#if you stick your head far enough in the sand no one can see you and that's Ostrich Wisdom

[qzwrites]

"To be fair, if I was straight, I think I'd be wary of telling a woman I legit do get off on dominating her," Marco said. "Like, if he's even a halfway decent guy, that probably feels really gross."

"I think you're underestimating how little straight men think about things," Athy said. "Kink spaces that aren't explicitly queer are full of heterosexual men looking to dominate and humiliate women."

"Yeah, and I don't count those guys as halfway decent," Marco said. "If he's been sitting on it instead of, like, doing it without a second thought, he's probably aware it's at least potentially a red flag."

"I guess he wasn't asking permission so much as...absolution?" Jubal said. "I don't get how anyone can have enough energy to get all worked up and ashamed of what turns them on. Don't they have better things to do?"

"You're forgetting how much time and energy they save by not having satisfying sex," Marco said.

[from-m-izzy]

diving in | tbz eric sohn

“you said you wanted to surf with me. Let me show you something while I’m at it.”

pairing » the boyz eric sohn x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship, non-idol au!

genre »​ smut 18+ (PLEASE MDNI!!) 🔞 (kinda) surfer eric, some fluff

word count; estimated reading time » 1970; ~8 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » dom!eric, sub!reader, public sex (on a surfboard in the ocean, quite far away from the rest of the crowd), praising (reader receiving), dirty talk (not explicit), begging (reader to eric), pet name (baby girl, pretty girl), nickname (buff puppy; reader to eric), fingering (reader receiving), marking and kisses on skin (reader receiving), reader has medium-long hair, reader wears a bikini, eric is shirtless, eric and reader are the same height, eric implied to have a bigger build, orgasm denial (once), cum tasting (eric to reader)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

happy birthday bubba @mosviqu 🥰 just a little something for you 🫂 thank you for proofreading and helping with warnings last minute @sanaxo-o 🥰

In between your chaotic university schedule and unhelpful teammates in your group work, came Eric's idea to take a day at the beach. You're more than enlightened at the idea, already sorting the day's wardrobe in your head.

Now, the toasted sand tickles between the crevices and around your bare feet, but you don't flinch, feeling your muscles relax instead. Your exposed stomach and back bask in the sun, delightful at the kiss from the sun. Eric walks beside you, his right hand protectively landing on your waist, pulling you closer to him; reminding the others around you to stop looking at your lower cheeks and upper chest which makes him scowl.

"You're looking hot but I hate how others can see you like this." Tucking his hand on the aide waistband on your bottoms and letting the material slap your skin.

You raise an eyebrow at him, your head dipping and rising at his exposed chest, "Speak for yourself, you buff puppy."

There and then comes Eric's light and golden smile that had you since day one, that only seemed all the more attractive with the limited skin contact that you share due to your light blue bikini and his pink swimmers. For Eric, it's the fact that the sight of you like this makes him want to take you right then and there, but he needed to stay civil in the public place.

You made your temporary post in the crowded space, spreading your beach towel and your belongings under the beach umbrella that you recently bought. Eric sticks his surfboard onto the sand next to where you would be sitting, creating more walls from the setting yet still scorching sun. You both settle in, popping off the cap of your sunscreen.

"Need help?" Knowing well enough that you will accept it.

A generous amount is applied to his palm and Eric guides you to sit between his spread legs as he begins applying the lotion starting from your shoulders and along your spine. You should've known that he was plotting something for even though you couldn't see the spreading grin on his face, his hands did all the talking. From the curve of your shoulder, coming to curve to your chest.

Slightly turning your head around, you shoot him a raised eyebrow but he feigns a straight face. His fingers go beneath the shoulder strap, following the line to your breasts. At least, you thought he would be groping you over the clothing but were proved wrong when your hardened buds were between his fingers that swiped and tugged making your back straighten.

"E-Eric---" Looking around at the oblivious children and parents. You couldn't help but squirm into him, the tip of his finger now circling your sensitive buds.

A hand flies to cover your mouth and Eric only shoots you a smile at the way your lips tremble in pleasure. "Good girl." Oh, he's crazy to call you that in public. "Looking all pretty for me."

"Oh..." His fingers tap teasingly towards your clothed mound, making your legs close instinctively. Eric clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval, to which you shakily open your shaking legs once more to him. You know where this is going and you should probably keep some public dignity but how could you when the length of his fingers covers your slit, brushing you in an upwards motion, proud of the dampening fabric that he's created?

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, gasping for the air above. The whimpers that you let out are now clearer and closer to your boyfriend’s ears and once again, it takes Eric everything to not turn you around, tug both your underwear down and guide your surely pooling arousal around his hardening part.

But he’s got better ideas than what you both usually do behind closed doors. The fact that you’re gripping onto his forearm, gasping for air and his touch despite only having a minimal amount of coverage to the world around you makes the idea in his head all the more interesting to try. Without another word, Eric retracts his arm, scooting backwards before standing up.

Your furrowed eyebrows contrasted with the cute jut of your lower lip as your head turned, eyes following to see him retrieve his surfboard from the sand, tucking it below his arm. Eric winks at you and before you can protest your disappointment about the building orgasm, he crouches eye level with you, stealing a peck from your lips. 

“Come on,” he tilts his head towards the body of water, “you said you wanted to surf with me. Let me show you something while I’m at it.”

You couldn't see through that mischievous smirk and that annoyingly charming wink sent once again. Even though you rolled your eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, he knew that you would accept the hand that he has put out for you. Just like before, his fingers curve around the side of your waist, the surfboard from before under his arm as you both make your way to the crowded ocean.

At first, everything is civil. You both cupped your hands together to splash the salty liquid on each other’s faces, innocent and beaming in the summer. Eric would use the board as a barrier from your attacks and in turn, you would shout at how unfair he was being in the fight. The cooling water around you and the way the sand below you would most probably get between your feet when you walk back. The particles of sand would also be around your body, stuck between the gap between your bikini and your skin. But it’s fun and spending this time to just forget about your priorities is great, especially when you can do it with the love of your life. 

It’s true when people say time passes by fast when you have fun for with each passing splash to each other’s faces, the sun sets and the temperature drops even more, and Eric’s love and warmth for you becomes all the more evident. As you have fun together, you’ve reached a part of the area where it’s more secluded. The laughter of the families, squealing children and somewhat worried parents were quite a distance---it’s enough for you both to be moderately loud together; whatever those noises may be from. Eric pulls his body onto the floating board, legs straddling on each side, eyes forward towards the horizon and sunset. You gazed up at him with adoration, resting your arm onto the unoccupied part of the board as you gaze at the scene too. 

He admires the scenery in front of him, alternating between that and you next to him still in the water. You're left still in the water until he acknowledges you once more with a kiss, slotting his lips between yours. His thumb and index trap your chin, controlling the flow of the kiss. Eric smiles at the swipes of his tongue that would make your eyes slightly roll back. Your hands grip his thigh, slightly pushing him down in an attempt to dive into the kiss further. To the shaky movement, Eric tightens his hold on your chin, separating your wet lips with an innocent shake of his head.

“Don’t make me fall, baby girl,” He warns you softly. “Come here.” He pats on the board in front of him, instructing you to get on the board with minimal movement. 

Because of your lack of experience with the surfboard and everything about surfing, it was a little bit of a struggle to get on the rocky surface. The natural waves didn’t help you either. But Eric’s skilful balancing skills, tilting his upper body to the opposite side of the board of where you are to maintain his drying hair eventually made you both succeed in sitting together to watch the sunset in his arms. With his hands on your waist, he pulls you and himself closer, loving the feeling of your exposed back on his defined chest.

You exhale at the feeling, leaning and putting your weight onto him. To be honest, you could fall asleep to the sound of the waves, Eric’s humming and the way his thumb caress your skin. But Eric did not want you to fall asleep---he wanted the opposite of your snores and relaxed brain. His hands start to trail down, following the downward curve of your thigh, again towards your core that you couldn’t tell if it was your arousal or the sea. You gasp at how he didn’t bother to tease you from above your underwear, tugging cloth to one side, inserting one finger straight into your pooling hole.

“You can be louder,” he encourages the whiny moans that you started to voice, “They’re all away from us.” Referring to earlier when you were in a ‘more’ crowded place. 

Eric made use of his mouth, opened lips landing on the area between your neck and your shoulder. He makes his mark along the slide, sucking open-mouthed kisses while his fingers start to increase the pace, driving you to your wave. Your thighs start shaking, just like your ragged breaths and the slight thrashing of your head resting laid on his shoulder. Just like he wants, your voice becomes louder, not only because you’re right next to him but because you’re starting to not care about the setting you’re in.

“Keep still,” he reminds you of the uneven surface, “if you keep moving so harshly, you won’t be able to cum.” With this, his hand that has tugged your underwear away lets go and the elastic slaps to his retracting hand increase its pace and stretch your hole as he inserts another finger.

Your hands grip his wrists, hazy eyes gazing down to see the trembling of your thighs that have started to grip the blue board as you feel the increase of your release building up. Eric syncs your moans to the plunging of his fingers inside you. The tip of his fingers reaches your sweet spot, hitting that spot each time to leave you all the more breathless. Another finger is inserted and you can’t help but lean almost all your weight onto Eric now, losing your mind at how Eric constantly hits the spot that he knows all too well.

“Faster,” you beg to compensate for the orgasm he took away from you earlier. “Please don’t stop.” 

Eric complied with your request, turning his head towards the crook of your neck and littering soft small kisses to the back of your ear. Each time he pulls away from another peck comes another encouraging praise from all the “You’re taking me so well” to the “My pretty girl” to the dirtier words that encourage to finally coat his fingers with a layer of you. He didn’t stop at your orgasm, letting the surge of relief travel all over your body, only beginning to slow down when your breathing normalises. 

Eric’s gaze on your side profile is adoring, his hand coming back to cover your spent core. His face comes up to nudge and trace along your jawline and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You alright?”

You chuckle back, turning your head to nudge your nose against his, “Yeah. You?” He nods and kisses you still with a wide smile. “Amazing balance you have here, Mr Sohn.”

“I know,” he wiggles his eyebrows playfully, “I am amazing.”

You couldn’t argue with that statement. Eric Sohn is the love of your life after all.

“You know what else is amazing?” You raise an eyebrow at the question. Eric gives that mischievous smirk again, lifting the three fingers that made you gasp for air a few minutes ago, “Open up.” 

Diving in once more.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

[talkfastromance4]

Listen… I am obsessed, as I’ve said before, with Sugar Daddy!Jake and Sugar. And I’m a sucker for being taken care of so the blurb about the migraine and bad day was my jam but it got me thinking… Jake needs taken care of too sometimes, and I’m dying to know what that would like when he’s having a bad day and just needs a little tlc

Sure thing bby😊 prepare for extra soft!Jake

Lift Me Up–Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 1.7k

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

You were just finishing up some boutonnieres and corsages for another wedding when your watch buzzed on your wrist. At a quick glance you saw Rooster’s name appear but you didn’t read the message yet because you had to finish wrapping twine around one more set of flowers. Your wrist buzzed again, and again but you were adamant on finishing this before being distracted.

Once it was wrapped and tightened, you scrolled through your notifications, messages equally from Rooster and Phoenix.

Rooster: are you coming to the hard deck by chance?

Phoenix: are you busy tonight? Please say no, Bagman is extra sour

Rooster: we’re all begging. Hangman’s in a terrible mood.

Rooster: WE ALL NEED YOU

Phoenix: please babe, he’s bad

“What in the world?” you mutter as you read through the frantic texts. 

It’s only a little after five, what could Jake possibly be doing that both Rooster and Phoenix are reaching out to you? You place your finished flowers in the boxes and set them on the shelf in the fridge and gather your things. Reynolds is waiting for you in his usual parking spot, his smile turns into a frown at your own troubled expression.

“Is something wrong?”

“Can we go to The Hard Deck? Something’s wrong with Jake…”

“Really? He didn’t text me…” Reynolds scratches his chin as he opens your door. “But we’ll stop by and see what’s going on.”

“Thank you.”

The bar isn’t that far from your shop and for a Thursday night, it’s pretty packed with cars and pilots loitering onto the sand. 

“Should I come in with you?” Reynolds asks.

“No, I’ll be okay. Maybe wait for a bit in case we need to drive him home,” you say and get out. 

Some of the other pilots say hello to you as you pass them but you barely smile because you’re growing concerned for Jake. Is he drunk and he’s acting belligerent? Is he sick and refusing to go home?

You weave through the crowd finding Rooster near the back by the jukebox and pool tables. There’s a loud crack! followed by a collective groan and someone cursing Jake’s name. 

“Penny’s gonna ban you from ever entering her bar again,” Rooster shakes his head and moves out of your way.

You see Jake holding a splintered cue stick, one half of it is on the pool table and his face is hard, stony. His brows are furrowed in a permanent scowl as he tosses the broken stick on the table.

“I’ll replace it. Give me another one,” Jake snaps his fingers but no one moves. He turns around snatching one from the holders and you push yourself in front of Rooster.

“Thank God you’re here,” he mutters. “Hangman, time to go home.”

“No, I’m not ready to go home, Rooster. Not until I win a game of pool and–Sugar,” he stops himself short when he turns around and sees you. He drops the new stick in his hand as if he’s caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What are you doing here?”

“We called her to come get you,” Phoenix says. “It’s been a long day. Go home.”

“I thought you were working late,” Jake says, ignoring the others completely. 

“I got caught up,” you walk towards him, hand reaching for his cheek. When you’re close enough his cheek falls into your palm effortlessly. You can feel the tension in his jaw. “You had a bad day?”

“Wasn’t the best, no,” he murmurs as you bring your other hand to his other cheek. You rub at the circles under his eyes, noting how they’re bloodshot. 

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

He follows you willingly, walking past his friends who stare at your retreating backs dumbfounded. They insisted he should go home hours ago but he refused and then you come in saying only a few words and he follows you not a problem. 

When the two of you get back outside you let Reynolds know he can go home. Jake says he’s fine to drive and you want to ask him what happened but his body language is screaming annoyance. He keeps one hand on your knee and you trace your finger over the grooves of his knuckles, circling over the back of his palm. 

His silence is so loud when you’re finally home and he slams his door when he gets out. He opens yours more gently, his hand held out to you, his gaze soft as he looks at you. You take his hand and close your door behind you, following him closely into the house.

“Can I make you anything?” you ask quietly. 

“Do we have tomato soup?”

“I’m sure Rhea keeps it on hand,” you smile, continuing to stroke his hand with your thumb. “Do you want grilled cheese with it?”

“That sounds good,” he nods.

“Okay. Why don’t you go take a hot shower, the food will be ready when you’re done.”

You squeeze his hand, debating on kissing him but he turns away and heads towards the stairs. You skip to the kitchen grabbing the necessary things to make the soup. Of course Rhea bought the best type of canned tomato soup and you took two out since you hadn’t eaten yet either. While the soup is heating up in the pot you begin on the grilled cheese using the panini maker. 

You’re humming ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’ as you look in the freezer for dessert. Jake loves sundaes with chocolate syrup and sprinkles. You stir the soup, make another grilled cheese and then Jake struts in. You were hoping he’d take a longer shower, letting the hot water worry away his tight muscles. 

“Hey,” you smile loving how fluffy his hair is looking already. He has on your favorite shirt, the NAVY one and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “That was a quick shower.”

