#their face and eyes when they realized its this song was priceless

[interstellarbookofflowers]

happy points that may be happy points but we dont know yet (mental breakdown shutdown era)

sleepover with friends was nice! we were all wonky, both me and best friend, so at first we had a minor issue but very quickly resolved

we had thai curry for dinner (bestie makes the best curry ive ever eaten, its a comfort food at this point)

we vibed to music, bestie played the guitar and we sung sea shanties together and also labour! and we do be sounding real nice together

i made both of my friends friendship bracelets. both loved theirs, bestie asked for a specific songs, i surprised best friend with a song i thought was fitting

we joked around, talked a lot, slept in the same bed, cuddled with bestie, the usual. home

we made pancakes in the morning (or noon lol, we woke up late)

i had my silly mental breakdown and i couldnt be more grateful for both of my friends, one holding me immediately when things got awful, the other canceling plans and letting my cry in their arms

slept over at best friends place, theyve got a goofy asf dog (bro was very wary of me in the funniest way possible)

we watched goofy yt videos and also The Autism Channel (hilarious content, 10/10)

[heartfullofleeches]

Creep Yan meets the sweet angel that is Clown Darling-

It was an accident. They swear it to their grave.

A left instead of a right somewhere down the twisting, spacious corridors of the convention center. They could've sworn they followed the receptionist's directions down to the letter, but playing back her voice in their head they're starting to believe she just made up whatever she could to get them to leave. What should have led them to the hall holding the annual concert for their favorite idol group had in actuality brought them to a another venue with an entirely different type of star.

The clown's smiling face was plastered on every wall. Children and young adults of all ages walked in hand with their guardians wearing the same face paint or best imitation of the entertainers outfit they could readily obtain. There were others closer to their age, but none as out of their element as them. Collectors exchanging priceless goods: bonding over favorite moments from what sounds to be a show. Is this what they're like with people who share the same interests? When they're apart of the crowd it feels normal, but how could a kid's show have such an effect on grown adults? They feel like such an outcast - and they know others know they are too. They can hear the words behind every stare throw at them.

"What are they doing in here...."

"Creeps like that are exactly what it's difficult to bring kids to public events."

"Freak."

They stumble through the booths, searching desperately for the exit they lost sight of shortly before realizing where they were. Tears obscure their vision as they collapse next to a row of chairs left out for guests. The concert had to have started by now and at this raise they'll never make it before the doors close. They finally had the chance to see their favorite group in person and now it was gone. Why did they ever think the universe would give them a opportunity for better after an eternity of hell. At this rate it would be better to just go home....

Hic....hic...

Soft cries bellow from the body sitting next to them. They wipe at their eyes with a striped handkerchief, careful not to smudge their face paint. From their mismatch shoes to their brightly colored clothes it was easy to pin them as another cosplayer, but there was something more... authentic about their wear. They cry silently into their hands without spilling a tear.

"Are....are you okay?"

The clown looks up at them, sighing heavily. "Oh, I'm alright. I'm just sad because you're sad. I've seen so many happy faces today and you're the first I've seen upset. It's enough to bring a tear to anyone's eye."

They tighten grip the strap of their bag. "I... can go somewhere else..."

"No, no!" The clown bounces to their feet and takes their hands - startling them. "I'm not saying that because I want you to go away. I'm saying that because I want to make you feel better, silly! Why don't we start with you telling me what's wrong?"

"It's nothing.... You don't want to hear about stuff like that it's depressing."

"Hm... can I at least try to make you happier?"

"You can try..."

"Great! Repeat after me."

The clown clears their throat as they kneel.

"When I'm feeling lonely, or think I just might frown. I think think a thought that means a lot and then I feel less down.

The clown's smile reaches the painted circles on their cheeks. "Its the song I teach all my new friends. Now you try!"

"When I'm feeling lonely...."

"Or think I just might frown."

"I think a thought that means a lot."

"And then I feel less down." The clown squeals as they clap they hands together. "Yay! You did it! And very well if I may add. How do you feel now?"

They pause for a moment, lips moist as they think about their mother's chocolate cake. There's still a slice left in their fridge. "A little better...."

"Now, tell me a thought that makes you feel better."

"Well... I really like listening to music...." Their smile is gone as soon as it came. "I actually came to see a concert today, but I got lost...."

"Concert? You mean like those sweet girls next door? Haha, you can hear them right through the walls? I guess it is difficult with all the screaming kids. Come on, I'll take you!"

They place their ear against the wall. Sure enough, music and the roars of the crowd blare through the structure. They cup their hands around their ears to hear better and decipher if their favorite song has already played - yanked from their seat before they can properly make out a single note.

"Come on, Come on!"

The clown giggles, clutching their hand as they skip and excuse their way through the crowd - promising younger guests their full attention upon their return with a quick hug and a free sticker. It's all the time the person they drag with them has to recuperate before being pulled along again.

"Wait... please... I can't...."

"We're here!"

Catching their breath, they look up to see the still open doors of the concert hall as people pour in and out. The bouncers stop a few of them to inform them of the doors' closing in five minutes. They made it... They actually made it... Tears of happiness catch in their lashes, sweeped away by a striped cloth.

"Are you still sad? I know you missed the opening act, there's still more..."

"No... These are happy tears... Thank you.. Thank you!"

The clown's laughter reaches the deepest depths their heart. "Anything for a friend! Come see me again if you're ever in any trouble..... Oh! I almost forgot something!"

The clown reaches into their pocket and pulls out a small, plastic badge. They pass it over to their new friend who inspects the smiling rainbow and letters engraved into it.

"Y/n the clown's helper of the day."

"That's a little token I give to the best of my little helpers..." The clown lends in, covering their mouth with one hand as they whisper. "Don't tell the kids - I give one to everybody."

They reach into their bag, grabbing their wallet. The clown quickly stops them.

"It's free, Silly! If you wanna pay me back, just have a good time, okay?"

The clown winks before walking off back to their hall - but not before passing out stickers to the bouncers who thank them for it and the water bottles they brought earlier. The dumbfounded individual they leave behind looks down at their hand - then the open doors of the concert hall. They sheepishly reenter the venue they came from, approaching the first merch with physical discs they see.

"Hello, I'd like to buy a copy of all available seasons you have."

[teddypines]

Just a dance?

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

Sumary: Steve being the knight in shining armour saving Bucky from Sharon. Morgan being adorabale.

Fantasy world avengers au.

Knight!Steve x Duke!Bucky

A/N: Just a fun little story for the weekend :)

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

It was one of those mandatory parties Bucky had to attend because of his statues as duke. One of those parties he hated, it also didn’t help that he wasn’t on good terms with the emperor. Bucky just didn’t agree with what Tony had to say, but that didn’t matter now. He was here to please his mother and sister by joining them in the festivities.

Bucky was talking to Morgan, The Emperor's youngest, she always knew how to cheer him up even when he wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up.

“And then Daddy said that I needed a new knight! Because Clint is too ‘Irresponsible’ and ‘reckless’. I didn’t want a different knight! Clint is just fine.” Morgan said with a small pout. It made Bucky smile the way Morgan complained about getting a new knight. He knew Clint did his best to keep Morgan safe, but it might have been better for her to have a more serious knight. “At least the new knight is very sweet and nice to me. I was scared he wouldn’t like me.”

“Everybody likes you Morgan, how can anybody not like a sweet little girl like you. But I am glad your new knight is nice to you. I bet Tony wouldn’t be happy if I punched one of his men again.” Bucky says as he looks down at Morgan. The small giggles that came from her were priceless, but Bucky got swept away before he could continue talking with Morgan. It was Sharon Carter, someone Bucky really disliked. Her hair bounced up and down in an annoying way that made strands of hair fly into his face. Bucky pulled his hand free and stopped following Sharon. “What do you think you are doing? I was talking!” Sharon just gave Bucky a fake smile and said “I wanted to dance. Your mother said you were free to dance, besides you didn’t look very busy. Just dance with me James, I’ll stop bothering you after we’re done”

A hand made its way around Bucky’s waist before he could even correct Sharon or turn her down. He just froze at the unknown touch. “Sorry miss, but this handsome man promised to dance with me first” An unknown voice said to Sharon. Sharon glared up at the men besides Bucky before she turned around and walked away in anger. The men looked down at Bucky and gave him the warmest smile he ever received. “May I have this dance?” He asked to which Bucky could only nod and give the men his hand. Bucky had never seen a man so handsome before. His honey blond hair was fluffy yet it stayed in perfect shape. They made their way to the dance floor and he took the lead, which surprised Bucky a lot.

“My name is Steve, Steve Rogers, I sort of forgot to introduce myself” The man said to Bucky as he looked down at him.

“James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. It’s nice to meet you and thank you for saving me from that wretched woman.” Bucky answered Steve with a small smile. “It is nice to meet you too Bucky and it’s an honor that I can have this dance with you” Those words made Bucky swoon a bit. The way Steve said such a simple thing and made it sound like he could make his every wish come true.

They continued to dance around the ball room for a while. Bucky almost got lost in Steve’s blue eyes for a moment when he forgot the whole room around them. It was like only Steve existed in that moment, just the two of them (We could make it if we try) dancing. It was only after they danced for two whole songs that Bucky realized he forgot Morgan. “It was lovely dancing with you Steve, but I must go. That wretched woman kind of pulled me away from a very important person that I have to get back to.” Bucky told Steve as he slowly pulled away from him. He didn’t want to stop dancing with Steve, but he couldn’t stay away from Morgan for much longer now and disappoint her. Steve slowly nodded his head and let go off Bucky.

“Well, it was a pleasure dancing with you while we could. Besides I can’t possibly let you keep someone waiting. I hope I get the pleasure of seeing you again sometime” Steve said as he smiled down at Bucky. Bucky nodded his head, not really knowing how to respond to Steve. His head just went fuzzy and all thoughts went out the window. “Ehm… Yes, yes, of course. Until we meet again.” Bucky said and quickly turned around, making his way back to Morgan.

Bucky made his way to Morgan with a small blush on his cheeks. No one noticed, except of course Morgan. She giggled, but then gave Bucky a confused look. “I thought you hated Lady Carter?” Bucky looked down at Morgan and nodded his head. “I do hate her”

“Then why are you blushing?” Morgan asked, still looking very confused. “I… I am not blushing!” Bucky yelped, quickly looking away from Morgan. “You are!” Bucky didn’t answer Morgan at first but sighed soon after. “Maybe a little…” Morgan started to beam when she heard Bucky admit to blushing a little. She started to giggle and ran a circle around Bucky. “Bucky is blushing! He is in love!!”

Bucky carefully grabbed Morgan by her hand and stopped her. He kneeled down to her level and gave her a stern look. “Morgan, stop, please. I am not in love, I am just a bit smitten, nothing more.” Bucky explained to the young girl, hoping she would understand the difference. Of course Morgan didn’t understand, but she nodded her head anyway. She wanted to show Bucky she was a big girl and knew stuff about grown up things. Bucky let Morgan go and smiled at her. “Now, do you want to tell me about your new knight?”

Morgan giggled and started to tell Bucky everything about her knight. “Okay, okay, so he is really tall! He can beat Clint in arm wrestling, owh and Sam! He can beat Sam! And he can lift me up in the air! He is really good at sword fighting and he has really fluffy hair” Morgan continued to talk about her knight but Bucky got kind of lost in his thoughts when she mentioned the knight had fluffy hair. ‘Steve has fluffy hair’ he thought as he nodded at Morgen, letting her know he was still listening even though he really wasn’t. Morgen just told Bucky everything and nothing about the knight as she slowly took Bucky’s hand and pulled him towards her. Bucky got the hint and stood up properly. Morgan then started to walk around the ballroom in search of her knight, wanting Bucky to meet him. Never stopping her stories about the knight.

Bucky just continued to listen to Morgan as she led the way. He made sure no one was in her way and that Morgan was safely walking around the ballroom. He saw how they slowly made their way towards Steve, which confused him a bit. Well it confused him a lot. They slowly but surely got closer and closer to Steve and Bucky got nervous. Steve smiled when he saw Morgan pulling Bucky towards him. “Well hello there little princess. Who’s your friend?” Steve asked Morgan as he looked down at her. “This is Duke James Barnes from the north. But everyone calls him Bucky.” Morgan tells Steve, not knowing the two already met. Bucky wanted to tell her that they already met before this, but he just couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

“Only friends call me Bucky, Morgan.” Bucky corrected Morgan as he looked at Steve, who was smirking a bit. “But Steve is my friend and you are my friend, so you two are friends now too!” Morgan answered Bucky. The little girl pouted a bit, just wanting Steve and Bucky to be friends. Bucky sighed in defeat and just accepted that Steve was now his friend. He liked it, but maybe wanted to be more than just friends. “Bucky, this is Steven ‘the best knight in the empire’ Rogers, he is a captain too!” Morgan continued like nothing was going around her. Which was kind of normal for her. She might have gotten that trait from Tony.

“Well it is really nice to meet you, Bucky” Steve said in a cheeky tone, he liked the reactions he was getting from Bucky. “Yes, it is nice to meet you too, Captain Rogers.” Bucky said formally, not wanting to be out of place or make the people around him suspicious. Too bad for Bucky, Natasha saw everything and would use this to tease him in the future. 

[voidselfshipp]

Enamorado Tuyo

Cw: bi-han being awful as always.

Summary: Smoke scapes a boring meeting to yearn for jerico under her Window.

A/n: song is "Enamorado Tuyo" by El Cuarteto de Nos. I heard this song by this Argentine band and I had to use it.

Smoke has never fell in love before.

He had his crushes, specially when he was young. But the Lin Kuei left little time for anything but training and protecting of Earthrealm.

Not like Bi-Han appreciated the few times his brother scurried off to try and pursue someone...

But this...

He couldnt fight this

A scold and a harsh look and maybe a reprimand from Bi-Han didnt temper his yearning for one particular geomancer...

The look on his oldest brother's face was priceless,every time they went to consult with Liu Kang he would sneak off unnoticed as he was trained to be. The lin kuei grandmaster would be annoyed and surprised his sibling managed to scurry off like that,he defenetly underestimated him- but he would never admit that.

In ocassions Like these is when Tomas sits underneath the Window that Jerico's room has. He has his legs up to his chest,elbows resting on his knees and his head hangs low with saddened yearn for the geomancer.

Have you ever met someone who is just...full of life? Someone who just enjoys the world laid before them? Thats Jerico,she laughed loudly,she danced the night away, they werent afraid of making a fool out of herself.

A big smile on her lips,she had fun,she wasnt afraid to speak her mind even if the person on the receiving end gets bitter about it (Like Bi-Han). She would go from cursing Someone up and down to then just turn and give you the biggest grin.

He still remembers their first meeting,Bi-Han tried to boss Jerico around seeing as she was being.."loud" by his standards.

She Turned,looked him up and down and began just laying it on him. Liu Kang seemed so amused before he broke up the brewing fight.

Tomas has never seen anyone mouth his brother like that,he is a scary guy but she did not care. If it wasnt for his mask,she wouldve seen his agape mouth that day.

Now he sits under their window,holding a branch of Jasmine in his hands as he listens to the Song that loudly play above.

Jerico existed loudly

Out there for whoever May please to see,unapologetically,shamelessly.

Whilst he was taught to live life hiding,unseen,unnoticed. He was a ninja,he was silent,deadly,he imposed respect and he could dissapear in the blink of an eye. He blended in, he could be there one moment and be gone the Next.

