#AND ITS HIS WEIRD SNEERING FACE TOO YOU ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE WORLD 🩷❤️💛💖❣️💘🩵💞🤍💓💞💛💕❤️‍🔥❣️🩵❣️💗💗

[sheherlockholmes]

hi tara i drew david tennant as a spiny flower mantis being stung to death by you as a honey bee (sexual)

ily 💕💕💕

TEARS. IN MY EYES. THIS IS SO FUCKIGN FUNNY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ITS INSANE THANK YOU FOR MY LIFE THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING

[gotnofucks]

Lover’s Quarrel

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: You have the powers to resurrect if you’ve been murdered, and a jealous Steve Rogers indulges heavily in your abilities. He would not let you steal his best friend, that was for sure. So what, if your rivalry regularly caused fire and harm to public property? You just couldn’t let the other win. 

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Smut, enemies to lovers, violence, killings and murders (but reader cannot die, it’s weird. She has some sorta powers that help her revive when she’s been murdered), language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Is this crack fic? Idk. Maybe?

The sixth time Steve killed you, you decided he needed to be dealt with in a similar way. It doesn’t matter that he cannot come back from the dead like you. He just needed to go. You were tired of him offing you every time he felt threatened by your existence. But this was the last straw. He had pushed you off the Quinjet while flying home from a mission and you’d fallen into the lake and drowned. You would NOT recommend dying that way.

Bucky had dragged out your dead body and watched over you as the blessing of the necromancer worked its magic over you and brought you back to the world of the living. The first words out of your mouth as you spewed out water were, “I am going to kill your best friend and you can’t be mad at me for that.”

Bucky, far too happy to have you back – poor guy still mourned every time you died – ignored your comment and pulled you into a hug. He’d never quiet gotten used to seeing you die. You patted his back, muttering a few there-there’s until he was calm enough to press quivering kisses on your head and temple.

“You need to stop dying.” He said into your hair, holding you close.

“I would not be dying if your best friend didn’t murder me every time! He is a menace, Buck!” You cried in exasperation. The said best friend was watching you from a few yards away, and he rolled his eyes as your words reached him. He scoffed loud enough for you to hear and you sharply turned your head to glare at him.

“You!” You shouted, quickly standing up and marching over to him. “You rascal!” And then you pried out your wet shoe from your feet and threw it at his stunned face. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit his face but smacked against his chest, leaving the wet print of your soles against his far too tight t-shirt. He gaped at you open mouthed before baring his teeth in warning.

“Oh god, every time you come alive again, you’re even more awful than before!” Steve shouted, and then just because he is fucking drama queen, he threw out his hands. You sneered before turning to look at Bucky meaningfully, the most obvious ‘see what a dick he is’ look on your face.

Bucky shuffled uneasily, caught between your quarrel once again. He came behind you and gave you his jacket to wear to shield you from the cold. And just like that, your anger melted a little. Somehow, with his steel blue eyes, Bucky Barnes could sooth every wound you’d ever had. Even those given to you by Steve Rogers.

“I am so sorry. I should have seen what he was about to do. I wouldn’t have ever let you fall had I known.” He apologized and you swore your heart physically quivered. You pulled Bucky into a hug, hiding your face in his chest, savoring his arms coming around you to hold you tighter. You could have stayed in his embrace forever, but it was an annoyed groan that ripped you both apart.

“Is there any way you can stay dead a little longer?” Steve asked, breaking your moment. “I mean, I’ve tired a bullet and knife and water and poison. What can I do that you’d be gone for just a little longer?”

He was worked up, a red flush creeping on his face and neck. Pacing, he was muttering, and you wondered for the millionth time how Bucky could be friends with him. He was just so extra! You wanted to tell him to shove a stick up his ass, along with the one already there when he turned swiftly like the wind and threw a dagger at you. A metal hand caught it before it could hit you and you were pulled into the warmth of Bucky’s body quickly.

“Steve! Cut it out.” Bucky yelled, glaring at Steve. “You will not kill her again. I don’t care if she can come back alive again. You won’t hurt her.”

With that, he dropped the dagger on the ground and walked away with you. Unable to resist, you looked over you shoulder and flipped Steve off. Fucker could kill you a hundred times and yet he would not be able to do anything. As far as you were concerned, Bucky was as much your best friend as his. And if Steve Rogers couldn’t control his jealousy without trying to behead you every time he felt you were stealing Bucky from him, you would just have to make his death look like an accident.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you can’t kill him either?” Bucky said teasingly, his eyes soft and fond. “I need you both to survive.”

You groaned, bumping your shoulder in his and snuggling into him as a cold breeze hit your wet clothes. He could read you like an open book.

“You are no fun Barnes.”

There was rubble and fires and shrieks. Natasha was yelling in Russian as she ran about with a fire extinguisher and Clint crawled out of his vents to help Bruce out who was turning a dangerous shade of green. Tony was sitting in the ruins of his kitchen, his mouth half open as he spied on the ensuing battle in the middle of it.

Sam was using his shield to push Steve away who was shouting curses that had probably not been invented yet. Bucky was holding you back by your middle, yelling in your ear to calm the fuck down but all you could think of to do was smacking Steve’s face with that chair that was currently on fire. You suppose once everyone was calm, you’d feel guilty about your part in destroying the Avengers kitchen but right now that wasn’t important.

What was important was that Steve had tried to kill you. Again. He had actually thrown a fucking grenade at you. You barely had the time to kick it away where it exploded in the kitchen and then Steve was on you, calling you a bitch in all the 9 languages he knew.

“Calm the hell down, Steve!” Sam yelled, struggling to keep Steve at bay from you. You were glad to see that Steve’s nose was busted. That will teach the bastard to ‘look down his nose’ on you now.

“She pierced my ears! The fucking bitch pierced my goddamn ears!” Steve yelled. Even you had to admit, the golden hoops looked amazing dangling from his ears. Just perfect.

“You are lucky I didn’t stick a knitting needle in your eye Rogers!” You sassily replied, “The only reason you’re still in one piece is because I promised my best friend that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The muscles in Steve’s arms tensed and Sam groaned, barely keeping his own footing. A dark shadow seemed to have crawled over Steve’s face, turning the blues of his eyes an angry shade and had you been a weaker person, you would have trembled. This was the face of someone who had stood against armies alone and came out victorious. But for all you cared, he could kiss your ass.

“He is MY best friend. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s. Bucky Barnes is mine and I will kill you a thousand times until it sinks in your thick skull!” Steve growled. You scowled, a scathy remark bubbling on the tip of your tongue when you suddenly stopped. Why say when you can show? So, looking Steve directly in the eyes, you went limp in Bucky’s arms, turned around and cupped his face. And then you kissed his cheek.

Steve let out a strangled cry behind you, but you focused on Bucky who was blinking in disbelief at your audacity. And so, just for the heck of it, you kissed his other cheek. And then his forehead.

��Bucky Barnes, you are my best friend and always will be!” You said, hugging the life out of him. You heard Steve break away from Sam, heard Bucky yell out a curse and holding you protectively as his jealous pal came rushing to claim him. And all through that and the chaos that ensued later, you just smiled broadly.

Tony was giving a lecture, and he sucked. He gesticulated too much for your liking, and you really didn’t like how he kept emphasizing things by looking pointedly at you. It wasn’t even that much of a big deal, and even if it was, it was not your fault. Like every other time, the only person who could be held responsible was the blond super soldier sitting beside you, wearing the same shade of annoyance on his face as yours.

“I repeat” said Tony, his hair askew, “we do not use Friday to settle idiotic, absolutely ridiculous personal vendettas!”

“You have Friday tell you how pretty you look every day!” You countered and Tony slammed his hand on the table.

“Because I am!” He huffed. “You, on the other hand, stopped a mission in the middle to ask Friday who had a higher score! I mean, what the actual fuck? And what score?”

Steve had the decency to look at least a little sheepish. You however didn’t put up with any of that nonsense. It was his idea anyway, and you wouldn’t take the fall for him. Not when Tony looked murderous like this.

“Rogers bet me he’d take down more enemies than me. We only asked Friday to keep a count. I had literally nothing to do with it.”

Tony turned the ire of his glare at Steve who was too busy giving you a dirty look. He was just pissed you won, and that Bucky had spent the entire ride back tending to your wounds rather than Steve’s. It wasn’t your fault his jealous ass always threw a fit whenever he saw you and Bucky together.

“You said the team could use Friday as we saw fit.” Steve said, though he did look a little guilty. It wasn’t like him to lose command and control. Even when he’d been Captain America, he had never let anything rattle him. Not until you had come prancing in his life and stealing his best friend.

“I said the team could use Friday, not stop everything in the middle of a high risk mission to see who has a bigger dick.” Tony said, and then he just collapsed in his chair. Poor guy had been working too hard to carry the team forward, and in that moment, even you felt guilty. Your rivalry with Steve shouldn’t have to affect everyone else, not when they had been so welcoming and loving to you ever since you joined.

You walked over to Tony and dropped a kiss on his head, caressing his hair. “I am sorry Tones. You won’t have more trouble from me.”

Tony looked at you as if seeing an angel. He looked at you as if you were the solution to all his troubles. Despite every furniture of his you’d broken and set fire to, he was so grateful to have one sane voice between them. Cupping your hands, he looked imploringly at you and asked, “Really? You’re gonna stop fighting with Steve?”

At that, you solemnly nodded and patted his hand gently. Poor him and the poor team going through hell because you and Steve couldn’t settle your differences. It was obvious what had to be done.

“Of course I will” You said magnanimously, because of course you were the better of the two. “Steve just needs to find another best friend and there won’t be any reason to fight anymore.”

If any of them had been drinking water, they would have spit it out. Since they didn’t, they just kind of choked on their saliva and sputtered at you in absolute disbelief. Tony actually looked betrayed and Steve seemed to have licked a lemon, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“She” He said, voice thick with contempt, “needs to go away. We can launch her in outer space or somewhere from where she can never return. You know why? Because Bucky is my best friend. Since we were yay high!” And he raised his arms a foot off the ground to show just how high.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Rogers opened his mouth and any goodwill you had had went poof. So, you did the only reasonable thing any sane person would do right now and that was to flip him off and call him a pig. You knew he was inching to strangle you; you could see his fingers twitch. A part of you was anticipating it, for Bucky would never forgive him for killing you again. Just as he would have lunged at you, push Tony out of the way and did you away for good, Bucky burst into the room with the expression of a cantankerous 100 year old grandpa who had had enough with the world.

“For fucks sake! Just shut up you both!” He yelled and paced the room. His eyes were bloodshot and hair disheveled, a clear sign that your rivalry was taking a heavy toll on him. Steve opened his mouth to say something when Bucky raised a finger to shush him. “No no no! You listen to me you oblivious, utter moronic fucklets!”

Your mouth dropped open. Bucky never cursed at you. He had never called you a fucklet before.

“You two need to stop. You hear me? You need to STOP!” He raked a hand through his hair before kicking the ground in frustration. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep! I can’t fucking breathe without you both arguing over who is a better friend to me. So, here’s an idea. Instead of fucking me over in the middle of your sexual tension, why don’t you find a room and fuck each other? Because I tell you now, I cannot fucking take it!”

Silence sat pregnant in the room. You blinked at Bucky. Steve blinked at Bucky. Tony blinked at Bucky. And Bucky didn’t blink at all.

“That – uh – what?” You said, eloquent as ever. “That is so stupid.” And you laughed awkwardly.

Steve glanced at you and then stammered, “What? That – I haven’t – that has nothing to do with it. She and I – what?”

You both found each other’s eye, quickly looked away and just became silent. The tension in the air was suffocating you, and a terrible heat was settling in your stomach. Without another word, you walked out of the room, muttering about how ridiculous the whole idea was. The three men watched your exit, and a moment later, Steve left too, still very much in disbelief.

Tony and Bucky sighed, sitting across from each other and just taking in the fact that the elephant in the room had finally been address. A moment later, Tony began drumming on the desk, looking up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

You felt antsy, as if staying one more moment in your room would drive you mad. You kept jerking your legs and arms, a weird restlessness in every action of yours. What the hell was Bucky saying? The sheer nerve to imply that you…you and Steve had some sort of feelings for each other. You hadn’t heard that kinda crap since you nursed your nephew who’d had diarrhea.

The only reason you and Steve fought was because you wanted Bucky. He was supposed to be your best friend, and clearly it was his inability to decide who he preferred more that had led you here. And to pretend, on top of that, that it was you who was at fault was just ridiculous. As if you’d touch Steve Rogers with a ten foot pole.

But…would you? You suppose he couldn’t be that bad to touch. He did have gorgeous eyes that got all dark and dilated when he fought with you. And his breath hitched when you got him mad and he bit his lip to stop from cursing you and he flushed a very becoming shade of red that started from his cheeks and disappeared down the neckline on his tight shirts that –

Holy fuck!

The realization rocked your world. What the hell? When you thought about it again, it seemed as if you’d just described Steve being aroused. Did you really fight him and got him mad to stimulate yourself? Oh god. Bucky was right. You wanted to fuck Steve.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. You quickly changed into your work out gear and rushed to the gym, intent on sweating out whatever feelings you might have for Steve. After all, nothing says fuck you like imagining someone’s face on a punching bag and just going to town on it. Thankfully, when you arrived the gym was empty.

You’d been working on your stretches for only a few minutes when your worst nightmare entered the gym. He probably had the same idea as you and froze the moment your eyes met. His blue eyes narrowed at you and you stood up straight. You hated Bucky for putting the thought in your head. Now all you could think of was tackling Steve to the ground and fucking him senseless. You still wanted to beat him, but in a very different way.

As Steve entered, his eyes fixed to your form, you decided it was time to leave. After that fiasco in front of Tony, you didn’t think yourself capable of talking to Steve. Staying alone with him was something you didn’t trust yourself with. So you picked up your bag and started for the door when his voice stopped you.

“Running away? Am I to believe that there is something that finally scares you?”

Anger, red hot anger simmered under your veins when you turned to face him again. He had a mocking smirk on his face that made you grit your teeth. His eyes, dark and challenging beckoned you to him, but they didn’t hold resentment there either. Something between you had changed today. The very air around you was different, thick with tension and apprehension that had your nerves tingling.

“Scared?” You scoffed, dropping your bag on the matted floor and walking until you stood right before him. He towered over you in height, but he’d never been able to actually look down at you. “Me, scared of you? You wish Rogers.”

One corner of his lips lifted up, and he put his hands on you. One hand hooked around your waist and pulled you closer, the other trailing a finger down the side of your face to your neck, following the path down your arm until his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Oh, I so do wish” He whispered and his lips met yours. You rose up on your toes, mashing your body against his and mapping the planes of his body with your palms. The smell of his sweat and soap surrounded you, your arms coming to hold him around the shoulders as he hitched you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Like everything in your relationship, the kiss was explosive. You didn’t melt against each other like people do in books; you collided like two warring armies intent on conquering the other. You collided like night and day, basking your surroundings in the dawn and dusk of your lust. Steve took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, smiling as you shamelessly moaned.

“What do you say?” He asked, pushing you against the wall, his hardness digging between the heated center of your legs.

You pulled him closer, letting your lips trail over his jaw and neck before you branded him with a quick bite. “You’ve always been so aggressive Steve, let’s see you let loose some other way. I sure do hope you fuck better than you fight though, or I’ll just be disappointed.”

Steve growled, kissing you again as he ground his cock against you, trapping you between the wall and his hard body that prevented any escape. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, meeting the firm muscles on his abdomen that rippled under you. He pulled back just enough to allow you to remove your clothes, his own being flung sideways without any care.

Even before, you’d never thought of Steve as anything but beautiful, but now, seeing him in all his glory, you could only look him up and down in appreciation. He was trembling slightly, as if holding himself back with effort, his eyes not leaving you for a second. You both looked at each other, naked and unashamed before frantically coming together. His hands were everywhere, squeezing your ass and thighs as his lips pulled at your breast.

Your fingers rolled his nipples softly until he moaned, and then you pinched them. He jerked under your touch, kicking the back of your knees so you collapsed down, and he covered your body with his. Anger, arousal, lust and longing, all emotions built together in a storm of incoherent desire that had you both rolling over each other, fighting for dominance and power. Steve pinned you down with effort, holding your wrists in one hand over your head as he gave a smug smile to you.

