a pure primal rage.

#my art #my fics #Sun Wu Fang #OctoberMASH #Red Son #LMK #Lego Monkie Kid #ain't no proof readin' on dis BITCH #JUST RAW RP

[pinkbalrog]

Of Gods and Tombs

A Noragami Lost Tomb AU I decided to actually write up. Apologies for cultural errors. I probably could have researched more. No offense was meant. :) Feel free to comment. I consciously tried not to sink too much focus into this because I am a perfectionist and would have brooded over this for weeks, and I do have other projects! All supernatural elements are improvised, perhaps badly. I also wasn’t sure of Xiao Er Ye? Thoughts? I don’t know Chinese : (. 

Mentioning @jockvillagersonly because they have been ridiculously nice. :)

Here we go!

Pangzi stared. The man stared back, holding Pangzi’s wilting incense in one hand. He’d been, savoring it? Maybe? Wide eyes stared back over a thin trail of smoke and, was he blushing?

“Who the FUC-”

“Shhhh!” the man lunged forward. He dropped the incense, wincing and grabbed Pangzi’s arm. “You’ll wake something up!”

“You’re something!”

“We can talk but—yes, I am?”

Pangzi got a handful of silk. Where did he get the hanfu? He jerked him close, eyes narrowed, grinning so hard his cheeks ached. “You,” he grated, “are not part of the expedition”.

Wide eyes blinked at him. “What expedition?” Pangzi cuffed him.

“You think I came in here alone? You did not come in with us.” The guy wasn’t frail, was pretty solid actually, but he had the look of a bird plucked out of a net.  

“No. Obviously?” Thoughts moved rapidly behind his eyes, and he scanned Pangzi, taking in his sweat stained shirt, abraded hands, and his unshaven face. “You came with a group then, and you came up.” He pried off Pangzi’s grip and took a step towards the dark where Pangzi had dragged the heavy door mostly into place. “At least that’s the only way you’d be in this corridor, it’s inaccessible on this level.”

Pangzi gaped. He exclaimed, “Then how the hell did you get here?” The man ignored him, squatting down to look at Pangzi’s sleeping bag. Pangzi stepped in front of it defensively.

The man continued, “They must be dead, otherwise you wouldn’t be alone, and you need help”. He nodded at Pangzi, as if they were having a discussion. They were not.

Pangzi loomed over him. “Again, how are you here?”

The man rolled back on his heels, straightened, and damn well held his hands in front of him like he was lecturing. Long sleeves slid back from thin wrists. His hair was short, and not neat at all. “I’ve been here for a long time, and I need help too.”

“You,” Pangzi sputtered, “you need help. You look, look you’re not a ghost right? You would have already tried to kill me. Right. I’m sitting down for this.” And he threw himself down on the platform of the pitiful, wedged open coffin, nearly squashing his back pack. He crossed his arms. “Well, what’s your name?”

The guy, whoever he was, smiled hopefully. “You can call me Xiao Er Ye.”

Pangzi grunted. “Wang Pangzi”.

Xiao Er Ye bowed, weirdly formal.

Stretching out his legs, which ached from walking uneven corridors for literal days, Pangzi idly rifled through his bag until he had a good grip on his gun, then he pulled out a water bottle and let it hang from his hand. “And what are you anyway?”

“I’m a god.”

The bottle thunked on the floor. “What?”

Xiao Er Ye smiled wider.

Pangzi sneered. He waved his arms. “A god. Bullshit.” Whoever lost their lunatic in that pathetic village was probably wondering what hole they fell into. Pangzi’s hole apparently.

Xiao Er Ye regarded him steadily. “It’s true. Did you wonder why I had your incense?” Pangzi scoffed,

“Becasue you’re a weirdo?”

“Because your offering allowed me to appear to you.”

“Right. And that seems like a reasonable explanation to you?”

He was ridiculous, but he was really clean. There was fat on his bones, and his nails were neat. Pangzi let go of the gun, considering. The guy clearly got in here very recently, which meant there was a way out. Could Pangzi humor the lunatic to get out of a literal death trap? Hell yes.

“Oookay,” he drawled, “So you’re a god. I can see you. What do you need my help for, your holiness?”

Immediately, Xiao Er Ye sat close beside him. “I can’t leave here because someone is here in a trap meant for me. I can’t free him because the trap is meant for me.” He paused to see if Pangzi was following. Pangzi smiled wide. Apparently reassured, Xiao Er Ye went on, “and I’m having a hard enough time keeping the trap from doing what it’s supposed to do, which is make the whole thing even more inescapable. You’re mortal, so you can free him”.

Taking a drink, Pangzi considered. So yes, Xiao Er Ye was off his rocker. He put the cap back on and asked,

“But do you know a way out of here?”

“Yes, many.”

“And you’re still here.”

Xiao Er Ye set his jaw, obstinate. “I need help.”

Pangzi tapped the bottle. So, do one nonsensical thing and finally get out? Or do nothing and lose what might be a chance. He remembered red hands, gleaming wetly.  

“Okay,” he said, and watched Xiao Er Ye light up. He was ridiculously easy to read. “Say I believe you. How does this work?”  

“I lead you to the trap, and you follow my instructions. Then we get out.”

Pangzi eyed him incredulously. “Then we get out. No real plan for that?”

Xiao Er Ye grinned, gestured at the tomb around them, and said, “That’s the easy part.”

Pangzi snorted. “Easy he says.” He made a production of standing up, and folded, “You better not screw me over, your holiness.”

“Thank you.” Pangzi paused. Xiao Er Ye’s voice was soft, earnest, “Thank you Wang Pangzi.”

Pangzi huffed a laugh. Atleast this was a harmless idiot. “Yeah, you’re welcome, let’s go get your boyfriend, or whatever, and get out of here.”

Xiao Er Ye’s voice pitched up, “my whatever?” and he kept talking.

Ignoring him, Pangzi faced the door. Damn it, he had to shift it again.

 . . .

Pangzi reconsidered this decision. He reconsidered it strongly. Ripping another lotus arrow out of his shirt he threw it at Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye dodged, and it clicked on the floor with all the others. This was trap number six. He tried to stay calm.

“And why,” he hissed, “Are you setting off every trap in this godsdamned tomb? How are there even this many left? Didn’t you come this way? Why aren’t you dead? Are you dead? Are you a fucking ghost because so help me I will hit you.”

Turns out, Xiao Er Ye was right about the corridor earlier being inaccessible from that level, but you could climb up another pit trap. Pangzi was getting very tired of squeezing up pit traps, and apparently this guy just clambered up and down them? Without getting dirty? Without seeming flustered in the least? Maybe his people put him in the hole on purpose. Was this all just enrichment? Even the spear traps? It was a fucking blessing that they seemed to be malfunctioning, or aged past effectiveness.

Xiao Er Ye looked sheepish, shrugging. “I forgot to worry about them? I’m usually not materially here when I walk around, but you need to see me and get past them so...”

Pangzi took a deep breath and counted to ten. “I need a drink”.

“Are you hurt though?” and now Xiao Er Ye was all sharp-eyed and attentive, all his focus on Pangzi, on his bruises and battered ego. Pangzi’s shoulders slumped.

“From this?” he shook his head and clapped a hand on Xiao Er Ye’s shoulder, “I’m fine. Can we just—what is THAT?”

There were hands, white, emaciated hands pressing through the stones at their feet. Black writhed up. Shrieking, Pangzi stomped, and stomped again.

Xiao Er Ye was stomping too, ranting, “Oh not again, no no I will not humor you. Do you want to be dead? Really? I told you no!”

The hands shrank back with a plaintive keen and one last lingering caress on Xiao Er Ye’s leg.

Pangzi and Xiao Er Ye stood there, breathing heavily. Their eyes met. Xiao Er Ye wore a strained smile and he looked, desperate.  

“So,” Pangzi stepped past Xiao Er Ye, careful not to step on any cracks, “Where next?” He didn’t look back, but he heard Xiao Er Ye take a shaky breath.

“Down this way. We’re almost there.”

. . .

“Almost there” was a lie. Pangzi sympathized, he did. It seemed Xiao Er Ye really believed a friend of his was down here; but the longer it took to reach, whatever it was, the more Pangzi worried he wouldn’t get the chance to talk Xiao Er Ye down, and nudge him towards showing both of them out of the tomb. He did not want to wander until he starved, or end up like his former team mates, spattered across the walls of a noisome pit.

The corridors were getting smoother, more ornate, and Pangzi swore he could feel fresh air vented in from somewhere. Xiao Er Ye was silent now, heading doggedly forward. Finally, he turned a corner, and, in the light of Pangzi’s flashlight, there were massive doors, green gold bronze with jade inset panels. They glimmered, untouched by dust. In fact, and here Pangzi swung his flashlight around, splendor wasn’t confined to the doors. There were murals faded but intricate all over the walls of the corridor.

There was no way to smuggle those doors out, but Pangzi wanted. His fingers twitched. Why had the expedition come in on a lower grade? If they’d realized the tomb was mostly vertical, that stuff like this was at the top, well, this would have been a different raid altogether. It was quiet, hushed but for the sound of Pangzi’s and Xiao Er Ye’s foot steps, the sound of their breathing, and the rustle of Xiao Er Ye’s ornate coat as he strode forward.

The doors swung open at a touch, soundlessly, and, hesitating in the corridor, Pangzi believed for the first time, that maybe Xiao Er Ye was non-human, at least a little. Was this really real? He pinched himself, which hurt. Nothing changed.

What prayers had he used, when he lit the incense? He lost track sometimes. Was he even doing any of them correctly? “Pangzi?” Xiao Er Ye’s voice echoed.

Pangzi swallowed his nerves, steeled his gut and called back, “Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” Inside was a riot of gold statues, positioned as an audience, a circle of jade set into a stone platform, intact the whole way around, and a man suspended in the air, curled defensively, dark hair falling over his shoulders. Long sleeves of richest, deepest blue, hung from his slender frame, and as Pangzi crept closer, rapt, he saw that the man’s face was ridiculously pretty. He seemed asleep. He was definitely, no doubt about it, floating.

“What.”

“I told you,” that was Xiao Er Ye, his voice grim. He was standing at the edge of the jade circle, intent on the characters carved inside it. He was holding out his hands, and for the first time, in the weird eldritch light the whole thing gave off, Pangzi could see scars on Xiao Er Ye’s palms and wrists, as if they’d but cut with a straight blade. Xiao Er ye shook, straining to reach with everything in him.

“Please, Pangzi, you can break it.” 

Pangzi felt, calm, as if he was in his home town, standing outside the Lucky Frog bar, staring into the fervid eyes of old man Wei. His voice was even,

“What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” Xiao Er Ye drew back, glancing at his palms, “What does it matter?” he looked back at the circle, “I tried to put more of me in the circle, to get it to grab me but blood didn’t work, or hair. They just, evaporated, or fell apart on contact and nothing works. Please, break it.”

“How long have you, right—What do I do?”

Xiao Er Ye’s instructions apparently, amounted to “break it” all his easy words gone. Pangzi tried wedging the jade up, but he couldn’t get any purchase, and blunt force didn’t even dent it. He sat, panting, and chugged the last of his water. Xiao Er Ye stood by, fretting.

“I can’t, not like this.”

“What?” Xiao Er Ye hunched, looking very small.

Pangzi stood with effort, and stretched, turning to loosen the muscles of his core. “So you’re a god huh, sure it’s not that guy? He looks more, holy.”

Xiao Er Ye’s face was stone. It was unnatural. “I’m a god. He’s Xiao ge” and he said Xiao ge as if, of all things in the world, that he was most sure of.

“So you can get us out, if say, I blow up the room?”

Xiao Er Ye burst forward, breathless and all glimmering silk, “You can do that?”

Pangzi bared his teeth, “Oh hell yeah.”

. . .

Turns out it was a good thing he’d lugged all those incendiaries up so many floors. It took a while, but Xiao Er Ye had surprisingly steady hands once he had something to do with them. He talked to Xiao ge as he worked, but it wasn’t any dialect Pangzi knew, and he didn’t ask. At the last, Xiao Er Ye made Pangzi stand close, so close that he could smell incense and something like petrichor.

Xiao Er Ye met his eyes and Pangzi hit the trigger.

. . .

The world was dust. Dust and nothing. No sound or feeling, like the world fell away. It cut back in as a blade to the throat.

A literal blade. Pangzi was suddenly, viscerally aware of sun, beaming down on him, of the rumble and clatter of stone as the chamber collapsed around them, radiating outward. He ached, he was thirtsy, his stomach drew in, his breath caught, and they were out.

Xiao Er Ye was standing behind Xiao-ge, who was awake, with a predatory gaze pinned on Pangzi’s face. He held a black and gold sword against Pangzi’s throat and one arm was held out in front of Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye blinked, looking dazed.

“Uh” Pangzi tried again, throat dry, “Xiao Er Ye?”

The god shook his head, drew a deep breath, and noticed Xiao ge. “Xiao ge!”

He threw himself on him dragging him away from Pangzi. Xiao ge went willingly raising a long fingered hand to Xiao Er Ye’s arm, gazing into his face with an intensity that hurt to look at. Xiao Er Ye, reverent, cupped his face, grazing his thumbs beneath ink dark eyes. He breathed out, bright eyed, “You’re awake.”

Pangzi found somewhere else to look. All that shattered gold looked promising.

. . .

The chamber they’d broken was indeed, at the top of the tomb, and had seemingly been built atop an older structure, carved out from inside the tomb so that it was built on top of a place of death, so that it would draw Xiao Er Ye up. From where, Pangzi didn’t ask. What he knew was that there were trees, green and rustling, and sunlight warm on his face. The underbrush was thick, but they managed to find a route that wouldn’t exhaust them within an hour. Pangzi got out his kukri, and Xiao-ge put his sword to better use.

Together, they made their way through the trees, Xiao-ge going ahead, presumably to clear the way of threats, like squirrels. He’d tied back his heavy sleeves and accepted a torn bit of silk from Xiao Er Ye to pull back his hair. Pangzi watched him go, then turned to Xiao Er Ye, who practically glowed. Was he literally glowing? It was hard to tell. The god stood on his toes, soft eyed and open, watching where Xiao ge went.