He moves past you and turns the soup down on low so it simmers. Then he places the grilled cheese on a hot plate and covers it up.

“The soup is just about done. Aren’t you–ahh!” you squeal when he lifts you up onto the counter. You open your legs and he slots between them, his arms moving behind your lower back. 

“Wanted to be with you,” he mumbles.

“Jake…what happened today?” you ask resting your arms on his shoulders.

“I couldn’t beat my times today and in the meetings following, I was used as the example of what not to do. I don’t know what happened, I couldn’t accelerate fast enough. So I wanted to blow off steam at the bar, prove to everyone I can do it all.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day. It’s okay if you can’t do it all, you know, I think you’re pretty perfect already,” you encourage. “You’ll beat your times, just keep practicing and you’ll get there. Want me to come yell at your officers for singling you out?”

“No, that’s okay,” he chuckles slipping his fingers under your shirt. He draws circles on your skin. “It wouldn’t do much, you’re too adorable.”

“I can be feisty if I need to,” you put on a tough face, “I can scream and shout about how you are the best pilot there is.”

“Thanks Sugar,” he smiles. He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your forearm then sighs. He keeps kissing up your arm until he’s by your shoulder and you turn his head so you can press your lips to his. 

Your arms tighten around each other, and your legs hook around his hips. His kiss is hurried and hot, his fingers hot on your bare skin as he shifts them up under your shirt. One hand moves to your stomach, his lips feverish as they transition to your jaw and neck. You toss your head back gasping, his fingers graze the side of your breast as he sucks on your neck. 

Your hips involuntarily rut against his, fingers tangling in his hair. Your body is electric from his touch and kiss. His hand on your lower back rocks you forward, his lips moving to your collarbones and in between your breasts. 

“Jake,” you whimper enjoying the sensations but then he stops. 

He removes his lips from your breasts, his breath hot and wanton on your skin as he recollects himself and pulls you back up in a sitting position. You stare at him quizzically.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he exhales.

“I wasn’t telling you to stop,” you shake your head suddenly feeling ashamed. 

“I know. But I don’t want to rush anything, wanna take my time and give you the proper attention you deserve,” he says pulling your shirt back down. “And not when I’m upset about work.”

“But–”

He shushes you with a soft kiss. 

“Don’t forget how much you tempt me on the daily, Sugar,” he says on your lips. “You made me my favorite comfort food, so let’s enjoy that okay?”

You nod and hop down the counter, your legs a little shaky from that quick but intense makeout. You ladled the soup while he gathered plates and silverware. Still feeling a little dejected, you sat on one of the stools and began to eat slowly. When Jake joined you, he dragged you closer to him, the stool grating against the floor. Then he lifted your legs onto his lap and smiled.

“Want you as close as possible,” he says then starts to eat. You smile into your spoon.

When you’re finished eating, you move into the living room climbing onto his large couch. 

“Pick your favorite movie,” you tell him. He decides on 10 Things I Hate About You and when he turns around, you pat your chest as a place for him to lay. 

He jumps onto the couch cuddling onto your chest, basically laying on top of you with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around you. His overexcitement makes you laugh and you start to play with his hair. That calms him down fairly quickly and you scratch at his neck.

“You’ve no idea how good that feels,” he groans. 

“Oh I know, it’s my specialty, remember?” you tease and kiss the top of his head. You move your hands down his back, scratching it lightly and he groans again. 

“Don’t ever stop,” he sighs.

You remain that way for the whole movie, one hand scratching at his back and the other petting his hair thinking the whole time how you never want to stop.

[oathkeeperoxas]

wip wednesday

getting back into the groove of more icemav now that I'm back from my holiday 😤 anyway here's some icemav skinny dipping together 💖

“Mav,” Ice says, mouth dry.

“It’s a dark night,” Mav says, tilting his head up. “Moon’s not out yet. No one’s going to see.”

It’s true; Ice can barely see Mav, and he’s fifteen paces away and looking for him. His body is a study in shadows, and Mav turns so that Ice can see all of him that’s possible in this light, before he retrieves the bottle of vodka and takes a gulp of it.

“Mav,” Ice says again as he reaches him. Mav holds the bottle out; Ice takes it and has a swig for solidarity.

“You’re wearing your swimmers,” Mav says. “You don’t need to strip. If you don’t want to.”

The water is calm, washing up on the shore slowly. The sand continues here until the water is deep enough that you can’t stand up in it, and Mav wades out fearlessly, unstoppable. Ice takes another drink from the bottle to steady himself, and then follows Mav down to the water, leaving his clothes in a pile next to Mav’s.

It’s cold; he wades up to his knees and then watches Mav fucking around in the water as the waves soak his skin. Mav’s just behind where the waves start rolling in – if he can even call them waves. You’d never surf at this beach – and is splashing, then floating, looking up at the stars. Ice keeps his eyes fixed on him. All of this could almost be routine, except for the fact that he’s here.

Mav rights himself and then comes back to Ice, dripping water. He’s serious, unsmiling, as Ice folds him into his arms despite being wet and cold. Ice isn’t wearing anything; it’s fine.

“Good to be home,” Mav says quietly into his chest. “Good to see Carole and Slider and the kid.”

“And me?” Ice asks, loneliness rising to snap at him.

“And you,” Mav agrees. He slides his arms up around Ice’s neck. Ice leans down to kiss him, and Mav moves their lips against each other slowly, their bodies warming each other where they touch. Mav’s lips are cold. Ice resolves to do something about that.

“How are you?” Ice asks, desperately. “I mean it, Mav.”

Mav sighs. “Happy to be home,” he says again. “It was fine, Ice. I mean, it fucking sucked, but I’m fine. I promise. It didn’t fuck me up. Not like–”

He buries his head in Ice’s shoulder. Ice grips him close, not needing him to finish the sentence.

“And you didn’t get hurt?” Ice asks. 

“No. Worst thing was a bellyache from all their crap food,” Mav says.

Ice swallows. “I want you to tell me all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mav says, looking resigned. “Not tonight though, yeah?”

“Not tonight,” Ice says. “When you want to.”

“Never, then.”

“Mav…”

Mav huffs. “Okay. Next week or something then, at least.”

“Okay,” Ice agrees. That’s an easy promise to accept.

Mav tugs him out deeper into the water. Ice takes a step and then resists going any further.

“It’s cold, Mav,” he says. 

“I want to go swimming with you,” Mav says. “You know how many times I thought about that?”

And, well. He can’t say no to that.

Ice lets Mav tug him out deeper, until they’re both swimming in the dark. He can feel the warmth of the vodka in his stomach, but it’s hardly enough. He tries for a bit to do some serious swimming just to warm himself up, and finds Mav cutting through the water, chasing after him. They go back and forth for a while, sticking close to the house and not too far from the shore, until Ice gets tired and goes back in until he can stand again in the water. Mav follows without protest, and clings to Ice when he stops.

“We can’t go a little further in?” he complains.

Ice laughs. “Too deep for you?”

“I’m not that much shorter than you are,” Mav groans, but then stops when Ice gathers him in his arms and kisses him. If it weren’t so cold, being pressed naked against Mav would have been the end of him; as it is, he’s clutching Mav close, slotting their mouths together, feeling the imprint of his body where they touch.

“Mav,” Ice whispers, and now it’s Mav groaning against his mouth. 

“Okay, out, out.” 

Ice attempts to shake the sand off, but his efforts are rendered useless when Mav drags him down next to their clothes and the vodka. Ice sighs as they’re both covered, but Mav is laying down and pulling Ice down on top of him, so he stops thinking about that. They’re wet and cold and sandy, and Mav takes another long pull from the bottle, offers it to Ice. Ice is used to drinking vodka straight, but Mav has never really liked it.

“Got a taste for this while you were gone?” he asks, not bothering to cap the bottle again. More interested in licking Mav’s salt covered skin.

“Yeah,” Mav grunts, running his hands up Ice’s back. “Tastes like you.”

Ice has to kiss him again. They’re in their mid thirties, tipsy, naked on the beach, and he doesn’t care. Mav offers him more alcohol between kisses that are turning hot. Ice is warmed up again, even in the cool night, and his legs are splayed wide over Mav’s hips. He can’t hide what he wants, and he doesn’t want to.

“Mav,” Ice grunts. “Mav, let’s go inside.”

Mav laughs. “Still want a bed, Kazansky?”

“I’m not twenty,” he groans as Mav fondles his ass, squeezing firmly to bring them close together, grinding up against each other. “And there’s sand. Everywhere.”

“It’s a bit rough,” Mav agrees. “Okay, okay.”

He takes the bottle, and Ice gathers up their clothes. There’s a bathroom downstairs next to the laundry, put there for occasions exactly like this; coming into the house after swimming in the ocean. Ice puts their clothes in a hamper, Mav abandons the vodka on top of the washing machine, and they go into the shower together.

God, there really is sand everywhere – Ice scrubs it out of every crevice, washing his hair, soaping up a few times for good measure, and yet he’s still sure he’s missed some. It’s better than it was. Mav is utilitarian, gets out first which allows Ice the space to pick sand out from between his toes. Okay. Ice dries himself off in a hurry, but Mav is already gone, headed upstairs, hasn’t put any clothes on. Okay.

Ice follows him, heart in his throat, naked and warm and willing. Mav is standing by the window in their bedroom, looking out over the ocean as the moon starts to rise on the horizon. Ice can only see half his face, and even then it’s cast in shadows. He goes to turn the bedside lamp on, only for Mav to softly whisper, “Don’t.”

“Why?” Ice asks.

“Let’s just hold each other. I want to feel you.”

[twisted-tales-of-all]

Drowning in Pleasure

Summary: They say weddings help you meet people, but this wedding has gone horribly wrong for you - meeting death definitely wasn't on your books. Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Gender-Ambiguous Reader Genre: Smut, Angst, Fantasy, Horror, One-Shot Tropes: siren!AU Word Count: 2.3K Contains: the beach/ocean/sea/fish, attending a wedding, betrayal by a relative, high and mighty HJ, blood, biting, injuries, telepathy, dub-con(?), oral (reader receiving, no specific genitalia mentioned), cum-eating, underwater sex, major character death

When your brother told you that he'd be getting married on the beach, with the ocean behind him, you thought that it would simply be the most magical experience. You never could've predicted this turn of events. And sure, you thought it strange when you never saw a physical invitation, but you figured he was simply being considerate to the earth by inviting his closest people verbally - he was like that sometimes, and you admired his will to stick to his eco-friendly ways, even if some of it felt over the top to you.

However, that definitely was not the case here, as you found out during the ceremony. He walked his way to the makeshift altar in his fancy deep-violet suit before his partner. When his partner's turn arises, the blood falls out of your face, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach.

There's no way. He wouldn't have done that.

As your thoughts race, you look at your brother. His eyes are soft and stuck lovingly on your ex as they walk towards him. It makes you feel sick. Luckily, you sit along the outer edge of the audience, so you quietly leave while everyone else focuses on the happy couple. To clear your head, you walk along the grassy cliffside just outside of the sandy beach. Standing far enough back for the edge of the cliff to cover your view of the sands and ceremony below, you look out at the never-ending ocean extending in front of you. As if the ocean can respond to you, you mumble out various questions that weigh heavily on your heart.

Nearing the far edge of the cliff, you hear a song playing out from below. You reach the cliff's edge and eagerly look for its source. There, sitting pretty with an eye-catching head of royal blue hair, sits a shirtless man sculpted in a way you can only equate to the likes of a god.

As he sings, he looks off towards the ocean, the waves complimenting the sound of his tune nicely as they crash upon the rocky shore. Although you can't understand the language he sings in, something about him continues drawing you in. Whether his beauty or song has locked you in a trance or you're simply feeling lonely after today's events, you find yourself unable to look away.

Slowly, you make your way down the safest path you can find, hoping nothing else but to learn his name and the song's title. Never have you been so enthralled by a simple man - but he couldn't possibly be just a simple man, not in this situation.

Reaching the bottom, you call out to him. He abruptly stops his singing, so you apologize for interrupting, but a wave of dread washes over you as he stands, still facing the sea. Realizing that you have yet to see his face, you worry that fate has decided to hand you a demon to top off your horrible day, but as he turns around, you find a face to match his perfectly sculpted body. Soft features melting away your anxiety like a warm knife through butter, he gazes at you without much emotion. After a longer look, you notice spots of blue and purple speckled along his cheekbones, with a shell stuck to his left temple.

"Who are you?" Your tongue moves before you can stop yourself.

"My name is Hongjoong." The sweet voice guiding you down towards the ocean twists into something new, something darker, as he continues, "You should leave here before the song starts anew. The ocean is calling me back again; don't let it take you, too."

He faces the endless sea again, taking a single step forward before you stop him. Grabbing his arm, you ask the stranger not to leave you alone. Without showing a reaction to your words, he starts his song again, but the sound rings roughly in your ears this time. You grow faint, but recognize him pulling you by the hand towards the ocean. As the waves crash against your legs, you feel too weak to fight him. After a short time, the floor beneath your feet seems to fall and you're entirely submerged under the water.

"Don't let go." Hongjoong's voice echoes in your head. 

Realizing that you can still breathe without issue, you hold on to his hand tightly, assuming that he's somehow allowing you to do so. Examining your surroundings, you watch fish swim by without acknowledging you. You can see where the ocean's floor drops, shrouded in a darkness only barely penetrated by small dots of light from the fish living beneath the sun's reach.

Hongjoong guides you into a small grotto with a flat rock in the middle, shining in the light tunneling in from a small hole above. If you weren't as curious as you are, you might've missed the ominous surroundings - torn pieces of fabric caught on sharp stones and weathered at varying degrees, and bones poking out from beneath the sands. But what are you to do? If you let go of his hands, can you swim all the way back to shore? You don't even know how far you've come, nor which direction you'd have to swim. But if you stay, will you end up like those around you, fading into the sand and rocks until nothing remains? How do you face the fact that you fell directly into a siren's trap thanks to your overwhelming loneliness after the wedding?

As you reach the center, Hongjoong slowly floats down to sit on the rock. Pulled by his movements and trapped thanks to your hesitation, you have no choice but to follow suit. You barely feel the smooth stone underneath you; it's as if you simply float above it. Conversely, you've never felt so clearly someone's stare on you. Not only can you feel him looking, you can feel his less-than-good intentions towards you.

Slowly meeting his eyes, you notice a thin yellow ring they didn't have above water. Along with the blue and purple dots enhanced by the tint of the water and the strands of hair flowing around his head in the water, there's no mistaking Hongjoong as anything but a creature of the sea. Although lacking the iconic tails portrayed in the tales of mermen and sirens, you can't help but classify him amongst them.

"What happens to me now? Are you a siren, leading me to my death? Are you simply a merman entranced by a human? What do you want of me?"

Although you hear him chuckle, you don't notice any movement from him as he stares deeply into your soul. Even as his sultry voice rings clear in your ears, his lips do not move, and his gaze does not falter.

"Humans are interesting. Why are you implying that the fault lies with me? Do you not recall my clear warning that you should leave before the song returned? Did you forget who reached out to me, begging for the company of a stranger? I will not deny my curiosity of your kind, but I gave you a chance to leave even after everything."

"You didn't answer me. What happens now?"

"That's up to you. Personally, I'd like to explore your body and its limits, but even monsters such as I can understanf the concept of consent." Emphasizing the second portion of his sentence, you feel his disdain for the worse examples of humankind, but he lightens his tone as he continues, somehow making the statement even more disturbing, "If you'd prefer not to, I can simply let you go, and you can try to make your way back to land."

