#i feel like i tie too many things back to conservativeness

[zzoguri]

persist and resist (but still, fail) ➵ lee juyeon

lee juyeon x reader

all it takes is one phone call for you to realize what you could’ve had with juyeon

genre/warnings ➵ angst, almost lovers, long-distance but not-in-a-relationship, unspoken words/hidden signals, a lot of wondering of what could’ve been

word count ➵ 730 words

inspired by ➵ “the 1” by taylor swift, that one skype call in “past lives”

a/n ➵ very reminiscent of my upcoming jichang fic entitled “finger trapped (ripped to its seams)” but its taking a bit to pump out (and i'm very much in my feelings as we speak...) so bear with me and enjoy this drabble for now :33 do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

it’s quiet uptown. as you smell the winter air, frozen kisses graze your cheeks. sounds of cars have been replaced with the buzzing of lamposts and flakes have taken raindrops’ role. on the snow-piled balcony, you hear the wood crackle behind you.

yet, warmth is stored in the voice on the other line.

“so, what’s it like there?” the rasp that accompanies juyeon’s words remind you of the time zone difference between you two. while it may be crack of dawn in korea, night has fallen at where you stand.

“you’ve asked that question how many times in this call.” a giggle leaves you. “you’re making me think that you never listen.”

a soft hum leaves him. “you know that’s not true.” your fingers grip on the blanket draped on your shoulders. “what are you up to?”

“damn, not even letting me answer the thousand questions you seem to have for me.”

“sorry,” he chuckles, “just never hear from you.”

for a moment, all you can do is sniffle.

“it’s quiet here. everyone’s off to see their families.” your hand reaches out to rail, writing the characters of his name on the snow, as you bask in the stillness of the town. “i like it like this.”

“like it like what?”

“when it’s not busy. it’s only during the winter time when you’ll barely hear a horn or chatter.” a smile makes its way to your lips. “kind of like when we’d sneak into school during the summer time.”

heat waves would do its best to tie you down then, draining you of any energy to enjoy the wonders of summer, but you and juyeon were drawn to adventures. while there would be trips to the mart to grab the familiar taste of chocolate popsicles or the playground you’ve bruised your knees at, the school seemed to call on your names. the empty hallways whispered the narratives of students who came before you two—you were certain that yours and juyeon’s story would be told, as well.

“god, i can’t believe we had so much time to waste then,” juyeon admits over the memory. only a hum leaves you. “i miss it.”

a beat passes.

“yeah, me too.” the whisper barely leaves you.

there’s a life in korea that you’ve lost—the quiet exchange of laughter during classes, the smell of fresh kkwabaegi fresh from the fryer, and the nights spent stargazing.

but in the life you have now—in the stillness of your room during midnights, the rush hours of your commute, the conservations you have with the locals—you can’t help but wonder, wonder, wonder. 

would you be in a 9-to-5 job at a corporate workplace or performing at sold-out venues? would you wake up early in the morning to bake or would you sleep in the comfort of your own bed? or would you go back to school and dive into the niche topics you’ve always wanted to explore?

but would you live alone in a different part of korea or travel around the world with him? would you wake up to the smell of freshly-cooked pancakes or microwaved fried rice from the night before? or would he latch to your body that’s reached the highest degrees, or would you make him soup during flu season? (he’s always had a weak immune system. did that change?) 

there’s a life in korea that you long for—and there’s a person that you’ve lost. if things were only different, maybe you’d have him for many orbits around the sun.

did he ever think of a life you two could’ve had?

“hey, i have to go,” you say.

“oh,” juyeon’s tone is laced with disappointment, “okay.”

for a moment, not a word is exchanged between you two.

“talk soon?” his question takes you by surprise.

you would’ve loved to agree—yes! i’ll make sure to come visit—but you only smile to yourself with held back tears.

“bye, juyeon.”

that was enough of an answer for him. “okay. bye.”

the call drops. the warmth that your phone held has disappeared. while it makes sense to retreat back into your flat, bask in the heat emitting from the fireplace and read the words of sylvia plath, you remain standing on the snow-piled balcony.

it didn’t matter what you two could’ve had. it didn’t matter if he wondered the same things.

but it could’ve been him—that’s all you know.

perma taglist ➵ @deoboyznet@kflixnet@blankjournal@winterchimez@miusgirl@jenoscafe@sweet-unicorn-world@vernyangel@mosviqu@stealanity@deobi0412@blue-rainydays@maessseongs

[possibilistfanfiction]

I love Beatrice feels about Avas gender identity (or lack of). And how, for Beatrice, her womanhood is still an important part of her, even if she expresses that part differently than other women. And how Bea is just down for the ride when Ava experiments with their gender expression, just endless support and love and just letting Ava try out whatever they want. Like the scene with the binder, Ava wasnt visibly uncomfortable or weirded out, she just said that it wasnt something for her, and Bea never discouraged her of trying it out by telling her that she wouldnt like it, or other masculine things that fit better, like the suit. So yeah, thanks for having someone like Ava who doenst give a fuck about how she "should" dress and act as told by society and then Beatrice, for whom womanhood is still an important part of, but she puts her personal own spin on it, so she still feels like herself and happy. So, yeah you said you already have two butch!Bea prompts, so I just wanted to request a Avatrice fic with some happy gender expressions/feels it doesnt have to be butch!Bea AU, if you want. But yeah, I love how you write Beas butch style but still in touch with her womanhood. (And of course her kicking ass in Aikaido class ;) )

‘wow,’ you say, a little breathless. ava grins, spins around in their tuxedo slacks and button down with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows, an old binder of yours that’s loose on them but still offers some compression underneath, paired with patent leather loafers and a tie loose around their neck. they’ve slicked their hair back neatly and are grinning, arms outstretched. ‘you look amazing.’

‘yeah?’

‘of course,’ you say, as if there was any other possibility. ava wraps her arm around your waist and looks in the mirror at the both of you together: it’s a little different, because you’re used to ava in the dresses and crop tops and flowy pants he loves, an old favorite pair of overalls — but it’s, like, really, really hot. you’ve learned through your friends and therapy and ava’s own deep exuberance around queerness that you really are in love in so many of its forms, the textures it takes and allows; while you feel much, much better and safer and more comfortable and at ease in yourself when you’re in loose, easy pants, your chest flat, your hair short, you have never begrudged ava their expansion. they’ve seen so, so much, lived through more pain than anyone should ever have to, so everything about them, even at their most annoying, is beautiful to you.

‘if i wore a packer into a cathedral, do you think i would be struck down or something?’

it takes a second too long for your brain to get unstuck from the heat that races down your spine; ava smirks. ‘are you —‘ unfortunately your voice comes out a little strangled and you have to regroup — ‘are you wearing one?’

‘nah,’ ava says. ‘thought about it, but these pants are kinda tight and if i have to sit through some dumbass pomp and circumstance at the vatican i’m at least going to be comfortable.’

you hum, the best you can do.

‘maybe i’ll wear it tomorrow with that new skirt i got in madrid though,’ she says, far too casual for the victorious expression on her face. 

‘well, you do know god best.’

‘that’s so true,’ ava says, preening again and then turning toward you. ‘gender expression, totally cool with god, if you can believe that.’

‘i suppose i can.’ ava’s smirk softens into an easy smile, one you revel in every time it’s for you, the way sunflowers turn toward the sun. 

‘plus, this little vest situation you have going on is, like, so hot. god can’t begrudge me your arms, not after all i’ve done.’

you huff at their obvious delight in flustering you, but it’s summer and very hot and, really, the light sweater vest you’d picked out to go with your very church-appropriate slacks is also quite tame. 

‘i love you,’ they say, softening again, and kiss your cheek. ‘now, let’s go scandalize some conservatives, shall we?’

you laugh, unable to resist ava’s warmth, again and again. ‘we shall.’

[sebastian-lerm-scoop]

In advent of how shitty the velma series turned out to be here's my pitch for a hopefully better take on an adult Scooby-Doo show. First thing it would be set a bit further back than the original show. Specifically in the sixties, but a more realistic version of the sixties with plenty of opportunities to demonstrate race and civil rights issues. Now that we have the setting let's go down the list of characters!

•Shaggy: He would be like an actual stoner not just implied. He would smoke weed often and get the munchies from it. Now here's my spin on his character. Shaggy would be a VERY good martial artist. This is obviously in refrence to the UI Shaggy meme, but it goes deeper than that. Shaggy's father would be a WWII vet who after coming home from Japan opened up his own dojo which was a commonplace thing at that time. He would then teach Shaggy some form of martial arts and Shaggy would EXCEL at them. However to not alter Shaggy's character too drastically he would be fearless around people but EXTREMELY scared of ghosts like the good old shaggy we know and love. I also think he would be into comic books and The Beatles.

•Fred: My concept of Fred has him as a really gifted mechanical engineer that comes from a rich family. Why is his family rich you ask? Well his father would be a popular conservative politician with some pretty harmful worldviews. Keep in mind this is the sixties. Fred would be very opposed to his fathers politics and actually be a pretty active civil rights protester much to his father's dismay. Fred's father would want Fred to follow in his footsteps and get into politics, but Fred wants to be an engineer as previously stated. I think Fred would enjoy working on the mystery machine as well given his enjoyment of machinery. Fred I think would like to build Rube Goldberg machines mainly as complex mouse traps or something of the like. His father would hate this of course. Also since this would be an adult show Fred could say fuck.

•Daphne: Daphne would grow up on a farm. Her parents and grandparents and so on would be a long line of farmers. Daphne isn't at all interested in this though. She really enjoys fashion, art, and poetry. Similar to Fred I think she would be an activist as well. That could actually be how they meet. She would also be pretty into history and things of that nature. I feel like that interest would tie well into her enjoyment of different kinds of art. I think she would aspire to be a musician not only to further her love of art and poetry, but to also spread positive messages to as many people as she can. Her family would also be very conservative but in a contrasting way to Fred's parents. While Fred's father would be pretty hateful and deliberately manipulative in nature being a politician and all, I think Daphne's parents would more represent the ignorance and blind fear of those different than them. I feel like Daphne aspiring to be more knowledgeable about the word around her would put her at odds with her family often.

•Velma: Velma would be a pretty shy and often bullied person. I feel like Shaggy would fight off her bullies for her at times. She would have pretty bad social anxiety but would begin to open up around her friends. The main thing I would add to her character would be to make her a closeted lesbian which in the sixties I imagine was excruciating. She would take to books and liturature as a way to cope. Namely mysteries like Sherlock Holmes, Nancy Drew, and the Hardy Boys. To add on to her daily stress her parents would be VERY Christian and while not being as overtly bigoted as some of the other gang's parents they would definitely be judgy to those they deem different. Velma would want to be a private investigator (which she would get the chance at when the gang starts solving mysteries). I imagine her parents would have been supportive of her dream if they didn't want her to be a traditional wife and settle down with a man. "Leave the mysteries to the men :)" ugh I can FEEL the patronizing tone.

•Scooby-Doo: At last we have Scooby. Now the big thing about good ol Scoob is that he's a talking dog. How would I make that work within this setting? Well I would make him a ghost of course! Not just any ghost however he would be a Yokai. I feel like the fact that Scooby is a Yokai would be hidden to Shaggy and maybe even Scoob himself. I could see this being an end of season reveal. I think the kind of Yokai that fits the best is one known as the Inugami. Inugami are said to be essentially familiars for a person or family heres an excerpt from Yokai.com "Inugami serve their masters loyally, performing tasks just like a faithful dog. They are loyal to one person or one family only, and unless seriously mistreated they remain loyal forever; these spirits can be passed down from generation to generation like an heirloom." Now doesn't that sound familiar? (Pun intended). Now I imagine Shaggy's father could potentially have married or remarried a Japanese woman and this woman would have the Yokai Scooby-Doo protecting her family. Now Scooby loyally protects Shaggy. Sticking with him through thick and thin! What a good boy.

Well theres my weird and wacky ideas for a (maybe) better adult Scooby-Doo show. Let me know what you think or if you have something to add. It is a bit goofy but hey so is Scooby-Doo! See ya.

[sphinxfeather]

My applique piece in response to the overturn of Roe vs. Wade.  Art Notes/Thoughts:

- I was listening to “The Rite of Spring” a LOT while working on this. Both because I grew up watching Disney’s “Fantasia” (1940), and thus I’ve had Rite of Spring mentally linked to volcanoes since I was little....it’s almost impossible for me to think of one without the other. But it also felt pertinent, since the ballet (for those unfamiliar with it) is about the ritual human sacrifice of a maiden. - In a related vein, I’ve been fortunate enough to get to travel to Hawai’i many times over the course of my life, and so I’m familiar with the stories of Pele, Hawai’i’s goddess of volcanos. I love the idea of a creator goddess (note, not “fertility”) who gives rise to new life, who creates the land that will nurture humans, plants, and animals, completely on her own terms, and by drawing liquid fire up through the earth and making it rain down from the sky. It’s a stark contrast compared to other common depictions of maternity/feminity (such as the angelic serenity of the Virgin Mary, or the birds-and-flowers motifs of various fertility goddesses), it feels like a reflection of how brutal and violent childbirth can be for many women, even when it’s wanted.  

-I think I first thought of a volcano because of the anger I felt. I know I’m far from the only one who feels furious and devastated at the overturn of Roe vs. Wade and the raw misogyny behind it, but this anger felt different than anger I’ve felt at other things in the past. The two words that came to mind were “deep” and “tectonic”. Something fundamental has shifted in me, as I’m sure it has for many others here in the U.S. And that tectonic, deep, angry shift, has a lot of power beneath it, ready to be let loose.  - a volcano is created slowly, layer after layer, eruption after eruption, and so is humanity, birth after birth, generation after generation. The act of procreation is a force of nature, as much as a volcanic eruption, and while both are necessary for the propagation of life (volcanic soil being the most fertile on earth), that does not mean there is not a cost for those close to the event. Every human being alive today, and who has ever lived, is here because someone with a uterus took on all of the risks, hardships, and pitfalls of growing a new person inside of them. Sometimes willingly, sometimes not. And far too many did not survive the attempt. When I see the rejoicing and back-patting now, from conservatives who have helped to strip women of the hard-won right to choose whether or not to take on that risk, to force women to make those sacrifices and punish them when they refuse, I feel like they are dancing on the graves of everyone who lost their life in the quest to continue humanity. 

- I was wrestling for quite a while for what I exactly wanted to do for the flag. I considered solid black (to tie in with the dancing figures while still getting the point across), solid red (same as black, but a bit bloodier with GOP implications), something with a Republican symbol on it (to call them out directly), or the US flag. At first I was worried that this flag might detract from the piece...everything else feels vibrant, and organic, and real to me, and when I first lay the printed flag on the piece, it felt stiff, and fake, and pathetic, compared to what it was trying to “claim”. But then I decided that was perfect for what I was trying to do. I feel like it emphasizes the sheer repulsive vulgarity of the state trying to lay claim to female genitalia and reproductive organs (as well as making it very clear what I’m referencing) Anyways, I hope this piece can bring some catharsis to others out there who have been struggling with this verdict as I have, and let you know you’re not alone, and that the fight isn’t over. 

[hopesandmountains]

One thing I will always stand by is being your authentic self.

And I think some people tie themselves to an identity or some kind of mold they define themselves around, which is actually healthy in some ways, sometimes when we feel overwhelmed and out of touch with our emotions it helps to have a personality to fall back on for safety and security.

Otherwise we can risk leaving ourselves too vulnerable and we can get hurt.

But at certain point, if you’re just constantly living your life as an overwhelmed person who’s out of touch with their emotions, you really need to find a safe place to discover who you really are.

And this is not about “trying on personalities” or finding different communities to base yourself off of, because that’s still avoiding you. It’s looking externally for something that can only be found from you and you alone.

And it’s something emotional. When you are out of touch with who your inner child really is, you can feel that, and by ignoring that feeling and living inauthentically, you are essentially telling your inner child, that they are not good enough and should be ashamed for who they are.

And being a child told that is traumatizing, and a lot of people that were raised that way by their parents can tell you that, but what people don’t realize is that you can carry that shame to your own inner child and continues that pattern of shame and exclusion.

And you will never feel comfortable in your own body if you keep excluding yourself from it.

And look this is not an LGBTQ post, although the experience is the same for many of them and I hope this post relates and provides empathy and understanding, but what I mean to say is that this post applies to everybody.

Like I’ve meet conservative people living in the city who base their identity around being country, and it’s just that’s not who they are, and they are never comfortable opening up because their whole identity is based off of someone they are not so they’re never used to just being themselves.

And of course I’m just talking out of empathy sake, conservative people take that shame and force it on other people, so while their feelings are justified just like anybody’s feelings are justified from a therapy standpoint, their actions are just wrong.

An abuser may have a really good reason for their emotions and coping mechanism, but that doesn’t excuse their actions.

But from a personal example, I have a mom who’s just overly controlling. And if she has a problem and I tell her a plan, it’s gets shot down no matter what it is. If it tell her other solutions, they either get shot down too or just become an argument. If I tell her that her plan doesn’t make sense, well it’s another argument. Pretty much anything that doesn’t coincide with what she imagines in her mind to be the solution, is either stupid or wrong, and leads to an argument.

So really it’s just taught me to always doubt myself and listen to other people, even if it doesn’t feel authentic to who I truly am.

And that’s just a terrible feeling.

If you feel yourself going along with something or only agreeing to something because it’s what someone else wants.

You’re abandoning yourself.

And you have to recognize that awful feeling and realize what is happening.

Standing up for yourself sounds generic, but there’s an inner child inside of you, and that child can’t really stand up for itself all the time because it’s just a child at the end of the day. So you have to learn to stand up for that child and protect it.

Show that child it’s okay to be authentic and show that child it’s okay to be itself.

And that’s how you make a child happy, and if we’re talking about an inner child, that’s how you make yourself happy 😃

[lookwhatilost]

notes on nashville:

on conservatives and ideological framework of violence – the right wing model of why mass shootings happen seems to be a spiritual crisis theory of events. mental illness is interpreted as a presentation of this, and this compounds with the assailant being trans-masculine. the right generally seems to see transness as this scary, socially contagious, hypothetical delusion. or folie a deux via tiktok and twitter. so, even if they try and tie this back into "gender ideology", their presupposition is that the root cause is abnormal psychology, which isn't the same to them as political philosophy. i hope commentators pick up on that, because it's important to make these sorts of distinctions when we talk about starkly different views of gun violence in this country.

if you want my slipshod analysis, i think it's not mental illness so much, but what happens when you let the 24hr news cycle play with guns. but i don't want to derail too much.

on the categorical issue of stochastic terrorism – i've always really hated this term. if someone has told themselves that violence or destruction is warranted if it serves the right ends, anything in their media diet can inspire this. hell, not just the media diet, even their own philosophical conclusions! to pull a page from environmentalism, eco terrorists have historically been the types to justify extreme measures because they see this as less than proportional to the existential threat of climate change and/or industrialism. ted kaczynski is the most notable example of this, but so are the parade of clowns in later decades who did some arson to save the environment.

when the massacre happened last november in colorado springs, many were quick to blame tucker carlson and libsoftiktok for fomenting the climate that led to it. if you believe you're behaving in self-defense, retaliation is justified, so the logic goes. and i don't want to sound like some kind of ~enlightened centrist~, but extreme political polarization creates an environment where everyone feels perpetually under attack begets this in both directions. this is something worrying to me.

what's also relevant here is the narrative of trans genocide that's been floating about. at risk of being controversial, this is a huge misrepresentation of the set of heuristics gregory h stanton developed as warning signals that could potentially be turned around. this poster is frequently circulated, but i don't think it accurately captures the meat of the essay that spawned it. if you play fast and loose with the simplified descriptions, every marginalized group is going through an "ongoing genocide". stanton is very deliberate in how he characterizes the acts. i don't love to be a semantic nerd, but genocide is an action. there are pundits and politicians that i believe, if given enough power, would begin genocidal actions. but we're still at a point where we can do something. this is why the distinction matters.

that all said, this juvenile interpretation of events has been spread impulsively and uncritically by social media pundits that young people gravitate towards. i've been hearing and seeing it nonstop – they want you dead, they want you dead, they want you dead. i wonder if those pundits have the self awareness to know the thing they're doing might result in the stochastic terrorism they've bleated so much about. have you ever considered that your words echo beyond your comprehension?

ah well, that's enough. disagreements? comments? questions? send them my way. this is my nascent stance and i'm not hardline committed to it.

[the-firebender-girl]

The Dragon’s Mark (Zuko x Reader)

-> In which Y/N has no idea that she’s being courted.

Part II : The Dragon’s Bride

Zan (簪) is mainly used to fasten and tie hair up into a bun but it also has decorative and symbolic purposes. Wearing a zan is considered as a symbol of one’s dignity. The more rare the materials, the higher the social status of its wearer. The head of the hairpin is usually decorated with motifs of flowers or lucky animals. Dragon and phoenix motifs are reserved exclusively for the use of royal family.

