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jangofctts · 4 years

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Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”

You smile. “Lovely.”

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.

-=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement.

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes.

Fuck yeah.

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.

Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

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

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”

There we go.

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Kutte the Cake

A/N: Here’s a short and sweet fluffy smutty little fic about you and Jax tying the knot 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨This is set in the KutteVerse AU but can also be read as a one shot! This fic also fills the below request that I got (like ages ago, but better late than never you know? 🙃)

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex Request: anon request for slutty wedding sex

Word Count: ~1.9k

“I do.”

Other words have been said on this day—just a few—but they all fade away. Hearts swept up in the vows that you’d made years ago and have finally chosen to say, though for over a decade they’ve always been true.

I do. Nods and smiles at you. God, his eyes are so blue. All the heavens above, ain’t got shit on the skies in his eyes as they shine full of heaven-sent love. Love that may well be hell-bent on ruining you. But now that the dream is at last brought to life... two of you man and wife... you’ll just ride out the tide, of your time by his side, for as long as it’s meant to continue.

You’ll always remember, when you first considered yourself Mrs. Teller. Just a month after you and Jax first got together—fresh out of high school, so giddy in love like a couple of fools, making trouble all summer and breaking a million rules—he had popped the question with a ring pop he bought from a candy dispenser. All the stars had told him that your love was forever; he was just the messenger.

The crown prince of Charming had made love to you on that hot summer night rough and fast, slow and tender. A love made to last, past the cut of the reaper patched onto his leather. Wrapped you up in nothing but his kutte. Sealed your fate as his slut. As his princess, forever, with stars in the heavens to witness, as he made a promise to spend every day of his life loving you more and better.

Eleven years later—through all of the tears you’ve both wept, even through all the years spent apart since you left... still that promise has always been kept.

You’ve been swept off your feet by Jax Teller in every damn way that a girl can be swept.

As he finally slides the bright wedding ring onto your finger, those blue eyes search yours for a moment and linger, piercing to a whole other core of your soul that had never existed until he first charted that depth. He’s the reason for your every breath. He’s the reason you live and you’ll love him to death.

No one till Jax had ever been so deep inside. No one else ever will. Any love that cuts so deep is destined to kill. Cuts your heart and your soul—not to mention your holes—open wide. All the pieces of Jax fucking swallow you whole; from the moment you met him you’d already died.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Yeah, damn right.

Here at the altar Jax’s smile makes it clear that he has no patience to wait, to consummate this marriage that’s eleven years too late. Kiss makes it crystal clear he’s gonna fuck you long before the wedding night.

***************

Once the ceremony is finished, your man’s alpha male urges ignite even stronger than they’ve ever been and it’s clear he means serious business.

If he had it his way one kiss at the altar would quickly have turned to a million kisses. He’d suck out your soul till the guests got the hint that they all were dismissed. Or if they never did, then he’d say fuck that shit, and just fuck your brains out here and now with the whole room to witness.

Luckily Jax has just enough class to hold back. Fights the urge to give your newlywed ass a sharp little smack. But his sex drive is strong, and his self-restraint won’t last for long, and this newlywed kiss really shouldn’t have so much damn tongue... if he doesn’t stop soon all of your self-restraint will no doubt go off track. Wouldn’t be the first time that the power of Jax made your brain cut to black.

The way he clasps your face and sweeps his thumb across your cheek... making you weak... stirring the fire of desire deep inside you till it hits a whole new peak...

Thank fuck you’ve given your I do because by now you’re quickly losing the ability to speak.

The long look that you share when Jax finally pulls back from the kiss, as his beautiful face beams at you now you’re finally his missus... screams right after this, promise I’m gonna throw your ass down in the first fucking bathroom we find, and blow your fucking mind, and show you the true meaning of sweet matrimonial bliss.

You don’t doubt it, for one fucking minute. Jax Teller just made it official that your heart is his, and although your cunt already is... he won’t feel official about it, till he shoves his newlywed dick in it.

***************

There’s a bathroom close by. But it’s occupied.

God, why... Your pussy is painfully soaked at the thought of your husband’s cock slamming inside.

The reception starts soon and to miss it would be an unspeakable crime, even for such an outlaw as Jax. You two don’t have much time. Surely all of the guests would suspect that he carried you off to have passionate sex, but you want to show up before they start to ask.

His blue gaze sparkles as he notices a random set of double doors behind you. Wastes no time bursting right through.

Pushes you past the doors, with savage force. Lips locked on yours. His kisses blind you, to whatever is around you. As they always do. Heat of his love unwinds you, renders you oblivious to all the pots and pans and piles of pantry items that surround you.

It wouldn’t be the first time Jax has fucked you in a kitchen. There is no surface on earth where he can’t pound his little slut into submission.

Thankfully there’s no one else around, as he presses you up against the cold hard countertop and swiftly pins you down. The doors swing shut behind him as he smiles down at you spread out in such perfect position.

With a rough sweep of his forearm shoves aside a stack of plates and rack of knives. Fine china shatters, metal clatters, to the floor, as he makes more room on this surface for his pretty little whore. You’ve never felt so damn alive.

“My fucking wife,” he growls the word, and it’s the hottest goddamn thing you’ve ever heard. So hot it hurts. Heart beats for him until it bursts. “Can’t wait to love you and fuck you all day and night for my whole fucking life.”

You are officially the luckiest damn girl in the entire fucking world.

Jax smirks in that devilish way that never fails to make your toes curl. Lip curls up into a snarl. Knows he has to make this quick, as much as you’d both like to stay in here for hours with him feasting on your sweet pussy then feeding you his mouthwatering dick. Making you moan and beg and plead, desperate for what you fucking need, as he stirs up your aching heat and gets your cunt all wet and slick...

That’s what the wedding night is for. That’s what the rest of all your lives will have in store. This here and now is where Jax pounds you in the kitchen like a piece of meat because there’s nothing both of you want more.

And now that you’re Mrs. Teller, you’re already so much wetter than you’ve ever been before. No greater pleasure, than for this god of a man to fuck you for the first time ever, as his lawfully wedded whore.

He drives his massive length balls deep between your thighs, as you kiss long and hard and deep and breathe each other’s heated sighs. It makes no sense the way that every single time you’re still surprised, at his enormous fucking size. Shocked, at the downright godlike glory of his cock. Of all the wives on earth you’ve really won the biggest and most gorgeous fucking prize.

Barely a minute has gone by, before it feels as if you are about to literally die. Stars in the sky could never hope to fly so high.

Sex just hits different now you’re finally his bride. As if the promise of forever opened up a new dimension of pure pleasure where he makes his home inside.

He floods your hole and fills your soul, splitting you open wide, in ways that make you whole. Like he was put on earth to love you and to fill no other role. Your love is honestly the only road he ever needs to ride.

It’s only after you’ve both come down from the afterglow that you finally realize where you are now and can’t help but softly laugh. Not even caring that the laughter hurts when his thick shaft just shattered you in half. Pain is a small price for the greatest fuck and greatest love that anyone could have.

A set of knives and heap of dishes weren’t the only things that tumbled to the floor, while Jax was furiously fucking up his whore.

Turns out your wedding cake had also been upon this countertop and sadly met the same disastrous fate.

Well, that’s just fucking great. Worth it as hell, but still just great.

“Don’t worry, bitch,” Jax reads your mind as he pulls out of your wrecked pussy with a pleasured groan that makes your inner slut tremble and twitch. “We’ve got a back-up in the fridge.”

“You serious?” you ask him as he showers you with kisses, all across your breathless face.

“Yeah, I asked them to bake another just in case.”

You didn’t even know that Jax had been in contact with the caterers but he’s constantly surprising you in all the most amazing ways. “In case of what? You ravaging me like a slut?” you tease him as you come down from the post-sex daze.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he laughs and takes a playful punch, your fist landing soft on the leather of his kutte. “It’s gonna be a constant hazard now we’re married, darlin’. Gonna fuck you up so hard it’s scary. Till the sky starts falling.”

“Well Prince Fucking Charming, that sounds pretty fucking promising...” you purr up at him like a cat in heat, as he helps you back to your feet. “Just hope the sad fate of our cake doesn’t bring us bad luck or something...”

“Babe, our luck is ours to make.” He cradles your face and the blue of his gaze is too much to fucking take. Still every time the blue is so stunning it’s shocking. “And it’s tradition for the bride and groom to cut the cake. We just cut ours by fucking.”

“God, you’re so bad...” you groan although you can’t argue with that. Best fuck you ever had. As long as the back-up cake still has a signature ring pop, a symbol of your past love perched proud and tacky on top, hell you’re not even mad. But you go on grumbling, because it’s fun to tease your king. “You’re lucky you’re so goodlooking...”

“I’m lucky for a lot of things.”

He says it basking in the warm glow of your loving. Just the one thing that means everything. Every moment he spends loving you is infinite—every minute—every second lasts forever and transcends the fate you’re tempting, tragic end toward which your star-crossed love is heading.

And that was the story of how you and Jax cut the cake at your wedding.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Note

Myth, I’m sorry if you answered this before, but can you make a ranking of your favorite monsters? 👀

Some monster boyfriend thirst got mixed in with a couple of these, I can only aplogise.

Werewolf - 8/10. A classic but not perfect because the formula can get a tad repetitive and modern interpretations have kind of robbed them of a bunch of mystique, but when its there, they're great. Van Helsing's design for them is the best interpretation, no I will not accept criticism.