"I'll die regardless, won't I?"

"Who knows. Maybe you'll find luck on your side today if you go back."

Even though he's oblivious to your unlucky start of the day, his words burn in your chest as you're aggressively reminded of the wedding once again. Determined to enjoy the time you have left, you decide to indulge him.

"I hear sirens are goodat more than just singing. Can you show me?"

For the first time since sitting down, Hongjoong moves. His lips curl upward, deviously twisting into a smirk at his success. With ease despite the stillness in the cave's waters, he leans forward and interlocks his lips with yours. Strangely, water doesn't enter your mouth as it opens, only the saltiness mixed with an almost chalky sensation from his lips. The books often attribute sirens to sea foam, but every indication from Hongjoong gives the idea that he's made of the sand and shells instead. Too bad you won't make it back to write the details.

He thrusts his tongue into your mouth, clearing your mind instantly. His hands roaming your upper body, you feel weightless within the water, with every small touch moving you easily. You close your eyes to enjoy the unusual sensations to the fullest, and you almost miss the fact that he's unbuttoned your shirt. As it floats open, you shrug your way out of it, letting it find its way to one of the pointed rocks below - like all the other bits of clothing surrounding you. Placing a cold hand on the small of your now-exposed back, Hongjoong deepens the kiss by pressing your bodies together, skin brushing skin.

When he pulls his face away, your eyes flutter open, begging him wordlessly for more. However, his lips move on to explore more of your body. Trailing kisses down your neck and all around your shoulders, the siren leaves a few bite marks on you. Despite the stinging of his sharp teeth breaking skin and the dreadful pain of salt water entering open wounds, it's the metallic scent of blood in the water that you notice most. As you see small foggy strands floating around you, you shut your eyes tightly again. He continues his pattern as he moves down your body, leaving four more gashes in your torso before reaching your slacks. 

"You dressed quite fancy for the beach. Was it yout plan to meet me, after all?" He scoffs at the idea as he undoes the pants, letting them slide down your legs.

They get caught on your shoes, so you stomp against the heel of each one to remove them. Your pants slide off with ease after the removal of the obstruction. Only after their removal do you address his ridiculous question.

"I attended a wedding at the beach. When I left the ceremony, I roamed the area and found you. Don't flatter yourself."

Biting your thigh with more force than the previous bites, he barks back, "Human interest will never flatter me. Don't you dare place your filthy kind above me."

Once done showing his disdain for humankind again, he releases your thigh and licks up the blood from the wound. You wince at the sensation, with the pressure and sandpaper-like grit of his tongue encouraging you to keep your mouth shut more than his threatening words.

While you're busy with the pain, you feel a rush of cold against your crotch, sending shivers up your spine. He used his teeth to cut open the thin fabric of your underwear. Sticking his nose in between your thighs, Hongjoong remembers why he takes humans despite his hatred of them. As the tangy, acidic scent of your fluids enters his nose, he's reminded that the pure variety of humans leads him to want to try them all. Finding the source of the smell, Hongjoong swirls the tip of his tongue along the opening, tasting every bit of the dripping precum that your body gives him.

Losing yourself in the feeling of his tongue, you forget about your wounds, your impending death, and even your location. With his hand securely holding your hips and your fingers tangled in his lapis locks, your mind blurs everything but the sensations he gives you. Quicker than ever before, you cum, and he makes sure to lap up every last drop. Your body loosens after your high, but he continues to use his mouth to explore your entire body, making sure to touch you at all times - it'd pain him to lose his toy before he's finished playing with it.

Opening your eyes and looking down at him, you notice that a beautiful metallic tail replaces the human legs he once bore. The storm-colored tail shines with the light hitting each scale magically, reflecting small rainbows on some of them. With small flippers on either side of his waist and a bigger, fanned-out set at the end of the tail, lighter in tone than the rest of the tail, you relate his magical look to a fairy's wings.

"No wonder humans fall for sirens so easily - you're gorgeous beyond words."

With a quick flip of his tail, his face reaches yours again, accepting the compliment in a way you didn't expect, "Of course I am, but it is the taste of humans that allows me to remain this way. Your juices helped me regain my tail; imagine what I'll look like when I dry you out entirely."

Although terror fills your veins, curiosity piques in your heart, "Do what you must, Hongjoong. If I can somehow improve upon your brilliance, I encourage it."

Roughly locking lips with yours, he acts on your words quickly. Your eyes close despite your attempts to keep them open to view his changes, controlled by his magic. You float helplessly in place as he slams his tail between your legs, rubbing his rough scales against your crotch and thighs, the sharp edges of some of them slicing into your skin like papercuts. The metallic scent envelopes you stronger than before as you feel your consciousness slowly fading as he continues. You feel one final bite on your waist before fading to black, lost amongst the many others claimed by the sea.

Tags: @yourfatherlucifer @pyeonghongrie @sanjoongie

[2kmps]

wolfwood has wanted to kiss you for a while. his inexperience decides to come front and center when he tries.

notes; 1.2k, woowoo fluff and him being clumsy and sloppy, tristamp coded.

out of habit, wolfwood plucked a piece of gum from the blue package in your fingers. he had just expended his last cigarette; the bent tip still glowing hot amber in the sea of golden-beige underfoot. there were more scattered around, partially buried and snuffed, not an entirely unusual scene, but enough to lure you away from mingling around the campsite to where he stood, obscured by van while perched on a tire. distantly, through the erratic lick of bonfire and animated, drawled chatter from drunken others, you saw lighter spark and cigarettes extinguish in rapid succession.

"okay, spill," you tucked another flat stick of gum into his dusty blazer pocket, "you've been standing over here for an hour. what's wrong?"

"ain't your business. back up, would you?" wolfwood said, lightly sweeping your hand away as he stood to lean his shoulders into the van alongside you. he tucked the gum as far back in his teeth as he could, the particular taste astringent and burned his nares, and not in any way he enjoyed. "sounds like you guys were having a good time. should I be flattered that you came over here to be nosy?"

you puckered and tutted at him. "I'm always half expecting to find you face down in the sand from your lungs shriveling up."

"right now, I think you'd better worry more about spikey choking on his puke in his sleep--" he shifted his weight onto an arm he curled near his head, body towards you--"or, gramps breaking a hip trying to tell one of his shitty stories. surprised you didn't drink anything."

it was all in jest, all of it. there was a sense of familiarity in this situation; standing next to one another in the cold night, faraway warbles from your comrades in high-spirits an oddly lightening feeling. wolfwood didn't get enough moments like these with you, not without intrusive gazes and busybodies coming to foil the good mood he had built up.

"they'll be okay." you voiced a shared opinion while wearing a subdued smile, something a little more timid than he was used to seeing from you. "you've been out of sorts for a few days, though. I know we're not-- I don't know, super close, but you can still talk to me, nick."

oh, but he wanted to be closer to you. oh, he didn't know how to handle the patter behind his ribs, the heat swirling in his core and crawling up his face whenever you called him something other than nicholas. the longer he stared at your face, drawing closer to moment your eyes averted as though daunted by him, he wondered if you would accept him any other way than now-- the long-standing way things had always been between you both.

amicable. unserious. he would be leaving that behind in hopes of what he ventured towards would be reciprocated. half a thought he froze in place was to strand this entire thing he orchestrated; it was dumb and dangerous, there was no reason to fuck up the status quo, but yet he argued that there was-- and it simply was that he wanted more.

"maybe-- maybe you should take the edge off with a few drinks. it may do you some good." you were grasping for things to say now, but the fact that you kept trying, heels inhumed in sand whilst your weight relaxed into cold metal against you told him all he needed. you weren't in a rush, and neither was he.

coarse granules scuffed under his shoes as the divide separating the heat of your bodies narrowed, and he could see the moonlight catch a glimmer in your eyes. this was the closest you had let him get to you on purpose, in the past claiming that the smell of smoke stuck to him every bit the same as whiskey did to an alcoholic, or a weepy leg to infection.

"you really shouldn't be telling someone to trade one vice for another." he turned his head to spit out the gum, an ungraceful display that made him sputter when the taste of it landed fully on his tongue. it took him a moment to rebound, swallowing back another cough. "especially not when you're tempting with another vice."

you gave him an oblique glance. "hey, are you gonna make it? did you choke on your spit?"

this was not how he intending things to go. ordinarily, this was when he would've backed out, masked his embarrassment as some type of stunt that left you bewildered, while he would puff away on a new pack of smokes as he sulked.

tonight, however, he wasn't dwarfed by cowardice but rather that very same desire to have more from you. his arm bent against the metal near your head, dry fingertips a rough touch on your jaw as he tilted your face up to meet his lips. the wispy, dark tips of his hair feathered across your skin each time he leaned into you, imprints of warmth lasting until the next kiss and the one after that.

he tested the feeling, softly, at first, partially anticipating you to rip away from him with some exaggerated horror to downplay your uneasiness. the longer he went kissing you, leaning into the softness of your lips a little more each time, the more eager he became, spurred on by thrumming in his ears and heat and cold warring spots on the high planes of his face.

then, you swiveled your head out of his grip, letting his hand fall to your shoulder where he had stop himself from digging his nails into the roundness of them. he stayed close to your face, calming his shuddering breaths that were the closest thing he'd allow to verbalizing the ache of rejection on his chest. it was the sharpest knife he had every felt, every heartbeat was almost enough to make him sink his hand in there and rip it out.

"no?" it was a raspy whisper belonging to a parched, pathetic man who let his pride fall to the wayside for once. "that's all you gotta say."

"'no', what?" you said, plucking his sunglasses away by one of the arms before settling them into the same pocket with the slither of gum. "they were bothering me. it's nighttime, nick, you don't need them on--"

your back was flush to the van now, cool and hard, a jarring contrast to how hot his body felt slotting against yours. his lips were back on you, this time ravenous and feverish, sloppy and struggling to find a rhythm with you.

and, as your arms weaseled up to wind the back of his neck, he sank deeper into the warmth of your clothes and skin and smell, and felt it all so immensely it made him a little queasy. but, he didn't want it to stop anytime soon.

divider; @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog, cardeneiv

[justallihere]

im joining the train of being physically ill and your fic giving me the motivation to continue with life (allergies and contact dermatitis are kicking my ass. my eyelids are swollen)

I love how soft these two were for each other in this chapter.

XADEN IS WHIPPED. I feel like if he could live in/under Violet's skin he would 💀

exhibit a

“I can kill him for you,” he offered. 

exhibit b

“No, I don’t want you to move,” Xaden grumbled

exhibit c

“I’ll do whatever you want, my darling wife.”

exhibit d

he was sure his heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment before it resumed its rhythm again. 

exhibit e

Something warm bloomed in his chest at the sight of the ring on his finger, a physical representation of the two of them twined together, from now until they entered whatever life or world followed this one. 

Xaden made Vi blush SO MUCH this chapter and I'm eating it up!!!!!

This line was so funny 😭😭😭. Xaden is such a tease

“Yes, your majesty?” She scowled

Not me my heart breaking for younger Xaden. I hope Vi gives him enough hugs to heal his inner child

Being a dragon rider was one of the only things he had ever chosen for himself, even if, technically, he wasn’t supposed to have it. 

SOMEONE HUG GARRICK PLS. The guilt he probably feels, my poor baby 😭😭

“Can I not be worried about her?” Garrick asked sharply. “She is my queen, Xaden. She isn’t just your wife, she isn’t just Violet. Not anymore. She’s important to all of us, and I have a duty to her. You’re not the only one who failed to keep her safe.” 

EXCUSE ME??? ARE THEY FLIRTING? YOURE HONOR I THINK THEYRE FLIRTING. The second i read that he wanted to take her somewhere outside, I KNEW IT WAS HIS FAVORITE HILLTOP!!!! This moment was so special/monumental for them 😭. Xaden has come so far, from not wanting to share this sacred space/wanting to hate her on principle, to loving Violet and willing to do anything to make her happy (Again, mans is WHIPPED)

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mrs. Riorson?” Xaden asked in a low voice.  She shivered. “Maybe.” 

HIS RING??? HIS RING????? Of course, Vi noticed how obsessed X is with her hair. nothing gets past her

Xaden's unwavering faith in Vi is so 👌 I dont have words to describe what it is but its top tier husband energy

The fact that Violet reads smut confirms that she's just one of the girls AND Xaden picking the book up to read it ??? Book boyfriend material (Even though he's already her husband)

Questions:

When will Brennan get his head out of the sand and make up his siblings? Stick Xaden on him because B is making Vi and Mira sad!!!!

when was the last time Xaden got drunk/felt comfortable enough to do that?

was the story about malek and his consort's homage to Hades/Persephone but also a reflection of Vi/X's relationship?

She was Amari’s youngest, her most beautiful and most treasured child --- is this foreshadowing to how Lilith views Vi? bc if so... I'm sobbing in a corner

Omg feel better!! Stop being sick!! Why are you all sick!! (normally I’m the one who’s sick all the time 😂)

Waterparks has like dozens of obsessive love songs that I could quote but there’s a line in “I felt younger when we met” (ironically a break up song lol) that says “you moved in behind my eyes and built yourself a shrine” that I think about a lot in terms of how Xaden feels about Violet. Just like, a part of her lives with him permanently now and he can’t and doesn’t want to get rid of it and she’s all he knows and he’s wholly devoted to her

I’m LIVING for the fact that you came with evidence about how whipped he is lmao

They are in fact flirting, can confirm!

To answer your questions: Yes, Brennan will get his act together. The last time Xaden got drunk was, uh. . . so many moons ago I do not have an exact time, but years. And yes! It was a way to say that not only do people see their relationship differently depending on what they’re looking for, but Xaden views himself so differently from the way Violet sees him.

And yeah to that last one as well. I mean she loves all her kids beyond reason, but there’s something in the way she views Violet that’s so special to me

[chickenparm]

Motion Sick (Dottore/Reader)

i wrote this weeks ago and realized i never posted it so here you go. have fun taking care of Zandik after he gets motion sick from screwing around in big metal golems.

---

AO3 Link

Dottore/Reader 1,723 Words - SFW (mentions of vomiting)

---

Clipboard in hand, you stand rather patiently at the base of the metal monstrosity’s gangplank. The sun is vicious, even with how low it sits in the skies. It won’t be long until night falls, and with the movement of the machine coming to a complete halt, you’re certain Zandik must be done for the day. 

At least, you hope he is. 

Footsteps sound from the depths of the machine as he makes his way to you. They’re slower than usual, frequently stopping before starting with a gait that’s uncharacteristic compared to the brisk walk he favors. Ready with your pen for his notes, you await his immediate report that never comes. 

Only his hand gripping the railing as he makes it far enough to lean outside, tossing the contents of his stomach out onto the sands below. They hit rather wetly, only just loud enough to be heard over the sound of his wretches that sound like he’ll have a few burst blood vessels in those already-red eyes of his. 

A cough rings out as you drop the clipboard in the sand, thoughts of proper transcription lost amidst the vision of Zandik nearly falling off the ramp. The moment you’re in range to touch him, his arm swings out in your direction as if to ward you away. With an easy duck, you tuck your shoulder beneath his armpit and plant your hand on his back. 

“It’s alright, take a couple breaths and then we’ll get to solid ground.”