“Will you finally surrender today?” He asked, positioning his cock at your entrance that was drenched. You would have loved to taste him, to have him taste you, but as of now, all you wanted was for him to slide inside you. You hungered for him, burnt for his touch. For years you’d been left wanting, and now with the prize so near, you weren’t about to wait any longer.

“The only surrender today will be yours.” You whispered sweetly before slamming your head against his. Steve jerked hard in surprise, allowing you the opportunity to free your hands and roll over him. You sat on his pelvis proudly, his throbbing member right underneath you and as he blinked at you, stunned, you rose up over his tip and slowly sunk down.

Steve groaned as your wet channel fell like velvet heat along his shaft. You had never been so full before. He stretched your limits, as he had always done, and you decided you very much preferred rendering him speechless like this under you than your usual punches and throws. His hands dug into your waist, helping you bounce on his cock and you threw your head back at the feeling.

It was a beautiful ache, one that took your breath away. As you rolled your hips and clenched down there, Steve’s voice rose in appreciation and you grinned. You finally had the golden boy at your mercy. You fucked him, changing your pace to punish him, never letting him up. For every time he killed you, you bit on his lips and neck, marking him. It was punishment and cherishing, a culmination of feelings you didn’t understand.

“Touch me.” You brokenly said, and his fingers found your nub. The slapping of skin, the sounds of debauchery and the smell of sin filled the air. You leaned over him to meet his lips, the heat in your gut bubbling until you snapped and came atop him, falling blissfully. It was one moment of weakness and the world titled, Steve having finally pushing you on your back.

“You’ve always been strong, because I’d hate to break you when the fun has only just begun.” He said and thrust into you hard and fast. He was an animal in heat, a man possessed, and you didn’t mind one bit. You met his every thrust with a raise of your hips, you clawed at his back until he bled, your lips tasting of the salt of sweat and tears and desire. He brought you impossibly closer, looking right into your eyes as he took you.

For the life of you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t get enough of his grunts and moans, of the breathy whispers of your name that slipped between curses, of the way his lashes would flutter over the dark blues that kept your eyes captive. He had you completely in that moment, mind and body; and for some reason, his gaze felt infinitely more intimate than his cock that was currently spearing you open. You keened in pleasure, whimpering as he touched your overly sensitive clit and had you coming again.

A minute later, he twitched inside you, his warmth flooding your core and you sighed. You laid entangled and sweaty, both of you spent and tired and yet completely overtaken by the urge to be closer still. To think this is what you’d both missed for all these years.

“So, what do you say, still feeling aggressive?” Steve asked and you looked at him with a grin that you couldn’t have suppressed had you wanted to. Oh yes, some battles were never meant to end, but they sure could be altered to meet new demands.

“With you? Always.” You replied, kissing him deep until he couldn’t think of anything but you. “Just remember one thing.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“I am still a better best friend to Bucky. I did fuck you to keep him happy after all.”

Steve frowned darkly and before you could blink, he was over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I think this time I’d fuck some manners into you.”

“I think this time you should actually put your back into it. I did all the work before.” You taunted and he dived at you.

Meanwhile, in Tony Stark’s office

“Friday, what’s the score?” He asked smugly, offering Bucky the packet of blueberries. Bucky was sitting with his feet on the desk, a small smile on his face.

“I am afraid I am not at a liberty to say Boss.” Friday replied. If the AI could blush, she would.

“Seems like they are at an impasse.” Tony suggested, and Bucky shrugged, licking his lips.

“Well, some things never change.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 16: Tulips

With the possible exception of all of the eighth years getting along and actually becoming friends, regardless of their former rivalries, the first half of Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts was remarkably ordinary. Funny how it took a war to see that they were all just children and all being used as pawns in a bigger game.

There was also, for Draco, the realization that he had a bit of a crush on Potter. He found that he actually really enjoyed the other boy's company; he enjoyed his snarkiness and the way that Draco could see mischief in his eyes. He liked the way Potter listened, liked the way he always seemed to want to casually touch other people. He liked him, plain and simple.

But other than the unlikely truces turned friendships (and in the case of Potter, turned crush) nothing weird happened, no one tried to kill him (or other students), no prophecies were unveiled, there were no dementors, no psychopath teachers, nothing. It was almost enough to make Draco bored.

Almost.

There was nothing strange until one unassuming morning in March, when they were all sitting in the great Hall, eating breakfast, and quizzing each other for the upcoming test in Transfiguration.

Potter interrupted the heated debate that Draco was having with Granger with a blurted, "What the fuck?"

Everyone looked over at him, including Hermione and Draco, to see what had happened.

"There's a tulip in my coffee cup!" the other boy said.

"So there is," Draco replied in amusement.

Everyone chuckled and Potter tried to figure out who had put the bright yellow tulip there but Draco really didn't have time to think about that because he and Hermione were back to arguing about Transfiguration theory.

He probably wouldn't have thought about it again but that evening as they got ready for bed, Draco felt a strange twinge in his magical core, like you got when you were preparing to cast a strong spell.

Before he could really dig into what had happened, Potter's bed curtains flew open, "Alright, you lot," he said, a laugh ruining the stern look he was attempting. "Who put this here?" he asked, holding out a red tulip that he'd apparently found on his pillow.

(Read more below the cut)

Each of them denied having any knowledge of how the tulip could have found its way into Potter's bed, but a bit of unease settled in Draco's stomach. Potter put the second tulip in with the first in the vase on the windowsill and laughed it off.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was a story he'd been told as a child. A story that he couldn't quite grasp but filled him with a bit of apprehension none the less.

Still, this was nothing like the sort of anxiety that Draco had been accustomed to forcing himself to sleep through for the past few years, so he put it from his mind and went to sleep.

And again, he might have been able to forget about it, if it weren't for the fact that the next morning he felt a tug at his magical core and then a few minutes later, Potter appeared with another tulip. White this time and he'd found it in the pocket of his robes. "Seriously, what the hell you guys?" he laughed.

Everyone else laughed too, but Draco frowned, the memory of the story niggling at the back of his mind once more, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He continued to try to remember throughout the rest of the week and Potter continued to get tulips. They showed up in his book bag, the showed up in place of his quills, they showed up on his plate at meals, they showed up everywhere and anywhere. One even replaced his loofa in the shower.

By the end of the week, Potter was getting a bit irritated and he'd had to enlarge the vase multiple times to fit all of the tulips. Draco wasn't sure why Potter hadn't just thrown them out, but it wasn't his place to say anything, certainly.

On Saturday, when everyone had gone off to Hogsmeade for the morning, Draco fire called his mother.

"Draco, darling," she said, smiling at him, "I'm so pleased to hear from you. How are you?"

He endured the predictable pleasantries before he said, "Listen, mother, the reason I called," he paused there because this was all a bit ridiculous. "Well, it sounds silly really, but there was a story you told me when I was little," he said. "Something about a wizard who had flowers appear out of nowhere? I can't remember it."

"Why?" she asked, her face serious. "Draco, why are you asking me about that story?"

"No reason," he said quickly. "It's just something that came into my head," he lied.

"Who's receiving tulips, Draco?"

"It's nothing!" he repeated. "And I never said there were any tulips."

"If I tell you the story, will you tell me the truth?"

Draco sighed but nodded.

"The story," she began, "was about your great, great, great uncle Silas. Silas was a difficult man, everyone always said so. He was haughty and rude; he was quite clever but not terribly gracious about it."

"Mother," he interrupted, his knees were growing cold and sore from kneeling on the common room floor, "could we just skip to the meat of the story."

"Yes, alright," she sighed. "Long story short, Silas fell in love with a muggleborn. His family obviously refused to let him get married, assuming that the love would fade eventually. There was an arranged marriage in there as well, but that's not really important. What is important, is that the person he fell in love with began to find tulips everywhere. Every time she went to pick up something, it turned into a tulip; at her home, her work, everywhere she went, tulips."

Draco felt something in the pit of his stomach drop. This couldn't be happening.

"He was pining for her, heartbroken that he couldn't be with her," she said. "Now, magic can't create something from nothing, so in each of the tulips was a little bit of Silas' magic."

"Like a horocrux?" he asked in horror.

"No, darling, nothing so sinister as that. But the flowers were slowly draining his magical core and he was growing steadily weaker." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "So, as the story goes, when he was so weak he could barely summon the strength to stand, he went to her to confess his love. What did it matter if he was going to die? When he told her of his love, she kissed him and his magic was restored. The family was convinced that it was true love and that the love that bound the two of them together was obviously stronger magic than that of blood status."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face, "So, this was a true story?"

"Yes, it's all rather well documented as it would have to be in the case of something like this." She gave him her most commanding look, "Now, I've held up my end of the bargain, so it's your turn. Tell me who's receiving tulips, Draco."

"Harry Potter," he whispered.

Her eyebrows rose, "You have to tell him, Draco."

"I can't!" he said, shaking his head, "You know I can't. He couldn't possibly feel the same way, he couldn't possibly love me, too-"

Something shattered behind him and he yanked his head back to see the boy in question standing there, bouquet of tulips in his hands. The vase had dropped and been smashed, water was soaking into Potter's socks but he didn't seem to notice.

Draco promptly ended the fire call with his mother and wondered if it would be possible to transfer to Beauxbatons to complete the year. It was either that or he should just go off to die.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Most of it," Potter confessed with a little wince. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but then I heard her talking about how everything in that girl's life became tulips and I knew you were talking about me. I didn't realize how the story would end," he hastened to add. "I just thought that she might know something about a curse or spell that had been cast on me."

Draco rubbed his forehead, "Look, could you just forget about the whole thing?"

"Forget about it?" Potter asked, sounding a little hysterical at this point. "Draco, it turned six quills into tulips in the past three days. Six!" he shook his head. "No, I can't forget about it and I certainly can't let you die."

Draco stood up and balled his hands into fists, "Always ready to play the hero aren't you?"

"What?" the other boy asked, obviously taken aback.

"Ready to play the martyr," he sneered. "Well I won't have it. I won't have you tying yourself to me just because you're afraid that I'll die if you don't return the sentiment."

"But I already do return the sentiment," Harry said, sounding bewildered. "Sorry, maybe I should have said so, but I thought that was obvious from the story."

"What?"

"Well, your mum said that it was true love's kiss that restored his magic, true love that made it possible for the flowers to appear in the first place. I just assumed it was obvious that I was in love with you, too."

"You are?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe that this was possible.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a little shrug. "I mean, I thought maybe it would have been good to start with a date or something," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's why I'm still here, I wanted to invite you to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"You did?"

Harry nodded again. "But I'm glad to kiss you, for the unselfish reason that it will restore your magic," he said, glancing down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up, "And for the selfish reason that I would really just like to kiss you."

"You would?" he asked.

Harry huffed at him, "Are you going to stop sounding like you doubt every word out of my mouth?"

"Sorry, it's just-" Draco started but then Potter was across the room, dropping the tulips as he cupped Draco's face in his hands and leaned in until they were a mere inch apart.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering between Draco's.

"Yes," Draco breathed.

Harry gave him a little grin and leaned in to kiss him, his soft, full lips, gently caressing Draco's, and Draco felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment before a surge of magic, and joy, and love came rushing in and filled him to bursting.

He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and pulled him in closer and Harry hummed, molding his lips to Draco's for a moment before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.

"That was-" Draco started.

"Fantastic," Harry agreed. "Do you feel better? Not going to die on me or anything?"

Draco laughed and pinched his side, "I think we were a long way off from that."

"I don't know," Harry replied, tilting his head to press a kiss to the tip of Draco's nose. "There were an awful lot of tulips."

"Yes," Draco replied, pulling back to look at the tulips strewn about the floor, "And you've dropped them all on the ground. That's quite rude, you know."

Harry huffed at him, "Prat," he said fondly before drawing away to swish his wand and collect all of the tulips and put them back into the repaired vase. "So," Harry said, "I think tulips may be my new favorite flower."

"Mine, too," Draco replied with a smile.

And when they got married, two years later, there were tulips everywhere.

Day 15: Wings | Day 17: Salt

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[britishassistant]

Supervillain AU! I formally request the special addition of Yuu’s first kidnapping please.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Yoo-hoo, Reporter-chan? Wakey-wakey, it’ll be bad for you if you don’t get up soon~”

Yuu shakes their head groggily, the sing-songy voice not helping the pounding in their temple.

“Did someone get the number of the truck that hit me?” They mumble, blinking to try and get their eyes to focus.

“Dammit Deuce, you gave them brain damage.” A familiar, much more annoyed sounding voice said. “Their head’s gonna be all screwy and useless now, dumbass.”

“It was just a lovetap though!” A third voice, also familiar, protested.

The floor finally stopped moving in front of their eyes and Yuu realized some very important things.

One, the floor they were staring at was not the floor of the library where they last remembered being.

Two: Their arms and legs seemed to be tied tight to the arms and legs of an iron garden chair.

Three: There are many odd-looking people standing near them, all in clothes that are too coordinated not to be a uniform but too outlandish to represent a government group of some kind.

Oh Great Seven, Yuu thinks with a rising sort of hysteria. It’s finally happened.

Clowns have come to take me away for not brushing my teeth enough like Mom said when I was little.

“...Are ya sure you didn’t break ‘em?”

“...”

“Deuce.”

Yuu wonders if they should feel offended at being talked around like this.

“Enough of this nonsense!” A hand seizes Yuu’s chin and pulls their head up to face the latest speaker. An imperious-looking young man stands and walks towards the reporter, clicking his fingers. “Three of Clovers.”

A tall man in glasses hands the imperious young man what Yuu recognizes as their wallet. The shorter man glances at the contents disdainfully. “You. First and last name and age, now.”

“Y-Yuu Radcliffe, 23 years.” The reporter stutters, their initial hysteria morphing into a sinking feeling in their gut. If not the clowns, then... “Can I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“No.” The redhead holding their wallet snaps. “Current occupation and birthday?”

“Field reporter at TWST local news.” They force themselves to relax the fists their hands have balled into. “March 18th.”

Remember what Uncle Divvy always says. Stay calm, act cooperative, do or say whatever you need to to avoid injury. Any supervillains on this level trying to curry favor with or blackmail the dumb bird will have to go through Uncle Divvy first to contact him, and he’ll take care of the rest.

All Yuu needs to do is keep themselves alive until then.

They still can’t help but dread what they know is coming next.

The supervillain seems to notice their distress, and smirks cruelly. He takes his time walking forward and leaning down until he’s on the reporter’s eye level, hands resting on the back of the chair and eyes flicking over their face, almost as if he’s savoring the moment before he makes their life that much more painful.

Yuu braces themselves as he opens his mouth–!

“What is the best type of tea?”

Huh?

“Wait, what? I don’t—” Yuu asks, backpedalling as the supervillain’s face grows stormy at their lack of response. “Uuh...green tea? I guess? I mean, it’s the one I like the most, but I’m more of a coffee or hot cocoa person, so I’m not the best one to ask...”

The person holding their chin sucks in through their teeth and the annoyed familiar voice outside their periphary snickers “Oooh, busted~”

The supervillain is beginning to go as red as his hair, and the reporter can hear his teeth grinding. His hands are now gripping the back of the chair so tight Yuu would almost swear they hear the metal by their ears creak.

“Ri–Royal.” The man with glasses says.

The supervillain inhales and exhales almost violently, until what’s visible of his face under that mask is looking less flushed.

“The correct answer,” He says, voice trembling with emotion. “Was all teas at their due times. To drink green tea instead of rosehip at breakfast, or lemon tea at 8pm...the nerve of your arrogance is astounding!”

Yuu...genuinely isn’t sure how they’re supposed to respond to that. Instead they just go with, “I’m sorry, I’ve never had rosehip or lemon tea. Do you like them?”

“Do I—?!” The supervillain’s mouth works soundlessly, gradually going red again. He pushes off the chair sharply. “I—the ro—i-it’s not a matter of liking!! These are the Rules!! And the Rules must be obeyed!! Three of Clovers!”

“Yes, Royal Flush?” The glasses man asks.