Pangzi cleared his throat, and asked, “So if you’re a god, what’s he?”

Xiao Er Ye started, then settled back on his heels. “Oh! He’s a Hafuri vessesl!” Pangzi looked at him, dead eyed. “Oh, it means he is the most loyal and, potent? Of shinki, of named spirits that serve a god.”

Pangzi mulled that over. He dug out a few protein bars and made to hand one to Xiao Er Ye, who declined. “Named spirits?”

“Gods give spirits a new existence with a name. He is Xiao ge. He becomes a tattoo! It’s beautiful.”

Pangzi unwrapped his bar and replied, “Right. A tattoo.” He drew himself up, and bit the bullet, asking, “And what god are you?”

But it was Xiao-ge who answered, stealthy as a cat creeping up on them, regarding Xiao Er Ye with a warm gaze, “Qinguang Wang”.

Pangzi choked. “What?”

The God of death and misfortune ducked his head, then smirked impishly, leaning into Pangzi’s personal space. Neatly, he swung Pangzi around to face forward, and rested his with an arm over Pangzi’s shoulders. “And you’re a Priest now!”

Pangzi stopped dead. “What.” He blinked, raised a hand to his chin, and asked carefully, “Are there perks?”

The god’s laughter pealed out, obnoxiously loud. Xiao ge’s lip twitched upward. He glanced at Pangzi, and intoned, nodding gravely, “Do well.” He resumed his walk ahead of them.

Pangzi shrugged off the—his god’s arm and stomped after him, “And what is that supposed to mean? I haven’t even agreed to this yet!”

. . .

Pangzi insisted that the shrine have a full size kitchen and more than one Hello Kitty egg timer.

Fin

#noragami #noragami au #the lost tomb #wu xie #pangzi #xiao ge #fic #dmbj fic #dmbj #god dmbj au #just for fun #should be researched more #sorry it's not very thorough #not used to writing fics #other things but not fics

[purple-stuck]

Hi It's me again! I hope my excessive rambling in the tags wasn't too annoying I just really loved that drabble you wrote

If it's not too much can I request something with Sollux and Gamzee meeting in the subjugglator training ranks after Ascension?

I'd really love to hear what your headcanons might be or what fics you take inspiration from about subjugglators off-planet

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Gamzee's breath was perfectly steady, his heartbeat perfectly level, his mind completely calm. Even as he hopped from platform to platform, moving at speeds imperceivable to the naked eye, his body remained impossibly calm. Such was the Messiahs' gift to him and all purplebloods like him. With training, they could command their body to do the impossible.

Gamzee stopped atop a thin pole, claws digging into his perch as he got his barings. A sea of bloodied spikes spread out around him, ensuring him a slow death should he miss even a single pole or platform. But beyond that, lie his goal. His target. The horned outline of which was a mere speck in his vision.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Gamzee felt the wood begin to give way beneath his weight and lept to another perch, hoping between poles and bouncing away before the could bend against him. Thoughtlessly, he reasoned out the closest platform in between leaps. Automatically, he twisted his body to reach them. His body twisted in ways that crack and snap the bones of any other caste. If the graveyard full of mangled bones below him was any indication, even other purples struggled to make such moves.

Soon, Gamzee's shadow was cast over his prey. A club appeared in his hand, upraised so as to crack open his target's skull in one swing.

For the first time since this lesson began, his breath hitched.

Gamzee's feet hit the ground, his momentum stopped dead. His club hung over his target's shoulder.

Breathe. In.

Breathe. Out.

At this distance, Gamzee could see that his target wasn't even a troll at all. Rather, he'd been tasked with assassinating a mannequin, a hard plastic replica of his would be victim. Gamzee felt his posture relax before he pulled his club back and cracked the target's head of with one swing.

Purple paint sprayed over Gamzee as the body hit the floor and he turned to his audience and bowed.

The audience cheered as the lights flashed on, a cacophony of honks, whoops, and cheers as the stage was revealed in full. If he bothered to look towards the pit, Gamzee could see all the remains of the clowns who came before him and failed. He did not look.

"well, would you look at that."

"HE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO PASS."

Two ropes descended down around him, carrying the Twin Instructors, clad in their iconic matching masks. Comedy's voice was sing song, contrasting Tragedy's melancholy just as their half masks contrasted their mood. Gamzee looked up to see half of Tragedy's face grinning down at him.

"still, you haven't quite managed to beat our record."

"MAYBE WE SHOULD HAVE HIM GO AGAIN."

The two broke into giggles, with the rest of the tent following. Gamzee heard a few voices call out for an encore and quietly hoped they wouldn't be heard. He didn't have it in him to go another round. He didn't know how Sollux did it so easily, controlling his body they way he did.

Tragedy leaned down and gave him an encouraging pat on the back, causing Gamzee to grin at him tiredly in between pants. Comedy leaned down to his other side, handing him a faygo and a rag.

"OH, BUT HE'S SO WORN OUT. WE WOULDN'T WANT TO BREAK OUR NEW FAVORITE."

"we'd love to share notes, but this isn't your show anymore. head to the lounge, it's time for the next act."

Gamzee chugged the bottle, nearly emptying it in two gulps as he walked off stage. He waved his thanks, to tired to talk, as he shoved his way through the curtains and into the lounge.

Gamzee finished his faygo as he lazily scanned the room. Normally, throwing a bunch of clowns into one room would be a recipe for disaster, but all was strangely quiet. It seemed like the others who passed the test were just as warn out from it as he was. It made him feel better to see his brothers and sisters laying around exhausted, half collapsed against walls or the couch. It made him proud to still be standing.

And then he saw Sollux, looking none the worse for wear as he hogged the couch. He smirked smugly as Gamzee made his way over, scooting over to let the shorter clown collapse next to him. "Jegus, you look like shit."

Gamzee flipped him off, causing Sollux to snort. "And you're acting like shit too. Maybe I'm a bad influence on you."

Gamzee snorted. "Shit man, I thought you didn't want me to be so friendly and clingy around you anymore." He wiped the sweat off his forehead, stopping to look at the facepaint that had melted onto his hand. "Although, a brother's got a point about. I ain't much to look at right now."

Sollux slid his half empty faygo down the table, which Gamzee guzzled happily. "Yeah, body control is hard. I've been doing it ever sense I grew hands and I still eat my swords sometimes. Nevermind the more advanced stuff."

Gamzee slammed the faygo bottle on the table. "Shit, man, my bones hurt. And my veins... and lungs. Fuck."

Sollux grunted and handed him a spare Nintendie Dualscream. "How about something to take your mind of it? It's been awhile sense I kicked your ass in Fiduspawn anyways."

It was Gamzee's turn to snort. "All right, you are on, motherfucker."

~

They were eight rounds in when the new clowns stopped coming in. Gamzee counted only five had made it in after him, but he was more focused on beating Sollux than keeping count. Either he'd gotten better or Sollux had gotten worse. The taller troll used to be able to kick his ass, now they were tied four to four. But, their fifth round was interrupted as two familar shadows were cast over them.

"DID YOU TWO BRING TOYS FROM BACK ON ALTERNIA ALONG?"

"just between the four of us, I've heard that's against the rules."

Gamzee and Sollux froze as the Twin Instructors leaned over them. Even Gamzee could feel everyone in the room staring at them. Gamzee had seen this set up before. Comedy and Tragedy learing over a helpless troll or two. Acting like they were just disappointed, like they were just going to give the rule breaker a stern talking to before they decapitated the mischief maker.

Instead, the twins doubled over into a giggling fit the spread through the room. The trolls around them joined in, some more nervously than others.

"JuSt KiDdInG!"

"WE KNOW OUR HIGHEST SCORERS..."

"....know better than to break the rules."

"AsSuMiNg YoU dId'T cHeAt!"

Sollux and Gamzee pushed themselves to their feet, hands moving to ask about their progress, but the duo pushed their hands aside.

"DON'T BOTHER WITH THAT."

"you're subjugulators now."

"YoU'rE oFfIcIaLlY fUnNy EnOuGh To LiStEn To!"

Gamzee let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He heard Sollux do the same before the cheers erupted around them. Tragedy grabbed his arm and hoisted him into the air with it to bare before the crowd, leaving him and Sollux to gaze at their audience.

"GIVE OUR BOYS A ROUND OF APPLAUSE."

"well, those of you who still have hands anyways."

Gamzee looked over at Sollux, himself being held up for all to see by comedy. It was strange to see Sollux actually look nervous, even if they were seemingly in the Twin's good graces. Sweeps of living according to their capricious whims was enough to instill a lasting fear in anyone.

Even when granted verbal permission to speak, the two didn't make a peep as the twins hefted them over their shoulders. The twins cheerfully waved off the crowd as they carried the two ascendants to their office.

Gamzee grunted as he was dropped into a chair to small for him, hearing Sollux swear off to the right as the same happened to him. Comedy and Tragedy flopped into their chairs on the opposite end of the desk, kicking their feet up on it.

"normally, we'd take the time to talk about boring business shit with you."

"PREP YOUR ASCENSION SPEECH AND ALL THAT BLAH BLAH BLAH."

"BuT lIkE wE sAiD, wE hAvE nOtEs."

Sollux and Gamzee shared a nervous look, before Sollux straightened up and spoke. "What, uh, about exactly?"

Comedy shook a chidding finger in their faces.

"WHY, YOU BOTH HESITATED."

"tripped at the finish line."

"DeRaIlEd A pErFeCtLy GoOd ShOw."

Gamzee looked over at Sollux in suprise. Sollux... hesitated? But he was used to killing shit. Hell, that was his idea of a date night. Gamzee hardly had time to consider it before Tragedy leaned in his direction.

"now you we perfectly understand. you've never dabbled with fresh paint before."

"YOU'VE ONLY BEEN OFF THE SLIME FOR JUST THREE SWEEPS AT THAT."

"BuT iT's YoUr BuDdY wE'rE cUrIoUs AbOuT."

They both turned to Sollux expectantly. He scratched the back of hia head. "I... well. Something made me reconsider." He rested his hands in his head. "There was.... a kill I'd been planning for a really long time. Something... big. Special. And, when I landed that kill, when I did kill her and savor killing her... it just felt empty?"

Gamzee knew what he meant. The image of a cart drenched in Cerulean blood flashes in his mind. "I'd... rather not get any more into it than that."

The Twins tented their hands as they nodded sympathetically. Comedy even reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

"oh, we've both been there before."

"I DID ESPECIALLY."

Tragedy bent down and fished around beneath the desk, nearly banging his golden mask on it in the process.

"I STILL REMEMBER MY FIRST KILL."

He placed a white horned skull on the desk, carefully preserved and cleaned even though it seemed to have been centuries old. Still, the more Gamzee looked at it, the more it looked slightly off. The horns seemed to be... fake somehow. Like they were made of some kind of old plastic. And the skull's facial structure was all wrong. Too thin, too light, too delicate looking. It looked like a troll but not quite. If Karkat were here, he'd call it a mockery of troll kind.

"you'd think he'd be honored."

"MY VERY FIRST KILL. SHE WAS SO CLEVER AND BRUTAL THAT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D PULL IT OFF."

He rubbed the skull fondly, clearly nostalgic. Part of him sounded almost remorseful over it too, strangely enough. Like talking about a long dead friend or a beloved canceled show.

"BuT iT fElT sO eMpTy."

Sollux cleared his throat, clearly annoyed, even if he couldn't outright say it. Gamzee couldn't blame him. The twins liked to talk about their first two kills a lot. "So, what's your point?"

Tragedy sighed wistfully and Comedy playfully roled her eyes and elbowed him to get him back on topic.

"THE POINT IS, I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO IT."

"and when it's over, it always feels...."

"AnTiClImAcTiC."

Sollux hummed and considered this, but Gamzee could tell he wasn't quite buying it. Gamzee could tell that something else was needling away at him. Something deeper than just that.

"you'll probably get that feeling too."

Gamzee straightened up as he realized they were addressing him again.

"HERE'S A TIP. DON'T LOOK INTO THEIR EYES. IT'LL ONLY MAKE YOU MISS THEM MORE."

Comedy slid two communicators across the desk.

"YOU CAN TALK IT OUT WITH YOU QUADS, NOW THAT YOU'RE ALLOWED TO SEE THEM AGAIN. YOUR BRONZE HEART AND RUST DIAMOND PROBABLY MISS YOU."

They nodded at Sollux.

"and the Empress will be happy to see her favorite clown is safe."

#bloodswaps #gamzee makara #sollux captor #purple sollux #drabble #barzum soleil #bazili soleil #implied major character death #posthumous: joey claire #ambiguously feferi piexes #ambiguously her imperious condescension

[jennana501]

Attachment and the Jedi Way

SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN AND STAR WARS REBELS

I always know a story is quality when what I want to say about it to my mother and sisters is too difficult to text, and I have to drive over and talk with them in person. Such was the case when I watched the Mandalorian Chapter 13. There were so many juicy details, plot developments, and general excitement about the long awaited appearance of one of our favorite Star Wars characters that I couldn’t stand being restricted by phone when I wanted to gush a million things. We were all so stunned with the emotion of her appearance. Truly a moment I will remember for the rest of my life. 

But after all the sweet outer frosting on the Chapter 13 cake had been licked clean, I dove into the center of this delectable episode and began to savor in its indulgent but substantial core. I have many thoughts about Thrawn, where Rex can be (is he dead or alive?) and where the season is going to go from there. What has interested me the most is Ahsoka’s reaction to our newly named green baby friend, Grogu. 

First I must say how much I love Rosario Dawson’s performance. I feel she knows who Ahsoka is and what she has gone through. I am reminded of little ‘Soka in her very first appearance in the Clone Wars animated movie when she takes care of the way less loveable baby Hutt. Seeing that she is  charmed by Grogu and that she clearly thinks he is cute makes me feel all sorts of warm fuzzies. Their very mythical and silent conversation in the moonlight shows how in tune with the force Ahsoka has become and that Grogu himself is much more than meets the eye. 

