#you know we’re getting into the meat of it when you need all the religious trauma content warning tags

[aphidclan-clangen]

part 2 out of 3

[darnell-la]

heyaa could i request dark!old man!logan x naive/virgin!reader with corruption kink (maybe with some degradation too if youd like). i know its like a basic prompt but the thought of manipulative Logan does something to me???? i need that man religiously and im not sure if i can ever recover from it thats all please and thank youu!!

warnings: drunk reader, consensual sex, slight finger play, neck kissing, rough sex, dominated, public sex, crying, orgasm, ass slapping, lots of degradation, loss of virginity, hair pulling, choking, etc.

summary: Logan couldn’t help himself at how sweet y/n treated him when she was drunk. He needed her now, and once he felt that she wasn’t lying about her being a virgin, he couldn’t stop his dirty mouth.

note: Logan is the king of degradation and domination. He’d make you feel any kind of way when he uses you, but also somehow show he loved you.

———

“How many did you have?” Logan asked, voice serious and deep as he pulled y/n into the bathroom to use. “Only a few,” y/n dragged, making him shake his head. By the smell of her breath, she knew they weren’t mixed.

“You’re just so damn slow, huh, y/n? Why would you drink straight Bacardi!?” Logan tried keeping his tone down, but it was hard. “Bacardi raspberry,” y/n corrected the man.

Logan breathed through his nose as he shut his eyes, trying to keep himself back. He was angry at so too many actions she’s pulled tonight.

“No wonder those men were lookin’ at you. You’re a fucking piece of meat out there — That ain’t good!” Logan shouted as she sat down on the toilet to use it as she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t paying attention to any of them. Only you,” y/n pocked at the man’s lower stomach. He wanted to react angrily, but he could never stay too angry at his girl.

“Oh, is that true? You still love me after all them drinks?” He asked, making her nod her head. “Of course, I do,” she smiled as she grabbed a hand full of toilet paper to wipe.

“God, you’re a pain in my ass,” Logan admitted as he turned around and walked out of the stall. “But you love it,” she smiled as she flushed the toilet and walked next to him to wash her hands.

“Maybe I do, but you’ll have to let me show you one day,” Logan said as he kicked himself off of the wall and moved behind her, pulling her body into him, knowing she’d feel his bulge.

“One day, baby,” Y/n said as she tried her hands then turned around to look up at him. “Why not now, Bub? Been together for so long, I would never leave you. Even if those pretty little legs opened up for those nasty men out there,”

Logan’s hands began to travel y/n’s body, sending shivers down her spine. She loved his touch, but she was too scared to move further.

“C’mon, baby — Lemme feel it,” Logan said as one hand cupped her cunt through her panties. “This small ass dress ain’t makin’ my life better,” y/n laughed as the man as she shifted to leave, but his free hand grabbed her waist to keep her in place.

“Logan, maybe another time. We’re out in public,” y/n said, but Logan couldn’t care less if someone came in here and saw them. “Only makes me want you more,”

“Logan, baby,” Y/n said, but he reacted by burying his face into her neck. Y/n couldn’t help but let out a small moan as his hands rubbed her bud through her panties. The groans Logan let out would let anyone know how much he needed her.

“Lemme do it, baby,” Logan said as his hand disconnected from her waist and fumbled with his belt. “Not here,” y/n said low as he sucked harder. Whether she gave him the go or not, he was going to get something before they left the bathroom.

“Yes, here, baby — Need it right here and right now,” Logan finally got his pants to fall down a bit until he could balm his cock through his boxers.

“Got me so fuckin’ hard, I can’t stay away. Needa feel you right now,” Logan said as he rubbed her bud harder, making y/n squirm against his body. His fingers always did the trick, but right now, she felt higher than usual.

She didn’t know she’d be so turned on by Logan needing to feel her. She loved how needy and demanding he got. She couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

“That’s it, baby — Lemme in,” Logan moved in between her legs as she mindlessly let them open. “Good girl — Good good girl,” Logan said as he reached into his boxers to pull himself out.

“Always so good for me. Can’t help but ruin you every time — Thankfully this time will be so much easier,” Logan said as he rubbed his tip along her folds. She had no idea what he meant by that until she felt him push through her folds.

Logan was huge, and he’d only got the tip in. She wouldn’t be able to handle this for the first few times, but Logan couldn’t care less about it. He just needed to feel her and fill her.

“Lo,” y/n cried low as her hands gripped his shoulders. Logan said nothing as he pushed further, deep groans slipping into y/n’a ear.

“T-Too much,” y/n whined, nails digging into his shoulders, but that only made him want this more. The older man slammed into her, forcing her to take him all at once.

The cry that left her mouth sounded painful, but he knew she’d adjust. She had no choice but to. “No more, no more,” y/n repeated as he slowly slipped in and out of her.

“Ssh, princess,” was all the man said as a hand snaked around the back and grabbed her ass as the other grabbed the back of her head. Logan pulled Y/n closer as his pace built.

“Lo- Lo!” Y/n cried in the crook of his neck. Before she knew it, she was gushing around the man. “Augh, fuck, y/n,” Logan’s voice came out as a growl as he felt her juice leak down his balls and legs.

“So fuckin’ tight, almost thought you were lying when you said you were a virgin,” Logan finally spoke to her as the sound of the sink loosening began filling the bathroom.

“Almost everyone knows how sweet a virgin is these days. Always thought you were lying to me just to get with me,” Logan gripped y/n’s ass cheek harshly, breaking a bit of skin with his nails.

“I’d still want you even if you lied — The thought of men fucking this pretty little cunt doesn’t sound too bad watch. Would love to see you all fucked out and dumb,”

Y/n’s never heard this side of Logan. Some of it made her feel off, but that off turned into a turn-on. She didn’t know why. All she knew was that anything Logan wanted, she’d like.

“Yeah, you wanna get fucked for me? Spread this little girl across my bed so I can hire a few men to fuck you? Dirty little slut — I might even do it,”

Logan pulled out of y/n and pulled her off of the sink before turning her around to push her face against the dirty mirror. Before she could even blink, his cock was back in her.

“A damn whore you are, baby. So fucking dirty in here for me. You’re nowhere near innocent. You’re a pathetic little cum dump,”

Y/n whined at his words his pelvis slapped against her ass harshly. “You wanna be used, don’t you? Your first time having sex, and you’re enjoying the way I throw you around — Fuck, y/n,”

Logan’s hand which wasn’t pushing her head into the mirror, came down onto her ass repeatedly. “Logan, that hurts,” y/n cried with pleasure, but that only made him laugh.

Logan used that hand to clamp over her mouth and grip down onto her face. “You think I care how you feel, slut? Think ima treat you sweet just because this is your frost time? Your cunts too wet for princess treatment,”

Logan spat a bunch of hard words in y/n’s ear as his hips snapped against her, causing his cock to make these ungodly noises. She couldn’t see it, but she knew she was making a horrible mess on his cock.

“How do you feel about an old man fucking you dumb in a bar bathroom, hm? Did you think your first time would be more romantic? Boohoo — I'll give you romantic,”

Logan tugged on y/n’s hair, causing her neck to snap back. Logan smashed his lips onto her after he released his hand from her mouth. His teeth clashed with hers, but she was too gone to say anything about it. She couldn’t help but only moan into the man’s mouth.

Her back ached from how he forced her to arch. She felt like she'd break any second but chose to stay quiet about it. What he wanted went from now on, and she was beginning to understand that.

“Mhm hm,” the old man growled in y/n’s mouth as his free hand began to come down on her ass again. Y/n cried just like last time, but he didn’t stop this time. He continued, and even slapping was harder.

“Nah uh, take it. Take it. I said fucking take it!”

[throneofsapphics]

let our bodies talk

Rowan x Reader x Ruhn

summary: Rowan and Ruhn help you deal with your guilt around sex, and take your virginity

warnings: virgin!reader, raw p in v (wrap it up everyone), religious guilt/shame, light hair pulling

word count: 3426

a/n: based on this request!

“Do you want us?” Ruhn finally asked, running a hand through his hair, the other toying with his lip ring. He pointedly ignored the silver-haired male staring at him like he wanted to chop him into bits and either sell them at the Meat Market or feed them to the creatures at the bottom of the Istros. 

Rowan had more patience and experience with immortality than he did. If you wanted him to wait another hundred years, he would, gladly, but he wanted to know what page you were on and he was ... well, he was used to having rather forward partners, he supposed. 

It started with him as an emissary to your world, and ended with this relationship he never could have expected, but would never change for a thing. You were everything he’d ever wanted and more. 

Your mouth parted, skin flushed, and eyes widened slightly. One of his favorite looks on you. “Of course,” the words came out quickly. Adorable. Everything about you was adorable. Cthona, he really was obsessed with you. “We’re together, aren't we?” You gained back a little bit of that attitude he loved. His mouth curved into a smirk. 

“Yes, love, we are.” 

“Ruhn is asking if you want to have sex with us,” Rowan grunted from behind you. You whirled around, not having seen him apparently. He shot you a slightly apologetic look. You were the only one who got those kinds of looks out of him, and it made Ruhn respect you even more. The male would bend over backwards for you. 

“I m- I mean yes, I do, I just ...” you trailed off uncharacteristically. 

Ruhn leaned forward in his chair, forearms bracing his thighs, Rowan rounded the couch to sit next to you, leaving a careful foot or so between the two of you. This conversation didn’t need touch, not right now at least. Ruhn stayed in his seat. Just talking about this, the idea of it, was making all sorts of unproductive changes to his blood flow. 

-

You sighed, glancing between the two of them. You wouldn’t get out of this conversation right now, at least not without them getting an acceptable answer. How do you even begin to explain your relationship with sex? When it's so complicated you barely feel like you understand it yourself? 

“Just listen to me, please,” you half pleaded, half ordered. They glanced at each other before turning to you and nodding. “I grew up with a lot of ... shame surrounding sex,” you could tell Ruhn was ready to interrupt and say fuck that, but Rowan fixed him with a look and although the male glared back he kept his mouth shut. Another time you might have laughed. “So as much as I fucking crave both of you, those thoughts are still trained into me. That its dirty, bad, against the gods wishes.” 

Rowan pressed his lips together at the last one, you knew it was ridiculous too - some of the gods were notoriously horny, after all. 

“So I'm a little ... behind because I avoided everything for so long.” 

“Are you a virgin?” Rowan asked, tone carefully neutral. If they cared either way ... well, then they wouldn’t be the males for you. 

“Yes,” you lifted your chin just a tad higher, trying to imbue yourself with some sort of confidence. 

“That’s not a problem for me,” Ruhn said, almost soothingly. 

“It shouldn’t be,” Rowan sent a warning look your way at the snip in your tone, and you glared right back at him. He held both hands up placatingly, almost in a ‘not policing you, I'm just trying to keep the peace,’ way. 

Ruhn caught your gaze, and you both burst into laughter, eyes lighting with mirth. Rowan snorted. Basically a roaring laugh coming from him. 

“Come here,” the unintentional dominance in Rowan’s voice bent your knees before you could think better of it. Not that you wanted to, not really. He patted the area next to him, giving you the option to close the distance. You did. 

You felt more than heard Ruhn move, as the couch dipped on your other side. You liked it here, pressed between them, your legs lining up from thigh to hip, just a few layers between your skin and theirs. The desire to remove the layers was there, but that old guilt crept in and tainted it. Your hand brushed the back of your neck, head tilting down, eyes trained on the floor. 

Ruhn caught your hand, bringing it down to rest on his thigh. You flexed your fingers, exploring the feel of the corded muscle beneath those jeans. His leg tensed, keeping hand settling over yours, keeping you still. 

“However long it takes,” he kissed the exposed side of your neck, “I'll teach you to not be ashamed of what your body wants.” 

“Of what you want,” Rowan added, running his thumb over your knee, his hand cupping your leg. 

“I want both of you,” you said the words quickly, as if they might never come out if you didn’t say them as fast as possible. 

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that,” Rowan’s eyes trailed you from head to toe, taking in every inch of your body. A hunger that you either hadn’t seen or noticed before flared. Tightness coiled in your stomach, you could arouse those kinds of feelings in them. You found you liked that power. 

“Relax, Rowan,” Ruhn drawled. The other male tensed. You smiled. “I think we can ask some questions, can’t we?” 

A muscle in Rowan’s jaw flexed, but he gave a short nod. 

Sometimes you wondered if you were the glue bonding them together, but they had a bond of their own outside of the one the three of you shared. Not sexual, but almost ... you couldn’t quite find a term to describe it. Maybe you’d invent one later. For now, they were capturing all of your attention. Questions. You knew what kind of questions they’d ask, but it didn’t leave you feeling any more prepared for it. 

“Has anyone touched this beautiful body before?” Ruhn breathed against your neck, his hand running down your thigh indolently. 

“You,” you said, a touch of something like defiance in your tone. One of them pinched your thighs lightly. Rowan. 

“It doesn’t work if you don’t answer our questions, love,” he said. 

“Not very well,” you sighed, throwing your head back to look up at the ceiling. Why did this have to feel so ... 

“These conversations aren’t meant to be smooth,” Ruhn reminded you. It gave you a bit of much-needed courage and you gave yourself a reminder. You loved these males, trusted them, and knew they’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you or make you feel upset. In fact, they’d usually do their best to make sure the opposite happened. 

“Did you like anything about their touch?” Rowan’s large hand covered part of your thigh, tips of his fingers digging in light enough to add a pleasurable pressure but avoid that edge of pain. Regardless, each of their touches felt like fire in your current wound up state and you doubted anything could douse it right now. 

“When it was over,” you said, honestly, and drew a laugh from each of them. 

“I promise you won’t want this to end,” Ruhn said. Tilting your head, blue eyes peered intently at you, full of heat and passion and desire. “I think we can figure out how to ask these questions without speaking,” he brushed the top of your thigh, playing with your hemline, “hm?” 

You arched towards him, hands reached out to grasp at his arms, tugging him closer, closer, closer, however you could get any contact with him. Something about his tone and words awoke a new desperation in you. The time for talking, for thinking, was over. 

Ruhn caught your hands. You frowned. He switched them to one of his and used the other to tilt your chin up. “If you want this to stop at any time, just say the word. Or tap a few times if you can’t speak.” 

“We won’t be angry or upset,” Rowan added. 

“If you were, I'd kick your asses. Before leaving them,” you grumbled.

Ruhn held his hands up. “I’m terrified,” he deadpanned. 

The pause gave space for ugly emotions to rear and infiltrate, invading your headspace. 

You heard the words of the priests and priestesses from your childhood, of your mother and father wondering what the hell you were doing before damning and cursing you. Doubt had no place in this room, but it found its way inside anyway. 

“I don’t think she wants this,” you heard Ruhn say, and your head snapped up. 

-

Ruhn hoped his gamble paid off and Rowan played along, that they could draw out your competitive side. 

Green eyes narrowed, but he said, “I’m afraid you may be right.” Rowan Whitethorn wasn’t afraid of a damn thing, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Yes I do,” you spluttered indignantly. That was the point.

“Show us,” Rowan challenged you. 

“I don’t know how,” your voice dropped to a furious whisper, and he wondered if you might call everything off. 

“Ask for help,” Rowan countered. 

“I thought we would do this without speaking,” Ruhn interjected. 

In unison, both you and Rowan replied, “that’s what you said,” and he bit back a grin. 

“One question then,” Rowan continued, “do you want us to fuck you tonight?” 

“Yes,” there was no hesitation, in fact eagerness in your tone. Bringing out your competitive side did work, and he noted that for later. 

“We’ll be gentle,” Rowan told you. 

You huffed. Ruhn titled his head, Rowan raised a brow at you. 

“I want you, not some watered down version of you - both of you.” 

“As you wish, my love,” Rowan murmured. 

“Your funeral,” Ruhn joked. 

“But I have one rule,” he sat up a little straighter at your words. 

“What is that?” 

“No magic,” you glanced between both males. “I just want you. Both of you.” 

-

“Very well,” Rowan acquiesced, not sounding too put out. “Come here,” he patted his thighs. After checking for Ruhn’s agreement to your ‘rule,’ you did. 

This part, this first step, you knew how to do. You’d kissed both of them before. Straddling him, you balanced yourself on the middle of his thighs. His fingers trailed up and down your sides, front, back, everywhere he could reach, brushing sensitive areas over your clothing. Brushing too lightly for how drastically your body seemed to react. Or maybe that was the point, less is more. 

‘Let go, stop thinking,’ you reminded and reprimanded yourself. 

It took you a minute or two to realize Rowan was waiting for something. For you to initiate. 

Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his, mimicking the featherlight touches he was leaving on your body. Rowan wasn’t having it, and gripped the back of your head, winding his fingers through your hair before bringing you together. 

He stood, mouth still on yours, and you tightened your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, he wrapped one arm around your lower back, and snapped at Ruhn with his spare hand. 

The other male, understandably, snarled in return and you broke away from Rowan to hide your giggles into his shoulder. 

It broke the tension, and after a few strides from Rowan you were bouncing back on your bed, thrown there by him. Catching yourself against the headboard, it was your turn to glare. 

“That’s what you get for laughing,” Ruhn shrugged out of his shirt, and fuck your mouth watered. “My eyes are up here,” he teased you. 

“I thought we weren’t talking,” you snapped back. 

Not Ruhn, you could see all of him, but you felt another hand on the back of your neck. Rowan. Lips brushed against your ear, “I should just bend you over our bed and fuck you, but I think we can make it a little more enjoyable than that.” 

That sounded very enjoyable to you, and maybe scared you just a tad but not in an unpleasant way. Involuntarily, your thighs clenched. Ruhn’s chuckle told you he noticed. Heat seared your cheeks, the back of your neck, your chest. 

Half-naked, he climbed on the bed after you. Rowan stood next to the footboard, seemingly content to watch just for the moment. 

They seemed too coordinated and organized, in your opinion, and alarm bells flared in your mind and you scrambled with your hands to sit up. 

“Are you speaking to him?” You couldn’t fight the hint of accusation in your tone as you asked Ruhn.

“We’re making this enjoyable,” he pushed down lightly on your shoulders, “let us.” 

“Let go, love,” Rowan encouraged. 

You pursed your lips together in a frown, but nodded. You could let go, for tonight. Letting your hands slide out, your back hit the soft duvet cover again, the fabric silky against your skin. Relax. You were entirely capable of letting go. 

Ruhn’s lips hit your shoulder first, a soft and gentle kiss, before trailing down over your chest. The longer he went on, the firmer, you wouldn’t exactly call it rough, he got. Each touch grew more intense, his hands on your ribcage, pushing you down into the mattress as his lip ring flicked over your nipple. Teeth lightly grabbing the now swollen peak, tugging it up, drawing a gasp, before releasing. Testing how each part of your body reacted to different pressures and sensations. Learning you. 

He was good at this, you realized, with a hint of jealousy you quickly tamped down. Here and now, you reminded yourself. Focus. Capable. 

Lost in his touch, you didn’t notice the other male sliding in behind you until you were rising, your back pressed against his chest. Ruhn made a noise of discontent, like a kid with his candy taken away from him. 

“Ruhn’s going to fuck you first,” Rowan murmured in your ear, stroking down the side of your arm. “And when he’s done, I'll get to fuck that pretty little pussy, how does that sound?” 

“Great,” you barely managed to say. 

Then he was gone, out from behind you, and you were lowered onto the duvet again, head propped up on a pillow, Ruhn’s head between your - fuck. You lost all train of thought, all capability of thought as his tongue flicked your clit. Your voice left you as his lip ring, that beautiful thing, slid across your clit, a finger slipping inside and curling, putting just the right amount of pressure - and throwing you over the edge. 

Ruhn slowly worked you through your orgasm, adding another finger and twisting. You winced slightly at the stretching sensation. He stopped. 

“Just a little,” you panted, “uncomfortable. Keep going.” At the uncertain look on his face you added a, “please,” and that did the trick. 