A new world. One filled with peace, openness, and equality. That’s the reality that she lives in right now and she couldn’t be happier. Y/N was born and bred in Agna Qel’a, the capital of Northern Water Tribe. Although her and the rest of their people lived their lives peacefully in isolation behind high walls of ice that protects them from the ongoing war and making them untouchable to the horrors of destruction that has befallen soo many others including their sister tribe, she always wonders what she would find in the unknown world outside if she has the courage to do so. But all her life, she was forced to go by the ‘ignorance is bliss’ code. Especially since her father is a member of the chief’s Council of Elders.

The people of the Northern Water Tribe are traditionally conservative. Women can’t really hold prominent position of power nor can they participate in activities that is considered more of a man’s job such as fighting, thus why their women waterbenders are only taught to heal but never to defend. Women also become marriageable at the age of 16 and some of those marriages are arranged, with the bride in particular having no say in the matter. That’s the sombering reality of it, and Y/N had enough of these extremely sexist views and patriarchal ways of living.

But the arrival of the Avatar and the siblings from Southern Water Tribe changed it all, they’re like her salvation, a way out of this gilded cage of false sense of security. Too long has their people looked the other way while the rest of the world needs them. When the match between the girl called Katara and Master Pakku occurred, she was in audience. Bewitched by Katara’s strong-mindedness, how she kept on fighting despite having minimum experience against a master bender, still she gave it her all and that’s what matters. That’s when Y/N decided that this is the kind of person that she’ll proudly stand by, and thus why she decided to join the Gaang, thankfully they accepted her and welcomed her into the fold.

That felt like a lifetime ago, and now she serves as her tribe’s diplomatic representative in Fire Lord Zuko’s newly reformed court. Much has changed since the Hundred Year War came to an end, especially regarding the shift in societal’s view of women. Chief Arnook decided that she’s the best person for this job since she’s his best advisor’s daughter plus she’s already a close friend of the Gaang. After all the things that they’ve been through together, seeing eye to eye shouldn’t be that much of a problem right? Y/N is well versed in the customs of her tribe and will without a doubt put her people’s best interest at heart, but she has also seen enough of the world to have a clearer judgement on what is best for everyone. What must be done to heal the world and harmonizing the four nations.

But that is a story for another day.

As for today, Y/N has reached the age of 20, officially a full grown adult. Zuko insisted that a celebration should be in order since she’s one of his closest friends and has been a huge help to him ever since his ascendency. Everytime his hot temper almost got the best of him and ruin whatever agreement was about to form during council, she was there like cool soothing water that pacify his anger away. She has saved his face countless of time, building a fine rap that will define his ruling in history. And for this alone, she deserves all the best that he could offer her, but Y/N being Y/N declined.

“You sure the celebration thing is a no go?” Zuko asked again as he looked her way pointedly, meanwhile Y/N is brushing her hair softly in front of a mirror as it settles around her shoulder in waves.

Y/N let out a content sigh, “I just prefer a slow and easy day, you know? we rarely get to experience those...” She said, sparing him a quick glance. “And the Gaang is coming here anyway, it’s been soo long since we all gather in the same place. That’s more than good enough for me, Fire Lord”

Zuko hums which she took as a sign of agreement but his stare never stray away from her. “Alright if you’re sure, i’m sorry I can’t do anything about today’s council hearing though, it’s your birthday and you shouldn’t be bothered with work but they insist that it can’t be pushed back”

Now it’s her turn to stop concentrating on her hair and look at Zuko through the mirror’s reflection. “It’s fine, Zuko. You don’t have to apologize for anything you know, it’s just one hearing session and we’re done! after that we got the rest of the day to do as we please”

Y/N pointed the end of her hairbrush to him, making him raised an eyebrow, “You need to stop worrying or else you’ll start getting gray hair one of these days”

Zuko scoffed but then let out a rare smile that is reserved for those closest to him only, he let his eyes trail over the lengths of her hair which she’s currently pulling into an updo. A traditional Fire Nation updo nonetheless. Fingers moving expertly as if she has done this her whole life despite the significant difference on hair custom in their respective nations.

“You’re getting really good at that...” Zuko said as he silently gives her an appreciative once-over. “It’s like you’re a natural at this, it took me a long time to got the hang of it. Even Azula can’t do it, she made her handmaidens do all the work for her” His eyes darkening as the memory of his sister briefly flashed through his mind, but he reigned himself right back. Deciding instead to lean his body to one side of the wall, giving himself a better angle of Y/N.

“It’s only fair of me to at least try and learn, I know that hair holds a significant place to your people and disheveled hair is considered as impolite. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” She said as she finished her look with one last twist of hair, making sure it looks perfect.

Zuko is touched by her respond, Y/N owes the Fire Nation nothing, in fact it is them who owes her after all that they had done to the Water Tribes, but still she treats them with utter respect and upholds their value despite being an outsider. She really was made for diplomacy.

“Before we go to the War Room, I have a gift for you” He said as he brought the both of his hands to the front, turns out he was actually holding a box behind him this entire time.

He took a few steps so now he’s standing directly behind her sitting figure, he’s soo close that Y/N can smell the intoxicating scent of his perfume, spicy but earthy. Zuko carefully put the box atop of the desk in front of them and pull the lids open, revealing the content.

Y/N can’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth as her eyes roamed over Zuko’s gift for her. A matching pair of hairpins or as they called it here, a zan. Her eyes took in every detail, starting from the heads of the dragon form with each head being surmounted by a turquoise cabochon, it’s made of gold filigree detail over gilded silver substructures. The manes of the dragons are particularly impressive comprising multiple, overlapping gold wire strands. The pierced, almost honeycomb-like shafts, each of which are of long, tapering form, are of finely worked silver that has been gilded with gold plates.

“Zuko this is....” Y/N is at loss for words, but Zuko is panicking inwardly at the unreadable expression on her face, what with soo many emotions flittering through in short span of time.

“Do you not like it? I could always make another one, I knew I should have asked for your input first but I just want it to be a surprise” Zuko sputtered, words keep on falling out of his mouth in his state of panic, even his voice has turned high pitch.

Y/N resist the urge to laugh out loud at his distress, this is becoming far too entertaining and she’s enjoying it more than she should. Not everyday you get to see the Fire Lord acting this hysterical over something so trivial. It’s adorable, really.

She reaches out slowly so she doesn’t startle him, placing her hand gently on his forearm. This seems to do the trick as he is snapped out of his agitation. “Zuko stop... I love it, I truly do”

His mood did a 180 degree turn as bliss overtook him at the sight of her sincere smile, eyes looking at him fondly. Zuko is mentally doing a celebratory fist pump.

“This is too beautiful, I don’t think I deserve it, it must have cost you a lot”

Zuko frowns at her hesitant tone. “You deserve this more than anyone, Y/N. It’s the least that I could do”

Y/N looks to the side while biting her lips in contemplation. A motion that nearly drove Zuko wild. His not-so-little crush on her is now probably bigger than the size of Sokka’s inflated ego. And that really is huge, people.

When her eyes meets his again, gone was the doubt, now it’s just pure gratefulness. “Well if you insist, then who am I to say no?” She said, completing it with a grin.

Zuko let out a relief sigh and give a huge grin that matches hers. “Now that’s what I like to hear”

“Would you mind giving me a hand? I think it’ll compliment my updo perfectly” Y/N asked, taking Zuko by surprise.

Zuko gulped nervously. “I would love that” He murmured as he’s trying very hard to still his trembling hands.

He reached inside the box and carefully took out one of the hairpin, sliding it into one side of her bun. Y/N enjoys the feeling of his hands on her hair, the soft motion bringing her a sense of peace. After he secured the second hairpin in, Zuko look at her through the mirror, admiring his work.

“It suits you, you look lovely”

Y/N resists the blush that threatens to bloom on her cheeks, opting to tease him instead. “Is this just a compliment or are you trying to flirt with me, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko groans, stammering over his own words. “Oh knock it off! why do you always feel the need to ruin the moment”

“Oh i’m sorry, are we sharing a moment right now? I wasn’t aware” She can’t help but let out a teasing smirk, he’s just too easy to mess with.

“I’m just digging myself a deeper hole, don’t I?”

———————————————————————

Something fishy is definitely going on. Y/N can feel it. Ever since she stepped out of the confines of her bedroom, all eyes were on her. It’s not even a quick stare, she receives a full on stare from every servants and guards that passed by, complete with a small bow or curtsy. Is Zuko playing some sort of prank on her and succesfully got the rest of the palace on board with him too? whatever it is, Y/N intends to find out.

It gets even more bizarre once they reached the War Room. The rest of the advisors and generals stood up as they welcome the Fire Lord’s arrival, that is a customary show of respect of course. But the wide-eyed stares that follow her after was anything but normal. Some of them have an astonished look on their faces, body going stiffer than the looming pillars above. After they have shake themselves out of whatever daze they were in, they gave her a small bow. Now that is definitely odd, why in the name of Tui and La would they ever bow to her? no one ever did. She thought that is something that they consider is below their station. Just wanting to go over things quickly, she gave them all a quick nod back.

Council then is in session, with one of the new general that has been stationed to oversee the Fire Nation Colonies in the Earth Kingdom taking the floor.

———————————————————————

The hearing ended in record time. It only took them about 3 and a half hours compared to the usual duration which could take them all day and well into the early morning hour just to agree on something. Guess there is a first for everything.

As Y/N is busy tidying up the documents and materials that has gone under review earlier, one of the old Fire Nation general approached her.

“Excuse me, My Lady. I would like to congratulate you, may Agni bless you and your union”

Y/N’s face morphed into one of utter confusion, what is this man talking about? is he on something?

She struggles to form a coherent reply, thinking hard on the appropriate response. “Thank you, General. Do you mean to congratulate me for my birthday?” She finally asked.

“Ahh of course, My Lady. And for that too”

Y/N never thought that it’s possible to be this confused, what does ‘and for that too’ means? does it means that that wasn’t what he’s congratulating her for in the first place?

“Ookaay” She said as she drawled out the word. “I’ll be taking my leave now have a good day, General” Which he responded to with a salute and surprise, surprise another bow.

———————————————————————

After she successfully made her escape from the War Room before she has to suffer another absurd confrontation, she made it her life mission to find Zuko and torture the answer out of him. Okay maybe that’s too dramatic, she wouldn’t say torture per se, but yeah you got the point because this is getting ridiculous.

Her quest came to an abrupt stop when a pile of human slammed into her, engulfing her in a massive group hug.

“Happy birthday you beautiful human being” Sokka said while making kissy faces at her to which she can’t help but shudder and scrunch her nose at.

“Yeah Y/N! happy birthday, I can’t believe you are 20 now, you’re officially a part of the old people” Aang said, peering up at her from his awkward position of being mushed between Ty Lee and Katara.

“Uhh thank you... but you guys.. can I have some space now” Y/N said, struggling to maintain her balance.

“Oh yeah sorry about that, Missy. We’re just SOO excited to see you!” Toph said as she abruptly pulled back, accidently knocking the rest of them to the ground with her sheer force.

Y/N grinned widely as she chuckle, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you Toph?” Sokka grumbled from his splayed out position on the floor.

“Ehh guess you’ll never know” Toph said as she stuck her tongue out to him and then give Y/N a wink, to which she reaches out a hand to high five her.

“You guys are the worst” Suki’s voice mumbled out from somewhere underneath the piles of tangled limbs and body.

“Sokka, can you please just get up right now? your butt is right in front of my face, it’s really disturbing” Aang groaned, clearly distressed.

———————————————————————

After the incident they immediately went to the Dining Room because Sokka won’t stop complaining about how he’s on the verge of dying if he’s not fed in the next hour. Suki was so annoyed she nearly knock him out herself with her bare hands.

As the 6 of them sat around the long dining table, the door that leads into the room opened as Zuko comes in with Uncle Iroh in tow.

“Oh now he decided to show his face after pulling a disappearing act” Y/N grumbled mentally, shooting daggers in Zuko’s way.

Zuko head straight for his seat meanwhile Iroh took a turn around the table, greeting everyone, making his way towards Y/N last.

“Happy birthday, dear one” Uncle Iroh said warmly as he put his hands on her shoulder in a comforting manner. This brings a smile on Y/N’s face, Iroh is definitely one of her favorite person, you could never tell he was a former battle harden war general due to his welcoming and gentle nature.

“Thank you very much, Iroh” She replied, looking at him gratefully.

He was just about to head towards his seat when something about her appearance caught his eyes. There it is again, that same shocked look that she has received plenty all day long. Iroh threw a knowing smile her way, making her stare back at him dumbly.

Iroh then leaned down so that his face is align with her ear and said in a low voice, “So my nephew has finally grown a pair and pop the question, huh?” He asked excitedly, well it sounds more like a rhetoric question anyway.

Y/N can feel her eyes widening, Zuko didn’t ask her anything, what is he implying?

She glanced to where Zuko is sitting just to find him already looking her way, he looks uneasy watching the exchange between her and his uncle. Eyes flittering back and forth between their forms.

Before she could get any reply out, Zuko gave a signal to the waiter standing nearby and then the Dining Room door opened for the second time. This time bringing in the presence of several servants who are carrying various plates with all kind of dishes imaginable. To her delight, some of it are even Water Tribes cuisine such as sea prune stew and seaweed noodles to name a few. Y/N can feel her own mouth watering at both the sight and the smell.

Y/N tried to catch Zuko’s eye and when it did flicker to hers, she mouthed a “Thank you” at him. Eyes glimmering with a child-like excitement, ironic since this is supposed to be her first ‘adult’ birthday.

This view certainly makes warmth blossomed in Zuko’s chest. What would he give to make her smile that bright everyday...

Or I guess the more appropriate sentiment is what WOULDN’t he give.... he is certain that when it comes to her, Zuko has no limit at all.

———————————————————————

“Man, I feel so full i’m almost nauseous” Sokka moaned, holding his bloated stomach. Mouth making several vomiting motions although thankfully nothing comes out. Yep, he certainly doesn’t look well.

Katara made a sheesh noise at Sokka’s terrible table manner, “If you keep on doing that, you’re gonna make the rest of us nauseous too, idiot”

“I think it’s best to retire to our rooms then...” Uncle Iroh said, “-before something unsightly happens” He added as he too can’t help himself from avoiding looking Sokka’s way.

The rest voiced their agreement and they all stood one by one. Mumbles of good night’s and see you tomorrow’s can be heard around the room as everyone make themselves scarce.

Before exiting, Ty Lee, ever the sweet person, approached Y/N to give her one last hug for the night.

As she pulled away from the hug, she let out a happy gasp and flails her arms wildly, not able to contain her elation.

“WHAT IS THAT?!?! why didn’t you say anything earlier! how silly of me not to notice it at all!!!” She started talking animatedly without pause, leaving Y/N in another state of bewilderment.

“Ty Lee, what are you referring to?” Y/N tried to ask her.

“Don’t play coy with me now, young lady!” Ty Lee shoot back at her, putting her hands on both of her hips.

Suddenly, Zuko swoop in to the rescue. Putting himself between Y/N and Ty Lee, almost as if he’s trying to shield her away.

“I think that’s enough excitement for one night, Ty Lee” He started saying before he put one hand on her back and guiding her out the door as Ty Lee continues to protest against him, clearly still have a lot more to say.

“Oh I see what you’re trying to do, Zuko. Have fun you two!!! don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” Was the last thing Ty Lee managed to shout out before the door was closed in front of her face.

Well that certainly leaves a lot of wiggle room, Spirits knows that Ty Lee is always up for anything. And by anything, I really do mean absolutely anything.

As the both of them are the only ones remain in the room, Zuko turns his full attention to her.

“Would you take a walk with me to the garden? it’s a full moon tonight, no doubt the view will be enchanting” He said in a hopeful tone.

Y/N gives him a small smile as she just looped their arms together for an answer. Then they walk side by side in a comfortable silence.

———————————————————————

True to his words, as the garden came into view, Y/N can feel the sight took her breath away. The moonlight shone softly against the grass, its light reflecting like glimmering crystals in the turtle duck pond. She can certainly see why this is Zuko’s go-to place, his very own safe haven inside the palace.

He guided her to a spot beneath a big tree, right beside the pond where they both took a seat beside each other.

“Mind explaining to me what is going on?” Y/N asked as she trace circles on the palm of Zuko’s hand, a gesture that relaxes him completely.

He cleared his throat, clearly trying to pick his words carefully.

“You know how each nation has different customs right? especially regarding relationships”

Y/N cocks her head to the side so she could look at him better, then she hums to let him know that she’s following his train of thought.

“And by relationship, I specifically mean courting rituals” He continued. “Like in your tribe for example, the man has to make a hand-crafted choker that serves as a betrothal necklace to show how serious he is, right?”

“Yeah... that’s correct” She answers, now her undivided focus is on him as she’s trying to decipher where he is going with this conversation.

“In Fire Nation, gifting zan has the same meaning as choker is to the Water Tribe....” As he said this, his voice turns soft, almost lowering into a whisper as he scans her face for reaction.

Y/N is quiet for a while, the realization of the meaning sinks deep into her, but she tries to keep her face as neutral as possible although inside she’s over the moon.

“Ahh so that explains why i’ve been receiving weird looks all day”

“Y-yeah... wearing that dragon zan is just the same as screaming to the entirety of Fire Nation that you belong to me” Zuko said sheepishly, clearly embarrassed. “Not that I mean to offend by objectifying you, of course”

Frankly speaking Zuko is feeling very frustrated because the girl he has been pining over for the longest time is showing him no emotion at all, it’s nerve-wrecking.

“I’m sorry... I clearly don’t know what I was thinking” He said defeatedly. “You’re free to just leave it in the box and never wear it again now that you know what it signifies”

“And why would I do that?” Her reply got Zuko turning his head back up to face her so fast he nearly broke his own neck. “B-b-but” He stammered, but Y/N quickly shush him by putting her finger in front of his mouth.

“Now that I know... I think I may even want to wear it to sleep every night, perhaps I should never remove it at all, don’t you think?

To say that Zuko is shocked is not big enough of a word to describe what he is currently feeling. Did she just actually accepted his courting proposal?!

“Do you really mean that? and you’re not mad at all?” He asked timidly, eyes searching hers, finding nothing but genuineness.

“Why would I be mad?” Y/N said, as she put one of her hand on his chest, rubbing it softly from side to side. Trying to calm down his jumpy heartbeat but it seems like she only succeded in making it beat even faster.

“So does that mean that you like me back?”

“Yes, Zuko. It means that I like you a lot” She said, erasing his worries away.

He cups her cheek gently, to which she can’t help but close her eyes, sighing in contentment. She leans even further into his touch, loving the feeling completely.

Zuko leaned down to whisper directly into her ear, the feeling of his breath against her skin sending goosebumps all over her body as she could feel her own breath hitch. “May I kiss you?”

“Well you might as well do since we got a lifetime of kissing ahead of us” Y/N said teasingly to which Zuko can’t help but chuckle deeply.

And so he did. He look straight into her eyes, moving his hand to cup her chin instead and slowly leaned in, savoring the euphoric feeling. She can’t help the breathy moan that escaped her lips, Spirits, it’s like he’s drinking her in.

He pulled away for a second to say, “Careful there, i’m never letting you go now”

She just grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in again “Never said I want you to” and Zuko can’t help but smile into the kiss.

———————————————————————

A loud crash from above interrupted their heartfelt moonlight tryst as they pulled away, startled from the sudden noise.

Zuko and Y/N squinted their eyes upwards, trying to point out the source when they see one of the bedroom’s window pane that overlook the garden is opened with 6 faces peeking out, clearly have not yet realized that whatever sleuthing they were up to has failed.

“Stop stepping on my toes, Sokka” Toph half-shout angrily, followed by a smacking noise and Sokka yell of pain.

“You’re one to talk huh, Toph? you are literally sitting on my lap right now” Suki voice raised above the commotion around her.

“Guys, would you please stop talking, they’re gonna notice if you keep this up” Aang pleaded.

“Clearly too late for you to worry about that” Zuko said from beside her, making the six of them stop and look down. Giving the Fire Lord and the future Fire Lady a guilty smile.

“Nice view from up there?” Y/N said, not wanting to miss out on all the fun. She and Zuko shares a look, one of pure mischief.

The peace didn’t last long for all six of them began fighting again about whose fault was it that they got caught. Meanwhile Y/N just shakes her head at another one of their shenanigans.

Then she laid her head against Zuko’s chest again, craving to be as close as possible to his warmth. Letting his scent engulfs her every senses. How she loves her very own human heating pad.