Naga - 10/10 - a more recent love of mine. I'm sorry but you can get very creative with a person who is 30% human shaped and 70% tail.

Alien - 5/10 - I'm not into sci-fi stuff, so unless the alien be looking like Lotor, who is a 10/10 I'm likely not into that. BUT I can appreciate 'the Predator's design' and a couple of others.

Vampire - 11/10 - yeah I never grew outta my vampire phase. I don't care if it's basic bitch taste. There's a reason this monster icon has endured. But again I prefer ye olde interpretations of vampires rather than modern ones, unless they manage to capture the style and sophistication of melting candles, sweeping gowns, unrepentant attitudes and such. That said, Lost Boys slaps.

Dragon - 10/10 - They're awesome, hello? It's a mother trucking Dragon!

Goblin - 1/10 - no thank you

Angel - 9/10 - eldritch monster angel is superior to 'a dude with a halo and wings' gimmie cursed text speech and weird designs plz.

Hellhound/Gytrash/Church Grim - 10/10 bc they're good bois.

Gargoyle - 8/10 - Great monster but if we're talking 'monster boyfriend' they lose points due to turning to stone during the daylight hours.

Zombie - 2/10 - Warm Bodies is one of my favourite guilty pleasure films but they're honestly pretty boring and a tired concept.

Demon - 10/10 - classic. Encompasses a lot of different takes on the interpretation. The trope of summoning a demon in exchange for something will always be top notch. Good for horror or hotness depending on the story.

Centaur - 4/10 - top half hawt and I can appreciate an archer, but if we're talking monster s/o territory - unlike the Naga thing where you can separate them from being snakes because they just feel like a different species...centaurs just be straight-up horses down there.

Siren - 8/10 - sinks ships and drowns sailors using their melodic voices? Dats pretty cool bruh.

Ghost - 7/10 - angst/yearning potential and sure body possession can be fun, but ultimately it remains a sad s/o to have if you're a human

Orcs - 5/10- I'm not hugely into the big beefy type, so that's a pass for me, but I respect those who stan these guys.

Selkie - 7/10 - seals are cute and the concept that comes with it is a classic folktale but your bae will always belong more to 'the ocean' than to you.

Kelpie - 8/10 - I know I just gave Centaurs shit but Kelpies can shapeshift into humans sooo I know which one is better for an s/o.

Kitsune - 9/10 - spicy tricksters? With that aesthetic? Hell yee

Incubus/Succubus - 10/10 - self-explanatory. Like...c'mon.

Mermaid - 10/10 - classic.

Shark merfolk - 11/10 - good shit, yes. Give me the sharp teeth and danger vibes at the beach.

Tengu - 7/10 - Cool wings. Dunno about that mask though.

Nokken - 7/10 - I can vibe with a guy who plays the violin but the drowning women part is a little offputting. Also he always seems to be depicted in lakes or swamps, not particularly sexy water to hang around, unlike at the beach with merfolk.

Death/Grim reaper - 9/10 - hey the grim reaper has a lot of great depictions in media. Also sometimes death just needs a wife and it's always a great story of longing and pining.

Fae King - 11/10- Will let you disappear into the woods, never to be seen again. If you just give me your name, I can hook you up with one~

#monster boyfriend #monsters #monster lover

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 years

Text

Wings [Pt.4]

Daryl Dixon x reader [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

You rode all the way to the medical facility and took a small break to discuss your plan before going into the building. Making sure it was all secure before starting to collect everything and formulate an escape plan was the first thing you did as you got inside. Sweeping floor after floor you only ran into a handful of walkers that the two of you could easily deal with, but it took way longer than you had hoped to since a lot of the stairs had been barricaded by previous groups of survivors that had used the building for shelter. After making sure everything was secure you started to look for all the items you needed. You found the medicine storage but it was mostly raided already so you could only take what was left to take. You agreed to start at the top floor and go room by room and dig through everything to see what was left to find. "Daryl, can you help me get this cabinet moved? It's too heavy." You whined after trying to drag the heavy thing aside but it just wouldn't budge. With Daryl's help you were able to move it enough for you to squeeze yourself between the cabinets and dig through their contents. The large drawers that were blocked by the fallen cabinet still held quite some medicine on your list so you filled your bag with as much as you could take and then moved on to the cabinet. This one used to hold a lot of glass bottles that were broken when it fell and all the other contents were now ruined because of the leaked fluids and nothing could be salvaged anymore. You didn't feel too bad since you already got so much more than you would have guessed from the drawers so you left everything as is and moved to the next room over where Daryl was sorting through a box of gauzes, checking if any of them could be saved.

“Hey you. How’s it going over here? Got my first bag filled almost all the way.” You rambled as you made your way over to him, draping yourself over his shoulder comfortably, knowing there weren’t any walkers nearby. “S’fine. Got everything here.” He got up, dislodging you from his arm and grabbing his stuff. “Let’s go downstairs.” And so you did. The two of you moved down the cleared stairs and carefully progressed from room to room, sadly not finding anything useful on this floor and moved down to the next one where you found some medical suture and needles still sealed far away in a box. You put it in your bag and let out a loud yawn. You didn’t even realize you were getting that tired and looked outside only to see you had been going almost all day and it was getting dark outside already.

“Hey, Dee?” You called out to the next room. Daryl quickly peeked his head through the door opening and scanned the room for any danger you might have missed before. When he couldn’t find any he looked at you. “Why’d ya call me? Hurt yerself?” He looked you over once but couldn’t see anything that would have hurt you. You shook your head. “No, just starting to get tired. It’s also getting too dark to find stuff soon.” He agreed with you, it would be useless to look for stuff in the dark. It’d be impossible to see what was still usable and what wasn’t.

“One floor up had a room with beds, wanna see if they’re good?” He teased, quickly jumping away to dodge a wad of gauze that came flying towards his head at that remark that you may or may not have read wrong. Making your way back upstairs the two of you happily teased each other. “We’re jus’ sleepin’, Green. Don’t be gettin’ all nasty in tha’ head o’yers,” You turned around at the top of the stairs, hands on your hips. “Shouldn’t have made that bed comment, then. Also,” You turned back around as he got closer and walked over to the room with the beds to set down your bags. “I’m sweaty as hell and covered in walker leftovers since we got here so I’m physically unable to not be nasty.” Daryl laughed at that and had to admit defeat in this case. “Come on, let’t get this room secure.” You said, pushing two beds against each other towards the wall while Daryl started on moving the heavier cabinets in front of the door. Since you were on a higher floor and were only staying for one night there was no need to secure the windows. Once you were settled you both took something to eat and laid down together to rest up.

Rest came to you pretty quickly, but for Daryl it just wouldn't show. He'd been laying awake, very aware of your arm on his chest and your leg lazily thrown over his. It was only when you turned around and had your back towards him that he finally fell asleep. You woke up as soon as the sun came out, as usual and tried not to wake Daryl when you crawled out of the bed. The difficult part was carefully stepping over him since you slept on the wall side. You tried to evenly divide your weight as evenly as possible and slowly move over him but as you felt something at your side you shrieked and were suddenly pulled down by two arms around your waist. "G'mornin' to you too." Daryl lazily hummed in your ear. "Good morning, can you please let me go now?" You whines and tried to wiggle out of his grasp which ended in you only getting yourself more tangled and stuck instead of getting free so you could get dressed and grab some water. You kept struggling and squealed as his hands reached a ticklish spot on your side when you rolled over, causing you to jerk your knee right into his side. He groaned and let go of you and had you roll right off the bed and land with a thud. "Okay, truce. Truce!" You spoke from down on the floor. Daryl peeked his head next to the bed to check on you, but you were back on your feet quickly and getting properly dressed.

"sorry for throwin' ya off." He apologised as he got out of bed himself and accepted the water bottle that you offered him., taking a quick drink and putting it away again. "We good to go?" You were asked when everything was packed again. "Yeah, let's get that last floor done and go home." You sighed, really not in the mood to deal with anything at all.