His mouth opens to argue, but you can almost see him turn green before he clamps it shut. Guiding him down to where the clipboard lay abandoned, you murmur while leaning your head closer, “Keep swallowing - you can’t throw up that way.”

Whether he does it or not, you can’t say, but he doesn’t throw up again. At the base of the ramp, you guide him to sit with your hand waving off in the distance in front of him. “Focus on the cliff walls, get your bearings.”

Reaching into the folds of your protective cloak, you pull your half-full canteen out and start working at unscrewing the lid. “What happened? You said the motion tests would go for ten minutes to get a complete-”

“It didn’t happen. Obviously.”

On any other day, there’d be a bite to his words that you’ve long since grown immune to. Years of dealing with his flights of fancy will do that to a person. But it’s so weak that you don’t even register its existence as you hold the canteen toward his outstretched hand. Attempting to give him an out, or at least an excuse to change the subject, you ask, “Were the instruments malfunctioning? How old did you say this one might be?”

Zandik looks up at you - you were right, there are burst blood vessels in the whites of his eyes. With a quiet sigh, one that speaks of an exasperation that annoys him to no end, you reach forward to brush the hair off his sweating forehead, tucking it behind his ear for just a moment before it stubbornly falls back into place again. It no longer sticks to his skin, so you simply leave his waves to their own devices. 

Red eyes avert to the canteen before he brings it to his lips, stopping just short to finally give you whatever answer he deems acceptable. “No.” 

He’s paused by a sip that he holds in his mouth before swallowing and grimacing at the strong mineral taste. Little can be done to purify the water out here beyond making sure it would at least not make you ill. One more drink, quicker this time, before he deliberately responds, “There are no gyroscopes, and no points to secure oneself. The original pilots must have had specialized equipment, or unique modifications to make it so disrupted balance-”

“Oh, so you’re motion sick.”

Zandik’s hands flex hard enough around your canteen that it groans under the pressure.

Not so far away is the camp that you’ve set up with him for this research trip. Two squat tents hold fast against the wind beginning to pick up, the temperature dropping thanks to the sun finally dipping beneath the horizon and casting the valley into shadows. Despite offering your shoulder for him to lean on, Zandik stubbornly makes his way there with the forgotten clipboard in one hand and your drained canteen in the other. 

It doesn’t take much to get a small fire going as a light source - something you do, as he settles on a rock near the fire pit and stubbornly writes his notes in the rapidly dimming sunlight. Zandik won’t thank you for it, nor will you expect that from him. 

There’s always been a sense of expectation that you’ll just… do things for Zandik. Whether that’s quietly going along with research that would easily get you expelled alongside him, or scribing the notes for what he finds during that research, or even just squatting down on your heels and poking dutifully at a fire until it’s bright enough not to strain his eyes. 

Pinprick-sized sparks rise in its smoke as you shift dry wood around aimlessly, no longer worried about stoking it in favor of wasting time. If you were to turn around and enter your tent with the intention of turning in for the evening, how would he fare? Would Zandik take it on himself to make dinner for the both of you, or just himself? Or at all?

Most likely the latter. Not out of spite, but simply because he’d become engrossed in rehashing his findings from the day until the ink ran out of his pen. 

“Zandik,” you start, then wait for him to lift his eyes and look at you expectantly. Maybe once upon a time he might’ve demanded you make it quick, or at least provide something interesting, but hostility like that has been stamped out. With his attention grabbed, you ask, “is soup alright tonight? It shouldn’t be too hard on your stomach.”

His mouth opens to respond, a flash of sharp teeth that disappear when he closes just as quickly. Regarding you with a guarded expression, he asks, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“I’m not asking to embarrass you. I’m asking because I care.”

“That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it?” The clipboard lowers until it’s flat in his lap, forgotten in favor of the conversation you’ve presented - and a cheap dig at you that doesn’t feel as sharp as it should be. “Caring too much. It’s going to get you in trouble.”

“Maybe I should specify that I care about you. Do you plan on getting me in trouble?”

And he thinks about it. Zandik brings a thumbnail to his lower lip, pushing at the pale pink of his flesh there as you set to work grabbing out the equipment you’d need for dinner. There are enough supplies to support the two of you out here for weeks, despite needing to be back at the Akademiya sooner than that. Rations aren’t dwindling, so you maybe put a little more meat in the pot, a few extra spices.

“Trouble has a way of making itself, whether one wants it to or not. Statistically speaking, taking into account my interests and the activities those entail, there’s a high probability of me getting you into trouble.”

“Your interests align with mine, so I’ll be finding it with or without your help.” A compressed cube of beef stock falls into the pot with a quiet plop, sinking and beginning to break apart to color the slowly-boiling water. “You’re thinking too hard about all this anyway. I just feel bad you’re not feeling well after the test run today, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

“Something can be learned in every moment, including this one. I just feel bad you’re sticking your neck out for me when it wouldn’t be reciprocated, that’s all.”

You bristle at his mockery of your own words, but you find yourself even more annoyed at his flippant admission that he wouldn’t return the favor. Because he has. Multiple times. 

“So what would you call that time you stayed with me when I fell asleep in the House of Daena through the night so it would look like we were working on something and I wouldn’t get in trouble by patrols?”

“We were working on something-”

“Or when my dorm was damaged and I didn’t have anywhere to stay, so you smuggled me into your dorm every night for two weeks?”

A harsh breath leaves him, and it isn’t until the light flickers across his face that you realize there’s the smallest tilt of his lips. “Considering the damage was my fault, it only made sense.” 

With a wry smile of your own, you stir the pot and try not to draw attention to the fact he’s let the walls drop just a little. “And then there was that time you stopped me from getting mugged-”

“I did no such thing.”

“Ah, but you would have.” The broth will need some time to settle, giving you the time needed to settle next to Zandik on the large rock he occupies, notes forgotten entirely. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard that old saying about not looking a gift sumpter beast in the mouth? If I want to care about you, then let me. It’s not hurting anything.”

The pen he’s holding shifts from hand to hand, twirling between his fingers in an aimless pattern that still feels practiced. Relative silence rules for a moment - never truly falling thanks to the sound of the wind through the canyon, the vultures in the distance, the metal machine forever groaning as it settles after the joyride Zandik attempted not so long ago. 

In the span of time it takes for the soup to start bubbling and the scent of your heavy-handed spices settling in the small camp, Zandik finally turns back to his notes and murmurs, “Thank you for caring, I suppose.”

It takes everything in you to simply smile and not to goad him about how difficult it was to be a little grateful that he has someone as benevolent and caring to look after him when he overestimates his abilities in Khaenri’ahn Golem Piloting.

[kit-kat-katie]

There Are No Victors, Only Survivors

A/N: First fic ever on here... I'm a little nervous, but excited to start a new chapter in my life! Let me know what you think of this! [ I also read the books 7 years ago and I'm almost done binge-watching the movies so don't burn me alive if I get the lore wrong :) ]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader (platonic or romantic)

Summary: After winning the games, you go on camera to discuss your win with Caesar. Footage of the games causes you to recall a painful memory, one you'd rather leave in that arena.

TW: Trauma from the games, large crowds, murder

The crowd screams your name as you enter the stage. Your ears still ring from the sound of canons, your mind is numb from the numerous deaths you witnessed and caused, and your lips are dry even though you had plenty to eat and drink before this.

Caesar kindly waves you over, and you stick a warm smile on your face as you head towards him.

"Our victor, everyone!"

The crowd goes wild, and you bow to absorb as much attention and positivity as you need. You're a possession of the Capital now, and any out-of-line move could end with 24 dead tributes instead of 23.

It's just an interview, just like before the games. Stay calm... you can do this.

"Now, there are many pressing questions that the people of Panam want to know... including myself," Caesar nudges your side, and you laugh as if it's the funniest joke you've ever heard, "but there is one question that is on all of our minds: who did you hear after the jabberjays were released?"

You pause, and the smile slips from your face for a moment before you notice a camera. You quickly recover with a small head shake.

"My mom and my dad, of course." You gracefully answer.

"Really? No special someone? You seemed too torn up after that bird followed you around for three whole days." He exaggerates, and the crowd has a mixed reaction to his question.

"I-" You pause as you hear footage play from the screen behind you.

The crushing of leaves and the pounding of your heart are the only rhythms that your ears hear. Your feet carry you along, but your mind is in a much different place.

The game makers, after deciding that their handmade hell wasn't enough torture, decided to send each contestant a jabberjay just to see what would happen.

The screams of your mother and father were the first, and you immediately jumped up from your hiding spot to find them. When you realized that the sound was coming from a bird, you tried to bury your head in the sand and continue along as if nothing was happening.

The cries of loved ones turned into the cries of your friends. The ones that you had trained with in District 4 before you had been reaped. Those kids, especially the younger ones, gave you the motivation to keep fighting.

You didn't sleep the first night, and the second night was interrupted by nightmares and cannons booming every other hour. You figured that the other tributes had gone mad and had taken their anger out of each other.

...Good thing you kept away from the pack and tried to survive on your own.

The third day, however, was your breaking point. The screams of your friends had died out, and you thought that damn bird had finally left you alone. You were a defenseless fool in that moment, especially when the scream perfectly matched Finnick's voice.

He was your mentor, your friend, and had been your rock when you were scared of being another victim of the games. Hearing his screams, his cries for help... it broke you behind anything that had happened to you so far.

You didn't hesitate to pick up a rock and strike the bird right between its eyes, killing it on the spot.

After that, you came crashing to the ground with tears in your eyes. You didn't eat or drink anything that day as your thoughts were consumed with worries of his safety.

When you looked up to the sky to see the tributes that were honored at night, you realized that there was only one left: a career from District 2.

You didn't have to do much, as she stumbled upon your camp later that night. You managed to gather yourself enough to grab a knife, but she didn't attack you.

The desperation, the fear, the anger inside of her eyes... but everything else about her was deflated and depressed. You were sure that you looked the same, if not worse.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and you say a small prayer before throwing the knife into her chest.

The last cannon went off, and your ears were buzzing as you were announced as the newest victor. Nothing seemed real anymore, for all you knew, everyone you had already cared about was dead and the jabberjays were just used to mock you.

After being airedlifted out of the arena, you were taken to the Capital, where Mags and Finnick were waiting for you. You nearly fell over when you took a step towards them.

"Easy there, honey. Don't want you hurting yourself before your big interview." Finnick catches your arm, and you softly thank him before taking Mags' hand.

"The jabberjays, they sounded like my parents and my friends and..." You pause as a few tears slip past your eyes, "and you two."

He pulls you into a warm hug as you bawl your eyes out, not only for the three lives you had to take inside of that arena but for the part of you that died in there as well.

"So, who is that someone that had you all choked up, huh?"

You blink for a beat as you pull yourself back into reality.

"My best friend - they're my everything, they've been my rock for so many years, and I'm so happy that I get to see them again."

The crowd eats up your answer like it's a five-course buffet as Caesar smiles at you.

"Well, I'm glad that they are part of the reason that we have such an amazing victor!" He takes your hand and raises it high, and the crowd in the Capitol grows louder.

Your body was there, and your innocence was destroyed in the arena, but your thoughts and feelings were settled on one special person.

Finnick.

[tremendum]

twin suns ; the awful daring of a moment's surrender

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part one of the Twin Suns series ; prologue

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc)

 rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear

synopsis: "you are a shadow in Mos Espa, while Din Djarin is a statue in the suns."

notes: alright heres the official first part to my new series!! written between both povs bc i wanna work on writing in din’s pov :’)still setting up characters and settings but itll definitely pick up in the next part! hope yall enjoy :) not beta'd because im sloppy

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every step you take, you crush worlds.

the sand that makes up the surface of the planet slides under your power, the lilt in your stride stricken with nerves carving out a pattern known only to you.

the sand is everywhere.

you slip on it as your boots move; demolishing over tiny mountains that climb up towards the sky, crushing them below your titan feet. there's sand in your tunic, sticking to your thighs. it grits between your teeth as you forge ahead.

you allow yourself a shaky, dry breath which exhales from your lungs in the same defeated way that your feet trudge along the eroded soil, scarce of vegetation but abundant enough in your own regret. 

an itch stabs the back of your head - not the normal kind, but the kind that strikes your heart in a gallop like a wild Orbak stallion - you can feel him.

a pair of unseen eyes on you, but you don't have to turn to see him: 

disrupting the continuity of the bounding wasteland sprawled out behind your frame is a small shining dot; far enough away, but you do not let the perspective of distance lower your guard.

far away, but not far enough:  the large, bulking body covered in beskar. 

he stalks after you, just like always. you've almost gotten used to this kind of game. he's always there, always following - exceptionally, on the few occasions which you were following him.

for weeks he's been slinking around the corners of your nightmares. that tattered cape curling around corners, that bulking frame of metal towering over every space he fits in, his own skill of the hunt flirting with your sheer ego; yes, you are good at hiding, at running.

but you are also too full of hubris. too good at poking the sleeping bear for your own good. and- kriffing hell, you've gone too far this time. you let yourself a small groan of nerves as you shake your head, recalling the steps that'd led you to this final leg of your journey. 

panic licks up your throat like a shot of liquor begging to resurface. The Mandalorian persistently appears larger and larger upon the horizon behind you, but he doesn't run.

he's lying in wait for his time to ensnare you. 

you know his time will come soon, and he will pounce upon you. 

your heart clutches its sodded pearls within your chest at the prospect of being captured after your short-lived taste of freedom - this newfound nomadic life as enticing as it is provisional for your escape. you don't allow yourself the luxury of pity as you will your burning thighs to push along. 

at the prospect of hiding, your legs carry you faster through the wasteland; though you can hear the clock ticking louder and louder as the hunter's feet trod after yours. he's closing in, but a light gust of warm desert air nearly stops you in your tracks: you feel a grin spread across your cracked lips at the realization: 

nightfall will come soon. 

so you forge on; one foot in front of the other, wheezing breaths, screaming lungs. the trail you leave is no problem to you as long as the twin suns start their descent into slumber soon. 

another forty five minutes until your breath is soothed. the suns have wavered over the horizon, and the dilapidated buildings have come back into view.

you smile once again, a deliriously relieved laugh echoing over the empty landscape, swallowed up by the very sand that you crush.

you're going back into town, and he will follow you. 

he does it every night. 

with a drip of sweat sliding down the expanse of your neck, you clear your aching throat, desperate for a flagon of water. the cityline swirls as the suns cast an iron orange over the sky. you start to listen to your body's quiet pleads: your bones ache. your muscles scream for rest - desperate, you realize, for sleep. 

soon, you chide in your mind. soon. 

soon, the twin suns will settle into the unseen realm of the cosmos, dipping enough below the crest of the planet to paint the sky of Mos Espa in a deep lilac and sparkling fuchsia -  and you will sink, much like those suns you so despise, into the walls of every building you pass. your blaster will stay holstered upon the meat of your thigh, a heavy burden while you blend in seamlessly to your surroundings.

a city rat, through and through.

you smirk down at the dustdevils that kick up as the evening wind carries grains to and fro near your shins. fuck you and your desert, scum. to whom you mock, you do not know. 

soon, you will find a cantina full of those who are also nobodies; most of them older than you, more experienced - more deadly. full of hate, or disdain, or exhaustion from a galaxy that put them too low on the spokes of the wheel that will turn for eternity. 

but not you; this diminutive existence doesn't bother you. outlawed in your prime, you've been forced to jump head-first off the lowest end of the spoke, down towards the unknown abyss below.