———————————————————————

A/N : Thank you so much for reading my fourth Zuko fic!!! I hope you all enjoy it because I certainly did🥰

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Mr. President

Part 1, Part 2

Summery: After the election the Presidential nominee, Steve Rogers, takes an interest in his campaign manager.

Warning: non consent, light bondage, choking, violence, smut

my first real smut. love to know where i could improve.

Dark Steve x Reader

Being Captain America's campaign manager had to be the easiest campaign you ever managed. The perfect soldier put Americans at ease. Especially with the current administration self sabotage. Although he would be the oldest president to date he didn't look it. Not to mention he would be easily the sexiest president since Kennedy.

Tonight the votes were counted and America's golden boy won. Steve swept the election to become the next President of the United States.

Streamers and confetti rained down as the announcement came through. After the press interviews and the almost endless congratulations you lost track of the President elect.

You blamed it on the champagne that flowed through the event like water. You toasted almost every staffer you came across, hugged donors and party members.

By the time you caught sight of Sam you were most definitely buzzed. He was celebrating too with some blonde campaign aid that's named slipped your mind at that moment.

"Hey Sam! Have you seen Steve?" You shout at him as you make your way through the room. You needed to discuss the plans for tomorrows press tour before you called it a night.

Pulling himself away covered in lipstick his heavily lidded eyes looked at you. He managed to inform you of Steve's whereabouts, he had snuck off to his Presidential suite. It made sense, the super soldier could never get drunk and was seen as a prude much to the delight of the more conservative  supporters. A fact that helped them over look his non marital status.

You remind Sam to not have too much fun tonight before departing. It took some effort, but you managed to cut through the crowd without having to stop for too long. Compared to how you felt you were sure Steve must have been exhausted.

Finally you slipped out of the hall, down the corridor and into one of the elevators. The slow ride up to the Presidential floor gave you a respite of peace. When you made it to his floor you got off and from down the hall you saw two FBI agents at his door.

It was a standard procedure for agents to be assigned to the parties nominee. The sight of which always made you giggle. You knew it was standard practice, but Steve was not only a super hero. He also had the support of the Avengers so you didn't see the point in it.

As you approached the door the agents stopped to do their standard protocol. They checked your I.D. and patted you down before allowing you to enter in.

Since you were in charge of his campaign you had a key to his room so knocking never crossed your mind. As the door swung open you could hear the faint sounds of slurping. Furrowing your brow you scanned the room as you entered.

Though the couch faced opposite the door you could see the back of Steve's head. He looked so relaxed, his head lolled backwards with his arms out stretched on the couch.

When the door clicked shut a second head popped up beside Steve. He was not alone and when that fact registered your stomach fell.

Unlike the Aid you saw with Sam you knew this one, Charlene. She reminded you of a younger you, ambitious, a go-getter, with an interest in the maddening campaign process. You had practically taken her under your wing. So the utter shock of seeing her head pop up from what seemed to be Steve's lap had you speechless.

The aid's eyes widen when she turned around to find you at the door with your mouth ajar. Steve's back was still to you, but you could see him whisper in Charlene's ear. She got up with a jump instantly, disheveled, fixing herself, her head down as she walked towards the door. Her head never lifted as she scurried past you, your head following her out the door, closing shut behind her.

You turned back to Steve, who was currently standing and tucking himself back into his pants. The shock of it all was quite sobering.

"What the hell Steve!" You scream at him. You were taken aback by the volume of your own voice.

"You just won the election and this is what you do! Are you insane!" You march over to him.

"Calm down...relax" he lifted his hands in defense with a soft smile on his face.

Why the hell is he smiling?

"Calm down? What do you mean calm down? A scandal like this your first term! What were you thinking?" Your mind immediately thought of how the opposition basically crucified Clinton.

His nonchalant attitude only served to further rile you. Then it clicked.

"This wasn't the first time was it? Was she the only one? How many?" You paced back and forth in the living room of the suite. Your brain was in damage control mode.

He sighed racking his fingers through his hair with the other on his hip.

"It's not the first time and she is the only one." He sighed as you stopped and stood there while he explained.

The news though not as bad as you anticipated was still not good. You crossed your arms and contemplated strategies.

Digging out your phone you look through your contacts to pull together a strategy meeting incase things come out.

Everyone was more than likely drunk off their asses, but this was a code red. But as you were lost in thought and your phone Steve stepped towards you. His hand snatched away your phone, dangling it above your head as you jumped and grab for it.

"Steve what are you doing I need to figure out a plan to get ahead of this if this gets out" you say frustrated as you continued to jump and try to get your phone back.

You place your hands on his shoulder to help you get more lift from your jump. As he dangles the phone just out of reach again his other arm wraps around your waist on your descent. When you feel his arm lock you in place you gasp as he pulls you into his chest.

The way your breast bounced as you fought fruitlessly to retrieve your phone made is already hard cock ache with anticipation. Looking down at you Steve fought the urge to take you right then and there.

Though you had interrupted the fun he was having his cock was undeterred. Maybe if you weren't so preoccupied by his antics you would have noticed that his cock had yet to yield. But when Steve pressed your body to his he couldn't fight back the grin as he watched your eyes grow wide.

He made his member jump in his pants and you pulled back when you felt the movement.

"What are you doing? Stop!" You demanded as you tried to push off him, but his grip was unrelenting.

"You don't have to worry about her I've gotten it taken care off" Smiling at you his bright eyes so innocent had now become dark.

He found it funny how you struggled, pushing and pulling away.

When he released you, you stumbled back a bit. "If I didn't know any better I would think you were drunk" you say frustratedly straightening your clothes as you collect yourself.

While you were distracted he began stuffing your phone in his back pocket.

"This is serious Steve" you huffed out trying to brush off his antics.

He didn't reply. He just stared at you. A look you never seen on him and it was very strange to you. His normally wholesome, boy next door, all American look was gone. Now a darkness stood in its place, something filled with a carnal hunger.

Steve was a man at the end of the day. A man in need of release. When you were brought on to lead his campaign he thought nothing of you. But that didn't last long. The longer you stayed around him it was hard to not developed feelings. You were a constant in his chaotic political life. You styled him, coached him through speeches and debates. A cheerleader he didn't know he needed and wasn't sure that he wanted to let go even though the campaign was over.

He knew that during the electoral race you would never jeopardize the campaign with such a scandal. So when you introduced Charlene to him, he decided she would be a meager substitute as he bid his time.

Loosening his tie just enough that the loop passed freely over his head.

"Look I know your upset..." he said walking over to you casually with tie in hand. "You don't have to worry about her"

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut off your words and proceeded onward. "I've been in love with you for quite sometime." The confession was a shock. You had no clue he had ever thought of you more than just a friend.

Slipping the tie over the crown of your head much to your bewilderment. Pulling the knot tight as it passed your chin. Resting the heart on the middle of your throat.

"This is serious we need to get..." Brushing off his confession as you spoke he cinched it tighter, too tight. The fabric was hugging your neck uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe. You pulled at the fabric as it restricted you, but he slapped your hands away.

"I wanted to wait until after the inauguration to ask you this." He spoke coolly straightening the tie again as you start to gasp at the lack of circulation. Your hands shoot up again only to be thrown aside.

Every inhale was starting to become a struggle. "I think the nation deserves a First Lady." Stepping back he admired you while keeping one hand trailing the end of the necktie halting at the hilt. "Don't you?"

"What are .... What's gotten into you Steve.... this isn't funny" you gasp out as you reach to untie the knot again.

His face frowned when you clawed at the fabric. He yanked on the tie so hard you felt like a yo yo smacking into a wall. Pinning your arms to his chest he snaked his arms around you locking you in place.

There was no music, but he swayed with you in his arms. Your foot catching his foot on every odd step, but he wasn't bothered. As he slow danced with you, you try and pull away but he would not stop.

"I need you to calm down and relax. I'm the new commander and chief now and throughout this process I realized how much you've done for me and how much I need to keep you in my life."

"I understand Steve I do, but that’s not what you need to focus on right now...." That was a struggled to get out with the tie on your throat. "This is a fragile time" you managed to breathe out. He stopped maybe he was starting to finally listen to reason.

His lips crashed into you without notice. Your mouth felt bruised as a result. He started nipping at your bottom lip, your mouth fell open as you hissed in pain his tongue invaded you. It didn't take long before the choking restraint of the knot and Steve's kisses made you breathless.

Your vision was starting to fade and a panic set in.

Get it together and focus.

"St.." you try to speak, but his mouth swallowed your words.

"Mr. President" pulling back he corrected you. His voice dipping to a low growl. "Say it."

"Mr. President" The words felt foreign as it passed your lips. He was starting to scare you.

When he cocked his hand back you hadn't noticed. Not until his massive palm collided with your ass you screamed on impact, but  he only swallowed it. Gripping your ass tightly the sting of the smack had you trying desperately to get away.

You hadn't realized you were crying until the salty taste hit your tongue. He must've tasted it too. He moved from your mouth to kiss along your cheeks moving methodically to your neck. The sensation of which you couldn't deny felt good. So good you were stunned to hear the faintest of moans leaving your mouth.

While one of Steve's hands gripped firmly on your ass the other moved between your bodies. You stiffen at the realization of where it was heading. Stopping at your waist he unfastened the button on your pants and slowly dragged the zipper down.

"Steve.. please" you beg. Your arms were useless against his strength.

The hand that gripped your ass smacked you again for the infraction making you yelp. It took too much energy to push away than for him to hold you in place. That coupled with the lack of oxygen you felt like your body would collapse so you held his shirt to keep from falling.

"Mr. President please" You cry out but it sounded more like a moan. That must have urged him on because he began sucking on your neck with such force you were sure you would have hickeys that no amount of concealer could hide.

When his fingers grazed your panty line you shoot yours down to try and stop him, but the super soldier just flicked you off. When that failed you crossed your legs tightly together, but his knee forced them apart. Allowing your pants to pool at your feet. The cold air of the room prickled your skin helping to only intensify your trembling.

Pushing past the elastic his meaty digits separated your folds. He hummed on your neck as he felt them slicker from your wetness. Shame filled you as tears continued to roll down your face.

"Stop please" Your sob of protest were cut off as two digits thrust into you. Steve curled them inside of you the feel of which created a wave of pleasure that radiated through you. Biting your bottom lip you fight the fire he was stoking. It felt so good his fingers deep in you.

"Fuck!" you blurted out as you reach up to grip his shoulders. You could feel your toes curl as pumped in and out of you.

"Mr.President" you didn't recognize your voice as you panted out. He dipped deeper inside you, your juices coating his fingers.

Leaning away from you he stared at you, drinking in the sight of you coming undone from him.

"Take off your top" his voice commanded.

When he sensed your hesitation he slipped in another digit. You bit down on your bottom lip hard as you try and choke down a moan.

"I won't ask again." The thickness of his voice had you fighting against your better judgement. You looked at him and his face was serious.

Your hands rose and you begrudgingly start to unbutton the blouse. He could see your bra, leaving one hand inside you the other sought to free your globes. Pulling them free with a grunt. You hissed and mewled at every pinch and twist of your nipples. He didn't stop until both were hard.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" He asked but by the look on your face he knew. When you didn't answer he twisted your left  nipple.

"Yes" that answer wasn't good enough so he twisted harder.

"Yes Mr. President" as a reward he licked circles around your aureola. Kissing it, licking your throbbing nipple with his tongue.

Through your moans you hear the traitorous sounds of your sex. Your heat was coming to its precipice. You gripped his shoulders as to stead yourself from collapsing.

The squirming of your body only seemed to encourage him as he used the heel of his palm to press against your clit as he violated you.

You were getting close, your pussy started to tighten around his fingers.

"Hmmm nope none of that." He growled again. " we just got started celebrating."

Taking his fingers from you, your mouth released a whimper.

Grabbing the end of the tie again. "On your hands and knees"  his lips stealing kisses before stepping back. You shakily lower yourself.

Lowering your head in shame for allowing him to treat you this way. He started to walk as you pressed your palms on the cold marble. Your knees mopping the floor as you trail behind him.

When he reached the open door of the master bedroom he jerked the leash of the tie to hurry you forward. You stopped beside him in the doorway and he crouched down to meet you at eye level. His wholesome smile appeared to you as he lifted your head with his index finger.

"OK up on the bed."

Rising to your feet walk over to the bed as he stood in the doorway watching you.

"Take it all off" he said coolly as he tossed his blazer to the floor. Unbuttoning his shirt then his pants.

Sniffing as you unfastened your bra letting it drop past your arms throwing it on the ground. Lying on your back you raised your butt to slide you ruined panties down, kicking them to the floor.

Before they hit the ground the speed at which he met you was neck breaking.

He stood at the edge of the bed his bright blue eyes grown dark with lust. When he placed a knee on the you felt your heart race as it the bed dipped. Your arms cover yourself as you press your legs firmly together. The warmth of his hand on your knee mixed you with fire and dread. His hands began pulling your legs apart with ease despite your resistance.

Lowering his head he places kisses along your inner thigh. The sensation of his lips on your skin make you inhale sharply. Licking your folds and sucking on your clit you grew wetter.

You started hating yourself for loving the way he lapped you up. Licking in-between your folds. Pushing his tongue in and out of your pussy as you fight off another moan. Flattening his tongue he raised it past your lips taking care to linger on your clit before he began to kiss up your tummy.

Stopping on your breast he took your wrists and held them above your head. Holding them with one hand he used the other to massage and gently kiss each breast. Taking your hard nipples into his teeth pulling and sucking on them again as his other hand played with he other.

"Shit" you exclaim. He looks up at you with a frown lightly smacking your breast.

"Language" he said with a stern voice. Moving up again his lips  kissed along your chest and up your neck.

The closer he got to your neck the more you could feel his cock proud your entrance. His pre-cum mixing with your slick lips. You moved your hips but his cock pressed harder as it followed.

"Steve please" you try again to reason.

At the sound of his name he impaled you fully. Bottoming out inside your pussy stretched to receive him. You shrieked and instinctively tried to get away from him. Snacking an arm around your back he locks you in place. Each thrust sent shock waves through your body.

"Mr. President" you say as his cock filled you past your limit. "Fuck!" You were becoming delirious with every stroke the pain had you crying out.

"So fucking tight" He slammed into you unforgivably. The pain started to mix with pleasure. You could feel the warmth again. The need to cum and it was becoming harder and hard to resist it.

For one lucid moment you tried tearing out of his grip and pull yourself backwards, but he held you like a vice. Your pussy started to tighten around his cock as he continued to impale you.

"That's it" he growled as your climax build.

"Tell me what you want?"

Ashamed you tell him you want to cum. He released your hands and settled on your neck. Even with his grip on your throat you could still feel yourself about to explode.

You were so dizzy with pleasure you couldn't comprehend what he asked.

"Tell your president you want to cum all over his cock"

"Mr. President" you croaked. "Please let me cum Mr. President!"

"Good girl cum for me" as the words left his mouth you clinched his cock coming so hard you saw stars and stripes.

As you came his movements became erratic. The clinching of your pussy milked him. His cock twitch and pulse inside of you as he emptied himself into you. His arms gave out and he fell on-top of you crushing you under his weight. You both lay there exhausted, sweaty, falling into a slumber.

It wasn't long before you awoke. Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed studying you.

"You know I think you might be right." He said as your eyes began to open. "I think a family lifestyle might not be what the nation is looking for in me."  

"That post nut clarity...huh" he chuckled.

"Steve..." You try and croak out but he was already on your neck. You scratched and dug into his skin, but to no avail. Your vision became spotty and within seconds the lights were completely out.

Despite his buddies political victory Bucky was resigned to stay in his room. He was watching the broadcast of the announcement that was happening in the same hotel he was in.

He had been told to stay out of sight throughout Steve's campaign as to not tarnish the golden boys image.

Though he had long since been freed from HYDRA'S brainwashing and has more than once proven himself a patriot he still had to stay back.

*Ring Ring

When his cell phone lit up he was surprise to see that it was Steve.

"Congratulations Punk" he smirked over the phone.

"Ha" Steve laughed softly. "Can you come to my room if your free?"

When he arrived he wasn't surprised to see Y/N. This wasn't the first time he had been called to do clean up duty.

Rolling Y/N in the duvet and he got to work.

"Hey Buck" Steve called from the duvet bedroom.

Bucky turned to meet his friends gaze. Steve dug out your cell phone from his back pocket. He tosses it over to Bucky.

"Charlene too"

With a nod Bucky left the room with Y/N over his shoulder. Steve didn't need to worry about security cameras Tony would handle that. The agents at the door would be taken care of by Wanda.

As the elevator doors closed that’s when he felt it. The duvet moved.

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

05.

there’s a scar you’re not telling

You almost thought you were running late. Well, you weren’t.

But you were late to miss the early train.

Fuck.

And the train was packed. Just fucking great.

With your backpack hung in front of you, you tried to balance within your personal space whilst avoiding bumping into others. Thing was, it was getting more and more cramped as it was rush hour.

Why the fuck did school have to be so damn far!?

Businessmen, students, workers slowly filled in and out the train, it was wall-to-wall of people, barely allowing you a breather. Still, it was fucking cramped.

Absentmindedly, you bunched your hair together, letting it drape over your left shoulder, fingers nimbly working on a braid through your (h/c) locks.

Just as you secured it with a tie, the train cart screeched, the sudden movement throwing you off balance, falling back. Thankfully, warm hands grabbed hold of your shoulders, steadying you.

Your eyes turned to the windows, wondering if there was an attack from villains, some people were muttering behind you, thinking the same thing. Overhead, the PA went off, apologizing for the turbulence then announcing the next stop coming up.

Everyone sighed in relief, realizing it was just a train momentum, people were now shuffling around at the announcement, some preparing to leave while many others struggled to remain in their current spots.

Looking over your shoulder, towards your captor, with a smile you offer your gratitude. “Whew, thanks- “then you met ash blond and carmine, smile faltering, lower eye twitching, but a gratitude was still in order. “Yeah, thanks.”

Bakugou Katsuki's response was a noncommittal hum, roughened hands slowly slipping off your shoulders. As the train came to a stop, there was a shuffling of people, you were just about to take a step back, allowing people to move, but remembered that he was behind you. Though you were steady on your feet, it was still rush hour and people tend to really rush into the train - not wanting to miss the train. One false move and you could find yourself squished against someone, or against the window, or be cornered by some pervert – all options made you shudder.

Damn it. This is why you take the early train!

“Here,” without waiting for you to argue, roughened hands gently brought you aside, your back against the wall, shoulder touching the railing, with him in front of you. Protectively.

The feel of his hands on you made you remember just how warm they were, how big they’ve become compared to before.

“Um,” you didn’t like the way his eyes bore into yours, especially when it felt like he was seeing through you. “thanks. Again.”

Okay, not counting the time you had to confirm it earlier, that was two times already. Two words of gratitude in one morning.

He just blinked, towering over you whilst the train filled. Just the mere fact that he was in front of you made you consider a lot of things. Now that you had a good look at him, you could see that in his UA uniform, he was dressed rather ruggedly with the top buttons undone, even his blazer’s not completely buttoned, and his pants were loose – Auntie Mitsuki must’ve given him hell for his appearance. It was a total contrast to Izuku, who dressed like a good schoolboy – granted, he’s always been one. He just didn't know how to work a tie.

Regardless, he looked every bit of a high schooler now. Physically speaking, he’s always been muscular in build and tall – because of his good genes. But in a matter of time, because of his UA education, he’ll probably build up more.

But wow, it’s only been a few months since high school started, he’s definitely gotten bigger. Izuku, as well, but Bakugou’s muscles were more prominent-

Shit, were you ogling him?

Geez, it’s too early for these thoughts. Leaning against the railing, eyes squeezing shut, tucking your chin in, you groaned angrily to yourself.

Thankfully, you had your bag in front of you, creating a respectable space between you both.

Also, you could just end up not talking right? That was a thing.

You barely know the guy anymore, after years of bullying under his command, years of distance – he was nothing but a stranger to you now.

It hurt, actually.

There was a time when you were so close, never apart.

Everything just had to change because he had a quirk, birthing this damn ego that propelled him further and further away from you. Izuku, too.

And though you had your own (longer than Izuku), you felt so behind.

Him and Izuku in their UA uniforms, you in your generic public-school uniform.

The two of them were going places you could never see yourself following.

“Hey,” he called, voice surprisingly soft, cutting you off your thoughts. “that mark on your neck,” due to the environment noises surrounding, he had to lean in so you could hear him properly. “how did that happen?”

Fuck. He was too damn close!

But at the mention of the mark, hands instinctively reached for it, just by the junction of your neck and shoulder, abnormally shaped like a heart. A tiny splotch, that was over years old.

“You wouldn’t remember.” It was barely a whisper, but it reached his ears, carmine eyes faltering.

“Try me.”

Lifting your head, (e/c) eyes meeting carmine, fixing him an almost pained look. He balled his hand into fists at that, gazes holding, unwavering - a thousand words could be spoken.