Daryl had already started to clear the doorway again and before you got a chance to help he had it cleared just enough for the two of you to slip through and move on. With your bag heavy on your shoulders you moved down to the first floor, finishing the last room. You found nothing there and quickly left the room again to move back to the small walked barricade you put up on the stairs towards toe ground floor. It was only a small barricade that would hold off any small amount of walkers that could have made it into the building and upon opening the door towards the stairs it all proved to be worth it. You could hear the growls coming from down the stairs. You and Daryl made a quick plan of attack and went for it, taking out the small group of walkers pretty quick. The fact that they were stuck behind a barrier of trash helped a lot as well. Daryl could take out the ones in the back with his crossbow and you could stab the ones within reach with your knives. After all the walkers you could reach were gone you started taking away the barrier bit by bit. You took away a piece of wood near the bottom and turned to hand it to Daryl when something grabbed your leg and you slipped. "Shit!" You tried to reach for your knife but you couldn't and kicked at the hand that was holding you down. The concrete steps were digging into your side and thigh and no matter how you turned you were in pain. It didn't last long thanks to Daryl stabbing the walker as soon as he had the large piece of wood disposed of. He had no way of just dropping it somewhere without it coming back down the stairs and most likely hit you. "Ya alright? Did it get ya? Can ya move?" You had never seen Daryl so worried except that one time Judith ran into a walker when she went out to the woods with you two. "I'm good, Daryl. Just didn't see that one." He helped you back up and checked you for any injuries. When it was clear you were unharmed you continued on taking down the barrier, this time checking each piece before taking it off and setting it aside. When you had an opening big enough for you and your bags to fit through you went down the last bit of stairs and went back to scavenging for useful items. This floor had a small amount of walkers again that were easily taken care of and the rooms had barely anything left so before you knew it you were back outside and on your way back to Daryl's bike. Finding it where you stashed it, you puzzled how to get all the bags on it and carry the both of you as well. It took a while but you eventually had everyone and everything settled and went back home.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd imagine #sometimes i write

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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so ironwood was confirmed to be dead by Miles in a $42 cameo session, where the person who bought it had asked for "comforting words to soothe our anguished souls" bc she was an ironwood fan and wanted a pick-me-up after that devastating finale. miles' response was to essentially mock his fans (it really sounded like that, especially since he ended with "thank you jimmy, may you rest in pieces, crushed beneath the weight of the kingdom you tried so hard to hold up above your head."

apparently the VA, jason rose, confirmed it in DMs w the same fan who sent in the cameo ask. so like, quite apart from how rude and disrespectful it was of miles to make a mockery of james in a cameo where he'd been specifically asked for comforting words regarding the character, ngl but i think that if you have to confirm a MAJOR CHARACTER is dead outside of canon bc you failed to actually show it on screen.....you've failed as a writer. and also that kind of thing shouldn't be confirmed in an expensive and exclusive interview lmao like how hard would it have been to just talk about good aspects to james' character instead of calling him a dickbag and saying 'don't do a genocide, guys!!'

it reeks of unprofessionalism and also it just makes everything surrounding ironwood's character arc even worse since apparently 'his fate was sealed' from the moment he was introduced to the show.

Me, who received the first Moderna shot yesterday (🎉 🎉 🎉 ): Ugh I feel too crappy to answer asks today

Me, upon hearing this news: You know, I have suddenly found an untapped source of energy

Okay, all joking aside, I watched the vid and it’s definitely a lot. I don’t have any information about the request itself except for what Miles mentions in the recording, so I can’t speak to what the fan may have been looking for outside of that, but some highlights include:

“This is for the filth in my degenerate discord server” - Yeah, that’s how a lot of us (fans) talk about ourselves. It sounds like someone who really enjoys Ironwood and makes joking, self-deprecating comments about their love of a character. That’s familiar to me and speaks to the expectation that they hoped for something other than what they got. At least, if I’d sent in a request like that I wouldn’t be happy with the vid, but that’s obviously my own perspective and not this fan’s. I’d be very curious to know their own thoughts though...

“Sometimes a character we like doesn’t make it, does something we don’t agree with... or both!” - That is indeed how characters work! The real question is whether their death/actions make sense within the story, which is not addressed here. Many fans who enjoyed Ironwood don’t have a problem with him dying or turning into a villain — I’ve been honest about my acceptance of either/both, regardless of personal preference, provided it was written well — and that was always the issue. Not what happened to Ironwood, but how it happened.

“James Ironwood’s fate was sealed the moment his character was conceived many years ago.” - Personally, I don’t believe this. RT makes a lot of grand, sweeping statements about what’s been planned “for years” or “since the beginning” and too often we’re faced with writing that directly contradicts that. Though it’s unlikely we’ll ever know the truth, neither option paints the writing team in a good light. Either they’re straight up lying about what’s been planned (or twisting tossed out possibilities into assurances after the fact. For example, someone once suggested Ironwood might become a villain somehow at some point and now that’s presented as, ‘We’ve deliberately been working towards this specific ending for years’), or they’re being truthful and just... can’t write what they want to write. It doesn’t sound good when a writer says, ‘I’ve planned this the whole time’ and a good chunk of the fandom responds, ‘Then why couldn’t we see that planning this whole time?’

“When James was introduced we intentionally made him look like kind of a big dickbag, but then we realized that dickbag had a heart and was also half metal, and that was pretty cool!” - I don’t even know what to make of this. I’ve deconstructed his introduction before, but to summarize here, he’s presented as no more of a “dickbag” than Ozpin who may not be doing enough to protect the people, Winter who allowed herself to get taunted into a fight on campus, or Qrow who deliberately started that fight while drunk. Glynda is the only one who is arguably innocent here. The implication seems to be that obviously Ironwood became a villain because “we intentionally made him look like kind of a big dickbag” but then... does that mean Qrow will become a villain too someday??

The comments about them realizing he had a heart and was half metal just speak to that lack of planning. No, you obviously didn’t plan this downfall from the start if you “realized” something as basic as him caring for others partway through writing him and then allowed that care to drive his character for so long that the decent into villainy read as OOC, rather than inevitable. You obviously weren’t writing him with a backstory that influenced his character — of which his semblance is a major part — if you “realized” he was half-metal... whenever that happened. The fact that we never saw that backstory, or the semblance on screen, or returned to his half-metal nature outside of a ‘That’s coding for evilness’ theme again speaks to the fact that either a) none of this was actually planned or b) the execution is seriously lacking here.

“Let us all take a moment to thank General James Ironwood for his service to the Kingdom of Atlas, but... at the end of the day, don’t do a genocide [laughs]” - I’m having trouble articulating why I dislike this. I’m really too tired to be unpacking this right now (lol), but it has something to do with — as you say, anon — that mocking tone. Something else to do with the surge of purity culture in recent years. The tone feels like it’s tied up in an unsaid, ‘You like the character who tried to commit genocide?’ accusation when, you know, he’s a fictional character. People can like characters who do bad things. More significantly, he’s a fictional character Miles wrote. There’s something particularly distasteful about writers who feel like they’re laughing at fans for liking something when they created the thing with the intent that we would like it. And many did. So they gave attention, time, money, passion, etc. to the work and then when that part of the work finished, the creator appears to make light of that investment? Idk, I’m speaking about more than just this one line — the tone of the vid as a whole, really — but it feels much less like “You enjoy Ironwood! 😄” and more “You enjoy Ironwood... 😬” Like yeah, fans enjoyed the character that you wanted them to enjoy who you wrote to have a heart and then suddenly commit genocide instead. There’s definitely nothing complicated in all that.

“Thank you, Jimmy. May you rest in pieces crushed beneath the weight of the kingdom you tried so hard to hold above your head. Amen.” - All of the above x2 with the added issue that this was never shown on screen. Miles presents Ironwood’s arc like this seven year long plan when in fact they couldn’t even manage the basic move of telling the audience what happened to the character in his final hour. The fact that a fan had to pay to find out whether Ironwood is dead is not a gold star for the writing.

Every time the RWBY crew speaks about the story in supplementary material the canon itself gets worse. Hyping Clover/Qrow on social media pushes the canon closer to queerbaiting. We’re way closer to that with them hyping Blake/Yang. Long ago comments about Ozpin’s cane suddenly make Volume 8 a retcon. A Q&A about Ironwood’s semblance makes his arc a thousand times more confusing about how we’re supposed to read his character — to name just a few. Now this. When a friend first told me this info had dropped I thought, “Thank god. He’s not coming back then. I don’t want them writing Ironwood’s character anymore,” but really... can we believe anything the crew says? “Crushed beneath the weight of his kingdom” doesn’t mean Ironwood won’t show up in Volume 9 if it’s a spirit world type adventure. It doesn’t mean he won’t show up three years from now with even more metal in his body and a, “We said he was crushed, not that he was dead ;)” explanation. Hell, it doesn’t even mean he won’t show up with no explanation at all because, as established, what’s said in supplementary works and what happens on screen are two entirely separate things. Iffy as the vid may come across to those who did like Ironwood, I was initially happy that it at least gave us some closure... but now I’m not even sure about that.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Anonymous

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days. I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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elementary, my dear weasley // fred weasley

Summary: Fred receives an anonymous love letter so he enlists his best friend to help him figure it out

Request: Could you write some fluffy Fred W x Reader? The reader gives Fred an anonymous love letter but since they’re friends, he asks her to help him figure out who it is? You can go anywhere from there! Thank you x

A/N: this is such a super cute prompt so I really hope I can do it justice

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none actually, I think

As Fred walked towards you with a very serious look on his face, you regretted every decision you’d ever made, simultaneously. Why did you tell your mum that your cat had broken the vase? Why did you snog that boy in first year? Why did you dye Ron’s hair pink and let the twins take the fall? Why did you start your last Charms essay the day it was due? Why did you write Fred that stupid letter? Your mind was in overdrive trying to devise a getaway plan, if you avoided Fred now then he’d definitely come and find you at some point but then, at least you could be more emotionally prepared for rejection. How had he even found out it was you? You’d gone to extreme lengths to throw him off the scent.

In your panic, you’d forgotten to actually try to execute any form of escape plan and so there you sat, a sitting duck, with Fred Weasley charging towards you. You winced as he slammed the familiar paper down in front of you, familiar handwritten peeking out from between his spread fingers. You looked up from his hand to his face very, very reluctantly. And for some reason, he was smiling.

“You will never guess what I’ve just found.”

You frowned, watching him with a fairly healthy level of confusion as he dragged a chair to sit at your table. He ignored the annoyed looks from the Gryffindors at the table he’d stolen from and sat down, pushing your letter towards you.