Perhaps thats why hes unable to just go and talk to her. Yes,theyve spoken small talk- but by this point he wants to just show up and ask her out already, theyve known eachother for months now since shes been training in the Wu Shi academy.

He sees the golden shine above,filtering through the blinds from her room. He sees the vines growing from the windowsill down the wall to the ground, sunflowers Bloom from the stems and he realizes now that shes feeling happy.

Jerico bloomed with her feelings,quite literally- She grew the flowers that represented the feelings within her.

Once, he saw her Bloom a Rose when he passed by- but he isnt sure if it was a Rose or not. (It was,but he's in denial).

She bent the earth to her Will,and he simply became smoke,hid in the mist- Its all so painfully fitting. Like dandelions growing on the cracked pavement,Jerico existed even when she wasnt wanted to...

And to really drive the point home,the song that comes on is on spanish, and hes completely lost on what it means. But she isnt,she sings along and the meaning is crystal clear to her.

"Y si te parece que yo estoy enamorado tuyo

Eso es un invento, intuyo, no des crédito a murmullos

Porque casi nunca llamo para decir que te amo

Y más de una vez lo hice a un numero equivocado

Casi nunca nadie dice que yo estoy enamorado tuyo"

Her voice is sweeter than heavens choir, lovelier than the morning song of birds. The rumbling of their voice travels through the vines on the wall and the ground like theyre cables for sound.

Tomas revels in the Beauty of the singing,he brings the Jasmine closer to his chest and smells It. He knew of the language of flowers,he knew what they meant- And jasmine,a plant popularly grown on the academy,meant "hidden love"

Finding the irony quite bitterly funny, he broke off a branch and held it as a symbol of his inner battle.

Not a day went by where he doesnt wander into his mindscape thinking of her,the pull and tug towards her was so strong that it burnt In his chest. It hurts,he hisses at the pain and puts a hand to his chest.

Be still his beating heart,people could die of heartbreak after all.

"Raramente desespero por tenerte aquí a mi lado

Y eso no significa que tenga un significado

Si pensás que amor yo siento, por favor no hagas pamento

No comentes con tu gente, sobre nuestro asunto

Casi nunca nadie dice que yo estoy enamorado tuyo"

He feels like such a coward,he could fight,he could defend,he could beat a Group of guys with only a Knife to his name or no Knife at all. He spent his life training,facing danger

But rejection? Oh,it would kill him.

Tonight these feelings would eat him alive,and he'd simply sit under the moonlight,breathe in the cold mountain air and simply suffer In silence while his beloved shone with warmth he could never grasp for hes frozen in fear of unrequited love.

He felt like she deserved better,not because he was a bad Man,but because he has always felt less than his siblings- than anyone.

Bi-Han has made it clear multiple times that he'd never be Lin Kuei.

And though he shouldnt listen to the bitter old git,theres only so Many times you can be told something without ending up believing it

Frozen,scared and yearning there with the evening's Cool breeze of mountain air, the scent of jasmine lingering in his senses with the vines slowly inching to his armor.

"No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo en lista a cantarte un "hasta la vista"

No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo lista una canción que dice "hasta la vista, señorita" "

He wondered what they were doing up this late? Playing games? Drawing? Maybe re-arranging their room in a fit of boredom? Lord knows hes done that last one before.

What he'd give to see her,their smile,that glint in their eyes. They had a normal life,a life he'd kill to experience with them.

But for that he had to actually go and talk .

And that wasnt happening any time soon...

"Casi nunca veo la foto tuya en mi celular

Sigue ahí por la pereza que me da apretar "borrar"

No estoy tan obsesionado, vale como aclaración

Si pensás que es por eso que yo canto esta canción

Casi nunca nadie dice que yo estoy enamorado tuyo"

If she was to ask,his lingering gazes,his shy smiles,they meant nothing more than friendshipp and politeness.

But what a fool he was to deny them the truth.

"No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo en lista a cantarte un "hasta la vista"

No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo lista una canción que dice "hasta la vista, señorita" "

Thankfully,nobody was told on him yet- Bi-Han couldnt care less and Kuai Liang respected his desicion.

And as the windows swung Open,he quickly stood up and hugged the wall last thing he needed is to be found out by his own stupidty. Thankfully, he was well hidden from view by the overhang above. Thank the elder gods , he thought.

Dust falls from above and he cant help but chuckle. Yep,cleaning spree it is.

"Y si te parece que yo estoy enamorado tuyo

Eso es un invento, intuyo, no des crédito a murmullos

Porque casi nunca llamo para decir que te amo

Y más de una vez lo hice a un numero equivocado

Casi nunca nadie dice que yo estoy enamorado tuyo"

And as love often does,it makes Tomas do something irrational. He climbs up the wall,away from the Window and simply watch hidden from view.

She's wearing short short,a t-shirt croptop and theyre swaying their hips to the song and putting trash in a bag. He loves how messy she is,he could never Get away with it in the Lin Kuei temple.

Her desk is covered in things,her bed unmade and her room has posters and Many memento-filled shelves. He wishes he could enter and see it properly and not from this skewed angle.

Tomas tries to engrain her form into his mind,god knows how long itll be until he finally sees them (properly) again.

"No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo en lista a cantarte un "hasta la vista"

No te vistas, no te hagas la nunca vista

Tengo lista una canción que dice "hasta la vista, señorita" "

When she goes to take out the trash bag,he goes down to sit back under the overhang and stares at the ground with a sad smile.

--Ahem...--Came the voice of Lord Liu Kang.

The lin kuei stands up suddenly,rigid and spooked--Lord Liu Kang!--He greeted with a bow.

Liu kang chuckled--Dont fret, Tomas. I was simply looking for you,your siblings are begging to leave.

His face goes a little red--Apologies,perhaps I should get goin-

--Be careful,Lest Jerico sees you

He stops,just in time too as Jerico pokes her head out from the Window--What are you doing here?--She asked towards the god,who was not under the cover of the overhang.

--Taking a stroll to clear my mind,the Lin Kuei left

--Aw,bummer..--Jer answered,resting her face on their hand--Wanted to say Hi to Tomas.

--He sends his regards--Liu kang smirks towards the ninja who is bright red.

--He does?--she sounds so happy...--Thats nice! Shame I couldnt see him...hes always a sight for sore eyes..

The god tries not to laugh,but he does smile--Im sure he isnt without his charms

A lovesick giggle leaves her--Hah! Yeah. Well thats one way to put it, hes gorgeous but anyway I wont bore you with my rambling. I need to take out the trash first,and find my damn headphones before that...

Jerico ducks back into their room and Liu Kang turns to smoke--I believe its about time you ask her out

--I...I know of no way to do so without being a coward...

--A cowardly method is still an option,pursuits of any kind can be scary--The god said with a reassuring tone to his voice. --I dont think she'll mind, and its better not to run yourself into the ground for being human

--I should be able to..

--"should" is a you ought to clear from your tongue. It only puts unnecesary pressure,my Friend. Ask them out in any way you can,It'll work regardless

He nodded,not one to argue with a god. But he does have one more question to ask him--What...what was the song she was listening to? What...what was it about?

And god,The smug grin on Liu Kangs face terrifies him--Its about a Man who is too scared to admit to himself he is in love with a woman

Thats all Tomas needed to hear to up and leave with a polite goodbye,he speed walks and keeps to the shadows with his face bright red.

Liu Kang Snickers to himself and leaves the young Man be,how amusing it is to watch the world unfold.

-♡-

With the gods words in his mind,Tomas is unaware of the path hes walking as he leaves for the entrance. The only thing that pulls him from his train of thought is the sudden smack against his chest, he grabs the biceps of whoever he stumbled upon and his face drains of color.

Green eyes,gold And brown hair and pale skin of porcelain.

Oh god...

--Tomas!--Jerico squealed,so viscerally happy that hes here--Thought you left?

He shrugged--My brothers were in a hurry to leave,I wasnt.

She smiled and hugged him--I was hoping to see you--The sincerity in her voice makes him falter, the hug makes his heart flutter.

--You..you were?--He hugged back whilst trying not to sound so obviously surprised,and failing miserably.

--Yeah! I wanted to see you. I...I missed you

Okay yeah he was in love there was no denying it.

He smiles too,tightening his grip around them--I missed you too

She grins against his clothes and she pulls away--Im sure you have places to go and.. --Jerico tripped over their words as his palms pressed Gently against her Lower back. His warmth seepes into them and his rough leather gloves brush against their skin.

--Im in no rush--Tomas re-assured,offering them a gentle look-- how have you been keeping?

--Alright,training's got a lot easier now. At least I dont feel like ive been ran over..--They half joked--You?

--Much the same,training--He admitted--but its good to see you.--He makes a short pause,it was now or never--if I May ask,when are you fre-

--Tomas!--Barked the voice of Bi-Han--Make haste! We've been waiting...

Jerico Turned to glare at the Man clad in blue and then Turned back to the silver haired boy--ugh,not this guy again..--She pulls back, hug broken--I dont want to argue with him, ill take my leave now

"No...no dont leave now that I was so close...damnit Bi-Han!" He thought,utterly panicked. He tried to spurt out the rest of his sentence but he felt so,so nervous.

--Take care,Tomas--She stood on the tip of her toes and kissed his cheek,close to his lips--Ill be seeing you

Jerico leaves,steps calm as she puts on their headphones,Rendering her deaf to the world outside of their music.

--I swear, Tomas!--yelled Bi-Han--Snap out of it!

Fuming,the youngest of the siblings begins to walk towards his eldest brother and shoulderchecks him on the way out for good measure.

He isnt one to lash out,to be violent towards his brothers but...

--Its that damn woman--the grandmaster spat out with venom--Didnt I tell you to put her out of your mind?

--Its not that easy...--He growled under his breath,anger dangerously laced in his voice.

--She is a civilian,loud and with no respect. Dont waste your time on-

Tomas turns and grabs his brother by the neck of his clothes,a fire in his gaze that could rival Kuai Liang's. He narrows his eyes towards the eldest and with his voice wavering from rage he says:

--Dont you dare finish that sentence. --His grip tightens--Dont speak about them like that

--Or what,you'll strike your grandmaster?

He scoffed with bitter anger--No. Ill break my brother's nose

Gripping the clothes of Bi-han,he Shoves Him away. A glare is shot towards the grandmaster before he begins to walk off to the exist, with his head low and fists balled up.

Love does make people feral and unreasonable,but for Tomas it makes him scary.

And though filled with rage,he does write a letter to his beloved crush asking them out. Perhaps cowardice was the way to go after all,all he wanted was to find a method that Bi-Han couldnt ruin or meddle in.

He was going to get his lover one way or another.

[levis-little-nuggie]

hi! i just saw the post about requests and could you write some fluffy sex headcanons with the brothers? we don't really see stuff like that so i thought i'd ask

Bless you nonny for the request 💜💜 this uh, turned out a lot longer than I had anticipated, probably because I haven't written anything in a good while 😅

Asmo and Belphie will have their own posts 💜

Nsft, obviously, so everything is under the Read More. I made the reader as gender neutral and inclusive as I could. Please let me know if at any point, I was exclusive.

Fluffy Sex Headcanons of the Demon Brothers

(minus Asmo and Belphie)

Lucifer

This man will top or bottom solely dependent upon what you want. Sex with him is moreso about pleasing his partner than just getting off. His preferences are fine tuned to your desires and your body’s limits. Lucifer’s sin feeds off of the immense pride a lover feels when they know you and your body better than you do

He may act cold and aloof in public and in front of others, coming off as stoic and arrogant, but it’s a completely different story behind closed doors.

However you want him, he’ll comply. You’ve done the impossible and captured his heart.  Don’t let this old man and his brown shoes fool you, he’ll drown you in passion.

He’ll gladly play the Dom role, but he’ll also gladly be your sub as well.

If you’re into BDSM and prefer him to Dom, you can expect an intensive aftercare routine that would rival Asmo’s. It’s not that he doesn’t like hurting you or pushing you to your limits, he just wants to reward you for being so good for him and wants to remind you how much he loves you.

If you’re into BDSM and prefer to Dom yourself, go crazy! While you would be capable of marking and bruising his skin, you can’t physically hurt or break him beyond light scratches. He can break out of whatever restraints you put him, even if they are demon-grade. You would need actual spells to diminish his strength to put him on par with a lower-class demon if you wanted him to actually feel any real pain, but if it’s what you want, he’ll do it. Expect a conversation beforehand about what you want and how he can do that for you. He wants there to be clear communication so he knows how best to serve you in the moments to come.

Sure the sex is fantastic, but he’ll show you how much he loves you in the tender moments after. The afterglow is his favorite part, both of you basking in the remnants of pleasure coursing through you, the physical numbness, and the swell of feel-good chemicals swirling through your bodies. This is when he’ll hold you closest, pepper your skin with kisses unable to stop himself, he’ll play with your hair if you have it, his eyes will be bright, his smile will be unrestrained. He may even start humming a long-forgotten lullaby or your favorite song as he rests his head against your chest, hearing your heartbeat in blissful content until one of you decides it’s time to get cleaned up.

No matter how long the day has been, the amount of hours he’s put into all that damn paperwork, he’ll always make time to pamper you after sex. If you prefer to shower alone, he’ll let you go first and have the bed ready with new, clean sheets and clean towels set out for you when you’re done. Prefer to sleep with pajamas? He has a drawer dedicated to your favorite things along with some new ones he bought for you.

Mammon

Ah yes, the tsundere. The dumbass in the streets, dumbass in the sheets. The one who has more hair-brained ideas than he does fingers and toes in one week. One of the greatest banes of Lucifer’s existence.

His push and pull personality might have you questioning the validity of his feelings, but I believe that Mammon wouldn’t be partaking in fluffy sex at all unless he was absolutely smitten.

With how his brothers treat him, he’s reluctant to open his heart to you and fully accept that at some point, you won’t start insulting him either. However, equipped with the sin of greed, Mammon’s completely helpless when you compliment and reassure him. 

His standoffish attitude is a front, a feeble attempt to keep up his reputation as “The Great Mammon,” but he’s got himself wrapped around your finger before he even realizes it and that facade would melt away instantly at your smallest of smiles, a kiss on his cheek or back of his hand, a surprise compliment, anything that makes his heart skip a beat. 

Of the brothers, he has one of the weakest composers around you mainly because he’s also one of the horniest. 

Sex with Mammon can be rushed;  a quickie between classes, a broken composure that has him feeling dehydrated for you, a clash of tongues and teech and a burning desire that encompasses both of you until you find release.

However, the sweetest and fluffiest sex with Mammon would be when either of you are feeling emotionally vulnerable. 

He’ll treat you like you’re the greatest treasure to have ever existed in all three realms, with a delicacy as if you’re fragile because he knows he can be careless and reckless. He’ll be in his head a lot making sure he’s taking care of you, that you feel good, doing his damndest to keep you satisfied so there’s no room in your heart to doubt him. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep that sparkle in your eye when you look at him, to never lose you and never have to experience the day you realize his brothers have been right all along. 

And I mean he’ll do whatever and however. Any wish is his command, but you’ll have more work cut out for you if you suggest the both of you participating in a threesome or more. He wants you all to himself, it’s his greed, but it’s your reassurance and validation that will have him like putty in your hand. 

He’s more than okay with both of you falling asleep in your mess, but more often than not, he’ll wait until you’ve dozed off to clean up. In these moments, he takes the time to worship every inch of your skin, like polishing a priceless jewel. His intentions are pure, most of the time, he just likes to wait till you’re asleep so there’s no chance for you to tease him about it. It also allows his greed to soak up your peaceful expression, the way your body reaches out to him after he’s finished cleaning and comes back to curl up next to you. 