you're nobody, now. on the run - no exhaustion, just anticipation; the peak of the mountain, the wind that zips underneath the wings of an unknown bird. 

desperate for an escape from the one who haunts you day and night, lucid and dreaming. 

the Mandalorian arrives like clockwork. 

it's been the same routine for- what, almost three standard weeks? you're unsure why he hasn't yet taken you to his ship and sent you off to your debts with a heavy sack in his hand, gleaming with the promise of a few more rations or maybe a refuel for his metal steed.

with no intended disrespect to yourself, you truly don't understand why. depending on the information he has on you, surely he just sees you as an outlaw; a little skittering bug which has plagued his routes to more lucrative jobs by evading his crushing boot in the several instances your planets have collided. 

and it's not as if he isn't capable.

you are smart, that much you will give yourself credit for. smart, conniving, you know how to get what you need - that's what got you into this mess in the first place. but he's... different. a damn machine.

you can tell from the way he slings his blaster, the sheer force of his body. his imposing presence. the legacy of his people, the best warriors in the galaxy: it was true, at least from what you've seen.

you may be handy with a knife and a blaster, but you know you're nothing compared to the Mandalorian bounty hunter who will soon find you. 

normally, you aren't really one to spook easily. years of shady business in the grimiest corners of the galaxy have hardened you into a cocky motherfucker - but you have the decency to admit that the low, modulated baritone that rumbles through the Mandalorian's helmet sends spears of fear down your spine. only a handful of times you've been in close enough range to hear him, but once is more than enough in your book. 

there's something about that calm posterior and the smooth voice that settles fear deep, deep into your being. 

there's been three times you've heard his voice. each one its own close-call, in which you'd nearly surrendered yourself to him like a child caught swiping ration packets in front of the Marshal.

the first time was a true lothcat-and-rat chase through the back alleys. it'd only subsided once you'd maneuvered your way into the ducts of a backside apartment building - the Mandalorian is a tall man, anchored to the ground beneath him under the weight of the beskar armor. he's imposing, a large force that you shouldn't be any match to - but what he isn't, is agile enough to fit through the ducts. not with all of his sacred armor draped upon him.

but that first time, the chase was over before it really began. you were shocked to discover, once tucked away in your hidey-hole, that the chase left you with a heated core but also the sinking warning that not all attention is good attention, after all.

he didn't pursue you hard enough. that's how you knew he was a professional. that's how you knew he'd just lie in wait, holding with baited breath in the shadows for you to let barely a centimeter of your guard down before he swiped you up like a hawk and kept you clutched in his metal talons. 

so the first time, his voice only came from curses and grunts of anger or exertion that you'd heard as he'd leapt over discarded alleyways. though your heart slammed into your chest each time he tore through buildings or kicked down doors to follow you, there was no denying the tickle your chest that yearned to hear his voice again.

because you needed to win. to survive.

the second time was a flick of your middle finger in his direction.

he'd been tailing you for two days relentlessly; you'd spend most of your days on the outskirts, scrapping in the junkyards and selling it for rations to get by. he was always there - every few hours or so, a glint in the corner of your vision. watching patiently.

the patience this man showed had driven you over the edge.

so the second time, when you'd allowed yourself into the same cantina that he'd slinked into with a pouch on his side that seemed to move inexplicably, your curiosity got the best of you - as did your pride.

you'd seen him slip through the doors after an hour of crawling several hundred feet behind and above him on rooftops; your body shrinking in to conceal yourself under your hood as you slid into a booth in the cantina just out of his sight. 

you knew he was a good hunter, not just by his preceding reputation, but because there had been others before him.

many of them, in the last few weeks since you've been gone - maybe seven, or eight. but you'd bested them all within days if not hours; escaping planet or jumping ship. anything to avoid the weight of the chains which, just as quickly as you'd splintered them from your wrists, were surely to clasp right back on. 

and then, the other thing. something about him intrigues you: he's still here, following you patiently, even after all of the bullshit you've pulled.

in your youth, the woman who lived across the hallway from your family had run a makeshift daycare for the children of your quadrant. in a fit of frustration, she'd mentioned once that the best way to deal with a child that throws a tantrum is to just wait them out until they get tired. 

something about that memory heated your cheeks as you'd glared at the helmet across the cantina; his head tilted down coyly as he seemingly spoke to the young woman working bar. 

perhaps he just likes the thrill of the hunt and the reward of his bounty's fear. he didn't have to try hard to get it, after all: jealousy stung strong in your stomach when the crowd cowered back at his presence; alarmed, maybe. in awe, perhaps. but certainly, definitely in fear. 

something about how cocky he was when he carried himself, how blatantly he'd taken to trailing you in your daily processes on-the-run in the dismal city of Mos Espa. how he'd even tilted his head at you in some sort of twisted greeting at the market days ago when your eyes met his helmet just above the line of the crowd; just before giving to the chase that led to you learning the location of his contact, and the old Hunter's Guild of Nevarro. 

you resented the Mandalorian.

you're still not fully clear on who set the bounty on you - your old business partner, likely. it boils your blood to imagine. the New Republic may be dismal, but Maker knows everyone has to do something to survive. you just couldn't keep doing what you were doing anymore, and the only ways out were... well, either running away or falling victim through galactic court. 

no, thanks. 

you don't like the Mandalorian because you can bet everything on your back that he's willing to hand over anything to anyone as long as it gets more of that silver beskar on his chest. 

so it was the second time you heard his voice, your own ears straining hard as the server in the cantina came round to the Mandalorian's booth twenty minutes later. you'd watched with a satisfied smirk as the waiter had presented him with a nice, hearty jug of Desert Chase - a cocktail from the menu that you'd personally hoped would offend the Mandalorian the most.

it was ironic in a way that made your stomach giddy and your grin split in two under your mask. it was a cheeky name, at the very least, and you figured he wasn't dense enough for the irony to pass over his helmet completely.  

your grin was untamable as you watched; the server, pushing the drink his way and passing on the message you'd slipped him five credits to tell the Mandalorian: happy hunting, Mando - followed by your first name.

oh, it was a delight and a half to watch that shiny, stupid helmet whip up towards the crowd near the bar in shock.

and then his deep, rolling, excuse me? that thundered through the walls in his untamable frustration. the coiling warmth in your stomach after he pushed up from the booth with his head on a swivel. 

because you figured if you were going to be caught, at least you were going to have some fun beforehand.

you can pretend not to love the hammering in your chest all the same. 

the third time, though - it was a momentary weakness. a genuine accident. a sign of humanity lost within the planets and systems of bad and good, of black and white.

and it'd actually sent just as much panic into him as it did to you. 

you saw him before he saw you. his back was turned, fiddling with the sack strapped to his speeder. like a prey, rigid, you'd slid from your post and snuck towards his speeder, the one that'd been discarded in favor of heavy, projectile-strapped boots upon eroded dirt only several hundred feet away, to a merchant stand which sold some kind of cloth to protect from the suns' rays.

you had barely thirty seconds to get it before he returned to the bike, you estimated. 

you'd moved much too fast in your self-preserving mindset; sped off on the rusted thing without realizing there was a small bundle within the supply basket on the back.

a moving bundle. 

and, to your horror: inside, a curious little green creature which stared up at you with confusion as you'd gasped in shock. 

it happened in stages: first, you'd considered throwing it off; tossing it to the wind to be swallowed up by some sandworm or scorched to a crisp in the unforgiving, sweltering air.

you thankfully didn't do that because shortly after the thought crossed through your mind: dank farrik, this thing was- it was some kind of...baby. it was tiny, its screams of confusion barely clipping through the hot rush of air blowing your head covering back in your speed. what in the name of Maker's Ghost was the Mandalorian doing with a baby? 

then, the following stage, with a thudding halt to your heartbeat, you'd wondered if it was like you. hunted, about to be sent to a place of no return just for a lousy sack of credits. would the Mandalorian stoop so low as to kidnap a mere child for a bounty? 

but then a glint on the thing’s chest pummeled you into the third mental process: a cold sheer panic.

 there was some sort of armor on its tiny, heaving chest. you knew, somehow, that this was a claim. he was with the Mandalorian, either in protection or by blood.

the speeder skidded to a stop as you allowed yourself to wonder if it was some sort of ploy; was he ensnaring you in a trap, coaxing you into his iron maw with a small child? 

(he wasn’t, as you’d later learned.)

you’re not sure why you went back. even with a clear target on the back of your head, you’d treaded on-foot back with the little baby cradled in a makeshift sling tight to your chest. the trek back into the city was blistering without your head covering, but the child’s wailing had ceased along with your racing fears. you hadn't wanted him to become scalded by the twins that beat down upon you from the sky. 

you'd grunted and growled to yourself: no matter who the Mandalorian assumed you were, you weren’t the kind to kidnap. never. 

maybe that's what caused you to track him back to his ship, wait for him to storm back out in his flurry, surely panicked by the loss of his transport and his small little companion.

he'd flown on a jetpack straight towards town. you left the child under the shade of the ship once you saw the Mandalorian's figure appear on the horizon; you couldn't have spent more than thirty minutes with the green creature, but it cried nonetheless when you set it gently in the sand and tried to let it go.

reluctantly, the only way it stopped crying was when you left it tucked snug with your headscarf pulled tight around its body. 

and then you snuck away in the last moments, evading the Mandalorian's sights, but watching behind a rock to make sure he returned to the child eventually, before it was dark.

and he did return; as he picked up the child and let out a groan of relief, tucking the child tight into his chest the way your father did you when you were in your youth, something too warm kindled in your chest. 

was it humanity, that you'd found?

the thing that was all too lost in your endeavors running away from the bounty which loomed above your head? 

maybe he, too, could play by the rules, even in this hunt. 

Din isn't quite sure what he expected from you. 

when he first took your puck, it seemed easy: a smuggler. young, naive, too cocky to be cautious. bought out by a man who said you'd robbed him of half his business then disappeared just before defending him in front of a galactic court.

Din had imagined you'd cower in his shadow, submit to his cuffs the minute he found you. 

but you were not naive - this he learned all too soon. you were unbending, cunning. slippery.

you were- you were a tease. there's no other way to put it: you were a kriffing tease, and it was killing him. you were like the foil to this job; everything but ease. 

you are a shadow in Mos Espa, while Din is a statue in the suns.

you knew he was trailing you all this time, it was obvious. Din didn't necessarily try to hide it at all. this job has never been anything but serious for him - no playing around, no jokes, just business. it was survival, especially now with Grogu; but this delicious game you'd started with him... he hated to admit, it was addictive.

was it when you laid that chase for him through the alleys? or when he'd first caught your wandering eye through the crowd at the market in town?

but then - you'd taken his child away and fear had struck him just as deep as the anger did.

he was a second away from tearing the entire planet apart for his Child when he returned to the Crest, intending on using his navs to source for Grogu-shaped infants nearby to find his son lying in the shade of the underbelly. he'd been concealed from the harsh sun by that very same cloth that'd concealed your head from Din for days. 

it made no sense. 

maybe that's why he liked this chase. it was easier for him to just get a job done and leave, usually - but you were an enigma, a fascination akin to a forbidden fruit lying just out of reach in the middle of a grove.

squeezing from his grasp every time he reached out - until he finally got you. 

"happy hunting?"

and now, this fourth time, the Mandalorian sends you tumbling to the sand had before aiming a blaster straight at your skull.

his voice is deep, seeded with disbelief and irritation; his timbre is finally in a direct address to you, and it's harrowing. his helmet is angled down towards you, one hand stern on his narrow hip as you dare to look around. 

nothing but dirt, sand, heat. a mirage of floating trees in the distance, but no other living being capable of freeing you from your predator.

turning back up to face his looming, commanding figure, you finally, with a groan, accept it. you're all alone here. no friends on this planet besides the tumbleweeds, it seems. 

no matter; here you are - the fourth cataclysm of universes for the two of you, and likely the final. 

and now you lie on your elbows, ass sore from your fall, rug pulled out from under you as sand grits into your arms. 

you squint up against the unforgiving glint that cuts into your retinas, sharp enough to slice you. the sight of the hot suns on the metal is unbearable as it is; imagining the suffering heat beneath the layers on his person is too much to consider.

those suns and his beskar must never have gotten along, you're sure.

he stares down at you in a sear that slices you in two, exposing your heartbeat immediately. he's expectant - happy huntings, he said - he's awaiting your response with a tersely angry stance.

with a blaster down the bridge of your nose.

you - you can't speak. fear drips like a saline bacta-bag through your veins.  

you don't have enough air in your lungs, that much you're sure of - the blaster pointed directly at your heaving chest: your hands shake as you raise them, resigned to your fate as the Mandalorian's broad chest heaves with nearly as much exertion as your own. he takes it as a sign to speak again.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold." 

his words rumble into your chest, writing themselves at the top of your life's story; a new chapter. or an epilogue.

your head falls back in defeat, the suns' rays blistering new blemishes onto the bridge of your nose and your forehead, exposed above the mask.

your groan is of resignation. acceptance. 

that deep voice of his rumbles somewhere deep in your gut, nesting with the fear and the desire to run. run, run, run. 

you don't this time. 

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taglist. @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy

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[breannasfluff]

Clipped Wings - P2

Whump Rating: 3.5/5 TW: burns, injury description

Link is huddled in the corner of his cell. The yiga dragged him in and dumped him roughly, promising to come back later. His wings—

Well, better not to think of that right now.

Haltingly, aching, he dragged himself as far away from the cell door as he could get. Now he huddles, trying not to move save for the faint puffs of breathing. His throat hurts where the rope choked him. The skin on his back is blistered and weeping from the burns.

He’s not flying again, but that means little, now. The yiga will be back and this time they’ll cut his wings off. Either he’ll bleed to death, or they’ll kill him to hurry the processes. Mipha can save him once, but not twice in quick succession. Nor can she bring back his feathers. Either way, there’s no escape.

What about Zelda? What about Hyrule? Will they have to wait for another hero to save them? Can Zelda hold back the Calamity for that long? Why are they stuck relying on him; an amnesiac who’s barely made it this far? He should have prepared more. He should have trained and collected more supplies.

Link got cocky on that rafter, didn’t he? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have slipped. He should have taken it slower. Or waited for a time with fewer patrols Or—

There’s a noise outside the cell. He flinches on instinct, which jostles his burnt skin. He can’t hold back the broken call, a mash of help, pain, fear! The noise grows closer. This is it, they’re going to drag him out and kill him, as many times as it takes before Mipha’s power can’t save him.

A shadow across the cell door and Link tucks himself into the wall, like they won’t see him in the small space.

“Oh, Link.” It’s not a yiga’s voice, but a girl’s voice. Younger, high-pitched. Riju. “What did they do to you?”

He stares, unable to process. What is she doing here? Why—how—

“Let’s get you out of there. Buliara took care of some of the guards, but we need to be quick.”

“Barta,” he rasps because the Gerudo shouldn’t be left here.

“Already free, and in better shape than you.” Riju is steadily working through a ring of keys on the lock, giving a little grunt when one works. She pulls the door open. “Once we get free, you can fly back to Gerudo Town and we’ll follow on sand seals.”

Link stares at her and shudders. Slowly, using the wall for support, he pulls himself to his feet. Everything aches and burns. Sharp stabs of pain on his back have him grunting, trying not to move his wing bones.

“Link? What happened to your wings?”