“The reporter is forbidden from having any montblanc after dinner, and will take two cups of lemon tea at 8pm tonight and two cups of rosehip tomorrow at breakfast.” Royal Flush flashes them a cruel smirk. “Consider it a light punishment for your impertinence.”

Yuu blinks. Tries to make sense of what they’ve just heard.

Blinks again.

“You know if you just wanted to ask me out to dinner, I’d have taken a nice invitation or a bouquet. You didn’t need to knock me out and tie me up like this, I’m not that picky. I do have Tinder.”

Glasses guy makes a choking noise and erupts into a coughing fit.

The hand that’s been holding Yuu’s chin migrates to their shoulder for support as its owner lets out an undignified snort and gasps out something that sounds vaguely like “why wasn’t I recording, that was Magicam gold!” as he giggles. He’s a redhead too, but much more orange than his boss.

There’s a sputter of hysterical laughter that has Yuu twisting their head to see the two guys and the cat from the hydroelectric plant, both with these odd-looking metal collars around their necks, but otherwise unharmed. The talking cat is trussed up in so many ropes that it looks more like a bobblehead, also wearing a weird collar.

The third redheaded one is bracing his hands on his knees, wheezing out a litany of “holy shit, holy shit” between chortles. The dark haired one is holding the cat a confused expression, cutting off his friend’s laughter when he turns to ask, “Ace, what’s tinder?”

The momentary silence lets an odd squeaking noise be heard.

One that gradually grows in volume until it’s an outright screech coming from the supervillain in front of them. He’s so red Yuu is honestly worried about his blood pressure, pointing a shaking finger at them.

“I—YOU—YOU—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

Yuu chokes a little at the feeling of cold metal materializing around their neck, dragging their head down with its weight. The supervillain continues screeching, refusing to even look at the reporter. “YOU—! DUNGEON! RIGHT NOW!! NO DESSERTS!! GO!!”

There’s an awkward moment as Royal Flush turns away from them, as if expecting them to get up and walk out of their own accord while his back is to them.

“...So, does that mean you want them to untie me or something, or...?” Yuu wiggles their firmly bound hands and feet for emphasis.

The supervillian makes a sound like a kettle whistling, before he barks out. “Two of Spades! Ace of Hearts! GET them OUT OF MY SIGHT until they’re WILLING to COOPERATE!!”

The dark haired young man quickly shuffles forward, grabs the back of the chair, and drags it and the poor reporter attached to it out of the room and into the corridor. The metal screeches as it moves from carpet to concrete.

“Wh—Two, no, untie them first.” The man with glasses says, despairing, appearing in the doorway. “You’ll mark up the floor otherwise.”

“Ah! Sorry, senpai!” Two looks between the cat in his arms and the knots on the chair, before shoving the cat into the arms of the redhead who answers to “Ace”. Neither of them look happy with this development.

“Fgnah! Quit squeezing, ya jerk!” The cat protests, wriggling as best it can.

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I just need to make sure that greatest, lamest supervillain in the city doesn’t escape to go setting random crap in the lair on fire again.” Ace says sweetly, grip tightening.

“Tha’s your fault, an’ you know it!” The cat wheezes out, thrashing harder.

Yuu winces. “Hey, quit hurting him. Whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The dark haired minion barks out a laugh as he tugs the ropes away from their right wrist while his redheaded counterpart sneers at them.

“Oh really? Bet you’ll change your tune real quick once you learn it’s thanks to him you’re here in the first place.” Ace of Hearts mocks. “Dumb monster sang like a damn canary when Royal pressured him a tiiiny bit, saying it was all your fault his precious ingredient is now in the sewers.”

“Tha’s a lie!” The monster? cat blurts out too quickly for comfort. “It’s all these two morons, I swear!”

“Why you little—“

“I don’t care.” Yuu cuts in before Two of Spades can hit the animal. “I didn’t destroy that thing, but even if none of you said anything, your boss would’ve found out I was involved anyway from watching my report on it on the news. So I don’t care, just-just quit hurting him.”

There’s a tense moment as the two minions stare down at the reporter. They do their best to meet the gazes without flinching.

Then the Ace of Hearts tosses the cat into their lap as the Two of Spades sinks back down to keep working on their ankle. “Fine. Since you like it so much, you can take care of it. Just don’t expect me to cover for your ass—you still owe me for the power plant.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuu curls their free arm around the bundle of rope, fur, and yowling insults and pulls it closer to them. “Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”

“You locked me in a closet with him!” Ace hisses. “Do you know how hard it was to get out before the cops came with him freaking out and messing stuff up?!”

“Oi.” Two shoots him a dark look from where he’s finished untying the reporter’s left hand. “Like you weren’t whining about us being digested until you knocked a broom over!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Well excuse me for trying to save your lives.” Yuu bites back, rubbing the rope marks on their wrists. “Next time I’ll just run and let the sludge monster eat your unconscious bodies.”

“It’d save us all the trouble of this shit if you did!” Ace spits, jabbing a finger at his collar. “At least then we wouldn’t be on Royal’s shit list!”

Yuu lets the piece of information they were just given marinate in their brain as they glare at him. Well, now what exactly was that supposed to mean?

“Ngh...this knot won’t come loose.” Two says from by the reporter’s left foot.

“How about now?” Replies an unfamiliar voice, as a disembodied hand pulls deftly at a loop in the rope.

“Ah!” Two of Spades brightens up as the rest of the rope falls away. “Thanks a lot—”

The disembodied hand punches him in the face.

Yuu cries out in alarm at the sight of the minion falling backwards into the Ace of Hearts, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

A pair of clawed hands are then scooping them up, extra cat and all, and the reporter finds themself looking at the unsettlingly wide smile and purple cat ears of one of the city’s top heroes, running at full speed while sharpened playing cards whizz past his face and Ace calls out behind them “Senpai! It’s him again!!”

There’s a percussive boom somewhere in the distance, and screams of how the flamingos are loose as the hero winks down at Yuu. “Seems you’re a popular one today, kitten! But let’s get you back to where you where before you were so rudely catnapped, yes?”

“Not so fast, hero!” The orange haired guy choruses from the entrance to the staircase, and—from behind them as well?

The reporter’s heart sinks as more and more versions of the minion keep popping up around them, to the point where the hero is forced to stand on the bannister of the balcony they’re on.

And based on the fact that the hero hasn’t used his invisibility? Intangibility? powers, it’s likely that he can’t use them while holding Yuu and the cat.

They’re surrounded.

“You really can’t keep your paws out of anything that’s mine, can you?” Royal Flush’s tone is clipped as he glares up at the hero.

“Hey R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero pouts, hugging Yuu closer to his chest. “I come a~ll this way to play, only to find you’ve got a nyew toy you’re already playing with without me! How mean! You guys really are cruel!!”

“We’re sorry about that.” Three of Clovers says, edging closer. “If you just hand the reporter over to Four, they’ll be put away and we can all “play” together, no distractions. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The hero makes a deliberating noise, holding Yuu out and away from him over the drop, tilting his head this way and that.

His grin grows unsettlingly wider.

“Look, R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero calls out. “Nyo hands!”

Wait, what—

The hero’s body vanishes.

Yuu and the monster cat plummet screaming past the illogically winding staircases of the evil lair.

Yuu tries to angle their body so that the frantically crying cat will be shielded from the brunt of the fall—!

“NO!!”

There’s a sound like glass shattering, and a feeling of being enveloped in something soft, cold and buoyant. The two of them bounce a few times and land back on it more gently each time.

Yuu cracks open their eyes to see that they’re seated on a strange, red, jelly-like mass. The cat in their arms tentatively sniffs, and then lunges to take a bite out of their cushion before the reporter can stop him.

“Shtrawberry?” He says through a full mouth. “Tashtes good!”

The reporter grabs him before he can go for another bite, a little thrown by his speed now that collar isn’t weighing him down. But where did this thing come from–?

Yuu looks up.

Royal Flush is leaning dangerously far over the balcony countless flights of stairs above them, one arm outstretched down towards them.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then clawed hands fasten around Yuu’s waist again with a cheery “Nyow wasn’t that fun?” and Royal Flush visibly tenses and begins screaming things after the escaping hero that are barely legible through his rage.

The hero deposits them both outside the TWST news station with their wallet and phone back in their pockets. He at least helps them untie the monster cat, who promptly declares he just let them protect him, and scarpers.

Of course the hero is gone too when Yuu turns back around, before they can ask him what the hell he was playing at, dropping them like that, was he insane?! If Royal Flush hadn’t interfered...

The reporter has to fight the urge to lose their lunch.

Their boss rushes out and envelopes them in a surprisingly powerful hug, the woman almost lifting the reporter off their feet as she babbles about whether or not Yuu needs a hospital after getting kidnapped by one of the seven major supervillains.

Yuuken is quick to join the embrace with a bear hug of his own. He pulls back, fingers prodding gently at Yuu’s bruised temple and declaring he’ll drive them to hospital to make sure they don’t have a concussion.

He graciously waits until they’re in the car to ask why Yuu smells so much of strawberries.

The reporter can only give a half answer, partly because they don’t want to worry him, and partly because they have another question of their own buzzing incessantly around their brain.

Why was Yuu kidnapped in the first place?

Royal Flush never even mentioned Crowley, despite all the chances he had to do so. Not even an oblique or confusing metaphor or code. Does that mean he’s ignorant of the connection between Yuu and the League?

But if that’s the case, it circles back around to the first question: why kidnap Yuu to begin with?

Somehow the reporter doubts it was to just ask their tea preferences or invite them to dinner.

Those minions referred to that monster as Royal Flush’s “precious ingredient”. Ingredient for what? Is there something that Royal Flush thinks they witnessed that’s integral to a scheme? Did they witness something and just not realize it’s significance?

Yuu’s reporter senses are screaming that there’s a deeper story to uncover here. Yuu’s common sense is screaming that investigating the dangerous plans of the supervillain they’ve just escaped from is a terrible idea.

Though he could have just...let them fall. But he didn’t. And won’t he just kidnap them again regardless?

...

This is a terrible idea.

But if Yuu’s common sense was stronger than their reporter senses, then they wouldn’t be in this city in the first place, would they?

[hehebread]

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

--

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

--

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

--

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

[bookcalanthedaily]

okay so what’s up with geralt and calanthe? why do i ship them, why do i love them so much, and a little bit about how i believe them to be the book example of courtly love.

okay so let me start with the fact i read the books for the first time back in 2012, no spoilers, no previous knowledge whatsoever and up until the point where calanthe’s death was announced in sword of destiny, i believed, or maybe hoped, that they would end up together.

it started during the feat in a question of price, with their obvious flirting and how geralt seemed to be mesmerized by calanthe. the way I see it, the narrator sees the world with geralt’s eyes, and the way calanthe is described is truly like nothing else. There aren’t any words that directly describe her as beautiful or sexually appealing, no description of her breasts or otherwise her body (which I feel is weird for sapkowski??) . She is described in ways that in a very unobvious way show her grace, her dignity, the aura that she has around her. but despite that there are, still, a few moments that obviously point to geralt’s attraction to calanthe; 

‘But hasn't fascination with my beauty and charming personality clouded your judgement?‘ ‘So I'm honoured and proud to be sitting by Queen Calanthe of Cintra, whose beauty is surpassed only by her wisdom.’ ‘Very well,' said the witcher. 'I ask for your green sash, Calanthe. May it always remind me of the colour of the eyes of the most beautiful queen I have ever known.'

so it is obvious that the lack of more obvious descriptions of her beauty isn’t caused by her, well, not beaing beautiful, but rather because the physical aspect of her appeal is the less important one.

she not only invited geralt to her table. she sat him on her righthand side and treated him like a human being, not a mutant. she is the first character in the books to have this sentiment;

'It's true,' said Calanthe. 'Geralt, present here, is a witcher. His trade is worthy of respect and esteem. He has sacrificed himself to protect us from monsters and nightmares born in the night, those sent by powers ominous and harmful to man. He kills the horrors and monsters that await us in the forests and ravines. And those which have the audacity to enter our dwellings.'

and ever since that feast, geralt is known as the witcher whom even kings invited to their tables, just because calanthe was kind enough to do it. 

after that, geralt dreams about her not once, but twice. 

dream 1:

"A bower, warmth, the scent of flowers, the intense, monotonous hum of bees. He, alone, on his knees, giving a rose to a woman with mousy locks spilling from beneath a narrow, gold band. Rings set with emeralds–large, green cabochons–on the fingers taking the rose from his hand. ‘Return here,’ the woman said. ‘Return here, should you change your mind. Your destiny will be waiting.’ I shall never return here, he thought. I never… went back there. I never returned to… Whither? Mousy hair. Green eyes."

this is basically geralt reliving calanthe’s invitation for him to return to cintra, or even stay in cintra, if that was his wish. he never returned, and when he did want to return, it was too late. 

dream 2:

‘There is no destiny,’ his own voice. ‘There is none. None. It does not exist. The only thing that everyone is destined for is death.’ ‘That is the truth,’ says the woman with the mousy hair and the mysterious smile. ‘That is the truth, Geralt.’ The woman is wearing a silvery suit of armour, bloody, dented and punctured by the points of pikes or halberds. Blood drips in a thin stream from the corner of her mysteriously and hideously smiling mouth. ‘You sneer at destiny,’ she says, still smiling. ‘You sneer at it, trifle with it. The sword of destiny has two blades. You are one of them. Is the second… death? But it is we who die, die because of you. Death cannot catch up with you, so it must settle for us. Death dogs your footsteps, White Wolf. But others die. Because of you. Do you remember me?’ ‘Ca… Calanthe!’ ‘You can save him,’ the voice of Eithné, from behind the curtain of smoke. ‘You can save him, Child of the Elder Blood. Before he plunges into the nothingness which he has come to love. Into the black forest which has no end.’ Eyes, as green as spring grass. A touch. Voices, crying in chorus, incomprehensibly. Faces.

to me, in this dream, calanthe is the physical embodiment of geralt’s guilt. of his belief that calanthe, pavetta and perhaps the entire cintra were hurt because he refused to face destiny. there is also the mysterious sentence from eithne; 

“You can save him, Child of the Elder Blood. Before he plunges into the nothingness which he has come to love. Into the black forest which has no end.”

and while some might say that she was saying it to ciri... ciri is not present even for a moment during that sequence.

and finally, there is their farewell moment; 

He looked into her glaring green eyes. She smiled. He could not decipher the smile.

There was a rosebush growing beside the summerhouse. He broke a stem and picked a flower, kneeled down, and proffered it to her, holding it in both hands, head bowed. ‘Pity I didn’t meet you earlier, White Hair,’ she murmured, taking the rose from his hands. ‘Rise.’ He stood up. ‘Should you change your mind,’ she said, lifting the rose up to her face. ‘Should you decide… Come back to Cintra. I shall be waiting. And your destiny will also be waiting. Perhaps not forever, but certainly for some time longer.’ ‘Farewell, Calanthe.’ ‘Farewell, Witcher. Look after yourself. I have… A moment ago I had a foreboding… A curious foreboding… that this is the last time I shall see you.’ ‘Farewell, O Queen.’

and to me, this is one of the most romantic scenes in the entire series. the way she brings the offered flower to her face, the words ‘pity i didn’t meet you earlier’ and how he cuts her off with a simple ‘farewell’, because thinking of what they could have been hurts too much.

and finally, his reacion to her death, where dandelion had to cut his story in half, stop mid-sentences to make sure he was fine.

in conclusion, i believe that geralt loved calanthe. perhaps she was even his first love, before he met yennefer. but he was a witcher, a mutant, and she was a queen. and he did not believe he deserved her, he did not believe he deserved being ‘saved from the darkness he has come to love’.

now, how does it tie in with the idea of courtly love? 

courtly love is a highly conventionalized medieval tradition of love between a knight and a married noblewoman, first developed by the troubadours of southern France and extensively employed in European literature of the time. The love of the knight for his lady was regarded as an ennobling passion and the relationship was typically unconsummated.

and i personally believe calanthe and geralt check all of these boxes. geralt is a knight/warrior who falls in loce with a married noblewoman but that love never gets to be consummated. but, in the end, that love does ennoble him. 

he goes from 

'Duny,' said Geralt seriously, 'Calanthe, Pavetta. And you, righteous knight Tuirseach, future king of Cintra. In order to become a witcher, you have to be born in the shadow of destiny, and very few are born like that. That's why there are so few of us. We're growing old, dying, without anyone to pass our knowledge, our gifts, on to. We lack successors. And this world is full of Evil which waits for the day none of us are left.' 'Geralt,' whispered Calanthe.

to 

‘I wouldn’t take the child. I couldn’t assume the responsibility. I wouldn’t agree to burden you with it. I wouldn’t want the child to tell you one day… As I’m telling you—’

and it is my belief, that her remarks, such as this;

‘I’ve pondered long over this,’ Calanthe continued, now without a smile. ‘And I’ve come to the conclusion that the selection of the children at the stage of the Choice has scant significance. What difference does it make, in the end, Geralt, which child dies or goes insane, stuffed full of narcotics? What difference does it make whose brain bursts from hallucinations, whose eyes rupture and gush forth, instead of becoming cats’ eyes? What difference does it make whether the child destiny chose or an utterly chance one dies in its own blood and puke? Answer me.’

were a part of what made him change his mind. geralt ends up, even after calanthe’s death, becoming very close to ciri, learning through her that neutrality that had been beaten into him as a young witcher in training was not the way to go. calanthe, and through calanthe also ciri, had a huge impact on geralt’s entire character

so, all in all, this is how i see it. a love, that was never meant to be. and whether you choose to see it as a platonic-friendship type of love or, like me, as romantic love - calanthe’s impact on geralt’s growth is undeniable. 