“Read that.”

Your frown deepened as you slowly pulled the letter toward you. What sort of mind game was he playing?

Your heart beat loudly in your ears with every word you read: from the ‘Dear Fred,’ to the ‘With love.’, you’d reread and checked the letter more times then you could count and you could practically recite it by heart at this point. When you left it for him, it had been a good idea, now it just filled you with regret and a horrible sick feeling in your stomach. You raised your head to look at him and hummed, carefully watching his reaction.

“Hmmm?” he asked incredulously, snatching the letter back and staring at it. “I know it’s not surprising because I mean, come on, but surely someone confessing their love to me via the timeless art of letter-writing deserves more than a ‘hmmm’, don’t you think?”

You stared at him for a moment. All the while, he just looked at you expectantly. And then it clicked; Fred had no idea you sent that letter. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to figure out how you would behave in this situation – if it was someone else that’d been hopelessly in love with Fred.

“Let me read it again.” You insisted, pulling it from his hands. You didn’t read it; you just stared down at parchment, trying to figure out what you were going to do about it. He didn’t know it was you; that was perfectly clear. It would be fine. He never needed to know it was you, not really.

“Who do you think wrote it?”

Happy that you were finally asking the right questions, Fred smiled and rested his elbows on the table.

“That’s what I need your help to find out.”

“You want to find out who sent it?” you asked loudly. Perhaps a little too loudly, you discovered; a couple of people in the common room looked up at you.

“Do I-“ Fred shook his head. “Blimey, Y/N, what has got into you today? Of course, I want to find out who sent it.”

“Why?”

Fred could not fathom your behaviour right now – his fish impression proved that. Once he’d stopped opening and closing his mouth, he placed a hand on the paper, pointing at it with his finger.

“Whoever wrote this says that I am the sunshine of their world, Y/N.” he shot you a deadpan look. “The sunshine of their world.”

You made a face, your composure slipping, a horrible cringing sensation coming over you. “And?”

“And…” he stressed, rolling his eyes. “I want to find out who thinks so highly of yours truly.”

“To do what?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N, what’s with all the questions?” Fred huffed, making a face. “I just want to figure out who sent it – I have to talk to them.”

You wanted to know what he meant by that but you couldn’t afford to keep asking questions without raising some sort of suspicion.

“So how are you going to figure out who?”

“Well,” he said, frowning. “That’s why I’m here. George took a look and said that if anyone could help me, it was you. So, dear, dear Y/N, any ideas?”

You paused for a moment, confused. Why would George think you knew who wrote it? Sure, you knew a fair few people but you were hardly Sherlock sodding Holmes. It was probably a coincidence, you thought. Though, the strange nervous feeling in your stomach lingered.

“Well,” you leant your chin on your elbow. “Tell me how you found it.”

The smile that lit up his face at the promise of your help was almost enough to quash your guilt at the fact that this definitely, probably, certainly qualified as lying to him.

You barely listened as he talked you through his morning routine. He’d woken up, late as usual, and thrown on his robes because he thought it was Monday – it was not. When he was rifling through them to find some Helium Toffees that he swore – though you were thoroughly unconvinced - he didn’t plan to use on you, he found a folded-up section of parchment. And, the first thing he did was smell it.

“You what?” you asked, definitely now listening. “What did you do that for?”

“To see where it came from.” He replied as if it were obvious.

You frowned at him, lost for words. Not only had you not disguised any sort of smell when you’d written it, you were also kind of worried about Fred’s mental state that that was his first thought.

“So, what did it smell like then?”

“Nothing, really.”

You stared at him for a moment. You were exasperated, for sure, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach flopped, replacing it with fondness.

“Well given that very promising lead didn’t pan out-“

“Oi!” Fred poked you in this side, earning a hideously loud spout of laughter from you. You grumbled as he smiled proudly.

“What’s next?”

“Well,” he began, leaning forward as if revealing the biggest conspiracy to sweep the wizarding world since, well, Harry Potter. “I figure whoever it is has to be close to me, right? To get it in my robes and all.”

You tried to fault his logic, but you’d forgotten, with how horrible of a student he could be, that Fred was actually a genius when he wanted to be. You just nodded.

“I don’t know where to go from there though: I don’t recognise the handwriting; I don’t know when they put it in there; I can’t write one back-“

“You’d write back?” You tried to hide how breathless the thought made you.

“It’s like you know nothing about letter-writing etiquette.”

If only he knew.

Forgetting that you were trying not to be helpful, lest he discovered that you were his secret admirer, you were accidentally helpful.

“Didn’t you go through your pockets before you changed last night to find that chocolate frog Ron stole?”

“So, Ron stole that frog.” he turned to you, smirking. You remembered in that second that you’d promised Ron that you’d keep that information to yourself.

“What? Who told you that?”

He narrowed his eyes as you painted the most innocent expression you could on your face.

“But yeah, you’re right. So what?”

“So what?” This boy. “So, they must’ve put it in your robes after that.”

His face lit up.

“Okay so, who did you see after that?”

Finding his concentrated frown much cuter than you should’ve, you were almost disappointed when he started talking.

“George, Ron, You-“ you were both sad and happy that he didn’t pause. “Hermione?”

You shook your head, making a face. He nodded in agreement.

“Harry, Lee, Angelina. Do you think it was Angelina?”

You stomach sank at his excitement. “Could be.”

He smiled, leaning back on his chair, pleased with himself.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

He seemed surprised at your question as if he’d forgotten what the point of your detective work was.

“It’s still lunchtime, right?”

You looked at the clock on the wall. “Just about.”

“Come on then, my little detective.”

As you followed him to the Great Hall, you tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at the nickname.

When you reached the Hall, Angelina was sat down, surrounded by her friends. George was also there, probably late from his detention with Snape.

“Alright, George?” Fred said, nudging his shoulder against his brother’s. George looked at you, and then at Fred. Something was strange about his stare.

“Why do you look so happy?” George asked, crossing his arms.

“Y/N and I have cracked the case!”

“Oh, really?” When George looked at you almost pointedly, a lump formed in your throat. He knew.

“And I’m going to go seal the deal – wish me luck, Georgie.”

As Fred walked rather confidently over to Angelina, you and George stood shoulder to shoulder. In silence. It was eating you alive. Your mind swam with things to say: explanations, excuses, ways to make a clean exit.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” He said, his tone light and a smile on his lips as he watched his brother strike up a conversation. Out of all the things he could’ve said, you hadn’t expected that. You looked up at him and he nodded over to Angelina’s confused face. “Letting him trot over there thinking Angelina wrote that letter? Very wicked.”

You paused before deciding you had nothing left to lose.

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him?”

“Yes.” George said as if it was obvious – his expression a carbon copy of Fred’s.

“He would hate me, George.”

He laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You wondered what about your misfortune he found so funny. “My sweet, sweet Y/N,” you both watched as Angelina’s friends burst into laughter. You felt even more guilty at Fred’s discouraged expression. “Fred could never hate you.”

As Fred returned to you, tail between his legs and ego wounded slightly, he didn’t even notice George’s arm around you. He just frowned, nodding.

“At least that narrows down our suspect pool.” Then he turned to George. “Up for helping us figure out the mystery?”

George let go of your shoulder, making apologetic gestures as he backed away.

“Sorry mate, still got detention.”

Fred made a face before turning to you. George winked as he left the Hall in the opposite direction of the dungeon.

“So, who’s left?”

You were worried about how short the list of possible authors was getting and George’s words were echoing in your head.

“Fred,” you started, tilting your head to the side. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” he asked, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Well, I-“

You cursed yourself.

“So, I-“

“What I’m trying to say is that I…”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Basically this is really hard to say and I really don’t know what to do if you hate-”

“You wrote the letter?”

Your head shot up to see Fred, smirking with an eyebrow raised.

“I can’t believe you’d send me off to go ask Angelina whether she wrote it. Blimey, love, you’re more ruthless than I thought; should be a bloody Slytherin. It’s a good job I figured it out before I plundered over there like a right git.”

You blinked. What was happening? Why was Fred smiling? How did he know?

“You knew all along?”

He just smiled.

“Why- Why did-“ you stopped, mouth open. “Why did you make me help you?”

“Bit of fun,” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “Wanted you to tell me.”

You placed your hand to your forehead, groaning. You must look like a right idiot.

“How did you know?”

“Smelt like you, didn’t it.”

You frowned, moving your head.

“You pay attention to what I smell like?”

“I pay attention to everything about you.”

He placed his hands on your hips. You were sure you’d short-circuited.

“The way you smell… the face you make when you lie… how suspicious you look when you’re messing with my robes.”

It was impossible, you thought, to be more embarrassed than you were in that exact moment.

“You saw me put it in there.”

“I saw you put it in there.” He said, pulling you into him. “Was quite pleased when I read it, actually, I’ve fancied you for years.”

“You’re lying.”

You placed your hands very tentatively on his chest, his soft jumper underneath your palms.

“There’s only one liar here.”

You made a face. He looked over your head, pursing his lips before looking down again.

“The sunshine of your world, ay?”

“Shut up.” You groaned, cringing again. He laughed, his whole body shaking. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” he moved his hand to the small of your back. “I was hoping it meant I could kiss you.”

You nodded, again at a loss for words.

“That alright with you?”

You just nodded.