He only closes his eyes and shakes his head. He makes it across the cell and Riju backs up to let him out. Link doesn’t look at her face when he passes, but he hears her gasp at the sight of his back.

“Your wings. What…”

“Let’s go,” he rasps. If he ever comes back, he’s killing everyone in the base.

“Buliara was finding your supplies. Come on, we’ll see what we can do once we are free.”

The journey back is silent. At first, it’s for stealth, and then it’s because no one wants to address the topic of Link’s wings. The Gerudo may be wingless, but they have enough hylian visitors to understand the damage done.

The desert does little favors to his wounds. Sand sticks to the weeping burns, irritating with every brush of air. While they brought a potion, the wing skin needs to be cleaned of sand and dirt before healing will work. It does help his throat, at least, erasing the soreness.

Link follows Riju through a back entrance of the palace and down a series of corridors until they stop at a secluded room. There’s a large shallow pool, steadily fed with water flowing in and out through a trough in the floor. The shape is odd and, at Link’s questioning look, she explains.

“This was made with hylian wings in mind. Easier to bathe wings with room to spread them out. We…” she trails off and looks at Link, who stares back. “We need to clean your skin.”

“I can do it.”

Riju only shakes her head. “It’s okay to need help.”

“I can do it!” He clicks his teeth in an aborted snap. His wings start to rise, defensively before he freezes. Pain rolls across the damaged appendages, sinking burning claws deeper. It takes a long moment of breathing to get through it.

Buliara knocks and pokes her head on. “Does the voe need help?”

Link tenses further because if Riju was bad enough, Buliara isn’t even on the list.

Riju, ever perceptive, notices. “Nope! I’ve got it. Thanks, Buliara. Mind bringing some potions and burn cream?”

Her captain gives them both a hard look and makes a face, but retreats. Riju turns back to Link. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Now, your back has to hurt something fierce. Let’s get you in the water, okay?”

She keeps up a steady chatter as she walks around him, nudging closer and gesturing as he automatically moves away. He’s herded to the pool where he finally pulls the remains of his pants off. Dressed in only his shorts—his shirt long gone—Link slips his feet into the water.

He can’t hold back the sigh of appreciation at the cool water; his legs may not be damaged, but it still feels nice. Then he slowly moves deeper, sitting in the water. Link’s feathers would normally be wet already, but now there’s only a strange lightness.

“In the water, Link. You need to clean the sand out and it will help the burning.”

Taking a deep breath, he makes up his mind and dunks himself backward, bringing his wings into the water. The water smacks his burns and he thrashes at the sensation, sending his head under the water. The tip of his wing bone smacks into the tile and he whines at the sensation.

Then Riju grabs his arms and yanks above the water, complete with a string of curses he’d bet good rupees Buliara isn’t aware her charge knows. “Link! Are you insane?”

He coughs to clear the last of the water. “Worked,” he grumbles. The burns on his back are positively snarling, but the parts that are under the water are slowly dulling the burning.

Riju sighs, small shoulder slumping. For all her maturity, she’s still young. She shouldn’t have to deal with this—with him. Link ducks his head. “Come on, turn around and let me see.”

Can he trust her? Does he have a choice? Finally, Link turns and presents his back for her inspection. She hums and he tenses, unable to help from glancing back to keep an eye on her.

“Some of these burns are going to scar, even with potion, but a lot of them will be hidden under feathers. Um. I need to wash some of this sand off before we use the potion. This will probably hurt, but I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?”

He doesn’t want her anywhere near his back, but he doesn’t really have a choice. Link nods, although the chattering call of wary, danger, hurt repeats in a steady pattern. Gently, Riju wets a soft cloth and pats at the burns, trying to remove as much sand as possible. Despite the differences in situation, he flinches every time.

By the time Buliara comes back in, loaded down with bottles and creams, Link’s wounds are pronounced clean. He sits in the water, letting the coolness ease the burning. This time, Buliara and Riju work together to pour potions across his burns and dab them across his skin.

Only once does he ask, “My feathers?”

Buliara pauses, then continues her ministrations. “Give it time.”

Link nods and curls over his knees. Bare bone catches at the edge of his eyes where normally there’d be blue-gray feathers. Sickened at the sight, he closes his eyes. He’s alive and, for now, that has to be enough.

[pumpkincarriage3]

A Fluttering Annoyance | Leona Kingscholar X Reader (Valentine's Special)

Prompt: "I think I've fallen in love with my self-professed mortal enemy."

Synopsis: Leona hated his attendant. They were always buzzing around, making a nuisance of themselves, and sticking their nose where it didn't belong. Leona hated them. But with that said, Leona was also the only one who got to tell them off.

Extra: The reader is not Yuu (They are implied to be a bird beastmen, but you can ignore it.). The Reader is also gender-neutral in this. They start off as children.

Leona watched in a mild feeling of horror as he came to a dawning realization upon looking at the child before him. Kifaji's cousin's child they had said. Someone that was set to become his retainer. Kifaji himself was bad enough, but now he had to deal with his relative? Leona knew that this kid was going to be his mortal enemy. His worst nightmare.

Leona didn't even know why they bothered with giving him a retainer, seeing as he was only the second prince anyway. He would never amount to anything, but here he was. With a too-straight-laced child staring at him with a much too serious look.

"I'll be at your service, Prince Leona." They practically chirped. Leona didn't say anything, until he was nudged by his older brother forward.

"Just try not to make my life difficult." Was all Leona said on the matter. His brother look disappointed, but Leona couldn't find it in him to care. Instead wondering when this meeting would be over with.

In the end, Leona's retainer did nothing but make his life more difficult. Not heeding to his one request. But what was he expecting. For someone to actually listen to him, the second prince? They were always nagging him. And when they were around, he could never manage to get any sleep.

"Prince Leona, it is time for your morning lessons." (Y/n) declared, ripping the blankets right off of him. Leona growled at them, but all they did was give him a blank look in response. Not at all caring that a predator was in front of them. The fact that Leona couldn't even manage to ruffle their feathers slightly always put a sour mood in his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm up, I'm up." Leona huffed, sitting up. Glancing towards his door, Leona noticed some of the palace staff cowering. He thought it was odd that they decided to send in the baby bird. Turns out, they're all just a bunch of cowards.

Though (Y/n) was far from cowardly. Walking around the room, as if they owned the place. Pulling out Leona's clothes for the day and plopping them on the table.

"I expect to see you in the dining hall in half an hour. And in your morning lessons an hour from that. Prince Leona." They stated, walking out probably just as quietly as they came. Not at all worried that Leona may retaliate. Leona gritted his teeth, not being able to stand being called 'Prince'. For it was just a reminder of when he was born and who he was born after.

His new retainer's meddling didn't just stop at waking him up either. They also didn't seem to have a problem bossing around and nagging the rest of the palace staff. So, Leona supposes he isn't special in that regard.

"Crown Prince Falena is such a bright and cheerful young man. I don't understand why his younger brother has to be so moody all the time." One of the palace workers whispered to another worker beside her.

"And he possesses such a terrifying power! Imagine being able to turn anything to sand!" The other whispered back in agreement.

"Both of you, cease this conversation right now! What if someone overhears you?!" Leona scowled at those words, choosing to hang back and not intervene. Not saying anything. If he did say anything, it would just end up being the moody second born being dramatic over nothing.

"Oh? So if someone didn't have the chance to overhear, it would be fine to say anything then?" A familiar voice called out in a cold tone. Leona peaked his head out to see his annoying little retainer that was always fluttering around glaring at the palace staff.

"It's true isn't it? You should know that better than anyone else here, (Y/n)!" The first voice retorted, but (Y/n)'s expression didn't change. They never flinched, still looking just as cold as before.

"I think if you are such a coward that you must whisper between one another like a bunch of rats, you deserved to be turned into sand." (Y/n) snapped. Not at all caring when the other palace workers flinched back from them. "Learn to hold your tongue and acquire some manners. Second born or not, Prince Leona is still just that. A Prince. And you will treat him as such befitting his station. If I ever hear you all saying such words again, if you even imply it, I will have you thrown out of these walls myself!"

Leona remained silent. Not getting involved. If anything he found it to be a bother. The rumors would probably get worse. Only now it would probably turn into the moody second born prince and his tyrant of a retainer that's let the power go to their head. Leona sighed to himself, not wanting to deal with the oncoming headache that he knew was coming. Instead choosing to walk away from the situation entirely.

And (Y/n)'s nagging didn't just stop there. They even pestered him about something as small as the things he ate.

"Prince Leona, you still have food on your plate." (Y/n) pointed out, pointing towards the vegetables that Leona had intentionally avoided eating. He was a carnivore, not a herbivore.

"I don't like it. So I'm not going to eat it." Was Leona's firm reply. He smirked once he saw how (Y/n) puffed up in annoyance. Seems he's finally found the right buttons to push.

"Vegetables are important to a healthy and nutritious diet. You can't just refuse to eat it, Prince Leona." (Y/n) all but demanded, waving their hands around in a way that was most familiar. Something they did when they got particularly animated while talking.

"Hah? Aren't you the one always telling others to respect my station? And yet you have the gall to made demands of me?" Leona retorted, in a tone that was almost teasing. (Y/n) began to shake. Not from fear like the other palace workers. But instead from annoyance.

"No, I'm not making any demands Prince Leona. However, I highly advise you eat the rest of the food on your plate." (Y/n) affirmed not backing down, even having the courage to push his plate even closer to him.

"You said it yourself. You're not making any demands of me. So I, the second born Prince, am choosing to ignore your suggestion." Leona pushed the plate away from himself, standing up and began walking away. His tail swishing behind him in a way that he knew would only set off (Y/n) more.

Hilariously enough, the very next day, they barged into his room with a thirty-page report on vegetables and their nutritional value and why it was important to eat them and the determents to not eating them. Leona laughed and laughed and laughed at the report. He didn't think he had gotten under their tail feathers that much.

"What's this baby bird, still pouting over yesterday?" Leona teased, waving the report around. Still laughing as if it was the first time he had laughed in his entire lifetime.

"I am not pouting! And this is not a laughing matter. You must take this seriously, Prince Leona!" (Y/n) demanded, their words not having any real bite to them. "Not eating your greens can increase your risk of chronic disease, possible bowl troubles, nutrient deficiencies, among other things!"

(Y/n) was incredibly passionate in the way that they spoke, but Leona couldn't bring himself to take them seriously. And surprisingly, he couldn't even find himself being annoyed with their actions. Instead laughing at the sheer amount of gall that his too-straight-laced retainer always seemed to show.

"And is that an order, baby bird?" Leona taunted with a grin on his face, swiping at them with his tail. (Y/n) sputtered, swatting his tail away, and giving him a look that Leona found as about intimidating as a kitten.

"It is not an order, Prince Leona! It is just a highly advisable suggestion!!" (Y/n) deflected.

"Then I'm choosing to ignore your suggestion!" Leona countered. (Y/n) squawked in annoyance, stopping out of the room. Not being able to stay in the same room as the prince that kept laughing at their pitiful attempts for negotiation.

From there on out, Leona would find post-it-notes all over the place. Always listing dietary reasons as to why it was important to eat vegetables, all written in (Y/n)'s penmanship. Words that never failed to bring a smile to Leona's face, completely failing at their chosen directive.

(Y/n)'s overexuberance didn't stop there. It was like Leona could never get a moment for himself. For anywhere he went, they always managed to track him down.

"Prince Leona, what is it that you're doing all the way out here? Do you even recall what time it is currently?" (Y/n)'s voice tittered. Leona opened his eyes, coming into contact with a pair of sharp (e/c) ones. Leona sighed to himself, not bothering to get up from his spot.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a nap." Came Leona's affronted reply.

"At least do it within the palace walls. Not outside Prince Leona. This is hardly dignified." (Y/n) lectured, and Leona couldn't help the shot of anger and annoyance even if he wanted to.

"What? Am I not princely enough for you? Sorry, but you'll have to seek my brother out for that one. Or should I say kingly enough in that case?" Leona snapped. (Y/n)'s eyes widened before their lips set into a firm line. But in the end, they didn't say anything. Instead, stomping back into the palace.

Leona ignored the part of himself that wanted them to stay. They were just an annoying baby bird that was always fluttering around him after all, he should be happy that their finally gone. Just like everyone else.

But in the end, and Leona really should have expected this, they continued to defy his expectations. Instead coming back outside with an arm full of books, plopping themselves beside Leona and opening a book to read.

"What are you doing?' Leona asked, curious despite himself.

"Well, someone has to look out for you. As you seem to so often forget, you are a Prince of this country. Leaving you on your own simply isn't an option." (Y/n) huffed, rolling their eyes at him. 

"I don't need any protection. Especially not from you." Leona all but growled. But (Y/n) wasn't intimidated, they never were. And Leona was beginning to think they never will be.

"Of course not, Prince Leona. But it is time for you lessons, and as you have seen fit to skip those very same lessons to come out here and nap, I will read them to you." (Y/n) decided all on their own. Leona had come out here to skip those very same lessons, already knowing everything.

"The point of coming out here was to get some peace and quiet. If you expect me to engage in your little mock lesson, you're sorely mistaken." Leona firmly stated, rolling over to continue his original endeavor. Not even wanting the possibility of looking at (Y/n).

"I never asked you to, Prince Leona." Came (Y/n)'s oh so antagonizing reply, before they began to read off some of the most boring information they possibly could. Against his will, their voice seemed to soothe him to sleep. Coaxing him into a peaceful slumber that he hadn't been able to achieve in a long while. Damn song bird.

He can't believe he's fallen for a tittering little brat.

[furyan-imagines]

YOU CAN PICK: (A) Whether you think of Riddick as simply being a criminal or (B) You think that Riddick is a person who has more to him than meets the eye

"What? Click your fingers and he's one of us now?"

You were right smack in the middle of the small train of humans who had survived the Hunter-Gratzner crash, following behind Shazza and Johns, close enough that you could hear the irritation in the free-settler's question.

"I didn't say that." You could almost hear the smile in John's reply. "But at least this way I don't have to worry about y'all, uh, falling asleep and not waking up."

Jack pushed past you, angling himself to face the two adults leading all of them. The teenager had somehow found a pair of partially-broken goggles and worn them in emulation of the famed murderer trailing behind all of them. "So, can I talk to him now?"

"No."

Continue reading (A) if you feel that you need to stay away from Riddick the criminal

"Maybe it's better if we all keep out of his way, huh?"

Jack looked askance at you, disbelief written clearly on his face.

"I mean there must be many good reasons why Riddick has such a high bounty on his head, right?"

Shazza and Johns both turned briefly. The woman gave you a look that you couldn't quite decipher, but the smile Johns shot at you was a reassuring one. At least you all had a cop watching after the group.

It wasn't that you actually had anything against Richard B. Riddick, but if so many slams and systems had arrests out for him, it would probably behoove you to go the safe route, especially after this fucked-up fiasco of not just having the ship you had been on crash, but having Zeke already killed by one of those creatures that lived on this planet, and another unnamed survivor accidentally killed by Zeke before that.

With a quick glance backwards to see just how far back Riddick was behind you (a movement that definitely caught his attention even from that distance), you hurried forward just a few steps more. You definitely didn't want to die, and right then, keeping yourself as far away from a definite killer would almost-certainly increase your chances of staying alive.

Continue reading (B) if you feel that Riddick has more depth than he shows

"I think he's an interesting fellow," you said quietly to the teenager. At Jack's surprised look, you had to laugh lightly. "I said 'interesting'; not that he is safe."