He kept watching you intently, looking for every little change that might tell him something is wrong. But ... you didn’t feel the need to put on a performance. Instead, you found you liked the intensity he looked at you with. It made you feel wanted and desired in ways you never had before. It was bringing you to new highs. With another scream, your body melted into the mattress, legs falling limply to your sides. 

“I think she’s ready,” you heard Rowan. You nodded your agreement. Just a taste and you’d grown greedy, wanting more, more, more. All they would give you, all you could take. 

A belt clicked, clothes rustled, and you sat up on your elbows, impressed that even with the slight shake in your arms you could still hold yourself up. Maybe it was sheer determination to see Ruhn getting undressed that did it. It was certainly worth it. 

Licking your lips subconsciously at the sight of him, you realized he was pretty everywhere, including his cock. Near the same color as his skin, but with a glistening pink tip and a bulging vein running down the side, you wanted him in you. Now. 

“Get over here,” you breathed. 

“Bossy,” he said, raising his brows, but didn’t fucking move. 

Pressing your lips together, you saw a few avenues in front of you, and picked the one you figured would light a fire under him the best. 

“I guess I have to do it myself,” you sighed and let one arm slide out, snaking its way towards your center. 

It didn’t make it, not as Ruhn was there, catching your hand. “Not this time, princess.” 

His hand splayed against the backs of your thighs, pressing them up and to the sides as he knelt between your legs. 

“Breathe,” he ordered, and you’re glad you listened as he first pushed past your walls. Sharp pain hit your abdomen, catching your breath in your throat. 

An icy wind found its way down your throat, and you decided you’d thank Rowan, mentally, now and yell, verbally, at him later. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Keep going,” you hissed through clenched teeth. You might’ve had a lot of ... conflicting feelings surrounding sex, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t educated yourself. All the bodice rippers told you that the pleasure would kick in soon, that before you knew it you’d be overwhelmed by the “feel good” hormones. Gods you hoped they were real. 

He moved, but slowly. Lifting your hips to switch the angle, you gasped as he hit somewhere deep inside of you. That felt good. 

“That’s the spot, then,” he murmured, more to himself. 

“Fuck you feel good,” you moaned, nails clawing at his shoulders, searching for some kind of grip or anything to hold on to. He chuckled and lowered himself just enough you could grab them, before his hands spread against your sides, gripping you firmly. 

“Remember what you said earlier,” he paused inside of you. You wanted to scream at him. Instead you were left looking at his dumbly, eyes blinking. “About not wanting a watered down version of us. You’re still sure?” 

“Yes I’m sure, just fuck me or I'll-”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your words as he moved again, tilting your hips to that perfect angle before driving into you, over and over again. 

Not quite rough, but certainly not gentle, whatever he was doing was absolutely perfect, and as his fingers found your clit, you had your third - or was it fourth? - orgasm of the night. 

You actually whined as he pulled out, his eyes still open and fixed on you. He hadn’t finished. A pout started forming. 

As if he read the words in your eyes, he said, “someone else has been waiting for their turn, I’m sharing you tonight princess,” and jerked his head to the side. You followed the motion, and Rowan stood there, looking at you with pure hunger in his eyes. 

You swallowed. Louder than you intended to. Ruhn moved off you. 

“On your knees,” Rowan said roughly, but didn’t give you a chance before he gripped your hips and flipped you. Squeaking, your hands scrambled and slid before you landed on your elbows. His hand twisted around your hair, not pulling but gripping and tilting your head to look at him. “I still want to see your face, but it’ll be easier for you this way.” 

Easier? Just then, you realized you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but based on how Ruhn went first you could put together a few things. 

“Alright,” you breathed. 

There was no hesitation from either side as Rowan slid in you, your body both welcoming and protesting him, your hips and thighs already beginning to ache, but you wanted more. A greedy little monster had begun to bloom in you. 

Both of them just felt right, in different ways, and you - 

“Eyes on me,” Rowan snapped. Your eyes flew to him, and his mouth indented at one corner in the way the stoic smile. “I said I wanted to see your face, love.” 

His hands gripped your hips. 

“See your pretty little face as you take my cock so well.” 

The words drew a moan from you, sending pleasure from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your toes, making you push yourself back on him. Green stared at you, unrelenting as each slow, hard thrust nearly bounced you off him 

“Look how perfectly you’ve opened up for me,” he sounded almost teasing, “just like you were made for me.” 

Maybe you were, made for both of them as they were for you. 

-

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[syrupfog]

The thing about being a pirate is that you can’t get too attached to anything you own. 

Ships go down. Ships get stolen or looted. You change crews. 

Maybe pre-pirating your whole island was razed to the ground and you escaped with only the clothes on your back and your odd hat. 

It’s just a known fact; don’t get too attached to anything. 

THAT’S why Law keeps his Sora collection a SECRET. 

He knows it’s not wise to keep on board the Tang. He knows he’s just ASKING for a leak. He keeps the comics in waterproof containers as if that will help if they sink.

Honestly rule number one of being a pirate is “don’t eat a devil fruit you dumbass you need to swim” but he’d already broken that rule so he might as well break rule number two; “don’t get attached to anything you own.” 

He got very attached.

When the Tang explodes, everyone makes it out. Which makes sense, because everyone (except for Law) are North Blue survivors, MADE for those icy ocean temps. It’s great, he’s eternally grateful he can trust his crew. 

He’s just a little devastated that his collection is gone.

In the mean time, while debating how to get ahold of a second ship (would Wolf be willing to come out of retirement…?), they’re stuck on the Going Luffy again. Fucking creepy ass ship. But at least Law spends enough time getting pissed at Barto that he barely misses his things.

(That’s a lie; he used to reread one comic a night. He misses them a lot). 

Two weeks into their stay, though, they finally catch up to the Sunny (which of the Straw Hats was dumb enough to give Barto their vivre card?) and as soon as they’re close enough, Law realises that he made a mistake, lounging on the deck to nap. 

Because, like some sort of beacon, Luffy spots him instantly as he slingshots from one ship to the other. 

“TraaaaaaaffFFFFFYYYYYY” 

Law makes a quick room and switches himself with Bepo, who screams as Luffy crashes into him.

“Bear!!” Luffy yells. “You’re not Traffy!” 

“No! Sorry!” 

Luffy gets up and brushes himself off. “Oh, Traffy! When did you get over there?” 

“When you decided to try to kill me with that landing,” Law says, cracking his neck. 

Luffy laughs at him. 

LUFFY is made of rubber. Law is not made of rubber and he does not think Luffy ever remembers that. 

“I’m so glad you guys are here!” Luffy says, ignoring the insinuation that he would commit murder. “It’s been so BORING lately! And Nami says you guys don’t have a ship right now!”

Ah yes, Nami does read the paper religiously. 

“We’re working on it,” Law says, ignoring Bepo’s sad expression. 

“Well until then, you should join us!” Luffy says. “Since we’re in an alliance and all!” 

“We are NOT,” Law snaps, “still in an alliance! That’s finished!”

Luffy laughs. “Okay,” he says. 

Law doesn’t think that okay is real. 

“But anyway, Sanji says you should all come over for dinner! He’s making meat!” 

Barto, who has only just appeared (probably doing his hair), perks up. “Me too, Luffy Senpai??”

“Uh,” says Luffy. “Yeah, sure!” 

Barto has stars in his eyes. 

Law sighs. Barto is too much to handle on the best of days. 

“Fine Straw Hat,” he says. “We’ll be there.” 

They eat on the deck of the Sunny, because there’s not enough room in the galley. It’s a clear, starry night.

The Sunny’s headed to Elbaf. 

Law sits at the edge and watches his crew make up to Usopp and Franky. Bunch of nerds, the lot of them. 

He watches Luffy, too, as he eats a mammoth portion and then immediately lays down for a nap. 

Law’s spent a lot of time watching Luffy.

He doesn’t get it, how one person can have such magnetism. Luffy could have the whole world bowing at his feet if he wanted. Law knows this because he could easily count himself among them. 

He doesn’t understand why Luffy continues to seek HIM out.

He’s a hell of a lot grumpier than Luffy’s acquired crew. He’s also clearly been born with bad luck; it follows him like a plague. He’s not fun to be around. 

But for some reason Luffy keeps finding him and looking happy when he does. 

It’s weird.

Tonight, after half the crews have retired and Luffy’s woken up from his food coma, he does the same thing. He zeroes in on Law and sidles up to him. 

“Hey!” He says, sandals slapping the deck. “You’re being all weird and lonely!” 

“Shut up, Straw Hat. You’re just too friendly.”

Luffy puts his hands in his hips as he laughs. “You’re friendly,” he says. “You’re just not happy about it.” 

That’s incredibly wrong. Law scowls. 

“Now come on.” Luffy reaches down and pulls Law to his feet. “Sanji’s doing dishes.” 

“So…?” 

Luffy puts a finger to his lips.

Then he makes an INCREDIBLE amount of noise as he runs across the deck with Law in tow (and protesting about it) down to the men’s bunk room. 

Chopper and Jinbei are already asleep but the light is on, and Zoro’s sitting in his bunk polishing his swords. He looks at them when they enter and snorts. “Stealing from your own crew, now, Luffy?” 

Luffy laughs and Law starts to protest— or question?— but he’s pulled over to the lockers and Luffy starts rummaging through one that’s full of suits and smells sickeningly of cigarette smoke.

From the bottom he pulls out a box of— 

“Is that— Sora?” Law breathes. This is the GRAND LINE. How did someone get SORA COMICS? 

“Yep!” Luffy opens the box and starts getting his sticky fingers ALL OVER THEM. “The bear said you love this stuff! And that you lost yours!”

“I—“ how did Bepo…? 

Of course Bepo knew. Damn him. Snooping bear. 

“Sanji hates these things. I dunno why he insists on keeping them.” 

Luffy gives up thumbing through them and instead sticks his GREASY HANDS IN and just pulls out 90% of the stack at random.

“Here you go!” 

Law gapes at him. 

“Straw Hat, you can’t just—“ 

Luffy grins. “Sanji won’t to notice!” 

There’s two comics left in the box. Sanji will definitely notice. 

Still, Law could never turn down this opportunity. He takes the stack with REVERENCE, realising these are the OLD ones, the ones with the much darker plot lines and terrible airbrush coloring. 

Holy shit. They’re first editions. 

He may have started crying right there, if not for the fact that he’s suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by incredibly loud, incredibly fake snoring.

He looks over. Zoro’s still holding his sword oil as he “sleeps”. 

If he were a better man, Law would talk to Sanji about this. 

But he’s not a better man. He’s a pirate. 

Law makes a room big enough to reach the Going Luffy and reaches out with his free hand, grabbing Luffy.

He switches them with a Luffy statue from his own “guest” room.

Luffy laughs as Law lets go. “That’s so cool, we should prank people,” he says. 

“Later,” Law says. He sits down on the floor in front of his hammock and starts carefully shuffling through the Sora.

Honestly he’s so caught up in finding out what volumes are there that he almost forgets he brought Luffy with him until the captain reaches out from next to him and points at one of the covers. 

“Hey that looks like Sanji’s brother!” 

Law rolls his eyes and starts talking about how it couldn’t possibly be whoever Sanji’s brother is because Sora came out when HE was a kid and Sanji’s too young for that, and anyway Straw Hat don’t you know anything about the LORE? 

He talks about the lore. 

He talks for a LONG time about the lore.

And the worst part of all is that Luffy pays attention for all of it, nodding like he’s listening. 

(He can’t possibly be) 

(But that’s okay) 

When Law is done going through each comic and explaining the plots in detail, he realises just how much he’s forced down Luffy’s throat.

He starts to apologise but then he looks up at Luffy and sees him grinning. 

“We should’ve taken all of them,” Luffy says. “You clearly care about them a lot.” 

Law… blushes. Gets bright fucking red. “It’s a hobby,” he says. “It’s not important.” 

“But you like it,” Luffy says.

“And that makes it important.” 

Law stares at him. 

He has the unnerving urge to kiss him. 

“Straw Hat…” 

Luffy leans forward, eyes wide. 

Shockingly, he does what Law would never follow through on. 

He kisses him. 

HE KEEPS HIS EYES OPEN, THOUGH. LAW DOESN'T LIKE THAT.

Law reels back after the initial kiss. “LU-YA CLOSE YOUR EYES WHEN YOU KISS SOMEONE.” 

Luffy pouts. “No! I wanna see you!” 

Law scoffs. His face is SO hot. “Shut up.” 

He covers Luffy’s eyes and kisses him back. 

Luffy’s a terrible kisser. 

Law likes that.

He likes that there’s something he’s bad at. Because everything else about Luffy is so incredible. 

Luffy goes to deepen the kiss but when he surges forward he knocks one of the comics with his foot and Law immediately stops the kiss to clean up everything.

When breakfast happens in the morning, Sanji complains briefly about someone breaking into his locker and messing sigh his stuff, but Zoro makes a remark that Sanji’s just upset because he hides sex toys in his locker and got found out. 

They start fighting.

Luffy sits next to Law and eats all his pancakes, while Law picks at the accompanying fruit and eggs. 

Then, under the table, Luffy grabs his hand. 

Luffy’s hand is SO sticky. 

Like, did he stick his hand IN the maple syrup? 

Law lets it happen, though.

It’s good. It’s nice. 

He fell asleep in the hammock last night with Luffy. Reading Sora. 

Pirates can’t afford to get attached to things. Things get lost and looted and stolen. 

But just this once. Just this once Law will try again.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

What would be Charles’ reaction to Arthur’s first death scare with TB up in the cabin? How would he act around and away from Arthur?

(follow-up to @kaphzzz's prompt here) “So who is this lady?” Arthur asked, accepting the bowl of stew that Charles passed him. 

He was sitting at the table, for once, rather than carefully trying to avoid getting droplets of broth all over the bed. It’d been two days since the scare that had carved new worry-lines into Charles’ brow, and he was finally well enough to sit up for more than ten minutes at a time. 

“Neighbor, south of the ridge,” Charles said, breaking off a hunk of bread and passing it over the table. The other man looked exhausted. Arthur suspected he’d been staying up at night, listening for Arthur’s rasping snores instead of getting proper sleep. 

Arthur’d nag at him for it, but he didn’t have the heart. Not since he woke up from a hazy, fever-addled dream to Charles’ bare face pressed to his chest, their hands loosely joined over Arthur’s heart. 

Arthur had never known Charles to be the religious type. Still wasn’t sure what the other man thought of gods or spirits, anymore than Arthur really understood his own convictions. But, kneeling over Arthur’s bedside, hands clasped—it’d looked an awful lot like the battlefield prayer of a desperate man. 

Arthur took another bite of stew. It was hearty with potatoes and carrots, the fresh kind, rather than the canned goods he and Charles had been reliant on all winter. “How’d y’all run into each other?”

Charles pushed his stew around on his plate. “Killed a bear that had her husband cornered,” he said. “I was out getting a deer—yesterday? He’d been bucked off by his horse, had a broken ankle. She and I made a deal when I brought him back to her.”

Arthur shook his head. “Only you,” he said, amazed. “Killed a damn bear, saved a man, and not a word about it, huh?”

Charles looked up from his food. A tired, fond grin ghosted at the corner of his mouth. “You’re one to talk,” he teased, pointing at Arthur with his spoon. His hair hung in messy tangles around his face. “Still don’t believe half the shit you got up to when you left camp. Pretty sure I only know a third of the stories, too.”

“A fifth, maybe,” Arthur joked back, then sobered. “What deal?”

“They need meat, and help moving the horse feed. She’s agreed to take on our laundry and cook until his ankle is healed up. Should get us all through the winter.” 

“Does she know she’s cooking for two?” Arthur asked, the unspoken question lingering in the air. 

Charles nodded. “Told her you’re my business partner,” he said, grimacing. Charles wasn't a natural liar, but they both knew they needed to be cautious. “We’re trappers, here for the beaver down in the lake.”

“She know I’m sick?”

“She guessed,” Charles confirmed, eyes askance. He scratched at the table with one ragged nail. It'd been bitten down to the quick. “Said I looked like I needed to sleep for a week," he admitted. "I had to explain why I couldn’t stay for dinner--her thank you for saving Francis.”

“Smart lady,” Arthur said, swiping the last of his stew up from the bowl with a hunk of bread. It was good stuff, soft with a chewy crust. Neither of them were good bakers, so it’d been a while since they’d had anything but canned biscuits and crackers. “What’s her name?”

“Marie Bouchard,” Charles said, picking up the ladle next to the crock of stew. Marie had sent it over that morning when Charles had dropped a brace of rabbits by the Bouchard homestead. “Still hungry?” 

His voice was hopeful—Arthur’s appetite dropping back off again had been one of the heralds of his illness making a resurgence. When Arthur had complained of being hungry that morning Charles had lit up like the sunrise at the end of a long winter’s night.

Arthur waved him off. “Don’t think I’ve got room in me for thirds,” he said, a little apologetic. He knew he’d scared Charles bad, two days back.

Charles nodded, setting the ladle back down. He did a poor job of hiding his disappointment.

Something sour curdled in the back of Arthur’s throat, guilt heavy in his belly.

“Hey,” Arthur said, reaching across the table to snag Charles’ hand in his own. “It's been a long week. Can we leave the washing for tomorrow?”

Charles’ fingers twined with Arthur’s own. “You got something else in mind?”

“Lemme brush your hair out?” Arthur asked. “Just…wanna be close to you,” he said. “Know I scared ya, sweetheart.”

Charles smiled, a sweet, soft thing that bloomed across his face, taking years of worry with it. “Sure, Arthur,” he said, squeezing Arthur’s hand tight in his own. “I’d like that.”

[miyanaxxi]

Soren was warm. Terry was warm. In fact, their heat reminded Corvus of when he’d sit by the fire cozied up with his sisters and the tracking dogs in one big pile.

“Tell me why we have the hounds.” Rufus had asked.

Corvus had been half asleep, absently toying with Channing’s dreadlocks. “Erm, because we hunt for our food due to scarce trade routes and in being a smaller town, there’s not many traders we’re known to anyway?” The answer’d earned Corvus a smile from his father.

“Attaboy. And do the pups stay skinny like us Lafayettes when they finish a meal?” The flames sparked when Rufus stoked them from where he’d sat across his children, Bensi—the Del Barian Collie and mother of the Lafayettes’ tracking hounds—curled up in his lap taking slow breaths.

“No. They eat more, therefore they’re fatter after a meal. We let them go for a run before bed so they can burn all the excess off.” Corvus had answered with a tilted head. He’d tried not to shift too much so as not to disturb the three hounds and Coyote and Channing. The fifth hound was on fox watch outside. “Why are you asking?”

“I just need you to have this knowledge. You never know, someone might pick you up one day and need the pups’ tracking skills. I know you’ve picked up on them, Crow.” Rufus’ words had confused Corvus as a child, but now, older, he understood.

Corvus sighed, his hand stilling in Soren’s mop of dusty blond. “Be the hound who tracks the rabbit.” He whispered to no one. “Snatch it up in one go. Bless it, skin it, thank it, cook it, grace it, eat it—” He trailed off, mouth working for a moment. “—cry for it.”

That was something only he did.

He never liked eating the rabbits. He rehabilitated injured ones only to eat their kin. It always made him sick to the stomach and he could never bring himself to take a mouthful, no matter how seasoned it was.

”Whose hounds are blessing the cooking?” Soren uttered, voice slurred and thick with sleep. It made Corvus smile. “And does it deserve a round of applause?”

Corvus turned his head to Soren’s, kissing his cheek. “You make no sense.”

“Make sense of my not-senseness. You’re smart like that.” Soren rolled half-on-top of Corvus, and the latter huffed a strained laugh.

“Soren, I love you, but get off. You’re heavier than my Kaginawa.”

Soren let out a—rightfully so—scandalised gasp, sitting up with a hand to his heart. “Excuse me? I’m offended. Unless you meant my muscles are as heavy as your Kaginawa. Then I’m not offended.”