#writing #imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter

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thebluestbluewords · 3 years

Text

Something New (~1700 words, Mal/Ben, shameless fluff content because I don’t care what Disney says, I’m writing a better wedding for these kids)

✨

“Hey, Mal.” Ben says. “Look at me for a sec?”

Mal turns. There’s a faint breeze blowing through the pines, and the air moving over the water of the enchanted lake smells fresh and sweet, despite the late-summer heat that’s making Mal’s hair fall limp and sweaty against the back of her neck. “Yeah?”

Ben’s smiling at her, that sweet one that makes his cheek dimple and his eyes go all bright and happy. He’d been sitting on one of the rocks by the lake, but slides off so that he’s kneeling instead, still staring up at Mal with that sweet look on his face. “Will you marry me?”

What.

“I--” Mal stutters. “Yes?”

“Really?”

Mal’s heart is pounding like she’s running from a dragon. From Mother. No need to sugar coat it when there’s nobody but herself to hear. “I think so,” she tries again, breath stuttering. “I mean, yes. I do want to marry you.”

Oh, gods above. Mal does want to marry him, and it’s terrifying. She’s never wanted to marry anyone before, and she’s thinking about it too much now, and oh, Evie is going to absolutely flip when she hears this. “What the fuck.” Mal says. As Ben scoops up her hand and kisses it. There’s no new ring in his hand, but he kisses the seal, the one that Mal’s been wearing since that first day where she choose this new life, when she chose to be good.

“I love you,” Ben says. “And I want to marry you.”

“And I love you.” Mal says back, automatically. “Why do I feel like I’m being completely blindsided by this?”

Ben shrugs. He’s still down on his knees, and the sunlight filtering through the trees is turning his hair all golden. He’s so earnest about these things. Mal loves him, whatever the hell that means.

“I couldn’t tell you that,” Ben says, leaning into Mal’s leg a little bit. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle, you know. The whole, like, cute place out here, making time to actually get a proper date instead of just crashing after class, and I did literally ask you how you felt about marriage the other week.”

“I thought it was a hypothetical.” Mal says, almost automatically. “I thought you were asking for, like, some kind of vague time in the future, not now.”

“Do you want me to take it back?” Ben asks, looking a bit taken-aback himself. “I can ask you later, or never, if that’s what you want.”

“No!” Mal exclaims, and makes a grabby motion at her fiance, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Ben’s got a very kissable sort of face, so it only makes sense for Mal to kiss him a little bit.

“Okay.” Ben says, but it comes out sort of like ‘Ookey’ because of the way Mal is sort of holding on to his face. “Not taking it back then.”

“I think I’m gonna need a hot second to process this.” Mal says, once she’s pulled back from kissing the daylights out of her prince, what the fuck. “Are we like-- what does this even mean?”

Ben buries his grin in Mal’s cheek, as is right. “Well, when two people love each other very much--”

“Shut up! Are we like, is this it?” Mal asks, tipping over into something a little bit hysterical. “Do you have some kind of royal bling hidden somewhere you’ve been waiting to pass on until now?”

Ben kisses her again, just a little bit. “Well, I do sort of have to do this publicly at some point,” he says, voice low like he’s at least sorry about it. “It’s a whole tradition, and my parents will get really mad if I don’t, and you know the whole deal. I was going to give you the ring then.”

“I want fair warning before you make me have emotions in public,” Mal says, quick as anything. She’s crying a little bit, oh gods. “And the council will get mad, you mean. Your parents accept me for who I am now.”

Ben kisses the tears that are sliding down Mal’s cheek. “Yeah. My parents want me to be happy, and you make me really happy, so. The council was still hoping that I’d get married to one of the Auradon Prep princesses, but well, you saw how well that was working out.”

Mal snorts through her tears. “You like a bit of rough, huh princling?”

“I like you.” Ben says, oh-so-earnestly. Oh, she’s going to cry again. Ben must notice the way that Mal’s face is going warm and blotchy pink with the emotion, because he pulls back sort of abruptly to put his hands on her shoulders instead, moving his thumbs gently along the tense muscles there. “Is that too much? I shouldn’t say I like you?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Mal stutters. She feels sort of sick, but in a good way. A stomach-flipping, butterflies way. “I feel sort of like I’m going to-- I think I’m having an emotion?”

“Does it hurt?” Ben asks, grinning.

Mal smacks him gently with the palm of her hand, and leaves it there, cupping his sweet face. “Yeah! It does. What’re you gonna do now, huh? You’re making fun of me, and I’m hurt. You can’t say something like that to your girlfriend. That’s not Auradon-approved.”

Ben’s grin only gets wider. “Ah, but I’m not saying it to my girlfriend!” he says, approaching unbearable levels of disgusting joy. “You said yes! You’re my fiancee now.”

Mal has to laugh, and even if it comes out a little hysterical sounding it’s better than nothing. “Evie says it doesn’t count until there’s a ring on it, and I don’t see any ring yet, princeling. Gotta get me that bling and then you can be mean to me all you want.”

“I do have a ring, you know,” Ben says, leaning into Mal’s touch. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see it yet.”

Mal’s not sure what exactly to do with that one. Sure, she’s got some different traditions around relationships, but it’s hard to miss any wedding traditions from back home when none of the villains she knew even got married unless it was to publicly announce an alliance, and even then those marriages were usually short lived and an excuse for a night of indecency and public innuendo. Nobody but sidekicks got married for love on the isle, and while gangs might have exchanged some sort of trinket to make sure they were marked as running together, the bracelets and tattoos didn’t have the same sort of sentimental value as proper wedding jewelry.

Unless.

“Oh. Until you do it publicly?” Mal realizes. She’s been the one to put more emphasis on doing things the ‘right’ way, and even after some of the revelations that came with her somewhat public meltdown last year, she’s still got some hangups about doing things the way that Auradon society would have them done. Evie would have some psychoanalysis about it , that’s for sure.

Whatever. It’s fun to figure out how to blend in to proper high Auradon society, especially now that she knows there’s no pressure from Ben to do so. As long as she’s not actively insulting people or trying to stir up too much trouble, he doesn’t care what kind of lowkey, simmering dissent she’s stirring up against his father. It’s like blending in anywhere else, really. All it takes is a little practice and some bending of the rules, and now that she’s got a good enough handle on what boundaries can be pushed, it’s almost like a game and not like a terrifying unknowable pit of anxiety that’s consuming her bones from the inside out.

Yeah.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees. “I thought you’d want to have something left of the surprise for when I do it publicly, but you can look at it once we get back if you don’t wanna wait.”

“Yeah? Is it in the back of your sock drawer too?” Mal asks, teasing now that she’s got her mind under her again.

Ben goes a bit pink about the cheeks. “Maybe,” he says. “So what? It’s not like anybody’s looking there.”

“Knowing you, you’re keeping some kind of historical relic in the back of your drawers, huh?” Mal asks, sweeping her fingers through her fiance’s hair. Fiance. It’s not sort of a nice sound to it, actually.

“No.” Ben says, immediately. “It’s not a relic. Not for you, Mal Bertha, first of her name, first of the VKs to come over to Auradon. You deserve something that’s all your own.”

“I’m not--” Mal starts.

Ben cuts her off. “You are. You’re the first Mal, and that’s what matters. Your mom might not have given you a full name, but you made one for yourself. That’s what we’re about, aren’t we? We’re the ones in charge of our own destinies, not some stuffy adults who are still living in the past.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you crying?” Ben asks, because he’s awful sometimes and wants Mal to talk about her emotions.

Ugh. Dragons don’t cry. “Not yet, asshole.” Mal gets out, around the weird feeling in her throat, and okay, yeah, the tears that are threatening to slip out.

“Do you want me to stop being nice to you? I can smack you if that would help.” Ben offers unhelpfully, still grinning a little bit. What a dork.

Mal lets out a choked sort of laugh, and leans back to offer her cheek, tears and sweat and all. “Yeah, actually. Just gimme a good whack, okay? I’m sure that’ll go over great with the others.”

“We can say you drove into a branch.” Ben says, and presses a kiss to her cheek instead.

“Oh geez, don’t even remind me,” Mal says, wincing a bit at the memory. She’s still getting the hang of the whole moped thing, and narrow forrest trails don’t make for the easiest learning experience. “I think I still have pine needles in my teeth.”

Ben kisses her again. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Mal reminds him.

“I’m not!” Ben says gleefully, and hugs Mal so hard she can feel her ribs protest a little bit. “I’m going to marry you.”

“Dork.” Mal says, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah.” Ben agrees, and pulls on the sweaty end of her ponytail in something like retaliation.

“You wanted to make this official, beastie boy?” Mal says, teasing but also so deadly serious that she can feel her heartbeat all the way in her fingertips.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes. “Yes, Mal.”

“What’s more official than a little true love’s kiss, huh?” Mal breathes, and kisses him.

#my fic #descendants fanfiction #descendants fandom #mal bertha #ben florian #descendants #technically yes this is wedding content but it’s not following the Disney content that they tried to give me #I want…….not that #I want love and emotional maturity and communication #so I’m writing it myself damnit #Bal

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overdramatic-queer-antagonist · 3 years

Text

Mick Mercury's Failed Attempt At Espionage

Summary: Mick Mercury was easily the most incompetent person Peter had ever met, and it infuriated him how long it took for them to be introduced. Notes: There is a severe lack of Mick Mercury in Season 3, and that will not stand, so I put him in.