"At least interesting isn't boring, you know? Which is what everyone else is."

You were about to reply when the noise of a boot digging sharply into the loose sand caught your attention and you turned. Fry and Imam had stopped, looking back at Paris who jogged away from the rest and then fell to his knees, grabbing at something the same time Riddick had hold of whatever that same thing was.

There were a few seconds of pausing before Paris and Riddick rose.

From that distance, you couldn't hear what was said, but then you saw Riddick shake Paris's hand, before downing an entire? bottle of booze. Ah, so that's what Paris dropped.

Whatever it was, your prolonged staring had the effect of Riddick lowering his head after that drink and looking straight back at you. A slow smile appeared on his face as he tipped the now-empty bottle in your direction, almost a toast with the ghost of now-drunk booze.

You allowed yourself to smile back and resumed your march. But you slowed down enough to join Fry and Imam who were now immediately behind you.

Maybe the best way to survive this fucked up, godforsaken place and those predators that had already taken Zeke was to stick to another dangerous predator. Maybe that was the best way to make sure your ass had a seat on that abandoned ship off this planet.

[bird-inacage]

Why do you think Ray turned to being so cruel with Sand then? I can understand the rest of it, but with Sand it was deliberately hurtful and also very untrue, and I just can't wrap my head around it. Because he only got that deliberately cruel with one person. Mew is the angel, apparently Sand is the punching bag. I dislike it and I dislike the way Sand apparently is just going to take it and go back to taking care of Ray like he won't do the exact same thing again the next time he gets upset.

I was having a lot of fun with Ray's explosion right up until that point, too. But I just can't get to the point where I understand why he went for Sand in that specific way. I feel like he was the only person that Ray actually wanted to wound in a way where he didn't care how he did it so long as he hurt him, and I dislike that. I'm also afraid it will become a pattern thanks to the trailer. And that edges into abuse to me.

Hello Anon,

This is a really good question and I've been pondering this a tonne. I was really surprised too by how cutting Ray was to Sand this episode, considering how guilty he looked last week.

I do think deep down Ray just can't fathom or accept why Sand is so kind to him. Why does Sand 'keep sticking his nose into his business'? Why does Sand even care so much? Can't he leave him to mess things up alone?

Sand has been consistently accommodating to Ray. Someone who Ray can't seem to thoroughly offend enough to stop caring about him. I think Ray is quite scared to confront how he feels about Sand, because he probably hasn't come across someone like that in his life before. Sand's kindness is often what causes Ray to feel guilty. And anyone who is repeatedly kind to you then makes you feel indebted to them. I don't think Ray is confident he can match Sand's kindness towards him, neither is Ray comfortable with the idea he'll owe Sand something. Therefore: 'Why are you so kind? Stop torturing me with your kindness'. With Sand, he will always be the bad guy.

If their relationship was still purely transactional (as Ray repeatedly refers to in this episode), and he were still paying Sand to spend time with him, then it would be far easier for Ray to find reason as to why Sand seems to be so concerned about him. 'Surely no one is this kind. To me of all people. Surely anyone who is this considerate wants something from me, right?'.

Now you may say that the only other person who displays that level of kindness is Mew (which is also why he's Ray's number one). But there's a huge difference between Sand and Mew. Sand is falling or is already in love with Ray. Mew is not.

I don't think Ray can even face the possibility of Sand seeing him that way. Because no one has actively loved him back. Emphasis on the back. So as a brat does when they don't understand something, they act out. Ray's knee-jerk setting is always to respond with anger. He's tries his darn best to drive Sand away, especially when Sand is being unbearably sincere.

I mentioned this in my Episode 7 preview post that I do really hope this is addressed at some point. I have a feeling it'll become a much bigger subject of conflict for them later on. Even though Sand is willing to forgive, it doesn't mean those comments don't hurt. And it's not okay for Ray to get into the habit of saying things like that while angry, thinking that Sand will always forgive him.

Thanks for the ask, this one did get me thinking a lot!

---birdie

[nagito-kissmaeda]

CHAPTER ONE: Rise and Shine CHAPTER TWO: i guess its all up to me now CHAPTER THREE: Predictably, everything gets worse CHAPTER FOUR: good morning CHAPTER FIVE: Something to eat CHAPTER SIX: a start CHAPTER SEVEN: the party don’t start ‘til CHAPTER EIGHT: your full hospitality CHAPTER NINE: visitation rights CHAPTER TEN: gamer girl moments CHAPTER ELEVEN: prank patrol CHAPTER TWELVE: lets go to the beach beach CHAPTER THIRTEEN: gothic sand architecture

Summary : Like most people visiting this tag. You have always dreamed of meeting Nagito Komaeda for real, what you would do, what you would say? Things don’t go as planned.

AKA: Reader from our universe ends up in danganronpa and is just trying her best to keep everyone alive. and maybe to make komaeda kiss her.

Contains: she/her pronouns, some mild sexual themes

Read on Ao3

The beach is bustling when the two of you arrive. Pekoyama quickly gives you a farewell nod as she heads off to accompany Kuzuryu where he is sitting in the shallows and trying to make it look like he isn't having a good time. 

You can see Mioda already in the water, chasing Souda around and attempting to throw a handful of seaweed at him. He is screaming. Owari is sitting at the shoreline with her legs in the water, she’s halfway through an ice cream, but still manages to grin widely when she waves in your direction. You return the wave and make plans to head over to her before you notice Tsumiki and Sonia sitting together in the sand. 

Tsumiki’s hands shake as she attempts to round the edges of the sandcastle that the two of them are currently working on. Sonia’s tongue sticks out of her mouth as she, opposite Tsumiki, continues adding a set of perfect flying buttresses to the castle; you are unsure how she has managed this, but have learned not to question these sorts of things.

“You’ve made it!” Sonia says with a wide smile, now beginning to sculpt a collection of tiny gargoyles around the top level of the castle, “I hope you were not too disappointed by my early departure, I just think Mioda-san is often in need of supervision.” You peer up at where she is now trying to toss a starfish onto the top of Souda’s head, “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s okay, I had a nice conversation with Pekoyama-san.” Tsumiki looks up at you, she’s wearing a wide brimmed hat and a loose fitting white shirt over her bathing suit. It makes sense that a nurse would care about sun safely, the hat suits her, she looks very cute, “I-I’m glad you came. I hope you have a good time” She smiles softly, hands now shakily building a drawbridge, “Just be sure not to get burnt this time, I have more sunscreen if you need it, please take care of yourself.” She huffs, “I’ve already had this discussion with Komaeda-san, but I-I think he’s just going to ig-ignore my advice.”

You hadn't noticed Komaeda, which is very out of character for you. He’s in the water, but far enough away from everyone else that he seems excluded. His own doing, you assume. 

“Would you like to help us?” Sonia asks, abruptly tearing your attention away from Komaeda.

You blink, “Sorry?” She laughs, though not unkindly, “Help to build our sandcastle, of course!” 

You look briefly at the perfect replication of gothic architecture somehow sculpted out of sand alone, “Thanks but uh, I might work on expanding the royal empire and build my own castle, if it’s all the same.” Sonia claps her hands together in glee, “Expansionism! How delightful!”

“I-I might swim now, actually.” Tsumiki starts, “I-If that’s okay, Sonia-san?” “You don’t need my permission.” Sonia replies, waving a dismissive hand, “You’ve done a brilliant job, Tsumiki-san, and all castle architects are owed at least one day of allocated time off per castle built, so by all means! You are free to go.” Tsumiki nods gratefully, and rises a little shakily from the sand before heading to the water. 

You turn to Sonia, “Only one day of leave per castle?” She nods seriously, “Oh yes, my father always said ‘any less than that and they start getting rambunctious’. We tried only half a day some years ago, the riots were very bloody.” “Uh-huh…” 

“Anyway! I might go ask Tanaka-san if I can hold one of his Dark Devas.” She stands with utter grace and poise, giving you a brief curtsey before walking away. You are briefly stunned by the utterly dismal working conditions in Novoselic, but shake your head and sit in the sand before you start thinking about it too much. 

You start building the only kind of sandcastle you have experience with, a big pile of sand that is vaguely pyramid shaped. It’s nice to have something to do with your hands, a monotonous task to keep you occupied while the ever turning cogs in your head crunch and grind. You have to assume that Monokuma will bring out a new motive soon, and at this point you can only assume that it will be the despair disease. It’s hard to tell if access to the third island will make everything better or worse, Tsumiki having access to the hospital is a net good, only so long as she doesn’t catch the disease itself, and boy is that disease catching. 

Peering out at the ocean you see that Tsumiki is swimming with Mioda now, more accurately, Tsumiki is treading water while Mioda quite literally swims circles around her. Tsumiki deserves better than she got in the game, so does Mioda. 

You turn back to your castle, attempting to make it any sort of shape other than a vague lump. It feels weird to just be hanging around like this when so much is at stake, but there isnt much that you can do other than socialise and socialising is more useful than doing nothing. Trust is valuable, especially here, even if it’s something you aren’t all that used to garnering.

“Nice pile of sand.” 

You look up to see Komaeda standing above you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He’s still wet from the ocean, his hair clings flat to his head and it makes him look much less intimidating.

“Thanks.” You say, gesturing to your attempt at a sandcastle, “It’s my magnum opus.”

He peers down at it appraisingly and then says, “Could use a moat.”

You laugh, “You’re right.” feeling mischievous, you add, “Your hair looks nice, very drowned rat-esque.”

Komaeda bursts out laughing, hiding his face in his hands. When he looks back up at you again, his smile is so warm, and genuine that it feels like a shard of the sun has lodged in your chest.

“You’re funny.” He says

His expression is too intensely bright, you have to avert your eyes, “Thanks. I try.” you return to working on your sandcastle, anything to keep yourself from staring at him.

“Why aren't you swimming?” Komaeda asks. You peer back up at him, you were honestly expecting him to walk away when he was done mocking you, “Oh um, I just don't really want to?” He gives you a sly grin, “You can swim, can’t you?” That bristles you a little, “I’m a great swimmer actually! I love swimming!” you gesture halfheartedly to where the waves turn to foam against the sand, “I just don’t like the ocean. It’s spooky. There’s stuff in there, and the salt really hurts my eyes.”

His expression turns uncharacteristically soft and he drops to a crouch beside you. You shuffle back from him instinctively, not expecting him to get so close so quickly. For a moment, Komaeda just blinks at you slowly but then his brow creases with contemplation before he finally says, “Swim with me.”

Your heart feels like it come to a stop in your chest, “Uh- I, um-“

He laughs a little, cocking his head to the side, “That would help, wouldn’t it?”

“Um.” You wring your hands together, “I would feel better with company, but that doesn’t mean that you-”

He stands back up and holds his hand out to you, it stuns you into silence mid-sentence, you just stare up at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Come on.” Komaeda says, reaching further forward with his hand, asking you to take it. 

You barely manage to swallow around the lump in your throat as you tentatively take his hand in your own. If the contact is anywhere near as momentous, electric and world shattering for him as it is for you, it doesn't show on his face, but you do catch a near imperceptible bob in his throat that you try not to read too hard into.

His hand is cold, even in the heat of the sun and you can feel just how fragile his fingers are, like if you clenched your hand too hard they would all break. He doesn’t really pull you up from the ground, but holding onto him like this does make it easier to regain your balance on the uneven sand.

The water is warm when you take your first step in, more pleasant than you ever remember the ocean actually being. Neo World Program benefits, you suppose. Komaeda walks in front of you, still tugging on your hand. The back of his head eclipses the sun, its light catching in the white strands of his hair and causing them to shimmer like folded glass. 

“H-How deep are you planning to go?” You ask once the water reaches your shoulders, voice tinged with growing anxiety.

Komaeda looks back at you over his shoulder, “Not much further.”

You notice that the two of you are much deeper out than the rest of the class, barring only Nidai who is off in the distance swimming laps. There is an intimacy to it, the separation from everyone else on the beach. The second you can’t touch the ground with your toes anymore you can feel a nervous churning in your stomach. Komaeda is still walking, head and shoulders well above the water. When an admittedly small wave knocks you off balance, you panic and lurch forward to grab onto his arm. 

Komaeda laughs, but it’s good natured and warm “Aha, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You want to kiss him. 

That thought is not so alarming. You have grown quite familiar with it these past few days, but the panicked and aching desperation of it is completely new. You begin to fear that you no longer have feelings for Nagito Komaeda the videogame character, but instead for Nagito Komaeda the real person. Which is somehow much more complicated and insurmountably harder to reconcile. Now that the water is deep enough, only Komaeda’s head bobs up above the water, and since you are floating in the water yourself, you actually meet his eye line for once instead of staring up at him. He watches you intently, staring so hard that it feels like he can see right through you. “Is there…something on my face?” You say quickly, trying desperately to diffuse some of the tension. He smirks, “Nope.”

Your eyes follow a droplet of water sliding down the length of his nose. Komaeda chuckles, “have I got something on my face?”

You quickly avert your gaze, “No! It’s just, uh-“ you suck in a breath, “Why are you even spending time with me? I’m not exactly working towards ending the killing game right at this moment, so there’s really no reason for you to be talking to me.” Komaeda’s brow furrows, “There’s something about you,” he says, “Ah, I'm not sure what it is, but it interests me.”

You close your eyes, feeling the cold dread filling your chest cavity, “What if I’m not interesting?” You say desperately, “What if it only seems like I am?”

“Hm, I don’t understand what you mean.” He smiles, “Whether or not I find you interesting is entirely up to me.”

“But I’m not . I'm not worth your time, or your effort, I need your help so I’m trying desperately to keep you around but the second you realise who I really am, what I really am, you’re going to hate me. I just know it.”

Komaeda hums aloud, “I suppose, the others are right.”

“What?”

He laughs, “it is uncomfortable being on the receiving end of this kind of talk. I suppose I owe everyone an apology.”

You are suddenly forced to wrestle with the fact that Nagito Komaeda thinks you are laying on the self depreciation a little too thick, “Sorry.” You say quickly, shaking your head “I didn’t mean to just say all of that at you.” 

Komaeda goes quiet for a moment, staring at you intimidatingly, “You would do anything to help the Ultimates defeat this despair, wouldn't you?”

“I uh-” You swallow thickly, “I think the both of us have a very different definition of help , but I will do all that I can to make sure everyone gets out alive, yes.”

“You promised to die for my cause, if your own method fails.” He cocks his head to the side, “Why?”

Your breath grows uneven, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, “Because I won’t fail.” Komaeda chuckles, “Ha. You're confident.” You shake your head, “I’m really not, but I’m the only one who can do it, so I have to.” you sigh to yourself, remembering that even if you manage to keep everyone alive, they will still need to grapple with their identities as the Remnants and the destruction of the world they once knew, “What I do isn’t what’s important though, the hard part comes after and how that resolves is entirely up to you and the other Ultimates. I’m just doing what I can to make sure everyone survives until then.” “How can you say things like that and expect me not to find you interesting.” His eyes are half lidded, and his grin is loose, “We aren’t so different, you and I. We are both working towards bringing the Ultimates to their next exuberant victory, over a despair even greater than the last.” He sighs, “But I have to admit, I’m still just a little curious about how you know all of this, and what comes after.”

You frown, “I can’t tell you. I can hardly expect you to behave yourself if I did.” Komaeda barks a laugh, “Behave myself?”