The train came to a steady halt, finally reaching your stop.

Not breaking eye contact, you told him, in one breath. “It was when you discovered your quirk in kindergarten.” Then the doors opened beside you.

Hurriedly, you exited, never looking back.

Absentmindedly, your hand reached for the mark. To others, it might look cute due to its shape, but to you, it was a reminder. One of the many, anyway.

(It burned when you touched it.)

Middle school was a rough time, especially when you were the quirkless girl, an easy target, or a punching bag. Little did they know of your martial arts prowess and of your quirk, that even though you were restless in the morning, you learned to conserve just enough energy to fight, it just made you extra tired the next day though.

One day, you were cornered by a bunch of girls, all of which were fangirls of Bakugou, they saw you as a threat because of your relationship as childhood friends, forgetting that it was rather strained.

It was a four against one, which you easily won - because they chose to approach you near dusk, that was when your quirk picked up, but not without casualties.

“E-Eh, (Nickname)!? What happened to you?” Izuku frantically hovered over you when you met on the way to school.

Chuckling easily, you scratched at your bandaged cheek. “Ah, you know…assholes with quirks.”

His expression only worsened; eyes filling with tears. “(N-Nickname)…”

“IZUKU, PLEASE DON’T CRY!” you cried out, tossing your shoes into your shoe locker, lazily slipping on your indoor shoes. “Don’t worry, Izuku, I got them all.” You assure, adjusting your bag on your shoulders. “Besides, you’re forgetting that I’m a badass who knows martial arts!”

That quells him a little, worry still in his eyes. “T-That’s true. I’m just not sure how to feel that you have to resort to actually using them to defend yourself. I mean, I know you’re good at martial arts, because it’s in the family, and you’ve always been kind of strong and quick on your feet-“

“Izuku,” cutting him off, you worked on a cheeky grin. “I’m fine.”

Unconvinced, he fixes you a look, brows knitting together. “Just promise me you won’t get into fights again,”

Ah, he’s so cute when he’s being serious.

Scoffing, you swiped at your nose with your thumb. “No promises, so long as loose assholes with quirks continue to run amok and mess with me, I’ll show them exactly how I’ll mess them back and worse!”

That only made him uneasy, somehow a bit assured. “(N-Nickame)…”

When you both entered the room, your eyes easily caught on the girls from yesterday, each sporting some cuts and bruises from yesterday. The corner of your mouth lifted into a smirk, whistling breezily towards your seat.

“F-For now, (Nickname), are you feeling better? Do you want some aspirin? Do you need to head to the clinic?”

You shook your head, smiling at Izuku’s concern, he can really mother too much. “Like I said,” you said in a sing-song “I’ll be fine~ This’ll all heal soon enough, you’ll see.”

As soon as you said that, a pair of carmine eyes looked your way, focusing on each and every bandage and bruise on your skin.

Feeling someone looking your way, you turned your head. “Can I help you, Bakugou?” you drone lazily, leaning back against your seat to give him a bored look.

“A-Ah, K-Kacchan! G-Good morning- “

“Should’ve stayed at home to rest, idiot.” He tells you, eyes never leaving the bruises and bandages.

“Fuck off.” You replied, knowing the girls from yesterday were watching. Hopefully, that assured them that your relationship was pretty non-existent. Dead.

For the rest of the day, you were teetering on sleep and academic dedication with the former winning at each turn – a drawback of your quirk. Thankfully, you managed to snag some sleep during Japanese Literature and Science.

“Ah, (Nickname), you look like you’re getting better. But it would be wise not to sleep in class next time…” Izuku tells you, beratingly.

Yawning, arms stretched upwards, you fixed your best friend a dopey grin. “That’s alright, I can always depend on you for notes!”

“Really,” he sighs, announcing that you two should probably head off to lunch.

Yawning, you made your way to the meat section, mumbling over and over the things you need to buy for dinner. Lately, because your grandfather’s been working with Eraser Head, he’s been quite antsy when it comes to food, and a bit demanding, too!

Tonight, he wanted steak. FUCKING. STEAK. IT WAS EXPENSIVE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! AND HE DIDN’T EVEN SPECIFY WHICH STEAK HE WANTED!

Grumbling under your breath, you were just about to reach for the Wagyu steak (on sale, lucky you) when another hand appeared, reaching for the same thing, making you halt.

“Ah-" looking up, you were met with familiar warm brown eyes. "Uncle Masaru!”

“Oh, (Name)-chan, it’s you!” Came his soothing calm voice, eyes brightening at the sight of you. “It’s been a while.”

“It has been, Uncle.” Your smile grew, turning to him fully before the cold wind gently whispered to your skin as if to remind you. “Ah, you can have it, by the way.”

“No, no, you were reaching for it first.”

“No, I insist!”

“Please, (Name)-chan, it’s the least I can do. Also, this at least gives me an excuse to make something else,” he replies sheepishly with a light chuckle.

You paused at that, processing the information shared. Bakugou must’ve wanted steak for dinner, but since Uncle Masaru gave up the meat, it was yours now. It was your win.

Pettily taking the win as yours, you happily took the steak and dumped it into your basket. “Thanks, Uncle Masaru!”

If he noticed the mischievous – almost devil-like expression on your face, he didn’t mention it. He just smiled, kindly, warmly, like how you remembered.

“How have you been?” he asks you.

Normally, the question would annoy you, because it was rather basic. But it’s not every day you run into sweet, mild, and good-natured Uncle Masaru.

“Eh, I’m doing very well, as you can see.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. You used to be the smallest thing, with scrapes and bruises on your pretty dresses. Whenever you and Izuku were over, it was either a riot or a party.” Okay, you had to laugh at that, but it was true. Uncle Masaru laughs with you. Having him remember those things were endearing, made you feel warm. And guilty.

“I know it might seem awkward, but Mitsuki and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime. If that’s okay with you? Of course, you can bring Izuku-kun.”

Glancing up, you met the man’s kind gaze, the one thing Bakugou never got from him – everything was from his mom, he only ever got Uncle Masaru’s spiky hair and height.

You didn’t want to say no, neither can you say yes, but you sure as heck didn’t want to disappoint Uncle Masaru.

“No promise, Uncle Masaru,” his expression fell, shoulders dropping. “but, I’ll see what I can do.”

He smiled weakly. “Then that’s more than enough for me. Just don’t be a stranger, (Name)-chan, okay?”

Smiling softly, you bowed at the older man and turned on your heel.

Cutting your losses with someone really hurts, especially when it involves certain people.

Cutting off from Bakugou meant you had cut off all contact with his parents, whom you loved so much since they took care of you for a time when your parents had passed – both taking turns to visit you when you were deep in depression. It hurt, but it was expected when you decide to cut someone from your life. Nobody is spared.

This time it was seven-against-one.

After having their asses served to them, those bitches managed to talk some filthy high schoolers into beating a middle schooler. A quirkless middle schooler.

Rolling your shoulders, you enjoyed the burn of your wakened muscles. “Wow, you bitches really want to make yourselves look bad in front of an audience, huh?”

So far, they’ve all showed to have power quirks that could be readily usable for the future, should they decide to make use of it. Sadly, their prized quirks turned out to be nothing but a waste for these fuckers.

You easily toyed with them for the first few minutes, allowing a few hits in before retaliating with a force and speed that was twice theirs. You made sure that the punches and kicks, especially to those bitches, stung and hurt, they were your own brute strength honed from training and your quirk.

A sickening crunch rang in your ear after some high school student punched you in the cheek, you made sure to return the favor by capturing his next punch, taking your legs up to strangle him by the neck, catching him completely by surprise, using your weight to swing your body towards an approaching somebody before jumping off.

Watching the two high schoolers stumble to the ground, you lazily walked up to the rest, fingers caked with dirt, grime, and blood, knuckles aching, a dark bruise forming on your arm, (h/c) hair was a mess.

Spitting blood on the ground, you wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning at your next opponent, eyes glinting dangerously, menacingly, excitedly.

The rest of them faltered at your expression but didn’t back down.

That was alright, that meant they weren’t complete pussies after all.

Also, you liked fighting.

You came from a family of fighters, the thrill of it made your blood sing, made your instincts come alive – it made you feel alive.

“Hey, I’m a little disappointed,” you call out, watching the group – beaten and bruised. “you lot say you’re strong, an added bonus is your oh-so-cool quirks, so beating a measly, quirkless middle schooler like me should be no problem,” working on your most sickening grin, you tilted your head. “right?”

“Fucking bitch!”

“Now you’re really asking for it!”

“We’ll beat you black and blue!”

Falling into a stance, adrenaline rushed through your veins (and mentally preparing for a tongue lashing from your grandfather), when an explosion went off.

Clouds of smoke and sand filling the air, gushing furiously against the wind, making you squint.

“OI! IS THIS SOME DIRTY TRICK!?” you yelled, voice fading into noise of wind, sand, and explosions.

More explosions went off, going out at random – big, small, small then big. There was screaming and panicking on their end. Maybe they’ve probably found themselves in some yakuza turf and are being under attack? Shit, you had to make a run for it while you had the chance!

The sudden change of scene wasn’t good for your senses, everything was completely mushy and too much to comprehend. You at least remember where you put your bag, running towards a certain direction, you stopped at the sight of one of the fuckers. Their eyes widened at the sight of you, you readied a fist, but the gust was making your eyes water.

Falling to your knees, you covered your mouth as you coughed – having inhaled too much smoke and dust in your lungs, he saw this as an opportunity to attack you. But something grabbed him by the shoulders, some punches and groans followed, then an explosion could be heard before footsteps approached you.

Too busy coughing your lungs out, you were ready for any pain thrown at you, especially when you were at your most vulnerable.

Instead, a garb lands on your head, shielding you, arms easily scooping you off the ground, something lands on your belly, then loud hurried footfalls were taking you away from the scene.

The more you coughed, the more it felt like your lungs were going to give out, too strained to heighten your senses.

Eventually, your cough died down, your hands rubbing at your chest from coughing too much, throat dried out.

Ah, I probably will run into those assholes again, since we weren’t able to finish the fight.

You must’ve passed out – or dozed off, you weren’t sure – because the next thing you knew, you were being lowered down gently on a soft and cool sofa.

“W-Where…?”

Tugging the garb off your head, (e/c) eyes flinched at the light, strained to make out the furniture around you, the familiar TV set, the fancy-looking wall panel, the familiar staircase, that unmistakable family portrait – one brunette, two explosive blondes-

Wait, you were at Bakugou’s place?

What the heck, you haven’t set foot here in forever! Why’d he bring you here?

Fully coming to, you turned to the blond “Why’d you bring me here!?” you had to ask, demanding.

The sudden movement stung at your fresh injuries, making you coil in your seat.

“Where else was I going to take you?” he replied immediately, coolly, loud enough for you to hear as he was taking two bottles of water from the refrigerator. “My place was closest, yours takes a while to get there, plus, you wouldn’t want to worry your family, right?”

You stared at him, distrustfully, then at the water offered to you, shocked to find that he remembered how much your family would worry over your injuries – big or small. He was always the one carrying you home, almost witnessing first-hand how much your mother would be near tears, your grandfather giving you a murderous-worried look, and your father just ash-faced and pale.

Taking the water from his hand, you nodded your thanks, pressing the cool item against your jaw, hissing in pain from the punch thrown earlier.

Carmine eyes narrowed at that, an emotion crossing over them.

“Don’t move,” he orders, walking off somewhere, you don’t care, eyes wandering around the area. It’s been a while since you were here, the last time was when it was his 10th birthday. After that, though, you and Izuku stopped receiving invitations.

Twisting the cap open, you took gentle sips, relishing in the cool water running down your throat.

The Bakugous were loaded – because Uncle Masaru worked in the fashion industry and Auntie Mitsuki worked in a cosmetics company. The two adored you, treating you like a daughter they never had – Uncle Masaru would gift you cute dresses (which Bakugou would make fun of you whenever you wore them) whenever he can, and Auntie Mitsuki was a hard-ass woman you looked up to.

But since discovering his quirk, Bakugou had become unbearable to be with, a shitty friend to both you and Izuku, ties had to be severed. However, that also meant not being able to see Uncle Masaru and Auntie Mitsuki, who were surely saddened by you and Izuku’s absence.

Suddenly, Bakugou was in front of you, his gakuran unbuttoned, exposing his shirt underneath, a first aid kit in hand. Eyes meeting, a silent conversation was being held, carmine clashing against (e/c). Fixing him a dull stare, he clicked the first aid kid open. With a roll of your eyes, you allowed him to clean your wounds.

Silence filled in, nothing you both seemed to mind. Surprisingly, for a guy with an explosive, volatile quirk and a shitty attitude, he was rather gentle. Not like you’ll ever tell him that, eyes looking around the house, remembering the times you were over with Izuku, anything to avoid staring at him in awe.

“Do they always come for you…” having finished cleaning most of your wounds, his voice came out quiet, but you heard it, a statement rather than a question.

Blinking, you were unsure if he deserved an answer. He thought that was the case and asked again, dipping iodine into the cotton, “Do they always-“

“I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

Noticeably, his fingers stilled. Then, something smoked, it was the cotton ball, now reduced to ashes. A beat passed before he found himself working again, getting another cotton, now applying ointment to your bruises.

“Do you always need to fight them back?” There was a slight edge to his voice, controlled yet on the verge of breaking.

(E/c) hardened down on him, a seesaw of options playing in your head.

“Have to.” You reply breezily, watching him snap his head up to meet your gaze, unfazed by the anger in his carmine eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No shit.” He growled, hands beginning to shake. “What I do understand is the disciplinary action you’re gonna get once people find out you’ve been fighting fellow students, even if it were an act of self-defense! Y-You,” he slammed his fist into the glass table beside him, cracking it a little, his head hanging. “you could’ve just called the teachers, told them, too. About those bitches…”

“Again, I don’t see how this is- “

“YOU’LL BE FUCKING EXPELLED, (NAME)!” head still hung low, you could feel his hot breath and tufts of his hair against your skin, making you tingle a bit. It scared you to be this close to him, after all this time. Scared of how he was still protective of you.

Hating how you could hear the guilt in his voice because, in a way, he caused this, he allowed this, he was the reason. He was scared for you.

And he called you by your name.

The seesaw in your head continued, teetering, options weighing one after another.

“…why do you care?” One option up, the other falls. In the end, you just destroyed the seesaw. “Why waste your breath and time on an extra like me, quirkless too, if I might add, why waste your time?”

His head snapped up to yours, his expression was a shock to you. Why…why did he look so devastated, so crushed, so- “(Name)…”

Unable to stay any longer, never mind your still healing body, you stood. “I’m going now. Thanks for treating my injuries. I’ll..." you gulp, hard. "I'll try to avoid getting into fights.” Without waiting for a reply, you grabbed your bag, heading towards the door. “Bye.”

The next day, extremely exhausted from the fighting, Izuku once again panicked at the sight of your bruised and beaten face. When you reached the classroom, you were more than ready to meet the gazes of those bitches – only to find out they had been suspended, as they were given serious warnings should they cause another fight with you.

Apparently, someone had reported their involvement in ganging up on a quirkless student. Plus, there was a video of them taunting you since first year.

Bakugou was in his seat, looking anywhere but your way. Returning the gesture, you quietly sat in your seat, listening to whatever Izuku had to say.

Since then, you swore never to get into fights anymore for the sake of Izuku, and because Bakugou practically begged you.

“How’s school?” your grandfather asked, helping himself to some bok choy.

Shrugging easily, you cut a piece of steak, gesturing for his bowl to serve it to him. “Could be worse, but I’m doing fine.”

“Clarify, silly girl.”

“Mathematics continues to chew me in the ass,” you tell him, avoiding the hit thrown your way.

(Name) – 1, Shihan – 0.

“You’re failing already!?”

“Translation: it’s difficult, not I’m failing. Geez, old man, context!”

You barely dodged the chop aimed for your head, making you wince from the pressure.

(Name) – 1, Shihan – 1.

“That’s no way to talk to your elders, silly girl!” handing you an empty bowl, you nearly pawed it off his hands.

Angrily, you scooped him his heaping, a mound of hot rice returned to him. “Where do you think I take it from!?”

(Name) – 2, Shihan – 1.

“Enough arguing, more eating, foolish girl! We have training to do!”

(Name) – 2, Shihan – 2.

Narrowing your eyes at your grandfather, you wished lasers would come out just to fry off the last of his remaining hair out of petty spite.

Regardless, you loved your grandfather and appreciated these banters. He was rough on you, only because he wanted to teach you to be strong and to be able to hold off whatever was thrown your way so you can repay them back twice, thrice, or ten times more.

You were his pride and joy the moment you were born and swore to your parents that he’d guide and protect you so long as he was still kicking.

“I ran into Uncle Masaru today.”

“Oh! How is the man?”

“Same as always. Not a single grey hair in sight, despite living in a household full of rabid Pomeranians and hitting his forties.”

The Yoruichi patriarch stared down at you, unamused. “Please don’t tell me you told him that.”

Snickering, you deftly avoided his chops.

(Name) – 3, Shihan – 2.

“Gramps, please, like I’d be so willing to break Uncle Masaru’s heart.”

“You don’t have a problem doing that to me.”

“Simple: you’re literally and figuratively old,” you pointed with your chopsticks, waving them in the air as you enumerated more. “you’re Shihan of our dojo, and you have to raise me!”

(Name) – 4, Shihan – 3.

You failed to block the flick on your forehead after finishing your piece.

“Don’t wave your chopsticks in the air, fool, it’s rude.” Snickering at your whining, knowing it’ll leave a mark, he ate more steak. “And easy there with your words, silly girl, otherwise, I’ll repay your kindness in training!”

Recovering, you smirk, helping yourself to some steak. “Bring it! You know I love a good challenge!”

“Oho? My, someone’s cocky.”

“I wouldn’t be your granddaughter, either way.”

You two laughed at that, dinner coming to a finish as your grandfather happily ate the last of the steak. Eyeing the leftovers, you delighted at the thought of tomorrow’s lunch.

Just as you were to clean up, your grandfather asked a question: “By the way, how is the young Bakugou boy?”

(Name) – 4, Shihan – 4.

You stopped at that, hands freezing in the air, feeling your grandfather’s stare on you.

“Dunno.” Came your reply, hands found themselves resuming their work. “Don’t care.”

He watched in silence as you arranged the empty plates, bowls, and chopsticks. “Still not in speaking terms, eh?”

“Yep.”

Your grandfather didn’t have to ask to know that something changed between the three of you, especially with you and Bakugou. What you two had was not something so easy to forget, especially when both of you had been so close. Since then, his name had been taboo in the house.

“He goes to UA with Izuku, right?”

At the mention, you feel the tension seeping away slightly, mouth fixed in a straight line. “Yeah…”

“Are they in speaking terms?”

That made you scoff, fixing your grandfather a dubious look. “Civil, to say the least. Izuku’s not a brute, not like that other one.”

The animosity was clear in your tone as you talked about the other boy, like a bitter pill. Strong arms, decorated in scars and tattoos, crossed against his chest, displeased yellow eyes fixed on you.

“Has he tried talking to you?”

Shrugging with one shoulder, you turned to a lone rice on the table, flicking it without care. “He has, but they’re pretty half-assed.”

“What makes you say that?” to which, he received another shrug from you, mouth twisted into a twisted pout.

Consciously, you reached for your mark, rubbing at it with your fingers. “Some things are better left unsaid, the same way that some things buried should never be unearthed. It’s better off that way.”

His eyes never left your form, taking in your slouch, the look on your face, the sadness in your eyes. “Are you talking about yourself? Because that’s a rather selfish line of thinking, don’t you think?” Shifting, he slowly stood from the table, you watched him stand and met his gaze, offering you a sad look. “In a way, aren’t you being half-assed, yourself?”

Winner: Shihan, Loser: (Name).

masterlist • six

[aro-comics]

Fashion Analysis (Part 5: Aromanticism & Fashion?)

[Note: This post is a part of a series analyzing self-expression, fashion, aromanticism, and how they interact with other parts of identity. For full context please read the whole thing!]

Aromanticism and Fashion?

Now that we have gone through LGBTQ+ History with fashion, and the importance of self expression - I think we’re in a good place with all this context to discuss how aromanticism and fashion can intersect. (and again, as a disclaimer, all of this is purely speculative!). 

Personally, I think there may be a few philosophies on how Aromanticism and Fashion may interact. You can look at it a few different ways, either considering the influence amatonormativity may have on our methods of dress, but also the context in which Aromantic communities are forming (online). 

On the influence of Amatonormativity

Up until this point I’ve been side-stepping the consideration of amatonormativity – but it does impact self-expression, I think, and it’s worth discussing it’s relation to aromanticism.