Read it on Ao3

Fic:

"JJ! Hey! JJ! Hello? Can you hear me?"

Peter would not have made any connection to the aforementioned 'JJ,' and Juno Steel had he not been glowering at the petulant ex-detective when the unfamiliar man called out and seen how Juno had tensed at the voice.

The large man made a noise of annoyance, and oh God, he's walking towards Juno. Peter wasn't worried for the lady, he was wholly aware Juno knew how to handle himself, but Peter had yet to foresee an outcome of this conversation that didn't blow their cover.

"Juno Steel!" the man yelled as Juno continued to ignore him.

It was, unfortunately, very clear who he was addressing, and the woman Juno had been flirting with gave him a confused look. Peter would be lying if that didn't please him ever so slightly, but, as always, he filed that feeling away for later and went to save Juno's ass.

"Dear," Peter called out, attempting to get into the act of a doting husband, which had recently become much more difficult for him. Juno glanced at him appreciatively and went to stand at his side, where Peter promptly put an arm around his waist.

“You gave me a bit of a scare Mercury,” Juno said, looking at Peter for confirmation he wasn’t being dumb. Peter nodded ever so slightly as permission to continue. “Haven’t heard my maiden name in a while, no one’s called me that- well- since the wedding!” Juno forced a laugh that sounded more nervous than casual, but the woman he was talking with looked like she understood which- okay. That bothered Peter because that meant she was okay with flirting with a married man, but whatever, filed away.

“Wedding?” Mercury yelled. “JJ, You never told me anything about any wedding.”

“Listen, Mick, I know you're upset, but can we talk in private,” Juno’s eyes flickered to the woman he’d been speaking with, and Mick- Mick Mercury. What a fucking name- nodded. Juno led Mercury to a private corner of the ballroom, and Peter followed automatically. Mick gave Juno a look, but Juno returned it with one of his own, and Mick dropped whatever he was thinking. Peter couldn’t decide if it was frustrating or charming that they could hold a conversation without speaking. He settled on frustrating, simply because they were clearly close, and Juno had never thought to mention him. Granted, Peter wasn’t sure why that frustrated him, but it did. Another thing to file away.

The exact second they’d arrived at their designated corner, Mick spun on his feet. “Okay, what the hell, J? I always thought when you got married I’d at least get invited! I mean, obviously, I thought Benten or- hell, even Sasha would be man/maid of honor, but I thought I’d get an invite!” Juno tensed at the mention of Benzaiten, and Peter subconsciously put a hand on his lower back. Juno tensed more at this, but after a moment, relaxed. Mick continued on, oblivious. “And come on Juno, how long have you ever known this guy? We saw each other recently, and you didn’t even think to mention him?! I mean, I know we’ve grown apart since I almost got you killed by a serial killer lady, but come on, man!”

Juno gave Mick an incredulous look. “Okay, first of all, last time we saw each other, a robot made you try to kill me, not exactly the best time to bring it up. Second-”

“Second…” Peter interrupted before he, himself knew what he was doing. “We’ve known each other for three years. And my apologies for the lack of notice, Mick. See, I lead a very dangerous life, and my lady and I thought it safer to keep knowledge of my existence away from anyone who wasn’t trained in combat. And also Rita, but mainly because she tapped Juno’s comms and listened in on a very…”

“Oh my god!”

“Sorry, dear. I forgot how easily flustered you are.”

Mick gave Peter an appraising look for a second before deciding the answer was good enough for him and moving on. “So if you live such a dangerous life,” he lowered his voice to a -frankly terrible- whisper, “Then what are you doing here?”

Peter lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I really shouldn’t tell you this but, we’re on a secret mission. ‘Above Dark Matters’ secret. How about you?” This was a ridiculous cover, but he’d gotten away with stranger, besides, he was a little distracted by the woman Juno had been speaking to, looking their way, hungrily, no doubt at his companion. Peter’s grip around Juno tightened, and, to his surprise, Juno leaned into it.

“Really? Above Dark Matters? Juno, that’s great! Wow, Sasha must’ve flipped when you told her!”

“I didn’t Mercury, that’s what secret means. And I didn’t tell her about the mister either, and if you do, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good. Hey, my husband asked a good question, why are you here?”

“I thought it might be good to get off of Mars after the whole Newtown debacle, so I got a job at a catering company, and then I got fired for eating all of the cupcakes, so I decided to join the party, and they haven’t noticed yet.”

Juno snickered. "Glad to see you're back to normal."

"Yeah, me too. Being responsible was exhausting, even with the good habits some of it brought. Anyways, I'll get back to the party, let you two plan out your secret mission," Mick finished that statement walking backward and, when it was finished, promptly ran into a plant.

"What was that about?" Juno asked. "I mean, I get that you had to lie to him, but why... That?"

"Why did you leave me in that hotel room?" Peter asked. He'd meant it as a joke, at Juno's expense, of course, but it came off a bit more genuine than he would have liked.

Juno flinched, and for a moment, all Peter wanted to do was sweep him up in a hug, apologize for bringing it up and move on, but Peter was allowed to be angry. After what felt like an eternity but was probably 5 seconds tops, Juno spoke, "We need to talk about that eventually. You know. If we're gonna be working together."

"And we will, Dear Detective, but not right now. I believe the bidding is starting soon."

---

The bidding did not go as planned. While Peter would like to claim it was entirely the fault of his accomplice, he would be dishonest if he did so, and Peter Nureyev lied to many people, but not himself. Mostly.

Their new plan was as followed, Juno would continue to distract Ms. Zolotovna -the woman, who'd been eyeing him all night- and Peter would swipe it while nobody- not even the cameras- was looking. The first flaw of this plan came from one Mick Mercury, who was really starting to piss Peter off.

Mick had cornered him while he was making his rounds to destroy all the cameras.

"Hey! Uh... I never got your name, but Juno's husband!"

Peter turned around a little more aggressively than he meant to. "Yes?" He asked, already on his last nerve.

"I- uhh... listen, bud, this conversation is gonna be real awkward if you don't give me something to call you."

Peter quickly scanned his brain for a moniker he'd used with Juno, one that the lady may have mentioned to Mick in passing but not have gone into too much detail. There was only one with the chance of fitting the bill. "Rex. My name is Rex."

Mick's eyes lit up with recognition, and Peter immediately regretted his decision to use a name that had been plastered all over Hyperion to a native of the area. But there didn't seem to be any panic in Mick's eyes. Just... worry.

"Listen," Mick said, more serious than he had been all night. "I don't wanna give you some shovel talk. I'm sure you already got that from Rita." Peter had, which was strange considering Juno swore up and down that he never mentioned their past relationship. "But I just want you to know that, when all that went down, and you left, you really broke his heart. So just- be careful this time, okay? You and I both know he's more delicate than he lets on, and I can tell from the way you look at him that you love him, so just don't mess it up. Please?"

There was a definite moment where Peter stopped breathing until he remembered Juno and he were posing as newlyweds. He then forced his well-practiced laugh and asked, "Am I that obvious?"

"Yeah, like the way you were glaring at Ms. Zolotovna? You looked like you wanted to kill her! Oh! But you don't have to worry about that. Juno looked like he was just as close to killing her as you were, and I don't think he's ever cheated in his life. Well, there was that one time, in second grade when he-"

Mercury went on rambling for a while. He and Rita would get along swimmingly. Not that Peter was paying attention. No, he was far too busy staring into space. Apparently, Mick thought he was jealous of Ms. Zolotovna. Which, of course, couldn't be farther from the truth. He'd just been bothered that Juno would allow himself to become so distracted, that was all... Mostly.

Looking at him with Zolotovna felt wrong. Of course, it felt wrong, Peter tried to convince himself. Once upon a time, he had been in love with Juno. Even if those feelings had since dissipated it still made his stomach churn to think of Juno with anyone else. Maybe that wasn't healthy. Peter was starting to think maybe Juno was right about them needing to talk. But now was not the time nor the place for a heart. Just another thing for him to file away.

Right, Mercury was talking to him. God, Peter really needed to swipe that map so they could get out of there. "Well, Mick. I can assure you, I'd sooner die than hurt Juno. Will that be all?"

Mick seemed to have been interrupted mid-sentence, but he was friends with Juno, so Peter assumed he was used to it. "Oh! No, Juno wanted me to go get you for your-" he dropped his voice to a stage whisper "-secret-ay mission-ay."

Peter's brain stopped for a solid second. "Was that- was that meant to be Pig Latin?"

"No," Mick said, winking dramatically.

Peter followed Mick, a tad bit shaken by the implication that Mick Mercury didn't know what Pig Latin was in the slightest until the pair eventually reached Juno.

"Took you long enough, what? Were you stuck in a flowerpot?" The lady asked when they'd reached him.

Peter laughed, not entirely sure who the question was directed at. "Mick tells me you have a plan?"

"Not a plan, an observation. There's a camera trained on the map, one which you won't have time to dismantle before the dance begins in-" Juno looked at the grand clock in the center of the room "-4 minutes."

Peter grimaced in thought before eventually coming up with a solution. "Mick, when I give you a signal, try to get caught. Juno and I'll give you a lift back to Mars."

Peter was expecting some resistance from Mick, but he just nodded enthusiastically, "Okay, Rex. Uhh... I'm not really used to all this spy stuff. What's the signal?"