Before Corvus could respond, Terry slung an arm over his chest and landed a lazy kiss on his jaw. He turned his attention to the Earthblood elf. “And how long have you been awake?”

Terry shrugged halfheartedly. “Long enough to have memorised that prayer thing of yours.”

“Oh, shit, you pray?” Soren raised a brow, glancing down at the tracker. “Damn, I had no idea. You grew up in a religious household then?”

Corvus held up a finger. “First, it’s not a prayer, just something my father told me. Second, yes, my family has always been heavy on religion. Third, can you get off me?”

Soren slid back down onto the mattress, still somehow finding a way to cling to Corvus. Terry planted a line of kisses from Corvus’ collarbone to his temple. They lay like that for probably an hour; Soren fell back asleep, and Corvus told Terry about the hounds and his family. He spoke of his favourite dish his mother made only thrice, in Winter, that was void of any animal meat and purely thick frothy soup flavoured with salted goat’s milk.

He missed the hounds. Bensi, Nessy, Irwin, Rodney, and Snooks. He missed his father and mother up in Katolis’ lush North, his older sister Channing who worked as a chef in Evenere, and of course his eldest sister Coyote, who should have woken up that next morning.

It was too early to be emotional, Corvus decided, so he lulled himself back to sleep with Terry curled in his arms and Soren attached to his back.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

[talenlee]

What Disgusts Jod?

Hey, you know, in the Locked Tomb, is Jod an ally?

SPOILER WARNING: If you’ve read the books you know this question is deliberately stupid and if you don’t see that sentence and know why it’s funny I asked it, you probably will learn something about the books you didn’t already know. I figure if you’re say, halfway through Harrow the Ninth, you may want to hold off on this question.

CONTENT WARNING: We’re talking about queerness in the universe of the Locked Tomb, which means talking about some of the genocide stuff there.

Okay, so straight up, Jod has sex with two people in the series who have different genders to one another. At the same time. Like, dude makes out with a dude and a girl and then a threesome ensues and it’s just part of the story, because this is a normal book series. Asking if he’s queer is a non-starter, he absolutely is. That’s a given fact.

The thing is, there are plenty of people who aren’t allies. Ally is a term we throw around a lot these days like it’s a category of Near Queer But Not Actually, which I guess it needs because there needed to be a term for people who didn’t want to put on some colours while still flying the flag. You know, a straight person who wants to make it clear they’re not an asshole so they dedicate themselves to the task of Being An Ally or declaring themselves an Ally. It’s a complicated term to relate to because in my opinion, Allyship is not about things you know and do but a position you’re willing to take. ‘Cos like, if you’re an Ally, if you’re in the alliance, then you need to be part of that alliance, and that allliance?

There are a lot of gay guys who aren’t allies. There are a lot of bi guys who aren’t allies, ‘cos allyship is about more than being included in the list of acronyms. Famously, there have been a lot of guys in positions of power in the history of the world who have in fact worked against the alliance because they prefer the power and hate their peer group. Check out Roy Cohn’s story sometime.

The origin point for all this was that I got thinking about models of morality that care about matters of principle versus matters of disgust. Most people make moral judgments off disgust, not because they’re bad people but because it’s a powerful default and our society does a lot to code things it considers unethical as disgusting, and things that aren’t disgusting as not unethical. Employers stealing money from their workers is just a mistake or a misfiling or an oopsie, but workers stealing from their employees are slimy or sneaky or greasy or dirty. They’re probably going to use it to make drug pregnancies or something. From there I thought about the things in the universe of The Locked Tomb that might reflect on what we could deduce that Jod thinks of as disgusting, and it turns out it’s a short list. Jod thinks defying Jod is disgusting and everything else is… y’know, tolerable. We’ll get around to it.

I think it’s interesting to consider then the morality of this necromantic universe is a man shaped by our society, given freedom to operate how he wants, and yet still a creature shaped by his experiences in our world. I think it’s very reasonable to imagine that, originally, Jod wasn’t particularly queer, and that his queerness transpired over time as he faced down an eternal reality stretching out in front of him.

It’s a kind of question about what you think human minds do when confronted with infinity. It’s not uncommon for religious perspectives I’m familiar with to think that there’s a sort of perfected, absolute mind in the core of how your mind functions, and that version of who you are is kind of fundamentally capable of existing timelessly. That’s a vision of the mind that also sees it as disconnected from the material considerations of the meat that makes up our bodies: the idea that in heaven, for example, people aren’t autistic or disabled any more, which is one of those ideas that betrays a concept at the heart of faith where there are certain people and ways people exist that are wrong, and disordered, and need to be cleaned up.

In some cases, this is a thing that works out okay because, y’know, I don’t imagine people who lose legs wouldn’t like to have a leg back, but the idea of a perfectly ordered person that we’re all paperjam prints of is both very Modern Christian, and also, kinda deeply messed up. It’s something that The Locked Tomb even interrogates, with the conception of the soul (a thing that carries a sort of fundamental you-ness that doesn’t even necessarily care about your body), and yet the way that the soul is influenced by the the physical and material elements of the brain (such as the distortions in Harrow’s brain that speak to her schizophrenia, which is connected to the body and not necessarily the soul). I’ve talked about this before, in the way that The Locked Tomb considers dualism. It’s this idea of the soul as a non-bodied version of the person that comes to bear in the conception of how Jod handles being eternal.

How much of Jod is the way he was brought up?

Jod is ten thousand years old, he is ancient beyond human conception, but he is still recognisably and familiarly Just A Dude. Jod is a dude who is endowed by nature with immense importance but by social expectation the role of Guy Who Sucks. By watching Jod in the story, especially how he tries to explain himself and justify the way he did, you know, genocides, it’s clear that there is an attempt to at least project a vision of being An Actual Person, that the eternity of him was still marked in places that may result in being, oh, say, pretty reasonably a 40 year old in the 2020s who maybe at some point was really heavily into Homestuck.

If we assume Jod’s a person and Jod’s able to maintain some sense of continuity of being a person like we’re familiar with them over that lengthy a period of time, then, if there’s an eternity to him, then it’s reasonable to expect that whatever we see of Jod’s sexuality, it’s something that he was always at least a little bit built on there, built on what he was and always thought. Not saying he was always all over the place like that, indeed the only vision we get of his prior life is a bit low on the hot sexy times. Then again, counterpoint, most people who run sex cults don’t describe them as sex cults, because they want to play down the sex cult angle.

Does Jod feel shame like that?

The world Jod runs is pretty creepy and horrifying. It has, functionally, feudalism and lorded monarchy. It’s a place where a replication of the Catholic church stands by to safeguard a monument to his sins, where the greatest force in the universe is all turned on the task of killing the descendents of people he’s mad at, and in the context of the society he shapes and rules, the idea that the Blood of Eden don’t deserve genocide because they’re descended from people, some of whom definitely deserved some murders. The moral framework of Jod’s world is a great example of a fascist state, or what Plato considered as an ideal society overseen by a philosopher-king. The whole of power is filtered up to one person, who considers their job to be the task of being the ruler, and therefore, the whole of the society’s best behaviour is a reflection of that Philosopher King.

And of course, as with anyone else who contemplates this model outside of Plato’s ideal of hey, just always get a good Philosopher king, the whole of The Locked Tomb is about what if you get an eternal Philosopher King who’s a guy who sucks?

This is a world built out of this man’s disgusts. Its hatred of beaurocracy, its distrust of failsafes, its demand of rituals – you know, if people would just do things the way they’re supposed to be done and all of it through an impenetrable fog of what satisfies his emotional perspective. And he wants to fuck people of all sorts of genders, so the world shaped by his wants, his personal reactions to right and wrong, and what power permits him to do and demand. He is allowed to do the things he can do because he has the power to do it and in his society, that attitude of power flows downhill. It’s fascism, even though he’s queer.

Which, you know, this all works out like oh, hey, diversity win, this tyrannical Catholic abomination against all life is a pansexual man of colour! We love, as it were, to see it.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[captain-of-silvenar]

Based on @thana-topsy's OC asks, I'll answer some of them with as my Skyrim Dragonborn, Yera!

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

"Call me bias, but I think Whiterun and Riften are my top two for most beautiful places. The plains of Whiterun have ample space for hunting, and the way the wind blows over the grass is novel and refreshing. Riften, so I've been told, has beautiful trees that turn the most amazing shades of reds and oranges in the autumn. Pity I can't see them, but hearing the leaves rustle reminds me of home. There's also the lake here with plenty of fish, so I eat them when we're out of meat in the house. "The most dangerous I would argue would be The Reach. There are lots of steep cliffs and mountainous areas, and while I love a good hike that stuff is dangerous if I'm not careful. Not to mention all the hostile locals there, out in the mountains and in the city! I'm never going back there again, not if my life depends on it."

What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?

"Y'ffre is the only God I actively worship in my day-to-day life. As with most Bosmer, our relationship with Them is unique to everyone and everyone has their own interpretations of the Green Pact. I personally try and keep from harming any plant life while I'm in Skyrim. It's difficult, and I know that this is not Valenwood but it still bothers me, you know? Plus I try to keep my diet the same. Also incredibly difficult, but there are plenty of wild game to hunt and no one really appreciates a good fish these days. I just wish I could keep with one of the most important ones, but not killing in self defense is... the most difficult thing to keep in Skyrim. The bandit problem alone made me have to compromise. It's a really pity to be honest."

Would they be able to live off the land if they were lost in the wilds of Skyrim? How skilled are they at foraging and hunting?

"Oh uh... I don't think I would be able to survive for very long in Skyrim off the land. At least alone. I would have to rely mostly on traps and hope that something is there for me to eat. I could hunt with my bow but can you imagine trying to hunt while blind? I'd need an aid for that. Foraging is out of the question, I never bothered learning any of the plant life in Skyrim so I can't do that even in the most dire of situations. So it's a very solid no, but wouldn't that be nice..."

What is their opinion on Skyrim's "bandit problem"?

"By Y'ffre's hairy ballsack, why are there so many of them?!"

Do they believe in snow/sky whales?

"The what now?"

What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

"Mammoth stew and cheese! Especially the cheese, you can't get this specific kind anywhere else in the world but in Skyrim. I don't get why people are so particular when I mention it, every time I've had some mammoth cheese it's been the best so far. And the mammoths here, when you can hunt one down, are fatty from the winters and reduce splendidly in a slow stew. Reminds me of the one my dad makes back at home, but the mammoths there are a bit more lean. And no cheese."

Do they believe the old nordic tales about the Dragonborn? If they are Dragonborn how has their experience differed?

"I didn't in the beginning. Funny, considering I'm the Dragonborn. But you have to understand I came to Skyrim to run away from the Thalmor. I wasn't even supposed to stay in Skyrim. Plus I didn't even want the title, I tried running away from that as well. But... circumstances changed, and I've now dedicated myself to this country as a Hero of Legend. And I'm fine with that. I'm happy with it and I've done a lot of work to help out these people, regardless if they can't believe a Bosmer can be a Dragonborn. It doesn't matter; I'm here and I'm here to stay and protect. Don't need the people's approval to do that."

How are they with money? Do they hoard, or do they spend until their pockets are empty and they have to find work again? Have they saved for any houses?

"I have so much of it. I have literal bags of it, it's ridiculous. Lydia has to help me count the coins into bags to put into a safe. A safe! I have a safe in my house to keep my money out of sight, it's so funny. Between cave diving, dungeon crawling, and work sometimes as a Dragonborn I have enough money for a house in every Hold if I really wanted to. But nah, I keep most of it for extreme emergencies and for Lydia to use for whatever. I don't really ask for much luxuries, it's not that useful to me. Except for those really nice boots... or that nice waterproof backpack. Hey Lydia, can we go shopping before we head out again? I want to check Balimund for some new stuff. No, I promise it's for good things this time. That last one had a purpose, I swear-"

Can they read?

"In a vague sense. I have this really sticky ink from home that if you write with it, it leaves a raised surface when dried. But it's hard to get from Valenwood to Skyrim, and I have to focus really hard to write. I don't let anyone use it, you have to write slow with it. There are some braille books in Skyrim, but books were never really that important at home nor do they seem that important in Skyrim unless you're a scholar. Not to say I hate them, but I prefer someone reading them out to me."

[lotus-mirage]

Trigun Stampede episode 4 liveblog!

I had a bit of a double take at “plant-based meat”.  Come to think of it, are there any actual plants on this planet? Or are they talking about eating the irreplaceable technology that sustains them...?

Welp, there’s Wolfwood.  Wearing that big old gun cross.  Thing.

lmao that’s not a very dignified first look at the guy

Interesting that there’s only seven cities when they seem to be named after calendar months.

Actually huh. I wonder how big this world is anyway.  It feels like it should be pretty small, especially with the number of cities, but I have no idea how big those cities could be.

Those are worms?????

Also another kinda bacteria-looking thing after the bombs, huh.

NEVERMIND WHAT I SAID ABOUT THAT BEING AN UNDIGNIFIED FIRST LOOK. guy just went flying :0c

and now he’s just flopping around in the backseat.  fantastic. no notes.

Plant... outpost? wonder what this is.

Wait Wolfwood is like. actually religious? I kinda thought it was just symbolism.  I can’t believe he’s actually religious and lugging around a big cross on his back.  I can’t tell if that’s delusions of self-importance or just... dweebery.

...drinking from what may or may not be holy water.  My guy. I understand resources are low.

Oh it keeps going.

...I do not believe this man is ordained.

Okay “undertaker”... may check out more?? I have no idea what they might be expected to know in a historical or modern day setting, let alone space-fantasy. I wouldn’t expect them to have access to holy water though?

Actually wait I need to google the difference between undertaker and gravedigger.

Nevermind, they probably do! Alright then. 

okay all that aside - what is happening with the background music here??? It’s unexpectedly unsettling, kind of.

Okay I switched audio languages briefly to see if the additional religious allusions in like every line from Wolfwood was also reflected in the Eng dub (even more blatant actually) and got hit with “You did get hit by big-ass truck, after all,” which was unexpected enough to make me stop and laugh out loud.

Speaking of which I was kind of expecting them to gloss over that given the cartoony nature of that whole sequence, but huh.

ah jeez what now

...we’re going Dune now?? Alright, okay.

the bug things are also Worms?

“detached electrons” I have no idea what this is supposed to mean. That sounds like it’d cause chemical reactions, which doesn’t look to be the case?

“tool of the trade” as a gun or as a reusable grave marker?

oookay eating the weird glowy bug alive and raw. I mean I guess if they’re Worms, we know they’re edible like that, but uh.  yikes.

assassins that control Worms, huh. that sounds like a lost technology thing, presumably

“I can see it in his eyes” yeah yeah okay lay it on a little thicker oh my god

Roberto vanished while they were having a moment! I’m honestly sure if that was an intentional comedy moment lol

okay my prediction is either another bug or a more worm-looking Worm

there is also like barely any liquid, there is no way digestion is happening that fast

OH LMAO is that what’s been happening!? They’ve just been getting launched??

Okay nvm that doesn’t make much sense and also they’d be less likely to survive it than these two I guess

Ooh I really want to see the Worm’s whole design

I guess that makes sense that is an incredibly acrobatic child.

okay yeah that looks like it’d cause rapid digestion

oh yuck the floor

the cross gun has a fucking skull on it. I don’t have words.

it’s a machine gun

oooh that is a really cool creature design!

so like.  is the kid also a Worm or do they just have some sort of power/technological control over them?

it’s a machine gun that also shoots lazers

it also decently high-tech, but still not entirely sure where it falls in terms of technology type

side note, the consistent mild back-and-forth between Meryl and Wolfwood is great

and now the thing about deserving to eat is linked back to the deserving to cry thing from last episode. great. fantastic. ow.

come to think of it, why are they still travelling with Vash?  just cause they got lumped with him after the last episode, or after more info...?

okay I honestly expected the kid and Wolfwood to actually be two different factions. It makes sense but now I want to know if there are more groups out there.

hold up. narration??

okay. red glowing tubes with characters I can’t read.  that’s not an aesthetic that we’ve seen in this show yet I think?

“the gate that allows access to the higher dimension.” the WHAT

I guess this has to be the ‘Gate’ Knives mentioned last episode, but also higher dimension, what

“his morality and ethics are acting as a defensive measure” ???

oh wait no it is Knives’ group. huh.

those look like plants in the background, but all of them are red.  was it the blue one that was having trouble, then? I assumed blue = alive and red = dead, but that may not be the case.  they’re also markedly smaller than the ones in the town.

“more human than anyone” uhhhhhh not sure I agree with that on principle, but I get what they’re saying. sure, I guess.

lmao wolverine claws

End notes:

Hmm, not sure where to start! First off, I think pacing/tonal issues were more or less entirely absent from this episode! nice.

I think that’s our entire party assembled, aside from Millie, who as I understand it is less of a key figure in TriStamp so far, but not so in other versions?? Anyway.  Nice!  I think they did a good job of establishing the dynamics between the different characters.

I guess the main thing to really speculate on is the Gate thing.  So far seems like simultaneously a physiological thing and a psychological thing. He’s had it for a while, but can’t control it (isn’t aware of it?), but it’s a way to access a higher dimension, but it’s also affected by his state of mind.

Not much by way of explaining the key antagonists or their goals, other than now we have... I guess half a goal? Maybe a step in the process.

Step 1: Collect Plants

Step 2: Utilize Vash’s Gate, allowing access to a higher dimension

Step 3: ???

Step 4: Profit      

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Twenty-One)

Summary: While hunting bounties for credits and information, (Y/N) and Din search the space station Glavis for what remains of the Mandalorian covert that fled Nevarro, and both unsuccessfully try their hardest not to miss their little friend.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! Now that we’ve finally gotten a little Mando content, it’s time to catch up on the adventures of Din and Alor’ad! Thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-One The Return of the Mandalorian and the Captain (Previous Chapter)

Out of all the planets and space stations they’d hunted their bounties on in recent months, Glavis was the one that (Y/N) despised the most. The artificial scenery was soulless and devoid of any color, almost reminding her of the surface levels of Corsucant she’d snuck into and helped evacuate during her time as a Rebellion smuggler, and the lack of natural sunlight frankly unnerved her. If Din wasn’t so hell-bent on finding his old Mandalorian covert after their forced exodus from Nevarro she would’ve pushed back when he suggested they pay the space station a visit, but while she didn’t fully agree with his plan to reunite with the religious zealots that indoctrinated children into following their rigid Way, she understood it was something important that the Mandalorian needed to do and she’d be right there by his side when he found them.

“That hunk of metal’s lucky that I love him so much,” (Y/N) grumbled under her breath as she crouched behind the roof’s ledge and peered into her blaster rifle’s scope at the front doors of Kaba Baiz’s meat packing plant. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

After several more minutes of watching and waiting, the familiar beskar-clad figure of the Mandalorian emerged from the building, a small blood-soaked sack clutched tightly in his fist. “All clear, you can come down now.”

“Copy, I’ll be right there.” She spoke into her comm, standing and slinging the blaster rifle’s strap over her shoulder before carefully climbing down the building’s exterior ladder to the ground below; as she hurried over to where he stood, the smile on her face fell when she realized that he was limping. “Oh, Maker…”

“Now I get why Force-wielders are the only ones who use lightsabers,” Din attempted to quip, but his modulated voice was laced with pain as they both looked down at his noticeable wound; the unarmored side of his left thigh was sporting a large grazing burn and he was barely able to put his weight on it. “Trust me, alor’ad, it looks a whole lot worse than it feels.”

“Dammit, Din, I knew I should’ve gone in there with you! We both agreed that the Darksaber was too dangerous to use even in an emergency and now look at what’s happened.” (Y/N) reached for his free hand and began maneuvering his arm around her shoulders for support. “C’mon, we need to get you to a medic-”

“I’m fine, okay? All I want to do is collect our bounty and locate the remnants of my covert.” She flinched at the shortness of his tone and started to pull away, but he heaved a sigh as his strong arm pulled her back to him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. You were only trying to help me and you’re right, I should’ve been more careful with the Darksaber.”