I had a discussion with one of my aroace friends about the idea of wanting to avoid “attention” in the romantic and/or sexual sense growing up. There is an inherent tie-in with wanting to appear desirable (as shown in the beginning of the comic, and also reinforced through many pieces of popular media), with romantic outcomes. In both of our experiences, I believe it made the idea of being seen as conforming to beauty norms an uncomfortable activity. 

And looking back to lesbian fashion history too, we can see this subversion of heteronormative expectation is tied into a lot of their community’s means of dress. Which leads me to wonder - will we also see this with an emerging Aromantic sense of fashion? How could this impact clothing choice, and general expression as it relates to an amatonormative society? 

I want to note that personally, outside of professional contexts, I like to dress femininely in a subversive and “alternative” way. I LOVE the idea of being hyperfeminine as a performance, being a living, breathing, work of art, while simultaneously creating an aesthetic that would not consider “attractive” in an amatonormative context. And another aroace friend has confirmed feeling this way with me too! She mentioned she likes to dress in a way that will make women go “wow, we love this outfit” but at the same time cause *conservative straight old men* go “what are you wearing” (to paraphrase our conversation). 

I think some good examples of this from my personal experience would be the following:

1. I love aggressive, graphic liner - generally makeup is thought of as something that feminizes the face, something that softens. But I also like to use it to create the angles and shapes that adorn my face, something abstract for the sake of being beautiful. Like mentioned before, I don’t want to appear romantically attractive to anyone, and I think that for me, at least, this is a part of using femininity to subvert these expectations. 

2. I love ethereal-looking, avant-garde sheer dresses, not in the sense that they could be romanticized, but in the way they again make me feel detached from the idea of beauty for the sake of appealing to anyone else. Instead, for me it feels like beauty as a wild, untameable form of nature and being. 

But … maybe I should mention the unconventional tastes are partially tied to the fact I spend a lot of time in creative spaces because of my degree, and overall I am exposed to more diverse ranges of self-expression to begin with! Either way, though, I am curious what other aros have to say, so feel free to let me know your experiences with this. I’d love to provide an update with thoughts from other aros! 

Forming Community Online and its Possible Impacts

The online nature of the development of Aro Culture leads me to wonder if this medium of interaction will influence the development of our fashion, much like how it influences the development of fashion overall.  For example, with tiktok, the app is often credited for its major influence on modern fashion trends (and leading to the emergence of microtrends). 

Most visual designs are being affected by the way social media algorithms work too. The “allegria style” created by facebook, otherwise known as the “flat gangly limbed drawing style beloved by tech companies”, has exploded in popularity. Regardless of how one might feel about the widespread adoption of this style of illustration, it’s clear that it has significant advantages that have led to its popularity, one of which is its ability to be “consumed” or visually understood at high speed due to its graphic nature and simple design. Basically, when people look at things on their phones, and they’re scrolling quickly, they’re more likely to understand what they see and interact with what they see if it’s easy to visually “read”. And I truly believe that this is influencing most forms of design, including fashion (which subsequently, will influence aro fashion). If you’d like to learn more about this subject, sources 14, 15, and 16 provide more insight into how social media algorithms have influenced design and visual culture at large. 

I think another factor to consider here is the effect of seeing the whole world at once - having the influence of all different media, visuals, and pop culture at the same time has created a very unique environment for development. As one example, the wider aspec communities have developed with the existence of our flags (which are purple and green centered for ace and aro respectively). This would be knowledge that wouldn’t be so easily spread through the whole community in a pre-internet era, and I personally (THIS IS ONLY MY THEORY) feel this is part of the reason there is a far stronger connection to these colours within aspec culture. It’s something that unifies us and was one of our first introductions to the community (since most of us probably looked up the definition of aromantic, or asexual, online), and I think for this reason these colours hold special significance and are present in a lot of of our means of self expression and communication with other members of our community. 

Obviously, the formation of symbols and ways of self-identification will occur anyway (many symbols exist for other members of the LGBTQ+ community too), but I do think being online has a particular influence on the ways community symbols are communicated, and create a different context in where these cultural symbols take shape.

[Note from Author: For Part 6, click here!]

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Your cool literary takes on James Bond made me want to ask you this. I have to wear a tuxedo for a special occasion, can you give me some advice? I would welcome some style pointers from you as I respect your refined taste. What are your thoughts on men wearing the tuxedo? I think it’s a dying tradition because here in the US, where the tux was invented, it has all but disappeared as the choice of evening wear for any social events. Great blog posts but I only wish you would post more.

Thank you for your kind words about my most recent posts on Ian Fleming’s James Bond and also generally liking what I post. I too wish I could post more but unfortunately my time is taken up with the reality of work and other things even during these tough times of the Covid pandemic. But when I get a moment to myself I do enjoy posting as a way to detox from the pressures of work. I appreciate your continued support.

I got this question before Christmas so the thought had occurred to me that you were asking because you had a decision to make over the festive period. If so, I am sorry for tardy lateness of my response. But I trust what little advice I can give will help you in the future. 

I always remember the maxim by the fashion designer, Tom Ford, who said, “Dressing well is a form of good manners.”

To me, for a man to wear black tie (or tuxedo) is the height of good manners. It used to be the case that every gentleman had one and it was perhaps the first suit to pack into a suitcase. Perhaps one of the few times I was ever envious of my older brothers as men was accompanying them with my father the first time they went to get fitted for a bespoke black tie at Henry Poole & Co - the Savile Row tailors that had been the regular choice of my grandfather and father for their clothing attire. Although both siblings later gravitated to other Savile Row bespoke tailors as they got older, that first Henry Poole black tie lasted them for a long time. The whole ritual around taking measurements took on a hushed sacred tone of a liturgy. Looking back it felt like a rite of passage for them as they passed from boyhood to adulthood.

The choice of wearing a tuxedo epitomises the desire - among people of means and social standing - to be fresh, clean and as attractive as possible when meeting on evening social events and attending high spirits affairs. This tradition was maintained also with the beginning of the use of the automobile, when there was no practical justification.

Before the Second World War, tuxedos and tails were still considered the only appropriate clothing for all the elegant social evenings. However, after the war, the traditional suit, or the work suit, began to be accepted more on informal evening and daytime occasions, and so the use of the tuxedo was limited to just formal evening gatherings only.

The tuxedo was completely remade in disco's image by the 1970s. A young, revolutionary generation looked at the conservative styling of the tuxedo and threw out nearly everything, keeping only the vague silhouette. Huge, floppy bow ties, colourful patterned jackets, shirts with ruffles and lace, and trousers that looked more like bell-bottoms became much more prevalent. The typical tuxedo in the '70s usually had at least two of these elements, if not all of them.

By the 1980s, a return to classic styling had thankfully re-emerged and tuxedos started looking more conservative.

By the late 2000s, as dress codes became diluted and misunderstood, formal-wear took another hit. Business-casual was the predominate dress code of the workplace and shiny black suits with matching ties had nearly supplanted traditional black-tie. Coloured dress shirts also began to trend in this era.  Those who continued to wear traditional black-tie made it as simple as possible to match the casual aesthetic that a new generation preferred.

These days I think more and more young men are adopting the black-tie styles of the '30s and '40s. Midnight blue tuxedos have even made a comeback. I think high quality period dramas like "Mad Men" are at least part of the reason for the shift, with men growing nostalgic for a bygone era of neater, more crisp look.  

People forget, as often as they do, that the original purpose of this elegant clothing was to replace the suit worn all day, allowing men to leave behind the dirt and smell of a day spent on horseback, not to bring it around the dining table.

These days the emphasis on informality has made it easier to make excuses for men (and women) to dress down to a street level of casual indifference (laziness) that I find aesthetically displeasing.

Moreover I find it a tad disrespectful to the sense of occasion and also an unkind ingratitude to the efforts made by the host or hostess in organising such an event. For those who think wearing black tie is a sign of social superiority, then respectfully they have not understood its true purpose. In following the dress code, it is in effect a sign of respect towards your fellow guests, as it has been put in place to ensure attendees are on the same level.

The origin of the tuxedo is a controversial subject of conversation in some circles. I know in the US it’s common to assume the tux was invented there but many have pointed out it was in England that its origins lie. Some fashion historians trace it back to the 17th Century as a tailless ‘smoking jacket’. In England during the 17th century, after dinner the gentlemen might put on a smoking jacket and retreat to a den or smoking room. Indeed in the beginning it was believed that the purpose of the ’smoking jacket’ ensured that their evening coat would not be burned by ashes nor absorb the smell of tobacco which the women found distasteful.

However these days there remain two theories about the first ever proper tuxedo that we would recognise today. In the first theory the tuxedo was invented by Pierre Lorillard IV of New York City according to one school of thought. Pierre Lorillard's family were wealthy tobacco magnates who owned country property in Tuxedo Park, just outside of New York City. At a formal ball, held at the Tuxedo Club in October 1886, the young Lorillard wore a new style of formal wear for men that he designed himself. He named his tailless black jacket the tuxedo after Tuxedo Park. The tuxedo caught on and became fashionable as formal wear for men.

The second theory, according to English clothing historian James Laver, has it that the idea of wearing black for evening wear was first introduced by the 19th Century British writer, Edward Bulwer-Lyttonn who wrote in 1828 that "people must be very distinguished to look well in black." It was only until later in the century that a village resident of Tuxedo Park, New York, James Brown Potter vacationed in England in the summer of 1886. Potter and his wife, Cora were introduced to the Prince of Wales {who later became King Edward VII} at a court ball in London. Potter asked the Prince for advice on formal dress. The Prince sent Potter to his own Saville Row tailor, Henry Poole & Co. Potter was fitted with a short black jacket and black tie that was unlike the formal tails with white tie that was worn in the United States for formal occasions.

The new tailless formal wear was said to have been designed by the Prince of Wales. It was Edward VII who in 1865 commissioned to his tailor Henry Poole to create a short blue evening jacket (midnight blue), to be used for informal evenings in his country estate of Sandringham. The Prince and his tailor drew inspiration from the British military uniforms of the time, which used short jackets with black ties.

This is where the two origins meet. James Brown Potter took the design back to the Tuxedo Club, where Pierre Lorillard modified it, named it, and made it popular during the Autumn ball. And so from that blessed bespoke collaboration between the Prince and Henry Poole & Co was born the ancestor of what everyone call today as tuxedos, the English ‘dinner jacket’ and the Americans ‘tuxedo’ - because of its original word spread starting from the homonymous village of Tuxedo Park.

Whatever the exact truth of its origin, black tie remains the evening attire par excellence. I’m flattered that anyone should ask me for style tips, especially regarding grooming and clothing for men.

I like to think that the true purpose of a man wearing black tie was to help the man show the humility to be an unassuming gentleman in effortlessly blending into the background so that his female companion could shine more by his side. A man in black tie was a gentleman who stood steadfastly there with an outstretched arm to make women feel more beautiful, but also to reassure them that all is right in the world.

If you get the opportunity to wear black tie then do please take it. The fact that you desire to wear one is already a great choice that makes you stand out from the loud bling-bling hoi polloi. But please don’t confuse wearing a black tie with snobbery. It isn’t, it’s just good manners. Manners maketh man as they say and so it’s not something one is born with but can only be learned. And don’t confuse fashion for style. The two are very different. Fashion is what you copy from others and style is what you express about yourself. Don’t conform to the passing fancies of the day (the loud, the garish, the attention seeking), or as Coco Chanel put it, ‘elegance is refusal’.

Always remember that style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.  

In theory, the elegance of the tuxedo stems from its simplicity - it’s an ultimate classic, the one outfit one doesn’t mess around with. In practice, many men find the rules governing this suit and its accoutrements to be annoyingly complex and complexly annoying.

My basic rule for men is ‘kiss’ - Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

Rule 1: Buy, don’t rent

It’s better if the black tie that you have is yours, and not rented. For one thing it’s a question of comfortability. You’ll be comfortable in your skin if you’re more comfortable in a suit that actually fits. Secondly, a rental doesn’t mean it’s good quality. The fabric is an important consideration.

In an ideal world you should get a bespoke tailored black tie made - ideally from any of the excellent tailors on Savile Row. But not all tailors are equal. Henry Poole & Co would be the traditional choice. I know for my older brothers they prefer Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman because they have a more military draped cut, traditional but not stuffy.

In the long run it’s a once in a lifetime worthy investment if you take in consideration the cost of each potential rental along with how many times you would be wearing one throughout the coming years.

But I understand for many that may be an impossible proposition. The next best thing is to get a less expensive ‘made-to-measure’ black tie which is an increasing and welcome avenue for men to still have a suit or black tie made to fit them.

I would hesitate recommending buying off the peg because many high street brands have a rather relaxed attitude to tailoring and quality. If you must buy off the peg or rent then make sure the fabric is wool.

Rule 2: Black or Midnight blue and no other colour

Your black tie should be, to state the obvious, black. Not only is it the correct choice, it is the stylish choice. You can never go wrong with black. But if you’re feeling a tad adventurous go with Midnight blue. Midnight blue, being blacker than black, is not merely an exception to the rule but an exceptional choice for shimmering with distinction under the moonlight.

But what about white dinner jacket so beloved of James Bond or Indiana Jones? Yes, quite.

Traditionally, white was worn in place of a traditional black suit to deflect heat. This made it the perfect alternative for black-tie events that were held in the afternoon, during the Summer or at sea. The white jacket variation of black tie began was adopted in the early 1930s as a way for well-heeled vacationers to dress formally in the tropical heat without having to endure the heavy and dark-coloured fabrics that were standard for evening wear at the time. 

While dinner suits have become much more lightweight since then, the light-coloured jacket has remained a popular warm-weather alternative to its ebony progenitor. However, without a proper understanding of its form and function, the white dinner jacket easily becomes a flashy gimmick.  Subtlety and restraint are the keys to the successful execution of this classic variation.

Avoid other colours like the plague. I do notice from time to time in the shop windows here in Paris (as well as London and elsewhere) that some menswear boutiques display bright coloured dinner jackets.

Usually it’s the Italians (like Canali and Brunello Cucinelli who give in to their worst Italian impulses to show off their peacock flair) and others who really should know better (yes, the wine red velvet dinner jacket is very fetching but it belongs by log side fire, a cigar, and a cognac, so thank you Tom Ford). I even think some of them look nice and charming but it’s not black tie.

Besides a non-traditional black tie will be much more vulnerable to the whims of passing fashion where as traditional unfussy black tie can give peace of mind that it will never go out of style and thus will last longer.

Rule 3: Put yourself in a straight jacket

The first thing to decide is single or double-breasted and number of buttons. A safe and elegant option is one-button single breast which is both timeless and classical. Two buttons are fine, worn with the lower button undone. Double-breasted styles of any button configuration are also appropriate, but keep in mind that double-breasted jackets add some ‘bulk’ to the body. So take a hard look at your body type before you decide which one best flows off your shoulders. The buttons should be fabric-covered.

Hand in hand with the button style goes the lapel. The classic, formal option is peak lapel. Shawl lapel is somewhat less formal, but perfectly suitable. Shawl has become very popular, especially in slim versions. Notch lapels are frequently seen on off-the-rack tuxedos, but this is a more casual style, which should be reserved for suits. My preference would be to go for the peak lapel but make them sufficiently wide and not too slim.

The jacket was traditionally without vents, to keep seams (i.e. details) to a minimum, but double vents are also acceptable, providing comfort and movement. The pockets should be straight piped (slit without flap) and there should be a breast pocket.

Rule 4: Trousers, brace yourself

The trousers are ideally made without pleats or cuffs, with straight pockets following the side seam, in order to make them less visible. Black tie attire should never be worn with belts, so skip the belt loops. Traditionally one would use suspenders (braces) as it straightens the body shape as well as holds up the trousers. Choose black or white braces in fabric, rather than in leather, or in any case they should be matching the colour of the tuxedo. But I should note that side-fasteners are also a convenient option for some flexibility in the waist. The front closure should be clip-only, avoiding the button. Classically, the trousers will have a satin silk stripe covering the outer side seam on each leg, matching the lapel facing. This is a lovely detail, but nowadays sometimes considered old-fashioned. For this reason alone I would insist on it.

Rule 5: Don’t get shirty

The shirt should be plain white cotton, with a few distinct features. It should always have a ‘bib’ running down to front, which provides starchy stiffness (i.e. a higher level of formality). I’ve seen shirts in which vertical pleats in matching fabric are designed. I think they look plain and boring. Similarly if someone suggests to you a fly-front placket panel that covers the buttons and leaves a clean look then walk away immediately. Both these kind of shirts are for the lazy because they both want to avoid having to deal with those troublesome studs where the buttons would be.

I would advise always make sure your shirt has a starch like ‘bib’ that is attached made up of a textured pique fabric (pin dots), usually called Marcella. They look so much more elegant and classy.

Many would say that collar can be a normal Kent variety or a wing collar, which has little points turned down where the collar wings would be, but otherwise exposing the collar band. I personally think a wing collar is subject to whims of fashion and something best left in a 1920s set movie. Some can wear them very well (see Paul Newman in The Sting) but it depends on the girth of your neck. I think the wing collar can portray a man’s neck in an unflattering way.

I think the normal Kent collar is cleaner and classical, and it will never go out of style. The Duke of Windsor made the Kent collar hugely popular in his prime.

The cuffs should be double (French cuff), to accommodate cufflinks.

Many people also forego the buttons on evening shirts, instead leaving holes where you can attach studs (often matched with the cufflinks). If you are going to do that make sure that they’re mother of pearl studs.

Rule 6: Accessories are in the details

The shirt should not be visible at the waist, which calls for a something covering the gap between trousers and jacket, unless you opted for a double-breasted jacket. Traditionally, this is non-negotiable, but these days you often see people wearing no waist covering. My advice is unless you’re wearing a double breasted black tie (for which there is no need to wear a cummerbund) then always wear a cummerbund with a single breasted black tie.

You either use a cummerbund matching the bow tie (a cummerbund folds upwards, for convenient opera ticket storage) or a waistcoat. Please don’t commit the faux pas of making your cummerbund a colour other than black. Often people match their bow ties to their cummerbunds in garish bright colours which just defeats the object of why one wears black tie in the first place.

For the waistcoat, there are a few style options. Often, black tie waistcoats will have a rounded (horseshoe) cut with shawl lapels but a regular cut waistcoat is also acceptable. The key is to go simple and match the jacket fabric, facing and buttons. The back can be wool or lining, where we’d recommend the latter, to make the ensemble cooler. A stylish fob watch with chain would be a nice little detail that one can drop without telegraphing it loudly.

Consider having a white silk pocket square. You can fold it any way you like, but the so-called straight presidential fold is simple and sharp looking.

Socks must be knee length. Make them black. Again, the principle is one of clean lines and elegance. Disruptions below the trouser leg - stripes, shins, whatever - threaten to ruin the whole effect.

Shoes. Your shoes must always shine. This is one detail many men neglect. The shoes should be black patent leather. My preference would be for high quality Oxfords. I know some purists would insist that only opera pumps walk the one true path, but it is obvious on its face that those precious ribboned things, also called court shoes, are not completely in step with modern life. I know too that bit-toe loafers (thank you Tom Ford) are also more of the modern rage but I find them a little effeminate. So while I don’t see it as a style concession I do think Oxfords shined to a high sheen is the modern and best choice I would opt for a gentleman to go for. To me being comfortable in your shoes is also an equal and valid consideration.

Cufflinks and studs should be simple and classic, luxury metals and mother-of-pearl or onyx insets are nice touches. I know some punt for more personalised cuff links - like their regimental or college or some other institutional affiliation - and there is nothing wrong with that but I am on the fence about this. Generally I would leave that for your day time business suits. Showing off defeats the ethos of wearing the black tie in the first place. 

Rule 7: ‘Sprezzatura’ up your bow tie

‘Sprezzatura’ is a gorgeous Italian word - first appearing in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness. This perfectly sums up how one should wear the centre piece of the black tie - the bow tie.

Don’t be taken in by the very modern fad - thank you Hollywood and modern music pop stars - of wearing long neck ties (even if they are in black) as part of your black tie attire. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter how swish you may look you still are a prat for not dressing in real black tie.

Plain black silk and entirely self-tied. That’s a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie. But what if you don’t know how to tie a real bow tie? It’s never too late to learn. It’s the same level of difficulty as tying your shoes. If you don’t know ask someone who does know. If you’re buying a bespoke tailored black tie the tailor would most definitely show you how to do it. Easy peasy.

Remember bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn. That’s what makes the wearer authentic.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

And that’s it. Those would be my informal rules for any man wanting to be a gentleman wearing black tie for a special occasion.

Thanks for your question.