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

[alice-angel12x]

💗Fairy!Deku x wingless!Reader x Fairy!Prince!Shouto pt.2

Part 1.

Being Prince Shouto's personal maid was difficult, but Izuku helped me forget my hardships when I'm with haven't But lucky today was one of my rare vacation days. I haven't had one of those in a long time, so I decided to visit and pay respects at Queen Rei's grave. Before Endeavor married his way into the throne, it was Queen Rei who ruled the kingdom. She was a sweet, kind, and gentle Queen. I used to be her maid when I was younger. Sadly she passed away of an Illness, so her burial ground was placed a bits travel out of the kingdom, underneath a beautiful tree.

Sadly by the time I managed to arrive on foot, it was already sunset, so I had to make this quick. As I got closer I could see Large pillars of ice, tons of burn streaks on the ground, and Lots of Umbra holes.

'What in the world happened here?' I wondered as I got closer to the gravesite.

I sat in front of the grave and gave a respectful bow. Sadly No one came to this grave anymore when the Umbra started to appear here suddenly, I was surprised that this place wasn't destroyed.

"What are you doing here?" Asked a familiar cold voice.

"Y-your highness!" I squeaked in surprise. Turning to see the one and only prince Shouto.

"I was here to pay my respects," I said simply.

"Do you really think I'd believe that? Many people just come here to pretend they care. Just to get close to me, even Corte did this," He sneered.

"So I would appreciate it if you stop soiling my mother's grave and leave,"

I had enough of his high horse.

"Get over yourself. I once served the queen, and I came here to pay my respects. Because she is everything you and Endeavor fail miserably at," I snapped.

"How Dare You!" Shouto sneered. "You know nothing about my family,"

"Your right, I don't know everything. But I am aware of how awful Endeavor is. The queen would vent to me about how awful he was because she didn't really have anyone else to talk to. But just because your life situation sucked, doesn't justify how you act and treat others," I vented, but The prince just kind of glared at me.

"If it did, then I would have every reason to be a hateful person,"

"And why would that be?" He dared ask with an apathetic look on his face.

"Maybe if you stopped and actually looked around you maybe you'd learn things or notice things. Anyways what are you doing out here it's almost dark?" I asked him.

"I could ask you the same, but I come here to keep my mothers grave safely from the Umbra," he said as he leaned against one of the ice pillars.

So that's why he always flies off near night, he comes here to keep his mothers safe. The poor guy, he must miss her greatly. I quickly dug through my bag and pulled out my crystallized flutter flower. Infusing it with my magic it started to glow brilliantly, lighting up the whole gravesite.

"What is that?'' the prince asked as he covered his eyes.

"This will keep your mother's grave safe," I answered as I placed the light over her tombstone.

"Not even My father's hottest flames can take down an Umbra. How is a ball of light going to protect anyone," He asked.

"It's kept me alive for this long," I said as I started taking my leave.

"Oh, by the way. For a person who shouts they are going to be nothing like their father, you're doing a pathetic job at that," I added.

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

Shouto watched her leave and travel back to the Kingdom darkness slowly consuming the land. Soon it was dark, but the light kept the area around the grave brightly lit. He readied me and waited for any surprise attack.

Suddenly The ground shook and a Large Umbra shoots out of the ground. Sporting there drills like teeth. Shouto readied his fire magic only for the monster to screech in pain as it entered the light radius. It quickly submerged back into the ground, just as fast as it came.

As the night went on the Umbras never came close to the light, they remained just outside the edge of the light. It was an interesting night. __________________

"Why did Bakugou beat you up again?" Y/n asked her friend as she cleans her friend's wings.

"I Don't know, he was just really competitive today I guess," Izuku Sighed as he let his friend tend his cuts and scrapes.

"I thought I would have to only worry about you hurting yourself. Now I have to worry about Bakugou possibly killing one day," Y/n sighs as she puts bandaids on Izuku's scratches.

"But Have a good a good day," Y/n said as they left the medical wing.

"Good luck with the Prince," Izuku said as he gave her a quick hug.

With a sigh, Y/n made her way to the prince's chambers. Prince Shouto was already awake and was writing something.

"Good morning Y/n," he said simply turning to face her.

"O-oh good morning your highness," Y/n greeted in surprise. "It's good to see you unharmed,"

"The light you created Protected me Like you said," He said with a tiny smile, as he turned back to his work.

Y/n was surprised by the Prince's sudden change, it wasn't too drastic. He still wasn't much of a talker. He only fell back into old habits for a while, after a bad talk with his father. Other than that Shouto was just more pleasant to be around, he would slow down for her at times and sometimes help her get up places.

As Y/n started to blow out the prince's candles for the night, the prince stopped her for a minute. The prince laid in his bed but was staring out the window and at the dark forest beyond.

"I can see your glowing crystal from here, though it looks like a tiny star this far away," he said though he didn't turn to look at you.

Y/n could feel some sort of sorrow behind his words, so she happily excepted his apology.

"How long will the magic last?" Shouto asked.

"What Magic?" Y/n asked slightly confused.

"The crystal light you made, magic like that will fade eventually. So how long till it loses its glow?" Shouto asked turning to you.

" For as long as I'm healthy and alive," Y/n said softly.

"Y/n... I'm sorry for how I behaved during the time you served me," He apologized as he sat upon his bed, shame somewhat seen on his stoic face.

"It's alright Your highness-,"

"It's Prince Shouto from now on.. I've requested that you become my permanent Maid. Starting tomorrow," He interrupted.

With a quiet laugh, Y/n slowly helped the prince back into bed and blew out the candles.

"Could you make me one of your crystal lights?" He asked sleepily.

With a smile, Y/n focused as she formed a small crystal ball between her hands, the size of an Apple. It started to glow radiantly as she handed it over to Prince Shouto.

"Goodnight, prince Shouto," Y/n whispered.

___________________

It was another simple day as Y/n traveled along with the large vines the ran the walls of the castle. It was large and thick enough for her to walk on. She was taking the trays and plates to the kitchen to be washed when suddenly she pushed off and crashed on the floor a couple of feet down. A loud thud and crash echoed throughout the room. Y/n slowly pushed through her pain as she sat up and started to collect the plates. The giggles of the Fairies could be heard behind her.

"You know I'm surprised that you even survived this long. In the castle and out in the wild, most defects like you would have died by now," One of them laughed.

"Like that weird Toga girl with only one wing. She was so creepy how she stalked the captain guard Midoriya. She didn't see that Umbra coming," Another added.

"Yet somehow you lasted this long, must be a miserable existence. No magic or beautiful wings to make you stand out, and yet here you are worming your way up the ranks," said a beautiful Fairy noble.

"Lady Maria, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," Y/n apologized to the higher-ranked fairy.

You see when Endeavor took full control he made a class system, where fairies with powerful magic are someone higher and more important than those who don't. Someone like Y/n would be at the bottom, not just for having no wings. Y/n never freely showed off her special magic, so most claim that she is powerless, the main reason Y/n is such a low rank. Even if she did, most would see it as a pretty useless power. Pretty but useless.

"You better, any higher you would have been a goner. Maybe you should use your wings to save you. Oh, wait," Maria laughed.

"Lately you've been overstepping your boundaries. I've noticed that something has changed in the prince lately. He's been softer to you lately and made you his personal maid. Also, you seem close to the king's personal guard Midoriya. Trying to boost  your statues are we?" Maria asked with a sick sweetness in her voice.

Maria grabbed Y/n by her jaw and forced her to look up into Maria's cold eyes.

"Listen closely, fairies like The Prince, Midoriya, and I are higher ranked and are important for a reason. Endeavor had the right idea for only for the strong to marry others who are strong. So they can make more strong fairies to protect the kingdom, but if fairies like you start getting in the way. You, Will, weaken the kingdom, so you need to stay with people of your rank. We protect the kingdom and your kind can show your gratitude by serving us," Maria said with a smile.

"So know your place," she sneered.

__________________________________________

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 5: Romeo and Juliet

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 2,955

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, bullying mention

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @wolfish-willow​ @scoopsohboi​ @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-hole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @peterparxour @alwaysstressedout @linkispink1995​ @asharpkniffe​ @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @ggclarissa​

After that afternoon, you spent practically every day after school with Steve, either in his bedroom or the library. It was weirdly nice. You didn’t always talk; mostly you worked in silence, Steve answering English questions or doing work for other classes and you doodling. You’d finished the sketch of Steve you’d started in his bedroom the same night you’d started it. You were actually quite proud of it; you’d managed to get the shadows on his face to make his face look hollow and strange, not beautiful like it usually appeared. And yes, you were comfortable with calling him beautiful. You found a lot of your subjects beautiful, they all fit into an easy collection of strong, attractive faces that could be found in Hawkins. Hawkins Most Beautiful: the collections of portraits labelled themselves.

Steve called you fairly often as well; usually on the days when you didn’t meet up he’d call so he’d have someone to keep him company as he worked. He seemed lonely to you. From your conversations, you learned little of his supposed friends, but you learned a fair bit about his family. Both his parents were rarely home. His father worked in the city and kept an apartment there, keeping him as far away from home as possible most of the time. His mother was home more often, but kept her hours in certain places, leaving him home alone most of the time. So it seemed, he was ignored past the age of twelve. You sympathized with that, your own parents weren’t exactly present, albeit for different reasons. He asked you a lot about Samantha, which didn’t bother you; you could talk about her far more than you could yourself.

“I can’t honestly say that I even really know her…” Steve laughed. You were sat in his bedroom one evening, the sun setting in creamy red swirls, ominous strawberry pieces in homemade ice cream. Sweet and yet worrying for reasons beyond you for the time being. You were sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair, turning left and right. Steve was sprawled out on his mattress, feet kicking beyond him casually, his papers spread out in front of him.

“Yeah, she doesn’t really associate with some of your friends. Tina isn’t really our biggest fan…” you replied, smiling softly. The memory of Samantha dumping a miniature carton of chocolate milk on her head in the seventh grade flashed through your mind, her shrill screech making you chuckle.

“Oh yeah? What’s up her ass?” Steve asked, turning onto his side to look at you fully. He looked incredibly posed and uncomfortable, his head placed in his palm and his ankles stacked neatly one on top of the other.

“They used to be best friends, before I showed up. Once I was on the scene, Tina decided that I was someone to bully and Samantha decided that she wanted to be my friend. They fell out because of it and Tina started bothering both of us. She stopped once we were in middle school.” You explained, pulling one of your knees to your chest.

“Tina’s a bitch…” Steve muttered, shaking his head solemnly.

“She’s got such a thing for you.” You chuckled, watching as his face coloured. You continued “Vicki too…they want you so bad.”

“How’d you know?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. His face was still pink, it was almost adorable.

“Oh my god, they spend every class with their heads so far up your ass!” you linked your fingers together and pulled them under your chin. You batted your lashes at him with wide eyes, starting into an imitation of Tina “Oh…Stevie, tell me more about your basketball game…oh Stevie you’re soooo strong!”

Steve pulled the pillow from the head of his bed, throwing it at your head. “Oh shut up!” he groaned. You caught the pillow, chucking it back at him, smacking him square in the face.

Steve was great to hang out with. But that sort of friendship didn’t seem to transition outside the privacy of his bedroom. In school, the rules of social interaction began again. Steve returned to the arms of Tommy H and Carol, whose attentions flip between him and Billy Hargrove, and Samantha kept you busy with her questions, her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, squeezing you tightly into your side. And every time you passed Steve, she cracked a joke in your ear that turned you beet red.

In truth, it was clear that Samantha did not believe you when you told her that nothing was going on between the two of you. She had already decided that the pair of you were in some sort of torrid affair of Shakespearian depths. She seemed to earnestly believe that it was some secret, clandestine romance was happening behind closed doors. You didn’t really understand what she was imagining; it didn’t make sense to you. Steve was far too obviously interested in other people to be doing anything with you. You tried to point out all the girls who hung off his arm whenever she tried to embarrass you about it, but she didn’t see it.

“What you’re missing,” she said through a massive bite of cafeteria shepherd’s pie “Is that all those girls pay attention to him, but he doesn’t pay attention to them.”

“If we were having an affair, don’t you think that I would tell you about it? I tell you everything anyway.” You retorted, rolling your eyes at her.

“You didn’t tell me about Byers until I weaseled it out of you. That’s what I’m doing right now.” Samantha replied with a shrug, mushing her meal together with her plastic fork until it was a disgusting shade of brown, golden corn accenting the pile.

Talking about Jonathan Byers wasn’t fair and she knew it. In short, there was nothing to talk about. You’d had a small, teeny tiny practically nonexistent crush on the boy a year prior, but it was very clear that he didn’t like you back. Samantha had gone to Tina’s party in October, right as your crush was subsiding, and she’d told you that he was all over Nancy Wheeler. You’d had your suspicions about it, but hearing that he’d gone after someone else’s girlfriend and rejected you along the way hurt. Even though you weren’t interested, it still hurt. Samantha was still annoyed that you hadn’t told her about it until it was over, and since it was the only source of knowledge she had on your comatose love life, she brought it up all the time, much to your chagrin.

“All I do with him is sit in his room and help him study. And when I say help him study, I mean literally help him study, we do the chapter studies together and discuss the stupid book.” You said. That wasn’t the whole story; you talked a lot about life and listened to music. You were confident in saying that you were friends by now. You’d almost met his mother twice, both times in passing, and that seemed pretty important to friendships, when their family knew who you were. Still, it didn’t break into school. Steve stayed with his clique and while you tried to stray from yours, Carol or Tina would always scare you off before you spent too much time with Steve. It didn’t take much to scare you, a mere gaze could send you packing, and those two had been mastering the annoyed sneer since the fifth grade.

“Yeah, well you don’t see what I see…” Samantha muttered, turning her attention away from you and onto the loud clique at the centre of the room. Billy Hargrove was show boating, as usual, with Tina and Macy practically drooling onto their lunch trays. Vicki was trying to get Steve’s attention, her thin, spidery fingers gripping onto his wrists, speaking animatedly into his ear. Steve wasn’t facing her though; his whole body was turned away from her, and directly towards your table. Samantha noticed how he watched where you went, it’s why she thoroughly believed that something was going on beyond the surface, something even you might not realize. She knew what a person looked like when they were love struck. Often times, from the outside, it was easier to see when someone was in love with someone else before she could catch onto who actually liked her. She’d watched the women she yearned for fall in love with boring, lame men enough times to have mastered the signs of how men fall for girls. And Steve showed all the non-verbal signs. She couldn’t get a full read on you yet though.