(Y/N) nodded, resting a hand against the side of his helmet. “You’re under a lot of stress, sweetheart, but you don’t have to carry it all alone. We’re partners in every sense of the word, Din Djarin, and I promise you that nothing in this galaxy will ever change that. Okay?”

Leaning forward, the Mandalorian rested his forehead against hers in a Keldabe Kiss and sighed. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad.”

“And I love you too, my grumpy bounty hunter.” He chuckled and she pressed a quick kiss onto the beskar covering his cheek. “If you say that you’re fine then I believe you, but please let me know if it starts hurting more.”

Nodding, Din pulled back and held up the sack for her to see. “Let’s get this damn job over with and collect the bounty on this son of a mud-scuffer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked together through the streets of Glavis, with (Y/N) doing her best to hide her concern while Din’s limp grew more and more pronounced with each step he took. When they stepped into the elevator that would transport them to their wealthy client’s nightclub, he placed a gloved hand against the small of her back and his trademark comforting gesture was enough to temporarily ease her worry. Their fellow passenger was looking apprehensively at the bloody sack Din held, but hastily averted his gaze when he realized they’d caught him; bounty hunters sure do know how to drive people away, she thought with a small pang of sadness and Din’s hand flexed a little against her back.

When the elevator’s doors opened on the next level, they stepped out into the nightclub and (Y/N) was forced to raise her voice to be heard over the loud music. “When we were here earlier, I got the feeling that she doesn’t like me too much so I’ll just wait out here.” Her partner gave her a nod and limped off to their client’s private dining room while she stood at the railing and looked out at the bustling space station, the sadness within her suddenly flaring as she watched the ships fly overhead.

It wasn’t as though (Y/N) hated bounty hunting – if she were being completely honest, the thrill of the hunt was slightly addicting after a while – but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep on pretending that it was enough to distract her from the life she’d begun to yearn for. She missed piloting a ship and the excitement of flying it across the galaxy, something she hadn’t experienced since before their assault on Moff Gideon’s light cruiser. She and Din had relied on commercial ships and while they’d been saving all the credits they earned from hunting bounties, they were still a long way from having enough to purchase a ship of their own. If Glavis ends up being a bust then at least we’ll be free to visit Tatooine and see what sort of ship Peli’s scrounged up, she reasoned to herself, fond memories of the eccentric mechanic and their adventures on the desert planet bringing an amused smile to her face.

The familiar sound of Din’s heavy boots grew louder as he returned from seeing their client and he stopped beside her at the railing. “The closest access shaft is down Kolzoc Alley, near the heat vent towers.” He handed her a bag of credits, his breaths coming out in uneven gasps as she carefully tucked it into her satchel with the rest of their money. “We…We’re not too f-far away…”

Biting her lip to keep from remarking on his worsening condition, (Y/N) nodded and accompanied him into the empty elevator. Once the doors slid shut, he released a groan of pain and sagged against the handrail, his gloved fingers gingerly prodding at the edges of the burn; he didn’t bother stopping her as she wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him stand, draping his arm over her shoulders and holding onto his hand before they exited the elevator. While they slowly traveled down the dark alleyways of Glavis, (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in concentration as she hummed a traditional Naboo healing song under her breath, focusing on pouring a soothing energy into the melodic notes. The song didn’t miraculously cure Din’s injury, of course, but his labored breathing steadied a little and his fingers squeezed hers tight in a silent thanks for the distraction.

“There, through that door.” Standing before the ordinary-looking door nestled in the shadows of Kolzoc Alley, Din reached forward and pressed a button on the control panel; they exchanged a brief glance before stepping through the open doorway and onto a narrow metal scaffolding. The space station’s substrata creaked and groaned around them, the faint glow emanating from light strips reflecting off the crisscrossing framework and illuminating the long ladder that led to a platform down below. “I’ll go first.”

(Y/N) anxiously watched as the Mandalorian began to descend and she found herself kneeling on the scaffolding to monitor his progress. “It’s not a race, Din, you should really slow-” A gasp tore out of her throat when his boot slipped off a rung and her hands shot forward to latch around his vambrace, clutching the beskar tight as he steadied himself on the ladder and only letting go once she was sure he was all right. With her heart racing in her chest, she climbed down the ladder after him and when her boots finally touched the platform, she guided his arm back around her shoulders and gave his waist a gentle squeeze. “All good?”

Din lifted the bottom of his helmet just enough to press a kiss to her temple before lowering it again. “N-Never…better.”

They continued their way down the extended platform, the stars twinkling in the empty space surrounding them as Din started to lean more of his weight on her and grunts of pain escaped him with each step. When the end of the platform finally came into sight, she spotted a helmeted figure kneeling at its edge and judging by the way he tried moving faster, they were a fellow Mandalorian; the staircase leading down to where the Mandalorian knelt was intimidating, but she put on an encouraging smile for his sake and murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time. C’mon, sweetheart, you’ve got this…” His pained groans grew louder as they struggled to descend the staircase and they made it to the last step when his leg finally gave out, pulling away from her and collapsing onto the ground in a heap. “Din!”

(Y/N) struggled to help him sit up as the Mandalorian at the edge of the platform finally spoke. “Tend to him.”

Another much-larger Mandalorian appeared from the shadows with a medkit clutched in their gloved hand, kneeling down on the other side of Din and closely examining his wound. “I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.” The Mandalorian looked up at (Y/N) and tilted his helmeted head to the side as he considered her. “Who’s this who has brought you back to us?”

“(Y/N), she’s m-my partn-” Din hissed in pain when his friend’s fingers prodded the flesh surrounding his wound; his hand found hers and squeezed it tight as the Mandalorian reached into the medkit for the bacta spray. “My partner. Thank you for saving me on Nevarro…” Another pained gasp escaped his clenched teeth and she wrapped her free hand around the unarmored part of his arm for comfort. “I-I’m sorry for your sacrifice.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “There are three of us now.” The bacta spray made contact with the wound, causing Din to involuntarily flinch away and (Y/N) to hastily hold him steady as the Mandalorian looked between them. “We’ll put you to work soon enough.”

(Y/N) looked down at her partner and while she tried to focus on distracting him from the pain, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his fellow Mandalorian was staring at her through the visor of his helmet; she rubbed her hand up and down his arm and even managed to muster up a small smile. “You’re doing great, sweetheart, you’ll be back to your usual sarcastic self in no time. Oh, and if you ever put me through this much worry again I’ll kick your beskar-clad ass. Got it?”

Din chuckled weakly and nuzzled his head against her neck. “You got it, ner cyar’ika alor’ad.”

“What weapon caused such a wound?”

They both looked over at the Mandalorian kneeling in the distance and glancing over her shoulder at them. “This.” Din unclipped the Darksaber’s hilt from his belt and held it up for the others to see; (Y/N)’s brow furrowed when she noticed the way the Mandalorian froze and momentarily forgot about the wound he’d been bandaging as he stared at the weapon in Din’s hand, but the female Mandalorian spoke before she could remark on it.

“Paz Vizsla, bring it to me.” The Mandalorian carefully took the Darksaber and stood, holding it delicately in his gloved hands as he walked down the platform. The female Mandalorian set some sort of forging tool onto the grating beside her and realization finally dawned on (Y/N) at the sight; Din often spoke highly of his covert’s Armorer and how she’d managed to survive Moff Gideon’s massacre on Nevarro, but it bothered him that she never mentioned where she’d go to establish a new covert. At least we’ve finally found her, she thought as she helped Din sit up straight, and now he can finally move on from the guilt of abandoning the covert. The Armorer rose from the ground and accepted the Darksaber from Paz, turning it over in her grasp as she continued. “All this talk of the Empire, and they lasted less than thirty years. Mandalorians have existed ten thousand.” She ignited the weapon and examined its glowing blade in interest. “What do you know of this blade?”

Din nodded. “We’re told it is the Darksaber.”

“Indeed. Do either of you understand its significance?”

(Y/N) exchanged a brief glance with her partner before answering, “Whoever wields it can lead all of Mandalore.”

“If it is won by Creed in battle. It is said, one warrior will defeat twenty, and the multitudes will fall before it. If, however, it is not won in combat and falls into the hands of the undeserving, it will be a curse unto the nation.” She sheathed the blade and started down the platform towards them. “Mandalore will be laid to waste and its people scattered to the four winds.”

The Armorer’s words reminded (Y/N) of Bo-Katan Kryze, the Mandalorian who’d helped them infiltrate Moff Gideon’s light cruiser and apprehend the Imperial commander. She was hell-bent on re-claiming the Darksaber for herself, insisting that Moff Gideon had taken it from her, and was more than displeased when Din had inadvertently become its rightful owner. (Y/N) had been wary of the Mandalorian and her intentions since the day they met on Trask, but that didn’t mean she automatically believed the Armorer’s story about the destruction of Mandalore. As if sensing her thoughts, Din nudged her shoulder and she helped him stumble to his feet as he gestured to the Darksaber. “The hilt is of a quality of beskar I have never seen before.”

“It was forged over a thousand years ago by the Mandalore Tarre Vizsla.” (Y/N) bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open at the Armorer’s reply, silently realizing why Paz had stared so intently at the sheathed weapon before. “He was both Mandalorian and Jedi.”

An unbalanced Din leaned against (Y/N) for support and nodded. “We’ve met Jedi.”

“Then you have completed your quest.”

The gloved hand resting on her hip twitched and it was with a curt voice that her partner shortly answered, “I have.” Thoughts of Grogu filled (Y/N)’s mind and her heart clenched in grief; they avoided talking about the little guy but it didn’t make the pain of being separated from him any easier to handle; the knowledge that he was learning how to protect himself and better wield the Force was the only thing that gave her comfort, but even that was fleeting. “We have, actually. I never would’ve succeeded without (Y/N)’s help.”

The Armorer looked between the pair of them before focusing back on Din. “Cuyir ibic gar riduur?”

“Vi morut’t johayc cuun riduurok, a vi kelir nusujii.” Din hastily spoke in Mando’a and although she couldn’t quite understand their exchange, she knew that whatever the Armorer had said flustered him. “We’re a clan of two now.”

After a long pause, the Armorer finally nodded. “Then you may both join our covert as we rebuild.”

Din’s hand wrapped around (Y/N)’s as he replied, “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” Paz gruffly added.

“This is the Way.”

Surrounded by the three Mandalorians, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the feel of foreboding that had begun to blossom in the pit of her stomach; despite Din finally reuniting with the remnants of his clan and having an opportunity to learn the ways of the Darksaber from his people, she felt as though they were in more danger in the substrata of Glavis then anywhere else in the galaxy. Never a moment of peace for a Mandalorian bounty hunter and a Rebellion smuggler, she wearily thought to herself, squeezing Din’s gloved hand and hoping that her intuition would be proven wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Not a very long chapter, but the next one will definitely be more action-packed! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad-I love you, my darling captain Cuyir ibic gar riduur?- Is this your wife? Vi morut’t johayc cuun riduurok, a vi kelir nusujii-We haven’t spoken our marriage agreement, but we will soon.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss​ @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @elinedjarin​​ @itsnottilly​

[dixonarchives]

[ᴅ.ᴅɪxᴏɴ] | 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you never thought you were tbe jealous type until you got jealous over daryl talking to carol — his mother figure.

ᴀ/ɴ: gn reader, no carol slander allowed on this blog 😤 short and sweet!

‘Jealousy is a sin’

The sentence was repeated several times throughout your youth by the religious hellions that were scattered throughout your childhood neighbourhood. Your mother was quite religious herself and often drilled whatever passage she was reading that day into your head.

The thought always came back to you when you felt jealous in the past and just as it is now, it pisses you off. You have a right to be jealous! He’s your boyfriend and possibly one of the last handsome men left on this Earth and you’re not going to let him slip between your fingers.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through her head” Michonne, a woman whom you had crossed paths with when the Greene’s farm had become overrun comments with a straight face. You’ve been with her long enough to know that she’s secretly smirking, finding humour in your strange behaviour.

You’ve been lent back on the cold concrete of the wall for a while now with your arms crossed over your chest. Your closed-off posture signifies your unhappiness at the sight of Daryl seemingly laughing up a storm with Carol. Although in his case, laughing up a storm means allowing a short chuckle to break free from the confines of his lips.

“Shut up” You hold her gaze for no more than a few seconds but in the short time of letting your frown fall from your face, only then do you feel the apparent tension in your forehead caused by the deep furrowing of your eyebrows causes you to relax your face.

“I don’t get why you’re jealous, she’s like..ancient” Michonne retorts, making you snort. Her sense of timing regarding humour never fails to make you laugh. You hate her for it since she used it as a way to make you less mad at her during the period the two of you travelled together. That was a short period though. Maybe two to three weeks max due to a herd separating you both.

“I dunno..Okay?” You use your foot as leverage to push yourself off of the wall. You can’t stand to leave the two laughing alone anymore so you put on your best happy face (customer service face) and make your way over to the two.

As you’re coming into earshot you still can’t grasp what they’re laughing about but Daryl seems pretty happy himself.

He’s hiding a smile under his hair as he (weirdly attractively) licks his fingers clean of the juice from the meat he was eating. Carol smiles too, having calmed herself down from whatever the two were laughing about.

“What are you two ladies laughing about?” You try your best to laugh about the situation and defer your feelings of jealousy from clouding your judgement incase you said something you’d later regret.

“Oh, you’re going to think we’re awful for this but that Patrick kid..” Carol trails off as her eyes dart around to find the said boy.

“He’s a nerd, right?” You ask, hoping to answer the reason why she's laughing. She nods quickly, covering her hand with her mouth to try to hide the smile that tugs at her lips.

Daryl hums as he wipes his hands on his jeans, using his free — and hopefully clean — hand to tug you to his side via your shoulder. You topple over you feet slightly but find your balance as you use his body as a wall to regain your posture.

“I’ll leave you two alone, I gotta go read to the kids” She announces, leaving her dirty paper plate on the building stack of used ones. She’s off as quickly as she finishes her sentence, disappearing into the sea of ex-Woodbury civilians.

You watch her disappear, ensuring she’s really gone to where she said she’d be.

“Wha’s up wit’ ya?” He asks gruffly, clearing his throat as his voice becomes rough from the lack of water he’d been drinking; Not that it wasn’t already.

You tense slightly, shrugging his arm off of your shoulder “Nothin’”

“Ain’t ‘Nothin’, yer’ acting weird” He observes. You look away, staring at all the couples scattered around the fields. A few feed each other little bites of their food and others laugh gleefully together and share small kisses.

Your lips purse as you look back at him. He’s already staring at you with a straight face. His skin had become sun-kissed that past few days due to the longer time he spent hunting in the woods to feed the newcomers. The dirt scattered on his face makes his eyes look brighter which makes them feel as if they’re looking at you with more intensity than what he means to.

It makes you feel small, inferior. Maybe even stupid for feeling the way you do.

“I just..” You’re hesitant, unwilling to see his possible reaction. You know Michonne’s watching you too. As recluse as she likes to be she still enjoys to hear other people’s drama. (As long as it’s lighthearted)

“I guess I feel jealous” You shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of the oversized jacket hanging from your frame. Scavenging for clothes your size was hard, especially since you’ve lost so much weight since the start of the undead takeover. Anything you thought would have fit you was now a size too big.

“Jealous?” He repeats rhetorically. You know yourself Daryl see’s Carol as a maternal character. Ever since the day they’ve met he’s been trailing after the woman like she was own mother. He looks to her for guidance.

“Yeah” You confirm, nodding slightly as you look at your feet. You never took note of how scuffed your shoes are until now. You need a new pair ASAP before your current ones fall apart the next time you need to run.

Daryl stands idly, balancing his weight between the two of his feet. His eyes waver slightly as he processes your prior words.

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just am” You kick at the rocks sitting in the dirt under you feet. You can’t see his face, but from the way his shadow moves you know he’s feeling a bit awkward.

“Ya don’ have ta be. Only like ya” He admits, placing his calloused hand on your head. The action comforts you and how you feel. You know it’s his non-verbal way to confirm his truth.

And just like that. Suddenly Carol isn’t the worst person in the world.

[yuzukult]

from home 06 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader  genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in next chapter word count: 7.2k prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: um........ hi and thank you guys for reading, i honestly cannot believe how much i’ve blown up bc of this fic... a fic that i purely wrote for fun, expecting myself to maybe get like 50 notes AT MOST! crazy... thank you, seriously ;u;

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera​ @strugglingartistno16-2​ @taestannie​ @teresaisla​ @drumsofheaven​ @vampgguk​ @christiandosworld​ @madjammil​ @jungkookieyoongs​ @bananakookmilk​ @shuttheelleup​ @yobroitsjayden​

← previous chapter || next chapter →

Brewing coffee at the café had never really been a task you hated, that is, until Hoseok stands by the pick-up station, resting his elbows against the granite countertops with the biggest vexatious grin stretched across his face. He won’t stop probing you while you’re trying to get out other customers’ orders. “So, when’s the last time you got laid?”

“Hoseok,” you say his name with a stern voice. “Don’t ask things you don’t really want the answer to.” Every time he enters this shop, he does the same thing like it’s a religious ritual and it’s called, ordering the Hoseok’s sugar high. A vanilla bean java chip frappe with both caramel and chocolate drizzle, topping off with whipped cream in combination with a plethora of inappropriate questions that will get him in trouble later.

“OK, fine, I guess I don’t necessarily want to know when your last hook-up was, but particularly if you hooked up with our boy, Jungkook.”

“Define what ‘hook up’ means in your terms and maybe I’ll answer that.” Placing a hot cup of coffee on the pick-up area, you holler out the order and thank the customer. “What about... kissing? Making-out? Did you do that with him?”

“Possibly,” You reply cryptically, wiping your hands onto your apron before taking the blender out from the shelf, pouring some ice in it to start Hoseok’s order. “Why do you care anyway? It’s not like we’re serious or anything,”

“Ah,” Hoseok gasps, snapping his fingers. “That means he’s chasing you, and you’re the one playing hard to get. Didn’t expect that, honestly, but maybe it’s for the best.” Twisting your torso to catch a glimpse of Hoseok, you pour some of the ingredients into the blender. “And how is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know how I feel about you chasing a guy like that.” He retorts openly, playing with the plastic straws at the edge of the counter. “It’ll only end in bad news for you. However, if it’s Jungkook going after you, I approve. Means that he’s changing.”

“And how is this any different from any of the other girls that he has grown a reputation with?”

“Because, don’t take this the wrong way, he would never go after someone like you, who is obviously one-step ahead at him at all times. He doesn’t normally go for smart, independent women because that means they’ll drop him the instant they knew what kind of guy he was. He likes girls who let him keep them on a leash.” 

You grimace. “That doesn’t sound like a feminist.”

“Guys like him don’t care about feminism when it’s about getting that pussy.” The way Hoseok speaks about the topic so casually makes you feel slightly uncomfortable. Jungkook didn’t seem to be that kind of guy, but by all means, you didn’t necessarily have the best history with dating, so anything was possible. “But... seems like he’s starting to care, at least, with you. So, what kind of trope is this? Fake dating from enemies to lovers?”

“We’re not enemies,” You clarify, clicking the on button for the blender so you don’t need to hear any of Hoseok’s annoying words anymore. It drowns his next comments, him repeatedly saying something illegible until you shut off the machine, turn around, and freeze in your position when you see Jungkook standing there beside him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, before you blasted that shit to cancel me out, I was trying to say that I see the lover boy walking toward here.”

“Right,” Clicking your tongue, you resume finishing up Hoseok’s drink. “Hi, Jeon. Are you here to grab something to drink?” 

Although unable to see the interaction unfold behind you, it’s obvious that Hoseok is nudging Jungkook to speak, giving him that motivational push to do what he came here for. “Uh, I, uh, no. I actually came because I heard your shift ends in 15 minutes.”