And yet when it comes to it, Ahsoka says she cannot train Grogu. The reason: his attachment to Din. I was surprised at first. Ahsoka does not see herself as a Jedi, at least as far as her association with the order that raised and trained her. I didn’t think I’d hear about attachment from someone who has forgone the Jedi way, especially since Ahsoka appears to have indulged in an attachment or two.

I immediately realized she was on to something. I recall Grogu’s moments of using the force: saving Din from the mudhorn; using the Force to save everyone from a giant fireball; Force healing Greef Karga; and Force choking Cara Dune. The latter example stands out to me as being the most violent use of the Force we see from little Grogu. He perceives that Din is in danger and acts against what we now know is his training to hurt someone in a manner that is often consistent with the dark side. 

Sure he is innocent and adorable. But he is also dangerous. And Ahsoka is right. It’s his attachment to Din that turns him from benevolent force using baby, to emotionally fueled deadly force bomb.

But I’ve seen Star Wars Rebels. I know that a Jedi can have relationships with other people and not turn to the dark side. You can love and still listen to the will of the Force. The Jedi were wrong. So I’m here to look into what attachment is, how you can love and not have attachment, and how Grogu might still become a Jedi, or at least the new wave sort of Jedi. 

First we must look at the poster child for attachment issues: Anakin Skywalker. The Clone Wars TV show could be renamed- Star Wars: Attachment and How it Disrupts Nearly Every Mission the Republic Assigns Anakin. He prioritizes Padme, Ahsoka, R2, and even Obi-wan over everything else. He is constantly  defying the orders of his commanders and putting the mission in danger. 

This all comes down to what happened to Anakin’s mother. 

When Anakin is taken from Tatooine, he has to leave his mother behind, with whom he shares a strong bond and attachment. When he is brought before the council and they say “he is too old”, what it really means is “he has already attached himself to something other than the Force.” Why else would being “too old” matter? The Jedi prefer blank slates for a good reason. Very small children have not developed strong attachments.

Anakin does turn into Darth Vader, after all. 

It would appear the Jedi are very right to say that Anakin should not be trained. He is ripped away from his mother; the man who believes in him is killed; and he is forced to be trained by someone who treated him with bitter indifference. After losing his mother he has no help, no advice, no direction other than to stifle his negative emotions. 

So instead of processing his grief and finding peace, he latches onto Padme. This attachment he will never abandon. He trains harder and becomes more powerful to always be able to keep Padme alive. The guilt Anakin feels for not being able to save his mother gives fire and passion to his obsession with Padme. And this obsession slowly erodes their relationship. 

Anakin says things like “There’s nothing more important than the way I feel about you.” (Hostage Crisis) During the Mortis Arc when he sees a vision of his mother, they have this conversation: 

“The only love I feel in my heart is haunted by what would happen should I let go.” 

“Then it is not love. It is a prison.” 

“But I have a wife…she’s everything to me.” 

“She’s not your destiny.” 

“But I love her.” 

We see the very ugly side of Anakin’s obsession and jealousy in the arcs that involve Clovis. Anakin's insecurities are valid, but they simply drive home the point that his attachment to Padme will eventually unravel him and lead to violence. 

Anakin and Obi-wan have a very interesting conversation during the episode “The Rise of Clovis” that reveals that Obi-wan is worried for Anakin and senses Anakin’s anger pitted towards the man he perceives as his rival. 

Obi-wan: Master Yoda is feels that your judgements concerning Rush Clovis are clouded. 

Anakin: I believe he can’t be trusted.

Obi-wan: Yes, but there is more isn’t there? I sense a deep anger in your by my simply saying his name. 

Anakin: He almost got Senator Amidala killed and I would have been responsible. 

Obi-wan: The Senator has risked her life many times. She’s quite capable of taking care of herself. 

Anakin: They had a relationship...once. I simply feel she is vulnerable to her emotions. 

Obi-wan: She is, or you? 

Obi-wan then empathizes with Anakin, telling him that he knows what it’s like to harbor feelings for someone. He tells Anakin to not be ashamed of these feelings, but that he must make the rights choice “for the order”. The conversation ends with Anakin becoming very angry, asserting he knows what his responsibilities are and Obi-wan leaves the room, leaving Anakin to deal with his distress alone. 

 And since Anakin is denied the support he needs, he resorts to controlling, intimidating behavior. He commands Padme to stay away from Clovis, is cruel to him, and chooses to punish Padme emotionally for Anakin's own insecurities. When tensions reach their peak, he attacks Clovis. This fully expresses Anakin's own fear and rage at the idea of losing Padme to another man. 

Anakin’s unchecked and untreated attachment to Padme, as we all know, results in the ultimate ruination of the both of them, the Jedi Order, and the Republic. He will never out anything about her. She is his center. Nothing else matters. 

This is not Anakin’s fault. This is the fault of the Jedi. Their teachings about attachment are unhelpful at best, and this stems from their crippling confusion over the difference between “attachment” and “love”. 

It makes me wonder if they even know what they are talking about at all. Their advice about attachment involves regurgitating confusing platitudes.  

In “The Revenge of the Sith"; Anakin goes to Yoda to seek his counsel. Anakin is told that “attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed that is.” When Anakin asks what he must do to overcome attachment, Yoda tells him simply to “train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose”. 

Thanks Yoda, I’ll get right on that. 

Anakin needs to “let go”, apparently, and if he is holding onto something dangerous, what should he be holding onto instead? No one ever explains. The Jedi simply tell him to “let it go”. 

It’s no wonder that Anakin can’t ever consider letting go of Padme. For all he knows, that means cutting her out of his life and never speaking to her again. Or worse, does that mean letting her die the next time her life is in danger? Does it mean he should replace love with indifference? He has no idea. As he is given no tools, Anakin fixes nothing and plummets to his unavoidable demise.

Divorce papers and deleting Padme’s number isn’t how Anakin is to overcome “attachment”, and it was never going to be. Obi-wan tried this method with Satine, and though he didn’t fall to the dark side, he never recovers from the bitterness and regret he feels.

In “Voyage of Temptation”, Anakin and Obi-wan discuss his and Satine’s relationship. Obi-wan explains his Jedi duties forced him to leave Satine after forming a strong bond and love with her over the year they were together on Mandalore. The Jedi teachings dictate that he let Satine go. So, obedient Padiwan that he was, Obi-wan cuts off his relationship with Satine. The results show that this was not the way. If the goal of the Jedi is to avoid negative emotion, then this technique fails and perhaps cripples Obi-wan forever.

Anakin: “As Master Yoda says: ‘A Jedi must not form attachments.’”

Obi-wan: “Yes, but he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse.” 

I’m here to tell you today that Obi-wan perhaps gets screwed over by the Jedi Code more than any other Jedi. Obi-wan does not have an attachment to Satine. Sure he says “Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order” but that’s only because that is what he has been taught. He is taught you only have two options: love someone or be a Jedi. 

Obi-wan loves Satine. He has a relationship with her. Some even think, myself included, that he is physically intimate with her. Qui-gon no doubt encouraged this relationship. He probably carefully nurtured Obi-wan during this time, helping him be able to love without forming an attachment. But Obi-wan is not able to see that he could love Satine and still be a Jedi. Leaving the order means that his Jedi journey would be over. If he had realized love and attachment are separate things, he could have been a Jedi and could have had Satine's love, too . 

Qui-Gon nearly convinces Obi-wan to be different: Obi-wan could have been a Jedi with feelings and love. Satine is a person who values duty above all, just as Obi-wan does. She respects that he answers to the Force. They would have been able to perfectly rule together with that mutual understanding. He could have been her force wielding husband without being attached to Satine and falling to the Dark side. 

True attachment is so dangerous to a Jedi because if they attach to a person, an idea, or a cause then they are not attached to the will of the Force. 

This is the missing detail Anakin and Obi-wan needed. Obi-wan could have been completely attached to the Force, even while loving Satine and even becoming her husband. Anakin needs to know that he could attach his center to the Force, and that this would not interfere with a deep and meaningful relationship with Padme. While centered in the Force, Anakin could be Padme’s husband loving and living with her, but ultimately his duty is to the Force, just as her duty is ultimately to the Republic. 

We know all of this is possible because of two characters from Star Wars: Rebels. Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla share what is essentially a marital bond. They love, live, and lead together. They are physically intimate, but they do not have each other as their centers. We see evidence of this in the episode “Call to Action”, when Hera leaves Kanan in the hands of the Empire. She  knows that if she risks saving Kanan then everyone else will be killed. 

If Hera had an attachment to Kanan like Anakin had to Padme, she would have risked everything to get Kanan back. Since Hera is not one of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, she would have failed and the rebel cell would have been stopped dead in its tracks. 

We also see evidence that Kanan is not attached to Hera. At the very end of their journey, after Kanan and Hera have fully expressed their feelings to each other, Kanan sacrifices himself for Hera and the others by using the Force to hold back an explosion. Though it appears as  Kanan is doing this because of his love for Hera, that is not the true motivation. If Kanan has an attachment to Hera, things would have gone differently. 

It is heavily implied leading up to this event that Kanan knows it is the will of the Force that he is to die. He knows this because the Force is his center and not  Hera. If his center is attached to Hera, I believe two things would have happened. Kanan would have tried and failed to save himself along with Hera and the others.  His actions would have been motivated by selfishness and desperation to extend his time with Hera. If Kanan tries to save himself, the conflagration consumed them all. The only way Kanan can prevent this is to draw upon the dark side of the Force. This would have thrown Kanan out of balance with the Force, and put him in very real danger of falling to the dark side. 

Instead, Kanan allows the will of the Force be done: he dies and his time with Hera comes to an end. Hera knows this about Kanan, and has always accepted the possibility he would choose the Rebel cause over their time together. Kanan knows the same of Hera. This mutual respect is the foundation of their love for each other. A Jedi can have a love and a bond with someone as long as they understand that ultimately, if the Force wills them to do something they must do it, regardless of how that affects their lives together.

So, can Grogu live like Kanan? The issue with Grogu, however, is that he already has attachment. His center is his adopted father, Din. Grogu is currently like Anakin, and if Din hands Grogu over to Ahsoka, they will have very Anakin-like troubles. From whom is Grogu going to learn? Ahsoka is unable to teach Grogu how to let go of deep attachment and center on the Force. Ezra Bridger can. 

In the second part of this post, I will discuss how Ezra Bridger is one of the most important Jedi who has ever lived, because he will be able to Grogu learn to let go, attach to the force, love and live, and yet do what needs to be done. 

#ezra bridger #ezra #grogu djarin #grogu #baby yoda #the child #the jedi #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars #the mandalorian #ahsoka tano #star wars rebels #rebels #the jedi order #anakin #padme #obi-wan #satine #qui gon jinn #starwars theory #starwars analysis #starwars essay

[moccahobi]

Dancing in the Rain Pt. 1 [Namjoon x Hoseok]

Member: Namjoon (BTS) x Hoseok (BTS)

wc: 1.9k

Summary:  Namjoon lived in a small town. He loved it. It had just enough going on to give him fun when needed and not enough going on that he felt overwhelmed. On top of that, it was only a three hour train ride to Seoul where he met with his publisher and many of his friends lived. It was the best of both worlds. His life gets a bit more interesting when a mysterious bleach blonde with a heart shaped smile enters his life. 

genre: Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff

warnings: lying about one’s name

a/n: this fic is part of @whipped-kpop-creators​ project “a whipped summer” project! I used the prompt “warm summer rain” and heavily relied on their amazing playlist!

Next Part

The rain.

Namjoon loved it. 

He especially loved it in his new area. When it rained, everyone rushed to get to their locations and there was a park nearby that was always void of people when it rained because of that. Normally it is filled with students out of school and friends enjoying picnics, especially during the summer, but when it rains, it’s like everyone hides away and he has the whole park to himself. 

Namjoon walked around the park, slowly looking around at the emptiness. His phone (in a zip-lock bag) awkwardly sticking out of his jacket pocket, a reminder that he had less than an hour to enjoy the warm rain today. He had to get back to his apartment and be chained to his computer in meetings soon, but for now, he was enjoying the rain. 

When he finally got to the park, he slipped his sandals off, making a b-line for the soft grass as he started to meander. The warm rain was a soft, comforting blanket that quieted his mind and in that moment he just was. There wasn’t a meeting in an hour (his alarm would remind him when he needed to return). There weren't any intrusive thoughts. There wasn’t anyone else he had to handle. No parents. No friends. No one. 

It was just Namjoon and the sheets of rain that were coming crashing down.

The park’s animals had hidden away from the rain. Namjoon could just barely see a few of them peek out from holes in trees and under bushes. Part of him wanted to walk closer, tip toe on the sharp mulch, and try to interact with the animals. He knew they’d run away though and Namjoon didn’t want to spend his time chasing after something that would just run away. 

He didn’t care to do that during this special time he had.

Rain was common in this area, it was part of why he moved here, but the warm summer rain that covered him like a blanket was less common and he wanted to savor it. 

His peace was shattered at the loud sound of someone singing further down the path. Part of him seethed at this disruption. The park was peaceful before this and now someone was singing some peppy song and in the distance he could see them dancing as well. Another part of him, and the part that won him over, was curious as to who this person was. Namjoon had lived here for two years now and this person wasn’t someone he recognized and this town wasn’t known for their tourism so this had to be a new person living here. Slowly, Namjoon walked towards them, eyeing them cautiously. They had bleach blonde hair and a wide smile that grew as they kept singing and dancing (it was more of a series and sways and twirls but Namjoon digresses) and Namjoon was struck. 

The rain kept on pouring down but Namjoon was no longer focused on how it felt on his skin, instead his mind was stuck on the man in front of him. He stared on until the stranger stopped singing, their arms wide as if waiting for cheers and applause. 

And Namjoon obliged. 

He didn’t clap because clapping in the rain was hard but he spoke, his voice sounding rough to his own ears, “That was really good. You should think about going professional.” 

He tried to smile but he’d spent so much time brooding and focusing on his writing that the act felt foreign and forced to him. The stranger’s eyes flew open in shock as he eyed Namjoon up and down, his arms slowly falling to his side.

“Thanks. I just might.” His voice sounded smooth and soft as he shyly tucked some wet hair behind his ears.