Peter only thought for a moment before coming up with an answer, "I'll trip on my heels."

Juno laughed, "Babe, that's a shit idea. What if you actually trip?"

Peter pointedly ignored the feeling in his chest when Juno called him 'babe' and instead responded, "I don't trip, dear."

Juno blushed and began to argue before being interrupted as the dance began. Peter silently held his hand out for Juno to take, and the lady barely hesitated before taking it.

Once they were far enough from Mick, Juno began to snicker softly to himself.

"What?"

"Feeling nostalgic, Rex?"

Peter laughed along with him. "What? It's the only name I could imagine you bringing up. Granted, I didn't expect it to stick with Mercury, but uh... I'm-"

"Don't. At least you had a reason. I was just scared."

"Of what?"

"Later, Nureyev," Juno whispered.

As they walked onto the dance floor, Peter could almost laugh with delight. Zolotovna hadn't been tracking his companion this entire night. She'd been tracking him. Maybe that said something about his self-confidence, maybe it said something about his affection for Juno, or maybe all it said was he would not make a very good detective. Either way, there would be a slight change in their normal routine.

"Juno, I do believe you'll have to be the one to swipe the map, someone seems to be watching me."

'Ugh! She's still doing it? That's messed up. Like our cover is as a married couple, and she has no problem making goo-goo eyes at you!"

Peter laughed, "Madam Dauphine, are you jealous?"

Juno gave him a smirk, "Of course not, Monsieur Dauphine. I know you have better taste than that."

"I must've if I married you."

Juno gave him a smile. Not the snarky one Peter'd been expecting. A soft smile, one full of admiration. Peter remembered this smile, right after they'd stopped Miasma, and Juno miraculously survived, bleeding from one eye and looking at Peter as if he'd been the one locking himself in a room about to explode.

"What's with that look?" Peter asked.

"Nothing," Juno said. "I just forgot how fun it is to work with you when you aren't pretending to be someone else."

Peter grinned at Juno as they separated. Him going to distract Zolotovna, Juno going to swipe a billion-dollar artifact.

---

Their plan had gone off without a hitch, Zolotovna was rambling on with some love confession, or the other, and Peter was pretending to listen, watching in awe as Juno gracefully swiped their prize from behind his glasses. Peter had come up with some logical reason to reject Zolotovna, guessing she wouldn't be all too satisfied with the excuse of "I'm happily married," something about organized crime. He doesn't remember. Even managed to get a little over a billion creds from her.

He then made his way over to Juno. Planning on waiting a few minutes to escape into the crowd before signaling Mercury. And as he made his way to Juno, a golden goddess, a perfect image of beauty and grace, with his dark brown skin and curly hair and the scars scattered across his skin. Peter did the unthinkable. He tripped. Too distracted by the image in front of him to notice his misstep. That is until Mercury started taunting the guards.

Then he, Juno, and Mercury were running across the yard to where Jet was waiting with the car. At some point, Peter's arm had ended up around Juno's waist, likely when he nearly fell over trying to throw his heels off and grabbed onto Peter for stability. They finally reached the car, and Juno threw open the door, the three of them clamoring in at top speed.

"Hello, Ransom, Juno. Who's this?" Jet asked in the same deadpan tone, as always.

"We'll tell you later, now fucking drive!" Juno rushed, a little breathless.

"Alright, then. Buckle your seatbelts."

"Go!"

---

When they got back to the ship, Buddy spent approximately 30 minutes rotating between tearing Peter and Juno to shreds for their performance and greeting Mick and asking if he was staying for dinner. She did, however, agree to bring Mick back to Mars before making their way to their next mission.

Later, Peter and Buddy had a much kinder conversation. One that brought up an emotion that Peter had not felt in a very long time. Familial love. He would try not to think too much of it, but an undeniable comfort had begun to settle into Peter's stomach.

There was another knock on the door after she left, and he already knew who it was. Finally, after nearly a year, it was later.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #tpp season 3 #tpp fic #tpp nureyev #peter nureyev #tpp juno #juno steel #junoverse #tpp mick #mick mercury #jupeter

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

Headcanon - when you buy him an action figure of himself

This work, 当你买了他的手办, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

You’ve been trembling with fear and trepidation for close to ten minutes in your own office at your own company, afraid that the person sitting in your seat would criticise your proposal for lacking a single redeeming feature.

Just as you feel as though you’re about to faint from anxiety, Victor finally sets down the proposal in his hand.

“Not bad.”

A great weight rolls off your shoulders, and you lift your head. “It’s really passable?”

Faced with a sudden visit from the CEO, you were so frightened earlier that your heart was about to stop.

“Mm.”

“That’s amazing. Teacher Victor, I want red wine steak tonight~” You smile coquettishly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He tilts his head and is just about give your cheeks a pinch when his gaze sweeps over a miniature figure on the table.

“What’s this?” He grips the clay figurine’s head, lifting it up to have a look.

“Isn’t it cute? I passed by a small shop and the boss made it based on a photo I had of you.” You hurriedly take the clay figurine from him before he destroys it, placing it back on the table with much care.

"You look at it every day?”

Despite sensing that his tone sounds slightly off, you nod honestly.

VIctor’s face darkens, and he throws the figurine into his bag. His sudden change in temperament makes you afraid to even breathe.

From his wallet, he takes out a photograph - it’s a picture of the both of you.

“I’m confiscating this. Next time, just look at this photo. Take a walk after dinner and buy a photo frame along the way.”

“...”

Is Teacher Victor jealous of himself?

[ GAVIN ]

During one of your idle online shopping adventures, you come across a service which does customisable figurines. Curious, you scan through the reviews, realising that the photos are all exquisite. After finalising the price with the customer service staff, you send over a picture of Gavin playing basketball.

A month flies past quickly. Intending it to be a surprise, you keep this from Gavin.

When the parcel finally arrives, you wield the fruit knife from the table expectantly.

“Are you cutting fruits?” Gavin immediately stands up and asks, afraid you’d injure yourself.

You shake your head. “No, I'm opening a parcel.”

Still feeling uneasy, he decides to stand next to you, only to be greeted by a figurine which looks exactly like him.

“This is...”

“It’s my handsome Officer Gavin!”

You hand it to him slowly, as though you’re cradling a treasure.

He accepts it carefully. “Isn’t this the time we went to play basketball with Eli and Minor in Loveland High?”

As expected of Officer Gavin - his memory is incredible.

“That’s right! This way, I’ll have a big Gavin, and a small Gavin!” You take the clay figurine, hugging it to yourself.

“Mm.” Gavin nods in agreement. “No matter which Gavin it is, they’re all yours. But... I’d actually prefer to make a mini Gavin with you.”

[ LUCIEN ]

“Was this figurine made to look like me?” Lucien studies the miniature figure on the table.

You nod. “Yeah, a chibi Professor Lucien is really cute. It’s no wonder why the students used a chibi version of you to attract guests during the university’s anniversary.

“It is cute. But it isn’t perfect.”

Lucien shuts the acrylic box properly.

You turn the box around, looking at the figurine carefully. Even though it’s a chibi, it is an exact replica of Lucien in terms of appearance, pose and expression - especially the eyes. Even the angle of its slight smile is the same.

“I think it’s pretty perfect though.” You comment, wondering what flaws he noticed.

With a laugh, Lucien holds onto your shoulder, pushing you in front of the mirror, beckoning you to look into it, then at the figurine on the table.

“Do you notice that something is missing?” He hints, eyes crinkling.

The mirror reflects two profiles leaning against each other. On the other hand, the figurine on the table appears lonely.

“Do you still remember where that figurine shop is?” He holds your hand. “It’d only be perfect with you.”

[ KIRO ]

“Kiro!” You exclaim the moment you step into the house.

“Have you collected the parcel? What did you buy?”

Ever since you vehemently rejected his offer to accompany you to collect the parcel, Kiro’s dejection was about to burst through the roof. Now that he sees you calling for him, he tosses his earlier unhappiness aside, running over eagerly.

“Didn’t your fan club make a lot of Kiro figurines recently? I bought one~”

Filled with anticipation, you remove the small figurine from the parcel. The moment you see it, you’re held captive by its spirited expression and bright, starry eyes. “This is really adorable!”

Kiro feels as though his position in the household is no longer stable.

“I think it looks average.” Kiro’s comment is accompanied by his menacing ‘claws’ giving the figurine’s face a poke.

“I think looks very nice.” You swat his ‘claws’ away. “Be careful not to spoil it!”

With extreme caution, you place this newbie on the display shelf, and even pat its head gently. “Get along well with the other figurines, okay?”

Kiro is certain that his position in the household is no longer stable.

“Miss Chips, why are you treating the figurine so well QAQ You’re not only ignoring the real person standing next to you, but you’re being so tender to a figurine. I can sing for you. Can the figurine do that? I can bring you to eat good food. Can the figurine do that? In bed, I can even-”

“Stop!” You clasp a hand over his mouth before he can say something embarrassing. “Fine fine fine, you’re the best, okay?”

You shoot him a look of resignation.

Kiro nods, satisfied. “I also want Miss Chips to acknowledge that I’m the one you cherish most in your heart!”

Tickled, you rub his head. “Whatever you say, three-year-old Kiro~”

[ SHAW ]

“What’s this toy? Why is it so ugly?” Shaw looks distastefully at the object you’ve placed on the table.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Are you blind? Can’t you tell that it’s a figurine of you?”