“Oh?” Capping Hoseok’s drink with a lid, you slide it over to the older male. “Why’s that?”

“It’s getting dark out, and I’d like to walk you home.”

Hoseok squeals at the confession, excitement running through him. “Look at that, our little Kook is asking you on a date.”

Although you want to scream, ‘it’s not a date,’ the way that Jungkook’s cheeks tint to a peachy shade, holds you back from doing so because he’s just too cute to embarrass.

When you close shop, Jungkook stands outside in his winter coat, shaking his shoulders in order to gain warmth back underneath. As you’re quickly stuffing your belongings into your bag, you notice him from afar—how much has Jungkook has changed since the first time you met him. His coat is definitely from the Gap rather than Fendi, and his jeans are from H&M, one that Hoseok recommended to him several weeks back after he finally sold the Hugo Boss suit. He has even learned how to manage his hair a lot better despite complaining in the first week that he didn’t have the specific products. 

Maybe the two of you weren’t from entirely different worlds after all.

Locking the doors behind you, you glance over your shoulder to see Jungkook leaning over to put more pressure against the door so you can close it properly, murmuring a ‘thanks’ to him in return. 

“It’s nothing,” He grins as you face him. The bruises on his face have faded a bit since the last time you’ve seen him, cuts still remaining on his lips but seem better than before. “Should we get going? Or would you like to grab something for dinner instead?”

“We could order something and take it back to my place... if you want,” You suggest, clearing your throat slightly at the confined feeling building inside you. “But if you don’t—“

“Sounds perfect. How’s fried chicken sound?”

After grabbing a case of beer and a box of spicy fried chicken (super spicy, Jungkook notes that he’s definitely going to have a tummy ache later), the walk to your house is strangely... more enjoyable than you thought it’d be, mostly because there weren’t any awkward silences but rather just laughs swarming around. 

He’s been so much better at conversations too; Jungkook rarely even brings anything up that has to do with money or anything that involves his lavish lifestyle from the past. His personality seeps through recently, his true personality. 

Seated on the floor of your apartment, you have the food sprawled out on the small coffee table as Jungkook comes over with plates for the two of you to eat on. “I’m kind of surprised,” You admit, sneaking a glimpse of him as you’re dropping a drumstick on his plate. “You used to be repulsed by foods like these.”

“I kind of am, if I’m being honest,” He laughs anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck. “But... you like it, and if you do, I don’t mind eating it and getting used to it. I think I’m only exposed to certain foods growing up and you’ve expanded my palette. I really liked the kimchi your mom made—“

“You’ve never had kimchi before?” You scrunch up your nose, startled by his response. He shakes his head, tearing a piece of the chicken from the bone. “No, we only eat... European or American food, remember?”

Popping your lips in realization, you nod your head slowly, backing away. It shows proof of how good he’s gotten with dismissing his wealth in discussions because you actually forgot for a brief moment that his upbringing was completely different. 

“How am I doing?” Jungkook ultimately questions in the midst of tying his long hair back, clear from his face so he could eat properly. “I mean, as of late. I’ve been putting extra effort to not seem... spoiled?”

“Excelling, if that’s what you want to hear.” Leaning over to take a bite of your chicken, Jungkook continues. “Well, what about me and you? How am I doing in that?”

You choke on the skin of the chicken, sides of your mouth greasy as you quickly search for a napkin before Jungkook sees— it’s too late because he’s handing you a tissue. Rapidly wiping the mess, you wheeze. “Uhm... what do you mean by that?”

He chuckles, it’s deep and sweet like honey, goosebumps crawling up your arms at the sound. “I’m talking about... you know, what we talked about before. Me pursuing you, getting a chance to possibly date you. I know it seems rushed—”

“—Hella rushed—“

“—I wasn’t finished,” Jungkook snaps back with a narrow glare, “There’re so many couples that still gave it a shot despite the odds that they just met but that doesn’t mean they didn’t immediately click! Come on, I’d be good for you. Just as good as you are for me.”

You stuff your cheeks with the chicken, chewing consistently in order to avoid answering him. Despite your lips turning red and swollen from the spiciness, you don’t stop, only for Jungkook to pull the bone from your hands.

“Why’d you do that!” You exclaim, meats of the chicken nearly spilling from your mouth. “Stop steering away from the conversation, will you?”

“I just...” Sighing, swallowing your mouthful, you drop your hands onto your lap as your body falls to rest against your sofa. “I’m just tired of having such a bad dating history. I really don’t want to show up to another big family event with a guy who I probably wouldn’t even be with years from now. It’s embarrassing, showing up to a New Years or wedding with the same guy every year, only for him to show up with my sister the next, and for the years following, I have to bring a new date every time to save myself from humiliation.”

“But you won’t this time, it’ll be me.”

“That’s sweet, Jungkook,” An awkward smile on your face, shoulders dropping in an indolent manner. “But you can’t guarantee that.”

He pauses, taking in the words you’ve said and letting it sink in. Deep down, you didn’t want Jungkook to take your words to heart, too seriously. He was the only person in your life with such hope lately, someone who had viewed things that seemed so unrealistic in a pragmatic way, versus you, who only saw things through a sensible glass. Jungkook was a breath of fresh air, someone who let you take a cessation from your busy life to really see things for the moment they are. 

Sure, he was from an utterly different world— one of riches, where even his utensils were made of pure gold. His meals consisted of foods, prepped with groceries of the finest, created and crafted by the most experienced chefs. His tutors were people who graduated from ivy leagues, the best of the best universities, and his private teachers were professionals, those who coached the celebrities you’d see on TV. Jungkook had it all, more than anyone you’d known combined, however at the same time, he had nothing. He lacked a home, a place where he could find comfort in. Friends, true ones who would be there through thick and thin, guiding him through rough times. He needed a cushion to fall on, someone to lean and depend on when he’s going through something difficult, and it’s evident he’s been alone through it his entire life.

But he’s not anymore. He’s not alone, and he’s developed relationships with people who he can truly call friends. “You’re right,” He begins, and truthfully, your heart nearly drops at hearing such a hopeful guy start off a sentence so cynically, but he’s not done. “I can’t promise that I’ll be holding your hand next year, that I’d be sitting as a sixth person at your dining table during family dinners. I also can’t vow that you’d be by my side either during my personal family events. But for once, just once, can you allow yourself to be loved by someone instead of you only loving others? Let me reciprocate that love? You need someone to take care of you, I’ve said this before. I want to be that person.”

“Jungkook,” suspiring, you throw the napkin onto the coffee table in relentlessness, “You don’t even know how to take care of me, let alone do any of those things you’ve mentioned.”

“Then guide me, show me. Let me see more into what you think your world is supposed to be in comparison to mine, teach me how to be better and take care of you. I’ll do it.”

“You seem rather... determined.” 

It’s true. He admits wholeheartedly that maybe his feelings for you had developed in a rather sprinted current of events but in actuality, he’s never felt this way before. He’s never found someone he wanted, had this type of attachment to and with a drive to sway their heart. It was just you, and despite the harshness that you come with at times, he knows your blunt responses and nonchalant tones had underlying meanings that only weigh with care. Jungkook hasn’t found that with anyone but you. Even if this is a dud in the end, he knows that at least he knew how it felt like to be cared about with the absence of money. 

“With money, it’s easy to buy things you want. Name designer clothes, foods... even people, you could lure them in with money. Hell, I even lured you, right? The whole... bakery investment has hearts in your eyes and birds that halo your head. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t let me pay without actually knowing what I’m putting my nonexistent money toward. I want that—I want someone as genuine as you in my life to tell me when I’m gullible. I don’t think I’m capable of weaning off this myself.”

“Are you sure you’re not mistaking this as friendship?” Chewing the skin inside of your cheek, the beating of your heart races, unsettled with your own question yet in search for an authentic answer for Jungkook. “Isn’t that for us to figure out over time? I still want to explore this, see what we could be together. I mean, after all, we’ve already started, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. We can handle it here, don’t worry about it, Mrs. Jeon.” Wrong, false, please don’t believe me, save me. “I can... figure out how to do this with a lighter staff!”

Mrs. Jeon uneasily stares at you however the words that escape from her lips are the complete opposite. “Okay, doll, I’ll leave you to it. Should I ask Jungkook to come by and assist you?”

“If you could, it would be very appreciated.”

Just as requested, Jungkook enters into the kitchen after some moments his mother leaves; a beaming bright expression on his face as he strides to where you’re standing by the counter, hair tied up loosely in a ponytail with remnants of flour on your face. “Seems like my baby has been working up a storm here in the kitchen.” He comments, eyes skimming the room at the equally restless workers who shuffle around to complete their tasks. 

You glower at the older boy. “Too soon for ‘baby.’ I thought we were taking it slow.”

“Would taking it ‘slow’ mean dry humping me like the other night after dinner?” He asks, raising a brow. You would’ve lunged at him if it weren’t for the many witnesses surrounding the two of you. 

“Jungkook.” You hiss but your face is heating up.

“Sorry, baby. What’d you call me over for?” Practically on the brink of tears, you pout. “Why didn’t you talk me out into catering desserts for your mom?

“Because I know you’re capable of it. Why? Having second thoughts?” Resting against the messy counters, he brushes his hands off from any debris, grinning innocently. In spite of the fact that you’re lowkey freaking out, he knows you’re able to do it— you just need a little push.

“How am I supposed to make it taste as well as you talked me up to be? Your mom is going to have a fit if this isn’t as great as you described it. ‘The angels descended and swooped me into their arms, taking me to their lord and savior.’ What the hell kind of description is that?”

Jungkook laughs. He recalls the conversation with his mother on the phone vividly, especially when it was interrupting your little grinding session that night. She was in a frenzy about how the desserts chef had cancelled on her last minute, something about catching the flu, and all Jungkook could rave about was your cinnamon rolls that it sold his mother.

Now you had to make 300 of them from scratch for the event.

With the help of the kitchen staff, of course. But regardless, 300 cinnamon rolls could kill someone.

That someone... Jeon Jungkook.

“If anyone could do it, it’s you,” He hums, pushing the strands away from your face and behind your ear. Rubbing the flour off your cheek soothingly, you’re still discouraged. “Then grab an apron and get some flour on yourself and help me, Jeon. Especially if you’re expecting me to stay your girlfriend any longer.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

“Why are you scrunching up your face like that?”

Jungkook scowls. “It’s sticking to my fingers.”

“Well, no shit, put more flour on your hands, you dumbass!”

“Stop saying bad words, it hurts my feelings.” He counters. Jungkook knows you’re tense, easily irritable, but he loves to test the waters to see what calms your nerves. 

“OK, sorry,” Raising your hands in defeat, your palms are beaten white. “Please put flour in your hands. They will prevent you from sticking to the dough.”

“Thank you, baby,” He smiles cheerfully, the edges stretching from cheek to cheek. “Now, gimme a kiss.”

“No.” You retort sharply, resuming to rolling the dough. “I don’t have time to feed into your little game here. Hurry up and finish, we’re supposed to get ready for the banquet as well.”

“Ah,” Jungkook snaps his fingers, and it poofs a cloud of flour. “That reminds me. I forgot to tell you that I invited your siblings today and told them to bring a plus one.”

Your head nearly snaps off when you turn to him sharply. “You what?” 

“Daehyun and Miyoung. Possibly Miyoung’s boyfriend. I kinda wanted him to see you in your position, your new state. Successful, catering a banquet for the CEO of Jeon Markets and the wife of the CEO of the Jeon Corporation. Not to mention that you got a really hot boyfriend—“

“Jungkook,” You whine; despite attempting to throw a tantrum at this revelation, you’re still trying to slice the rod of dough into pieces for the rolls. “I really am not in the mood for any of this today, why’d you do that?”

“Because... I don’t want people to look at you with that pity expression anymore.”

He knows that look all too well, the look of sympathy and mercy when his parents’ friends meet him, learning that he’s the youngest child of the Jeon siblings, the problematic one. It’s the same one that’s written on your sibling’s faces when Miyoung brings up the topic of your ex-boyfriend. He wants them to regret ever feeling that way toward you, never reacting that way again, not after he walks with your arm hooked with his into this banquet.

“That’s really sweet but I don’t think it matters.”

“It so does matter, so stop acting like it doesn’t.” Quickly glancing over at the clock, his gaze scans the room. “Look, the rest of the team can finish this themselves. How about we head upstairs, get ready and join the rest of the crowd? You deserve a break. You’ve been hauling away since 4am, before any of the staff even arrived. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day, alright?”

Jungkook thinks you’re gorgeous— well, rephrase that because he believes the word isn’t enough to describe how you look right now. Although you’re recycling your dress from the last event, he swears that he’s lucky because he gets to see you in it a second time and really gets to absorb the beauty you are in it.

“Ready?” Smoothing out the uneven lines of your dress, your eyes finally meet with his and he attests that his heart skips a beat. “Jungkook?”

“I-Uh-shit, uhm-” He stumbles over the duffle bag on the floor with your clothes and makeup pouch, hitting his knee on the bed-frame. “Fuck—” 

Shuffling in your heels and the fabric of your dress, you’re already by his side before he could even finish his sentence. His breath hitches in his throat when he realizes how close you are to his face, rubbing his knee with your palm. “Idiot, why are you so clumsy?”

“I-Sorry. You look pretty. It made me lose my balance.” He admits, but you’re unconvinced. “Yeah, sure. Get up, you’re fine. Let’s head out, yeah?”

Honestly, you were too busy wondering what was running through both of your siblings’ minds. Were they impressed with what Jungkook had come from? Do they think you’re the gold digger for dating someone from money? 

Stepping out to Jungkook’s backyard is completely different from the night in the ballroom. It’s green with green flooding the property; vines weaving through the fences and onto the table where food is laid out for the guests. It’s similar to that night you first met his family— people crowding around with glasses of champagne, fingers occupied with hors d'oeuvres while the women had dresses that were flashy in both colors and jewels, elegantly laughing and smiling as they conversed with their counterparts.

Mrs. Jeon is even more flawless today, if even possible, than she did on the night of the charity event. Perhaps because her none of her sons hasn’t ruined the mood entirely, but she’s illuminating in the mass of people, still managing to stand out. 

“Should we greet my mother first or your siblings?” 

“My siblings?” You reiterate, alarmed that he was actually seriously about it. “They’re here?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook gestures toward a direction behind you with his chin; Daehyun surprisingly found a suit from somewhere within his black hole of a closet, and it abnormally fits after getting it years ago, since he seemed to have hit his growth spurt rather suddenly. Miyoung, however, has a brand new dress that you’ve never seen before, definitely a new addition to her closet, paired with her date— your past love. 

The sight of him leaves you breathless; the platinum hair that cascades down and slicks back away from his face, skin smooth like silk, and lips plump, soft like pillows from what you can remember. He’s dressed well, in his midnight black suit with a matching tie. Honestly, just the view of him has the memories of the two of you flooding back, to the point that you had to shake your head from these thoughts going any further. A smile dances across his lips when he sees you, and for a brief moment, you thought your feelings for him had lingered until you felt someone slip their hands into yours, fingers interlocked and tightened.

Jungkook. You get a better view of him under the sunlight; the sides of his hair clipped down and long locks pushed away from his face. The bruises and cuts are now fully healed, not an inch of imperfection on his face. He’s truly the definition of beauty, certainly something he inherited from his mother. He sports a different kind of suit, one that’s attention grabbing, part of the recent Fendi collection that he saved particularly for this event. It’s a deep shade of walnut, still complimenting his features and bringing light to his eyes. Giving you a reassuring gaze and squeeze, he tugs you along to meet your siblings.

“Miyoung, nice to see you again. You too, Daehyun. It wasn’t too much of a hike to get here, was it?”

Daehyun shakes his head, a deep laugh escaping from his chest. “No, it wasn’t. It’s nice to see you all dressed up, little sis. Who knew that it required a guy like Jungkook to get you like this.”

Miyoung chimes in. “Very true. You look lovely, Unnie.” Glancing over at her date then at Jungkook, she uncomfortably clears her throat. “Uh, Jungkook, this is my boyfriend, Yeonjun.”

Jungkook releases his hold on you, only to extend his now available hand to Yeonjun who shakes it firmly. You swore that the exchange was longer than intended, especially with the glare that’s directed to Yeonjun, until he decides that it’s time to let go. “It’s nice to meet you, Yeonjun, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh, Jungkook here is Unnie’s boyfriend.”

Yeonjun steals a gander over at Miyoung prior to turning back to meet with Jungkook’s stare. “Another new boyfriend, right? It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook. You’re rather quite lucky to have her as yours.” Miyoung tugs his arm back in suggestion. Why Yeonjun is acting suspicious, Jungkook isn’t sure, but he keeps an eye out regardless. “Absolutely right,” He responds, stiff as if he’s speaking through his gritted teeth. “I am lucky. Hopefully, I’m the last.”

You cringe at the words. “Anyways, you guys enjoy the banquet. Jeon and I are going to say ‘hi’ to his parents before we go off and relish in the party. We’ll catch up with you guys later?”

“You call him Jeon? By his last name and not his first?” Yeonjun raises a brow skeptically.

When you subsequently getaway from your siblings, you slap Jungkook’s chest and he whimpers at the impact. “What were you doing back there?”

He rubs the area you hit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just said ‘hi’ is all.”

“No, you were being weird. Why were you being weird? You do realize that he’s dating Miyoung right, not me? You made it seem like he was making a pass at me and then you acted like a possessive boyfriend!”

“It’s because I am a possessive boyfriend, in case you forgot.” He emphasizes. It’s weird— usually you’re the one scaring Jungkook, but this time, you’re not sure if it’s his height, but the way he’s hovering over you is intimidating. “He called me ‘another boyfriend.’ Doesn’t that bug you at all?”

“No.” You respond short and sharply. “I don’t care about those who have nothing to offer me.”

If Jungkook was being completely honest, he’s frustrated. He understands where you’re coming from when you say that you don’t give attention to those who you don’t care for the opinions of but he does, and he very much so finds himself involved in what people see you as. Your hard work, your independence, your determination for your goals and dreams— he wants people not to just see it, but truly fathom what efforts are implicated to make any of those things come true. He wants Yeonjun to regret leading you on for all those years, his desires are for Yeonjun to wish you’d come back— only this time, you wouldn’t, because you had him. You had Jungkook.

“I want people to appreciate you.” Jungkook confesses earnestly, as if he’s been holding it back for decades. “He just threw you away like a rag doll and has the audacity to say something like that. Who does he think he is, walking in here and speaking about my girlfriend so lowly?”

“Relax, big guy. We’re not even a real item yet. Calm down and lets go talk to your parents—“

“Hello everyone!” Mrs. Jeon greets, standing on the stage that’s strategically placed in the middle of the lawn. She has decided to go with a baby blue dress, trading in the lavender for something that resonates with the sky. “Thank you for attending our lovely banquet. We figured what better way to introduce some new plans for our companies than preparing a party beforehand and sharing the good news during it!”

“Mm, guess it’s too late for that.” Jungkook whispers, arms crossed against his chest. He looks like a child in this stance but you scoff in response at his immatureness. 

“My husband and I have come to terms on many things lately. For one, we are getting very old, so old that we almost mistake each other’s medication for our own,” The crowd laughs, and you’re uncertain if it’s because they undoubtedly think it’s funny or they’re just there. “... but nonetheless, we have come to a conclusion that had been very difficult for us to accept, since the both of us are such workaholics...”

“Where is she going with this?” Jungkook questions, and you hush him silent.

“... My husband and I will be announcing our retirement this week.”

“—What?” Jungkook is gasping for air. “She’s never mentioned this to any of us. None of us. I would’ve heard something by now if any of us knew.” Eyes skimming through the audience, he’s able to make out a couple of his brothers scattered in the crowd, faces equally as stunned as himself. 

“... And, we have dedicated that the new CEO of the Jeon Corporation would be Jeon Junghwan, CFO would be Jeon Jonghyun...”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course—”

“... My portion of the Jeon Markets, including the cafés, will be in the hands of my youngest who has done nothing but proved himself worthy, Jeon Jungkook.”