“I am Kim Namjoon. Are you new to town?”

He nodded and smiled broadly, “I am new. It’s Ju- Kim Taehyung. Yeah… Kim Taehyung.” 

Namjoon nodded along slowly, taking in the baggy and bright clothes Taehyung wore, “Nice to meet you. When did you move in?”

“Uh… last month but I travel a lot so I haven’t had time to really explore…  I really wanted to visit… the local book store but then the rain happened and I just…” He looked around and shrugged, “I couldn’t help myself. The rain is so nice and I don’t get to just enjoy it enough.” 

“Yeah. I love the rain here. No one is out, well almost no one,” Namjoon said with a laugh, “It’s a good time to just walk and be.”

“Oh! Did I disturb you with my song then?” 

Namjoon shook his head and Taehyung’s smile seemed to grow larger, a heart seeming to form from how big his smile was, “Well then, care to dance with me in the rain some?” 

A sadness washed over Namjoon when he finally made it back to his apartment after an hour of dancing with Taehyung. With each sopping step he took deeper into his apartment (at one point stopping to wring some of his clothes out over his plants), he felt a pit of despair growing heavier in him. His legs felt like led and arms slow as he changed and prepared for his meetings. His time with Taehyung today was short. Too short. Dancing in the rain wasn’t what he had intended to do, but the warm rain and his boundless energy fed Namjoon and now all he wanted to do was run back out to Taehyung and continue dancing. 

He had work to do though.

Namjoon could only hope for two possibility:

He comes across Taehyung again in the neighborhood.

Next time it rains, the two meet again. 

Namjoon didn't know which he’d prefer, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t see Taehyung for a whole month. It was as if the man disappeared off the face of the earth and even though Namjoon didn’t know the man well, he missed him. Plus… he might have felt a little hurt that Taehyung hadn’t gone looking for him after their dance. There wasn’t a time when Namjoon caught a glimpse of bleach blond that he didn’t perk up in excitement. And each time he was more disappointed to have to relearn how bad his eyesight was.

Did Taehyung do the same when he saw a head of black hair? 

Namjoon really hoped so. 

Frustration pooled in his stomach as he left for the train station, a suitcase trailing behind him. It was a crisp morning and he was being forced to go up to Seoul for meetings with his publisher. Normally he enjoyed trips to Seoul (he had previously lived there and it still held a soft spot in his heart), but he wanted more chances to see Taehyung around. He’d just moved in and was bound to be out and about town at some point. 

And Namjoon was going to miss it because his publisher couldn’t hold a few meetings over zoom. 

Hell. Namjoon even suspected that one of them could be an email.

His frustration fermented to disappointment as he looked out the train’s window longly, the town growing smaller all the while. Planning to get together with a friend of his, reading, writing, responding to emails. None of it worked to take his mind off of Taehyung. When the train finally stopped at a station near his hotel, Namjoon was utterly exhausted and dreading all the meetings that were coming. 

The only bright side was that he would be meeting with a friend of his, Seokjin, before he left. 

When he finally entered his hotel room, he took his shoes off, dropped his keys down, and fell onto the bed. He had no energy to do anything at all. All through the walk to the hotel, Namjoon struggled to pay attention to where he was supposed to turn (he barely had the energy to keep an eye and ear out for people near him, let alone his location).

Bless his phone for providing him with the directions that he was mostly able to follow. 

His meetings came and went in a blur despite how painful they were. Almost all of them could have been emails or zoom calls. Just as Namjoon suspected, there was no real need for him to come back to Seoul. All throughout the meetings, his frustration simmered and by the time Seokjin and him met up for dinner, Namjoon was full on venting to the poor man. 

They’d started out catching up but the second Seokjin asked why he’d returned to Seoul, it was like a dam had been released. He hadn’t intended to return. He didn’t want to return. Sure it wasn’t a long trip and he would be back home soon, but he was missing prime time to meet Taehyung again. He wanted to get to know the mysterious blonde who sang in the rain more and his work was proving to be a real hindrance to it!

The more Namjoon delved into his vent, the more occasional laughs left Seokjin before the man was full on cackling. Despite Seokjin laughing like a maniac (or maybe because of it), Namjoon enjoyed his dinner with him. It took him back to when they were both in college and would only meet once in a blue moon due to being at different colleges. The times when they did meet, the two of them would make the best of. From parties to concerts to cooking classes, they always tried to do so much. 

A soft sigh left Namjoon as he watched the waiter walk away with their checks, “Hyung. Is there… like some sort of music event happening tonight? I don’t want tonight to end yet.”

Seokjin snorted at that, “I think that there is something happening in an hour. Yoongi was talking to me about it last night. Let me text him to see if they still have some seats.” 

Yoongi didn’t have seats available though so Namjoon found Seokjin and himself getting some soju and wandering around the streets of Seoul. They mostly just people watched while meandering through streets and occasionally stopped to watch and dance at busker stations (always leaving some sort of tip when they did). Despite not having a concert to attend, they still managed to dance and enjoy good music. 

Drunk Namjoon probably also argued that they had a better time than at a concert where they would have been more crammed in than around a busker. Seokjin simply laughed and listened to his drunken rambles. 

During one busker's performance, Namjoon became hyper focused on an advertisement being shown on a building. It was for some random hair care brand but the brand itself wasn’t what had drawn his focus. It was the man in the ad. 

Sloping nose. 

Soft looking hair.

Heart smile.

Taehyung.

Except… when the ad ended, it didn’t say Taehyung’s name. It said Jung Hoseok. 

Namjoon tried to brush it off and enjoy his night with Seokjin but he kept being distracted by ads that Taehyung… or Hoseok was in. 

Hair care.

Chicken.

Sprite. 

He was in a lot of ads. 

If Seokjin noticed Namjoon getting distracted more, he didn’t comment, instead stopping to get more soju and dragging Namjoon around Seoul more. The next morning, Namjoon was on a train back home, nursing a piercing hangover. In spite of his hangover, Hoseok was practically running around in his mind. The man was more of a mystery to Namjoon than before and a whirlpool of conflicting emotions sloshed angrily around his mind as he tried to think through his next interaction with the man. Nothing should change. Hoseok was still the same man as before just with a different name and Namjoon got why he would lie and give a fake name. A random stranger walking in the rain isn’t inherently the most trustworthy person… but…

Namjoon lost his train of thought.

Next Chapter

#wkcnet #thebtswritersclub #castlebangtan #rainingmxmnet #bts #bts mxm #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fan fiction #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts series #bts angst #bts namseok #namseok fluff #namseok series #bts namseok series #bts namseok fluff #bts idol au #bts writer au #namseok angst #bts namseok angst

[pickalilywrites]

hello mikasasha friends i have come w/ an offering to the mikasasha table 🥺 pls enjoy

------------------------

Cold Leftovers

MikaSasha. Canonverse.

2722 words.

Read on Ao3!

Mikasa opens the door to the girls’ cabin as quietly as possible so as not to wake anyone. Moonlight spills in through the crack in the doorway and Mikasa slips in as smoothly as a shadow. It takes more effort than usual to move so stealthily. Her legs feel like jelly after cleaning out the sheds the entire night, her punishment for not improving her personal record for the 3DMG training. A few others had joined her as well ― Historia and Connie ― for similar reasons, although neither had the upper body strength that Mikasa possessed and she was thus left the brunt of the work. It’s probably something someone might have complained about, having a punishment that all three were meant to share only to be split unevenly between them, but Mikasa didn’t mind. She’d rather pick up the slack than have Shadis yell at them for not completing their tasks.

Historia slips in behind Mikasa, her steps a little louder and clumsier than the raven-haired girl, but she manages to slip inside her bed without anyone stirring.

Mikasa shuts the door quietly behind her and darkness fills the cabin once more. She has the floor of the cabin memorized, knows all the steps to her bed. The floorboards creak the slightest bit as Mikasa makes her way and the girl finally lets out a breath when she makes it to her bed.

Mikasa sits on her bed carefully, wincing when she hears the mattress squeak underneath her weight. Her eyes dart around the room for any movement, but she can hardly see anything in this darkness. There isn’t anyone sitting up and telling her to be quieter, just the slight snores of her roommates, so Mikasa relaxes a bit more on her bed. She peels off her socks, folding them together and depositing them at the foot of her bed. Toes cold now, she hurriedly pulls back her sheets and slips underneath them, thankful for the warmth they provide even if it’s only a little bit.

There’s an unsatisfying emptiness sitting at the pit of her stomach and Mikasa frowns. She clutches at her empty stomach now that she is reminded that she hadn’t had the chance to eat dinner. Historia and Connie had complained about it while they were cleaning out the storage sheds, but Mikasa hadn’t paid it any mind at the time. She thought it wouldn’t matter if she were to skip dinner for a night, naively believing that she could bear it until breakfast the next morning. Now, laying in bed with her hand clutched to her stomach, she thinks she should have tried harder to finish cleaning the shed faster so they could have at least managed to grab any last scraps that the mess hall was getting rid of.

Her stomach lets out a low rumble and Mikasa curls into an even tighter ball, praying that none of the other trainees heard it. There isn’t any shame in being hungry, especially if you’ve skipped a meal, but Mikasa still feels her cheeks heat up. She wonders if it’s too late to slip to the food kitchen and steal something from the pantry.

Mikasa is too busy clutching at her stomach and willing it not to rumble any louder that she doesn’t notice her bunkmate dangling from above, staring curiously at her. It’s only when the lanky brunette from the countryside swings into Mikasa’s bunk that Mikasa notices and nearly screams from surprise.

“Sasha, what the hell?” Mikasa hisses. Her tone is angry but she still scoots back in her bed to make room for the other trainee. There’s hardly any space for the both of them. Even with Mikasa’s back pressed against the wall, Sasha’s in danger of falling over the mattress edge, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice.

“I was waiting so long for you to come back, Mikasa,” Sasha says, her voice almost a whine. It’s too dim to see much, but their faces are close enough for Mikasa to see that the brunette is sticking out her bottom lip in a pout. “I thought you were going to be back earlier.”

Mikasa sniffs offendedly. “As if you could have done it any faster,” she retorts. She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if Sasha is aware of the little space between them. It makes Mikasa want to scoot back even more, but warmth radiates off Sasha’s skin and Mikasa feels the urge to wrap her arms around the brunette and bury her face in Sasha’s neck. Keeping her voice in a low whisper, Mikasa asks, “What are you doing here anyway? You should go back to your bunk before we wake people up.”

“Oh, Annie’s already awake,” Sasha informs her with a nod. Her cheek is pressed up against Mikasa’s pillow, her chestnut hair sticking to her cheek. “She said after you came in, and I quote, ‘That damn Ackerbitch is too fucking loud.’”

Mikasa doesn’t even try to resist rolling her eyes. If there’s one person she’d never regret waking up, it’s Annie Leonhardt. “It’s her own damn fault for being such a light sleeper,” Mikasa mutters under her breath and Sasha giggles in reply. Mikasa would go over and kick the foot of Annie’s bed just to annoy her, but she’d probably wake up Annie’s bunkmate in the process and Mikasa’s not so cruel as to subject an innocent bystander to a punishment meant for only one person.

“I brought you something,” Sasha says, interrupting Mikasa’s imaginary revenge plan. The brunette brings her hand between them to reveal a small chunk of bread.

Mikasa reaches for the bread and takes it between her hands. Their fingers brush in the dark and Sasha’s hands hover around Mikasa’s for a moment as if she’s afraid the raven-haired girl might drop the precious bread.

It’s cold now, the outer crust hard as if it’s been out for a while. The bread isn’t nearly as fragrant as it would have been had it been taken fresh from the oven, but it still smells good. Better than nothing.

“You stole this?” Mikasa asks as she breaks off a piece. The crumb is a little tough as she tears it apart, but her stomach still growls hungrily. When she looks up, she sees Sasha is staring at the bread with a ravenous look in her eye.

“I didn’t steal it, although I do wish I stole something from the pantry,” Sasha says with a wistful sigh. She’s practically drooling on Mikasa’s pillow as she stares at the bread in Mikasa’s hand. The girl looks as if she regrets giving up the bread for her friend, but she’s far too polite to ask for it back. “Shadis will know it was me if I steal something else from the kitchens though, so I didn’t want to risk it.”

“So this is what?” Mikasa asks with an arch of her brow. She lifts the little torn chunk of bread between her fingers and is amused when Sasha’s eyes follow eagerly as if she’s a dog waiting for a treat. “Your cold leftovers?”

The pout returns to Sasha’s lips. “I could have just eaten them, you know,” she says. “Maybe I should have, Mikasa. Maybe you deserve to starve.”

This gets a rare giggle from Mikasa’s lips. It slips out of her mouth before she can even stop herself. “I’m touched, really. You didn’t have to,” Mikasa whispers.

“You should have said so before,” Sasha says with a frown. She really looks like she regrets saving her leftovers for Mikasa even though the precious little Sasha saved would have done very little to fill her vacuum of a stomach.

“Are you having second thoughts of giving it to me?” Mikasa asks.

“No!” Sasha says indignantly, but her guilty frown says otherwise. She looks forlornly at the piece of bread she’s given away and sighs. “I hope you remember to savor every crumb of it.”

Savor it, as if it’s a delicate pastry freshly baked by a skilled pâtissière from the capitol and not half a piece of bread from dinner that Sasha saved in the pocket of her skirts. Mikasa has to smile at that.

“I will,” Mikasa promises nevertheless.

Sasha’s eyes never leave the bread in Mikasa’s hands. It would probably bother anyone else to be watched so closely as they eat, but Mikasa finds Sasha’s ravenous gaze to be amusing. As the brunette watches Mikasa, Mikasa watches her, how Sasha’s brown eyes follow as the bread moves from Mikasa’s fingers to her mouth. Mikasa isn’t even sure how the bread tastes. It’s probably worse than it usually is now that it’s been hours since dinner. The crust is cold and hard between her fingers while the crumb is strange and rubbery. The whole thing probably tastes worse than it usually does at the dinner table, but Mikasa doesn’t notice it at all.