[moss-lyman]

If you’re taking prompts and are ever in the mood, I’d love some post series j/d + ‘feeling insecure’

Also I’ve just ripped through everything you’ve posted on AO3 and I wanted to say thank you for writing and for doing it for free you’re a goddamn icon 😭

thank you so much for these kind words! it’s crazy to me that people actually read and care about what I write 🥺 the west wing fandom isn’t big by any means, but you guys have really shown me a lot of love and I really appreciate it! 💛

here’s a little bit set post-series. :)

Josh looks over at Donna as their driver takes them home and he nudges her shoulder. “You’re quiet today.” She doesn’t acknowledge him so he nudges her again. “Donna?”

“Hm?” she asks, turning finally to look at him.

“You okay?”

She goes back to staring out the window and sighs. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a long day.”

Josh frowns. “How’d the meeting with the women’s caucus go?”

She huffs out a laugh, but Josh knows she’s not actually amused. “Well, do you wanna hear about how Helen is a disappointing First Lady or how I’m a worthless chief of staff?”

“What? Who said that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he urges and he grabs her hand to draw her attention away from the window. “It absolutely does matter. Who the hell said that to you?”

Donna stares at their joined hands and moves her thumb errantly over his knuckles. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe Helen was wrong in picking me.”

“No,” he says firmly and moves her chin up so he can see her face. “Don’t talk like that. Those women... they’re mostly conservative which makes them mostly addle minded anyway. They don’t get to set the First Lady’s agenda. You do. And the caucus will be lucky if you give them a heads up first. You know that’s how we run things.”

“But Josh, I’m not established like I should be. Most congresspeople still see me as your assistant. They’re more worried about what you’re doing than what I have to say. It’s just...” She sighs and puts on her brave face. “It’s fine. It was just a long day is all,” she finishes lamely, wanting to drop the conversation completely.

Josh pulls her into his side and rubs her shoulder, putting his mouth right by her ear. “You are capable. You’re smart, you’re savvy, you’re quick on your feet, you’re always calm and insanely organized. You are meant to do this job,” he murmurs, his tone soft, but firm, and she sniffs a little. “I can’t even put into words how proud I am of you. You amaze me. Every single day, Donna. Do not let those awful women demean you. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. I know it.”

Donna sniffs again and plays with a frayed string on his dress shirt. “How are you so sure?”

“What do you mean how am I sure? You were my chief of staff for 7 years.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” he argues. “I mean, you corralled Congress and you organized everything like you do in Mrs. Santos’ life. You made big plays and took meetings with important people.”

“I didn’t make policy.”

“Donna, you sat on the budget meetings.”

“Which led to a government shut down.”

“Because of the republicans!” he exclaims. “Not because you weren’t adequate. Leo himself believed in you and your capabilities, babe. I mean, I can’t really give you higher validation than that.” She sighs and tucks into him a little more, so he kisses her forehead. “If it means anything... I believe in you, too.”

She takes her head off his shoulder and gives him a small smile, her eyes a little red from holding back frustrated tears. “It does,” she assures quietly.

Josh leans down and gives her a sweet kiss. “You’re doing an incredible job. Don’t let them ruin your hard work.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes,” he murmurs and gives her another kiss before settling her in the crook of his arm. “Take a page from my book and yell a little next time.”

“I’m a refined woman. I don’t yell.”

“You yell at me all the time.”

“I firmly admonish you for leaving your clothes everywhere. I don’t yell.”

“Pretend they’re me then. Don’t sugarcoat anything with Congress. They’re annoying little sycophants. They have no say in how you run the First Lady’s office. You’re the boss.”

Donna sniffs again and let’s out a long exhale as Josh continues to rub her shoulder. She was feeling defeated all day long. Nothing was going right, she got called names, and she’d been feeling like a total failure - ready to throw in the towel completely and give Mrs. Santos her resignation. It’s weird and also insanely wonderful that Josh can make her mood do a total 180. The tension and fear snarling in her stomach has all but dissipated, and she feels ready to go back to work tomorrow.

“When did you get so good at pep talks?”

“I’m a man of the people,” he quips.

“You hate people.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the exception.”

She stares at their linked hands in his lap and wonders what she did to deserve such a sweet man. “Thank you,” she murmurs, getting emotional for a different reason, and he brings their hands to his lips so he can kiss hers. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

He smiles and holds their hands against his chest. “Yes you could,” he assures, completely confident in her capabilities. “But I plan on being there regardless. I love watching you take over the world.”

“I don’t know about that,” she says, sitting up as the driver pulls in front of their building. “I think I’ll just focus on the east wing for now.”

She moves to get out of the car, but he stops her. “Hey,” he murmurs, pulling a little on her hand. She looks back at him and he’s glad to see all signs of distress gone. “I just wanna say that I am... so incredibly beyond proud of you. And I know I don’t tell you enough, but I am.” She tilts her head as her eyes turn glassy, but he holds steady. “I knew after that very first day that you would go places and I just feel very lucky that I get to be the guy behind you who cheers you on.”

She doesn’t get a word out before she surges forward and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as more happy tears slip down her cheeks.

“I love you so much,” he whispers after a moment and moves back to rest his forehead against hers, bringing his thumbs up to wipe her tears away, and kissing her on the forehead.

Her laugh comes out a little watery as she leans back from him completely to flip her hair off her shoulder and wipe the mascara runs from her eyes.

“You got me all gross,” she complains and sniffs again, but Josh doesn’t care.

“Come here,” he murmurs and brings her forward to press his lips to hers. He vaguely hears their agents getting antsy as they sit in the car with Donna’s door open, so he keeps it short and sweet. “You’re beautiful. And smart and capable. Dont ever let anyone tell you otherwise, alright? And if they do, just send ‘em my way.”

“Josh,” she admonishes, but her smile is bright as she finally steps out of the car, much to the secret service’s approval, and meets him in front, taking his hand again.

“You know, everyone always says the White House is like the mob. Just say the word, Donna. They’ll never trace it back.”

She laughs outright at that and nudges him with her shoulder. “You’d put a hit out for me?” she asks, lilting her voice to mimick pure adoration. Like he just gave her 100 red roses.

“I would do considerably more than that,” he answers honestly, walking through the main door of their building. “Nothing’s off the table.”

“You’re very sweet,” she says, holding onto his bicep as he leads her up to their apartment. “And a little ridiculous.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

She hums in agreement and gets in front of him so she can pull him along by his tie. “That you are,” she murmurs, her bad mood completely forgotten as she draws him into the apartment, the front door closing just as she gets his lips on hers. “Show me some more.”

[battle-of-roses]

When Rome Burns : Part 1

TW : Logan Roy's A+ Parenting, Manipulative Logan

By @your-gay-cousin-clover

---

With a certain hint of trepidation, Tom starts dressing himself to meet up with Shiv in downtown New York. The plan was pretty simple for the day: meet up with Shiv, find a gift for her father, put on his best Midwest honourable fellow personality and charm the pants of all her family. He stopped for a moment in the middle of his bedroom, standing there in his white button up, boxers and black socks, biting his lip on whether to take the gold ring, he’d picked out a week ago, to the party. After all this time he had spent with her, ever since their whirlwind romance in Hong Kong, he was sure that she was the one for him. His soulmate, the-one-who-he-got, his loml. The question was of when?

The party would be a good place to propose. Lavish surroundings, her entire family, and a pretty pricey ring to show his commitment to her. All eggs in your basket, he’d say if- when she said yes. And it would all be fine and okay. He starts to daydream for a moment, his dreams flying higher than just becoming Logan Roy’s son-in-law, maybe he’d join in the business himself. He would swoop in, take over one of the main branches of Royco, maybe ATN and continue the family business until he had his own billionaire kids à la Shiv.

Beep! Beep!

His fantasies suddenly dashed down into the floor. He jerks and reaches to the phone on the table to receive the call. It’s Shiv.

“Hey honeybee,” he says in a sweet-syrupy tone that he hoped conveyed his affections accordingly.

“Where are you?”

He immediately frowns. Her tone is clipped sharp, a razor’s edge, threatening him to not speak a word off their usual script.

“I’m … ahh… just getting dressed. Oh, oh, how formal is the even supposed to be? Do you think I could sneak in a tartan tie pattern to impress your Dad?” He tries to detract from her irritation.

“The fuck, Tom? Don’t be silly. Just wear whatever you want, you’re not a pre-schooler. It’s a formal event, but don’t wear anything weird or embarrassing.” Her words just kick up a latent anger in him that he press down as per usual. It’s alright, maybe it’s her job that’s got her stressed.

He tries another jovial voice for a size. “Ok, love-,” he continues, but there’s no Shiv on the other side of the call. Just him and the dial tone mocking him.

Right.

Nothing weird or embarrassing.

He drops the ring into a drawer of his bedside table and shuts it close.

—

The day goes in its own pace and Shiv makes a hasty apology about her signal getting dropped in the elevator. He waves it off, he always goes. There’s no use holding on a grudge with his future-wife-to-be, on silly things like one too many passive aggressive words and brushed off endearments. And so, here he is now. Standing in the middle of an opulent penthouse living room, chatting pleasantries with Marcia, hands sweaty as he tightens his grasp on the gilded box with the watch.

It had been pretty expensive to purchase on his own. He and Shiv were comfortable, sure. But they - no, he wasn’t Olympus rich like the Roys, America’s number one conservative messiah. He hopes it’s enough. Enough for a job at ATN, enough for Shiv, above all, enough for Logan.

His fucking future hung on a balance because of a little ticking metal machine.

Ding!

There. The elevator’s number stuck still on their current floor and his breathing picks up. Everyone else collects around the door to waiting as the metal door open, but he stands back, alone. For a split second, he’s swallowed up in all the gold, gild and glamour around him and he simply can’t breathe.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of all this. No matter how brave, how much of a fucking asshole he pretends to be. He does not deserve to be here. He’s what? Got a few hundred thousand in his savings, while collectively in front of him stands the 3rd richest family in America. He just wants to bolt and never come back.

And in the same fleeting moment, the doubt hastily vaporises as Logan Roy himself steps into the view amidst loud yells of “Happy Birthday!”.

The moment he sees Logan, it’s something of oh, that echoes in his head. Like oh, he’s just an old man. And he indeed looks frazzled, startled by the sudden cheers. But he whispers something to Marcia, who takes his coat and hands it off to one of the numerous maids hurrying around the house.

And then he straightens up to face the crowd. There’s something in his eyes that makes Tom want to shrink back against the patterned wallpaper. Something fierce, something very calculating. He watches as Logan makes his way through the crowd of his children and nods absent-mindedly at everyone’s greetings.

“Shiv,” Logan says, turning to Shiv, his back to Tom “Where’s Wambsgans? I thought we invited him.”

Shiv’s expression falters for a second, perhaps debating whether her father’s joking or not. It’s clear, he’s not, when the beat of silence extends between them. She smiles back again, radiant. And gosh, Tom loves her so much.

“He’s behind you, Dad!”

Tom didn’t have much time to be mortified as Logan turned to him and stuck his hand out to shake. Awkwardly balancing his watch box on one hand, Tom tries to make grip firm and solid. Logan gives him two shakes and quickly removes his hand.

“Wambsgans, you’ve got a strong grip. Trying to break an old man’s hand, eh?”

Fuck. Of course, Logan Roy would be above all masculine handshaking bullshit that the Wall Street posers were really into. Logan knew he was the king of the world, didn’t need to prove it to any Tom-Dick-Harry on the street.

Logan’s already turning away from him, but Tom tries to swallow his foot down the throat trying not to make his first impression even worst. He lets out a laugh, but winces internally. Too braying, too harsh, too corny.

“Well, you’re not that weak, Mr Roy-“ He tries. He does. But Shiv already looks disappointed and Logan’s barely listening to him. His time to prove himself is running out.

Ding!

Everyone turns to look at the elevator again. Kendall Roy steps out the lift with his ex-wife and children in tow. He’s wearing that same black blue outfit combo, just like the one on Forbes, proudly declaring him as the HEIR WITH THE FLAIR. Tom has read Kendall’s entire wikipedia enough times to know that the stress marks and the lack of the photogenic smile was simply because of his age.

Drugs - Divorce - Demotion.

Yet like every American hero billionaire, Kendall got the second chance that could only be afforded to the rich and now, most probably, he was going to the Successor to the entire media conglomerate. Even then, Tom wouldn’t say that he exactly envies the other man.

“Ken!” Logan’s voice somehow sounds surprised as well as disappointed. “I didn’t think you’d come. Did we close the Vaulter deal?”

Kendall’s stance becomes a bit wooden as he reaches down to accept his father’s embrace. His ex turns to Marcia and hands off a wrapped box with a pleasant smile. The kids run off with Grace’s kid and Kendall stands there looking a bit unsettled as he answers “oh, no, no Dad. They’re still hammering out the details. I took a break to wish you on your birthday. Not sure how many more there might be.” The conversation mills a bit around the two, everyone leans in a bit to hear.

“You did?” Logan repeats with furrowed brows. “Well, where’s your cousin? I thought he’d rather come than you.”

Kendall looks taken aback for a moment. Everyone tries another round of conversation, but Tom simply nods along to other’s words as he tries to figure out information about the cousin. A cousin? Shiv’s never mentioned a cousin being involved in … well, anything.

“Greg?” Kendall asks, his voice uncertain. Logan looks him in the eye and shares a sardonic grin. “Yes, Greg. Unless Marianne happened to suddenly stop by. What’s he doing? Wasn’t he with you this morning?”

Kendall seems to shrink into himself under his father’s gaze. “Greg’s..” he starts and stops for a moment. “Greg’s with the team in the building. He wanted to finish the deal before joining the party.”

“Shame.” Logan says, “But good for him, as soon as we wrap up this deal the better. Anyway, kids, can I talk to you alone for a moment? I just want you to sign something.”

All of them exchange glances with each other, the meaning of which Tom is too novel to understand. All of them quietly follow in the steps of their father. The rest of them stare.

“So,” Marcia says, clapping her hands together. The sound echoes in the eerie silence devoid of birthday wishes. “Let’s get started on lunch shall we?”

—

On the way to the “game” which was highly requested in a cult-like chanting, Tom abruptly turns to Shiv and asks “I didn’t know you had cousin working at Waystar?”

She ceases typing on her phone and looks up with pinched brows, seemingly in thought. Tom watches the city go by in a blur from Shiv’s side of the window and waits. “

“Oh,” She says “You mean Greg? Yeah, he’s like my second cousin. Uncle Ewan’s only grandson, although I don’t think he’s seen them since he was ten? He’s chief strategist at Royco. You’ll see him soon enough when you join.”

A when, not an if. And immediately, Tom’s heart lifts. He fights a grin on his face and catches Shiv’s eye. She smiles a bit, the stress from her face falling away for a second and turns back to her phone.

All was well.

—

All was not well.

Tom kind of looks like an idiot. At least in his own head, he’s been lugging around the watch box the entire evening. Right now, he’s standing behind Logan and Shiv like an obedient puppy waiting for Shiv to call upon him. The rest of the family is setting up the baseball game while the groundskeepers looking on fascinated.

Tom pretty much feels like them.

“So, about Tom,” Shiv says and Logan seems to be considering her words. Tom’s ears pick up, his hands turn sweaty again and he fidgets with the box in his hands. He imagines he can hear the watch tick inside like a time bomb.

“Hmm…” Logan replies, peering out into the distance. Kendall’s already gone into the wind, about half-an-hour ago, his ear glued to the phone talking to “Greg”. Tom waits for that syllable to end and simply waits.

“What do you think about putting him under Greg?”

Despite the short distance between him and the duo, he hears an undercurrent of something sinister his way. Something almost amusingly cruel.

“Wh-why Greg? Isn’t that - like isn’t he already busy with the buyings and everything else? And surely you don’t expect Tom to be his assistant? He’s much more experienced in business.” Shiv’s protest add a bit of tension to his mind.

What was the deal with this Greg? It was almost as if he was some kind of a boogeyman to Shiv and her siblings. But someone that Logan clearly approved of, but there was something very odd about the whole missing cousin.

It was as if being put under the cousin would somehow be bad for him. Geez, was he some kind of a hardass?

“No, no. I’m sure Greg’s not to busy to welcome your boyfriend into the family business. He can help guide Tom and put him in a fitting department. Not to busy to help family.”

Tom expects Shiv to say something. To put off Logan’s plan and for a moment, she does. But instead, she stops and frowns.

A beat.

Tom takes it as his cue to step in with the box.

This better work.

—

[kodzukenscorner]

Kuroo, Tsukishima, and Tendo with an adventurous S/O (NSFW)

@zayasashley6​ asked: Hello !! It’s my birthday today, so i was wondering if i could request nsfw HCs for Kuroo, Tsukkishima, and Satori where they have a pretty adventurous s/o in bed + it’s their birthday so they get treated extra special💕 thank yoouuu :)

a/n: happy birthday babe! I hope you have a great day <333

wc: 1,914

✶   ✶   ✶   ✶   ✶

Kuroo

Kuroo loves how adventurous you are in bed, he loves exploring and trying new things with you

He’s also appreciative that you’re so willing to do many things that please him

And with your birthday coming up he wants to treat you well and have the whole day focused on you

He pampered you the whole day, planning out a simple date for you two to spend the day together and then letting you lead the way

Eventually the day ended up in the bedroom, where you both knew it was going to be

Kuroo finally gave you your gift, a simple bag with a ribbon tied around it

When you opened it you were happy to find some red silk restraints and a matching blindfold

Kuroo smirked at you before taking them from your hands and pushing your back onto the bed

“Let me take care of you tonight kitten”

You weren’t going to argue with that and let Kuroo bind your wrists together and tie them to the headboard 

They were tight enough so you couldn’t get loose but not so tight you couldn’t wiggle around a bit

The blindfold was gingerly tied around your eyes and your breathing already hitched in anticipation 

He slid his fingers down from your cheek, across your chest and down to your hips

You shivered, not knowing where he was going to touch you next

You suddenly felt his tongue swiping across one of your nipples and you arched your back and let out a little gasp

As you focused on his tongue and his light sucking, his hands found their way to your thighs and pushed them apart

You gasped at the sudden cold sensation you felt and then Kuroo’s lips and hands left your body

You tensed up not knowing where you were going to feel him next

A whimper escaped your lips when you felt his hot breath blow against your pussy

“Aw babe, you’re already clenching around nothing”

You wiggled your hips to try and get him to help you out with the ache you were feeling

And because it was your special day, he obliged and attached his lips to your dripping folds and sucked harshly

You moaned loudly and pulled against the restraints around your wrists

You tried closing your legs around his head but he held your thighs wide open with his hands, sticking his tongue into your eager cunt

One hand left your thigh and before you could even wonder where it was going to end up next, he was already squeezing your clit

The mystery of not knowing what he was going to do to you next was too much and you felt your orgasm building up much quicker than usual

“Testu..ah...Tetsu....” You couldn’t even manage to say anything besides his name

Soon his fingers and mouth switched places and he was now sucking on your clit while his fingers pumped into you

His slender fingers drove you crazy and your moans only increased when he curled them inside of you

Your whole body began to shake and Kuroo knew you were close so he started thrusting his fingers into you even faster and gave one last harsh suck to your clit

And just like that you came undone while Kuroo was lapping up every last bit of your juices like a man starved

When you finally stopped shaking, Kuroo left one last kiss to your still sensitive cunt and moved up to nibble at your earlobe

“That was amazing, thank you Tetsu” You said, still breathless

“Oh we’re just getting started kitten” 

You shivered and suddenly you felt his hard cock against your thigh and you groaned in delight

Tsukishima

Tsuki is more conservative in bed so he was grateful to have you there to help him explore and branch out

And hot damn, he had the time of his life when he was in bed with you

But your birthday was coming up and he knew he had to do something special for you

He was going way out of his comfort zone but he would do anything for you

After taking you out on a well planned and romantic dinner you both returned home and you could tell he was a bit anxious

You began to kiss him in an attempt to help him relax, still not exactly sure why he was nervous in the first place

As the kiss grew more heated you found yourselves in the bedroom, already shedding the nice clothes you had put on earlier

When you were down to nothing but your panties, Tsuki suddenly pulled away

“Uh, I have something I want to try out”

You looked at him a bit confused and watched as he pulled a vibrator out of a drawer

You perked up and looked at him, already feeling the wetness in your panties growing

“This will make you feel even better right?”