Tommy had caught onto to Steve’s strange behaviour just as fast as Samantha had, although he wasn’t nearly as impressed. You were simply not worth the effort. Not by a long shot. You were fucking lame-never at the parties, never at dances, never at the lake on the weekends. And he knew you had money, you could afford to do all those things, you were just too much of a pussy to show your face. That was fucking pathetic! He knew his friend better than anyone else and a chick who couldn’t hang was not the girl for him. Steve liked fun girls, girls who could turn up for a last minute thing and not be weird about it. Nancy Wheeler was the farthest Steve needed to go on the preppy nerd scale, and that bitch ended up being a massive slut! Like nobody expected that shit. But Tommy knew that you didn’t have any surprises up your sleeves. Despite the fact that you never talked, he knew that you were plain about who you were. Everything was on the surface, and what he saw was not worth his friend’s time.

“Steve, buddy, I’m gonna go get another milk, walk with me.” Tommy motioned him over. Steve followed blindly, if only to get Vicki’s cold, clammy hand off him. Tommy had seen The Godfather one too many times and seemed to believe that he was some sort of small town mob boss, but Steve didn’t really mind following along with him flights of fancy. Usually they were pretty funny.

Tommy wrapped an arm around his taller friend’s shoulders, lowering his voice from the onlooker’s ears. “Listen, buddy, you gotta tell me what’s going up with that Y/N chick I mean you just keep staring at her it’s freaking weird, dude.”

“Y/N? She’s my writing partner for Lawrence’s class, she’s cool…” Steve replied, turning to catch your eye as they passed. He smiled at you, giving a short wave, which you returned with a small smile.

“She’s cool? That all?” Tommy pressed, stepping into the line and grabbing a carton of strawberry milk and the largest chocolate chip cookie in the basket. He unwrapped his arm from his shoulders, letting him go free for the first time in the conversation.

“Yeah, I mean she’s nice, what else do you want me to say?” Steve knew that was being a little defensive, but he didn’t like being questioned for his choices in friends or girls, he never questioned Tommy’s choices and he made the worst decisions most of the time. Carol was no prize and he didn’t say a word about her.

“You fucking her?” if Steve had had anything in his mouth, he would’ve spit it on the floor. Tommy didn’t even turn to look at him, paying the lunch lady in change.

“Jesus, dude, no.” Steve cried, recoiling from his friend. Tommy needed to get hit and while he didn’t have cause to do so yet, he firmly believed someone was going to do it soon.

“Hey, no need to freak out, it’s just a question.” Tommy pulled his friend back in, slapping his friend on the back. Instead of simply heading back to their lunch table, he pulled him to the side, standing next to the hot grab and go table, next to the cartons of fries.

“Now, the way I see it, you have something great going for you.” Tommy began, cracking open his milk and taking a long swig, leaving a milk film on his upper lip. “Vicki Clarke is a fucking babe and she’s begging for it! She’s all over your ass and she’s hot as hell! But you’re blowing it by spending all your time staring at some freak of nature instead. You could have a smoking hot babe at your beck and call, but you’re wasting your chances here, you see what I mean?”

“Not at all, dude.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, looking over his friend doubtfully.

“Look man, I’m just trying to set you up for success here. Because that girl,” Tommy pointed at you slyly “Is not interested. If she was, she’d be over here, acting like Vicki is. But she’s keeping herself planted at that table with that goth freakazoid.”

Steve had no idea what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny having any feelings for you, but that wouldn’t mean shit if he kept watching you. And Tommy was right, there was a girl there who wanted to listen to whatever he said, who chased him down. Vicki was there and you weren’t. So he swallowed his words and went back to his table.

“Hey, Steve…” Vicki drawled. There was red lipstick on her teeth. Steve didn’t say anything about it. It didn’t make her ugly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, letting her rest in the crook of his neck. Vicki seemed over the moon by it and it gave him something to focus on other than catching your attention.

Samantha frowned, turning her attention back to you. “What’s Steve’s opinion on Vicki Clarke?” she asked.

“He didn’t like when I told him that she had a thing for him, why?” you retorted, flipping through the college magazine in front of you. You still hadn’t chosen anywhere to apply and applications for the major schools were due in the winter and community colleges needed their applications in for the fall semester in by the end of June at the earliest.

“Well, he doesn’t seem embarrassed now.” Samantha hooked a thumb towards the couple. You looked once, narrowing your eye to scrutinize the pair.

“Eh, that seems about right…” you murmured. You wouldn’t deny that something about it hurt. But you ignored the pain until returning home from school. As always, you called before making any moves. It was the polite thing to do, even though Steve had made the plans to meet up with you after school the night before.

The phone was picked up after three rings. Steve’s car was in the driveway, not his mother’s, so you knew who would answer. “Hello?” his voice sounded anxious and breathy, maybe even annoyed.

“Steve-o, we still studying? You wanna go grab food at Hula Burger?” Steve had introduced you to the burger place in Carmel, a little mom and pop shop with the best Cajun fries in the county, at least in your opinion.

“Oh shit…” Steve muttered “Y/N I’m sorry I-I kind of made plans, can I take a rain check on the burgers?”

“Oh…yeah, sure I guess…some other time…” you said softly. You wouldn’t try to hide the disappointment in your voice. The pain you felt in the pit of your stomach returned with abundance, not exactly sore and angry pain, but more of a black hole opening up there.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?” Steve asked. He was already running late. He was supposed to pick up Vicki in twenty minutes and he still needed to shower. He had genuinely forgotten about his plans with you and he felt like an ass for doing so. He did want to hang out with you, but a date was a good step after being decimated by Nancy. He wasn’t super into Vicki, but it was still exciting to go out with someone new.

“Sure…” you hung up after that. You stood from your bed, dropping your book bag at your feet. You were used to spending afternoons alone, that wasn’t strange to you. Just because you’d spent a few days with a boy didn’t mean that he was yours to hold back from his life. You could’ve pulled a fit and tried to make him hold true to his word, the way your mother used to act towards your father. But those memories made you sick, you didn’t like that behaviour. But you also didn’t like being cancelled on. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to, not from friends at least. Samantha never really cancelled on you, she always made sure to tell you when she was busy and not agree to plans. She’d never cancelled on you for a date, even when she was dating Keith the creep she always put your friendship on a different level than him. Of course, she wasn’t really into Keith, she came out like a week after they started dating and broke up with him after kissing Jessica Klein at a house party, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Steve had ditched you and it made your heart hurt.

You couldn’t help but watch him run out of his front door and into his car. You watched it pull out of his driveway and out onto the road. It was clear to you now, Steve was more interested in passing English than he was in being your friend. Vicki Clarke was the girl to pay attention, no matter how he acted around you.

So why pretend like he was your friend at all?

[wanderinginksplot]

Clone Trooper Rambles

The daily-updated tales of how I try to function even as a bunch of chatty clone troopers take up residence in every place I go. Other parts can be found on my masterlist here.

Soft Spots

“Do you ever clean?” Crosshair asked rudely as we walked into my house. 

It had been a long day and the temptation to say something rude in reply was strong, but I held it back. Days when Crosshair and Wrecker were guarding together were always good days. They just played off the other’s personalities perfectly and it ended up being fun. 

Instead of being snarky, I just said, “Nope!” in the most cheerful voice I could muster, plunking my keys down onto the counter and sitting to take off my work shoes.

“Clearly,” he snorted. “This wrapper was here last time.”

I craned my neck as if to see what wrapper he was talking about, then shook my head. “No, actually, that one got thrown away. But after you talked about it so much last time, I got a replacement wrapper. I want you to feel at home here.”

He just sneered in response, the closest Cross ever got to admitting defeat in a sass battle. As he wandered off to look around the sunlight-filled living room, Wrecker finally came through the front door as well. 

“Perimeter is clear,” he reported to Crosshair as I rolled my eyes. Of course it was clear. Cross watched the silent gesture and his mouth twisted, probably to say something horrible, but he was interrupted by Wrecker gasping. “The fuzzy blanket!”

In seconds, he had snatched up the dove-gray blanket from where it had been crumpled up on the couch. The real blanket stayed where it was, obviously, but Wrecker was holding an identical copy - slightly translucent like he was. He stroked a hand over the long faux-fur with a childlike grin on his scarred face. The blanket, large enough to cover me completely, only dangled down to his waist, but Wrecker didn’t seem concerned about it. The softening in his expression as he hugged the blanket to his chest warmed me from the inside out and I knew I could cheerfully dismember anyone who tried to hurt him.

“Why does it always smell weird in here?” Crosshair asked, apparently not done.

“Well, you’re used to living in a ship with three other troopers, so I think that might just be the smell of open air,” I reasoned. “Or it could be our signature scent: We Vacuum on a Regular Basis and Occasionally Light a Candle. I’m thinking about patenting it soon.”

“You think you’re so funny,” he spat out, but I just scoffed.

“I’m hilarious, actually. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, except that I’m stuck on guard duty when I could be doing something important.” I shrugged and began to offer to contact Rex or Hunter for a replacement guard. After all, it didn’t matter which trooper pretended to babysit me. I had told them a dozen times that I didn’t need guards. However, by the time I started to speak, Crosshair was talking again. “What, did you kill your plant?”

“My plant?” I repeated, thoroughly befuddled.

He gestured to the empty space on top of the bookshelf. “Your vine plant. It was always right there. Did you kill it already?”

I laughed in relief at my sudden understanding. “I don’t think I could kill that plant if I fertilized it with bleach. No, I had to water it and the pot leaks, so it’s in my bathtub at the moment. I’ll bring it out in a minute so I can shower.”

“And what about your plants outside? Do you water them?”

“Not really. It’s been so rainy lately that I’m half-scared they’ll drown, but they seem happy as can be.” I paused for a moment to think. “Why do you ask?”

“Your housekeeping skills aren’t great. I just want to make sure you aren’t actually killing things because of it.”

I bit back a smile, knowing it would only make him lash out more violently. Crosshair liked plants. I hadn’t expected it, but it was far from an unpleasant surprise.

“Actually,” I said, trying to inject a hint of guilt into my voice, “I haven’t been able to go out on the patio for a few days. Can you check on the plants for me, make sure they’re okay?”

“Do I look like your maid?” Cross asked sourly. 

Instead of answering, I just went to get the houseplant out of my bathtub. When I got back, holding the plant over my head to keep from stepping on its trailing vines - almost as long as I am tall - I found that Crosshair was gone and Wrecker was buried in a pile of blankets.

Wrecker blinked out at me with a warm smile. “He’s outside. Thanks for knowing what he needs.”

I returned Wrecker’s smile. “It took a lot of trial and error. I’m going to go shower before he realizes that he was found out.”

“Good idea,” Wrecker agreed, snuggling deeper into the nest he had created. “But he’ll be out there talking to the plants for a while still.”

I nodded like my heart wasn’t melting a bit at the idea of the stoic sniper chatting with the small herb garden on my patio. Before I could say or do anything too stupid, I left to take my shower.

Previous | Next | Masterlist 

[powerbottomeminem]

33 (kiss in a dream) with Dave Strider?

33. Kiss in a dream (Eminem x Dave Strider from Homestuck)

TG: armageddon's gettin waged on us TG: but im-a gettin armed and dangerous TG: sending men in space for savin us TG: see which playa's more couragerous TG: ben or bruce? dudes reach a truce TG: put their blowchutes to use and up-suck it TG: afflecks saclifice, i mean -crifice, would have to sufflice. aw fluck it TG: bro be a stained-glass saint, up on a cross gettin hella christ-plagiarous TG: bruce's like offa that cruciflix, nuff a this fuckin savior-fuss TG: restrained his ass per mclane-redux while buscemi remained derangerous TG: when a plan gone astray pays off a wasted craterous TG: ash tray caterin to layers of matt maconnaheys vague remainder-dust TG: wait TG: uh TG: macconahey wasnt even in any of those meteor movies was he

A blonde boy is standing in front of him, big shades sitting on his nose and in the background a thumping beat spins out of a pair of turntables. A name spins with the beat: Dave Strider.

Slim Shady scrunches his nose, that is a terrible end to a freestyle. Don't ever admit you fucked up a reference. Better yet, don't fuck up a reference. "Yo bitch, what half-baked, half-assed shit is this?"

"And you're the police on half-baked, half-assed shit?", Dave asks back.

"I'm the police on shitty freestyles", Shady sneers. "Let me show you how it's done." Out of thin air he grabs a microphone, the beat changes to a slow synth and the cracking of a police scanner.

MM: there's a joker on the loose from the psychiatric ward MM: his face is up on the bulletin board with a reward MM: he'll stab you with a sword, don't be fooled by his charm MM: he's probably armed with intent to do bodily harm MM: ring the alarm, look for a man with green hair MM: check at your girl's house, he was last seen there MM: he has a mean stare but usually cracks jokes MM: good luck on your mission and guard your backs, folks

On the last word he winks at Dave triumphantly. Good flow, good rhymes and most important of all no mess up. Shady was rather pleased with his performance if he say so himself.

But Dave only shrugs weakly. "That's all you got?"

"Of course not!", Shady huffs, "I got tons more, you'll see!" What was this guys problem, eh? Shady grinds his teeth, he hears them scrape against each other in his jaw. "Fucking punk."

MM: I'm on a solo mission to find him personally MM: to settle the score and to beat him unmercifully MM: for what he first did to me, it's sure to be the last MM: followin' footprints with a magnifyin' glass MM: to drag his lyin' ass back to his padded cell MM: I'm mad as hell, on the trail of this tattle tail MM: I heard a yell, the voice sounded familiar MM: "give me your girlfriend or I'm gonna kill ya!"

"C'mon, you don't have a girlfriend", Dave blurts out disbelieving, a smug smirk on his face for a brief moment. Behind the sunglasses it was obvious he eyes Shady up and down with all the judgement in the world.

"I do", Shady scoffs, arms crossed in front of his chest. "She's pretty hot, too."

A click of the tongue. "You would say that, wouldn't you."

"It's true, bitch!" At least on the outside Kim was pretty and hot.

"If you need a girlfriend so bad, you can be mine", Dave offers casually. "A guy like me helps the people in need, you know."

Shady frowns. "I ain't in need, I have a girlfriend."

"Sure", still not believing.

"What's in it for me?", Shady asks. He'll always have Kim, but it won't hurt to look around a little.

Another smug smile on Dave's face. "Where you think coolness comes from?", he asks provokingly. The fly of his jeans opens on its own and a massive cock boings out.

Explains a lot, Shady thinks but bites his lips to not say it out loud. "You got some balls, man", he says instead.

"It's a blessing and a curse really", Dave says in the most casual tone, a flick of the wrist to emphasize the casualness of it all.

Shady can't keep his eyes from the massive cock sticking out from Dave's jeans. That's one hell of an argument. "Aight, fine, I'm in."

"That's gonna be my line", Dave smirks.

Shady rolls his eyes.

"C'mere", Dave winks him over, "We gotta seal it with a kiss or it don't count."

It's only a few steps he needs to take, a nervous swirl in his stomach. Shady hasn't had a cock that massive yet but he's delighted to try soon.

When he's close - closer than he needs to be - Shady leans into the kiss, Dave let's it happen and kisses just enough back to show he knows what he's doing. A hand grabs Shady's ass.

"This is gonna be fun."

………

A white ceiling looked down on him, Marshall blinked confused. What in the … Next to him he heard soft snoring, his boyfriend. "Oh man", he sighed and dragged his hands over his face with sleepy exhaustion. He should stop looking at Nicolas's reading history before bed. Never nothing good came out of that.

He rammed his elbow into Nicolas's side as a sort of punishment and nestled against the warm back again. Hopefully his next dream wouldn’t be as weird.

[amatchforyourmadness]

as stars that wait to fall (in love)

Chapter: 1/?

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia × star!Jaskier | Dandelion

Words:2268

Summary:

“Here’s what Geralt was looking for: a space rock for one of Yennefer’s potions. Here’s what he finds: the girl Destiny-bound to him and a man dressed in flashy clothing that throws a handful of mud at his face.”

In which Yennefer asks for a favor that leads to Geralt getting stuck with a feral star, which just happens to be adored by a little girl in a blue cape and hunted for the youth-granting delicacy that is his heart.

Stardust AU

[ AO3 link ]

————

It is all Yennefer’s fault, really, as usual.