“Do you want some?” Mikasa whispers. She’s already halfway done with the little bread Sasha has offered her, but Sasha’s eyes widen as if Mikasa has invited her to a feast.

Sasha shakes her head and for a moment Mikasa thinks the brunette is going to refuse her but Sasha opens her mouth to say, “Yes.”

Mikasa sighs, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Don’t you feel the slightest bit ashamed about asking for food that you’ve just given away?” she scolds affectionately.

“No,” Sasha admits without any hint of guilt. Her large brown eyes are still fixed on the bread left in Mikasa’s hand, her mouth already open for Mikasa to feed her.

Mikasa clucks her tongue, but she still breaks the bread in half. There’s hardly any of it left and she’s far from full, but she still takes the larger half and passes it to Sasha’s mouth. The brunette takes it eagerly, trying to swallow the chunk of bread whole even when Mikasa tells her to chew quietly so as to not wake the others.

“Is it good?” Mikasa asks her.

“It’s good,” Sasha murmurs. Her lips are like a kiss against Mikasa’s fingertips.

“Do you want the rest of it?” Mikasa whispers. She holds the remaining half close to Sasha’s lips. She expects the brunette to open her mouth easily, but Sasha clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head profusely.

“No,” Sasha says. Her eyes are squeezed shut as if even the sight of the remaining bread will be enough to tempt her. “I got that for you, so you should eat it.”

“I really don’t mind,” Mikasa tells her, but Sasha only shakes her head again and pushes the last of the bread towards Mikasa’s mouth.

“I got that for you,” Sasha insists. “You should eat it.” She looks at Mikasa then, eyes large and brown and sweet, and all Mikasa wants to do is stuff the last of her midnight dinner into the brunette’s mouth, but Sasha would never go for that.

“I’ll eat the rest of it then,” Mikasa says and tries not to notice the way Sasha’s eyes shine when she smiles. She finishes the last of it — it was just a bite of bread, really — but she finds the way that Sasha smiles giddily at her far more satiating than any meal.

Sasha doesn’t go back to her bunk when Mikasa finishes her food, and Mikasa doesn’t ask her to leave. They lie there together on the narrow bed, sides pressed against each other and Sasha’s head on Mikasa’s shoulder. Mikasa’s still a ways away from falling asleep, but she can hear Sasha’s breathing growing deeper as the brunette begins to drift off.

“Was it good?” Sasha murmurs, eyes closed.

“It was good,” Mikasa smiles.

It’s not long before Mikasa hears light snores from the brunette beside her. Careful not to wake Sasha, Mikasa turns her head slightly to see Sasha’s head leaning against her shoulder, eyes closed. They’re both going to wake up with cramps in their limbs from sleeping in such uncomfortable positions, but Mikasa finds she doesn’t mind it.

She relaxes against Sasha, warmer than usual with this extra body beside her on this uncomfortable bed. Mikasa doesn’t fall asleep right away. She’s never been able to fall asleep easily. She doesn’t think about it most of the time. She’s too used to it to be bothered by it, but tonight she’s grateful. These moments of consciousness allow her to appreciate the body lying next to her.

It should be completely unsatisfying going to sleep on a nearly empty stomach. Mikasa feels hollow inside and she knows that in the morning she’ll wake to her stomach grumbling and Annie Leonhardt is going to say something unnecessarily snarky about it that will put her in a terrible mood. Her limbs will be heavy and ache from the extra work Shadis had made her put in tonight sorting out the storage boxes in the sheds. Sasha is taking up far too much space on her bed for Mikasa to ever find a comfortable position to sleep in. Even if Mikasa does manage to fall asleep, it will be impossible for her to wake up well-rested in the morning. Still, the thought of opening her eyes in the morning and seeing Sasha as soon as the sun rises makes everything else seem bearable.

Suddenly, Sasha turns in her sleep. Mikasa stiffens beside her, wondering if perhaps she had moved unconsciously and awoken the brunette, but Sasha simply buries her face into Mikasa’s neck and mumbles something unintelligible against Mikasa’s skin. Her lips are warm and her breath caresses Mikasa’s neck. It takes a moment for Mikasa to make out Sasha’s words.

“‘M hungry,” Sasha murmurs in her sleep. It comes out in a little pitiful whine and Mikasa wants to reach out and caress the girl’s cheek but she refrains because doing so may wake Sasha from her slumber.

“You should have taken all of it then,” Mikasa whispers with a smile on her lips, but Sasha continues to sleep and Mikasa’s words go unheard.

˱ 𓈒 𓈊 ┈ 𓈒 ┈ 𓈉 ┈ 𓈒 ┈ 𓈊 𓈒 ˲

Mikasa sits in front of a tombstone. Engraved on the cold granite slab is the name Sasha Braus. Mikasa can’t bear to look at it. The more she does, the more Sasha’s death feels more real, more permanent.

The world moves around her, birds chirping and grass rustling like it always has as if the earth hasn’t realized that it will no longer be the same now that Sasha is gone. It’s as if she’s the only one who has acknowledged it.

She feels strangely empty, like her body is hollow save for the heart beating pathetically in her chest. It thumps against her ribcage so pitifully, weaker than it had before. Its beating serves as a cruel reminder that she is alive while Sasha is not.

Mikasa hates the way her heart continues to beat. It’s as if Sasha had taken a part of it when she left, but kindly left Mikasa a small piece to keep her alive. It’s so like her, Mikasa thinks bitterly, to be so considerate even in death.

She wants to rip her heart from her chest, to become completely hollow, because feeling nothing at all would be better than weighted down by all this anguish and grief. It’s impossible though, and all she can do is helplessly beat at her chest as tears begin to well in her eyes. Her throat tightens and tears stream down her cheeks, but her heart still continues to beat.

Mikasa doesn’t know how she can live with half of her heart beating in her chest. No matter how she wishes, it refuses to cease.

“Why,” Mikasa asks as she gazes tearfully at the grave, “why didn’t you just take all of it?”

She receives no response except from her own heartbeat. The dull thud beats an answer Mikasa will never be able to decipher.

“If you were going to take a piece of me with you,” Mikasa sobs, nearly choking on her tears, “you should have just taken all of me.”

Grief-stricken, Mikasa crumples, still clutching her heart. Tears continue to drip down her cheeks. She feels horribly hollow, incomplete, that nothing will ever be able to fill the void.

#snk #mikasasha #canonverse #mikasa ackerman #sasha braus #the amount of mikasasha i write is srsly disappointing!!!

[doiedreams]

State of Lucidity // l.ty

◈⇢ Synopsis: apparition!Taeyong’s appearances at night is what you think keeps you sane, but what was once a healing escape is becoming an addictive attachment Taeyong doesn’t want you to fall victim to.

◈⇢ Pairing: apparition!Taeyong x reader

◈⇢ Genre: fluff ద, angst ᱬ

◈⇢ Listen to: What Dreams Are Made of (by Evan McIntosh) HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

◈⇢ Warnings/Content: lucid dreaming, small mention of addiction, hints toward dream reality confusion

◈⇢ WC: 1.6k words

A view of your drab ceiling shifts into the focus of a hazy atmosphere as your eyelids flutter open. The sound of a vague, lulling white noise begins to fill your ears, as it feels like you’ve been transported to another realm. In a way, you have.

You feel a presence becoming more palpable next to you, and the mattress you lay on lightly begins to sink at your side.

Turning your head towards it, you sigh as your eyes meet the dark, and yet so bright, eyes of Taeyong. With the way his eyes gleam, you’d be able to find his gaze if the room was pitch-black. The corners of his perfectly shaped lips turn upwards and he lets out a soft giggle. You join him, feeling a euphoric feeling course through your body upon seeing him once again in all his angelic glory.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” you whisper.

“I tell you every time. It won't be the last time we meet.” His fingers brush against your hand beside you, and you allow them to intertwine at your side. “I have something for you.”

“And what might that be?” you ask.

Laying in bed on your backs, Taeyong taps his finger against your hand, bringing your attention to the space between your bodies. You feel a cool, smooth surface touch your fingers and you sit up, looking over to find a plate next to your legs. On the plate sits a pile of bright red, crownless strawberries, and a cloudy white substance next to them.

You turn towards Taeyong, who's still laying on his back in your bed looking at you with twinkling eyes, and ask, “Is this-?”

“Strawberries and whipped cream,” he finishes. “Your favorite.”

He reaches for the plate and balances it on his belly as he lays on his back.

“Come eat.”

You shoot him a quizzical glance before laying your head back on the pillow. You pluck a strawberry from the plate, scoop up some of the cool cream with the bottom, and plop it into your mouth. A burst of juice surges in your mouth as you chew, and you can’t help but feel like you’re sitting in a strawberry field, facing the sun with Taeyong’s smile shining just as bright next to you. This feeling of freedom, like you can be anywhere and everywhere on earth without moving an inch, is what makes you love being with Taeyong; you couldn’t feel this way with anybody else. You proceed to crush the juicy goodness between your teeth, savoring both the vibrant tang of the red fruit and the sugary coolness of the whipped cream.

The hint of mouthwash that once resided on your tastebuds when getting into bed is no longer there. It’s as if you've been bound to your lucid dream with Taeyong forever, not once partaking in the materialistic everyday routine involving brushing your teeth, making food, and going to work. Instead, it seems like the only lifestyle you've ever known is the one in which you bask in his presence in your soft bed, having conversation after conversation about pleasant memories that you somehow don't remember by the time you awaken.

“Mm, I love midnight snacks,” you hum, as you continue to take strawberries from the plate.

“I know. That's why I brought these.”

“Don’t you want some?”

“Nope. I'm only here for you,” he says as his eyes twinkle even in the room’s dimness. Catching sight of his smile once again brings butterflies to your stomach. His smile. Such a healing sight makes it so hard to part ways with it. And those lips. To feel them on yours just once would fulfill you with everlasting bliss.

-

“Your smile is so pretty,” Taeyong said in a hushed tone, his face hovering over yours, fingers lightly stroking your cheeks as you lay against your polyester sheets.

Your hands rested upon his shoulders and felt their way up his neck until they reached the sides of his face. “Yours is perfect.”

You yearned to close the space between your faces, but before you could, Taeyong said, “I’m sorry. I should go,” and shifted over to his previous spot on the bed, letting go of you.

“Taeyong-”

“I don't want you to get hurt,” he cut you off. Your perplexed stare sparked guilt in his chest as soon as he spoke. He could practically hear the questions darting in your head at the moment, and in response, all he said was, “Please, trust me.”

You decided to say nothing more upon seeing his soft smile that constantly told you that everything is okay.

-

Since that moment, you’ve wondered, what does he mean? How could I possibly get hurt? He wouldn’t hurt me. Yet, you never dared to ask him. The reassuring smile that never seemed to leave his face was the only answer you ever needed.

“All done?” Taeyong asks, pointing at the last strawberry before offering it to you.

You take it from his hand and eat it, nodding to let him know you’ve been satisfied. He sets the plate aside, and with a deep sigh, shuts his eyes and reaches for your hand once again. You allow him to hold your hand, but keep your eyes open just to be sure he's still with you.

The blurred haze hovering over you slowly begins to slip away as you start to feel reality force itself into your space.

“I think it’s best for me to go now,” Taeyong whispers softly, his breath leaving a phantom kiss on your skin.

You shake your head, rumpling the fabric of the pillowcase beneath your head, as you begin to object. “Just a li-”

“I can't stay any longer. I'm sorry.” The glint in Taeyong’s eyes slowly begins to dim down along with the atmosphere of the room, but his soothing smile doesn’t diminish one bit.

Recently, it seems as though you spend less and less time together. You can’t be upset with him, as you know he tries to make the departure as bearable as possible for you. Plus, he keeps his word: he’ll be back. He always comes back. He’s never given a reason as to why he needs to leave so early, but you're sure it must be the same reason he told you he didn't want to hurt you that night. He couldn't possibly hurt you. He's healing. He's therapy.

Yet, he's an obsession. A medicine that you manifested for your survival. He’s the embodiment of your pain turned to healing, and his addictive nature is getting the best of you. You're losing your grip on reality and Taeyong knows it. The stronger your attachment to him becomes, the easier it is to slip away from your real life. Every single morning, you leave more and more of yourself with him when you get out of bed. Every night, the desire to be with him gets stronger. He doesn't want to be responsible for the damage you'll do to your real-life relationships. Nor does he want to be at fault for the crushing guilt you feel when you have to leave your room and face reality every day. If he’s not careful, you’ll become more and more dependent on his presence to heal the legitimate wounds this obsession brings.

He loves you. He wants you too. Just not at the expense of your lucidity. He wants you to be able to live without him. It’s for your own good.

You don’t know of the damage this attachment could bring. Maybe it’s best you do, but the only desire you have is to spend eternity laying next to him in a bundle of linen. If your mattress could swallow you whole and transport you to a place where it's just the two of you, you’d let it.

Your head begins to swim and the white noise that once occupied the space around you starts to fade out. A tugging force on your hand rouses you from your thoughts, and you turn your head to meet Taeyong’s eyes.

“I promise, you’ll see me again.” He gives you a reassuring nod, accompanied by his pretty smile. A sigh leaves your lips, but in response to his consolidating words, you nod back and squeeze on his hand.

“Thank you for the strawberries and cream. It’s always nice having you here.”

His smile becomes one with a glint of sadness. I was never even here. “You’ll always have me.” His gaze darts away from your eyes and a pit begins to form in his stomach knowing he’s feeding your attachment to him. When will the line between dream and reality become completely blurred? It won’t be much longer, but he can’t just leave you forever. You need him. “Enjoy the rest of your sleep.”