You felt your heart skip a beat, seeing how he was trying so hard to make you feel good even though he was very obviously embarrassed by it

You weren’t sure what the right words to say were so you just pulled him back to you for another kiss

This kiss was different from before, it wasn’t feverish or rushed, it was gentle and filled with so much affection

You fell back onto the bed and let him slide your panties off and he marveled slightly how aroused you already were

“Are you ready?” He asked, taking the rest of his clothing off, his hard dick springing up

You bit your lip and nodded at him

He turned the vibrator onto the medium setting and started by placing it on one of your nipples while his free hand worked on the other one

You seemed to like that because you let out the most beautiful, breathy moan he’d ever heard, it even made his dick twitch 

He got eager and moved the vibrator down to your folds and rubbed it against you

You mewled at this and gripped the bed sheets

“Kei...more please” You begged as your eyes rolled back into your head

He nodded and slowly slid the vibrator into your pussy and watched as you struggled to catch your breath

He loved seeing you so flustered and your cheeks flushed so he mischievously turned the vibrator up to the highest setting and watched as you yelped in pleasure

He smirked and moved his hand from your nipple to play with your clit while he continued to thrust the vibrator into you

The way you struggled to form words and the fucked out expression on your face was like art to him

You were starting to drool and your hair was a mess and he loved it 

“Ke-i!” You shouted, trying to form a coherent sentence “Gonna cum...want your dick...please” 

You were squirming now and your body was tensing up 

Just when he saw you were about to cum, he removed the vibrator

Before you could whine, he slammed his dick into you and it reached much farther than the vibrator had

You screamed in a mix of pleasure and pain and immediately came right there

But Tsuki was not going to stop there and he fucked you harshly, riding you through your orgasm right into another one

Right as you felt your second orgasm coming you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you

“Cum inside me please” You whined in the most delicious little voice

With a few more sloppy thrusts he came into you and your walls tightened around him once again, milking him for every last drop

“Happy birthday” Tsuki managed to say while still gasping for air

You just smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for another sweet kiss

Tendo

Ok let’s be real here, Tendo is just as crazy in bed as you are

There honestly isn’t much you two haven’t tried together and every time it’s something new and exciting

But with your birthday coming up he knew he had to do something different

He still wanted to have fun but he wanted the focus to be on you and your pleasure

And he knows exactly what you’d enjoy, you’d asked him so many times before but it just never ended up happening

So when you birthday comes around and you two are just lounging about for a bit, he turns to you

“Hey babe, wanna be on top today?”

He said it so nonchalantly and out of the blue that you almost choked on your own spit

You looked at him with wide eyes and he just had his signature smile on his face, completely unfazed

You nodded eagerly and pulled him towards the bedroom where you started attacking him with kisses

He was chuckling a bit at your eagerness but he just let you do whatever you wanted

You removed his clothing at lightning speed and you were kissing across his collarbones while pushing him back onto the bed

He was kind of enjoying all the attention he was getting so he just gripped your hips and rubbed little circles into them while your tongue worked it’s way across his body

Your lips eventually found their way to his hard dick and kissed the tip softly before ghosting your tongue over it

He groaned lowly and gripped the sheets underneath him

You licked up against the vein that ran it’s way up his dick and it took everything in him to not buck his hips into your mouth

You finally wrapped your pretty lips around the tip of his dick and he felt like he was in heaven

You bobbed your head along his dick until the tip hit the back of your throat

He moaned at how heavenly your throat felt and grabbed your hair to push you down further

The harder you sucked on him, the closer his orgasm was and he was eager to get there

But the pleasure didn’t last long, just as he was about to cum, you pulled away

He looked at you confused and you just smiled in return

“Doesn’t feel good to be teased does it?”

He groaned

Tendo was the biggest tease in bed and he loved edging you, getting you so close to your orgasm just before pulling away and leaving you whining

“Don’t worry babe, if you’re good, I might let you cum”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration but his eyes shot open when he felt you lowering your tight pussy onto his throbbing dick

Your moans mixed with his groans and his hands flew to your hips, holding them in a bruising grip

You bounced on his dick and his hips thrusted upwards to meet yours

He was still wound up from your half finished blow job, so his orgasm was dangerously close

He started playing with your clit and you threw your head back in ecstasy 

He thought you were too caught up in your own pleasure to deny him of his orgasm again so he closed his eyes, preparing to cum

Then suddenly you slipped his dick out of you and he opened his eyes in betrayal to see you fingering yourself and cumming onto your fingers

He was so frustrated he wanted to scream and when he looked into your eyes and saw you smile innocently at him he groaned again

Karma’s a bitch I guess

[zebrabaker]

Paris Stands Alone; Part 13

Part 12

This chapter’s art is...

As always, HUGE credits to @gajer-1226​ , for her amazing art!

Marinette groaned from her spot on the couch. Mullo had come down from relaxing in the sunroom a while ago, and the trio was sprawled out on the couch, cuddling under a blanket and watching a news report on the current Mayoral elections. Monsieur D’Argencourt was running again, despite having lost so many times in a row. His opponents were a strict woman who had been on the city council for years and was very conservative, and a man who was far more liberal but had little experience. She’d need to keep an eye on things politically, things like this always led to stronger Akumas, be they the politicians themselves or angry citizens.

Right as she had begun to debate with herself whether or not she should go back to bed the whole house shook, and she heard screaming in the streets.

“Son of a bitch…let’s go.” She rolled off the couch with a heavy sigh. “What are we betting on this time?” She asked, stretching and rolling her neck gently.

“Oh! Animal!” Mullo squeaked, perking up. She and the Kwamis had invented a game of betting on what the Amoks would be, winner getting to pick what game they would play on the household game night. If there was a tie, they would do a coin toss.

“I imagine after this morning they’ll go for inanimate.” Tikki yawned. “Ready whenever you are, Marinette!”

“Spots on!” She cried, smirking when she saw a portal appear a few feet away from her, put of sight of the windows. Leaping through, she let loose a battle cry as the world sharply shifted.

X0X0X

The Amok was a rampaging, canine beast, with massive fangs and glowing red eyes, and a hissing, spitting cobra for a tail. It looked like a terrifying mix of a pit-bull and a Doberman pinscher. Nightmare had taken to the rooftops, opening a portal that Ladybug leaped through with a mighty cry. She flung her yoyo at a flagpole and yanked it tight, swinging towards the beast feet-first. She slammed it across the snout, making it whine and stumble. A figure dropped from another portal in the sky, this one swirling blue and white, the figure indistinguishable.

“No way!” Teacup squealed, bouncing in place.

“What is that?” Batman asked, drawing a batarang.

“That is someone we don’t see very often.” Cat Sidhe muttered.

“Who?” Wonder Woman asked, fidgeting with her lasso.

“Bunnyx, the wielder of the Rabbit Miraculous. Her Miracle is called Burrow, it allows her to transverse the timestream with ease. She only visits on important occasions, or if she needs to warn us away from something. She’s the one who sent Jade Turtle out on patrol the night he died saving that girl from the disgraced one. Let’s go say ‘hi’, everyone.” Yellow Jacket was smirking as she took off running for the edge of the building. Right as she reached the edge, she grabbed a dagger from her boot and flung it at the beast at the same time as she flung her trompo at the same flagpole Ladybug had swung from. The dagger nailed the beast (presumably an Amok) in the eye, and it howled in agony and rage. It thrashed and stomped it’s feet, which were the size of minivans. It managed to take the corner off a building, making the civilians evacuating along the sidewalks scream.

Snapping Turtle dove into action, drawing their shield in a fluid motion and shouting something lost beneath the sound of the monster’s howls. A green semi-opaque dome made of hexagons appeared, surrounding a small family and the hero in question from the rubble raining from above. The shield didn’t even flicker or waver, merely protecting the small family as Snapping Turtle scooped one of the three small children up and prepping the family to move.

Vixen, standing on the rooftop, drew her reedpipes from her belt, and slowly began to play a haunting tune. Cat Sidhe, picking up on some hidden signal, made a series of gestures with the hand that bore his ring, before uttering a word that made the Americans shudder. It was dark and dank, this feeling, like the paranoia of being out late at night with shadows looming and every sound inducing panic.

From the ring began to emerge a shadowy figure. It morphed itself slowly into a humanoid figure, dressed in all white, with features that seemed to whisper ‘not right, not human, predator!’ in the ears of all who saw it. It was the unnatural smoothness of it’s skin and features, the inverted colors, with white pupils and black irises, hair that started pure white and faded to dull purple. It seemed to be a doll, unmoving, until Cat Sidhe spoke.

“Distract the Amok for me.” He ordered, and the inhuman thing melted into a pool of shadows, before the puddle seemed to dart away towards the Amok.

“What was that?” Nightwing asked uneasily.

“That was his Grace’s secondary ability, Nyx. It creates an inverted clone of pure destruction energy. You don’t want to be around when it self-destructs, that’s for damn sure.” Roi Singe sighed. “I’ll stay back this time; I don’t want to throw you guys off.”

“Alright. I’m off. Vixen, you good?” The fox, who was still playing her pipes, which were emitting a light orange mist, nodded slowly. The mist was descending to the streets below, and Cat Sidhe went running towards the edge of the building, going into a diver’s position as he plummeted towards the street below. Barely twenty feet above the pavement, the cat hero drew his baton and extended it, slamming the end into the ground so hard that it dented the asphalt as he vaulted towards the Amok, which was now biting and snapping as Ladybug and Yellow Jacket darted around it’s head. There was another heroine, this one in blue and white with roller skates on her feet, moving too fast for anyone to properly see her.

The orange mist, which now filled the entire block, suddenly blew towards the Amok, whirling around it as if being held by a tornado. A glance at Vixen proved that her fingers were dancing over her pipes faster than ever, and Batman felt on edge. He’d never been a fan of magic.

The mist rapidly coalesced into a large, feline shape, similar to the Amok in it’s unnatural size. The feline let out a powerful yowl, and swiped with massive claws at the Amok. The Amok (Who Yellow Jacket insisted on calling ‘Fluffy) growled and pounced at the beast, only to be entangled in the wires of Ladybug and Yellow Jacket’s weapons as the illusion dissolved into mist once more.  As the wires pulled taught around the Amok, Cat Sidhe’s Nyx reappeared before the beast, darting every which way and holding it’s attention. The beast, desperate in it’s rage to attack the tiny unnatural thing in front of it, thrashed and wriggled, trying to get itself lose, and only succeeded in tightening the wires. Slowly, Cat Sidhe snuck up behind the Amok, right hand raised in front of him as if he was trying to smack a fly. Right as the Amok snapped it’s jaws closed around the clone, Cat Sidhe slammed his hand into a thin red collar around Fido’s neck. The dog let out a startled, pained yelp, and was encased in a squirming mass of dark blue bubbles, which hissed and popped as the Amok shrank. Ladybug stood, waiting, and yanked on her yoyo string, which came zipping back into her palm. It wasn’t until the mass was barely any bigger than an American football that a peacock feather appeared that she acted, gently swinging her yoyo to catch it. When she had the feather secured, she flung her yoyo high into the air, crying out a string of words that felt like pure safety.

It was after the loveliness had faded that the final bubbles faded away, revealing a small, emaciated puppy, who’s bones showed through it’s skin, and it seemed to shiver as it looked up at all the heroes surrounding it. It snarled and snapped, cowering from the heroes around it.

“Wait, that was the eight-story tall monster that just did at least half a million in property damage?” Nightwing asked, walking up behind the Court members.

“This is why Hawkmoth and Mayura are so dangerous, they turn even the most innocuous, innocent little thing into something that can kill hundreds.” Vixen explained, landing behind them lightly, as if she hadn’t just jumped ten stories.

“What will happen to the poor thing?” Wonder Woman asked, watching as the puppy shied away from Ladybug’s hand as if expecting to be hit.

“Well, Fidel already has several dogs. They naturally love her, and Yellow Jacket has been talking about setting up a sanctuary for stray dogs. This one, however, seems to have developed a liking towards her Ladyship.” Roi Singe chuckled, watching as the small dog pressed it’s head into Ladybug’s palm.

“And lord only knows that my Melody could never turn away an animal in need.” Cat Sidhe said, approaching them casually. “Thanks for staying out of the way back there, it could have been bad if someone got hurt.”

“You’re in charge here.” Batman said gruffly.

“Still, we might have an issue. I have some stuff that needs me back home, so I was thinking one of my brothers could come over and help you guys out.”

“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow, for now we all need to split before the press starts getting pushy and Vixen, Bunnyx, and I transform back.” Ladybug said, holding the small dog in her arms. The canine was cuddled up close to her, soaking in her body heat. “Ready, love?” She asked Cat Sidhe, who nodded and sent a glare at a woman with pinkish hair who was coming their way, a camera crew behind her. “Bug out!” Ladybug said, winking to the cameras and flinging her yoyo (which should not be able to go that far) at a flagpole on a nearby building. Cat Sidhe began to extend his baton, before letting it fall, vaulting off down the street.

X0X0X

Nadya watched as Ladybug and Cat Sidhe left the scene, and the various Court members disappeared to the rooftops. This was perfect! And yet, right as she approached, Batman drew a grappling hook from his belt, fired at a gargoyle on a nearby building, and went flying off, and Wonder Woman barely waved to the camera before flying away. At least the remaining hero, a young man dressed in black and blue, took a moment to smile and give a dramatic bow before somehow climbing a brick wall. These heroes were ruining her poor ratings! Well, she still had that Ladyblogger girl’s number…

@krispydefendorpolice​ @ficsforthestars​ @multifandomscribette​ @legendaryneckjudgestudent​ @ash-amg-blog @bee-wrecker​ @dawnwave16​ @the-supreme-ace-queen @politelyvicious​ @stonestridernerd​ @justmdj​ @stingrowl​ @damianette-is-life​ @miraculous786​ @mjisntme​ @hauntedfreakdeputyhero​ @miraculousdisapointment @lesscooltodoroki @bb-basbusa​ @isabellemasen​ @sassydepression​ @imspectralboiii​ @spicybelladonna​ @moonystars14​ @frostymoon11 @worlds-tiniest-spookiest-pastry @spartanxhunterx​ @fandoms-run-my-life​ @chocolateherringtacofan​ @imburningneon @fandomsaremylifeline​ @risingmoonyue​ @zotinha456​

[scaredyships]

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. II

summary: You attempt to get settled into their new life as best as they can, and are mildly appalled at how bare-bones Mando is living.

word count: 6.5k (I guess I just don’t know how to write short things)

author’s notes: More setting the stage before progressing on to following the plot of the show. Sorgan is next chapter, I promise. But for now it's the two idiots and the tiny green gremlin getting accustomed to one another. ngl, as I got to the last little bit I just wanted to get it DONE, so apologies about any awkward writing there.

I spent so much time looking up food and kitchen-equivalents on Wookieepedia for this chapter.

Part 1 / Part 2 (you are here) // ao3 link

---

It wasn’t clear just how little you had to work with until you started to go about trying to figure out your new place as crewmate on the Razor Crest.

You’d think a full-time bounty hunter, even one that worked solo, would have a little more in storage other than the vast amount of weapons, like an extra bed roll or blankets or something. But no, not this one. He seemed more concerned with having extra firepower than additional living necessities.

You sighed, putting the lid back on the storage crate you'd opened up. You had hoped to find something other than weaponry inside, and while it wasn't exactly weapons, it sure looked like it contained canisters like the ones you saw attached to the mobile carbon-freezing unit he had on board. There were no other places to look.

Standing up straight, you turned to face the length of the hold. If you'd really wanted to, you could have tried to get Mando to let you have the space he normally reserved for housing captive bounty as a space for you to claim. But between you not having the courage, and certainly not wanting to deal with the possibility of a carbonite-frozen bounty being stored there to stare endlessly at you, it was off the table. The hold it was. It was narrow and not exactly intended as a living space, but you could make it work. There was already a dip in the wall where you stood, and with some rearranging of the crates, you could create more of a "wall" to provide some semblance of privacy - and to provide a barrier so you didn't have to deal with seeing the entire refresher unit every time you turned your head.  

Unfortunately, that's where your resources ended. The closest thing Mando had to extra bedding was the rough, heavy-duty netting he kept to tie cargo down with. Hardly suitable for what you were needing. You also had no additional change of clothes. You were already starting to feel self-conscious about it, hoping you didn't start to smell funky too quickly. A shower would only go so far when your clothes hadn't been washed.

A trip to some kind of market was needed. It was a good thing Mando was already intending to stop somewhere to refuel.

You flipped open one of the pouches on your belt, pulling out its contents. Several loose credits, and a couple credit chips. Thank Maker you still had those. With your usual living expenses having significantly downsized now that you were out of a home and all the associated bills that came with it, your budget gave you much more to work with. You had more than enough to get you what you might need. You tucked your credits back into your belt.

There was one more thing you needed to check, but didn't know where it was. The pantry. There was no doubt that Mando's current stock was meant for a single adult individual, and not two adults and a small alien child, so it would need to be supplemented anyways. But what did he already have? Had he recently stocked up, or was he nearing the last of his rations?

You made your way over to the ladder that led up to the helm, where Mando was piloting to wherever he was going to stop for fuel. The kid must've heard you coming, because his head suddenly popped over the edge of the hatch to watch you, twittering curiously. You half-heartedly waved at him, hoping he didn't try to come down by himself.

"Hey, Mando!"

The heavy sound of boots hitting the floor reverberated through the ceiling and came closer to the hatch, until the reflective helmet of the bounty hunter stared down at you.

"Where's your pantry hold at?"

He stood still for just a moment, fingers twitching at his side - a nervous tic? - and then reaching for the kid, began to climb down the ladder. You stepped back and allowed him ample space to get down, and for him to set the kid down. The little green child looked around and waited to see what the two of you were up to. Mando trudged towards a panel near the armory just across from the ladder, and pushed a switch.

"Here."

A panel on the wall swished aside and a conservator was revealed, along with a small set of shelves containing tins, ration packs, and an extremely modest set of dish ware that itself looked like it had come from a military ration pack.

It was difficult to stop your eyebrows from raising to the top of your forehead. There was so little here. And what was here, was so incredibly basic that you couldn't imagine trying to live off of it for every single meal. A few packs of basic rations, a dwindling container of mealgrain. You cautiously pulled open the conservator, and it was what you expected. More basic ration packs, a single almost-empty package of some kind of sausage links, and a couple small jars of paste that could be added to water to make a basic soup. You closed the door, and leafed through the shelves' contents. There was an old heating plate in there and a small pot, and maybe enough utensils that you could count them all on one hand. Pulling out a packet of vacuum-sealed veg-meat, watching it glisten sickeningly in the light, you turned and gave the Mandalorian a pointed look as if you were waiting for an explanation.

He was trying so hard not to come off as sheepish. But the hands-on-the-hips stance and his visor turned away from you said otherwise. He'd never had anyone come on board and inspect his pantry hold before, and while he didn't think at the time it would bother him, it was completely different now that you were down on one knee, thinly-veiled disgust on your face at the food options, looking up at him with an intense expression that could surely bore a hole through his armor. Not even the kid staring at the shelves like he had an enormous buffet in front of him softened any of the situation.

"I don't know how you live like this." You lightly tossed the veg-meat back onto the shelf, standing up and righting your clothing. Mando flipped the switch to close the panel back up, the child drooping disappointedly now that everything was shut away. He crossed his arms defensively just as you rested a fist on your hip, looking down at the child and exhaling through your nose.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me, huh, kid."

He tilted his head questioningly at you.

"Your 'work'?" You could hear the edge of offense in his tone.

You turned that piercing gaze back to him for a moment.

"Besides being unable to find something to make myself a bed from, and needing some kind of change of clothes, your pantry is appalling and barely suitable for one adult. Let alone two plus a small child. You told me to help out, so I'm going to help out. When we stop for fuel, I'm going to go find a market." You tapped the pouch on your belt that contained your credits forcefully enough to make the loose pieces jingle, emphasizing that you had your own means of payment.

Mando sighed. He was the one that suggested you stay, so it was nobody's fault but his own that things were unfolding like this. He might as well resign himself to it.

You knew Mando would go for a backwater world of some sort, so you didn't get your hopes up for your options at any markets. Mando let you empty out a rucksack he had sitting in the hold and use it to carry what you might find. He watched as you briskly walked away with determination, as he stood at the ship dock preparing to get the Razor Crest hooked up and refueled. The Child wanted very badly to go with you, but he forbade it and made him stay in his pod, only an arm's length away and hopefully high enough off the ground that he wouldn't try to climb out and toddle off. The small green child pouted in his blankets, staring out in the direction he had last seen you.

Mando was mystified as to why the kid took such a liking to you. Sure, he seemed friendly enough towards anyone he was allowed to interact with (not that there were many, considering his status as a bounty target), but the way he was drawn to you was different. It was almost like he recognized you from somewhere, though you both knew that wasn't possible. In all honesty, he may have been more reluctant to offer you a place on board if the kid hadn't acted the way he did, and just kept his end of helping you after losing your entire livelihood to dropping you off at a nearby planet of your choosing.

It wasn't that he didn't like you, quite the opposite. In the few times he'd gone to you for information for hunting down certain quarry, you were nothing but helpful. You asked just the right questions, made sure he knew about the societies on the planets he was going to be investigating, and also gave him what you had about lesser-known places that would make for good hiding spots. You didn't ever seem afraid of him, like others could be when a fully-armored Mandalorian carrying who knows what kind of firepower came looking for something. You treated him like any other person, maybe one you'd come to consider a friend, based on how with each further visit you'd remember what kind of things he liked to know, or just useful things in general, and tailor your information packets to it. He didn't really need to know things like which fueling stations were more suited for a ship like his and had better overall service, or which markets had more selection on weaponry for restocking purchases, or which food places were better and which to avoid at all costs. But they were there when he'd plug the data stick into his navigation computer. He got the impression you didn't do that for just any client, without an extra charge at least.