There’s a secret photo album hidden on his phone filled with pictures of the both of you like this, your lashes against your cheeks, your freckles or sun spots, any blemishes or scars that he’s covered in kisses countless of times, your hand in his and vice versa, memories of how sweet and tender your love is, filled with emotions he struggles to put into words. 

Leviathan

It all depends how you play your cards with this one. Teasing him is easy and it’ll get him all flustered, but pair that with his raging horniness and you’ll be walking a fine line between a Dom or sub Levi.

However, if it’s fluffy and sweet sex you want, treat him gently and he’ll return the favor. It’ll take a bit of time and effort to get here, on both your parts, but if you’re willing to put in the work, he’ll make it worth it. Like Mammon, this means sex will be its fluffiest when either both of you or one of you is emotionally vulnerable.

We’ve recently been blessed by the devs on a cannon description of his tail, confirming that it is snake-like with scales. This also means, however, that his tail is sensitive to touch and he has full control of its movements. During a more sweet intimacy, he likes to wrap his tail around a limb, your arm or your leg. It’s only when he’s in Dom or sub mode that he likes to use his tail in a more active manner.

It’s important for him, whether he realizes it or not, that during these moments, that he’s the one touching you, not his tail. If you ask him to use his tail too much during sex, he’ll start to think that you’re only with him because of his tail.

He’ll want to see you even though his room is dimly lit. He also knows his tub bed might not be the most comfortable so he’ll invest in a mattress to put on the floor by the tank, and a few fluffy blankets, from the Ruri-chan line of course, to keep you warm and comfortable so you’ll never want to leave his room, just like him.

He prefers any position that has the two of you lying together, with your face in clear view because he can’t get enough of the faces you make because of the pleasure he’s responsible for making you feel. He’ll be more focused on your voice, your body language, your reactions to reassure him he’s doing something right.

To see your naked skin kissed with the reflection of the water from the tank is his favorite part. He actually got a nosebleed the first time he saw you like that. 

Sex with the otaku is a learning experience that requires patience and repetitive reassurance. He’s certain that no one could ever love him, and it’s going to cost a lot of mental energy, and it can be disheartening at times where it seems he’s not made any progress in loving himself at all, but you’ll both also have an opportunity to create something truly beautiful between the two of you. Falling in love with your best friend, and having your feelings returned with all their heart is one of the most beautiful things to ever experience.

Satan

I like to imagine that Satan is akin to that tiger DILF in Zootopia looking at his tablet while on the train, you know, the one who looks like he’ll take good care of you? Listen, during one of his Devilgram stories, the man pitches a tent (like an actual tent, not a boner you guys) and makes both of you cups of hot chocolate. You can pry this hc out of my cold, dead hands.

Sex with Satan is actually more often fluffy and sweet than anyone would assume because he’s the Avatar of Wrath. Just like all the other brothers, Satan is more than his sin. That being said, Satan is still CEO of Angry Sex™ but he’s also more intune to his own feelings than the rest of his brothers. 

It’s after his more violent fits of rage that he’s seeking your comfort. It’s difficult for him to come down from his wrath; the worse the fit is, the more broken and twisted he feels. He didn’t like coming to you at first because he knows how mentally draining it can be for a human to deal with someone like that, but you’ve insisted in your endearing and stubborn way that he can and needs to rely on you more. You threatened to find all the sources proving your point for the success of any relationship and he eventually gave in, accepting your kindness and your love.

In turn, he provides you with an arsenal of reading material and spells you can arm yourself with for a plethora of reasons; mainly self-defense against demons, a history of successful and failed attempts to prank Lucifer, as well as guides for subjects in class to help you study.

Unlike his previous brothers, sex with Satan is more about the pleasure you both feel. Of course he’ll still be mindful of your pleasure, but he can also get lost in his own desire. No matter how far gone he is, you know that the moment you utter the safeword, he’ll stop immediately and assess the situation. The safeword is actually a simple spell that he’d found when you two started getting more intimate.

On days he’s feeling extra playful, he’ll dress up for you; a collar with a bell, cat ears, a butt plug with a tail attached. He loves to be your little kitty cat, and will practically foam at the mouth if you ever dressed up like a slutty cat for him, but this doesn’t lead to fluffy smut times.

While he has no issues with PDA, Satan reserves his more soft and fluffy side for when you two are totally alone. He’s proactive in looking up cute date ideas and is the type to go all out turning his bed or his floor into a nest of pillows and blankets, cups of tea, hot chocolate, coffee, whatever you prefer, a variety of little snacks, and turn his wall into a projection screen to watch old-fashioned black and white romance movies. 

For Satan, it’s the moments leading up to the sweet intimacy filled with love and adoration that are his favorites. Being the reason your face brightens, tears of happiness well in the corner of your eyes, the way your smile makes his heart stutters, Satan loves showing you how much you mean to him mainly because he knows he’s not the best with words. He could recite any poem of strings of song lyrics, but he believes actions speak louder than words.

He actually prefers for you to have control in these moments; there’s less of a chance he could hurt you and it’s another way to prove his love. He’ll only ever bottom for you. He was reluctant at first, but it’s like you opened his eyes to a whole new world he didn’t know about. He still likes to act like he's a cat and you're his mouse, but he also likes it when you take over and make him bow to your whim. You've gained his trust as well as his heart and he believes that the power dynamic in a relationship should be balanced.

During the most intimate moments, either right after sex or waking up together in the morning after sleeping in, you'll both enter this Cat Speak mode. One of you will start, just a cute little "mrow?" and you'll go back and forth entertaining a semblance of a conversation but without saying anything. There's no actual conversation happening, it's just the two of you making cat noises at each other, giggling and riding the high of this special intimacy specially reserved for these moments of bliss.

Beel

Let’s be honest, 9 times out of 10 your sex with the sixth-born will be fluffy and sweet. He’s like the personified version of a golden retriever. He loves you and has the instinct to want to take care of you. You’re such a small, delicate human, and his brothers love you too so when you’re in Beel’s care, he makes sure you’re satisfied more than just sexually. 

Anything you’re willing to give him, he’ll accept wholeheartedly expressing his love and gratitude in the form of huge grins, hugs, a hearty chuckle, and peppering kisses across your face. 

Even though he’s not as sexually active as some of his brothers, once you get this big guy started, be prepared to cancel any plans you have for the rest of the day… and also the day after just to be safe. He has the most energy and will keep going until he’s had you against every solid surface in his room, minus Belphie’s furniture of course. Regardless of your size or how you look, he’ll make you feel weightless as he carries you around the room effortlessly

He loves the way you taste, gliding his tongue over your skin like you’re an ice-cream cone that never melts, he’s actually growled a number of times when you tried pulling yourself away from him. His eyes had turned shades darker than normal before you snapped him out of it. He would apologize profusely and kill the mood so as to make sure he’s in the right headspace and you’re okay. 

This has only happened a few times, but he still loves to taste every inch of you whenever he has you all to himself. He leaves you covered in hickeys and love bites and even though he’ll apologize, you know he feels absolutely no shame in his brother’s reactions to seeing you covered the next day. 

His favorite part is helping you ride out your orgasm with his mouth. He knows he’s more skilled with his mouth anyway and just, the man cannot get enough of you or your taste. Depending on where he’s at when you orgasm, if he’s close, he’ll paint your skin in his release, and then clean up the mess and drag you in for snuggles. If he’s not quite there yet, he’ll assess your energy levels and wait until you’re ready to go again or keep going, depending on who topped or bottomed. He’s all about consent and wants to join you when you’re fully blissed out regardless if he’s finished or not (meaning he’ll deny his own release in order to lie with you).

Aftercare comes almost second nature to him. He’s already carrying you to the bathroom and soaking you off in the shower before you realize it. The warm water and his large hands invade your senses and he urges you to let go, to let him take care of you and it’s like a dream. His calloused hands offer a sort of comforting roughness that keeps you grounded. If you want shower sex, you’ll have to initiate it.

Actually, that’s pretty accurate for Beel. You want sex? You’re either going to have to initiate it or tell him straight out. Poor guy does not take hints well as he is very oblivious.

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath. 

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin. 

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades. 

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars. 

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong. 

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead. 

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close. 

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings. 

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you. 

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on. 

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her. 

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out. 

A man. 

Device. 

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer- 

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang. 

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t. 

Can’t. 

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision… 

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward. 

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold. 

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands. 

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist. 

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out. 

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it. 

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you. 

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...” 

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks. 

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin. 

Oh, you think, numb. Huh. 

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”

[troublesometrollhunters]

How would Bular react when he found out that s/o is a mermaid.

~ Bular had stumbled across you in the woods one evening. You were deep in his territory and seemed confused by him but not scared. You were an odd human and you intrigued him, so rather than eat you he somehow became friends with you. Weeks went by and months past and he still hasn't esten you. Slowly the troll realized he didn't want to be your friend, he wanted something more. So one day as you lounged under a tree together near a lake you seemed to like, he asked you if he could start courting you. His heart fluttered when you joyfully said yes.

~ Ever since your relationship got more serious Bular starts noticing things that concern him. You'd been secretive ever since your relationship started. So had Bular but he was a warlords son, there were some things about him he wasn't ready to admit yet but You... Your behavior worried him. You would leave at night and not return to the Order until morning and when you talked after disappearing it felt something was off. He suspected you of lying about something and it was making him anxious. Anxious and angry.

~ Bular feared you had another mate and were meeting them when you dissapeared or that you were conspiring against him with someone. He'd tried asking you about your nightly adventures and were you went (since that time should be spent with him), but you refused to tell him anything. You weren't rude about it and but you wouldn't crack either making Bular fear the worst.

~ He follows you into the woods on one of your nightly escapades but he loses you. He's a trained tracker who never looses his prey and somehow he looses you at the lake. Annoyed at your dissapearing act and feeling neglected he tries to hire changelings to find the truth. When that doesn't work as they always loose you at the river in the woods he's about to call the relationship off when you spill water on yourself during a date. Cursing and trying to wipe it off your too late as your sing song voice cries out in frustration. He blinks repeatedly and suddenly it makes sense. You have a tail. Your a merfolk.

~ When he sees you, the real you, he's absolutley enchanted. With your strong and scaled tail worn from the sea and time, your webbed fingers, your sharp claws, your prominent fangs, and your piercing eyes. You are divine and you are his. Your hair is braided with gold coins and seashells and your covered in dangly jewelry just like in your human form. You always smelled of the sea or river or lake and were surprisingly strong for a human, Bular finally understands why.

~ Bular is actually relieved your a merfolk. He thought he was falling for a sneaky and lying human, a disgusting creature beneath him that may not actually love him. But here you are, a magical being just like him. Sure your not a troll, your not made of rock, and your secrets not what he expected, but he loves you and he'll make this work. Even if it's a bit strange and even if its not what he thought he wanted.

~ Realizing your a merfolk and not a human he begins doing some research. Bular switches his courting tatics once he has enough information to please you. Merfolk give each other treasure and so he finds you every treasure you could ever love. Endless gold, priceless jewels, artifacts lost to time, ancient scrolls, magical objects, precious silks only found on land. Whatever you want he will get it for you. He also shows off his physical abilities by hunting for fish and ends up impressing you with his catches. He also has a pond put into his room next to his nest so you don't have to sneak off to sleep in a river or lake, you can stay with him.

~ The Prince of Darkness is not a huge fan of water considering trolls can't swim, so don't expect him to see you in your merfolk form much. He loves you more than anything but he will never go into the sea and your lucky if he'll dip his toe into a river or lake.

~ Eventually you ease him into the idea and bringing him to a river you sit him down before kaying behind him. Trolls often groom their mates and merfolk are the same. You wash his hair and chirp softly as you brush it excited trills leaving your throat as Bular relaxes and lets you work. When your finsihed Bular pulls you close and you embrace enjoying the cool water washing over you and the nice moonlight.

~ After grooming becomes a natural habit for the both of you Bular is surprised when you begin courting in bigger ways. Typically the providing partner in troll culture is the one who gives gifts while the other receives things but he isn't against the idea of You sharing your culture via your style of courting. You give him golden jewelry for his horns and rare fish for him to share with you.

~ Sometimes when your both alone you'll sing the songs of your people and gently caress his face before giving him a gentle kiss or two. He often drifts off to the sound of your beautiful voice and the feel of your smooth scales against his stone skin. As he dreams sleeping next to you he can't believe your not a siren because you have him enthralled.

~ He's not sure what attracted him to you but he's glad it did. He may not be able to experience your world but you can experience his and he's more than happy to show you his culture and heritage. He loves hearing about where you come from and your merfolk traditions and stories. He can't ever follow you into the sea but as long as your on land or in small bodies of water near him, he will keep you happy.

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

|

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

|

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

|

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

|

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

|

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

|

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

|

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

[jungkookiebus]

Grain of Sand | jjk

Genre: smut x fluff x established relationship x slice of life Pairing: blind!jjk x reader Rating: 18+ Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: cunnilingus, (light) ass play, fingering, jungkook fucks you against the kitchen sink so i guess that can be a warning, creampie Summary: Blind since the age of 18 from a genetic disorder, Jungkook walked through life as if he never lost it, but on one fateful day seven years ago he literally almost runs into you. He fell in love nearly immediately. Fast forward to the present and it’s just another day in your quiet life with him by your side.

Bright, warm sunshine filled the hallway of your home from the windows that lined the wall. It was one of the reasons you picked this house. You imagined hanging pictures up on the wall for the morning sun to rise upon and, at night, you could still easily see them in the light of the moon. And that’s exactly what you did when you moved in two years ago. Jungkook walked ahead of you, fingers delicately skimming the wall right beneath the pictures. The wall there looked more worn than the rest, a little oily sheen to it from his fingertips. Walls all over your home had these trails. They were like highways for him, directing him to the living room, kitchen, and every room in between. Sometimes, like now, you’d run your fingers along his path lovingly, grazing your fingers underneath your wedding photo.

“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked, and you saw as he tilted his head a little, knowing you were following quietly behind him.

You hummed in thought. You never really were that hungry as soon as you woke up, but the smell of breakfast always made your stomach growl.

“What about…eggs and bacon?”

“Toast?”

“Oh, yes, Taehyung gave us some fresh strawberry jam he made.”

He hummed in a content agreement, turning the corner ahead of you, two fingers brushing the dull edge as he continued down the hallway. The light overhead was still off, and the early morning sun had yet to reach this part of the house, but Jungkook moved by memory and his worn wall path before moving into the kitchen. As he walked into the room, you reached for the light switch and flicked it on.

“What would you like me to do?” you asked. You leaned against the counter as you watched his hands skim the cabinets, and you knew he was counting in his head, until he got to the one he wanted. He pulled out a pan as his other hand reached for the stove, hand finding the burner, before moving it to sit the pan down.

“Uh, if you want to grab the ingredients, that will help.”

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

Jungkook laughed as he reached for the oil that sat by the stove.

“I should be calling you pet names.”

“You do all the time and you’re just too cute not to.”

Opening the refrigerator, you pulled out the necessary amount of eggs and bacon as not to cause confusion with a clutter of items.