His mouth drops. “What the fuck—”

“You’re kidding, mother, not only did you completely go against everything we’ve been arguing about for the past two decades, but you went ahead and gift Junghwan the entirety of the Jeon Corp and gave Jungkook your percentage of the company? And how much is that even? Forty percent?”

“Seventy percent.” She retorts nonchalantly, confident in her answer. Jongseok is brimming with anger, face stained crimson. “Seve—Seventy percent?” He’s wheezing at the number, hand gripping against the backrest of the dining room chairs. “You’re just giving him seventy percent of your company?”

“He’s been working the floor. Jungkook knows what the workers want, what they go through on a daily basis. If anything, he deserves that portion. Good suggestion, Seok, it really put him in his place.”

Jungsik looks like he’s going to claw his eyes out. “And what about Jongseok and I? Do we still get 10% each from the Corporation?”

Mr. Jeon had been quiet the entire time, seated at the head of the table, tired of the conversation before it had even been started. He’s sat throughout these conversations for two decades, he repeats to himself constantly, exhausted that his spoiled children fought over shares of his company, one that he built from the ground up by himself. He struggled trying to teach Junghwan and Jonghyun the basics, as they’re still learning ‘til this day, but seemed to have lost track when it came to the rest. When Jungsik queries his part of the company, Mr. Jeon stands from his seat, banging the glass table with a fist. “Let that be up to your brothers. It’s evident that you can’t settle this with me, so take it up with them. I am drained, fatigued of you spoiled brats arguing over what inheritance you get. I’d rather just die at that point.” He leaves the room with a slam of the door, startling the Jeon siblings, Hayoung, and yourself.

“You guys are ridiculous, you realize that, right? You didn’t earn anything and you expected father to give you anything?” Junghwan finally speaks up, infuriated. “I don’t know what you were hoping for, honestly. Just money? That’s all you’ve been getting. You complain about Jungkook spending absurd amounts of cash, yet here you are, doing nothing but the same thing you criticized him for.”

You get it. The weariness in Mr. Jeon’s orbs when he talks about his children, his five children who haven't seem to grow out of their adolescent ways, constantly contending to each other and making everything into a competition. It’s evident that Mrs. Jeon had played ‘good cop’ throughout the years because Mr. Jeon looks like he’s older than he actually is, worn out by the boys. 

Jungkook does what he’s been doing, yet another time, you observe. Regardless of the stories he shared about his own tantrums and intoxicated incidents, when he’s completely sober, he’s intact. Calm, cool, and collected, really, standing with his head bowed and hands clasped together in his front. It makes you think about whether he got in trouble often as a child, paying consequences of things that he did, or being blamed for something his own siblings had done in the past.

Maybe Jungkook wasn’t out of reach in the end.

Leaving the dining room thereafter at the start of the family war, Jungkook’s cheeks must be hurting from the amount of excitement flowing through his bloodstream. He got what he wanted in the end— money. Jungkook even found a new purpose: responsibility for his portion of the Jeon Markets & Café.

“Well, since you got what you wanted, I guess this whole dating thing is over?”

Stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his slacks, he can’t wipe that grin off his face. “Isn’t it funny? How you barely came to many family events, yet you swooned my whole family off their feet? Even taught me how to become a better person to the point my mother just gave me accountability of her portion of her company? Look at the impact you made. Of course the dating thing isn’t over, if anything, it’s real now.”

Startled, you choke on the champagne in your hand until it spills out of your nose.

Honestly, you weren't even sure what you had been thinking initially because it wasn’t set in stone if you'd ever get this far. Now Jungkook has more money than he could ever need, and it's his very own. Plus as his mother stated, it's what he earned. Although you couldn't necessarily agree, his mother did start up the company herself and not Jungkook, it was an obvious point to mention that he gained more responsibility from his parents now, meaning that he'd be leaving the grocery store.

But him actually being serious about dating is a little surprising. Sure, he's mentioned it multiple times before, but truth be told, you kind of thought he was playing a prank on you. 

Jungkook pulls a handkerchief from his chest pocket, patting your face where the champagne spills as you scrunch your nose up from the burn that it leaves behind. "So clumsy," He chuckles, gently tapping so that none of your makeup smears or transfers onto the cloth. "You make it sound like I've hidden this from you for a while, when it's all I've been talking about."

"You realize that you getting the funds back means that you're going back to the same lifestyle you had before?"

He freezes in the midst of his actions, watching the uneasiness in your expression. He hasn't thought of it in a while, not since he found how enjoyable life is without having to pay for every little bit of things. The three of you, including Hoseok, rarely ever went out unless it was for food, and that was always split three-ways. "What are you insinuating?"

You shrug. "Possibly that you're going to return to your old habits. Spend money, party... and this time, you'll have a lot on your plate, having to be trained on how to take over your mother's position. A relationship is the last thing you need to worry about, Jeon."

His forehead wrinkles in disagreement. "Why do you keep coming up with excuses?"

"Don't mix business with personal stuff, Jeon. It's what everyone says, maybe not in that exact phrasing, but it's known not to get involved with a girlfriend in that manner."

"Then don't think of it like that," He responds rapidly, in hopes that he could convince you without allowing you to give it a second thought. "I'm paying back for all the things you gave me. You helped me get a job at the market, you helped me sell the suit, you taught me how to be a better person, how to live a reasonably frugal lifestyle."

"You don't have to pay me for those things, just pay it forward."

"Pay... it forward? I don't quite understand."

"As in... do the same thing but for someone else. Reciprocate something similar but for another person." 

He doesn't get it. Mostly because he wants to do those things for you, not for somebody else. "I still want to pay you back in some way. You did more than enough for me, and plus, remember our initial agreement? You date me, and I'll pay for your bakery."

"Rephrase, invest." You correct.

"Right, invest. I'd invest in your bakery. I want to help you. The whole reason you agreed was because you want to be out of your debts, so I want to be the one to give you that benefit."

"No, I agreed because you'd be one less person off the streets with the mentality you had before. I'd work endlessly if I had to, Jeon. Don't forget that."

It feels like a push and pull. Sometimes, Jungkook thinks that you’ve finally caved into his pursuits, accepted that maybe Jungkook was right after all. But then you’re always quick on your feet to return back to your old ways, rejecting him again. He’s not ready to give up though, at least, not yet.

"Wow, look at that. Jeon Jungkook is suddenly a CEO within the past hour I've met him. Impressive, I'd say." Yeonjun has a glass of champagne in his hand, standing beside your little sister while resting against one of the high tables that's been set scattered for the guests to utilize. "New record. How's it feel, big guy?"

Jungkook has to refrain himself from rolling his eyes or else you'd probably whack him on the back of his head. "Great, really. Now I can truly help my love pay off all her student loans and start a business. If she wants anything in the world to make her happy, I will go to lengths to do it.” The way Jungkook says it is almost in a threatening way, no hint of kindness in his appearance until he looks over at your older brother. “Daehyun, have you met anyone that catches your eye?”

Daehyun laughs sheepishly and you’re close to socking him in his eye because he does not act like this at home. “Oh, no. But there’s been a lot of honeys here that are attracted to this bee.”

“Aren’t bees attracted to pollen and create honey? Not honey attracting bees because it’s an inanimate—”

“You always have to ruin things for me, don’t you—“

“No you’re just honestly stupid—“

If this is the kind of arguing that Jungkook and his siblings had, he would’ve felt his home was a place of comfort. Every disagreement that you had with your siblings never seems close to fatal; you were in the middle of an altercation with Daehyun about honeys and bees, and there wasn’t even a clear ground on when this would end but Jungkook loves how simple it was. Nothing involved money, someone’s insecurities— just pure sibling bickering.

The two of you spot Hoseok later that evening, stuffing a piece of grilled shrimp on a toothpick into his mouth, eyes widening and brightening at the sight. “Oh my god, isn’t it my favorite couple?”

“Hoseok,” Tightening his tie and smoothing out the crevasses of his shirt with your warm palms, his cheeks turn pink in ignominy for not noticing. “You clean up well. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight or I would’ve asked you to tag along with me in the morning.”

“Are you kidding? And third wheel you and Jungkook while he’s still trying to chase you? As great of a show that would’ve been, I could never. There’s only so much of a guy friend that you’re willing to see— what you’re trying to avoid is seeing him naked and seeing him at his most vulnerable state with his girlfriend.”

“You two are rather... cosy.” Jungkook interjects, arms clasped behind his back. 

“I said the same thing the night at the club. But, just as much as a misunderstanding that was, so is this.” Hoseok retaliates, hand on your waist as he guides you back to Jungkook. “Also, did you guys try the dessert bar? Everyone was freaking out about how good the cinnamon buns are—I heard that Mrs. Jeon is trying to ease the crowd from attacking her for info on who the baker is. I’d even kill to know who it is; that shit melted in my mouth.”

Jungkook glances over at you with a proud grin. “Is that so? Perhaps you know who the patissier is.” 

“Who—“ Hoseok watches Jungkook carefully before his mouth drops open when he turns to you. “—no way, you? You told me that you’re too lazy to bake for me and yet you made desserts for an entire banquet?”

“Wrong, I only made the cinnamon rolls. Mrs. Jeon’s previous patissier was able to prep the other stuff beforehand, and I just made sure it was executed. Glad it came out well.”

“Dude,” Hoseok looks breathless at the news. “I knew you just said you wanted to open a bakery, but I never thought that your potential was to this extent!” He babbles on as always, but Jungkook’s gaze never breaks from you, smitten to the point that he’s a lost cause.

By the end of the night, Jungkook already called Hyungjin and directed him to drive your siblings (including Yeonjun) home. “I got my driver to take you home since Ubers don’t really come by the area here during these hours.” Miyoung makes some side comment about how cool it is that Jungkook has his own personal chauffeur, Daehyun chats on about how he wished he ate more of the desserts. Opening the door to let them in, you tug him aside, pulling your dress up to ease the transition. “I’m going to head off with them, so...”

“So... don’t go. I have a bed here big enough for the both of us. Stay the night, will you?”

Nerve-wracking. 

Palms pressed against the silky sheets, you swore that the amount of sweat you’ve been releasing probably drenched through the material. 

Jungkook’s in the shower, after letting you go in first, and the sound of the water running is the only thing soothing your nerves because he’s done his nightly routine... least, not yet. The loose fitted shirt you borrowed from Jungkook isn’t helping with cooling your body down, if anything, you feel exposed. Which leads to another problem that adds to your anxiety.

Why did tonight feel like the night?

The squeak from when he shuts the water off nearly has you jolting out the window. He comes out soaked but your mouth is drier than the Sahara desert. With just a towel wrapped dangerously around his waist, barely hanging on, he has another in his hand to dry his hair out. 

Jesus, when did he get abs? How’d even maintain it? 

Were you... drooling now?

“Are you listening to me?” Startled, you shift back against the headboard fretfully, abashed that you’d been so distracted by his well-built body that you didn’t even heard what he said. “Uh, no. What was that?”

“Gaping at me, weren’t you?” He’s climbing onto the bed, water droplets scattered across his smooth, delicious skin, while speaking through his rosy supple lips. On instinct, you arms cover your chest.

Oh my god, how were you going to survive the night?

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen″ Tips for Writing About Synagogues / Jewish Writing Advice / Advice for Visiting Synagogues

So your story includes a Jew (or two) and you’ve a got a scene in a synagogue. Maybe there’s a bar mitzvah, maybe your gentile protagonist is visiting their partner’s synagogue. Maybe there’s a wedding or a community meeting being held there. For whatever reason, you want a scene in a shul. I’m here as your friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional to help you not sound like a gentile who thinks a synagogue is just a church with a Star of David instead of a cross. 

Quick note: The are lots of synagogues around the world, with different specific cultural, local, and denominational practices. The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. I’m also writing from the view of Before Times when gatherings and food and human contact was okay.

Bear in mind as well, in this discussion, the sliding scale of traditional observance to secular/liberal observance in modern denominations: Ultraorthodox (strict tradition), Modern Orthodox (Jewish law matters but we live in a modern world), Conservative (no relation to conservative politics, brands itself middle ground Judaism), Reconstructionist (start with Jewish law and then drop/add bits to choose your own adventure), and Reform (true build your own adventure, start at basically zero and incorporate only as you actively choose).

Synagogue = shul = temple. Mikvah (ritual bath) is its own thing and usually not attached to the shul. Jewish cemeteries are also typically nowhere near the shul, because dead bodies are considered impure.   

A Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah is the Jewish coming of age ceremony. Bar (“son”) for boys at 13+, Bat (“daughter”) at 12+, and Bnai (“children”) for multiples (i.e. twins/triplets/siblings) or non-binary kids (although the use of the phrase “Bnai Mitzvah” this way is pretty new). 12/13 is the minimum, 12-14 the norm but very Reform will sometimes allow 11 and anybody above 12/13 can have theirs. Probably a dedicated post for another time. Generally, however, the following will happen: the kid will lead some parts of services, read from and/or carry the Torah, and make a couple of speeches. 

Attire: think Sunday Best (in this case Saturday), not come as you are. Even at very liberal reconstructionist/reform synagogues you wouldn’t show up in jeans and a t-shirt or work overalls. Unless they are seriously disconnected from their culture, your Jewish character is not coming to Saturday morning services in sneakers and jeans (their gentile guest, however, might come too casual and that’d be awkward).  1a. The more traditional the denomination, the more modest the attire. Outside of orthodoxy woman may wear pants, but dresses/skirts are more common. Tights for anything above knee common for Conservative/Reform/Recon, common for even below knee for orthodox shuls. Men will typically be wearing suits or close to it, except in very Reform spaces.  1b. Really, think business casual or nice dinner is the level of dressiness here for regular services. Some minor holidays or smaller events more casual is fine. Social events and classes casual is fine too.  1c. Even in reform synagogues, modesty is a thing. Get to the knee or close to it. No shoulders (this an obsession in many Jewish religious spaces for whatever reason), midriffs, or excessive cleavage (as I imagine to be the norm in most houses of worship). 

Gendered clothing:  3a. Men and boys wear kippahs (alt kippot, yarmulkes) in synagogues, regardless of whether they’re Jewish or not out of respect to the space. Outside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew” but inside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew or a gentile dude who respects the Jewish space.”  Outside of very Reform shuls, it’s a major faux pass to be a dude not wearing one.  3b. There are little buckets of loaner kippahs if you don’t bring your own and commemorative kippahs are given away at events (bar mitzvah, weddings). Your Jewish dude character not bringing or grabbing one is basically shouting “I’m new here.”  3c. Women are permitted to wear kippahs, but the adoption of a the traditionally masculine accessory will likely be interpreted by other Jews as LGBTQ+ presentation, intense feminism, and/or intense but nontraditional devoutness. Nobody will clutch their pearls (outside of ultraorthodoxy) but your character is sending a message.  3d. Tefillin are leather boxes and wrappings with prayers inside them that some Jewish men wrap around their arms (no under bar mitzvah or gentiles). Like with the kippah, a woman doing this is sending a message of feminism and/or nontraditional religious fervor.  3e. Additionally, prayer shawls, known as tallit, are encouraged/lightly expected of Jewish males (over 13) but not as much as Kippahs are. It is more common to have a personal set of tallit than tefillin. Blue and white is traditional, but they come in all sorts of fun colors and patterns now. Mine is purple and pink. It is much more common for women to have tallit and carries much fewer implications about their relationship to Judaism than wearing a kippah does.  3f. Married woman usually cover their hair in synagogues. Orthodox women will have wigs or full hair covers, but most Jewish woman will put a token scarf or doily on their head in the synagogue that doesn’t actually cover their hair. The shul will also have a doily loaner bucket. 

Jewish services are long (like 3-4 hours on a Saturday morning), but most people don’t get there until about the 1-1.5 hour mark. Your disconnected Jewish character or their gentile partner might not know that though. 

Although an active and traditional synagogue will have brief prayers three times every day, Torah services thrice a week, holiday programming, and weekly Friday night and Saturday morning services, the latter is the thing your Jewish character is most likely attending on the reg. A typical Saturday morning service will start with Shacharit (morning prayers) at 8:30-9, your genre savvy not-rabbi not-Bnai mitzvah kid Jewish character will get there around 9:30-10:15. 10:15-10:30 is the Torah service, which is followed by additional prayers. Depending on the day of the Jewish year (holidays, first day of new month, special shabbats), they’ll be done by 12:30 or 1 p.m. Usually.  After that is the oneg, a communal meal. Onegs start with wine and challah, and commence with a full meal. No waiting 4-8 hours to have a covered-dish supper after services. The oneg, outside of very, very, very Reform spaces will be kosher meat or kosher dairy. 

To conduct certain prayers (including the mourner’s prayers and the Torah service) you need a Minyan, which at least 10 Jewish “adults” must be present, defined as post Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah. In Conservative/Reform/Recon, men and women are counted equally. In Ultraorthodox women are not counted. In Modern Orthodox it depends on the congregation, and some congregations will hold women’s-only services as well with at least ten “adult” Jewish women present.

In Conservative and Orthodox shuls, very little English is used outside of speeches and sermons. Prayers are in Hebrew, which many Jews can read the script of but not understand. Transliterations are also a thing.  In Reform synagogues, there’s heavy reliance on the lingua franca (usually English in American congregations). Reconstructionist really varies, but is generally more Hebrew-based than Reform. 

We’re a very inquisitive people. If your character is new to the synagogue, there will be lots of questions at the post-services oneg (meal, typically brunch/lunch). Are you new in town? Have you been here before? Where did you come from? Are you related to my friend from there? How was parking? Do you know my cousin? Are you single? What is your mother’s name? What do you think of the oneg - was there enough cream cheese? What summer camp did you go to? Can you read Hebrew? Have you joined?  A disconnected Jew or gentile might find it overwhelming, but many connected Jews who are used to it would be like “home sweet chaos” because it’s OUR chaos. 

In Orthodox synagogues, men and women have separate seating sections. There may be a balcony or back section, or there may be a divider known as a mechitzah in the middle. Children under 12/13 are permitted on either side, but over 12/13 folks have to stay one section or the other. Yes, this is a problem/challenge for trans and nonbinary Jews.  Mechitzahs are not a thing outside of orthodoxy. Some older Conservative synagogues will have women’s sections, but no longer expect or enforce this arrangement.   

Money. Is. Not. Handled. On. Shabbat. Or. Holidays. Especially. Not. In. The. Synagogue. Seriously, nothing says “goy writing Jews” more than a collection plate in shul. No money plate, no checks being passed around, even over calls for money (as opposed to just talking about all the great stuff they do and upcoming projects) are tacky and forbidden on Shabbat. Synagogues rely on donations and dues, and will solicit from members, but don’t outright request money on holidays and Shabbat. 

Outside of Reform and very nontraditional Conservative spaces, no instruments on Shabbat or holidays. No clapping either. Same goes for phones, cameras, and other electronics outside of microphones (which aren’t permitted in Orthodox services either).  11a. In the now-times an increasing number of shuls have set up cameras ahead of time pre-programmed to record, so they don’t have to actively “make fire” which is “work” (this is the relevant commandment/mitzvah) on Shabbat, so services can be live-streamed. 11b. After someone has completed an honor (reading from the Torah, carrying the Torah, opening the ark, etc), the appropriate response is a handshake after and the words “Yasher Koach” (again, Before-Times).

Jewish services involve a lot of movement. Get up, sit down. Look behind you, look in front of you. Twist left, twist right. A disconnected Jew or gentile visitor would be best off just trying to follow along with what an exchange student we had once termed “Jewish choreography.” Some prayers are standing prayers (if able), some are sitting prayers. It’s just how it is, although a handful of prayers have variations on who stands. 