You said it yourself, you didn't know much about taking care of kids. Mando didn't, either. But two people trying to figure it out was better than one stumbling around blindly. It helped to have someone the kid liked, too. And even if it didn't directly involve watching out for him, he knew you'd make yourself useful with upkeep of the Razor Crest and any other odd jobs that might need tending to.

The ship refueling took some time, but you still weren't back by the time it was finished. Mando went to the nearest food stand at the dock to buy something for the kid to eat in the meantime - a simple bowl of Mando and the kid went inside, keeping the hold ramp down and simply waiting inside, him using that time to maintain some of his more neglected firearms in the armory. He got lost in the muscle memory of taking apart each weapon, cleaning its individual pieces, and slotting everything back together to move on to the next one.

The child chirping and standing up to clutch the edge of his pram signaled your return. Mando looked up from where he was cleaning one of his blasters, probably the fourth or fifth since he started, and there you were, walking up the ramp with the borrowed rucksack stuffed full and a few bundles under your arm. You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and made a beeline for what he could only assume was the spot you'd chosen to be "yours", dumping the bundles unceremoniously onto the floor - except one, which you held almost gingerly - and swinging the rucksack down on top of them with a huff. You plunked down beside the pile, pulling your legs up at an angle and resting your head against the hull, exhaling dramatically.

"Can we get out of here now?"

Mando had to smirk under his helmet at how comically tired you seemed. He couldn't blame you, he felt the same way after he had to deal with purchase-related errands. Standing, he put away the gun he'd been working on and shut away the armory, and issued the command for the ramp to close.

The child clambered out of his pram onto a nearby storage crate, slipping to the ground and toddling over to you and your pile of spoils. You lifted your head to watch what he was doing. Mando watched him, too, to be sure he didn't get into anything he shouldn't. Of everything he could easily try to pick through, the kid of course went straight for the bundle you still held in your lap, reaching out but not quite touching the fabric. It was oddly puffy at the top, and tied around the bottom with some sort of twine.

"Wait, wait. I'll show you, but no touching."

You undid the twine, and in doing so Mando got a glimpse of an earthenware material underneath the fabric. You shook the fabric loose, and swept it off by gripping the corner. There, balanced in the palm of your hand, was a tiny engraved pot. Inside the pot sat an equally-tiny, gnarled tree, capped with sprays of delicately bristling greenery.

You tilted the plant towards the child, wide eyes taking in the sight. A tiny claw reached up, but halted and slowly lowered at the last moment. The corner of your mouth lifted at the kid remembering to behave.

You glanced up at the Mandalorian, who you realized had been watching the interaction the whole time. You looked quickly down at the plant and picked slightly at the gravel in the pot, almost bashfully, like you were mildly ashamed of what you'd bought.

"It's not real, but I can pretend it is." Your voice was quiet. Mando remembered the sizable collection of plants that took up an entire corner of your living quarters he had broken into hardly a day or two ago. He felt a pang of something in his chest, slightly different than the sense of guilt he felt towards your situation. Sympathy, maybe?

The synthetic plant was carefully placed on top of a storage container, far from the edges so it wouldn't fall. Your quiet demeanor suddenly shifted, and a new focus appeared as you stood, grabbing the rucksack by its handle, and made your way over to open up the pantry hold and begin unpacking its contents.

"I mostly picked up things that can be indefinitely stored, so no worries about anything spoiling." You began to pull out your purchases and put them away, careful to make sure the kid didn't scoop anything up. He was too busy being enamored with watching your hand disappear into the rucksack and pull out new item after item, like you were a magician. You said the name of each thing as you put it away on either the shelves or in the conservator: Anoat oats, shroomchips, kukuia nuts, dehydrated nuna egg, jhen honey, Kodari rice, jarred garlic, Corellian buckwheat noodles... and then some vacuum-packed fresh items; redsprouts, cuts of dewback, some kind of flatbread you weren't able to immediately identify but thought looked good, and-

"- I don't know if this is the same as what you had before, but I got more of these, too." You said as you set down a package of sausages.

Truth be told, Mando wasn't at all a picky eater, and had been content with the rations he lived off of. But watching the array of ingredients fill the shelves had him feeling like he hadn't eaten right in a very long time. And he was oddly looking forward to what you might have planned.

You put away the last of the contents, mostly flavor additives, and a clear container of nuctrose crystals for the kid, given he behaved. Shutting the panel to the pantry hold, you stood back up and took the last contents from the rucksack - an odd bound stack of something, and a few styluses. They were placed next to the little tree on the crate. You shook out the rucksack so it was flat, and handed it back to the Mandalorian with a small thanks. He took it from you without a word and hung it on a hook nearby. You went back to your other bundles and began unpacking them, shaking out the bedroll and beginning to situate it.

"Once I'm done with all this, I'm going to make something to eat. Any requests?"

Mando could only shrug vaguely. You looked off to the side, eyes darting as you no doubt mentally ran through your various options now that nothing was off the table.

"Okay, then. I'll try not to make anything too awful."

The kid was at your side the moment you'd mentioned food, and was looking up at you with wide, excited eyes. You looked down at him awkwardly, movements slowing. He stared back, audibly swallowing.

"...he's not going to leave me alone, is he."

The Mandalorian shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the hull, amused expression hidden beneath his helmet. You suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about simply existing in that spot and Mando standing there like he was, watching your every move. He wasn't even doing anything malicious, he was just... looking. Maker, you couldn't do anything other than glance up at him for a half-second before you had to rip your gaze back to what you'd been doing before, hoping he didn't notice. This wasn’t even your standard inability to maintain a shared gaze, this was something else. It was the armor, you told yourself. You'd always thought the Mandalorian style of armor was beautifully crafted, but there was something so different about admiring it from an image and having a flesh-and-blood being inside a suit of it, standing like that just a few feet away, staring you down.

Mando, however, didn't read any of your behavior as being flustered - just uncomfortable that you were being stared at. He could appreciate that, more than you might think. As much as he might find it interesting to watch whatever else you were going to do, he knew it was more important to allow you some space. He righted himself and strode over to the ladder.

"Let the kid help you out."

He said it so matter-of-factly over his shoulder before he began to ascend that there was no doubt it wasn't a request.

You blinked, and looked down at the child. Mando needed to concentrate on piloting. So it fell to you to be on kid-watching duty. The kid blinked back up at you, ears pricked and head tilted. You moved to unwrap the next bundle.

”Alright, kiddo. Let me finish getting all this set up, then we’ll start on dinner.”

The excited squeal as the kid toddled over to the pantry hold panel to wait for you made you chuckle.

If it wasn't the aroma of cooking that got his attention, it was definitely the sound of you urgently scolding the kid with what almost sounded like terror in your voice. Mando quickly set the controls to autopilot and rushed over to the ladder, not even using the rungs to get down to the hold. The sudden sight and sound of an entire Mandalorian slamming to the floor from above startled you so badly you nearly knocked over your little makeshift kitchen area.

His gaze landed on the child, who was staring back at him with unblinking eyes as he smacked his lips like he had just been eating something. Just out of the kid's reach, was a piece of a food wrapper, covered in teeth marks and saliva, pinched between your fingers. You had a makeshift waste bin in the other hand, into which you flung the offending piece of trash. The look on your face was nothing short of disgust.

"Does he... often... try to eat garbage?"

Mando sighed deeply, swearing to himself under his breath. He should have warned you before he just left like he did to go man the controls.

"It's not the worst thing he's tried to eat." The child’s ears flicked, a hint of smugness on his face.

You chuckled nervously, setting the waste bin out of reach of the child. You wiped your hands on a nearby rag, as Mando approached to pick the child up and move him a little bit away.

The set-up you had was fairly impressive, considering what was available. You'd taken the old heating plate out and set it on top of a storage container, and repurposed a larger rations tin intended to be heated up anyways into an extra pan, so you had more to work with besides the old pot. You'd pulled out all the utensils he had and had them laid out on top of a loose scrap of fabric, and a cluster of ingredients on another. The cutting board looked new, you must've bought that earlier. The pot had something boiling in it, and the pan, while it looked empty, had something browning in the bottom that smelled delicious.  

"Do you have any knives I can use?" You started to inspect one of the packages of meat you'd purchased earlier. "I need to dice some things."

The question wasn't did he have knives, the question was which ones was he willing to part with for kitchen use?

He paused, wandering over to the armory and peering pensively inside. You leaned over to try and watch what he was doing. The kid in turn watched you, no doubt hoping you might drop what you had so he could scarf it down.

Mando leaned into the armory to pick something out from its depths, and when he returned he displayed several small blades. They weren't all that tiny, but his broad hands made them look even smaller than they should be. You ignored that as best as you could. Your eyes flashed amongst the different blades, and you carefully pointed at two - a butterfly knife, and a small hunting knife. You didn’t dare just reach out and grab them yourself. With great dexterity Mando maneuvered them into one hand and the rest into the other, offering them to you with the blades flat in his hand and the handles presented. You carefully took them and set them beside your other utensils. Wordlessly he went to put the rest of the knives away.

You expected him to return to the cockpit, but he didn't. Instead, he moved to sit in the opening of the hole in the wall that was his bunk. You raised your eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Making sure you don't completely ruin my knives. Or let the kid eat more trash."

You huffed at that. Well, back to work.

The kid had wandered closer again and was intently watching as you prepared the food, cubing the meat, tossing it into the makeshift pan with a satisfying sizzle.

Mando never really cooked much for himself besides prepping a basic bowl of mealgrain with whatever ration packs he had on hand. Sometimes he'd build a fire whenever he was camped out on a planet's surface and roast skewers of food over the fire, he knew how to hunt and gather and field-dress, but nothing extravagant. Watching you work was something else. It was mesmerizing, the way you maneuvered between the "pan" and the pot you'd removed from the heat, adding whatever seasoning or extra ingredients with no hesitation, completely focused on what you were doing.

At some point, you picked a piece of the cooked meat out of the "pan" with a fork, blowing on it a few times before picking a corner off to taste-test it. You looked deep in thought as you mulled over what else it might need. With a shrug it seemed you decided it was alright as it was. You lowered the fork towards the child.

"Here, try."

The speed at which he snatched the morsel off the fork and downed it was incredible, you didn't even think he had time to taste it. The shine in his eyes and his ears perking up told you, however, that he absolutely wanted more. You gave him a pointed look.

"No, no more handouts. It's almost done, anyways."

The kid turned his head to look back at Mando, his face begging him to tell you that he needed more. He shook his head slowly, biting back a chuckle at how the kid pouted.

"Okay, I think it's done."

Somehow, in the time he had taken his eyes off of you to simply tell the kid "no", you had combined the contents of the pot and "pan" and were separating it out into portions - two of the larger bowls, and one of the smaller bowls that may have been a mug for the child. He could see better what it was - looked to be some sort of hearty stir-fry, the rice and meat you'd bought earlier being the most obvious part of the dish. Mando had already forgotten what you'd purchased in the way of vegetables and other seasonings, but the finished product was colorful and looked very appetizing, especially with the way the steam trailed slowly into the air from its surface.

The kid was visibly excited, bouncing on his little feet, and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Mando was looking forward to trying it too. What he wasn't looking forward to, though, was having to explain to you that he couldn't take his helmet off to eat, that he'd have to take his helping and go somewhere else where you couldn't see him. You'd never seen him with his helmet off, even in his own ship, so it only made sense that you'd ask about it eventually. He didn't know how much of the Mandalorian Creed you were familiar with. He expected more than most, considering your former occupation and being fairly savvy to various cultural practices, but he couldn't be sure.

"So, uh.. this might be weird..."

He braced himself internally, anticipating something being said about his helmet.

"Would you mind if I ate, uh... over there?" You jabbed a thumb towards the semi-walled off area you'd set up since he was last down there.

...he wasn't expecting that.

His confused stare probably only came off as a cold one through his helmet.

"It sounds stupid, but I have a hard time eating if I feel like I'm being watched. So that's where I'll be."

He nodded slowly. Well, that wasn't what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a bad thing. It made things a little easier, at least, with him not having to give the Talk just yet.

You took your helping in one hand, used your free hand to maneuver the smaller bowl into the child's grabbing hands, and sheepishly left to your secluded area, ducking down to sit in your newly-arranged space.

The bedroll was laid out, a pile of folded clothes sitting near the foot of it. You'd located some smaller crates, one acting as a makeshift stool, another as a low table, where you sat your bowl down for a moment to get situated. In addition to the larger crates and the dip in the hull acting as a wall, you'd also tacked up a sheet on each "side" of the hull to act as a curtain - not wide enough to completely block off the hall, but enough that there was at least more of a definitive barrier that made you feel enclosed from the rest of it. The tiny synthetic tree sat perched on the low crate-table beside some of the other odds and ends you'd procured at the market. It wasn't much, but you felt less like a temporary stowaway like this.

Once you settled down, you picked your bowl back up and were about to take a bite when a familiar green head poked around the curtain. Once he spotted you, he turned back as if he was looking to Mando for permission, and then he trundled over, his own bowl carefully clutched between his hands.

Try as you might to form words to tell the kid to please go sit with Mando, or anywhere else, every sentence dried up in your throat before you could finish it. It didn't seem like he was listening, anyways, the way he didn't even so much as glance at you while you tried to speak. He was too busy getting himself settled down on the floor, and then lifting the bowl to his face to continue eating, sticky eating sounds filling the air as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. That alone was enough to make you stop trying to tell him to go. It was almost shocking how noisy the kid could be with his food. You watched with something between fascination and the slightest bit of revulsion, slowly taking bites of your own food. He finished faster than you'd anticipated, greedily trying to lick the inside of the bowl to get the last morsels stuck to the sides, his eating utensil forgotten. Considering what you saw Mando's food supply was before you came on board, you didn't blame the kid for downing it like he did.

You, however, couldn't quite finish your meal. You had done your best with what you could, but something about the finished product left something to be desired in your opinion. You always had been critical of your own cooking, and knew what you were going for versus the actual outcome. With a brief glance towards the opening of your space, almost as if you expected Mando to appear, you took the kid's bowl and scraped what remained of your meal into it. He was almost vibrating with excitement when you handed it back to him, and you grimaced slightly as he started to scarf it down. Did his species get the equivalent of heartburn?

“That good, huh?”

He peered at you over the edge of his dish, tiny mouth working. He’d made fast work of it, putting the now-clean bowl on the ground. His bright eyes now lingered on your own bowl, like somehow he might find more food in it even though he just watched you empty its contents moments ago. Your morbid curiosity got the better of you and you held it out for him to take. The kid quickly took it from you, and with no hesitation, began to lick the inside to get the most out of it. You could feel a grimace trying to creep its way onto your face. The kid was cute, no doubt about that, but this was still a little gross to be watching.

A light rap on the side of the hull caught the attention of both of you, and there stood the Mandalorian in the gap between the hull wall and the curtain, empty dish held almost forgotten by his side. The kid greeted his caregiver with a small, yet surprisingly big for his size, burp. You swear you heard a quiet snort from Mando’s direction.

“You’d think he hasn’t eaten in days.” You nodded at the child, who was inspecting the bowl for anything else he may have missed. Mando shrugged lightly.

“He’s always excited for food.” He semi-consciously began turning his own bowl in his hands, still watching the little green one’s antics.

“Well, at least he liked it. It didn’t turn out quite like I wanted it to. Hopefully it was still okay.” While Mando had clearly finished his helping, with what he had apparently been living off of before, it was a fair assumption on your part that he didn’t care much for how things tasted - as long as they were edible. You really did try to go out of your way to make things palatable and not just edible, generally, so when you felt like you slipped up, you also felt the need to apologize.

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.”

Truth be told, whatever you had done, it was one of the better meals Mando had had in a good while. Unfortunately for Mando, words were not at all his strong suit.

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a brief smile. With a groan you got to your feet, stooping to gather the dish-ware and utensils you and the child had used. “These can be washed in the same place I got water from behind the refresher, right--?”

“I’ll do it.” You froze in your tracks when Mando stopped you and took the things from your hands. “I’ll get the other things you used, too.” He motioned vaguely back towards where your kitchen set-up had been.

“You sure? I made the mess, I’d be okay with cleaning it up.”

The prolonged stare from the unreadable visor told you that this was not up for debate.

“...okay, if you insist.” You let yourself sink back to where you’d been sitting. The Mandalorian disappeared from your field of view beyond the curtain, and the sound of him gathering up the rest of the kitchenware and making his way to the washing area made its way to your ears. There was a quick-cleaning rack back there for exactly this kind of thing, and you could hear him loading it.

Never in your life had you expected to picture someone as stoic as this bounty hunter, doing something as domestic as washing dishes. You bit the inside of your lip to suppress snickering to yourself about it. The kid looked questioningly at you, head tilted. That alone was enough for you to crack a smile and snort.

That snort morphed into a yawn, and you realized just how tired you were. It had been a long day, dealing with people at the market, setting up your new “room”, and cooking a meal from scratch. Not to mention, the turmoil of losing your home was still a raw wound. You noticed the heavy feeling beneath your eyes that told you it was well past time for a good rest.

“Well, kid, I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” You nonchalantly began taking your boots off, other items that would undoubtedly be uncomfortable following - your belt, your wrist pieces, some of your outerwear that would get too warm too quickly once you dozed off. The child curiously watched as you placed these things in a small pile by the crate acting as a table.

With a sigh that almost sounded like you were deflating, you laid down on the bedroll and turned onto your side. It wasn’t anything like your old bed. You hadn’t expected it to be, but the difference between your old broken-in bed and this imitation of a cot laid out on a hard, metal floor, really drove home that things were different now, with no going back. You closed your eyes, exhaling softly through your nose, the melancholy settling in now that you were more or less alone with your thoughts.

You felt a light touch on your temple, and opened your eyes to have your field of vision filled with a big pair of dark eyes staring back. The child had wandered closer and had touched his tiny clawed hand to your face, and was looking at you with concern, as if he could sense those emotions that were starting to roll around your head. You gave him a thin-lipped smile, reaching out to pat him on the head.

“I’m okay, kid, just tired.”

He made a small noise that sounded almost sad, and you didn’t miss the slight droop in his ears as he gave you a pat in return. Your smile turned a little more genuine at that.

You closed your eyes again, and quicker than you’d ever managed to before, you drifted off.

Mando took his time putting things away. When it was just himself, and the kid, there was a lot less clean-up involved. With the quality of what you’d made, though, extra clean-up was a reasonable trade-off.

Clattering noises from your corner caught his attention. It didn’t sound like organized rummaging, more like the noise made when a womp rat was going through things looking for food. He sighed. It must be the kid up to something. Why you weren’t stopping him, he didn’t know.

He put extra weight into his footsteps to make sure the kid could hear him coming, and hoped that would be enough to get him to stop. As he pushed the curtain out of the way, he was met with the sight of the child quickly turning to make eye contact - the pouches of your belt clutched in his hands with the rest of the strap tossed over his arm, and what must have once been a more organized pile of your other accessories messily pushed around. And then there was you, laid out on your bedroll, eyes closed as you slept.

Even in sleep you managed to look exhausted, but at peace. Your form was curled in loosely on itself, somewhere between defensive and haphazard, like you had fallen in that position. The crease between your eyebrows had smoothed out and was nearly invisible. You breathed deeply through your nose, almost snoring. You had a hand wedged between your face and pillow, squishing your cheek up and distorting your features.

Mando had seen plenty of people asleep. It was usually a restless sleep, followed by waking in a state of terror when they realized there was a blaster pointed at them and he was there to take them in for a bounty.

Seeing you in a genuine state of relaxation, completely vulnerable, was jarring. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t even let himself get to that point when he rested.

With everything you’d dealt with lately, though, you deserved to have a good, deep sleep. You were safe here on the Razor Crest with him.

The Mandalorian shook himself mentally from watching your sleeping form. It was strange to be staring like he was. He bent down on one knee to untangle the child from your belt and lift him carefully. The little one cooed, looking up at the armored man questioningly.

“Come on, kid. Let’s give them some space.” He stood back up, shifting the child into one arm and leaving as quietly as he could. The little one peeked over Mando’s shoulder at you until you were out of his line of sight, and then swiveled around to watch where he and the bounty hunter were headed.

Very carefully, the child was maneuvered into his sling so Mando could climb up the ladder to the cockpit with both hands. Once on his feet again, the child was deposited into his pram, and Mando took his place in the pilot’s seat.

Now that there was fuel in the tank and supplies on board for everyone, it was time to get back to finding somewhere to hide out.