Jungkook lost his sight at the ripe, but terrible age of 18. Retinitis pigmentosa was the cause of his progressive vision loss. Around 10, he started showing signs when he complained about not being able to see outside when he played later in the afternoon, even when the sun was still bright on the horizon. His parents’ worst fears were confirmed with his diagnosis and the heartache of explaining to their son that he would lose his vision completely was devastating. But Jungkook proved strong and focused on studying Braille and doing whatever he could to prepare himself. Over the years, his vision worsened, he didn’t get to get his driver’s license with his friends, and he missed out on many things, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing his passion in music. He felt a connection when he made music because without his vision, it made him that much more acute in his studies. You met Jungkook in college, both music majors, and the reason you had met was because he had accidentally thwacked you with his white cane.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” he had said reaching in your direction.

You had laughed and at first his face was set into a confused expression until you spoke.

“Oh, that little thing couldn’t even leave a mark if you had done it intentionally.”

His face screwed up as he tried to hold in a laugh but was unable to do so at your incessant giggling. When you spoke again was when he thinks he fell in love with you, but there were too many moments to count for him.

You nudged the end of his completely white cane with your foot, no red or other markings. “Completely blind, huh?”

You hadn’t said it with any disdain or judgement; you had said it as if you were just having curious, casual conversation. Most of the time Jungkook felt as if his blindness made him invisible to people as if it were some curse to have and if they accidentally came close to him, they’d hurt him or themselves. Of course, he had his close friends and family that didn’t even remember he was blind half the time, but society always kind of sucked that way.

But you, you were the first girl he had ever met that so blatantly astonished him within the first few minutes and his heart flipped in his chest. He didn’t even need to see you to know that you were perfect, and he would end up with you one day. And, sure enough, five years later you were married and looking for a new home.

“How does this one sound?” you asked one night over your tub of chocolate ice cream.

You both sat at your small kitchen table in your small apartment. Jungkook had one headphone in listening to an audiobook, head resting in his hand as his other played absently on yours. You were scrolling through houses on your phone, trying to find the both of you the perfect one. Jungkook hit pause on his book and looked in your direction. Despite his blindness, nothing about his eyes had really changed; they were still a beautiful brown and they were your favorite to see in the evening light, sunset set his eyes aflame.

“Babe, as long as the layout is easy to memorize and it’s what you want, it’s perfect for me.”

“I love you,” you whispered. Tears filled your eyes at the content look on his face, a slight smile played on his lips. You were truly happy with him, sharing every moment together, and to the fullest, but parts of you did feel sad that he couldn’t see it.

“My god,” he whispered somewhat dramatically and suddenly your tears became a small laugh because you knew where this was going. “If your love were a grain of sand…”

“Mine would be a universe of beaches,” you whispered back.

Now, here you were, in your home with its innocuous fingertip paths lining your walls in an intimate artwork that was priceless to you.  

With your back to the counter you leaned and watched as he moved. You only offered help occasionally and when he asked for it, but you were content to watch. His hands always moved lithely, so smooth, as he reached for objects. He cracked the eggs easily into the hot pan as he began to hum. He’d sometimes hum, sometimes sing, but he’d always choose a song about the same length each time and that was how he timed his cooking. The bacon popped loudly.

“Oops, fire’s too high.” He turned the knob to lower the flame before carefully putting his hand back on the handle of his pan. He picked his song up a few seconds after where he left off. The eggs were frying perfectly in the pan, not that you expected any less.

You pushed away from the counter to start grabbing plates as he neared the end of his song. Before long, he had both plates perfectly set with eggs and bacon as you carried the toast to the table. You buttered and spread the strawberry jam on two pieces, dropping one on his plate as you brought them over. He followed behind you, hand on your waist lightly before sitting down at the table.

“What are we gonna do today?” you asked as you bit into the toast. “Holy shit Taehyung knows what he’s doing with this stuff.”

His smile was bright as he cut into his eggs. “What do you feel like doing?”

The sun was now up over the horizon, spilling into the windows and across your kitchen. You had hung various glass artwork throughout the house and right now the stained glass flower you had hung above the kitchen sink cast an array of colors into the room. Jungkook looked like moving artwork across from you. The colors shifted and changed as he moved, leaning back in his chair then forward again, elbow on the table, moving for a napkin, and each time he did splashes of red, green, blue, and yellow painted his skin.

You hadn’t realized you had fallen silent until Jungkook cleared his throat. “Babe?”

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“The stained glass is casting a lot of pretty colors on you right now and I got distracted.”

“I bet it looks wonderful.”

He smiled softly as he reached for his glass of milk.

“Describe it to me?” He pushed his plate to the middle of the table as he finished. Placing his head in his hands, he looked in your direction, his eyes averted just down from your eyes and somewhere near the apples of your cheeks. Even if he rarely ever made eye contact, your soft voice always lulled him in and pointed him in the right direction.

“Remember when we’d get those cheap plastic kaleidoscopes as kids?” You pulled his plate towards you and stacked it on your own.

He laughed softly at the memory. “I used to think they were so cool, but the pieces inside were just as cheap as the outside.”

“Well think of that…just prettier.” His smile grew wider as his eyes closed and you knew he was thinking back on a memory. Probably a summer day down by the shore, the salty sea air, and the sun on his face. His mom is with him and everything is so bright. He sees the water and the way it stretches to the horizon, but in his peripheral it’s a little darker. For now, he’ll enjoy the waves.

You stood up and took the plates to the sink and began pulling the pots off the stove and putting them under the water with the rest. The sun still shone through the stained glass in front of you. You got lost in thought, hand still under the water waiting for it to heat up as you stared unblinking and the slightly swaying piece of glass. You jumped when a pair of hands softly caressed your hips.

“Shit,” you whispered. You were snapped out of your daydream and you shakily grabbed the sponge before pouring soap over it.

His lips came down on your neck. “Did I scare you?”

“Yea that was real dickish of you.”

He laughed against your neck as he snaked his arms fully around you and held you close. You began scrubbing at a pan as he hummed lightly, placing yet another kiss to your skin. He inhaled deeply and let his warm breath out slowly.

“You smell good,” he murmured.

“Well, I did take a shower last night….” You put the pan in the drying rack before reaching for another one.

His arms tightened around you and he brought himself a little more flush with your body. He hummed again as he moved his lips along the top of your exposed shoulder.  

“What, pray tell, are you doing?” you asked in a mock accent as your hands dove blindly into the water as you searched for more dishes.

“Kissing you,” he said between small pecks.

“Okay.” You pulled a spoon from the filthy depths of the dish water when Jungkook’s hands moved back to your hips and his fingers dug lightly into them.

“Don’t move,” he whispered before dropping to his knees behind you.

Folding his fingers under the waistband of your shorts, he slowly began to pull them past your hips.

“What are you-“ You tried to turn around but keep your hands over the sink at the same time and you could only swivel so far at the hip.

“Shhh.” He kissed the small of your back and then the swell of your ass as he began to palm your ass cheeks. Slowly, he spread them further and further as he placed kisses along your skin. Your body had gotten whiplash; one second you were washing dishes and the next Jungkook was on his knees behind you. You shook slightly and your internal temperature began to rise. Suddenly, having your hands in the warm water became overbearing. You pulled them out and then clung desperately to a dish towel, but there was no way you were drying your hands right now. You felt his lips again and they were on the underside of your ass this time. You clutched the edge of the sink as you stared into the intricate flower in the glass.

Behind you, Jungkook spread your ass and dipped his head, tongue finding your cunt immediately. He hummed into you and you clenched. He spread them further as he licked at your center before he moved to your ass.

“A-ah,” you stuttered as you leaned more into the counter. His face was buried in your ass eating you out until he almost had your thighs shaking before he moved back to your now embarrassingly wet cunt. His moan was deeper this time as you dripped deliciously onto his tongue. Your mind seemed to exit the room as he shook his head, deepening this lewd kiss. He pushed himself up more on his knees, wanting to get as deep into you as he could. Your cries rose in pitch as your thighs began to shake. Your palms dug into the edges of the counters but all you could think about was him. He moaned the more you clenched, getting closer and closer to the release he wanted to give you. You could barely breathe now, and you were nearly on your tiptoes. All the while, Jungkook had his hands firmly on your thighs now with his face anchoring him to your body. You rocked back into his face and his moans began to pitch now, hands almost kneading at your thighs as he wrapped his hands around the front of them, pulling you harder into his face. Your mind felt as if it were on the brink of shutting down as your whole body began to shake. Every muscle in your stomach tensed as you felt yourself tumbling forward.

Different variations of his name fell from your lips in rapid succession as you crested the hill of your release. You fell over it when a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your body shuddered and it felt as if all the blood inside rushed to your cunt. Jungkook was still eating you out as you came on his face, nearly crying into the kitchen sink. His grip on your thighs loosened first and then his tongue slowed. Your body shuddered every now and then from the aftershock. He kissed the underside of your ass again before standing. He pulled you into him again and held you close as you caught your breath. He kissed the side of your neck as his cheek rested against your skin.

“You taste good, too,” he mumbled.

You let out a shaky laugh. He had said it so nonchalantly as if he weren’t on his knees, face nowhere to be seen, just minutes before.

“Now, my kaleidoscope eyes,” he reached for the back of your knee and brought your leg upwards, “I need you to rest this here.”

He had your leg up on the counter comfortably and then he dipped his hand back between them. Your hips jerked involuntarily as he played with your painfully swollen clit. He circled the tips of his fingers on it softly. He kissed your skin delicately, reverently. The sun rose higher in the sky and from behind your eyelids you could see various colors of orange, blue, and red.

“You always describe the world so beautifully to me,” he whispered.

“I-I don’t want you t-to miss out.” You were a mess and he was making you an even bigger mess.

“Your vision of the world is far better than anything I could dream up.”

His fingers pressed a little harder and you wanted to clench around something only to be met with air. You whined a little as his breath picked up against your skin and he rutted into you. You felt his cock through his sweats and your mouth instantly watered. He hummed again as you began to drip on his fingers as he dipped them before pushing inside of you. He let out a shuddering breath as you swallowed his fingers fully, clenching hard around him. He pushed into you again, cock hard against your ass and he leaned into you as you pressed further into the counter.

“Tell me what you want,” he said gruffly as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

Your toes curled against the countertop, knee hitting a mug across the marble surface but neither of you bothered to acknowledge it. Jungkook was rutting into you now and breathing hotly into your ear. His other hand was on your breast kneading it roughly.

“God, Jungkook, just fuck me already.” You were doubled over with him hot on your back. His fingers pumped faster and faster and you were on your tiptoe again. You pushed your hips into him as he gave two more hard thrusts into you before pulling his fingers away.

His hands were only gone for what seemed like seconds before he had one on your hip and the other rubbing his cock between your folds. You moaned as you anticipated him. You didn’t have to wait long before he was sliding inside of you easily. His body was hot against yours and his skin against your ass was even hotter. His hand was at your breast again kneading as his heavy cock slid in and out of you slowly as if he were trying to make this moment last forever.

“What colors do you see now?” he whispered. His voice sounded strained like he was holding back. How were you supposed to concentrate?

You squinted when you were finally able to open your eyes; the sun was higher and brighter in the sky since you last looked. All you could think about was his cock softly nudging against the nerves inside of you, but he wasn’t going fast enough to really stimulate anything. You pushed your hips back into him again, but he didn’t take the bait as he pinched your nipple through your shirt. His other hand was anchoring your leg to the counter so you couldn’t move it from where he placed it. Plentiful soap suds were all over the sink and slowly popping but there was enough for the colors to be cast in a strange refracted way. The angle of the light caused more rainbows to shine from the hundreds of tiny bubbles. You reached out and braced yourself on the windowsill above the sink before you spoke.

“All of t-them. They’re shining on the soap now.” You were no stranger to describing things to Jungkook, but during sex was a new one.

He seemed satisfied as his pace quickened. His lips were on your neck, wet, and travelling upwards until he bit your earlobe between his teeth. Once again, you were pushing your hips into him as much as he’d let you. He was much too strong pushing you against the counter and his hand on your leg limited your movements.

“Jungkook, please.” You were breathless now, travelling up to that peak again but you needed more than this. He didn’t need to ask to hear your underlying question. He pressed against you harder while at the same time quickening his pace. The hand on your breast splayed across your chest before he moved it slowly down your stomach. Your breath caught in your throat as your stomach tightened. He was dipping his fingers between your legs again and pressed two fingers to your clit. Your chest came flush with the edge of the counter now and you felt Jungkook’s cheek on your shoulder blade. You reached for anything to brace yourself after your sweaty palm slid from the windowsill. You knocked soap and various other items down, sending some splashing into the water and others into the empty side of the steel sink. Jungkook ignored the clattering of items as he began to snap his hips harder. The pressure he had on your clit was barely there but enough to have you straining and willing your body to fall, but you just whimpered as you cried into the sink. He controlled your orgasm and all you could do was fall into the delectable pleasure he was giving you because you knew he always delivered. There was no way he was letting you physically walk away from this.  

The room grew hotter the higher the sun climbed as it cast its menagerie of colors onto your face. The ends of your hair gathered the water droplets collected in the sink as your body shifted with each thrust. Without his sight, Jungkook was acutely more aware to other parts of your body. Like the way your cunt would flutter and tighten like a vice the closer you got your orgasm. He could practically feel the muscles in your back tense up as you focused all your attention to the burning in your abdomen. He pressed his fingers a little harder before moving them faster on your clit. The nerve endings inside were lit on fire, sending the hot flames licking in your core and up into your chest as every hair on your body stood on end as your skin flushed with goosebumps. You began to tremble, thighs cramping as you brought yourself fully up on your toes, other leg sweating against the marble counter. Jungkook’s large hand was still firm on the back of your thigh, keeping your leg up on the edge as he fucked into you faster and harder. You were crying loudly now, not holding anything back as he led you towards the end. Your orgasm hit with an explosion of colors behind your eyelids, aided by the stained glass. Jungkook’s fingers abandoned your clit in favor of bringing you more upright to turn your face enough for a searing kiss; his lips skated across your cheek before he found yours and you moaned into his mouth. He still thrust, ready to follow you down the other side and you clenched harder around him almost making it impossible for him to stay inside, but he had his hips hard against yours and into the counter in front of you. He braced himself against your thigh, his other hand on the counter now, and his lips still on yours as he spilled inside of you. Hot cum began to leak immediately around him and onto the floor. Usually you had your closed legs to keep it contained but now he was dripping all over the kitchen floor. Not that you minded. His moans dropped in pitch as he continued to thrust, overwhelmed by the feeling of you and his cum filling you up and then spilling out. With hips stuttering a few more times, he stilled. Without his movements you could now feel the slip of his cum as it came out of you. Slowly, he let go of your thigh and eased it to the floor. You winced as your cramped muscles begged for relief, but he was gentle in his movements, letting you adjust. He kissed your temple and the side of your face while you tried to regain your breath. Your legs felt as if they’d give out at any moment as they wobbled dangerously, but his steadfast grasp around your waist kept you upright.

The early morning sun still climbed in the sky, now out of view of the stained glass. The kitchen was yet again cast in the muted glow as it hid behind the trees, a display of leaves now covered the room in a strange dance. Jungkook was silent behind you, but still holding you close as he waited for your legs to regain their strength. The dishes sat scattered and forgotten in the sink and on the counter. The last of the soap bubbles were popping away and any hint of the colorful display was gone except for the stained glass now hanging somewhat plainly in the window.

He pulled you impossibly closer, face nuzzled into your neck as he hummed a nonsensical tune.

“Thank you,” he whispered. You were silent, knowing he had more to say. “Thank you for bringing color into my world.”

You squeezed his hand that was around your waist. You didn’t have to say much for him to understand, but what he didn’t know was how much he had brought into yours.

“If your love were a grain of sand…” you began.

“Mine,” he said with a whisper and a kiss to your exposed shoulder, “would be a universe of beaches.”