[bartistic]

Bruce Goes To The Market!

knife tw, food cw, incredibly dumb self-indulgent concept cw, outsider (oc) pov

It is universally acknowledged that a cashier possessing free time, will be in want of an extra task to fill that free time. At least, that’s what James’ managers seemed to think. Privately, he agreed, as he found restocking the shelves to be a most agreeable pastime, one that could in fact suck up hours of his eight hour closing shift.

He was in the soda aisle, debating whether sparkling water belonged with seltzer or with the rest of the store brand items, when he noticed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses and a Gotham University sweatshirt, inspecting the selection of diet tonic water and looking utterly flummoxed. Customer in need of assistance!

“Hi, how are you doing tonight? You need help finding anything?” Mentally, James winced at the preppy-ness of his ‘customer service robot voice’ as his favorite coworker Stephie liked to call it. Luckily, he’d thrown his voice out enough screaming to Queen karaoke the night before that his voice stayed in the normal octaves rather than shooting into the stratosphere. The man straightened up and looked down towards James, who suddenly felt very short in all of his 5’9” glory. (Well, 5’8 3/4” but who’s counting.)

“Yes, actually. I’m new to the store, could you direct me to where the soap is?” Oh god. Of all the things it had to be the one item James swore was never in the same aisle twice.

“Of course!” He lied through his teeth. “Here, right this way.” Turning, he set off towards the general direction of where the soap tended to lie, with a variation of four different aisles. Luckily, the first aisle was correct, and he watched, intrigued, as the customer gave a thorough inspection to at least 14 different bars of soap. “Anything else I can help you with?” He added, as the man finally selected a bar and placed it in his basket. The man looked sheepish.

“This is actually the first time I’ve been in a grocery store. I’m not usually the one doing the shopping. My—the person I live with gave me a list, but I honestly don’t know where or even what half of these things are.” He held out a grocery list, scrawled in an elegant cursive. It was double-sided. James checked the front of the store, where the other cashier was engrossed in his phone while trying not to appear engrossed in his phone. It was an hour and a half until they closed, and he was pretty sure there was only one other customer in the store at most.

“Sure! Alright, so our first step should probably be to hit the deli, seeing as they have the longest wait times.” After walking the man through ordering Roast Beef, Prosciutto, Pastrami, Swiss, Havarti, Gouda, and Picante Provolone (what) they moved on to the canned goods. “We should probably grab a cart, I don’t think that basket’s going to be able to hold all of this.” Turning into the canned goods aisle, James sighed.

“Caution: Hazard Detected! Precaución, ¡Peligro Detectado!” The store’s resident useless robot assistant was stuck in place, screaming at a small bit of an onion peel that had fallen to the floor.

“Batsy, I swear to god.” James went over and kicked the peel under one of the shelves, pressing the button on the robot to reboot it.

“...Batsy?” The customer sounded somewhere between bemused and amused. Perhaps just ‘mused.

“Yeah, it’s our obtuse robot that only sees what’s right in front of it and makes a big fuss over literally nothing. It can’t even clean anything up, and the few moments there actually is a spill it just skids through it and makes it worse. Technically corporate calls it Patsy, short for Patrick, because we’re Patrick’s, you know? But since this is Gotham, we call it Batsy. Short for... Batrick. I’m not the one who came up with the name, that honor goes to my coworker Stephie. She’s, uh, not working tonight.” James internally began banging his head against the shelves. Why. Was. He. Like. This. “So, do you know what brand of chickpeas your... roommate wanted?”

/ / /

Finally, after another 45 minutes of shopping, they were ready to check out. James noticed the shift had changed while he was away. “Alright, so I can actually take you at this register over here, ‘cuz I’m still logged in and all.” He gulped as the customer began to load up onto the belt. This was... a lot of food. He’d scanned around a quarter when he officially ran out of room, turning to bagging instead. “Let’s get you another cart, actually, so we can load into that without squishing what you haven’t unpacked yet.” He moved to go grab one, but the customer was faster, jogging back with another cart before he could even finish bagging all the protein shakes. There were, admittedly, a lot of protein shakes.

Scanning the meat-substitutes, James scanned his own mind for an avenue of conversation. “So, you mentioned that it’s your son who’s the vegetarian. How old is he?”

“He’s 13. It’s not religious or health-wise or anything, he just really loves animals. Our house is practically a zoo on a good day, and that’s not even counting all his siblings.”

“Oh, how many kids do you have?” It had to be a fair amount for it to be ‘all’ his siblings. The customer opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again. He seemed to be thinking. Did he... not know how many kids he had??

“Legally I have... fffffour? Five? Yeah... that sounds right.” James tried to hide the bewildered expression in his own face, but he must not have been doing it well. “That makes me sound like such a bad father. No, I promise, I love them all, I just have quite a few of their friends living with us as well, and I’ve known those kids long enough to feel like they’re my kids too. Not to mention the whole difference between the ones I’ve adopted, the one who was my ward who I then retroactively adopted, the one I’m fostering, and the one who is legally an emancipated minor. And... the one who. Is no longer with us.” James blinked. That was indeed complicated.

“You must have a lot of love in your heart,” he settled on, finally.

“I just h— Oh, #%*$.” The blueberry container had burst open, all over the floor. James internally groaned.

“Oh no! Sorry about that, that’s the third one tonight. The packaging is just... not great. Do you want me to go get you another one?”

“No, I can get it. Thanks though.” The customer gingerly stepped through the minefield as James power walked to go get the clean up supplies. Six feet away, Batsy was screaming at a blueberry.

“Eat your heart out, Mister Miyagi,” he aimed a light roundhouse kick at the button to reboot the robot. Batsy got two feet before it encountered another world-ending-threat, danger level blueberry. James sighed and went to go clear that area first.

/ / /

Finally, almost everything was scanned. James was scanning the bread and rolls as the customer fit all the bags into the two carts, like an expert game of tetris. There were a few hiccups where James had had to explain that you probably shouldn’t bag Raid with milk, or that it was a good idea to double bag heavy items, or that you should wait until the end to put the eggs in (and there were a lot of eggs. Gaston-levels of eggs. Probably to be expected with that many kids in the house. Hah. eggs-pected.) But by the end they were working like a well-oiled machine. James bagged the last item, hit the button to total it, and watched as the customer realized he forgot his deli items.

“I’m just gonna— gonna run and go get those real quick. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you fill out the charity question real quick though? Th...thanks.” The customer was gone before James could question him on the fact that he’d used the custom amount option to apparently donate $1k to Gotham General’s children’s ward. It was... probably a mistake, but he’d wait around to check. He turned as he heard the beginnings of a commotion behind him, from the one other customer in the store. This guy’s whole aesthetic just screamed gross, from the white-boy dreads to the Blue Lives Matter gaiter mask. It looked as if he was having trouble at self-checkout. James was about to head over to help when his coworker passed him. He turned back to keep an eye on the clock. 10 minutes until closing. Please come back with the deli items soon. He heard an aggressive murmuring that sent chills up his spine, a distinct feeling of Not Right Bad. He turned back to where his coworker was engaged with helping the other customer. His coworker who was... very pale. Frightened. The customer whose hand glinted silver with... oh #%*$, that’s a knife. Not Good Very Bad... oh hell no, you are not hurting my coworker on my watch.

“HEY #%$&FACE, EAT BEANS!” As the aggressive customer turned to meet the container of garbanzo beans that was currently hurtling towards his face at the maximum speed a theatre-kid-who-never-did-sports could throw, the world seemed to throw down. Faintly, James could hear rational thoughts pounding at the door to his mind, begging to be let in. Thoughts like ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for attacking a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for cursing in front of a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for damaging the merchandise’ and ‘You can’t even throw a ball to save your life, there’s no way that’s going to hit him.’ Praying to Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and all other things holy, James watched as the beans sailed through the air and struck their target true— albeit a little lower than planned.”

Grossface automatically brought his hands down to protect his nethers, apparently forgetting that their was a knife in his hands. He let out a second agonized howl as he stabbed himself in the balls. Blindly, James groped around for more ammunition. Holding out a zucchini as threateningly as he could, he watched as the would-be aggressor ran out of the store as fast as he could with both hands clasping his junk. “Are you okay?” He asked his coworker, feeling his voice echo through the suddenly very-quiet-sounding store. She nodded mutely. He nodded back, then turned back to his register and oH shit there’s His Customer, holding the deli items.

“Nice shot.” Okay, this time he definitely sounded amused.

“I... am so sorry about the beans, I can get you a refund on those or I can go get you some more or—”

“No need, they definitely went to a good cause.” The customer grinned and held out the deli items. Faintly, James began to wrestle with the bag to get to the barcodes. Finally, everything was scanned, for good.

“Alright, will that be everything?” The clock read two minutes until closing.

“Yes, that should be everything. Again, thank you for all your help.” James watched as even with the membership points taken off, the total soared to over $750.

“Alright, your total is... $754.33, here’s some coupons and a survey slip. If you fill that out you get entered for a drawing to win a $500 gift card. Which... I don’t know that you’d need, but. Why not.” The customer reached into his wallet and counted out 5 $100 bills. Then he pulled out a black card. He paid off the total with the card, then handed the bills to James.

“Here you go, I wasn’t sure how much you tip cashiers.” James opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.

“People don’t normally... tip cashiers...” and especially not HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS.

“Oh. Well, you were a good cashier. You deserve it. And here—” at this he pulled a crisp business card out of his wallet. “At Wayne Enterprises we could use quick-thinkers like you.” Pulling down his sunglasses, he gave a quick wink. James waved absentmindedly as BRUCE #%*$ING WAYNE walked out of the store. He looked down at the business card. Written upon it were the words: “Call here for an interview, mention Malone and they’ll know I sent you. Best of luck with the current job— BW”

James sat down. The clock was 10 minutes past closing before he remembered to look at it. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Oh my god I joked around to a billionaire. I cursed in front of a billionaire. I chucked a can of beans into a man’s nutsack in front of a billionaire.

But oddly enough, the only question that remained at the top of his mind was this:

This is because I have black hair and blue eyes, isn’t it.

[starlightsearches]

The Supreme Leader’s Wife

18+ Only! Minors will be blocked.

Armitage Hux x Reader (she/her pronouns) x Kylo Ren

Warnings: Smut (18+ only) PIV sex, name calling (very minor), cuckoldry, brief orgasm denial, fingering, masturbation (m), choking (minor), some dom/sub elements (also minor), religious imagery (whoops), language. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Wow, okay, I don’t really know where this came from and I probably won’t write anything like it again. Very loosely inspired by this drabble that I did a few days ago. Shout out to the wonderful @thembohux for their support and encouragement. If you enjoy this, you should definitely check out their Emperess AU.

Let me know what you think! I appreciate any and all thoughts 💖

General Hux stands outside the door, hands clasped behind his back in tight fists, the fingers of one hand circling his other wrist with enough pressure to bruise. The nape of his neck itches, leftover moisture from the shower dripping down the collar of his greatcoat and wetting the back of his uniform. He had spent too long in the refresher, trying to wash the thoughts from his head, trying to decide whether or not he would even come—it had almost made him late.

He’s here, right on time, whether or not he should be. The door opens, and he steps inside the darkened room.

“Come in, General.” It’s Ren who speaks, voice low and quiet. Hux follows the sound, moving carefully in the darkness to the sitting area. Ren lounges arrogantly, sprawled on the couch like a throne, arms bare and stretched casually over the edge of the sofa, regarding Hux with the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. It puts him on edge.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Yet I’m here.” Hux looks away, hoping he appears bored as he takes in his surroundings. He'd been in the Supreme Leader's chambers before—on business—but you had never been around during those meetings. It's strange how habitual it feels to look for you when he enters the space.

“She’s still getting ready," Ren pulls the thought right from Hux's head, responding as if he had spoken aloud, "but I’m sure she’ll join us in a moment.”

“And it's— I mean, she knows that she doesn’t have to . . .” He sighs through his nose, his jaw clenched tight. Ren doesn't bother to finish his sentence this time, sinking further into his seat—enjoying the way the general fumbles.

“Fuck you?" He finally offers, running his tongue over his teeth when a blush spreads over Hux’s cheeks, "this was her idea."

Oh. The general’s knees go weak, the blood rushing from his head, his cock certainly flushed and aching. How many times had he imagined what it would be like—fooled himself into believing that it was your hands, not his own, bringing him his release? How many times had he watched you speak and thought about pulling a moan from those pretty lips?

A part of him trembles, his body on full-alert, trying to bury those thoughts where Ren could not find them—as he had done before—but he manages to brush the fear away with some effort. Ren had certainly already seen them, and, apparently, he didn't mind.

The refresher door opens and you appear at the threshold, hesitant, but when your eyes meet his, you soften. The air is charged between you, hints of your desire evident in the warmth he feels just looking at you, in the way your teeth run softly over your bottom lip.

Ren beckons you to him with an outstretched hand, and, reluctantly, you peel your eyes away from Hux, moving across the room to your husband, the fabric of your robe swishing gently against your thighs.

He doesn't usually let himself stare like this. He can resist the urge, most of the time, when you're dressed for a meeting, or a gala, but he's never seen this much of your skin before. His eyes stay glued to the hem of the robe, the sway of your hips as you make your way to your husband.

You curl into Ren’s lap, and he holds you tightly, one possessive hand splayed wide over your stomach, the other trailing to fingers up and down the inside of your thigh. He presses a kiss to the junction of your shoulder and neck, and you melt, lips parting gently when he grazes the delicate skin with his teeth.

"Sit down, general."

Desire pools in Hux’s stomach, and his palms grow moist in his gloves. He can’t help the shame that floods him, a ruddy heat that spreads through his torso all the way to the tips of his fingers and tells him to look away. His mind can not let go of the idea that this is not something meant for him to see, but he can’t deny the way his heart races when Ren’s hand trails higher, and he spies a hint of black lace at the apex of your thighs.

"I'd prefer to stand."

“Sit down or leave,” Ren’s voice is steady and hard, totally unaffected as you move against him, writhing in his lap. He slips the hand on your stomach under the fabric of your robe, parting it beneath his fingers. He kneads your breast beneath the fabric and you press up into his touch, spine arching, jaw hanging open, your head falling back against Ren’s shoulder. Hux does as he’s told, falling into the chair behind him, holding back the curses that threaten to spill out from his lips.

"If I'm going to let you do this, you have to do as I say," Ren continues, but Hux only half-hears him, infinitely more interested in the way the tendons in your neck flex as Ren slips one hand beneath the waistband of your panties, the fabric distorting with each long, slow stroke of his fingers. A low moan escapes your lips.

“Well, will you?” Ren smirks at him, pulling his hand from between your legs, taking his middle finger into his mouth, letting it linger before he pulls it out with a soft, wet pop. You whine at the lack of contact, the sound cut off by a small cry when he pinches your nipple beneath the fabric.

“Will I what?”

“Do as I say?”  

Hux’s core tightens, his jaw so stiff it’s a wonder it hasn’t snapped. He knows that Ren’s getting off on this—torturing him, making you so desperate and needy. He wants the one thing Hux swore he’d never give him.

“We’re waiting, general,” Ren strokes his hand from the hollow of your throat, between the valley of your breasts as he parts the robe down its center, exposing the barest sliver of skin before he meets the black lace again, stroking three thick fingers over your clothed cunt. Hux presses his lips together so firmly that they turn white.

Unphased by Hux’s stubborn response, Ren changes tactics. Shifting his attention to you, he grips your jaw in one massive hand and forces your eyes to meet his as he whispers, just loud enough for Hux to hear, “So wet already, little slut? Do you need the general to fuck you that desperately? Why don’t you tell him how badly you want his cock?”

“Please,” you’re grinding against nothing now that Ren has removed his hand, the word distorted by the strength of his hold on your face. A sharp pain draws Hux back from the scene before him, and he tastes blood, his teeth digging sharply into the meat of his cheek. He wonders if Ren would refuse your release if he decided to leave right now.

“Alright, fine. I’ll do whatever you want,” Hux can’t stop himself, can’t imagine going back to his quarters alone. His hands ache at the thought, unsure how many times he’d have to fuck his fist raw to stop seeing the image of you begging for him engraved on the back of his eyelids.

“Good. Why don’t you show him to the bed, love?”

Ren releases his grip on your jaw, sliding his hand out from under the robe, propelling you forward with a smack to your ass. Hux forces himself to make eye contact when you offer him your hand.

He follows you through the doors, to the bedroom, the heat of your skin sinking easily through the leather of his gloves and doing nothing to quell the sweat beading against his palms. The sight of the bed, with it's dark, silky sheets makes him light-headed. This is the place you lay every night—the place where Ren has you, the way he’s about to have you. Hux reminds himself to breathe.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hux whispers as you turn around to face him, pulling him closer with a hand at his waist. Ren hasn't entered the room yet, and although the other man assured him it was fine, he'd never forgive himself if he learned that you had been coerced.

“I’m sure,” your smile is sincere, and you’re close enough now that your bodies brush, the material of your robe slipping gently against his uniform, "I’ve always wanted this. From the moment we met," You stroke your hand up his side, fingers dancing lightly over his ribs before you take the collar of his great coat in your hands, pushing it down off his shoulders.

“You’ve always wanted . . . me?” The edge of the bed dips under his weight as you pull him into a sitting position, and he resists the urge to rub his palms over the tops of his thighs. You smile again, dropping your chin to your chest, suddenly shy.

“You didn’t know? I thought I had been too obvious.” 

Ren enters, chair in hand that he rests at the end of the bed before stretching out across it, his legs spread wide, making no effort at all to hide the considerable tent in his pants. Hux averts his eyes, more than a little flustered. He had passively assumed that Ren was well-endowed, given the man’s stature, but having his assumptions confirmed is an entirely new feeling.

Ren refuses to shy away from the attention, resting his hands behind his head, the picture of self-satisfaction. There’s a suggestive humor in his voice when he speaks.

“What are you waiting for, general? Kiss her.”

Hux collects himself, taking a moment to remember why he’s here before he does as he’s told, cupping your jaw lightly. There’s a soft sheen of moisture coating your lips, but you lick them regardless, darting your tongue over your skin as he pulls you closer. He presses his mouth to yours gently, and you sigh against his skin, sinking into him. He can feel your heartbeat in the tips of your fingers when you brush them over his cheeks.

“Like you mean it.” Ren's voice cuts in, and Hux resists the urge to roll his eyes. He is kissing you like he means it, not that Ren would understand that. He’s not about to argue that point, though. He pulls you closer instead, one hand firm at your waist, slipping his tongue into the warm center of your mouth. You taste sweeter than he had expected.

The room grows warmer, your heat sinking through his uniform, deep into his skin and he's almost able to forget Ren's presence, caught up in the infinitely more pleasurable feeling of your hands and your body on his. Your grip on his uniform is desperate, needy, but never harsh. His stomach lurches when you lay back, letting his weight rest more fully on top of you.

A thin layer of sweat glistens on your neck, and he collects it on his tongue, licking a stripe up the column of your throat, the salt of your skin mixing with the lingering flavor of the leftover perfume that still clings to you.

His fingers find the collar of your robe, pulling it down off your shoulder, lips trailing leisurely over your collar bones. He can feel, more than see, Ren’s irritation at his reluctance to speed up the process—his annoyance permeating the room—but he chooses to ignore Ren more fully. If he only had one chance to experience such long-lived fantasies, he was going to take his time. 

Your fingers card gently through his hair, stroking from the back of his neck up, pulling him closer, the wet heat of your breath soft against his ear. One of your hands finds his, letting him feel the soft lace that covers your breast under his fingers. 

He pulls away slightly, absorbed in the gentle shift in your expression when he runs the pad of his thumb softly over your pebbled nipple, relishing the quiet gasp the move elicits. 

You shrug the robe off your shoulders the rest of the way, leaning back with a coy smile, letting him admire the way the lingerie enhances your frame—the peaks and valleys of your body on display for him.

There’s no need for Ren to order him to continue—he’s back on you before the other man can express any kind of frustration, his lips on yours, clumsy and desperate and so damn eager that he surprises himself. Hux’s fingers tremble against your back as he works to undo the clasp of your bra, a shaky breath of relief leaving his lungs when it gives way without too much trouble.