“Yes. You’ve promised to help me, and if you’re going to, then I need you to behave . So no spoilers.”

“You have a lot of nerve speaking to your superiors that way.” He says, but his expression holds none of the malice that his words convey.

Feeling brave, you reply, “Good thing it’s just you here, then, isn't it?” If anything, his eyes grow brighter at your answer. He floats a little closer to you, and you suck a breath in through your teeth, "If the talentless nobody promises to give me her due reverence, maybe I can promise to behave myself.”

“What, do you want me to get on my knees and beg?”

A visible shiver runs through him, and his smile turns wide and syrupy, “Maybe.” "O-oh.” You reply, swallowing thickly as you rub your thighs together. You had been joking, but the deep heat in your belly makes it clear that neither of you is joking anymore, "As long as you can make time for me in your busy schedule, I’m sure that I can manage something.” The next exhale of his breath is dangerously close to being a moan, “Aha…I’ll make sure to pencil you in.”

[sparklingyandere]

i’m in class rn and i’m so horny istg, what about a yandere scaramouche smut with a breeding kink, who degrades and spits bchebxjsbej tysm again

title: walk in the woods (gone sexual) NSFT

summary: scaramouche/fem reader. you have an unfortunate run in with some traveling fatui. 

warnings: expl!cit, dub/non con, degeneracy, degradation, power dynamics, violence, very submissive/weak reader

word count: 3.2k 

a/n: despite getting laid constantly, smut is not my strong suit </3

Leaves crunch under your feet, the cold wind stings your dry nostrils. 

The chill breeze wasn’t the best for exploring to most, but something about the bite in the air brought you comfort. You loved taking walks in the woods just before the sunset to bask in the autumn evening. 

The air was crisp and dry, you didn’t mind. The only sounds to be heard are birds and the woosh of the wind.

You paused to watch a squirrel scurry up a tree, and though you were still, you heard the crunching of leaves. Too heavy to be a bird or squirrel, you followed the sound slowly, treading lightly, weaving behind trees to stay out of sight.

You hoped to see a deer, maybe a herd, but when you peeked out from behind the tree, you saw men. In a makeshift camp, maybe four. Dangerous looking men that you didn’t plan to tussle with. You didn’t know this was that kind of woods. 

One of the men appears to be whittling a spoon or something, and if you couldn’t see the others, you’d figure they were just normal campers. But no, the others are armed head to toe in weaponry that looked state-of-the-art. One twirling a butterfly knife, another swinging at a punching bag fixed to a tree. 

You take a step back, and in the most horribly cliche, poorly-timed moment, you step on a thick twig. The four men instantly turn their attention to you at the sound of the snap. You stand frozen in shock, and for a moment, they do too. You just stare at each other.

One of the men, the tallest one, is the first to move. He takes one step towards you and you book it in the opposite direction, not sticking around to find out if he’s friendly. 

You run for a few seconds, as fast as you can, but you know it's not fast enough when a hand catches on your shirt and you trip to a sudden stop. 

“My, what have we here?” one of the men says, voice grating to your ears. You roll onto your back as the man crouches by your feet. He reaches into his coat and you suspect you see the glint of a weapon.

“No!” you wail, kicking him square in the jaw. You scramble to your feet as he recovers from the kick, him and his friends getting into offensive positions. You had a small dagger for emergencies, but you knew you couldn’t hold them all off with it. 

You had only a moment to come up with a plan, and boy was it a bad plan, but you didn’t have time to be picky. You kick the ground as hard as you can, flinging up a cloud of dirt and dry leaves, hopefully getting it in their eyes as well. In that brief moment that they were stunned, you bolted off, hopefully for good this time. 

Perhaps they decided chasing you wasn’t worth it, because when you looked behind you, they were long gone, despite probably being faster than you. You doubted your sand trick did anything but irritate them, but as long as they were off your trail, you didn’t care. You had to get home and never come to these woods again. 

You slow down to a walking pace. Your legs begin to burn as the adrenaline wears off, unused to that much exertion. You look around, and… don’t recognise what you see. You don’t exactly know the way out of this part of the woods, you realize, as you hadn’t been this far out before. Well, maybe because you had never been chased this far out. 

If you just pick a direction and go straight, eventually the woods will end, right? You keep your eyes peeled for any familiar stumps or logs. Nothing. Looking around every direction except in front of you, you don’t notice the man standing ahead until you just about bump into him. 

“Oh, excuse me,” you avert your eyes, attempting to go around him. He grabs your upper arm and you turn to face him, offended. 

“Now hold on a minute,” he says. You take in his appearance, that of an extravagantly-dressed gentleman who appeared to be of nobility, and adjust your posture, standing up straight. He certainly didn’t look like a local. He continues, “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a young troublemaker around here, have you?”

“Uh- what, sir?” you stumble out the words anxiously. Something about his tone gave you the impression that his question wasn’t genuine. 

“You know, someone who goes places they don’t belong. Kicks dirt at my soldiers. Someone like that?” 

Oh no. 

His eyes are narrowed unkindly, but he smiles upon seeing your frightened look.

“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” you say, keeping your voice as firm as possible. You suspect you must look like a deer caught in headlights right now, so you harden your expression and try to pull your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t relent, squeezing tighter, and leans in. 

He speaks, barely above a whisper. “I think you do.” 

Acting tough didn’t work. You knew it wouldn’t work, he was onto you from the very start. Your heart thumps so loud you think he might hear it. 

He looks around, still holding you tight as your mind gets the better of you. He had a rather slim build, but those guys at the camp sure didn’t… and if he was their boss, he had to be really strong, right? Was he going to finish you off right here, and he’s checking for witnesses? Was he-

He seems to finish scouting the area and turns back to you, squeezing your arm to get your attention. Not that he needed to, as you were hyper tuned-in to his every move, but whatever. 

“How well do you know these woods?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“People say I’m cruel, but I’m just trying to have a little fun. Always playing nice to make the Tsaritsa look good, stacks upon stacks of paperwork… It gets old. Can you blame me?” 

He looks at you expectantly, waiting for an answer, so you shake your head in response before he loses his patience. This seems to satisfy him enough. His warm fingers loosen, just slightly, and his grip doesn’t hurt anymore. 

“Good. See, I knew we’d get along,” he mocks, snickering. “I’ll tell you what, I rarely get to enjoy myself these days, so we’re going to play. I’m going to let you go, and if you can outrun me for, say, ten minutes, I'll go easy on you. I’ll even give you a head start.” He releases your arm and you stumble back. “Go.” he says, turning around. 

He doesn’t say how long the head start is for, nor what will happen when- no, if- he catches you. You wouldn’t go down easily to some crazy executive, or whatever he was. With that thought in mind, you run off. Your legs are still sore from the last time you had to run like this, maybe fifteen minutes ago- man, this has not been a good day for you- but now your heart is thumping with the fear that this time you are definitely being chased. You can’t shake this guy off like you did his goons. 

He must’ve known you had never been out here before, it was probably how he was able to find you so quickly. So just running out of the woods wouldn’t quite work. You would have to hide. And you had no idea how long you had to find a spot. 

Man. This was unfair. 

Some of the trees are thick, some of them are twig-thin. Some of them even look climbable. You have no way of knowing what direction he’ll be coming from, though, so now matter how thick it is, standing behind a tree is just too risky, and something tells you this man has too keen of an eye to get away with it anyways. 

You run for maybe a minute when you come up on a little stream with some bushes and a tipped log. It’s funny, the log creates a nearly perfect bridge across the stream. If you had been here any other day, you might have sat down here and basked in the sound of the running water. Today, though, you’re debating in your head if this spot is too obvious to hide in. 

Maybe not as obvious as behind a tree, but in a sea of woods that look nearly identical, a place like this stands out like a sore thumb. He’s bound to investigate. 

But do you have any better ideas? No. So you huff, and cross the log-bridge carefully, trying not to slip on the moss. It was hollow, you noticed, but that was definitely too easy. If you were on the other side of the creek, then you knew that he would have to cross the creek to reach you, and he could only come from that direction. That was one problem solved. 

You pick a bush some five yards away from the log and push apart the branches. Oh, god, you think as you squeeze your figure through the brush, this is disgusting. You close up the opening in the leaves with some foliage and squish your body in as tightly as you can. 

Though it’s far from comfortable, you’re technically sitting down for the first time in at least an hour. Your stomach churns painfully, maybe this is why they say not to eat before you exercise. 

You need a plan, you realize. He’d come here eventually. What then, what after? 

You were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you, so unless he was turning every rock and parting every bush, he probably wouldn’t find you. So you’d stay put until he passed through the area, wait a few minutes until the coast was absolutely clear, and then you’d get up and run. Yes, that would work. 

The brush tickles your skin, and you wish so terribly to scratch it, but you need to be absolutely still. Just in case. You endure. 

Your shallow, sharp breaths eventually return to a normal depth, and the terrible burn in your lungs recedes. You breathe deeply, slowly, quietly, and wait. 

Thunder rumbles far off in the distance. If you could see the sky, it would be partly cloudy, you wager. It might start raining in an hour or so. You hoped you’d be home by then, but for now you can only wait. 

Crunch

Crunch

Leaves crinkle just past the stream, the sound of two feet coming distinctly this way. You try to slow the beating in your chest with deep breaths. Had it been ten minutes? Probably not, but sitting here, alone, in the cold, every second felt like hours. 

There’s a few seconds of silence, and you hope to every higher power that he’s about to turn around. But you hear the creaking of wood and the hope crumbles into dust under his feet. 

Maybe it’s just a hiker. He draws closer, your heart throbs painfully, and he stops right next to the bush. 

There’s no way he can see you. You can’t see him through the leaves, so how would-

A hand shoots through the bramble and latches tightly onto your arm, yanking you out. The rough branches scratch and prick your skin. 

“You did it! You hid for ten whole minutes. Aren’t you proud?” the man mocks, indigo eyes shining smugly.

You did?

You open your mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a whine. He snickers, tugging your arm towards him. You try to step away from him on your unsteady feet, stepping on a loose rock, and your wobbly legs stumble and give out. 

You fall backwards, yanking your arm away from him, allowing yourself to land right into the stream. Sharp rocks poke your hands as the running water soaks through your clothes. 

He cackles, “Wow! You look like a kicked puppy.” 

You stand weakly, and take a tentative step away from him, but he quickly takes you by the wrist and pulls you back into the woods, cornering you against a tree. 

“But… you said-” 

He interrupts, “That I’d go easy on you?” a laugh, “I am. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” 

He leans in, uncomfortably close, intimately close, “What I could do, out here, alone in the woods…” He says into your ear, barely above a whisper. You blink back tears. 

He pulls away, voice returning to normal, “You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood today.” 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks. One of the hands that had been caging you against the tree retracted, and slid down to caress the back of your thigh. You shake your head, staring at him with wide eyes. He hooks his hand under your leg and lifts it up to his waist. You are too sore, too frightened, to put up a fight. “Scaramouche, of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers,” he announces arrogantly, eyes seeming to light up at his own name, “Few haven’t heard of me. You must be very sheltered, or just stupid.”

He pushes you tightly against the tree with his hips, lifting your other leg up to his waist as well, holding you completely up off the ground. You push your arms at his shoulders, hoping he will put you down, but he just grinds you harder into the tree. 

“You’ve done nothing but run and hide all day. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to give in?” His voice is a soft coo, but there’s a cruel bite to it as well. He was taunting you. You knew this, and yet, the sharp bark of the tree scratches you through your top and your legs throb with ache. It was too much, you couldn’t fight anymore. After this was all over, you could go home and draw a hot bath. 

He smiles when he sees the last spark of resistance leave your eyes. “Well?”

“Yes…” you muster. 

His wandering hands find their way under your skirt, lifting it past your thighs. “Easy access,” he teases. 

Your legs are wrapped tightly around him, fearful of being dropped. One of his hands works at the belt around his shorts, and while you are focused on that, you don’t notice the fingers of his other hand prod at your lips, shoving into your mouth and pressing on your tongue. 

Instinctively, you lick his fingers, and his eyes fog over sickeningly with lust. He retracts his wet fingers from your mouth and you flush from embarrassment, tearing your eyes away from his predatory gaze. He slips his hand between your bodies and into your underwear, eyeing you intently, soaking in as much of your shame as possible. You shiver as his fingers make contact with your slit, his fingers spreading your saliva and brushing against your clit teasingly. 

When he’s decided you’re sufficiently lubed, he removes his hand and frees his erection from his pants. You try not to look, turning your head away from him to look at the setting sun, but the closeness of your bodies makes it hard not to feel. Though the angle is a bit awkward, he manages to slip past your underwear and push his dick into your entrance. 

You can’t help but take in a thick gasp at his size, the protrusion snapping your gaze right back to his. He takes a second to slowly bottom out, and you feel his every inch stretching you. His hands are back under your legs, thin fingers squeezing the flesh of your ass, and he sighs blissfully when he’s fully sheathed in your heat. 

He pulls his cock halfway out and thrusts back in harshly, and though the movement is rough, an unwanted moan is ripped from your throat. It surprises even you, but the friction of his hips makes your head spin with bliss.

“Fuck- you were so easy,” he mocks between his own moans as he settles into a rhythm, “I should… take you home to the whorehouse.”

You whine in a feeble protest, his hips fucking you into the tree, scraping your back harder against the bark with each thrust. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, fingers clawing tightly at his sleeves as you try to get a grip on the pleasure. 

One of his hands leaves your ass and finds its way into your panties once again, two nimble fingers deftly finding your clit and rubbing circles into it, sending sweet bliss into your brain. You bite into the fabric on his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the wanton moans that escape you. 

It doesn’t really work. 

“Be quiet- huff- you want someone to find you that bad? Whore.” Scaramouche’s breathing is heavy with lust, but he still finds the air to ridicule you. 

He’s right, though, his touch shouldn’t send you over like this, especially since you were trying so hard to avoid him mere minutes ago. And yet, white-hot ecstasy pools in your gut, clouding your mind, and making it so hard to think any rational thought. 

He leans his head down into the crook of your neck, biting hard at the exposed skin. He sucks at the flesh of your neck like he needs it to live, his sharp teeth leaving deep marks that would be impossible to cover- and for some reason, that thought- along with the smooth rocking of his hips- sends you over the edge and you release a lustful cry into his shoulder, thighs tightening even harder around his waist. 

It spurs him on and his pace increases, pulling his hand from between your legs and pushing your face off of his shoulder. He grips your flushed cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefingers, holding intense eye contact with you. His eyes are unreadable beyond hunger. 

He stares at you silently for a few seconds, then his lips contort and you feel his hot, wet spit settle onto the center of your face, sliding down your cheeks. 

At the same time, he cums inside, his hips twitching slightly as he finishes fucking into you. 

He pulls out, dropping you, and you collapse onto the ground. 

Common sense finds its way back into your brain and you smooth out your skirt. 

He stares down at you while he fixes his belt, and you are quite a sight to behold, catching your breath, clothes rumpled, covered in a myriad of fluids- mostly his, which he was quite proud of- and struggling to wrap your head around what had just come over you. You looked truly pathetic, all because of him. How cute. 

You look up at him, still spit-and-cum-covered, and he can’t help but smile. 

“Aw, don’t look so down. You’ll see me again soon.” he says, smugly. He turns around and starts walking the direction he came, leaving you to sit on the leafy ground with your thoughts. 

A cold raindrop makes it through the treetops and lands on your skin. The storm had started.