[alicemitch09writes]

first love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: You never forget your first love.

author’s notes: This is what prompted the many angst fics to come in my repertoire. I’ll just to slowly transfer some of my one-shots that are reader inserts here on tumblr.

twenty one pilot’s cover of ‘can’t help falling in love’ really helped me in the writing of this fic. It’s a favorite of mine I keep going back to when writing fics. Reader is a musician, who plays the ukulele and violin and at the time when I wrote this (back in 2017), I was learning to play the uke, mostly for fun.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

Wise men say, only fools rush in

But I can't help, falling in love with you

 They moved to Tokyo when she was 8.

And at a young age, she was pretty much a timid and shy girl, always hiding behind her parents whenever in the presence of new people, especially when she was being introduced. She wasn't very good with socializing, always wary and scared that she'd make a horrible impression.  And of people, in general. People were generally scary, especially those she was unfamiliar with. She found solace in music, due to her father's influence, who was a music instructor at a university. "When words fail, music speaks." He'd tell her as they played 'Heart and Soul' together on the piano, her mother taking a video of them from the side. And a little while later, by some miracle, she made friends with the local kids – Tetsurou and Kenma. The two were an odd pair, given Tetsurou's loud and mischievous demeanor being a total contrast to Kenma's quiet and well-behaved and aloofness. Still, they were the best friends she could ever have.

 Years passed, and the three were inseparable.

Over time, the two proved to be more trouble than they were worth – Tetsurou, with his never-ending schemes and provocation abilities, and Kenma, with his indifference to the world so long as he was playing his games.

Nothing's changed much of her, other than her ability to keep the dynamic duo grounded. Also, she had her flair for music. Still, she was terribly shy. Though she has a voice, she chose to stick to the background, wanting to be out of the limelight.

Tetsurou would scold her, saying that it was a waste because she had a good singing voice. In which, would make her blush. Kenma would say the same thing even without looking up from his game console. But Tetsurou's words resounded, her heart beating like a drum.

    Shall I stay, would it be a sin?

If I can't help, falling in love with you

   It was the clichest thing to happen – she fell in love with her childhood friend.

She fell for Tetsurou.

For all his cockiness, his mischievousness, his peculiar affinity with cats (ironic that they attended Nekoma), and his atrocious bed hair – she loved it all.

Of course, she'd never tell him.

She doesn't have the heart to.

Neither will she tell Kenma, being the perceptive boy he was.

Plus, she'd have to go against a throng of his admirers (who made up of about half of the female population, by the way). There was no way she had a chance. And besides, who was she to him but his ever dependable, timid and adorable best friend?

When he bought her a ukulele on her 16th birthday – he knew she had wanted to try to play it for the longest time, she knew that it was simply out of friendship.

For a while, she became the volleyball team's manager. And for a while, she was able to play it cool with her feelings. This was okay, she thought, its better like this.

"This is my best friend, (Last Name) (Name)." he says, wrapping his arms around her neck as he hugged her from behind, introducing her to two players from Fukurodani.

The shorter of the two – Akaashi Keiji, smiles. "Nice to meet you, (Last name)-san."

"Oh! She's so cute!" says the loud boy – Bokuto Koutarou. "Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?"

Tetsurou laughed, chin digging into her head. "I've known her forever, that'll be weird."

"Kuroo, you're hugging her too tight." Kenma says with a frown.

Best friend.

That's all she'll ever be to him.

    Like a river flows, surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes, this love was meant to be

   It was rare to find Tetsurou at his lowest since he was usually contented with whatever happened. But they lost, unable to secure a spot at nationals.

So when she found him all by himself at the gym, she knew he needed to be cheered up.

Taking her ukulele from her bag, she started playing. Tetsurou looked up just as she started singing. "You with the sad eyes don't be discouraged, oh I realize" she kneeled in front of him, watching him with careful eyes. "It's hard to take courage, in a world full of people; you can lose sight of it all, the darkness inside you, can make you feel so small."

She continued singing to him, feeling her heart beat faster with every line. It was so hard seeing this down, it was so unlike him. He rested his head on his folded arms, eyes closed as she sang. He always loved hearing her sing.

"And I see your true colors shining through," she wished her words reached him. "I see your true colors, and that's why I love you."

For a moment, she choked up. Not intending to say those words out loud, but they were part of the song, and the way she sang it with so much emotion that the look Tetsurou was giving her made her nervous. His golden eyes stared deep into her (eye color) – filled with so much emotion, but she focused on confusion, probably at why she had stopped.

Regaining her composure, she continued. "So don't be afraid to let them show, your true colors are beautiful like a rainbow."

Tetsurou cracked a smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair playfully. "When did you get so cheesy?"

"And when did you become this uncool?" she teased back, slapping his hand away. "Are you feeling better now?"

Sighing, he leaned his back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "A little, but thanks for coming after me."

"It's not the end of the world," she tells him kindly. "and after all, there's next year. Right, captain?"

The look on his face was priceless – clearly not expecting that. But their senpai had already decided, Kai and Morisuke were on it too, as was Coach Nekomata – before it broke into a grin.

His grin was the biggest she's ever seen.

     Take my hand; take my whole life, too

'Cause I can't help, falling in love with you

  Tetsurou got mad at her, saying painful words to her face.

Furiously, he turned to face her. She took a step back in surprise, clutching her ukulele to her chest. Then her instrument slipped from her hand, landing on the ground with a loud crack. The words coming out from his mouth were hard to bear, and she could just stand there taking it all in.

He didn't mean it really, but the stress and frustrations were just getting to him. She knew that.

"You know nothing. I never want to see your face again." He seethed.

When all was said and done, he up and left.

It felt as though the life was sucked out of her. She couldn't feel anything, she felt too numb to move. It only came as a surprise that she was still there when she found herself sitting on the ground, rocks digging into her skin.

Picking up her ukulele from the ground, she was surprised to find that it was still in one piece. Except for the scratches on the surface, and crack on the rim of the saddle boards. Funny, they seemed like an allegory.

Despite it all, the pain in her heart and Tetsurou's harsh treatment towards her, she found herself smiling. Hot tears streamed down her face, teeth digging unto her lower lip as if to keep her sobs in.

But the pain of it all was too much, she was only human.

Hugging her instrument to her chest, she allowed herself to cry, sobbing loudly, body shaking violently as her heart broke into smithereens.

    She heard that they had made it to the semi-finals, being one of the top four schools, which shouldn't be a surprise. Actually, it was secondhand information from Kenma. Right after what happened with Tetsurou, she decided to cut ties with anything associated with him, which was basically everything – the volleyball club, Kenma.

It was something she had to – no, something she wanted to do.

No matter how much it killed her.

           "Hey, let's make a little bet. If I win, you go out on a date with me."

"And if I win?"

"You won't ever see me again."

          Gentle strums silenced out the lull machines, the dripping of liquids. Faint scents of flowers and fruits hid the overly sanitized room, with walls too white and dull.

"But I can't help," her voice was quiet, low, eyes transfixed to her fingers on each string on her ukulele. "falling in love," a lone tear slips down her face, though a smile graced her lips. "with you."

In front of her, the television displayed the live coverage of the nationals - Nekoma won against Fukorodani, and then lost to Karasuno.

She smiled, hugging her ukulele as tears slipped freely.

The memory of the bet they made when they were younger came to mind, making her smile. That was such a long time ago, Tetsurou probably forgot all about that just as he forgot all about her.

"Don't worry, you won."

Now you won't ever see me again.

          He was surprised when they came back to school, she wasn't there. She was the first person he looked for since she was absent during the whole finals match. But she wasn't anywhere to be found – not in the library, the music room, the club room.

He had a promise to keep, and an apology to make up.

So it came as a surprise to him when his classmates' expressions turned grim at the mention of her name. Some had begun to cry, some looked away, nothing was making sense.

But one word was clear to him – cancer.

He turned to his best friend, who met his gaze. For the first time in his life, he saw anger in those usually stoic eyes. He knew then that he knew, he always knew. There was also pain, pain for his best friend's condition. And for (Name)'s sake, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Without a word, he ran, as fast as he can, ignoring the calls from his classmates, teachers, teammates. He had to get to her. He had to apologize; he didn't mean what he said. He wanted to see her, hold her, tell her he was stupid and an idiot-

           But he was already too late.

[phoebe-delia]

Phoebes did you notice that most of the song prompts are odd numbers? I just think it's kind of neat! But for some lovely chaos in the stats, let us please have song no. 10? Also your doing this is a wonderful gift to the world and I adore you so so so so much

@rockingrobin69, Robin, my darling, hello. First of all, I'd noticed that the first ten or so were mostly odd numbers, but after you pointed it out, I realized how many odd-numbered ones I'd done! How funny. Also, before I get to tell you what song you've selected, I want to say that you and your writing are the true gifts and the feeling is very much mutual, my love. I cannot thank you enough for your constant love, support, and friendship. I absolutely adore you. <3

Another funny thing, Robin, is that you've managed to now select two out of my top three all-time favorite songs by Taylor Swift. (song prompt 3 was, ironically, my 3rd favorite TS song: "it's time to go.") But here, you've requested song 10, which is my number 1 favorite Taylor song of all time: "All Too Well."

The trouble is, I've already written one fic to this before. But no matter! I will persevere. This is technically a sequel to the original fic, but you don't have to have read it to understand this one! It is highly likely when the 10-minute version of All Too Well comes out that I will write a fic to that, but since it's not out yet, here's this. CW: post-breakup, potion/substance addiction, bad coping mechanisms, potions overdose; but there's a hopeful/happy ending!

Paralytici Memorias means "paralyzed memories" in Latin, if Google Translate is to be believed. And finally, an enormous, gigantic thank you to my big sis @avenueofesc for making this coherent and much better.

It wasn't a substitute by any means. It would never replace what it was made to mimic. In some ways, it was hopelessly inadequate.

But it was all he had: just the potion and his memories. If Draco's mind insisted on torturing him by reliving the best moments of his life in sepia-toned images, at least this way he could delay the crushing reality a little while longer.

Paralytici Memorias was his greatest triumph and biggest mistake. At first, he blamed it on completing his due diligence; every good potioneer should know and test the effects of their potion.

But then one test turned into two. Before he knew it, Draco spent the better part of his days coming in and out of deep periods of sleep, reaching for the vial every time his eyes opened to the sight of his empty flat, his engagement band on the coffee table next to him.

He wondered what Astoria would say if she could see him now. If their current level of communication as soon-to-be-weds was any indication, their marriage contract was more of a business venture than a romantic one.

After all, as long as he had a pulse, sperm for insemination, and a sound enough mind to sign over half his vaults, he'd have done his duty as her future husband as far as she was concerned.

"You'll forget about me, I promise."

His own words—written on the parchment he'd sent off with his owl before he could stop himself—were burned into his memory. He still remembered the searing pain in his chest as he promised the love of his life that what they'd had could be forgotten. In breaking Harry's heart, and in shattering his own, his only consolation was knowing that Harry would be happy eventually; that Harry would move on and find someone with the freedom to love him the way he deserved, someone who could offer the intangible riches in which Draco had always been impoverished.

As he reached for the vial that afternoon, it was to remind himself of the priceless love he sold for the price of his heart.

The potion’s effect was hazier than a Pensieve, but this way he could see the memories from his own point of view; could relive it in his own skin. Still, his mind couldn't do justice to Harry's eyes, the bright sound of his laughter, the warmth of his skin.

They were in Harry's car, the name of which Draco had never bothered to learn, too terrified and fascinated by the contraption. He yelped when Harry took a hand off the wheel to grab Draco's shaking one in a reassuring squeeze.

"Hands on the wheel, Potter!"

"I've got it under control, love. You watched me put the protection spells on the car myself, and it would be perfectly safe even without them. I promise I won't let anything happen to you," Harry said without an ounce of condescension.

Draco exhaled shakily, "If you say so."

"I do. Now, why don't you tell me a little more about where we're going?"

"Have you forgotten already? Honestly, Potter, your memory is abysmal."

"I haven't forgotten. I just like hearing you talk."

Draco valiantly didn't blush. And while he described the beauty of the Cotswolds, he found himself mesmerized at the red and orange leaved trees that lined the road as they drove out of the city and into the peaceful countryside, with its steady beeping noise.

Wait…that wasn't right. Why was it beeping?

"Potter, there's something wrong with the car."

"Draco?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tight before he opened them, blinking as the unfamiliar room came into focus. He could feel his pulse pounding in his head as his mind raced in a heady mix of confusion and anxiety. What happened? Why wasn't he in his flat?

"You're in St. Mungos."

Draco's head nearly snapped as he turned to look at a pale-faced Harry sitting in the chair next to his bed. Near Harry stood an unfamiliar woman scribbling on a clipboard. She reached over onto a side table and handed Draco a paper cup. The water was cool, a relief for his parched, sandpaper throat.

"Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel?" She asked after he handed the cup back to her.

Draco closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning. "My head is killing me and I'm dizzy, but I'm okay. What happened?"

"Your fiancée found you unconscious in your flat. We completed a blood test and couldn't match the substance to anything we know—"

"I invented it," Draco grumbled. "Where is Astoria? Harry, what are you doing here?"

The healer pressed her lips together. "I'll leave you to gather yourself for a few minutes, but I'll be back soon to ask you more about that potion, and next steps from there, alright?"

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Healer...?"

She smiled. "I'm Healer Rostova. Press that pager if you need something, but otherwise, I'll be back in a little while." With that, she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Draco turned to Harry, who regarded him with wide, worried eyes. "What happened? Why are you here?"

Harry bit his lip. "Astoria found you unconscious on your couch. She brought you here and then she, well...She called me."

"She—what?"

"She called me. She said you were in the hospital, and I didn't really think much beyond Apparating here."

"Why did she call you?"

"She said you were...talking in your sleep."

Draco blushed. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry let out a humorless, breathy chuckle. "She figured it out, I think. She said to tell you that she's having her parents terminate the contract."

Draco closed his eyes, letting his head thud against the headboard and then instantly regretting it, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain. "Great. I bet Mother's furious."

"She'll come around."

"You don't know that. You don't know her."

"No, I don't, but hopefully she'll want you to do what makes you happy."

Draco clenched his jaw and looked away. "Happiness is easier to manage when it's artificial. I ran away from the only thing that ever brought me close to real happiness. I can't handle it."

"Then let's manage it together."

Draco closed his eyes, kept his head turned.

"Draco, look at me."

Slowly, Draco forced himself to look at Harry, opening his eyes to let the other man see the tears beginning to well.

Harry's expression was as pained, yet kind. "Do you have any idea how agonizing it has been to miss you?"

Draco's chest seized, sharp with regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought it was what's best for both of us, I—"

"Shhh," Harry leaned forward, rubbing a soothing hand over Draco's. "We'll make it okay. We'll figure this out together, alright?"

Draco kept his eyes open, let himself enjoy happiness in full color. "Okay. Together."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[solarwonux]

20.  “Give me a kiss please.”

college!hoshi x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, friends to lovers (kind off) and suggestive towards the end. also i didn’t edit this lol

note: Enjoy, I’ve been slowly trying to get back into writing again. I had been in a slump for a while now, so I apologize if my work hasn’t been up to parr as of late, also idk i feel like im slowly changing my writing style or something lol. Anyway, once again let me know if you liked it, I really really do read everything and all comments that I get means the world to me. I’ve talked long enough so enjoy>xx

masterlist || drabble game

In your years of young adulthood and college parties where the smell of sweat and alcohol lingered in the air, you had never once come across a drunk person like Soonyoung.