He had been listening, but not quite. It was a habit, really, because Yennefer could either talk at length about matters of most value and importance, worthy of the most deep and thoughtful inquiries, or complain about a person of a place that was either a bitch or an asshole and several offenses she had endured bravely and his mind would wonder to when was the last time he had given Roach an apple, because she was starting to act out on him. By the end of her lengthy talk, he had been nodding thoughtfully while thinking how likely was he to find apples on the kitchen of the — What had it been this time? An Earl? — whoever’s castle Yennefer now had influenced into her hold in his way out in the morning.

“So you’ll do it then?” She had asked, eagerly, and smiling bright and just this side of looking like she was about to drag him into shit.

He had blinked confusedly.

“Hm?”

“The star.” The mage says, smile dying immediately as she figures out he had not paid attention to most if not all of what she had said. He almost feels guilty, but she still looks like she’s about to drag him into shitl. “The one that fell. You’ll find it for me?”

“Hm…”

He tries to wither out of it, he really does. He asks her to consider one might have taken it, or animals might have brushed it away or simple things like rain and wind could have easily moved it and he had a child surprise to look for, by her own threat no least, whose life was very much endangered in the current context they find themselves in, two months from the fall of Cintra, and it’s stupid to think that a bit of stardust might be so powerful and dangerous that it needs to be stolen away before the Empire gets their hands on it, but Yennefer had given him no room to ask and no room to talk back, pressing the matter as of utmost urgency.

As always, no one has ever won a battle against Yennefer, not of wits and not of any other kind.

“Just go out there and get me the star or I’ll hire someone else that will!”

And that had been it.

———

Now it has been at least a week if not two since the star fell, and Geralt is not sure if he has any luck on finding a rock in the ground so long after it fell. He follows the directions in which Yennefer says the star might have fallen, and does so with no small amount of complaining to Roach. He certainly is not interested in space rock and the matter of urgency has rather led him away from the Path, from good coin and beast-slaying.

He finds a small village at the edge of Brugge creatively entitled Wall in honour of its one grandiose feature, and they say that not far from there, where the remains of their country meet Sodden and Temeria, there had been a great impact, so strong it had shook the small stone wall at the edge of the village and loosened a few of the stones from their places, and that the impact had been followed by a brilliant ball of fire that had been the end of a good deal of the forest there, trees reduced to smoking rests of logs.

That has him about ready to go, but then there’s the talk of silly horror stories told amongst the children — the unruly boys that had ran to quell their curiosity instead of listening to their parent’s warnings — about a monster inside a crater in the ground, that had shone at night as if he was made of light and groaned in pain, grunting ‘help me, help me’ until he lured a girl, equally as strange and disobedient for being out at the woods at that hour, until she slid into the crater, the glow had died down and she had not climbed out again.

Unruly boys were also cowardly boys, by nature, no matter how curious. They ran back home instead of being made the next snack.

Geralt lifts himself onto Roach’s saddle and rides to where the smell of burned wood still lingers.

———

As soon as he steps past the burned trees, Roach’s reigns in his hands and the mare close to his side, he can’t say he’s not impressed by the destruction. He walks around the crater, taking in the damage a bit of space rock can do. The earth nearer to the edge of the crater is still burned, and he looks for a way down as much as he looks for a hint of the stone inside it.

He stops, glancing to the trees and Roach’s ears twitch the same direction. He looks at her as if to ask for her opinion before following the sound of shuffling feet back into the woods, atent to the smallest sounds. He can hear whispering, an urgent discussion being spoken in half-voices, and he takes large steps towards them until he finally finds the origin of it.

He frowns at the girl, small and pale, with green eyes and ashen blond hair, wrapped around a deep blue cape staring at him, weaponless buy somehow still fierce. Geralt opens his mouth, ready to question who the fuck was her, and it’s in barely a second he regrets it, when he is hit with a clump of burned earth and tiny rocks on the face and some of the vile mixture hits him square in the face.

“Go, Fiona, run!” Hisses the voice of what no doubt is a man that probably had been hidden behind her.

“I’m not leaving you here with him!“

“I won’t hurt either of you.” Geralt says, raising his hand in front of him, trying to placate the wrath of whatever gremlin was sharing the woods with the blonde kid who had very much not been eaten by any sort of monster. 

“Don’t touch her!” The man hisses when he stumbles ever so closely to their chatter and before he knows it, someone is biting his arm.

“Fuck!” He curses, stepping back to get his arm free and hitting his back against Roach in the process, only to be hit by get another clod thrown at him and his mare. “Hey, don’t throw mud at my horse!”

“Just go away and leave us alone!”

“I’m looking for a star! Tell me where to find it and I’ll leave you alone, it must have fallen somewhere around here—” He blinks away the mud, wiping the remains of dirt to his eyes before he finally gets a good look at his attacker, sprawled on the ground with his left leg in a weird angle, heaving profusely. “Why are you sitting there like that?“

“He broke his leg.” The girl informs, trying to pull the man upright again. Maybe he’s her uncle, or her cousin. Maybe they’ve been attacked. That would explain the hostility.

“I am looking for a star.” He states again. “It fell around here.”

“Yes, and I broke my leg, you idiot.” Curses the man once more, and the little girl can’t help but give him a look that’s half annoyed and half wondering what of the situation he’s not getting. Geralt must say, he does not get most of it, and frowns. He can see his leg is broken, and he might be inclined to help if it doesn’t earn him another handful of earth to be thrown at him, but he doesn’t see what that has to do with the star. “I broke my leg when I fell. There, is that clear enough for you?”

It takes him yet a moment, before the pieces adjust themselves into his mind and he raises his brows.

“You’re the star?”

“And you’re a clodpoll.” That’s not an answer, but Geralt supposed that he did spell it out to what the star considers his own limit, and now there’s nothing to give voice to but enraged curses. “And a horse’s ass, a ninny, a numbskull, a lackwit and a coxcomb and a— what the fuck are you trying me for, you bastard?!” He says, laying a good kick to Geralt’s gut with his good leg as Geralt pulls his arm and binds his wrist with the light silver links Yennefer had provided him, backing away before he could get his shoulder bitten too — the man was like a wild animal. “What’s this?” The man says, shaking his wrist to take in the glittering silver chain at the same time his charge asks:

“What do you think you are doing?” The girl has been sparked into action once more by righteous fury, pushing Geralt away (and he lets her, even though she can’t do more than tickle him), but that doesn’t make him any more inclined to let go to the band of enchanted chain. She takes in the sight of his bound wrists and tries to tug it off.

“Taking him south with me. I made a promise I’m already starting to regret to a sorceress that would have my head if I don’t return with the star.” He says, first to the girl as matter of fact as usual before he turns his focus somewhat embarrassedly about the whole situation, before offering. “Nothing personal, I was looking for a diamond or a rock. I certainly wasn’t expecting a man.”

“And, having found a man, you have to drag him into your foolishness? And for what?” Geralt doesn’t answer as he ties the other end of the silver chain to his wrist, and it magically binds around it, securing that ten star won’t drag far from him. “Oh, I see.” The other says, narrowing his eyes at the magical spun link that now ties them both together, before he’s sneering. “Should have figured! A star’s heart, I bet your mage friend will enjoy it, maybe you will take a bite of it too, huh? Well, I hope you choke on it!”

“Your heart?” The blonde girl asks, panicked and confused, shooting worried looks to him and accusing ones to Geralt. He much thinks he misses the time things made chance. “No, he can’t! Please, sir, you can’t!”

What the hell does his heart even have to do with anything, a lost Geralt wonders. Yennefer better pay him for this. Pale hands hold onto the girl’s shoulders comfortingly and pull her against his side, but even curled against the man-star, her worry doesn’t seem to waver, nor does the anger to the blue eyes of the one holding her.

“Listen, I want you to know, that whoever you are, and whatever you intend with me, I won’t give you no aid of any kind, nor assist you, and I will do 

whatever is in my power to frustrate your plans, and your mage’s by the matter!”

There’s a heavy silence then, and the whole atmosphere is rather tense.

“Can you walk?”

“No. My leg is broken.” He enunciates it slowly, jingling the chain pointedly by the side of the clearly broken leg. “Are you deaf, as well as stupid?”

Geralt closes his eyes and takes a deep intake of air, as if that could give him any more patience than the little he already doesn’t have. Roach whinnies by his side, shaking her head, and he cracks golden eyes open only to glare at the mare. At least one of them is having fun. Or maybe it’s just her being happy that she will not be ridden back to Wall to try and find an in that will take the three of them. Either way he shoves her head away gently, and reaches for his bedroll.

“Do your kind sleep?” 

The star sputters in offense, throwing his head to the side to glance at the blonde girl sat by him, frown still in place even if she smiles ever so slightly as he shakes his head to her and mutters something about a dickehead and being able to believe, before turning to him with an offended glare.

“Of course, but not at night.” He finally manages, and it’s the same time of ‘are you dumb?’ he and the child have been using so far and Geralt’s good will is wearing thinner than it already is. He raises a pale hand to gesture to the night sky above, to prove a point. “At night, we shine.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else to do. I’ll sleep. It’s been a long week. You should try to sleep, too. We’ve got a long way to go.”

The star scoffs again and the girl seems about ready to argue, but exhaustion is etched at her face, and when he builds a small fire from the few not burnt twigs he could find, he can hear the man talk her into laying back nearest to the fire, that they’ll figure out things in the morning, settling by her side reassuringly and doing his best to keep the chain out of her worried gaze.

Through the silence of the night, he can hear the silver chain forged with Yennefer’s magic being tugged at fruitlessly as the man settles on the ground and the girl near him. It doesn’t take long for the child’s breath to fall into a quiet, gentle pattern that can only mean she’s fallen asleep, but Geralt falls asleep without hearing the star do the same.

————

buy me a coffee?

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Thank U, Next | Poe Dameron x Reader (2/2)

Prompt: Joy

Fandom: Star Wars (Sequel Trilogy)

Words: 6049 (idk what happened)

Warning: Minor swearing? Mentions of bullying. Some chonks of dialogue here and there.

A/N: So this became longer than expected, but I wanted to make sure I wrapped up everything. I hadn’t written this much for a fic in a long time and I hope a coherent story came out of it.

-

You dropped off a container of beef stew at Finn’s house and was dragged into a long conversation by his parents on what you’ve been up to. It was always the same spiel that you told the others. You had a cozy apartment in New York, you had work published, and now you’re waiting for your big break. Half an hour before lunch, you excused yourself, giving yourself time to calm down before you reached the diner.

You were the first to arrive, picking a booth near the corner and a window. When the waiter came by, you debated whether you should order for Poe, assuming that his taste buds are the same, then thought better of it. You simply ordered two waters and said you were expecting someone else.

Poe’s truck pulled into the parking lot eight minutes later. He spotted you through the window and waved. You offered a smile, taking a deep breath to compose yourself as he made his way inside the diner.  The waiter came by just as Poe sat down. He flipped through the menu and gave his order, saying exactly what you thought he’d order. He hadn’t changed. The waiter left after you gave him your order.

“So, how are things?” Poe asked.

You shrugged. “They’re good,” you said, “You?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Yeah, you know. What else can I say? Nothing eventful had happened lately. Everything’s just routine at this point.”

He hummed, not buying it. “What happened to the story you wrote our senior year? I would have thought that you’d do some revisions before getting published.”

“Oh, that thing,” you said, feigning indifference as you wiped the side of your cup with a finger, “It’s… I kind of gave up on that one, you know?”

“Why? It was so good!”

You shrugged again. You wanted to believe him, but this nagging feeling in your brain, telling you that he was lying, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking, wouldn’t stop every time he complimented your story. It was like a sensory alarm that went off every time he touched a certain subject. You had hoped that you’d get over this feeling, but it was something that was more recent than your time with Poe was, and it affected you more deeply and painfully.

“Didn’t think it’d be something that I wanted to be known for. I wanted to try different writing styles and genres to find where I fit. Besides, I didn't think you’d remember that one. It was so long ago.”

“Are you kidding me? I loved that story. There were moments that made me laugh, made me cry, and it was just so relatable and interesting. I really think you should revisit that one.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Maybe it’ll help my writer’s block.”

The rest of the day was spent on eating and talking about high school. He brought up the time when someone tried to pull a prank on the soccer team by spiking their watercooler during an important game, but got caught because the cooler fell over them. Then, that time when he was performing with his band and one of his fangirls ran on stage to try and kiss him.

“There were so many people that hated me when we were together,” you said, shaking your head.

“Aw, come on. I don’t think it was that bad,” he said.

You scoffed. “Poe, I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without girls following me, sneering at me and telling me that I wasn’t good enough for you. That one day you were going to leave me for someone else once you got bored of me and that you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. Remember the time we went to Rose’s house when her parents were away and some asshole invited a bunch of people? We got separated and your fangirls decided to team up and dunk me into the pool and hold me there. If Finn, Snap, and Kare weren't there, I would have drowned.”

Poe frowned, sitting back. “I… I didn’t know that happened. (Y/n/n), why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed, scratching your head in frustration, memories of your arguments over it resurfacing. “I did, but you dismissed it. You said that they were drunk and didn’t mean it to go that far.”

“(Y/n/n), I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know. I just thought… I don’t know why, but I thought you were exaggerating. I should have known better. I should have known that you wouldn’t lie about these kinds of stuff.”

“Yeah… which was one of the reasons why I thought we wouldn’t have lasted long after we graduated,” you said softly. “All kinds of problems when it comes to long distance relationships.”

“We could have at least tried.”

“And if it came to the point where someone tells you that, I don’t know, that I was cheating on you, which has happened to many couples that are involved in the military, what would you have done? Or if something happened while you were away? Were you just going to brush it off, or get angry if I want to talk about it?”

“Well, we'll never know, now, will we?” he countered.

You let out a heavy sigh, gathering your things. “I’m sorry. I’m instigating again,” you said, taking out some bills to pay for the meal, “It really was nice to talk to you again, Poe, really. I think it’s best if I get going.”

Poe’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could leave. “No, you’re not running away again. Please, let’s just take this conversation elsewhere, okay? I’ve got the check. Meet me by the docks?”

He pleaded with his warm brown eyes, his grip on you loosening. He grabbed your money and gave it back to you, taking out his own wallet to pay. You reluctantly let him, shoving the money back in your bag.

“Fine. The docks at eight.”

“Thank you.”

-

You stopped by the house before meeting Poe, helping your mother with some chores around the house. Your mother was acting weird, glancing at you every now and then with a weird look. You asked her what was wrong, but she simply shrugged it off.

“So, I heard that you and Poe were hanging out today,” she said casually as she washed the dishes.

“Really?” you asked incredulously.

“It’s a small town, kid,” she said with a shrug, “Besides, I like him. Good kid. Stubborn, though, wanting to follow his parents’ footsteps in the military. A bit oblivious, too. I remember you coming home upset because he got carried away when talking with his friends and he didn’t realize that there were girls flirting with him. Besides all of that, you guys were good together. Not like that guy from New York-”

“Is that what this is all about?” You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms.

Your mother turned the faucet off and wiped her hands. “Sweetie, I heard from Armitage that Ben was in town-”

“He’s telling everyone, has he? What a rat.”

She shook her head. “Millicent was in the garden again and Armitage came by to get her. It just sort of came up about Ben. Armitage was just concerned for you, that’s all.”

“If he’s so concerned, then he should have told his friend to stop being an asshole.”

“Armitage said they stopped talking after he heard about what happened between the two of you.”

You walked away, sitting at the dining table without a word. Your mother sighed, taking a seat next to you. She took your hands into her own, but you refused to look at her.

“I’m sensing that there are things that you have not told me about what happened between you and Ben. I’m not forcing you to tell me, just that I’m always here to talk, okay?” You nodded. She leaned forward, pecking your forehead, before patting your shoulders. “Right, you’re going to meet your pilot boy. Tell him I said hi, alright?”

“Okay.”

The bed of Poe’s truck was facing the docks, the tailgate open with a lamp sitting on it. Poe was taking out a cooler and a blanket when you arrived. He took out a beer bottle from the cooler and handed one to you before hopping onto the tailgate. You followed suit, grabbing the bottle opener while you stared out at the water.

“Excited for the reunion?” he asked.