With that, you can no longer feel a hand in yours and the only sound you hear is the slight hum of your AC. You run your hand along the cold bedsheets of the empty space next to you and feel an immediate longing for warmth. The bright red light illuminating from your alarm clock indicates you should be asleep for at least another hour before it goes off with its annoying wake-up call. You pull the covers over your body, and with a tart taste at the back of your mouth, you shut your eyes and rest, waiting to be awakened into your clouded reality.

a/n: I highly recommend listening to the song listed in the description. The vibes are just right and the fic correlates with some of the lyrics. It was supposed to be fully fluff but then I’m like damn,,, it’s a shame Taeyong aint even really there lmao and it just developed from there. as most of you know, I’m mainly a fluff writer. Anything that it isn’t purely soft fluffy content is new territory for me haha. With that being said, I hope you enjoyed it ♡

proofread by: @give-seconds @meraki-mark @byunbaekby @orange-nimon-cross @pastelsicheng @heartyyjeno @drydrops891 thank u! ♡

#nct-writers #neothestars #neowritingsnet #cznnet #kpopscape #nct #nct fluff #nct angst #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #nct drabbles #nct imagines #taeyong drabbles #taeyong oneshot #taeyong imagines #nct taeyong #taeyong x reader #lee taeyong #kay’s creations

[masterweaverx]

Pit Stop

"So you hear about that Ruby transmission?"

Cinnamon chuckled. "It's all anybody's talking about," she said as she handed a plate to him. "We only get spotty transmission out here, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but... still." The customer laughed a little awkwardly. "Atlas being under attack, magic being real, this... Salem person... It's a lot."

Cinnamon nodded, looking around the pub. It wasn't anything too fancy, they were just a village after all, but it was an informal gathering spot for both the villagers themselves and travelers just passing through. Some tables had people clustered around them, while others had but a single customer apiece; it wouldn't have been anything unusual if it weren't for the hushed murmurings and occasional glances northward.

"Well, it's only been about a day, right?" Cinnamon reassured the man. "They're probably still holding out up there."

"...right." The man took his fork and began poking at the food in front of him.

Cinnamon sighed, heading back behind the counter. It was a slow day... which, given what that Ruby girl had said, was only to be expected. The casual vibe of the pub didn't really gel with the tension in the air; even the stress drinkers had just dropped by, bought a bottle or two, and walked out. She could see some of her customers eyeing the kegs.

Just scrub the glasses, she told herself. Scrub the glasses and look calm and relaxed. She wasn't a huntress, but damned if she didn't know the importance of image in keeping negativity down...

They'd get updates, eventually. Probably from some force heading up from Vale. Or... maybe, if things were really horrible, from some Atlesian refugees. No matter what, it would take a few days.

She couldn't help worrying, of course, who wouldn't be worried, but it wasn't like she could make time move faster. It had only been a day, after all.

There was a strange sound from outside, an oddly growling hiss. For a moment Cinnamon gripped her cleaning rag tighter. There would have been shouts from the lookouts if Grimm were approaching, right? Unless they'd been so rattled by the transmission that they forgot to--

--no. Even with that message, they wouldn't have abandoned their posts. They didn't during the fall of Beacon, after all.

"Somebody's just messing with burn Dust," she suggested casually, to nobody in particular. "Probably just a few teens... hopped up on bravery and wanting to go fight monsters in Atlas, you know?"

There were a few chuckles, but they were strained. The sort that were made by obligation--

One of the customers, leaning to peer out a window, jumped back with a yelp. "It's--! There's a Grimm woman!" he gasped. "It's gotta be Salem!"

Another customer rolled her eyes with a nervous chuckle. "Okay, you've probably had a bit too much to drink--"

Twinkli-linki-link...

Cinnamon looked at the door as it swung open, and her breath caught in her throat. The figure that practically glided in was breathtaking, in the same way a Sea Feilong was; tall, elegant, pristine, and as clearly capable of slaughter as any Grimm she could name. Her black dress, lined with red, certainly made her look like one; it was a resemblance only furthered by her bone-white hair and skin. Purplish veins crawled up her arms and under her sleeves, reemerging round her neck to frame a pair of dark eyes--utterly black, save for the rings of red that ross from their shadowy depths.

One hand was wrapped around an ornate golden staff, which was capped with a blue gem. The other, bearing a ring that resembled nothing so much as a beetle, gestured around the room surprisingly gently.

"I see you have a table available."

It took Cinnamon a couple of seconds to process that. She looked to see that, yes, there was an empty table--there were quite a few, in fact. "Ah... so I do," she replied, voice quavering.

"I believe we will take it. If you would be so kind...?"

Cinnamon put down her glass, quickly reemerging from the bar. "Right this way, ma'am," she said automatically.

The tall woman walked past her, and only then did Cinnamon register the second woman following behind her. The gold-embroidered black garb she wore was short but elegant, much like the hair covering her eyepatch. In fact, she almost looked like a freshly graduated huntress; if it weren't for the fact her left arm consisted of Grimm flesh and the way her amber eye produced literal fire, Cinnamon wouldn't have any idea why she'd be smugly trailing after the bone-white woman.

She shared a nervous look with one of the customers, flicking her eyes toward the door. The man's eyes widened, and he nodded subtly, casually walking out as the new pair seated themselves.

"...So." Cinnamon said, forcing her fear out of her voice. "What will it be?"

"Oh, nothing too much," the pale woman assured her. "A small meal will suffice."

The younger woman frowned for a moment, but nodded. "Perhaps... do you have fish and chips?" she asked.

Cinnamon almost said no, out of habit, but cut herself off. "We... have a salmon soup," she offered hesitantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other customers quietly filing out.

"Hmm." The younger woman shakes her head. "I'd prefer something more... solid."

"Would a chicken sandwich do the trick?" Cinnamon offered.

The younger woman nodded. "I think it would, actually."

"And..." Cinnamon turned to the beautiful violation of all she had ever thought she'd known. "What will it be for you, ma'am?"

The Grimm woman smiled wryly. "I don't suppose you serve the souls of the innocent here."

"No ma'am. Innocence is a rare commodity these days."

The younger woman actually smirked at that. "Isn't it though."

"Well... perhaps I shall have the salmon soup," the woman offered.

"Of course." Cinnamon took a quick look around the pub; it was almost empty now, save for one horrified customer staring at the scene. She turned back to the pair. "It might be a minute."

"We have all the time in the world."

Cinnamon nodded, heading around the bar. "Get out of here," she hissed to the last customer as she passed.

"You're just serving them--?"

"The longer they're here the longer you have to get to Vale, now move!"

The customer blinked twice, before her eyes widened. She vacated her table with haste, rushing out the door.

"I'm beginning to think the locals don't like us," the younger woman noted calmly.

Shit.

"Ah, it's nothing too much," Cinnamon assured her as she went behind the counter. "Just a bit nervous about celebrities visiting our little village."

"Celebrities?"

Cinnamon very carefully put the pot of soup on the stove, stirring it slowly. "You didn't catch the transmission?"

"Ah," said the bone-white woman. "So, Ruby Rose's message did reach the outside world."

"Whole world, if I heard right." Cinnamon set aside a plate, carefully putting together a sandwich.

"Wait, what transmission?" The young woman looked from Cinnamon to the other. "Was that what Penny was doing with Amity?"

"It was," the bone-white woman replied. "If I recall, you were unconscious at the time."

The younger woman stiffened... and then bowed her head. "I... yes, master. I made an error in judgment."

"Mmm..." The bone-white woman put a hand on her shoulder. "Not all lessons can be taught gently, Cinder."

Cinnamon checked the soup, subtly activating the recording function on her scroll. "So, yeah. What happened after that anyway?"

The bone-white woman gave her a coy smile. "Now, why do you ask that?"

"I'm just a small village chef," Cinnamon replied, pouring the soup into a bowl. "Can't help but be curious about the outside world."

The younger woman--Cinder--examined her Grimm nails. "It was a very busy day in Atlas, honestly."

Cinnamon assembled the sandwich, taking the bowl and plate out to her customers. "I guess it'd have to be. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I suppose I wouldn't mind a glass of wine," the bone-white woman allowed.

"Just water for me," Cinder added.

"Of course." Cinnamon prepared the drinks, surreptitiously looking out the window. Entire families were loading up tightly in the delivery trucks, rolling out through the gates--

"Is something going on out there?"

"Farmers headed out to bale hay," Cinnamon lied smoothly. "Big deal for us small-town folk."

Cinder gave her a look as she put the glasses down. Cinnamon shrugged, retreating behind the counter.

For a minute or two, the only sounds came from Cinder and the other woman quietly eating. She could see how much Cinder savored every bite. And... the other one, she did seem to enjoy the wine, if the way her eyebrow quirked was anything to go by.

"...Three questions."

Cinnamon looked up, keeping a mask of calm even as her heart pounded.

"You have been an excellent host," the bone-white woman continued, "and you reek of fear. So. Three questions."

"Ah." Cinnamon glanced at her hidden scroll, still recording the entire conversation. "How's Atlas doing, you reckon?"

"Oh, it's flooded," Cinder replied casually. "Entire city."

Cinnamon blinked at her, almost opening her mouth--but, no, three questions. Atlas, flooded... well, it was a floating rock, for one. How could they get water up there? Even with a magic rainstorm... no, it didn't make sense. A city in the sky couldn't...

...unless...

Cinnamon swallowed carefully. "I see... what happened to the survivors?"

Cinder frowned, biting into her sandwich aggressively.

"Apparently miss Rose came up with a scheme to get them all to Vacuo," the bone-white woman replied, sipping at her soup. "Which, of course, means I'll be meeting them again fairly soon."

Her smile was far too soft for such a threat. It almost looked motherly, in a way.

Cinnamon felt her heart beating. She glanced out the window again. She couldn't see anybody.

"...How am I going to die?"

The bone-white woman turned to her, then. "Now that is certainly an interesting question. Especially as I don't have an answer. What do you think, Cinder?"

Cinder finished her sandwich, taking a long draft from her glass.

"I think she has options," she said eventually. "We could lock her in this building, weld the doors shut so she can't escape with the rest of her village. I could burn her to death, or freeze her. You could summon any number of Grimm, or even use magic."

"We might do nothing at all," the other woman mused. "Let nature take its course."

"...we could take her with us," Cinder offered. "Hazel was our primary chef, before... well, before."

The bone-white woman quirked a brow. "And how would we carry her?"

Cinder glanced at the staff. "We're not using that for anything right now. An airship would be easy."

The bone-white woman considered this. Cinnamon felt her hands trembling.

"...I will prepare the airship," the woman finally said, standing up. "You will help our new... associate gather what she needs."

Cinnamon flinched as Cinder stood up, quickly ending the recording and sending it out on broadcast. "I, uh, I'm... it might take me a few tries to get your food like you like it--"

The bone-white woman smiled at her. "Oh, don't worry. I have all the time in the world."

#RWBY #Fanfiction #One Shot #Pit Stop #Salem #Cinder Fall

[logan-please-smile-speaks]

[Long, Tw food (in depth descriptions), brief references to unnamed heavenly beings of no specified religion, brief reference to hell. Not really any angst. Just good Dadza.]

[Hurt/comfort my beloved]

Me: i can't write

Also me: writes an entire fic by accident while telling my friend about an idea I had

(I'm gonna need this ask back at some point so don't keep it too long, okay? But make sure to take care of yourself (unlike Techno sksksks))

(How many words is this) (Cenn I've been writing this for like 3-4 hours. I've been hyperfixating on this)

-@2ble

I had this really cute idea where Techno gets sick after doomsday and Dadza takes care of him (for an animatic, or? How should i draw techno?)

Phil's Dadza side kicks in. He gently pushes Techno, who is in full garb back into bed. "Techno, you're sick. You can't go."

"But I haven't streamed in 2 weeks!"

"Rest."

Techno turns on his side in bed. Dadza gently pulls the blankets up and tucks them around Techno. Techno begins to cough, and the coughs rack his body. Dadza's expression is soft and concerned. He rubs his hand on Techno's back until he stops coughing. Techno closes his eyes. He's exhausted.

Dadza takes Techno's crown and places it on the bedside table.

He observes his ill friend. Techno is nothing like what he was up until Doomsday. He seemed--weak. Vulnerable. Sick.

"Have you had anything to eat, Techno?"

Techno doesn't open his eyes. He shakes his head. "I ran out of food a few days ago. I meant to get more but..." Techno doesn't want to admit that he couldn't get downstairs. He doesn't want to admit to weakness, to vulnerability. But everytime he thought of searching through chests, of trading with the villagers, they just seemed so far away.

Phil noticed a tear leaking out from Techno's eyelid. If he brushed it away, Techno would feel worse about his state because it would mean he was in fact vulnerable.

"I'll make you some stew."

Phil goes downstairs and tends to the fireplace. The fire seemed to have gone out sometime between now and the last time Phil checked on Techno.

How long has the house been this cold?

Phil builds up the fire and puts a cauldron over it. He makes mushroom stew because he doesn't know if techno can stomach rabbit stew.

When it's ready, he ladels it into a bowl and climbs the ladder.

Hanging off the ladder by one hand, he calls out. "Techno, stew's ready."

Techno's eyes flutter open. He sees his friend holding out a bowl of food and his eyes widen.

Phil notices that Techno is sweating and the blanket strewn to the side, only covering his feet.

"Are you too hot mate?" he asks.

Techno is broiling but he can't summon the strength to take off his outer clothes. His body refuses.

He's more focused on food. He's starving, and his body uses up what little resources it has left to sweat.

Phil walks over and puts the stew on the table. The heavenly aroma fills the room.

"Let's get this coat off of you." Phil reaches around Techno and unclasps the chain on his neck. He gently pulls the coat off of Techno's arm but he's still laying on it.

"Techno," Phil says.

"Whaaat," Techno drawls.

"You got to let me get this coat off ya mate."

Techno lets out a deep groan, then turns over on his stomach so his other arm is towards Phil.

Phil reaches under techno and grasps the coat. He pulls it out from under Techno and off his arm. The sleeve turns inside out. Phil fixes the sleeve and hangs up the coat.

Techno's shirt is drenched in sweat. He rolls over and starts fidddling with the button closest to his throat, looking up at Phil.

"Here, I'll get that for you." Phil undoes the button. He can't imagine how tired techno must've been after Doomsday, that he just collapsed in bed fully clothed, not even bothering to loosen them.

At least he took off his armor. Sh-t's heavy, he thinks. Phil ignores the fact that after the adrenaline and excitement wore off, the sore and tired Technoblade probably couldn't move with it on.

Phil pulls the blanket off the bed entirely, folds it, and places it on the table next to the stew. He pulls off Techno's shoes and socks and puts them near his coat.