He had started drinking or pregaming as he put it, since two. It was now almost twelve in the morning, he was god knows how many drinks in and possibly the most annoying person you could ever encounter.

“Hoshi get the fuck off me.” You groaned in your equally as drunk state and tried to push him off. You weren’t sure how many drinks you had downed since you had joined in on his pregaming, but you knew for a fact that you were in a far better state than your best friend. At least you weren’t trying to kiss everybody and anything.

“Give me a kiss please.” He whined puckering his lips and bringing his face close to yours. You yelled and tried to push his face away but atlas your efforts had been deemed as unsuccessful when he managed to plant a wet disappointing tequila filled kiss against your cheek. “That was the worst kiss ever!” He protested, looking at you through his eyelashes as he circled his arms around your waist.

“Then go kiss someone else Soonyoung.” Your voice was laced with anger. Your tone falling upon deaf years as he rested his check against your shoulder. As much as you tried to pry him off, you couldn’t because his hold on your body would only get tighter.

“Everyone here has sucky lips, I like yours.” He said lowly and if it weren’t for the fact that Seungcheol had rudely cut off Seungkwan’s third attempt of the same song he had been drunkly singing for the past fifteen minutes; you wouldn’t have heard him. But you did and you couldn’t deny the way your heart had started to race. “Also don’t call me by my full name it makes me feel like your mom, and you’re not.” He finished and raised his head. His glistening eyes met yours and they quickly traveled down to your lips before he sighed and unraveled his body from yours. He sat up again, his back hitting the extremely uncomfortable grey couch, crossing his arms in front of him like a child. He acted like what he had just said wasn’t revolutionary and just the obvious when in reality you were losing your shit on the inside.

“What am I to you then?” The question traveled through your closed lips faster than you could stop it. You mentally wanted to slap yourself for asking such an obvious question.

The two of you were friends, had been friends since middle school and had surprisingly kept in touch in high school, until graduation. The summer before your freshman year of college you had lost touch and you assumed it was simply because life was changing faster than you could process it that there wasn’t enough time to keep a friendship that could’ve blossomed into something more. In all honesty it was a surprise when you had walked into your University cafe for the first time one morning during your second semester of your college, that you recognized the cute cashier everyone had been gossiping about for weeks now.

The look on his face when he saw you was priceless, the exitement radiating off his body as he tried to patiently take your order. His questions about everything he had unfortunately missed, without giving you enough time to answer. He had paid for your coffee using his employee discount to apologize for not reaching out sooner. Your friendship picking up right where it left off like nothing had happened, except for the fact that your feelings for him never managed to go away.

“You’re my best friend of course.” He threw his head back and sank further into the couch. His confession hitting you a lot more differently now that you were possibly drunk out of your mind. “But I want us to be something more. Only if you want to of course I don’t want to do things you’re uncomfortable with especially because I know that you don’t have feelings for and like Min-”

His long meaningless speech was cut off by your lips as you kissed him swallowing his words. Soonyoung had never once been caught off guard in his twenty four years of life, but there was always a first time for everything. He let himself relax and closed his eyes, relished in the way your lips felt against his and finally kissed you back. It was slow at first and with a lot of caution until he realized that you weren’t going to pull away any time soon and kissed you back harder with ferocity that could only be blamed on years of secretly pining after you.

The wolf whistles around them started along with an old slow song that he was sure his father had once played for his mom after a fight, asking for forgiveness.

Your arms snaked up his body and hooked around his neck only pulling him close and his hands found present against your waist. Finally, after sensing your lack of air, you pulled away. Soonyoung’s smug face resembling the red solo cups his drinks had once been in.

“Sometimes you talk to much.” You whispered and placed a chaste kiss against his parted lips before pulling away and standing. Soonyoung groaned his arms slumping down at his side, his body going into what he had once read could be withdraw as he was already missing your touch. The same touch he had gone years without experiencing.

Love was a dangerous, he concluded.

“Come on baby boy, I don’t think I want audience for what I really want to do to you now.” You leaned over grabbing his hands that were openly resting against his jean cladded thighs and pulled him. He stumbled as he tried to come to terms what you had just confessed. He could feel the exhaustion form earlier being webed away as you guided him away from prying eyes and down the hallway that led to the rooms.

“Wait are we going to do more than kiss?” He stupidly asked when you opened a vacant room and guided him inside. You shut the door, locking it before pressing your body against his,

“Only if you want.” You toyed with the buttons of his hidious tiger printed shirt, patiently waiting for his go ahead. He threw his head back mumbling out a prayer before locking his lust filled eyes with yours.

“God, I don’t think I could say no, I’ve only dreamt of this day a couple hundred times and now that its here, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but underneath you.”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

four letters.

a/n: 1/10 of stories I was initially hesitant to post. not glorifying adultery, just an idea i got from this song.

part: 1/3

pairing: miguel galindo x elena

warnings: themes of adultery. not really smut in this part, it's literally a paragraph?

summary: they met when Miguel's family would visit during the summer. each summer vacation was a mixture of stolen glances and moments. time has passed, and summers are no longer theirs. every time he leaves Mexico, he leaves her with a promise. one day he'll be hers--and only hers. years in and Elena must decide if what she feels for Miguel is love, or something else.

words: 1.9k

Diamonds.

Universally, they represent love. A promise of commitment. A priceless gift you give the woman who has your heart. A gift with the power to project the facade of happiness. A gift with the power to distract even the most intelligent woman from her man’s past mistakes.

And for that reason, diamonds are Miguel’s favorite gift to give.

Each call to his jeweler inspires a substantial chunk of change and a customized gift. The said gift is invariably dressed in a black velvet box, sealed with a golden ribbon. Delivered to an office in Sinaloa on the same day, always two months apart.

Always accompanied with a neatly penned note. A date, time, and location. Short and to the point, signed M.

It arrives two days before him. The need to reschedule, or the mention of a conflict in scheduling, never allowed.

Each delivery carries the same false promise.

One day, my love.

This time, his promise comes in emerald green.

Pressed and shaped into glimmering flowers to accent the black dress she wears. Although the dress itself is a beautiful work of art, fitting as though it was designed just for her, no one is focused on Elena’s dress.

Their focus is on the dollar sign hanging from her neck. It’s impossible to miss. Only so many people, in Sinaloa, could afford such a beautiful piece. With her long dark locks pinned, to rest at the top of her head, Miguel’s necklace is on full display. Paired with her beauty, it is distracting. So distracting, no one notices the matching hairpins.

"You look beautiful as always."

Her heart flutters. A soft smile brightens Elena's face as a familiar warmth trickles down her spine.

A soft kiss ghosts the curve of her shoulder, Miguel's smile coming to rest against her cheek.

“I see my gift suits you well.” His touch lingers against the curve of her neck, pausing to trace the petal of an emerald flower. The smile on his lips is one of admiration, his playful eyes briefly lifting to meet hers. “It seems you’ve attracted the attention of the entire restaurant.”

“Don’t sound too surprised, Mr. Galindo.” Elena’s eyes roll, the grin on her lips causing his to grow. “You’re acting as if this is something new. People always stare at me.”

“Trust me, I know. It's not something I particularly enjoy."

“Too bad,” Elena smiles, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. “I like it when people stare at me, and you are late. You’re lucky I didn’t leave with someone else.”

“Nicholas…” Miguel reads from the baby pink card.

The question in his tone is barely audible, bogged down by something Elena has never heard--at least not from Miguel. It is hard for her to pinpoint. But as she pushes her heels aside, she’s almost certain it is jealousy.

She rounds the corner to find Miguel standing in the center of her kitchen. He has stripped himself of his jacket the white fabric draped carelessly across the back of a nearby stool. His back remains to her as she crosses the room. He does not turn to acknowledge her, even after she drops her purse to the countertop before him.

His focus is no longer on the message.

Ellie. Congratulations on the promotion. We should celebrate. Until then--enjoy your favorites. x Nicholas.

His attention has shifted to the vase of lilies and peonies. A mixture of pinks, white, and corals. A fresh take from the white roses Miguel typically sends.

"These are your favorites?" His thumb gently rubs the petal of a lily. His brow arches as he glances in her direction. "How come you never said anything?"

Elena's eyes lift from the hairpins resting in her palm. Shaking her curls loose, she lets off a tiny shrug.

"The roses are always very beautiful, Miguel." Standing on her toes, she places a kiss against his cheek. "I really appreciate them. You know that."

The words of reassurance are not enough to divert his attention. The soft kiss she leaves against his cheek earns her a glance.

“I didn’t realize you were...seeing anyone.”

“You mean, aside from the man who only comes to see me when his schedule allows?” The slight roll of her eyes tightens Miguel’s jaw. “Because that would be ridiculous.”

She ignores his expression, reaching around him to retrieve the card. She returns it to its original resting place.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Miguel states this as if it is a fact. “Not when you spent the last hour talking about us over dinner--.”

She can’t stop it. The laugh she releases silences Miguel. It is not a sound typically directed at him. It is a sound that makes his skin crawl, eats at him deep inside. Sparks the need to prove himself. It's a feeling he's hated his entire life.

“I’m sorry,” Elena clears her throat, the smile remaining on her lips as he focuses his scowl in the direction of the lilies. “It’s just. I thought we didn’t do that.”

Miguel chooses not to respond. Instead, he focuses on undoing his cuffs. He knows she’s right.

They don’t do that--share personal details about their lives. Or probe for them. In fact, at this point, they’re typically already undressed--the idea of talking about their lives the last thing on their minds.

Elena watches Miguel’s gaze return to the bouquet. They study the flowers before passing over the darkened living room. Searching for other intrusions, signs of another man, that were not here during his last appearance.

“Come on, Mikey,” she sings softly. The warmth of her palms brings his gaze to hers. “Did you come all the way here just to ruin my weekend?”

The corner of his lips turns up. His gaze drops, following the path of Elena’s touch. It drifts down the chest of his shirt pausing to undo the buttons.

“Because I thought you came because you missed me. Isn't that what you said on the phone?” Her lips press against the curve of his jaw, her smile growing as his lips instinctively move to meet hers. She giggles, turning to grind back against him. “So, show me how much you missed me.”

His response is immediate, his hands pressing into the curves of her hips. The weight of his chest pressing her body forward and towards the closest stable surface. With her heels abandoned, her weight shifts to her toes. She stumbles forward in a clumsy attempt at maintaining her balance. She gasps as the chill of the marble countertop presses against the heat of her cheek. A perfect contrast to the hot and heavy hands pushing up the skirt of her dress. Their first exchange is always the same. Quick and messy. Both focused solely on satisfying the need that has built up in their time apart. The note is fresh in his mind and fuels his movements. Bruise his fingers into her hips, leaves her breathless as he sets a pace that nearly splits her open.

Elena can feel the warmth of her cheeks slowly creeping throughout her body as she concentrates on the task at hand.

"What?"

Instead of lifting her gaze, to meet the ones watching her every move, she tries for a second time to tug down the zipper of her dress.

Miguel doesn't speak. Instead, he motions for her to turn around.

The silence, which falls over the darkened kitchen, is a part of the routine. One that lasts long enough for their pulses to taper off. For their highs to drift away, opening their minds to reality.

Elena focuses on the glow of moonlight on the marble before her.

She breaks the silence, her words soft as she tries to press out any sign of hopefulness in her voice. Sounding eager about any aspect of their arrangement has never turned out good.

"Are you leaving tonight?"

The room is quiet, Miguel's fingers pausing for the briefest of seconds. He shifts forward, ducking down to allow his lips to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Not tonight." A soft smile finds his lips as she glances over her shoulder at him. "It's your birthday tomorrow. I wouldn't miss it."

She can't suppress the smile that spreads across her face as his lips press against her cheek. His eyes drop to the watch on his wrist as she turns to face him.

“Looks like we got two hours before it's officially Saturday," he chuckles as her arms wrap around his neck.

"Is it too early to start with my birthday demands?"

His response is a soft kiss, his hand drifting to the nape of her neck. It's a kiss that melts her body into his, knotting his fingers in the softness of her hair. By the time he’s pulled away, her pulse is unsteady. His lips brush against her forehead, his touch lingering against her skin before he takes a step back.

"I'll start the bath." He grins, his eyes drifting towards the wine across the room. “Get a bottle or two, and join me.”

“I’ll be up in a minute.”

Her eyes close as his lips press against her forehead. They remain closed as she listens to his footsteps track through the quiet house. They soon fade out as he reaches the top of the steps, and Elena allows her eyes to open.

Her breath catches, her teeth tugging at her lip as her fingers gently brush against her neck. She finds herself standing before the mirror at the base of her steps. Her eyes pass over her reflection, lingering on her disheveled curls, the flush of her cheeks, her swollen lips, the hazy green glow from the moonlit flowers against her skin.

Her fingers comb through her hair, gathering the locks and pushing them over her shoulder. Unlatching the clasp, she carefully places the necklace on the countertop. She leaves it alongside the emerald hairpins. The breath she takes is deep. Her lungs hold the air until they begin to burn. With the weight of her necklace gone her shoulders fall, feeling weightless, as she exhales.

The excitement of his admission bubbles in her stomach, her hands clasping together as she forces herself to take a second breath. This time, as she excels, the excitement slowly deflates.

Getting your hopes up is foolish, Ellie.

Elena turns and crosses the dark kitchen in search of wine.

She retrieves two wine glasses from the cabinet. She pauses, elbows resting against the countertop, as she studies the bottles of wine on display against the cream backsplash. Her fingers stop short of her bottle of choice as a faint jingle fills the quiet room.

Abandoning the task at hand, Elena naturally retrieves her purse. The rose gold iPhone she finds inside is silent, screen pitch black. The ringing is louder now. Her head turns, her brow furrowing, as she looks towards the white jacket draped across the back of the stool to her right.

There is a brief moment of hesitation. A voice of warning--telling her "leave it"--in the back of Elena's mind as she reaches for the jacket.

A silence falls over the room--a blessing in disguise. It is her out. The reminder for Elena to adhere to the promise she made herself the moment she met Miguel Galindo.

Never snoop--never bite off more than you can chew.

What is the saying about curiosity?

With the touch of her finger, the screen illuminates. It reveals a missed call from Emily Galindo. It is not the name that gives Elena pause, but the photo behind the notification. A photo Elena has never seen or anticipated. A photo that breaks the fantasy Elena has spent the evening willingly participating in.

The fantasy typically lasts a few more hours. The one where they both pretend Miguel doesn’t have another life he has built outside of her. A life Miguel's never provided insight into. A life Elena has never asked--nor searched--for details on.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been blindsided by what all his life across the border entails.

The round brown eyes staring back at her own are innocent. Accompanied by a head of dark curls and soft cheeks. The blue top the infant wears matches Miguel’s jacket.

Miguel wears a smile--a distinct smile. The smile wore by every proud father.

One day, my love. I just need time.

The soft plea echos through her mind. It is the same he has whispered each departure when she has asked him to stay--even if just for an hour longer.

Time.

It’s all he’s ever needed. And all she has given.

The arrival of a message paints Elena’s kitchen in a blue glow--breaking her haze of confusion surrounding this new revelation.

Hope you made it safely. Call me when you’re settled. Love you.

Elena's stomach tightens as she rereads the message.

She jumps, her body scrambling to catch the phone as it nearly slips through her fingers. Miguel’s voice drifts down the stairs.

“Need help picking the wine?”