“Yes and no. Probably just going to stick to my people the whole night.”

Poe nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I lost touch with a lot of people when I left. Gonna be weird to see my old friends from school.”

“And your fangirls?” you teased.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “They’re probably all married anyways.”

“They’ll probably leave their husbands’ sides to follow you. I mean, look at you. You’re still quite a catch, Poe.”

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I only want one person to catch me, though. If they want me.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be caught by… that person. They seemed to only mess things up.”

“Hey, that’s not true. A relationship isn’t just one person, (Y/n). I’ve messed some stuff up, too. Hell, I haven’t been able to maintain a long relationship for a while. People break up for one reason or another. But, sometimes, that doesn’t mean they can’t try again.”

You took a swig of your beer and leaned back, feeling his eyes following your every movement. You shifted in your spot, turning back to the water in front of you. Light from the docks and the town reflected off its inky black surface, a sliver of the moon peeking out from the clouds, illuminating everything else.

“You’re saying you wanna try ‘us’ again? Poe, you’re up in the air most of the time.”

“That’s true, but your work can be done anywhere, right? You’ve always said that you wanted to travel and it would help your writing. Maybe this time, you can come with me.”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“Would it be crazy to say that I never stopped thinking about you?”

“It’s pretty crazy, actually.”

A long time ago, those sweet words would have heated your cheeks and made you feel giddy. Now you take each word with hesitation and skepticism, as if those sugar cubes were actually salt blocks. It’s one thing to say sweet things, it’s another to act on them.

“Besides,” you said, the bottle inches from your lips, “We’re not the same people from high school anymore.”

“Then, we’ll start over.”

You sighed. “Can we just drop it for now and enjoy the view?”

“Okay,” he relented, shifting around to get comfortable, “We can do that.”

You stayed like that until it was late. It was nice to sit in silence. It wasn’t awkward between you two, just two people enjoying the peacefulness of the night. Such a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York with an active nightlife.

When it was time to head home, Poe pulled you into a long hug, the heat from his body radiating off of him and shielding you from the cold breeze. You slowly raised your arms, wrapping them around him. You missed this. You missed him. So much. You wished you could stop pulling away from him, but you had scars that you weren’t ready for him to see.

-

One more day until your class reunion. You weren’t exactly jumping for joy, but it wasn’t like you were going to be alone, either. You met up with Finn and Rey at the mini golf course, taking turns while you talked. Even though you met Rey recently, it was like talking to an old friend. You would tell her about the time Finn claimed to have asthma so he’d be excused from running laps in PE and she’d tell you how they met and how they felt like they were going to die on one of their dates when the elevator stopped working.

After the last round and almost getting smacked by Rey’s bicep, the three of you went to go and get pizza. It was under new owners from the last time you’ve been there, but they kept the retro charm with the brick and mortar walls and arcade games in the corner.

“So,” Finn said, sipping his soda as he narrowed his eyes at you, “I heard you were hanging around with Dameron.”

You groaned, taking a big bite of your pizza. Finn smirked, unfazed by your glare.

“Who’s Dameron, again?” Rey asked.

“Poe. One of (Y/n)’s exes,” he said, “Pretty cool dude, too. They broke up because he wanted to go join the military.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling everyone about my love life, friend,” you said.

“Understandable,” Rey, looking at you sympathetically, “I heard it’s hard to maintain a relationship when your significant other is in the military.”

“Thank you.”

“I shipped you two so hard,” Finn continued, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, life… you know?”

Finn nodded, raising his soda. You and Rey clinked your glasses with his and drank.

“I can tell you one thing, though, I’ve heard about our classmates, and less than half of them ended up in the same career path that they had set out to do when we graduated. Man, so much for pressuring us to pick our college major in Freshman year, right? Why couldn’t they have taught us budgeting and work ethic in different work environments?”

You hummed. “Maybe you should be a teacher, Finn.”

“See?” Rey said excitedly, pointing at her fiance, “That’s what I’ve been telling him!”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve been concentrating on more fitness. Maybe be a PT? Rey’s the one getting her doctorates, so when I go to her high school reunion, I can be the trophy husband to a successful doctor.”

“Aw, Finnie.” Rey leaned her head on his shoulder.

You sighed, drinking your soda as if it was alcohol. The price you pay for hanging out with your friends who are a couple, becoming the third wheel. You looked down at your tray of pizza. Maybe you could try and finish it all by yourself. Sometimes when they’re wrapped up in each other, it’ll take a while for them to snap out of it, which means you might be there for a while.

-

You couldn’t sleep that night, knowing that Ben was going to be there. So far, you hadn’t ran into him, which was saying a lot because you ran into a lot of old classmates and teachers the past few days. Unless he was actively avoiding you.

Your mother found you sitting at the kitchen table slouching over two chocolate pudding cups. She wordlessly got her own cup and sat next to you, waiting. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Where to begin?

“The reason why I haven’t written my book is… because I had been writing scripts for Ben,” you said, staring down at your spoon, “Scripts that Ben had taken and put under his name, and his name alone. I didn’t know until I went to visit him on one of his sets that he had done that. He said that he took my idea and changed some of the major points of the story, so he technically wrote it. Then, I went to the film festival with him and saw that it was almost exactly the same script that I wrote. I foolishly did it again and again, believing him when he said that he’ll have me more involved in his movies and… he didn’t.”

You shook your head, opening another pudding cup. Your mother waited patiently, nodding for you to continue.

“When I confronted him about it, he confessed that he made some deal with an indie film studio and that it would be more profitable and more exposure for him to take the credit. After all, I only write simple little stories that even a high schooler could write,” you added the last bit bitterly, “I’m scraping by while doubting my life choices of doing something I love instead doing something where I won’t gamble whether I’d earn enough money to pay for food and rent. Meanwhile, Ben’s having a field day winning awards for his directing and screenwriting at film festivals, not that he ever lived uncomfortably, being the mayor’s son and all.

“I just,” you sighed in frustration, your eyes beginning to sting as the exhaustion and anger took over you, “I’ve been told so many times how I’m not good enough, how writing won’t pay the bills, how writing doesn’t even take any skills or effort. I’ve been talked down to because of my choices, as if I was stupid or lazy. I’ve been trying to use spite to get me through this, reminding myself that this is what I’ve always wanted to do, no matter how many times the publishers tell me to change my stories into another cliche, but it’s tiring. It’s not enough. And I was stubborn to try and stick to my guns instead of compromising, because that would mean that everyone was right and that whole thing with Ben… I thought I could finally be with someone without giving up my dreams, but being with him made me question whether they should just stay as dreams and not a reality.”

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother said softly, pulling you in as you furiously wiped the tears that just kept falling.

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know if I want to write anymore. I tried and… nothing seemed to stick. Nothing felt right.”

“And you think if you were to take a job in, I don’t know, accounting, would you be happy? Even if it paid your bills and helped you buy that nice apartment?”

“No, of course not, but at least it’s something. It’s not like anyone is impressed with a writer unless they’re New York Times’ bestseller and become a movie franchise. It’s so frustrating. I want to do what I love, but I want to live comfortably while doing it.”

“And you will,” your mother assured you, rubbing your back soothingly, “I can feel that you’re close, so close to making it. You just have to keep pressing on. You’ll get there and it wouldn’t be to prove people wrong or show Ben up, it’ll be for you. Go back and find that drive you had when you began writing, everything else will follow. You are talented, (Y/n), and you have people that love you and care for you. If things are meant to be, if you feel it in your heart that it’s right, then it will work out.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“There better be a dedication for me at the front of the book.”

You both laughed. “Yeah, it might take a whole page.”

-

Talking with your mother helped ease your nerves a bit and Finn and Rey had texted you, offering to carpool with them. You accepted, being reassured once again that they’ll have your back.

You dressed casual, not expecting anything too fancy for the reunion. On your way towards campus, Finn began to play music that was popular from your time at school and you discovered that Rey had an amazing voice.

“You think that they’ll make a slideshow?” Finn asked.

“God, I hope not,” you groaned, “I looked terrible.”

“No, you didn’t! You dated two of the hottest guys in school, me and Dameron,” he said confidently.

“Nice compliment while tooting your own horn there, friend.”

“Hey, and also, you can tell that looks don’t matter to you ‘cause you had a crush on Hux, too.”

“Hey, I thought he was cute. Don’t judge me.”

“Oh, is he the ginger one that we saw the other day walking his cat?” Rey asked. Finn nodded. “I… I can kind of see it. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound convincing. Anyways! You guys were talking about visiting New York sometime this year?”

There was a new gym on your old high school campus, topped with solar panels and an air condition unit. The parking lot was gradually filling up, a trickle of a line leading into the new gym, the front double doors wide open with streamers and balloons in the school’s colors bordering them.

Finn pulled up next to a familiar truck, making you roll your eyes. He flashed you a cheeky grin before climbing out, rushing around to hold Rey’s door open. You stared at the campus, at the newly painted walls, cleaner drinking water fountains, neatly trimmed grass, and the large banner that ran across the front of the main office welcoming your alumni class. You could see your younger self hanging out by the old gym with your friends, or waiting outside of the bandroom for Poe, or setting up a booth for your school club.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Poe asked from behind you.

“You have to stop doing that,” you scolded him, smacking his arm.

He winced, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “At least you’re slowly treating me like how you used to.”

“Hey, Dameron!” Finn called out, tackling him into a hug.

Poe grunted before hugging him back. “Hey, you act like we haven’t drank together earlier this week. This must be Rey, right?”

Rey smiled, coming over to give him a more gentle hug. “Nice to meet you, Poe. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said.

While the two of them conversed about flying vehicles, you pulled Finn on the side, looking around cautiously. “I forgot to tell you before we came here…,” you started in a hushed tone, “So, there’s this thing with Ben-”

“Ben Solo?”

“Yes, him, I want to pretty much avoid him if possible and I need your help with that.”

Finn frowned in concern, cracking his knuckles. “Did he hurt you?”

“He never hit me,” you said quickly, “Just… it just really affected me mentally and emotionally, you know? I just don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“When did this happen?”

“We ran into each other in New York at a book signing. We caught up with each other, got coffee, then we started dating, so… that was a while ago, though.”

Finn nodded, patting your shoulder. “Don’t worry. We got your back, remember? Does Poe know?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Great, ‘cause him and Solo had some beef in high school.”

“Of course he does. Poe thinks he’s some kind of resistance leader or something.”

All four of you made your way towards the gym, signing in and writing out your name tags. Finn looped his arm with Rey and dragged her towards the punch bowl, leaving you trailing behind with Poe. He slowly offered his arm for you to take. You stared at it for a while as he nudged you with it. You thought back to what your mother had told you. You had people that love and care about you. Despite what happened between you two, despite the years apart, Poe Dameron still cared. Even if you weren’t able to move your relationship forward to more than friends, he would at least still be in your life.

You wrapped your arms around his bicep, the corner of Poe’s lips turning up as you did so, and the two of you made your way over to where Finn was talking to one of your former teachers, Lando Calrissian. He turned and broke into a wide smile as he greeted the two of you.

Throughout the day, the four of you made your rounds with the teachers and your fellow classmates. Just as you predicted, some of the women that had a crush on Poe briefly left their husbands’ side to greet him and linger around, finding any form of small talk as an excuse to stick around.

“I heard the two of you broke up after graduation,” one of them said, “Did you two get back together?”

“Not yet,” Poe answered before you could say anything, “Still tryna win (Y/n) over again. Worth it, though, right?” He bumped his forehead onto your head in an act of displaying affection.

She forced a smile on her face. “Aw, that’s so sweet,” she said before walking away.

“I should have bet money on that happening,” you muttered.

“Man, did you see her face?” Poe chuckled, turning to face you, “Besides, betting only works if I wanted to oppose you on that, and I’m tired of doing that with you. I was serious, though. I really want us to try again, but if you don’t want to, then fine. If you want to just stay friends, good. One word from you shall silence me forever, (Y/n), I’m serious.”

“Slow down, there, Mister Darcy,” you said, “It’s not even the end of the night yet.”

Your little group grew with the added Janna, Rose, Armitage, Snap, Kare, Jessika, and more came by to talk. Living in New York, you didn’t have much friends. A few writing buddies, a few college classmates, a neighbor, the nice couple that ran the restaurant downstairs, and your editor. Coming here, that uneasy feeling that you had, you realized, was vulnerability. It wasn’t something you’d normally do living in New York, even around friends. But, with these people, the ones that you grew up with, it was easy to let your guard down and enjoy the moment.

You were having fun and you were glad that you decided to come. Though as time went on, you felt your throat tighten and your eyes stinging. It was starting again. You excused yourself, walking out of the gym for some air. Poe watched you leave, concern written all over his face. Rose nudged him, assuring that you were fine and needed air.

You sat down on one of the benches overlooking the basketball and tennis courts. Leaning back, you inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly. Whenever you felt overwhelming happiness, dread was always there waiting to ruin it. You couldn’t even remember when it started, but you became better at dealing with it.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You froze, not wanting to turn to face the source of that voice. Out of all times that he would try to approach you, he chose the time where you were alone away from everyone else. You sensed him sit down next to you. For a while, you sat in silence. It was a different silence than with Poe. With Poe, it was comforting and relaxing, with no words needed to be said. By the end of it, you would feel refreshed like you had come out of meditation. With Ben, it was like sitting with an energy vampire, and by the end of it, you felt tired and drained.

“I didn’t think you’d come, either,” you said, your voice breaking the silence. You tried to raise your chin, preparing for battle.

Ben sighed, shifting around. You heard crumpling, then something nudging your hand. You looked down and saw a thick manila envelope. You dared to look up at him for the first time in a year. He looked tired.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“It’s… I’m sorry that I took your work, took everything that you could have used as evidence to prove that they’re your work,” he said, looking down, “I’ve gathered all of them and put it in your envelope so you could submit it for copyright. If you want to take legal actions, I’ll happily allow it.”

Allow it. Sure. As if he was giving me permission. He’s probably patting his back for this one good deal he’s doing. You took the envelope, feeling the weight of it, picturing all the scripts that you had written in the past. Writing came easy to you back then. Then you remembered all the lies he had told you. When you were no longer willing to do what he wanted, you were no longer useful. There was this heavy feeling in your chest, something wanting to come out unless you’ll explode. The sad thing was that he wasn’t always like this, and it was probably why you foolishly kept overlooking or denying his bad behavior.

“We could have worked together,” you said, “And you had to go and pull that shit?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” It was hard to tell if he was being genuine. You could no longer trust your instincts when it came to him.

“You would dare criticize my writing when you couldn’t even write anything for yourself? And you just know that I would believe all of it, and you still kept at it. Do you know how hard it was to write anything after what you put me through? Being told my writing is not complex or sophisticated enough, being told that my own scripts aren’t even my own, watching you keep those awards for screenwriting while no one else would want to even look at my work? Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Ben Solo.”

Ben inhaled sharply. “Then, what the hell do you want me to do, huh? All your stuff is there. Go and copyright it, sue me for plagiarism, and I’ll pay you the fees.”

“Fees that you could easily pay off,” you said, standing up, “But when I do speak to my lawyer, I’ll see what else I can do to you.”

“Yeah, would you be happy then?”

You glared down at him. “After all of that, I’ll finally be free of you, so maybe I will be,” you said, then added in a low voice, “It’s a shame, though. I thought we worked well together, but sharing wasn’t exactly your thing. You hurt me, Ben. I don’t think we could even be friends after this.”

“Right, like how your close friends with Armitage, Finn, and Poe, right? Just friends?” Ben snapped.

You shook your head at him. “You are utterly ridiculous, Solo. Just be glad I hadn’t told your mom about what you did.”

You let out another slow exhale as you walked away, your work in hand, and a heavy weight left behind. It wasn’t completely over, but the burden of it hanging over your shoulders was gone. All that was left was tying loose ends. Then after, you can start again.

In the gym, they had already set up the small stage with chairs scattered about. Poe sat on stage with a guitar in hand. He shifted on the stool that was clearly too small for him, tuning the guitar as he looked around. You found an empty seat between Rey and Rose at the front and sat down. Poe smiled as you met his eyes and he began to play.