They were also drenched with sweat, not to mention the smell--but it doesn't bother Phil all that much. He's smelled worse. He's frowns at the imprints on Techno's legs from the socks.

Phil loosens the rest of Techno's clothes. Techno seemed to were his tightest, least comfortable, most regal outfit to Doomsday.

Lucky for them both most of that was just accesories and pins, and Phil could easily remove those.

While Phil was doing this, Techno had been lying on his back, eyes closed. Though Techno tended to be stone-faced, Phil noticed the relief on Techno's face.

"How you feelin', Techno?"

"Philzaaa,"

"Yeah?"

Techno opens his eyes halfway, just enough to see Philza and the bottom of the bed.

"Do you have water?"

Phil procures a water bucket from his bag. "Thirsty mate?"

Techno looks at the water bucket and a small smile creeps over his face.

Phil smiles at his friend. He moves to the head of the bed and looped his arm and tattered wing around Techno and sits him up.

He holds the bucket up to Techno's mouth and tips it to his lips. Techno sips gratefully as the cool liquid pours over his hot, dry mouth and down his throat, cooling him from the inside.

"You've lost quite a bit of fluid, mate."

Techno lets some of the cold water slip out the sides of his mouth and drip down his face. His skin is boiling. The water dropelts running down his skin feel like heavenly beings allowing drops of mercy to fall upon him in the pit of hell.

Techno pulls back briefly to swallow and catch his breath and Phil rights the bucket. Techno leans in again for more water.

After drinking his fill, Techno leans back and wipes his mouth with his arm.

"All done, Techno?"

Techno swings his arms up knocks the bucket out of Phil's hand, dumping it on his head. The gush of water cools Techno, drenches the bed, and spills all over the room. Phil can't help but laugh. He picks up the bucket and scoops up the water source. He puts the bucket back in his bag.

"Had enough of the water?"

"Philza--I gotta be honest with you, Philza I haven't felt this good in weeks."

Phil laughs again even louder. The two friends are now in a good mood.

"Well now your stew is probably cold too." Phil tastes it. "Actually it's a bit warm still. Not too hot, either."

Techno scoots towards the wall and leans on it. He reaches for the bowl.

"Oh, no you don't."

"Phil, I'm a grown man-pig. I can hold a bowl."

"Maybe on a good day, Techno, but three minutes ago you couldn't sit up by yourself. No offense mate, but I don't think your arms have enough stamina right now. Now come on and eat."

Phil lifts the bowl to Techno's lips and lets him sip at his own pace. He pulls it back.

"How does it taste?"

"Pretty good but could maybe use a little salt."

"Eh, you probably need electrolytes as well after sweating through your clothes and drinking all that water."

Phil put the bowl on the downstairs counter.

Phil found salt in the downstairs chest and stirred it into the cauldron.

He heard the bowl fall to the floor behind him. It fell facedown and spilt on the floor.

Phil swore quietly.

He got a new bowl and more stew from the cauldron.

"How is it?" Techno inquired.

"Try for yourself," Phil said. He smiled as he held the bowl to Techno.

Techno looked at the bowl, then up at Phil. He took a sip.

Techno pulled back and looked at the bowl.

Phil thought he may have tainted the stew somehow. "Is it bad?" he started to say.

But he didn't quite get out anything after "Is" because Techno cut him off.

"It's delicious." Techno looked up at his friend. "Philza Minecraft, you should be a chef. This is the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted."

Phil chuckled. "All I did was add salt, what ya mean?"

"Phil, you have to sell this stew to the rest of the SMP. We could get rich!"

"Techno, I think the sickness may have gotten to your head a bit."

"Phil, I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life. We could be the the most powerful people on the server!"

"We already are. We just blew up a country. Down to bedrock."

"But we could get even more rich and powerful!"

"Well I'll be happy to listen after you eat. And rest. And bathe."

"I don't need to bathe."

"You're not getting out of it. You reek, mate."

"You can't judge me by the smell!"

"I'm not worried about the smell so much as what the smell tells me about your body. I don't know when the last time you washed was but it was definitely before Doomsday and I can't have you laying in your own sweat and filth for much longer. It's sh-t for your health, Techno."

"Philza--"

"Please just eat, Techno."

Techno leaned his head forward slightly and Phil pressed the bowl to Techno's lips.

Techno closed his eyes and savored the flavors. They were so pleasant, so soothing, so comforting. They reminded him of a time when he was safe and there was no betrayal. No war. No need for violence and bloodshed and destruction.

Phil, being a good Dadza friend, made sure that Techno ate an entire bowl. He brought Techno another bowl upon his request, of which he ate half, then left the other half bowl on the table in case Techno got hungry later.

After changing Techno's bed to clean, dry sheets and tucking his friend back into bed, he went downstairs to clean up the spill. He told Techno he would be back at sunrise to check on him. Though he might come earlier just in case. Sunrise was just the latest. Phil had decided that since Techno had gotten through the brunt of his hibernation and was now waking up sick, he should check on him at least twice a day.

Phil scrubbed the dried stew off the floor. He wondered what could've made Techno love it so much. Mere salt couldn't have made it so delicious, could it?

Phil finished cleaning the floor and the bowl and put everything away. As he was about to leave, he stopped. Eyes locked on the cauldron. There was something about it.

I can't leave that there, he reasoned. It will go to waste. If Techno like it, I can't let it waste or burn. I should freeze it outside.

Phil took out a bowl and knelt in front of the fire place. He scoop up big, full ladels into his bowl. Could it be that the soup was really that much better with something as basic as salt?

Phil dipped his finger in the bowl and sucked the stew off of it. He was instantly transported to his childhood. His mind played out feelings of safety, of healing, of comfort, of rest.

He heard his family laughing, remembered learning how to fly, the first time he soared high, feeling the wind beneath his wings. He remembered when Wilbur was born, holding the tiny baby in his arms, filled with love. "I'll always protect you. I'll always be there for you." When he met Techno, when he built the bee farm, and so on.

Phil was moved to tears. He felt loved. He felt like someone loved him no matter his flaws, his mistakes. Phil cried.

It was not out of pain but rather emotion. He wiped away his tears and drank the rest of the stew in his bowl, but it only caused more tears to stream down his face.

Techno was right.

Outside, watching through the window was the one who made the soup what it was. It wasn't Phil's salt.

He stood on his hind legs, paws pressed against the wall of the house.

He had been listening to the two friends talk, had been watching protectively as the wind ruffled his thick white fur.

He was Technoblade's guardian.

Soon he would be called Steve.

2ble this is literally amazing hello????

#ask #anon #under the 2ble #food mention #food tw #tw sickness #crying mention #technoblade #philza #philza minecraft #long post #steve the polar bear #fave tag

[omgreally]

Face to Face Rating: E Pairing: Din Djarin/OFC Words: 4,695 Summary: Din Djarin gets a haircut with a happy ending. That's it, that's the shameless excuse for smut plot. This loosely ties into the fic Set in Stone but can be read 100% standalone. Substitute your favourite OC or you for Kit, and please enjoy this shameless, shameless filth!

Content warnings: S M U T, p/v sex, unprotected sex (unless you’re Mando and Girl, wrap it before you tap it, kids)

Read on AO3

---

“It’s getting long.”

The Mandalorian shifts in her arms. He’s lying half across her body, his weight on her chest a comfort in the pitch blackness of the cabin. He often sleeps like this, his head pillowed on her breasts, and the first time it took the girl he named Kit'la a little while to figure out why: He’s listening to the sound of her heartbeat. Something he could never get close to with the Beskar helm in the way.

It warms her, expands the space between her lungs reserved only for him. She knows the stutter of her breath, the skip in her pulse will not go unnoticed with his ear pressed flush to her skin, but he never comments on it. He savors the sacred darkness, the stolen moments in the first minutes after waking, when neither of them have to move or acknowledge anything besides the other.

She strokes the back of his head, threading her fingers through the unruly locks of hair. Hair, the true color of which she still doesn’t know. She’s only ever seen him in half-shadows, in moments where touch was more important than sight - and sight, she’s long since learned how to live without.

But his hair is getting long.

“What?” he asks, his unfiltered voice husky, mellowed by the aftereffects of sleep and - other things. Kit feels the roughness of his stubble and the contrasting softness of his lips brush her skin as he speaks. “What is?”

“Your hair. It’s going to start growing out the sides of your helmet soon.”

He snorts, an inelegant, human sound that makes her smile. He props his chin on her sternum, peering at her in the dark, and she imagines his eyes - are they dark? Or perhaps a pale ice blue? It doesn’t bother her that she doesn’t know, may never know; after all, she counts herself lucky to see mere shadows.

“I’ll cut it before it gets to that point.”

“You do that yourself?” she asks, mock-horrified. His fingers creep up her ribs, tracing the scars there, but she ignores them for now. “With what?” She’s pretty sure she’s never seen scissors on the Guardian, except maybe in the medkit.

“Vibroblade,” Din replies, without a hint of irony. Kit shakes her head back and forth and tsks him.

An idea occurs to her, one she voices before she can think better of it. “Would you...would you let me do it for you?”

She feels him tense, imperceptibly, through the sudden stillness in his fingers and the pause in his breath. Then he shrugs, the bare line of his shoulders shifting under her arm.

“Sure. Okay.”

She’s surprised he agrees so readily - after all, it’s not as if he goes out of his way to show her his face. Twice in shadow, in a closed room when emotions ran high and they were both too concerned with bodies rather than faces - but not in the softer, slower moments between. Those are few, and usually spent like this, locked away as if in secret. Not hiding, exactly, but she knows Din is more comfortable like this, and Force knows he’s earned the right to rest.

“Okay,” she echoes, stroking the back of his neck, his curls. She’s not sure, but she thinks she can feel him smile against her skin.

---

Din sits stiffly in the pilot’s seat, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders like a towel, facing away from her.

His hair is brown. Kit’la isn’t sure why seeing that realization, and that alone, makes her breath catch and her face warm. It’s just hair, and she’s touched it plenty of times before, felt the thick, wavy locks as she’s carded them between her fingers, warm and clumped with sweat. He’s washed it now, thankfully, and it’s still a little damp, covering his ears and escaping the top of his cowl, reaching to the bottom of his neck. She combs any tangles out with her fingers, and he shivers as her nails rub just lightly across his scalp.

She tries not to look at his face. She knows he’s not entirely comfortable with that yet, and she doesn’t want to push him. Besides, this is more than enough to warm her dreams during any nights without him for a long time to come.

“This okay?” she asks as she lifts the scissors, testing their sharpness with her thumb. They’re small, and it’s going to be a mission to get through his hair - it’s thick - but she thinks she’ll manage. And Din seems to trust her.

That realization, more than anything else, threatens to make her hands tremble and her eyes cloud with moisture. She steadies herself with her free hand on the back of his shoulder as he nods.

“It’s fine. Go on.”

The first few snips send clumps of hair drifting to the deck. To Kit’s surprise, Din relaxes after that, as if the first cut was the worst, the one to get over. He’s probably never had anyone do this for him before, she realizes.

She feels humbled by this, such a simple act, and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat as she keeps going with small, measured clips.

“This may not look the best,” she warns as she works. “These scissors aren’t suited for this.”

“It’s not as if anyone but you will get to see it,” Din tells her. And there it is again, the catch in her chest. “Keep going.”

Kit is careful around his ears, her fingertips brushing the outer shell as she guides the scissors around them, and when she feels Din shudder she experiences an echo of it down her spine. It’s not just nervousness prompting his reactions, she realizes, and she’s glad he’s facing away from her sly smile.

When she’s done with the back and sides and it looks reasonably neat, she hesitates, dropping her hands to his shoulders. “Do you - d’you want me to do the front, too?”

There’s only the smallest of pauses before he says, “Yes.”

Drawing a deep breath, Kit’la steels herself before she steps around him. She tries to keep her focus fixed on his hair, really she does, but she can’t help it - her gaze drifts downward and meets a pair of deep, dark eyes, eyes shadowed by well-defined brows, brows that draw together in a slight frown over a strong, aquiline nose. A nose that she has felt nuzzled against her neck, her chest not too long ago. The thought makes her shiver.

Crow’s feet map tiny lines in the skin at the corner of his eyes, and his brow is etched with the echo of his frown. His beard is patchier than she expects - she swears that against her skin, it feels rougher and thicker than it looks  - and is speckled with a hint of grey at the edges. His cheekbones are high, and muscle memory in her fingers remembers tracing the outline of his strong jaw in the dark. Translated to sight, he is unmistakable. He is her Mandalorian.

And he is beautiful.

“Does it look that bad?” he asks, and the brows raise a little. The quirk at the corner of his lips is subtle, but there; a smile. Kit’la finds herself releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding and smiles back.

“What? Your hair, or your face?” she teases, resisting the urge to reach out and run her fingertips from his temple to his jaw. She doesn’t want to overstep. With her touch, at least.

Din shrugs. “Either.”

“No,” she says. “They’re both fine.” She draws another breath before she lifts the scissors to the mess of curls hanging over his forehead. He holds very still.

“Just ‘fine’?”

“Your hair is fine. Your face is...beautiful.” It slips out before she can stop it, and Kit swallows her nervousness, keeping her eyes on the scissors and continuing to snip away.

“Thank you,” Din says stiffly after a moment. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that before.”

“Never?” He knows what she’s actually asking. He nods, and the scissors almost slip - she hisses a warning and stills his head with her free hand on his chin without thinking. To her surprise, Din leans into the touch, and she can see his eyelids flutter briefly - he seems to crave it as much as he does in the more intimate moments. If not more.

“Never,” he confirms aloud, and the last curl falls. Kit lowers the scissors and looks at him. At his face, not just his hair. He meets her eyes without flinching, without glancing away, and it’s like touching an electrical circuit; his gaze earths in her body and lifts a shiver from her scalp to her toes.

“I’m finished,” she says, trying to clear the hoarseness from her voice and failing. Din nods, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her, not even when he reaches for his helmet. She experiences a flash of disappointment, of longing, one that is quickly tempered as she realizes he’s using the Beskar as a reflective surface to examine her handiwork. He tilts his head, the same way he does when he wears it, and she sees the corners of his lips twitch, his eyebrows lifting a little.