“No--it’s okay. I'm coming.” Elena shakes her head, returning the phone to its original place. She replaces the phone with two wine glasses, mindlessly grabbing the closest bottle.

mayans tags:

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[rainydaydream-gal18]

Star Wars - Boba Fett x Reader: Eyes of Starlight

   Author’s Note:  Wow, am I late to the Boba party, or what?  Back when Mandalorian S2 was brand new, tumblr blew up with Boba Fett, and I was so down for that, except the majority of the fics I came across were smut, so I didn’t get the Boba content I was looking for.  Alas, I finally decided to write my own smut-free Boba moment.

In this, Boba is younger in this than in the Mandalorian.

Warnings: Action, a fight scene, nothing graphic in my opinion.  Reader does encounter intruders, so if that is a trigger then be cautious.

   The evening was anything but quiet, yet it was the lack of silence that made it so peaceful.  Bugs and frogs chirped a sweet song of the warm spring that had arrived.  You stood barefoot on the balcony off your room, hands resting on the railing as you enjoyed the time alone.  The moon was only a sliver, but the lack of blue light made it easier to see the sky of stars.  One in particular was twinkling many colors like a cut gemstone reflecting light.

   A pair of eyes that held a similar gleam flashed in your mind.

   You shook your head.  The one who those eyes belonged to was the last person you wanted to be reminded of.  He could be so smug at times.  Annoying.  Sometimes even condescending.  Most of the time he was gruff, but every now and then he’d wear a smirk that got under your skin even when you couldn’t see it behind helmet of his.

   He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; a fact that he would not let you soon forget.

   You thought back to one of your earliest exchanges with him months before, when you nearly collided with him in the hall and he regarded you with a raised brow as you waited for him to step aside as most of your guards usually did.  He hadn’t moved.

   “You know, around here it’s polite to let the princess pass.”

   “Princess _________,” he sighed.  “ I’m being paid a handsome credit to protect you, not coddle you while you play palace.  Besides,” he paused, shooting you that look as you stepped to the side to let him pass, “I’m not from around here.”

   His words were absolutely infuriating.

   Sure, you realized from the very beginning that this Boba Fett was not impressed by titles, and perhaps you’d been asking for it by trying to pull rank.  It was just a test, a nudge to get a feel for this renowned bounty hunter.

   That glint in his eyes flashed across your vision again.  Even though you were in the farthest corner of the estate, it felt as if he were right there with his gaze boring into yours.  It made you feel hot despite the cool breeze that ruffled your nightgown, whether the heat was from frustration or perhaps underlying feelings you’d been denying, you weren’t sure.

   A single slide of a foot on the stone balcony a few feet away caught your attention.  You whipped your head around to get a look at what it may have been only to see a figure dressed in dark clothes with their face covered, and they stood as if they had just crawled onto the surface of the balcony, their gloved hands still grasping the railing.  You let out a scream and made a dash for your bedroom, but the intruder had reached an arm out to grab and pull you away from the door leading inside.

   You recognized the insignia on his glove.  He was part of the group Boba had been hired to protect you from.  They had launched an attempt to raid the palace and steal priceless artifacts belonging to your people to sell illegally, and they had succeeded in taking a few.  For safety, you and a few other artifacts were moved to an estate of the royal family, and Boba was assigned to protect you.

    Just as the intruder tried to put his gloved hand over your mouth to prevent a second scream, Boba burst into your palace quarters.  He immediately shot at the assailant while you sank to the stone floor, frozen in place while he faced his opponents.

   More of the intruders were climbing over the railing after scaling the estate wall.  Boba fought off several of them, but they kept coming.  At one point, he had knocked most of them down, save for one he was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with and another that sought to sneak up on him from behind.

   Sure.  He could be smug, annoying, and even act condescending.  His smirk got under your skin even when you couldn’t quite see it through his helmet.  He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; and not a day went by that he didn’t remind you of that fact with his actions or words.

   You could not have predicted the fear that clawed at your chest at the sight of some low-life attacking him from behind while he was preoccupied by another.

   It was like your body unfroze and reacted on instinct.  Your hand snatched up a nearby blaster pistol and aimed it at the figure.  In a matter of seconds, the intruder was lying on the stone floor while Boba’s visor turned toward you.

   Your chest rose and fell with each breath as you stared wide-eyed at the floor.  You barely registered his footsteps as he crossed over to where you sat.  It was only when you felt the blaster lifted from your hands ever-so-gently that you snapped out of your stunned state.  It had surprised you, how slow and careful his movements were when grasping your shaking hand in his gloved one and helping you stand.  Considering how he carried on and bantered with you, you half-expected him to yank you to your feet in a quick, unceremonious way and tell you to pull yourself together.

   “Pull yourself together.”  Though he didn’t yank you to your feet, he spoke firmly through the visor.  “It’s over.”

   Well, alright then.  Perhaps you did know Boba fairly well by now.

   Firing back a retort would be useless at the moment.  Besides, you were too shaken up to try.  Instead, you focused on taking deep breaths until your heartbeat slowed to a steady pace.  After a few minutes passed in silence, you spoke.

   “I can’t believe they found us.  We took so many precautions...coming here without any guards even, to not draw attention...”

   “That’s why your parliament hired me. These scum pose a serious threat.”  He spoke over his shoulder as he walked through the sea of unconscious invaders.

   “I’m...I’m going inside.”

   He gave no reply and only knelt down to search one of them.  You released a sigh and walked indoors, sliding the door to the balcony shut behind you.  No tears fell.  No sobs escaped your lips.  You stared at the roomy bed in front of you that had been made by handmaids, not even feeling like collapsing into it.  You were still on edge and unsure of how to shake it off.

   Part of you wanted to head down the hall to the library and sit quietly with a warm cup of (favorite hot drink), but what felt like an invisible steel cable kept you from wandering.  You didn’t like the thought of being too far away from Boba.  Just in case.

   So you settled for pacing around the room idly, your mind running through the event over again.  You wished you had gotten a few punches in or managed to kick the trespasser where the suns don’t shine.  You’d been caught off-guard and didn’t react the way you thought you should’ve.  Even so, it was something you could learn from.

   The door slid open, and Boba stepped inside, removing his helmet and setting it down on a side table.  You were relieved that he didn’t appear injured.  “I’ve contacted authorities.  This group will be handled from here.”

   “Do you know who sent them?”

   He gazed at you for a few seconds, and at first you didn’t think he would answer.  “I have yet to figure that out.”

   “Oh.”

   He was still staring at you, and your instincts kicked in when he took a few steps toward you.  The dim yellow light of the lamps that lit your room glowed on his face and reflected in his eyes as he neared you.  Your heart thrummed so quickly, and your body may still have been feeling the effects of the event that had transpired only minutes before.  You flinched when Boba raised a gloved hand.  It wasn’t a fast or sudden movement, but when he saw your reaction, he paused nonetheless.

   Still spooked, you sharpened your tone in irritation.  “What are you looking at?”  That’s when the emotion finally crept in your voice.  Your vision blurred with the forming of tears as your face twisted in a look of frustration as you returned his gaze with a new fire.

   He didn’t look the slightest bit phased, but you noticed his expression lost some of its intensity.  Boba reached up again to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, carefully angling your face toward the mirror on the wall to your left.  You saw the eyes that haunted you each day and the man they belonged to staring at your reflection.  Then, your gaze traveled to his gloved hand and up to your own eyes which gleamed in the lamplight.  Finally, they rested on a splotch of blood on your cheek.

   Your hand immediately reached toward it, but Boba caught your wrist with his other hand.  His gentle touch kept surprising you.  It was very different from what you’d expected.

   “Do you have supplies for this?” he asked.

   You simply gave a nod and extricated yourself from his light hold to retrieve the first aid you kept tucked under the bed.  His eyes never left you, and you caught his gaze as you walked back over with the small box.  Boba had removed his gloves by the time you found a disinfecting swab.  He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger so delicately before taking the swab and dabbing your cheek.  The sting was mild, but just enough to make you wince.

   “Hold still,” he told you.

   “You know, I am capable of doing this myself.  This isn’t exactly in the job description of you protecting me and the artifacts.”

   Boba didn’t respond, only leaned in to inspect the minor wound.  You didn’t want to allow yourself to enjoy the moment, but there was no stopping the way he flooded your senses and filled you with a sense of calm.  His masculine scent put you at ease, and the way he treated you so carefully as if you were made of glass evoked a quiet sigh from your lips.

   When he was done, there was only a trace of the scratch that needed a few days to heal.

   “There,” he stated, retracting his hands.  You immediately missed the warmth.  Even so, you maintained your composure as he leaned in once more.  “Is there anything else I can help you with, Princess?”

   “N-no.”

   “Really?”  That smirk touched the corner of his lips as he took on an almost intrigued expression.  “No complaint?  Not even a comment?”

   “Well-” you began, and he chuckled.

   “Ah, there it is.”

   “Now you won’t get to hear it.”

   “Fine by me.”

   You sighed.  “I was just going to say you should let me tend to your wounds.  There’s no way you walked away completely unscathed.”

   He paced over to where his helmet still sat on a table and knocked at it with his knuckle a few times.  “It’s called beskar.”

   “Alright then,” you tsked as you began to put the first aid supplies away.  “Your loss.  Let me know if you do need anything after all.”

   His brows perked again.  “There might be one thing.”

   You paused before tucking the first aid box under your bed.  “What’s that?”

   “I do feel a little sting,” Boba said.  “Right here.”  He gestured to his lip.  You rolled your eyes, but humored him by bringing the box back over and leaning in to get a better look.  There were a few scars, but definitely nothing fresh.

   “A sting?” you repeated, taking another step.  “I don’t see anything.”

   “Maybe you should look closer.”  His eyes gazed deeply into yours, and you found it nearly impossible to look away.  So you didn’t.

   Not until your lips were on his.  Then, you let your eyes flutter shut.

   The kiss was, like his manner toward you before, gentle.  Only after you relaxed into it did he kiss you back more firmly, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his armored torso.  When he did pull away, you nearly chased his lips with your own before you remembered yourself.

   You had been the one to close the distance and kiss him.

   You kissed Boba Fett.  He had kissed you back.

   Your handmaids and some security arrived on the scene, and Boba left you in their care without a word.  Sure, he was annoying and smug sometimes.  This man had been a mystery to you for the months that you’d spent under his protection.  At first he had regarded you with similar annoyance, but perhaps things had changed.  Perhaps you had started to grow on each other through the banter.

   You hadn’t anticipated this.  You hadn’t thought that you’d care for the bounty hunter so much.  It was only after the kiss that you were finally able to accept your feelings.  They went beyond professional, even beyond mere attraction.  Did you dare to venture into the territory of love?  You weren’t quite sure about that yet.  All you knew was those eyes, his voice, and now his kiss, would haunt your dreams.

[rosyfingereddawnn]

heart of gold (chapter one)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse, misogyny, description of (past) injury, just... absolute fuckery

words: 3.3k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: so. this is a nice little period piece, because what else am i gonna do with the history degree i'm studying for. please note that the views of one mr. bennett (and friends) are not my own. hope you enjoy :) feedback, as always, is appreciated!

masterlist

playlist

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Nightgown swaying in the soft breeze of a crisp fall morning, Florence stands outside the door of the ornate music room. Notes of beautiful melancholy and bitter hope filter softly through the wooden door, slightly ajar, a broken barrier to the outside world.

Looking through the small crack, Florence gazes upon the face of her friend and confidante, John Paul Jones. Too enthralled in his playing to notice the distraction, he never lets up, heavenly melodies echoing against the marble walls.

John was rather short, thin, with straight tawny hair that framed his strong jaw, softening his face. His stormy gray eyes and high cheekbones give the immediate impression of royalty, of which he was not. A lowly servant of the master of the gorgeous manor, Mr. Allen Bennett, John’s time was divided between his seemingly never-ending list of chores and his music.

An orphan from an early age, John was adopted into the local church and took what little knowledge of the piano that remained from his childhood and put it to good use. Listening to the man playing now, it is apparent that he had kept this skill sharp.

“That is a beautiful song, John,” Florence giggles, a beaming smile on her face at the sight of her friend sitting at the sleek grand piano. “I would appreciate you teaching me to play this well, though I know that my lovely husband would rather die than to see me touch a single key on this beautiful instrument. The bloody bastard.”

“Ah, what lovely words from a lovely woman… Florence, I don’t necessarily disagree with you, but I’m not sure we should be insulting your husband in such an open space.”

“John, my dear friend, I do apologize for my sharp tongue, but I believe it is warranted,” Florence says, taking a seat beside John, smoothing her lace nightgown. John’s fingers still press softly on the piano keys, as he plays a simple tune. “I’ve seen the way he treats you and the servants. As much as I wish to change this for you and the others, I am powerless. This is the only way I may hope to keep my sanity.”

“Very well,” John says, a soft laugh punctuating the end of his sentence. “Though I hope, for your sake, that he doesn’t catch wind of this, or else we are both in trouble!”

“John, pardon me, but I do need to take Florence off your hands for now.”

John’s hands pause, the room falling into silence.

A soft voice belonging to one James Page filters through the open door, interrupting the moment between the two friends. A lean man of average height, with a shock of long midnight curls and eyes a kaleidoscope of colour, James Page is yet another servant indebted to the cruel Mr. Bennett. Whereas John tends to steer clear of the man, and subsequently, punishment, James witnesses Bennett’s anger much too often. Unwilling to submit to Bennett’s furious dictatorship, he often receives the brunt of the man’s mistreatment.

Upon entering the music room, a dark bruise is visible, blossoming on the man’s eye, surely another ‘reward’ for his defiance. James sends the pair a shy smile, and with twin looks of concern, John and Florence take in the state of their friend.

“James! My goodness, your eye looksー”

“It’s nothing, John.”

“Nothing? That certainly looks likeー”

“It is nothing that hasn’t happened before. Please leave it, Florence.”

“A-Alright… What did you need, James?” Florence says, absentmindedly twiddling her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Well, my friend, a certain someone is going to be requesting your presence very soon. I thought it best to warn you ahead of time, so you can prepare.”

With a smile thrown to John over her shoulder, Florence bounds over to her raven-haired friend, hooking an arm through his. James, comfortable with the casual touch of the woman, leads her to her room with a final wave to John.

Navigating through the maze of grand halls of the manor, the wealth of the owner is more noticeable. Shades of red and gold flirt with rich browns, lit by immense crystal chandeliers. Priceless paintings adorn the walls, trapped, much like the lady of the house, in embellished shining frames, just expensive enough to throw shadows on the pain and suffering that happens under the surface.

Not yet rid of the worry that James’s beaten appearance had brought her, Florence unlinks their arms. Ensuring the door to her bedroom is shut, she pulls James closer to her with a hand on his elbow. Her other hand flies to his face, assessing the damage done to it.

“James, I am aware that you do not wish to submit to my husband. That is your choice to make. I will stand by you, always.”

“I appreciate this, my friend.”

“But you must be careful. You don’t know what he is capable of, and neither do I,” says Florence, a grave look of concern gracing her features. “James, I need you here with John and I, not 6 feet underground in an unmarked grave. I know it is not in your nature, but please do try and be careful?”

“I will try,” James’ hand raises, landing in his long dark hair. Raking his nails across his scalp, his lips lift into a crooked smirk. “Though this is an interesting development.”

“Pardon me?”

“The wife of the madman has a heart. And I thought this trope was only found in the books shelved in that gigantic library of yours.” James’ chuckle echoes across the grand hallway. Usually filled with suffocating silence, the halls of the manor serve as another reminder of the terror that fills its occupants. “Now, I understand that you have afternoon tea with Mr. Bennett and his mother, so I will leave you to prepare.”