At the end of the night, you and the girls decided to hang out for the rest of the week before you and Rey had to fly back home. You exchanged numbers and looked up movies playing. A few of you had different choices of movies, but Rose suggested that they should time it so we could watch all of them. After parting with the others, Poe jogged up to you.

“Hey,” he said, “I really enjoyed the past few days. It was nice to hang out again. I’m, uh, I actually have to leave tomorrow night. One of the pilots got sick, so… I was wondering, ‘cause I know you’re spending time with the girls and I don’t want to take too much of your time, but if you could see me off? Even if just for a few minutes.”

You sighed, looking down at your shoes, then back at Rose and Rey who had paused their conversation to give you a thumbs up. You shook your head and turned back to Poe. He waited patiently with pleading eyes, chipping away at your remaining walls.

“Okay. Just text me what time and I’ll try to be there before you go,” you said, taking out your phone.

You handed your phone over and watched as Poe excitedly inputted his number before texting himself. “Okay, all set,” he said.

“This doesn’t mean anything more than it has to be,” you reminded him.

“I know. We’ll take it one step at a time. Restart.”

“Thank you, Poe,” you said softly, stepping forward and catching him by surprise as you pulled him into a hug.

Poe returned the hug, engulfing you fully. “Don’t mention it, (Y/n/n). I’m one call away if you need me.”

-

The next day, you drive to the airport an hour before Poe heads off to his gate. As a pilot, he could pass the gruelling standard TSA checks and flash his ID, but he waited for you in his pilot uniform. Jessika had given you all a ride and offered to drive you to the airport. They girls had gone to Starbucks while you made your way over to his airlines.

He spotted you, giving you a long salute, which you returned, then grabbed his luggage, making his way towards the escalators up. He turned around one last time and waved. Raising your hand to wave back, you couldn’t help but see his military uniform instead of his pilot uniform, thinking what if you had at least been there when he was first shipped off. When he was out of sight, you turned and slowly made your way towards the others.

Coming back to your hometown, you didn’t expect much to happen. You expected nostalgia, of course, like looking at an old doll house you used to play with. The bittersweet feeling in your stomach as you flipped through photo albums with your mother, as you drive by your old hang out spots, and seeing your classmates for the first time in ten years. You expected to feel distant from them. These were all familiar things, but you were not the same person that left this town, and neither is everyone else.

You didn’t expect to be pulled into a warm embrace, to be fully welcomed back, to be seen and treated as yourself as you are now and not expected to be yourself from ten years ago. You didn’t expect this much confrontation, of the past coming back and making you face them head on to set things straight. You didn’t expect to feel lighter and stronger and more confident, acknowledging everything that you had gone through and their effects on you, that they were things that you were capable of overcoming.

On your last day in your hometown, until next time, you had a teary goodbye with your friends and your mother. You promised to be in more touch with them this time and that they were free to visit you in New York any time.

Taking your window seat and settling in, you took out your journal and flipped through all the scribbles of ideas you had done. You turned to a blank page and began to write. You ignored any grammatical mistakes you made and kept going, knowing that once your flow is going, you had to go with it or get stuck. The only thing that stopped you was a familiar voice.

“Good morning, passengers, and thank you for choosing our airlines-” Poe announced.

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. After talking to your mother about what you were going to do once you got back to New York, you decided that you weren’t going to worry about things too far in the future. You were going to focus on the present and set up long and short time goals. You could still work on that novel, but you could also put together anthologies for a start. Maybe go back into script writing. Maybe even revisit that story you wrote in high school.

It’s just like what Poe said, life was funny. You plan something, you end up doing something else, but if it was meant to be, you somehow end up where you had always wanted to go from the start.

And you feel that it’s finally happening for you.

[myopinionisimportant]

(I wrote a quick little fanfic thing - this is the un-edited draft, and it might get some changes before it gets posted anywhere else. Or maybe not, because I’m real bad about editing!

BTW, this is one of those fics where you need basically no background info, so like...check it out!)

I'm nobody important.

My name is Toni, and I live and work in Rook City. And I know immediately some of you will be asking why? I know it's not a great place to live, everybody in the country knows that, but at least it's got some apartments you can actually afford if you're living on crappy base wages. Which is what I really needed, after graduating from college with a mountain of debt and no savings.

Anyway. This story's not about my life or my problems.

It's a story about the Wraith.

The first time I saw the Wraith, I was heading home from work. I'm an assistant patent clerk at an office in the inner city - and please, no Einstein jokes. I've heard all of them, and none of them were funny the first time. Anyway, it's hard work, the hours are long, and the pay is not great. But it's better than nothing.

I was on my way to the subway station, and I guess I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings, because I didn't see the guy approaching me until he pulled a knife and demanded my money.

I kind of panicked. I rummaged in my handbag, and he just grabbed the whole thing away from me and dumped it out on the ground, scattering everything across the pavement - notepads, pens, my purse, some used tissues...and a pistol. Just a little revolver, nothing special, but still enough of a gun to catch his attention.

The guy reached down and picked up the gun, pointed it straight at my head. I could see him sneering out from under his hood. "What the hell is this? Huh?"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What, you thought you'd pull a gun if anyone tried to grab your cash, huh?"

That had been the plan. "No!"

"Thought you were some sorta tough bitch?"

"No, no!"

"Bullshit. I oughtta shoot you right now. Teach you a lesson."

My eyes were stuck on the gun, staring right down the barrel, so I barely saw it when a shadow behind him suddenly shifted. But when the gun suddenly moved upwards, plucked right out of his grip...well, I could hardly have missed that.

His attacker was quick - she swept that gun up and away with one hand, and as she circled around him the other fist was already striking forward at his eyes. His hands came up, tried to block her, and that was all the opportunity she needed: another strike lashed out at his throat, stunning him before she moved in, twisted around, and sent him straight down to the pavement.

She straightened, cape billowing around her as she looked down at me. I guess I'd collapsed as soon as the gun was out of my face, so I got the full effect as this shadowy, indistinct figure leaned over me, its face dark. Tattered bandages fluttered round her edges, her eyes seemed to glow. So when her voice came it startled me. I'd expected some zombie growl or hiss. Something menacing. Instead, she was...gentle.

"Are you hurt?"

It took a second or two for me to even process her words, and by the time it sunk in, I felt like my silence was getting weird, so my answer came out in blurts. "Oh! No, I'm fine! Thanks!"

"Alright." She came closer, peered into my eyes for a second, then took hold of my arm and lifted me up to standing. "Grab your stuff, go home."

I knelt and grabbed my handbag, and started shovelling my stuff into it as the Wraith walked away. Then she turned back for a second:

"And consider getting rid of the gun. You'll get yourself hurt, carrying something like that around."

And with that, she was gone, vanished back into the darkness.

I didn't see her again for a long time. That wasn't a shock or anything - I think most people in the city never see her at all, some don't even think that she's real. They think she's a myth, like the ratmen in the sewers.

Anyway. I was heading home from work again, after another day that had started too early and ended too late, and all I wanted was to make it to the train station, catch one to my apartment, and get a little sleep before I had to head back to the office. This time I was sticking a little more closely to the well-lit streets, and I wasn't carrying a gun around - just a little can of mace. I figured the worst anyone could do to me with that was, well, mace me. It would suck, but at least I wouldn't die.

But I wasn't thinking about that. Wasn't really thinking about anything. Just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. So when I first heard the noise, I wasn't paying enough attention to really realise what I was hearing, and I walked a few more steps with this distant, arrhythmic thumping echoing from somewhere nearby. It was only when I heard another thump followed up with a grunt that I broke out of my reverie and recognised the sound of a fight.

I don't have a clue what I was thinking, but before I knew it I was racing towards the noise as fast as I could manage without being too loud myself. I rounded a corner, ran halfway down an alleyway, and then slowly and carefully peered around the next corner.

The alleyway was dark, lit by nothing but faint moonlight filtered through the clouds, so I couldn't see much more than shapes, but I could tell the smaller one was the Wraith just from the way she moved. She was quick and agile, her cape and her bandages trailing around her as she dodged around her enormous enemy. It lashed out at her with one massive limb, she dodged it by the width of a hair and it hit the pavement so hard that I felt it rippling through the ground, through my feet into my body and all the way up to clash my teeth together. She did something that made the monster growl, and it lunged forwards, caught her with the edge of an attack and sent her end-over-end down the alley in my direction.

It was only then I realised there were other people here in the darkness. A couple of roughly human shapes, standing very close to where I was hiding, and now raising their guns at the hero while she recovered herself. It didn't seem like she'd seen them. It didn't seem like she possibly could, not in time. She was going to die.

The Wraith was going to die, right in front of me.

I heard myself yelling, and watched my own arm swinging my handbag into the first gunman's face. It was just a handbag - and I didn't even have it that full - but I guess even that can be enough to knock a guy to the ground if he's not expecting it. He hit the ground hard, and his gun skittered away. The second man looked confused for about half a second, but he recovered fast, and I guess his eyes had adjusted to the darkness better than mine had, since that rifle of his swung quickly to face me, and for what was probably only the second time in my life, I looked my own death right in the face. I couldn't see his expression, but his body language was unruffled. He looked like he was about to swat a mosquito.

Then he staggered, put up a hand to his neck, and pulled away a dart. And then he collapsed.

I turned my head and saw the Wraith lowering her outstretched arm, just before she leaped back into the fight. Her massive opponent was as strong as ever, every attack looked like it would kill if it hit. But none of them could hit her. She danced around the thing's bulk, punching and kicking and shooting it with those sleep darts until finally, finally it slowed, then stopped, then fell into a massive heap.

The Wraith was cautious. She watched it for a second, before she stepped forward and bound the thing's arms behind its back. I saw her shoot a line up to something big and dark that hovered above the alleyway, and tie it back to her captive.

Then she turned, and her eyes locked with mine. She gave just the slightest nod. Gratitude.

The line hauled her upwards, and she was gone.

I made it to the station without any more trouble, caught my usual train and found a seat by the window, and watched the darkness underground blur past.

As the train emerged from its tunnel, and the dark, sparkling heart of the city started to fade behind me, I thought about the Wraith. I thought about that little nod she'd given me for helping her.

I'm nobody important. I've always known that, I guess. But in that second, I was part of something big, something real. And she hadn't acted as though it was a surprise - she wasn't ungrateful, but she also didn't try and tell me that I shouldn't have done it, that I shouldn't put myself in danger for her.

I wondered about that.

We think about our heroes in a certain kind of way. They're special people, powerful people, and the things they fight are powerful too. Things that ordinary, unimportant people would have no chance against. They and their enemies have these massive battles, and people like me are only there to be caught in the middle or hand out the medals at the end. But she didn't act like that. She saved my life, saw I'd seen hers, and she just looked at me like...like a fellow combatant. Like someone who could face up to the same things that she was fighting against.

So how many times had this happened before? How many times has she been in a desperate fight for her life and had some nobody like me help her out? How often has a victim given her information, or a hostage distracted their captor, or a homeless person tripped up some alien invader?

More than once, I bet.

But that means it's not like we think it is. It's not just her and her friends out there fighting for us, and everyone else is just against her or getting out of the way. We all have the power. We can all fight on their side. We can all defeat evil and make our world a better place to live.

I looked out at dark buildings that were full of people like me, and thought how wonderful it was to be me.

How wonderful that I could do all this, being nobody special.

[mix-feelingz]

His eyes cracked open, revealing emerald eyes. He groaned loudly when he tried to raise his head from the ground and a splitting headache rushed to his head, pain spreading. Izuku tried to use his head hand to rub his head only to find his arms were tied together behind him and his mouth was covered with some cloth. The greenette tugged his arms apart in a weak attempt to free his arms.

 Where am I?

 When the headache he had become somewhat bearable, he pushed himself off of the ground –groaning once more from the headache left on his head.  Big emerald orbs roamed the dimly lit room. The only light bulb in the room was flickering. On one side of the room there was water dripping from the ceiling, parts of the wall were cracked, there were bugs and mice running around.

 A table and two chairs –on opposite ends of the table- was in the room other than him.

 Why didn’t they just put me on a chair?

Why was he here? The last thing he remembers he was with Katsuki on a stroll on the streets. It’s been a while since they could get out since his father rarely lets him out unless its work –then again he goes out without permission in the first place, but that isn’t important.

 Who in the right mind will capture him?

 Soon the only door in the room swung open with a loud slam. The loud sound making the greenette flinch on his place, his head still throbbing.

 God.

 Did they hit them on the head or something?

 Green orbs zeroed in to the person –or rather people- that came in, their eyes zeroing to the greenette still on the floor.

 A sneer came to the pale blue guy –isn’t that Shigaraki Tomura?- in front of the group that came.

 “To think that, that man’s kid was so easy to kidnap like this.” Shigaraki said. “Wonder why it took too long for our men to take you.”

 Izuku glared at them as Shigaraki sat on one of the chairs facing Izuku while the other two –Dabi and Toga, Izuku recognized- pulled him off of the ground –in a very uncomfortable way with the way Toga had that weird, creepy smile on her face- and placed him on the other chair right across from Shigaraki.

 “What do you want from me?” Izuku asked, his voice shaking as he spoke.

 Shigaraki just smirked, putting his feet on the table. His chapped mouth opened, but before he could speak a sound of a chicken singing to the Mission Impossible’s theme song was heard throughout the room. The sound making Shigaraki flinch and flush from his place, cussing under his breath as he fished out his phone in his pocket.

 Is that his ringtone?

 Izuku glanced behind him where the other two were standing.  The greenette saw them trying to stifle their laughter, their shoulders were shaking as they tried. And… are those tears in their eyes?

 “You finally called babysitter.” Shigaraki said, putting the phone on speaker then placing it on the table to put his hands on the back of his head. Obviously, trying to forget what has just happened.

 “Who are you fucking calling a damn babysitter, asshole?!” A familiar voice screamed from the phone. If only Izuku can cover his ears he would’ve done so from the beginning. “Give him back.” Katsuki said onto the phone moments after, sounding much calmer but still commanding.

 Shigaraki hummed, acting like he’s thinking in a sarcastic manner. “How about~” He drawled. “No.” He said.

 “I’m giving you a chance, asshole. It’s for your own good.” Katsuki insisted.

 “Or what, babysitter?” Shigaraki taunted. “Is that so called mafia family of yours coming after us?” Confidence was in his tone. The chapped mouth man probably thought the mafia can’t do anything if there any chances Izuku will be hurt.

 Katsuki didn’t answer immediately, neither him or Shigaraki talked actually. After a beat of silence.

 “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Katsuki said. “Hey Deku.” Katsuki said, The greenette grunted through the cloth on his mouth to let the blond know he was listening. “I’ll be waiting for you, dipshit.” Katsuki said then proceeded to hang up the phone.

   ~~~

  Katsuki stood next to the car parked at the dock, his face was lit up by the light of his phone as he played some game dunce face has downloaded on his phone without his knowledge. It was already eight something and Izuku still isn’t here yet.

 He knows he shouldn’t worry. Knowing the nerd, he probably has this shit down already,

 The next thing he knows he felt a gun pointed at him at the back of his head, he could smell the scent of fire and burnt clothes.

 Now, usually he would either do a roundhouse kick or grab the fuckers hand behind him and break his arm or at the very least his arm. But this time he just let out a small chuckle as he turned around. His red eyes boring into familiar green ones.

 A pure smile was on his face, a face that’s could possibly be able to fool everyone he’s the sweetest, purest, most innocent thing on earth. No one knows the things he has done, what he can do, and what he could do.

 “Finally you’re here, stupid nerd.” Katsuki said as Izuku lowered his gun and putting his hands on his back. The greenette’s shirt was burned and bloodied from reasons Katsuki can only imagine since he wasn’t there. “Took you awhile, almost went home without you.”

 “I took my time.” Izuku shrugged, sounding indifferent. “And I know you will never do that.”

 “I thought of it.”

 “You didn’t and I know it.” Izuku said confidently. “Anyway, let’s go home.” Izuku said as he rounded the car to the other side and got in, sitting on the passenger seat at the front while Katsuki sat at the driver’s seat.

 “We’ll be busy for the next few days.” Izuku said leaning on his hand as Katsuki started up the car.

 Katsuki didn’t need to look at the greenette to see the small smile and mischievous green eyes he had as they went back home.