You straighten the figurine with a serious expression on your face. Chibi Shaw is carrying a bass, his sharp little canines looking adorable beyond belief. It really exudes his aura.

“Oh please, this toy doesn’t have any of my coolness.”

Ignoring your murderous glare, he picks up the figurine you've painstakingly fixed. Pinching its head and turning it around several times, the distaste on Shaw’s face grows even deeper.

Resisting the urge to whack him with the figurine, you snatch it back, placing it once again in its original position. “If you don’t like it, then suck it up. What matters is that I like it!”

He rubs the area that you’ve hit, his tone somewhat sincere and his expression amiable. “It’s ugly - just throw it away. Save yourself from nightmares.”

“So... you’re saying that you’re ugly?” You give him a direct reminder that the figurine was made based on his appearance, so he’s basically insulting himself.

“I didn’t say that.” Unbothered, he throws the figurine back into the box. “This toy doesn’t resemble me at all. It’s ugly as hell.”

He seals the box shut, then finds a rubber band to tie it several times, ensuring it wouldn’t fall out.

“Next time, just look at me directly if you want to. Why look at these ugly things? The real me will always be by your side.”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #cheri shortcake

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todoroki-waifu · 4 years

Text

Bakugou x F! Reader

Scenario: Drunk confession. (Everyone is aged up appropriately! 21+)

Word Count: 1,615

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Cursing and alcohol

———————-

Bakugou was washing the dishes when he could hear multiple text message notifications. He growled in annoyance at the constant noise and then cursed when he received a call.

He let the call go to his voicemail as he chose to finish his dishes first. Another phone call was received and Bakugou quickly finished up. What the hell could be so important?

He sees numerous texts and calls from Ashido and before he could even read the messages; she calls again. Bakugou quickly answers, wondering what the urgency was.

“BAKUGOU!!” He hears her scream his name as soon as he presses the receive button.

“Stop yelling! What the hell do you want?!” He wanted to hang up already.

“It’s __(y/n)! She’s lost!"��

You, Ashido, and a mutual friend were supposed to attend a party tonight. Unfortunately, Ashido accidentally sprained her ankle this morning so she was unable to go. You still went with your friend and a couple of other people she invited.

Two hours into the party, Mina gets a call from your mutual friend that they had to leave because one of the girls started vomiting from the many mixed drinks she had. She was trying to find you, but couldn’t locate you and their friend desperately needed to go home. The other people she had invited went their separate ways so she had no help at that time.

And that was how Bakugou found himself at a random house party. He tried to call you, but your phone was either off or dead since it went straight to voicemail. The explosive boy entered the house with no problem, your crush zooming through each room to find you.

He sees you near the back, leaning against the wall while you were talking with another male. Bakugou glares at the stranger, becoming protective when he sees you looking slightly uncomfortable with the conversation.

———————–

"Yeah, that’s cool. I like that band also. They’re amazing in concert.” The guy you managed to strike a conversation with raises his cup slightly, clinking it with yours. “Cheers to __(band name)!"

"Y-yeah! Kampai!” You politely cheer back, taking a small sip from your cup. You were already feeling the alcohol and you knew that you had to pace yourself since you can feel yourself slightly swaying. Also, you didn’t know anyone in the room and couldn’t find the group that you came with.

“Aw, c'mon, you barely drank yours! I’m almost done with mine.” He peeks into your cup.

“Oi!” You hear a familiar voice, both your heads turning to the man approaching you.

“Kacchan! You’re here!” You say happily, glad that someone familiar showed up.

“Who’s this? He your boyfriend?” The stranger asks you.

“Oh God, I wish.” You say dreamily as you drunkenly smile at Bakugou, not realizing you said that out loud. For a split moment, Bakugou’s cheeks light up, but immediately suppresses his slight embarrassment.

“C'mon, let’s go home. Raccoon eyes and your other shitty friends have been trying to find you. One of them was plastered and had to go home and I don’t want to end up in that position."

"Wait, can’t we stay for a bit more? You’re here now so you can tell Mina that I’m safe. Besides, you and I haven’t hung out in a while.” You really missed your friend since both of you were tied up with hero work.

“Why the hell should we stay at this shitty ass party?"

"Just for a little! Couple drinks here and there and maybe a shot or two?” You tried to convince the red eyed male.

“Maybe he can’t hang.” The young man who was talking to you earlier interjected, sipping on the rest of his drink.

“Hah?” Bakugou quickly turns his head towards him.

“Well, yeah. I assume you can’t handle your alcohol so that’s why you’re so eager to go home.” He shrugs and you grab onto Bakugou’s hand, pulling him towards you and the exit.

“A-ah, it’s okay, Kacchan! We can go home, I don’t wanna pressure you. I was just wondering if we could stay, but no worries. Anyway, thanks for inviting us!" You didn’t want a fight to break out because you knew how competitive Ground Zero could be. You knew that he took that taunting as a challenge.

"Who the hell said I can’t handle any alcohol? You little punk, I’ll fucking show you."

"Oh yeah? Then why don’t we play a few games? Loser takes a shot every time they lose."

"Ha! I’ll take fucking 5 shots right now and still kick your ass!” You sigh loudly as you hear Bakugou accept the proposal. You went with Bakugou to the kitchen to help pour him the liquor while the other guy set up a few games. You took the last two shots out of the five with Bakugou, wishing the male good luck.

Bakugou was definitely the life of the party now. Everyone wanted to compete against him and his presence seemed to hype everyone up. He definitely won more than he lost so ended up taking more shots later on. However, you knew that Bakugou had a high alcohol tolerance.

Of course he would.

Your crush was perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect eyes. Perfect face. Perfect body. Maybe the way he spoke to people could change a little, but you didn’t mind him being a bit rough with you. You were used to it and he never took it too far with you.

“I win again, ya damn loser! Take that fucking shot right now!” You hear Bakugou yell after his pong ball landed on his opponent’s last cup. Everyone in the room cheered loudly for Ground Zero and you could almost see his ego inflate just a bit more.

“Your boyfriend is amazing! He basically won every game!” One of the party guests went up to you.

“Boyfriend? You mean Bakugou? Aw man, I wish I could say he was my boyfriend!” You giggle to yourself, placing a hand on your reddened cheeks.

“Why do you keep wishing for it? It’s gonna happen …just be goddamn patient.” Bakugou quickly retorts back.

“Oh my God! So cute!” The guest who was beside you squealed, quietly clapping her hands in excitement.

Bakugou’s eye twitches at the stranger, placing both his hands on your shoulders and pivoting you towards the exit. He finally proved that he could most definitely hang so there was no need for him to interact with these extras. You yell your goodbyes and thank yous to the entire crowd before finally meeting with the cool outside air.

“Fucking finally. It was so goddamn hot in there.” Bakugou grumbles while his ears also adjust to the different noise level.

“I can’t be patient.” You pout at the blonde male, referring to his previous statement. “I’ve been in love with you for sooo looong. How long have you been in looove with meee?"

With your big, beautiful __(color) eyes, reddened cheeks, and pouty, luscious lips staring up at him, he almost stuttered out his answer. He grunts to readjust his voice, looking away so his embarrassment wouldn’t show.

"Longer than you, of course.” Bakugou always had to turn every situation into a competition, but you were so elated to find out that he reciprocated your feelings.

“Then what’s taking you so long to ask me out?” You lightly hit his arm, pouting even more.

“Because! I just … I had to make sure I wasn’t gonna waste my time.” He continues to avoid your gaze, his usual grumpy expression painted on his face.

“Oh? Is the big, pro hero, King Explosion Murder, afraid that someone else was gonna sweep me away?” Just by reading his body language plus years of being very good friends with him, you figured out the reason for his delayed action. Even people like him had their insecurities and doubts.

“S-shut up!” Bakugou could feel his entire body heat up more.

“Don’t worry… you had my heart first so no one else could ever take it.” You smile up at him, placing a quick kiss on his already blushing cheek. A surprised daze was displayed on his face, frozen for only a brief moment.

“So does this mean I can finally call you my boyfriend?” Your voice snaps him back to reality.

“N-no, you can’t!"

"Huh? Why notttt? Didn’t we just admit that we liked each other already?”

"So? If I’m gonna be your boyfriend, I’m not gonna do it half assed. I’m gonna ask you properly and I’m gonna take you on one of the best goddamn dates you’ve ever been.“

"Ooh, I’m so excited! I can’t wait.” You latch onto his arm, intertwining your fingers with his. At first he’s stiff, but eventually gives your hand a light squeeze once he’s used to your touch.

“But wait! You have to promise me you won’t make me wait forever and that you won’t forget.” You hold out your pinky to him.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, linking his finger with yours. Once your pinkies are hooked, he leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently. Your eyes widened at the kiss, your heart pounding in disbelief and elation. You pout at how quickly he pulls away, your lips craving more of his taste.

“There. Sealed it. You happy now?” He tries not to grin at your slightly astounded look and red cheeks, feeling proud of the effect he had on you with a small gesture. Once you regain your composure, you smile at him, pressing your body a bit closer to his as you walk side by side; hand in hand.

“Very.”

#boku no hero #boku no hero academia #my hero academy #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #kacchan #katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x self insert #submission

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