“Not bad,” he says simply. Approving. Kit beams with equal parts relief and pride.

When he doesn’t put the helmet back on straight away, she hesitates - only for a moment, but it feels like an age before she sets the scissors aside and reaches out to card her fingers through his hair. She left enough length on top for it to hang over his forehead, but not in his eyes. It suits him, she thinks, but maybe she’s biased.

She brushes stray clippings from his hair, from his ears, from his cloak around his shoulders. Even without the armor he is broad, a pillar of muscle and tension beneath her hands. They drift down his temple, his cheek, and again she feels it - the way he angles himself into her touch, chasing the press of her fingertips.

“Thank you,” Din says - again, not something she expects. “For this.”

He’s not just talking about the haircut. Something small and soft inside her catches, warming her from her sternum to the pit of her stomach, and she reacts on instinct - leaning down to press her lips against his cheekbone.

It is a touch that others might consider chaste, but for the Mandalorian, it is one of the most intimate. It’s something he’s never allowed himself, and it shows in the way he tenses, the soft puff of a surprised breath warm against her jaw.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs into his cheek. He smells like soap and leather, metal and sparks, all heat and light and clarity. And he draws her in like a magnet.

There are those who think Beskar is cold, unfeeling, and that the Mandalorians who wear it are the same. But beneath the steel is a heart that burns brighter than the center of any star, threatening to consume her, and she goes gladly. She would do anything for him; she would burn herself up in his atmosphere, blaze out, bright and brief and eternal.

He knows it, he knows it in the way he responds to her touch, in the way he touches her. It’s in the reverent press of his fingers at her waist, the nudge of his nose against her cheek as he tilts his head, the brush of his lips over hers, soft and quick and blistering. She chases his lips and the buzz of his chuckle lifts hairs on the back of her neck; he wraps his hands around her wrists and draws her down, down into his lap, where her knees bracket his hips and she sinks into the encircling cradle of his arms without resistance.

“You’re so good to me, cyar’ika,” he whispers, and no filter or vocabulator could possibly replicate the effect his raw voice has on her - her reaction is physical, visceral, a coiling in her gut that pools heat in the pit of her stomach. One of his hands spreads wide at the small of her back, the other drifting up her side, pushing her shirt up her ribs, his thumb brushing the revealed skin as she arches for him. “My sweet Kit’la.”

“You should let me take care of you more often,” she says, fighting to keep the shake from her voice, wishing for a vocabulator of her own. Her hands seem small against the vastness of his shoulders, but Din gives into the gentle push regardless, leaning back into the chair. Only her toes brush the floor as she shifts her hips forward, and she feels him draw a breath as the cradle of her pelvis settles over his groin.

Kriff - he’s half-hard already.

“I should,” he agrees, and she doesn’t miss the way he plants his boots against the deck and lifts up against her, just enough to feed the growing warmth between her legs with a friction she can grind against. “But then I’d have to return the favor.”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair.”

He chuckles into her neck, and Kit'la shivers at the warm burst of air and the sweep of his fingers back and forth over her ribs, underneath her shirt. “Not what I meant, cyare,” he murmurs, setting the edges of his teeth against her pulse, which she knows is stuttering and jumping in time with her heart.

She can’t see his face like this, but she can feel it, picture it in her mind’s eye as he sucks deep, bruising kisses into the side of her neck. Eyes closed, brows drawn tight, stubble rasping against the sensitive skin of her throat.

Din never takes long to get possessive, to get grasping and greedy with his touches, like he’s afraid that every time, this will be the last time. Maybe he is. Maybe it is. Despite the few seconds of prescience she is privy to thanks to the Force, neither of them truly know what the future holds. Their only choice is to hold now in both hands, to hold each other, as close and as tight as possible.

And the Mandalorian does.

He has his hand in her pants before she even realizes what he’s doing, his fingers working through her curls and seeking her clitoris with devastating, pinpoint precision. She cries out at the sudden press of his fingertips against the sensitive bud of nerves, bucking into his hand; she can feel his feral grin of triumph against her jaw the instant before he drags his lips over her chin and kisses her.

Din is no less needy with his mouth than he is with his hands. He tolerates only a moment’s press of their lips before he parts his and his tongue slips into her mouth, wicked and urgent. He drinks in her moan, swallows it whole, licking sweeping strokes against her teeth and tongue with his own.

His fingers never stop moving, always on the edge of too rough but never quite crossing it, pulling the thread of her pleasure out taut and strumming the tension with each brush of calloused fingertips against her clit. The frission builds between her legs, and she can practically feel the moisture gathering in her slit, already threatening to seep from between her aching folds.

Kit knows she could come so easily just from this, legs spread while his hand works in her pants, mouth overtaken by his, but the more he gives the more she wants to take. He is addictive, worse than spotchka or spice, and her head spins with every stolen touch.

“Din,” she gasps into a break in the kiss - and that’s all she has to say. He withdraws his hand and she whimpers at the loss of contact, until she realizes he’s nudging her knees together to get her pants down over them, underwear too.

She doesn’t even remember kicking her boots off, doesn’t register when Din pulls his shirt over his head. But suddenly she’s in his lap again, half-naked, pressing into him, hands swiping deliriously over his bared skin.

“Gar’ner,” he murmurs, tugging her shirt up to bare her breasts, and he’s not gentle but she doesn’t need him to be. She groans as he twists a nipple between his fingers, shudders when his free hand returns to her cunt, nearly combusts as he slides two digits home inside her, twisting and curling against her walls.

“Fuck,” Kit hisses, arching into his hand as he moves it, precise and rigorous. He’s priming her, she realizes, stretching her open in preparation for him, and her mouth floods with saliva and her belly with molten heat when his other hand leaves her breast to reach for the fastening of his pants.

So far, all her hands have done is paw hopelessly at his chest, his shoulders, distracted by the skill of his, but she forces herself to participate - she slides them down to interrupt his fumbling, although she’s not much more graceful as she yanks at his buttons and tugs the zipper down.

Din’s reaction is marked, though, when she frees his cock and curls her fingers around it; his unfiltered, stuttered groan against her cheek makes her shudder, her inner walls flexing around his fingers.

This time, when he pulls them from her, Kit doesn’t mind at all - especially not when he reaches up and slides his fingers into his mouth, sighing softly around them at the taste of her. It also allows her to shift her hips forward and open her thighs wide around his waist, her knees pressing into the sides of the chair as she slides over him. She uses her grip on the base of his cock to guide the blunt head against her weeping entrance, and they both groan in unison as she drags him once, twice, through her soaking folds.

But Din is too impatient, too eager, too ravenous to let her take her time. Suddenly his hands are on her hips and he’s dragging her down over him, stretching her open, and she gasps and arches as his cock breaches her and begins the slow, achingly powerful slide home.

She grabs his shoulders for support, the dull bite of her fingernails into the solidity of his skin dragging a grunt from his throat. His grip on her hips is just shy of bruising; perfect; a counterpoint to the languishing burn and stretch of his cock sliding through her.

Burying her fingers in his hair, Kit grasps for length that isn’t there any more, remembering belatedly what led them to this. She presses her mouth to his temple, breathing hard, and when her hips finally settle flush to his, she feels his hand at her nape of her neck, tugging her head back.

She closes her eyes on instinct, overwhelmed by how full she is of his cock, of the feel of his skin, of his presence; she is as engulfed by him as he is of her in that moment.

“Cyare. Look at me. ” Din's usually calm baritone is huskier than normal, low and deep in its intensity. “Look at me.” His tone tugs at the deepest parts of her, so that her eyelids fly open without her conscious input, and she meets his gaze with a gasp that draws her out of herself.

His eyes are open, pupils blown so wide that the brown is almost eclipsed by black, and the intensity there makes her clench from her stomach down through her cunt and thighs, curling her toes with its vehemence.

Din holds her there with the force of his gaze, with his fingers digging into her hips, for what feels like eternity, half a second or forever - she’s not sure. Then her hands lift, her fingertips hesitating a millimeter away before she touches his face - and it’s his turn to exhale sharply as she strokes his cheeks, his jaw.

“Din,” she whispers, and he throbs within her, but he’s no longer so impatient, so driven. He lets her linger there, her pelvis flush to his, his cock spearing so deep inside her she can feel him when she swallows. But nothing is so intense as the feeling that fills her as she strokes his face.

She explores his jaw gently, his chin, her thumbs tracing the tremble in his lips and up, across the broad sweep of the bridge of his nose. She travels his eyebrows, learning the planes and angles of him by touch, fighting to keep her eyes open, to commit every single pore and line and hair to memory. She has done this before, but never in the light. Never when she was allowed to see him.

And now it is her turn to whisper the word, “Mesh’la,” and the Mando’a from her lips makes him tense. Kit’la feels it beneath her, inside her, in the spasm of his fingers as they press marks into her flesh. She responds with a slow roll of her hips, the shift of his cock through her a reminder, a prompt: “I’m yours.”

Din growls, a sound from deep in his chest. He is done waiting, lingering. He pushes his feet down and lifts up into her, her toes leaving the deck entirely; she floats, impaled on his cock, the entire universe narrowed down to the exquisite fullness of him inside her. He does it again, and again, working the smooth, velvety thickness of his length through her cunt; she grips him with a flutter of her inner muscles and a gasp, and it’s as if she can feel every vein and ridge as he pushes into her.

Soon enough, he sets a punishing pace, and with no leverage and no points of contact with the floor or anything but his body, it’s all Kit can do to hang on. Her nails prick his shoulders again and the ferocity of his groan makes her dig in harder, and he thrusts and grinds up into her like he’s trying to bury himself with the intention of never pulling free. At this moment - at any moment - she would not complain.

The slow, sharp flame of sensation is already licking up her spine, gathering in the pit of her stomach, at the aching point of her clitoris as it is compressed by the wiry thatch of hair at the base of his groin with every collision of their hips. She could come at any time, she thinks, just let go and float away, ruined by this, by him. But she wants to look at him while she does it, and she wants to see him fly apart underneath her, she wants to see what he looks like when he comes.

It’s a mission for Kit to pull her head back and keep her eyes open, as with every jolt of his body into hers her scalp prickles and whimpering sounds are torn from her throat, but she manages when Din’s face swims into focus. He’s frowning again, this time in concentration, his brows drawn tight over the bridge of his nose, and his eyes are half-closed, moisture from sweat or tears glimmering with devastating gravity in his lashes as they brush his cheeks. He bites his lip against the quiver in them, and she’s not sure who is more overpowered by this - her or him.

“Din,” she gasps, “Look at me.” The echo of his earlier words prompts the lifting of his lids, and she gives in to a full-body shudder and the bow of her spine as they lock eyes again. He’s barely keeping it together, she can tell, and not just from the sounds from his mouth. He babbles brokenly, sounding almost drunk on it - on her.

“Fff- fuck , you’re so - so fucking good - “ Din kisses her, briefly, sloppily, unable to keep his lips and tongue moving cohesively, but it’s okay because it means she can frame her face with his hands and pull back to look at him again. “So soft, sss- so strong, cyare, ugh, shit - I-”

She hushes him with her fingers on his lips, and he kisses them too, drawing the tip of her middle finger into his mouth and biting down lightly on the first knuckle at the same time as a particularly vicious lift of his pelvis strikes the swollen head of his cock into a place inside her that makes her see stars. She cries out, fighting the urge to slam her lids shut and arch into the impending fall of her orgasm, but instead she forces her eyes wide and tips her head forward and focuses on him.

Only on him. Nothing else.

His hands guide the next few bruising thrusts, and her feet leave the floor entirely as he holds her up and stares back at her with his mouth open - wordless, stunned, disbelieving; as if he can’t comprehend that this is happening to him, that this feels so fucking good and it’s real and he has allowed himself this small, bright spark of wonder in a universe that could care less about Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, and what he wants or needs. Kit wishes she could tell him he deserves this and more, deserves everything she can give and even then it won’t be enough because he should have the world; no, the galaxy, the universe and everything in it.

But all she can give is herself. And she does.

Kit'la palms his face and strokes his jaw and keeps her eyes locked to his, even as the blinding rise of pure, physical bliss overflows and floods through her with the inevitability of a dam breaking, a river bursting its banks. Her eyes threaten to close, her body wanting to concentrate only on the input of touch, but she curls her hand around Din’s wide, stubbled jaw and uses the touch to anchor her to him, gasping his name as she looks into the deep, devastating darkness of his eyes.

Din comes. With another one, two soul-demolishing thrusts, he holds himself up, buried to the hilt inside her, and even through the squeezing spasm of her inner muscles, she can feel it as he swells and pumps cords of thick fluid into her. She spreads her thighs as far as they can go and arches her pelvis to take as much of it, as much of him in as deep as she can, and he groans through it, shaking beneath her so hard the chair rocks with the force of it.

Finally, together, their eyes close, and they are still. The only sound in the cockpit is the combined heaving of their breath. Kit sags first, leaning in to rest her forehead against his shoulder, her hands descending the sweat-beaded, muscled flesh of his biceps, tracing scars both old and new.

She thinks she could stay here forever with him inside her, panting against her cheek, spent and sated. Evidently, the Mandalorian feels the same, for he makes no effort to lift her up, to pull out of her. Instead his broad hands drift the length of her back, fingertips tracing her spine, and she shivers with a phantom twitch inside and out as the long digits tangle in her hair, keeping her anchored there with his hands and his body.

Eventually - she’s not sure how many minutes or seconds later - she manages to say something. It's not poetic, but it is true:

“You should let me cut your hair more often.”

Din laughs, a broken, half-swallowed chuckle. And when he speaks, he sounds utterly wrecked, little more than a buzz against her skin as he turns his face to mouth her neck.  “Only if we do this every time.”

She pulls back to look at his face. Just once more, she tells herself. Just once.

“Din Djarin,” she says, and the combination of his name from her lips and the hungry way her eyes rove his face makes him feel infinite inside, “If we do this every time, you’re going to end up kriffing bald.”

#the mandalorian fic #din djarin/ofc #din djarin x female oc #smut #standalone #set in stone