You slide the garment off your shoulders, letting him look at you, your chest littered with fading bruises—Ren’s marks. The general’s mouth waters, and he leans in closer, ready to taste more of you, but he comes to a halt when you press one hand lightly to his shoulder, stopping his approach. Your tongue traces the top of your teeth before you turn to look at Ren. 

Of course. He needs permission.

Ren’s leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together, the blood gone from his fingers. Hux is surprised that he had not touched himself yet. He would not have expected Ren to have that kind of restraint.

“You can leave marks of your own, if you’d like,” he says, shifting in his seat. His thinly veiled desperation brings a smile to Hux’s face—Ren didn’t have a monopoly on being difficult.

He turns back to you for confirmation, and you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Just nothing above the collar, general,” you snake your hand over his again, pressing it into the supple flesh of your breast. 

Hux has never believed in the existence of a pleasant afterlife—especially not for someone like him—but he’s sure that if one did exist it would pale in comparison to the way you gasp when he presses a kiss to the valley of your breasts, the hummingbird beat of your heart making itself known against the tip of his nose. 

He wastes no time now, lavishing your body with the press of his lips, occasionally surprising you with a soft bite, the gentle graze of his teeth. Subtly, he lets one hand trace its own path down the curve of your waist and over the swell of your hip before nestling it gently between your thighs. 

“General,” you gasp when he slides one finger past the hem of your panties and into your waiting heat, your cunt giving a preliminary squeeze around the solitary digit. Your hips shift against his hand, body desperate for more, but he refuses to give in, pinning your hips in place with the edge of his own. Hux has always been a patient man. He wouldn’t dream of rushing this.

“So needy, Your Highness,” he whispers, ghosting the pad of his thumb gently against the stiff peak of your clit in slow, languorous circles, “Has your husband not been fucking you the way that he should?”

You moan quietly in response, the sound muffled by the fabric of his uniform as you bury your head the crook of his neck. He keeps his movements slow and methodical, curling his finger against your tender front wall on each stroke, increasing the pressure on your clit with steady precision. A lower, deeper sound joins the steady chorus of your sighs and Hux’s heavy breathing. 

He catches Ren’s eye over the expanse of dark sheets. It seems the Supreme Leader has finally given in, one hand stroking up and down his clothed length with excruciating leisure. The muscles in his jaw tighten, a testament to the restraint it must take to only offer himself this inadequate kind of relief, his dark hair plastered in slick strands against his sweat-soaked skin. There’s an animal, in his features—a carnal and base burning in his eyes that he cannot mask. 

Hux snorts. Ren had spent all this time pretending that this was a favor for the general—bargaining chip, a kind of leverage. But the veil has been lifted. Ren is enjoying himself just as much as you are.

He adds a second finger without warning, savoring the way you shake against him, how exquisite you look with your head against the mattress, eyes shut tight and jaw pressing against the boundaries of your skin in a silent scream of ecstasy.

“General, please,” you manage to whimper, the languid movement of your hips meeting him at every stroke, chasing after the peak of your pleasure. He stills his hand.

“Armitage,” he says brusquely, breathing labored, the sound blocked out by the soft cry that escapes your lungs, tears of frustration pricking the corners of your eyes, “call me Armitage if you want to cum.” 

“Do as he says,” Ren orders with no attempt to mask the tremor in his voice, stilling the pace of his hand to a stop, savoring the pain of his own stolen release. 

“Armitage,” you grip at his uniform with both hands, pulling his mouth to yours, desperation evident in your every movement, “please, gods, please—”

He lets you kiss him, focuses all the attention of his hand on your clit, the movement of his thumb against the sensitive skin quicker and harder but no less steady. 

He feels you break against him, your jaw left slack as he licks into your mouth, your thighs quivering at his sides, cunt clenching around his sopping fingers. He holds you against him until the shaking stops. 

Your kiss finds his cheek first, arms heavy and graceless as they pull him closer, your lips traveling sloppily against his skin until they meet his own. You press your mouth to his, and some part of him thinks that it feels like love. Wishes that it could be love. 

You whisper something to him, breathing too hard for the words to come out clearly, your hand teasing him through the fabric of his trousers. His cock jumps, unfamiliar with this kind of attention; it’s not love, but maybe it’s enough.

Your fingers make quick work of the fastenings on his uniform, pushing it from his shoulders, your hands trailing down his arms, the cold air collecting against his skin for only a moment before you sweep it away with your searing touch. You lift your hips into his, slipping your underwear off with both hands, totally bare for him.

“Enjoying yourself?” You’re not talking to him, Hux knows—his enjoyment is more than obvious as he licks and sucks over the soft flesh of your chest, your voice catching when he takes your nipple into his mouth with a soft bite. You’ve turned your attention to Ren, now, and Hux pauses his ministrations, passively curious. He watches as you pass the sweat and slick-soaked lace in your hand to your husband, who balls them into his tight fist, working the fabric leisurely over the head of his now-uncovered dick.

“I think you’re being spoiled, love” he says, leaning closer, on his knees at the side of the bed. He strokes his thumb across your cheek, sparing a short glance for Hux, “you’ve been letting the general do all the work. Why don’t you show him how good you can be? How good you always are for me?”

Hux’s breath hitches. He likes the sound of that. 

You smile wide at the thought, pressing a soft kiss to Ren’s unsuspecting lips. He stands quickly, turning back the way he came, but not before Hux catches the softest hint of a blush spreading across his temple.

You press against Hux’s torso, guiding him into a sitting position. He rests at the edge of the bed, chest thrumming as you straddle him, your thighs caging his hips against the mattress and your hands on his shoulders. Your fingers slip down his spine until you reach the hem of his undershirt. He stops you from untucking it with a hand on your wrist.

“I’d like to keep it on,” he knows you can feel the trepidation in his shaking hands; he sees the questions in your eyes, and for a moment he’s afraid, wondering if you also have your husband’s talent for picking thoughts from his mind—if you somehow know the way his stomach sinks at the thought of being totally uncovered. 

“Alright,” you say, brushing past the pause, leaning closer to caress the ruddy skin of his chest with your lips, the glide of your tongue over his neck pulling any and every insecurity from his head. When you drag your hips over his, your bare cunt sliding deliciously over his dick, he forgets everything but his own name.

He’s not sure how it happens, whether it’s your hands or his own that finally pull his cock into the open air—he’s gone lightheaded, arms shaking as he grips the sheets in white-knuckled fists, focusing all the energy he can summon on keeping upright.

The head of his cock stutters against your entrance, the slick on your skin coating his own as you shift your hips back and forth with just enough pressure to keep him hard, letting out a delighted gasp when he twitches, the tip of him bumping up against your swollen clit.

“That’s enough teasing.” Ren stands behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the muscles in his other arm flexing as he pumps his cock in his hand more vigorously. You roll your eyes, turning to press a soft kiss to Ren’s chest before seating yourself fully on the general’s stiff cock.

The air punches from Hux’s lungs, his brow furrowed, breathing hard as he adjusts to the feeling. 

Hux had spent plenty of time jealous of Ren, a kind of awed hatred that his greatest rival had so much of what Hux desperately wanted for himself. Power, glory, accolade. It's all dust compared to the way you envelop him on that first and divine thrust.

“Does he feel good, love?” Ren asks, peppering the skin of your shoulders with a few soft kisses before he tucks one finger under his chin, admiration in his eyes as he takes in your pleasure-soaked expression. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Hmm,” you hum contentedly, circling your hips steadily, getting a feel for his length and size, squeezing him just right, “perfect.” 

You speed up slightly, lengthening your strokes, pulling away from him until only the head remains inside before seating yourself down once again, trembling with each sublime impact, your thighs shaking with each movement. 

“Just— Just like that,” Hux stutters, head lolling back, letting himself enjoy this. He likes it more than he thought he ever would—allowing someone else this kind of control, letting you set the pace. He wants you to feel good. He wants you to use him.

Ren looms over both of you, his chest flush with your back, the pressure from his body only heightening the gratification Hux feels.

You whine, pressing the general into the mattress, laying him flat on his back with your hands on your shoulders before you sit up, the deeper angle pulling cries from your lips like never before.

“Please, my love,” you press one hand back against Ren’s chest, fingers too limp to reach for him, but he already knows what you want. Hux watches as one of Ren’s giant hands encircles your neck, and he kisses you deeply, the tears that coat your cheeks glistening in the low light. It’s a mess of a kiss, all teeth and tongue, Ren so eager to please and you so desperate for pleasure.

“Gods— f-fuck,” Hux reaches his precipice sooner than he might have hoped, the sight of you so thoroughly fucked and writhing against Ren bringing him to a high he had not previously thought possible. You recognize his need, snapping your hips faster.

Ren removes his hand from your neck and slides it down over the damp skin of your stomach, pushing one thick finger to the space where your body meets Hux’s, sliding it between your folds.

“Cum for me,” he commands, working quick hard circles over your clit, “both of you. Cum for me now.”

You let go with one shattered breath, riding him through your release, fracturing over him with a scream. It’s celestial, this divine indulgence. There is no god in this universe but you and your magnificent cunt.

Hux abandons himself, spilling deep within you with a groan, every muscle in his body aching as his own climax finds him and his vision goes white. His heart leaves his chest, no other reason to beat now that he’s had this.

You fall into him, stroking one hand absentmindedly over his hair, your shaking bodies unable to do anything but breathe together. The slap of skin and soft grunts fills the room as Ren chases his own release, breath stuttering in his chest when he finds it, ropes of his thick, white cum painting down your spine and then he collapses, too.

Ren lands in a messy heap, half on top of you and half on the bed, smearing his own spend over his skin. Without warning, Hux finds Ren’s mouth against his own in a fierce, urgent kiss. 

Hux waits for some kind of repulsion to overcome him, waits for the return of the burning hatred that normally occupies his chest whenever Ren is present, but it never comes, a different kind of burning taking his place. More than anything, he’s annoyed. Annoyed how good Ren’s mouth feels against his own. Annoyed that he wouldn’t mind if it happened again.

“There,” Ren says, rolling back on the mattress, relieving you of the weight of his body, “now both of you are mine.”

Hux scoffs, offended at the implication, but he can tell you notice the way his cock twitches inside of you at the thought. You smile knowingly, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as you roll off of him on the other side, the three of you lying together in the rosy-colored afterglow.

Minutes pass, or hours, Hux is unsure how many when he finally decides to move, his muscles stiff and aching.

“I should return to my quarters,” he says, lifting himself to his feet and reassembling the pieces of his uniform. You move to sit up, but Ren holds you in place with a gentle hand.

“Rest, love,” he says quietly, “I’ll show him to the door.”

Hux leaves you with one final kiss, one of longing, and hope and gratitude. Your fingers brush against his just before he leaves.

There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two men as they move through the abandoned living area.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Ren says as Hux stops just before the threshold, turning to look at him. 

“I didn’t expect that it would,” he replies. Both men know that they’re lying to each other. And maybe, at this moment, while their skin is still warm from a shared love and the scent of your perfume lingers on both of their clothes, it’s a form of kindness to keep believing that this wouldn’t change their world. For now, this is enough.

Hux returns to his quarters, alone but not lonely. For the first time he can remember since he boarded the Supremacy, he sleeps through the night. 

[13uswntimagines]

Chanukah party (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

This isn’t a request but @literaryhedgehog​ and I thought it would be fun. The basic premise is that reader is at camp during Chanukah, and the team feels bad (especially Lindsey) so they throw her a party. (thank you @notmia101​ for betaing this for us). 

You smiled at Alyssa as she described her winter plans after training camp. How she was going to visit her sister and her family for Christmas. How they were hoping for snow and how they were going to kill an innocent tree and desecrate its body with lights for their amusement. Her words, not yours. It was a game she and the other girls played every year, trying to make their Christmas plans sound as horror-movie-ish as possible. It was a way of trying to make fun of themselves so you could share the amusement and join in laughing at them. 

But despite their efforts, a little piece of you always felt left out because you couldn’t (wouldn’t?) participate. See, you were one of the few who didn’t celebrate Christmas. You were proud of your Jewish heritage, even if your family wasn’t the most ~religious~. But you were proud of the culture you had been raised in. You held its traditions very near to your heart and weren’t AT ALL bitter that the rest of the team had time designated to visit their family during their winter holidays while you still had training camp through the third week of December.  

You were kinda zoning out because you could only take so much of their cookie baking, their stalkerish man that watched kids while they slept, and their hiding of a stupid stuffed toy you were sure would give you nightmares (who the fuck thought having an ‘elf’ stalk your family all month was cute?!?!? Capitalism was a weird man). (Though you may or may not have paid attention to Lindsey’s plan to dress Ferguson like a little elf…) 

“What about you kid?” Tobin asked, nudging you out of your daydream. 

“What?” You shook your head, making everyone around you laugh. 

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” Lindsey repeated, her smile showing off her dimples. 

“Oh, um. Chanukah started a few days ago. It’s cool, they have an app with a menorah and everything. My family has been face timing me most days, but it will be over before training ends.” You shrugged, hoping they couldn’t see how much being away from your family during this time of year sucked (though you were glad to be included on the camp roster). 

Most of the veteran's jaws dropped, how had they not known that you were missing something so important to you? How had US Soccer overlooked a holiday (and inadvertently given you an ultimatum- celebrate or make the national team). 

“Then why did they schedule training camp this week?” Tobin mumbled. Again you shrugged. 

“There’s 23 of you and only one of me… it’s really not that big of a deal,” you smiled briefly and gave the same speech you had given since middle school, “It’s not like the ‘Jewish Christmas’ even though it happens around the same time some years, my family doesn’t even exchange presents, so I’m really just missing the party they’re throwing on the 18th.” 

“That still isn’t fair though. I mean, we get Christmas off automatically, even if we don’t celebrate it!” Christen huffed, throwing her hands up. 

“I mean, this isn’t like a new thing. We’re always at camp during this time. And next year the holiday starts in November, so it’s not something that can consistently be scheduled around. I guess it’s just a sacrifice I have to make to be the best right?” You said earnestly, shaking your head. You knew all of the arguments, you had heard them for all of your life. 

“But-“ Emily started to protest, but before she could get the words out you cut her off. “Don’t make a big deal guys, it’s fine. Really,” 

The team stared at you for a few seconds, several women opening and closing their mouths several times. You shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, breathing a sigh of relief when your phone rang, glad to have an excuse to get out of this situation. 

“Ok so we’re totally going to make a big deal out of this,” Lindsey said turning back around to face the team the second you were out the door. 

“I’m guessing you have a plan to woo your girl?” Emily smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not to. No. We are doing this as a team to be supportive of our teammate who is part of a traditionally marginalized culture that we need to be more supportive of,” Lindsey grumbled sternly, smiling when Christen nodded in return. “I’m googling “Chanukah for Dummies” right now. 

They were going to make this camp different from the others (and if she got to impress you that was just a bonus). 

…..

“Umm, why does it smell like something is burning?” Becky asked, walking through the hotel corridor towards the dining room. 

“Because Latkes are apparently more difficult to make than I expected,” Kelley said, tossing what looked like a stack of burned hockey pucks into the trash. “I didn’t realize the whole room was going to smell like fried food- do you think they’re going to fine me when we check out?”

“If they fine you, they better fine Em too. The stench from such a little jar is kind of amazing,” Lindsey huffed. 

“What did she do, get her sardines or something?” Becky asked, shaking her head, remembering the smell that she couldn’t quite place. 

“No. Something called ‘Gefilte fish’”. 

“But isn’t that usually for Passover?” Kelley asked, looking up from where she was trying to scrape burned potatoes off her pan.

“They said it was traditional, isn’t that what we’re going for?” Emily huffed, pouting. Lindsey rolled her eyes at her best friend. 

“I’ve got music!” Chrystal called, walking through the door in a star-patterned sweater. “It turns out there are not a whole lot of Chanukah songs. There’s a Spotify playlist that’s only 3 hours long, or so, so I supplemented it with a lot of Leonard Cohen and Paul Simon.”

“And I brought the sour cream and applesauce as requested!” Sam called, walking in after her, “also some apple juice and honey bourbon. I know apples and honey are a thing for Rosh Hashana, so I thought maybe we could make some cocktails?”

“I won’t tell coach if you don’t,” Kelley said taking the bottle and pouring herself a shot. “Someone else needs to take over the latke making. My attempts have all either looked like lefse, hashbrowns or just burned.”

“Lefse?”

“I had an ex-girlfriend from Minnesota. It was a potato tortilla thing her family sent her at thanksgiving. The point here is that someone else needs to cook or we are just going to be eating sour cream and applesauce on their own.”

“We could make french fries?” Rose suggested tentatively. 

“With bacon and cheese! Those are the best,” Emily exclaimed, only to have Lindsey (gently) slap the back of her head. 

“No, Sonnett. She can’t have bacon and I don’t think she’s allowed to have cheese and meat on the same plate…” 

“I think if we just batter potato pieces in egg and flour and fry them it would taste nice with the apple sauce and sour cream. And we’ve made french fries before so it won’t be so much of a… learning curve. Though you did a great try, Kelley!” Rose said, patting Kelley’s arm.

“You guys are useless. Did you even look at a recipe?” Megan shook her head. 

“If you think it’s so easy you try it.” Kelley scoffed. Megan raised her eyebrow at the woman, stealing the spatula from the defender's hand. 

“Tasty made here we come,” 

*****

“Happy Chanukah!” came from all around as you walked in. Lindsey was very proud. Not only had she gotten the team on track and ensured that they had all of the stuff google said would make the perfect Chanukah celebration; she had also kept you off their trail until this moment. The shock on your face made all the work on their day off entirely worth it. 

The room was decorated in tinsel with a shiny plastic menorah in the center of the table. Several people were wearing ugly sweaters with different “decorations” taped on. A sign on the back wall said “We survived, let’s eat!” Lindsey had decided against hanging up the posters Rose and Mal made saying “Stick it to the (ro)Man!” and “MaccaBEe mine.” The first one because she wasn’t sure it was appropriate, the second one because she knew it wasn’t.

“Ooo who brought the hotdog of the sea?” You asked, biting your lip to suppress a giggle as you walked over to the table to see the food on display. 

“What?” Lindsey’s eyes tried to follow yours, utterly confused. They didn’t get hotdogs. They most certainly weren’t on the list that Chanukah for dummies had given her. 

You smiled softly and shook your head, pointing to the tan balls that Emily had provided. 

“That’s what my siblings and I call it during Passover. Gefilte fish is kinda a love it or hate it thing…” you trailed off, scrunching your nose just slightly. 

“And you’re not a fan?” Lindsey smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“Umm, I plead the fifth,” You mumbled, shaking your head slightly. It wasn’t your favorite item in the world. 

“That was all Emily,” Kelley snorted, clapping you on the back, and you grinned devilishly back at her. 

“Well, it was very nice of her to be so thoughtful. She can try a piece with me,” 

Emily cringed at the idea, but nodded nonetheless. It was your party and if eating the smelly thing out of a jar made you happy, then that’s exactly what she would do. (She also stealthily shot Lindsey the middle finger while you were surveying the rest of the items on the tables). 

“Honestly the sufganiyot is my favorite,” you said, taking a step towards the platter, your lips ticking up at Lindsey’s adorable confused face. “sorry, the donuts,” you clarified, picking up one of the many powdered sugar-covered donuts in the stack, inspecting it to see what kind it was. The Jelly ones were particularly important for the celebration. 

Lindsey blushed a little. “We didn’t know if you wanted jelly or custard,” She said hesitantly, watching as your eyes got impossibly brighter. 

“Both are amazing, thank you,” You smiled softly at the midfielder, brushing a stay bit of powdered sugar off her pink cheeks. You held her gaze for a moment before seeming realizing you had an audience, and turning towards the rest of the team. “thank all of you,” 

It wasn’t the traditional Chanukah you usually shared with your family, but the friends who had become your family made it special nonetheless.