And with that, the stubborn servant is gone with a click of the closing door.

Minutes later, Florence, finally dressed in a ruffled scarlet dress, a sunhat perched on her head, reaches out to turn the doorknob.

A second too slow.

The door is opened from the other side, and the woman is met with the face of her husband, mouth contorted into a permanent frown.

Allen Bennett was a short, burly man, with close-cropped hair and dark eyes. What he lacked in height he made up for in power and prestige, swindling people out of their money in back alley deals at night, and running the city as mayor by day. This man is not to be crossed, and he knows it. Everybody does.

Gazing at his wife with disinterest, he scoffs, immediately glimpsing the beautiful dress she is wearing. His eyes almost glow in their anger.

“Hm. I thought I had told you that dress looks atrocious on you before. Take it off right this instant. You are not a whore, my love, so you will not dress like one.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Wonderful. I expect you in the foyer in 20 minutes, not a minute later. We must attend a meeting with my mother. I am sure you have been notified of this.”

“Yes, dear.”

With a quick peck on the lips of his wife, Mr. Bennett is gone, and the unfortunate Ms. Bennett feels as though she can finally breathe again. Changing into a sky blue number, she is struck by the thought that this cannot last forever. This treatment of the servants and of Florence herself. The control this vile man has over everyone. The unhappiness and unease he supplies wherever he goes.

This simply cannot last, can it?

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

“Florence. Are you listening, dearie?” A grating, sickly sweet voice breaks the woman from her reverie, a storm in her sea of dreams. Florence takes a sip of her tea and smiles apologetically at the older woman across from her. The woman, satisfied once more, launches into a tedious story about her shopping excursion the day before. Feigning delight at the tale, Florence’s eyes travel around the sun-lit tearoom, with its gleaming surfaces and tall, gold-lined ceilings. Truly a beautiful creation.

“... And, my son, as I was exiting the shop on St. Thomas’s Street, you know the one…” Florence catches the eyes of her husband, glaringly angry as per usual, and at this, she realizes the older woman had paused in her story once more, shooting her an irate scowl.

“Mrs. Bennett, I must apologize for my inattention. My mind was indeed elsewhere, I am terribly sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, girl. Does my son deal with this offensive daydreaming as well? If he does, we must fix this immediately!” Mrs. Bennett titters, cigarette dangling precariously from her lips.

“Mother, it’s quite alright. You mustn't worry about this,” Allen says, leering at his wife as though she was a prize to be won. “My wife knows her place. At least I do hope she does…” The mother and son erupt into giddy laughter at the horrible joke, Florence following uncomfortably, quivering smile creasing her face.

“My goodness,”  Mrs. Bennett wipes her eyes of phantom tears with a lily white handkerchief. The woman takes a drag of her cigarette, and huffs a plume of smoke in Florence’s face. “How old are you now, dearie?”

“A month ago, I reached my 23rd birthday. Allen bought a beautifully crafted sapphire bracelet for the occasion.”

“So thoughtful, my son. You are of age, of course. May I ask when you two are planning to conceive?”

“Well, as of this moment, we were notー”

“You may still be… young, but the only use you are to us, my dear, is to create a wonderful child,” Mrs. Bennett, eyes scrunched up in mock kindness, takes the young woman’s hands from across the table and strokes her thumb across the elegant wrist. “I know you would be a very capable mother. As a result of this, I am expecting a lovely grandson or daughter to call my own.”

“O-of course… Thank you for your counsel, Mrs. Bennett.”

“My pleasure, dear. Now, my son, where was I…?” The woman says, launching into her story once more. “Ah, yes…”

Florence, try as she had, could not take her mind off of the words of the matriarch. As a young girl, she had wished to be a writer, a musician, maybe. What she had not planned for was a truly unhappy marriage to an evil man, doomed to the static life of a housewife. She had loved Allen once. In the beginning. He had supported her and her dreams, and she had loved him in return. She had loved his humour, and his chivalry. His treatment of others. This was but a ruse, of course.

A year after their courting had transformed into a union, Allen Bennett had changed. Florence had finally met the man behind the mask of charisma and kindness. She had gotten too close, and now she is stuck, like a bird with a shattered wing, unable to escape.

“Thank you for a lovely time, Mother, as always,” says Allen, placing twin kisses on her heavily rouged cheeks. “Come now, Florence, we must return home immediately.”

“Thank you Ms. Bennett, for your advice and hospitality. We must do this again sometime.”

“Lovely idea, dearie. Hopefully, the next time I will be able to finish my story without you nodding off!” Ms. Bennett drawls, smirk hanging off her lips like the fancy cigarettes she so often smokes.

Formalities over and done with, the couple step out into the fresh afternoon air and into the waiting carriage that had brought them. Once inside, Mr. Bennett shoots out a strong hand, clutching his wife’s arm in a bruising grip. She lets out a surprised gasp, caught off guard by the sudden pain dealt to her by the man.

“Florence, Florence, Florence… What on God’s green earth will we do with you?” says the man, squeezing harder with each repetition of his wife’s name. “You are incapable of paying attention. You can only dream of meeting my mother’s expectations, the way you have acted today.”

“Allen, I am tryingー”

“You are not trying hard enough! You never have! Why I married a whore like you, I have no idea.”

The vice grip on Florence’s arm grows ever stronger, and she feels wretched anger in her heart, climbing up her throat. With a gaze of fire, she retaliates. “Allen, let go of me! I have done nothing wrong, and as a reward I receive your anger and a bruise to boot!”

Gazing into Allen’s eyes, Florence is confused, frightened even, at the horrible amusement dancing in them. Quick as lighting, before she could even register the action, the woman feels a sharp pain grace her cheek, and, with growing horror, she witnesses Allen’s raised hand begin to lower.

“My dear, you must know your place in this house,” whispers Allen in a venomous tone, bringing his wife ever-closer to him. “You will stay quiet and obedient. There is no other option for you, I’m afraid. Alright?”

“Y-yes.”

“Lovely. Tonight, we must attend a play at the theatre you love so much. This is an important appearance, very good for business. Please do try not to ruin it.”

Florence nods minutely, pressing her palm to her burning cheek. A crimson streak spoils the otherwise pristine white of her glove. She had forgotten that Allen wore rings.

“You will not speak to anyone. You will appear happy and in love, the image of a perfect wife. You will dress in your best garments,” Allen rattles off, smugness dripping from his features. He’s proud of this; proud of the power he holds over her. The power he holds over everyone. “That is all I ask of you. A list of tasks that someone as useless as you could complete with ease. Is that clear?”

“Yes, dear.”

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

“Flo—”

“John, I—”

“My Goodness, your cheek! What happened?” The dulcet voice of one John Paul Jones rang through the quiet of the hall. Florence, caught in her attempt to make it to her room unnoticed, deflates and faces her friend.

“John… I’m sorry, but I do not have time to talk right now,” Florence rushes out, face pinched as she checks the time on the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer. Must have costed a million, though it meant nothing to Allen, of course. “I am attending a performance at the theatre with Mr. Bennett, and time is… of the essence, I’m afraid.”

“I understand, I truly do, but Florence… was this Mr. Bennett’s doing? You must tell me what happened.” John gestures to the woman’s cheek, which is tinted red from the force used against her.

Sighing, Florence takes John’s hand and leads him into her room, once again the door is shut and promptly locked. She takes a seat on the immaculately-made bed and gestures for her longtime friend to follow suit. John sits, smoothing out his work-wrinkled shirt, and looks down at Florence expectantly.

Taking the man’s hand, she looks into his gemstone eyes, and recounts the story of what had transpired early that day.

“After all that had happened, I was, in my opinion, justifiably angry, so I took a page, pardon the pun, out of James’ book. It seems that my beloved was not a fan of this particular chapter, and he made that quite clear.”

“And the cut? The blood on your glove?”

“I had forgotten that Allen had the propensity to wear rings,” Florence whispers with an acerbic giggle, eyes pained and downcast now. “I doubt that I will be forgetting this anytime soon.”

John meets the woman’s gaze, and notices the beginning of tears brimming her eyes. He takes Florence’s hand in his, a silent offer of comfort that she would never refuse.

“John, as much as I adore your company,” says Florence with a peal of wet laughter. He knows Florence is avoiding the subject, but he lets her. She’ll talk to him, eventually. “I must get dressed for the performance. Hopefully, after we return, I could witness some of your incredible talent on the piano?”

“Of course, of course!” John exclaims, standing now, as, once again, he gently takes hold of Florence’s hands, now rid of the soiled glove. “But Florence, before I leave… Please be careful. James and I, we couldn’t bear to see further pain come to you. Please, for us, be cautious.”

“I will do my best, John. Thank you.”

John presses a quick kiss to Florence’s cheek in passing, and exits the room, and the woman is left alone again. Slipping on a lovely ensemble painted lilac and silver, the woman lets her thoughts wander.

She’s been alone quite often lately, after all. Her only friends in the house are John and James after all, the other servants too frightened by the man she married. Florence certainly does not blame them. She can’t say that she minds the solitude either, if it gets her away from Allen.

The intricately paneled door opens with a sharp click, and Allen waltzes in, leering at his wife, as if the thoughts drifting through her mind were audible to the man.

“Ah, Florence. I am glad that you've finally learned to dress yourself. Thank God himself for that.”

Florence, cheek still stinging from the blow dealt to it earlier, has only the mind to nod and smile as warmly as she can manage. This is taken as permission by Bennett, who caresses his wife’s uninjured cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if he thought her to be precious. Florence bristles at the touch, a string of rather unladylike words at the ready, but she holds her tongue, remembering her promise to John. She would be cautious, act like the perfect wife. She would be safe.

“Come now, my love,” whispers Allen, into his wife’s ear, beckoning her closer with a finger under her chin. “We have a show to attend.”

Palm outstretched towards his wife, Allen helps Florence into the waiting carriage, uncharacteristically gentle, as he always is in public. Public image means everything, and Allen Bennett is picture-perfect in that respect.

“My love, I remember how you love the theatre. I do hope this play captures your attention.”

“As do I, dear,” Florence says, voice wavering ever-so-slightly under the scrutiny of her husband. “Though I do not know if I have knowledge of this particular play.”

“I believe it’s called ‘The Voysey Inheritance’. It details the scandals of a family thought to be perfect, polite and proper. Interesting, is it not?” At that, Allen has pasted on a cheshire grin.

Sounds familiar, Florence thinks, silently cursing her husband and his monstrous greed. If only she had known, walking into this. Known about the sides, dangerous, that he hadn’t shown until it was too late. Until she was trapped.

Finding their seats, the couple take in the gorgeous marble pillars and the ruby, velvetine seats. The shining wood of the stage is visible from the upper flights, where elite folk like Sir Bennett make themselves at home. The massive carmine curtains remain closed, shielding the growing audience from the scenes that are set to come to life. Florence has always loved the beauty of this theatre, and, though it has been years since she has last stepped foot inside of it, she is charmed anew.

The lights of the theatre dim, signalling the start of the show. Florence grins into the still darkness, excitement for the performance growing. Casting her eyes to the stage below, she puts aside her worries. She completely forgets about the vile man sitting next to her, mind filling with the orchestral opening music of the play. She is home.

The curtains open slowly, and Florence loses her breath. There, on stage, is the most beautiful man Florence has ever laid eyes on. She cannot focus on the words flowing from his thin lips, for she is distracted by the halo of golden curls surrounding the man. His romanesque nose is prominent and his eyes, stormy skies in an ocean of blue, are captivating. His curls, spun silk, bounce across his broad shoulders, as he commands the stage. The actor’s luxurious suit glints navy in the blinding lights on him, accentuating his muscled body. He is not phased in the slightest by the attention firmly placed on him. Completely in his element.

He enchants her, as though he was a wizard, and she, the poor soul under his spell. A snake charmer that she’s read about in books found in the gigantesque manor library, and her, the sin-riddled reptile under his control. He is forbidden fruit, and she wants a taste.

The performer is ethereal, and Florence cannot take her eyes off of him. She must find out who he is, somehow.

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[a-lil-perspective]

37 for the drabble song ask with Tech please! -&

[Been a hot minute since I’ve written for Tech I hope this suffices.]

Song: Souvenir by Avril Lavigne

“Can I keep you as a souvenir?”

———

Souvenir

Everybody has their favorite sounds, those lulling sound waves or classic recordings.

Yours is in the form of a certain goggled Commando.

He comes and he goes, and that is long to be expected. When he’s here, though...

These are the times you can fully sympathize with his life mission to encapsulate everything; every little sound, image, and sensation in sweet motion-capture. It’s timeless. He could prattle on forever and it’s priceless.

He’s been at it so long you’ve slumped against his shoulder, a distant fatigue pulling at the corners of your mind but you hang on a bit longer to savor his presence, your hair clings to his arm in the evening breeze, and he’s paused from relaying the extent of his recent discoveries to ask for going on the fifth time now if it’s yet time for him to stop.

You give a fervent shake of your head each time.

No you don’t want him to stop. He’s just gotten to the bits about the various trinkets he’s picked up on his travels, for fierfek’s sake. Those are always your favorite, half because you’re the recipient, and half because of the rich lore each brings. To stop Tech in the middle of his presentation is nearly unthinkable.

It feels a bit shameful to admit that the actual information is, at times, white noise. It’s his voice you’re enrapt with. The emote and sheer life behind it, the passionate tills of his words as he speaks with conviction about all the things he’s versed in. The subject to follow is simply the icing on the Uj.

You let out a little trill as you curl further into him. You turn slightly to study the side of his face. The way his lips move when he speaks. The rollercoaster his brows seem to be on as they become the exhibit of his enthusiasm. “Can I keep you as a souvenir?”

It’s a bit asinine to ask, all witty and smitten, but in that moment you think to hell with it.

“And the swirls on this one here ar—what?” He skids to a stop, an obsidian gemstone weighted in hand.

You thread your fingers through his small floof of hair, its length an actual miracle what with his torturous lengths of time spent away from any clippers or care. “You bring back all these amazing things. But it’s you I want to keep in preservation.”

“You do realize how borderline morbid that sounds.”

You snort. “Nothing you wouldn’t say.”

And ironically he has nothing to say. The look you give him helps recall a time he made a comment of similar effect. Except then, he really did intend it for scientific purposes. To the surprise of no one.

You poke him, continuing, “And you know what I mean.”

He softens. Indeed he does.

Tech clears his throat. In the moonlight, the smirk that flurries to life is downright devious. “Well you’ll have to take that up with Hunter. I doubt he will let me go so easily. I’m in high demand.”

You curl in on yourself with laughter; anyone else bleeding as much pretentiousness would’ve been socked but not Tech. The genius who knows his worth gets a pass. It’s the least you can grant him during such painfully short visits.

You gently shove away the little tug in your chest at that.

“I’m not letting you go so easily,” you rebuttal, reeling him closer to you.

Tech juts out his lip, frowning as he looks down to the small collection of rocks and other miscellaneous seated between. He looks to be debating with himself. “These will make sufficient company.”

Tech sometimes forgets that not everyone finds companionship in the masses of gadgets and trinkets and the overall inanimate.

You find yourself reminding him more often than not.

“What if I said you’re my favorite?”

“What about the collectibles I’ve procured?” He immediately reverts back, presenting almost offended if you didn’t know any better.

You roll your eyes in feign exasperation. “They aren’t you.”

“This Mustafarian gemstone is quite brilliant.”

He could be bashful when he wanted to.

You press a kiss to his temple. “So are you.”