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bi-writes · 7 months

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again and again | the mandalorian

he comes when i call. every single time.

type: one-shot pairing: the mandalorian x afab!fem!reader word count: 4.3k (quick work while i try and finish the 10k+ monster in my drafts) warnings: mature language and content, mature written sexual content, 🔞⚠️ (warnings under the cut) summary: the mandalorian is not very nice when he's jealous. but he can be nice to you. complete masterlist

concept art chosen: "envy" (2007), "jealousy" (1895)

detailed warnings: 18+ smut, size kink (reader is described as smaller than the mandalorian, able to be moved by him easily), possessive!mandalorian, soft!dom!mandalorian -> read at your own discretion

You had been here before.

Not this cantina, exactly. Not this planet. But you had been here before, in an outfit this small, in a room much too loud, feeling the glare of eyes you didn’t even know the fucking color of.

You were not quiet about your presence here. If you were being honest with yourself, you left a messy trail to your whereabouts in hopes a certain bounty hunter would follow your breadcrumbs. You had a feeling he would not be able to resist. You had a feeling that he would get a whiff of you, and not be able to stop himself from getting a peek, a glance, a taste of even just a strand of your hair or a trace of your footprint in that big, shiny helmet of his.

You smoothed out the front of your skirt as you shuffled your way to the bar. You had to elbow a few organics out of the way, but you finally had the droid in your sight, and you banged your palm against the bar counter for a refill.

If you were being even more honest with yourself, you would admit you dressed up just for him. You were in a bright red two-piece, a short mini skirt with a matching long-sleeve top made of shiny, geometric leather. Your midriff was on display, leaving little to the imagination, and you paired it with matching leather boots and an exposed thigh holster with your favorite blaster strapped to it. You wanted to put your hair up, but you had a feeling the style would only get in your way tonight.

Besides. He liked it when you had your hair down.

You hopped onto a barstool as the droid poured you your refill. You sat up straight, putting the straw to your lips and sucking it down almost entirely, letting the sugary alcohol seep into you and warm you from the inside out. You swung your feet and giggled to yourself, loving the feeling of his attention. It sent a lick of adrenaline shooting down your spine. Your toes curled, and your nipples hardened under your top, and you hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.

“Need another?”

A warm voice motioned for the droid to give you another generous pour, and you smiled brightly at the unsuspecting human taking up space on your right side. He was wearing a uniform of sorts, dark and pressed, and he had a dazzling smile. Pearly white teeth, curly locks, and a sweet, innocent face. He was adorable. Too bad you didn’t care much for adorable.

“Oh, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” you laughed, nodding as he put a few credits down for you. After another fruity refill, you were finding yourself being pulled off your seat, soft hands gripping your bare waist as he tried to coax you onto the dancefloor. Your flirtatious banter was less than subtle; you knew he had so many gadgets adorned in that helmet, and if he was going to hide in the shadows away from your eyes, then you would give him a reason to come out.

Those fingers around your waist stiffened suddenly. Instead of a warm touch guiding you to move, you felt the change your stranger’s demeanor. His palms went clammy, and he went rigid at your side. You licked your lips, your eyes shutting for just a moment as you smelled that familiar edge—blaster residue, leather, iron and something dark and tangy and his.

“Come to ruin my fun?” You asked over your shoulder. You couldn’t see well in the dark of the cantina, but the Mandalorian was a ghostly, towering figure, nonetheless. He caged you into the bar, and you realized then that one of his hands was occupied—his blaster aimed right at the boy’s middle. “Maker, you just can’t help yourself!”

You stepped in front of the blaster, the point of it pressed into your bare stomach, and his helmet tipped down just enough. You would described the stiffness of his movements as unamused. He drew the blaster back immediately, away from you, but the damage had been done. The boy behind you fled before you could blink, and you huffed out an angry sigh, glaring up at the Mandalorian. You opened your mouth to say something, but he holstered his blaster, and with that same hand, he gripped your waist tight, yanking you forward until your middle pressed against his. Your bare stomach pressed against his utility belt, soft breasts squished up against that cool beskar. You fought the chill that ran through you, letting your eyelids flutter a bit as you fell into that comfortable headspace that could only be had right here, with him, in his arms. You lit up inside, fighting a grin.

Yes, yes, yes—

“You’re taunting me,” the Mandalorian growled finally. The edge in his voice should have scared you, but it enticed you instead. Lit a fire under your feet. The Mandalorian was nothing short of the being you craved the most, and every time you set eyes on him, you were reminded how much of an effect he had on you. He was all-consuming, and you were a bunny in a trap.

“Bite me,” you snapped, but a smile broke out on your face, nonetheless. You tilted your head to the side, standing up on your toes. Even in your heels, you craned to be level with him. You tucked your fingers into his belt, pulling him that much closer. “No, really…bite me.”

You let out a light giggle of surprise when the hand on your waist slid down to grasp you under your thigh tight, the gloves doing nothing to cool the heat of his touch. One of his hands reached to smooth over the handle of your blaster, a pretty little silver gift that he had given you some time ago. The sight of it strapped on your person didn’t go unnoticed; he was rather excited with the view, if the warmth against your thigh had anything to say about it.

“Maker, you missed me, didn’t you?” You cooed softly, leaning forward to kiss the beskar of his pauldron. The tone of your voice was almost pitiful, a childish reassurance that sent a pang of annoyance straight through him. “It’s okay…” You put your hand over his on your thigh, dragging it up until it slipped under your skirt, guiding him to touch you. “I missed you, too, baby.” You closed your eyes, kissing now just under the jaw of his helmet. “I knew I could get you here by leaving something along the way for you…wearing something pretty and shiny just like you…” You mewled softly as he kneaded the flesh of your ass in one large hand. “…getting boys to buy me drinks…”

Bunny in a trap, bunny in a trap—

“You’re coming with me,” he said simply. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. An order. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pouting just a little.

“Don’t be mad,” you whined. “Or jealous. If you think for one second that I have eyes for anyone else, you’re blind.” Your fingers rubbed gently along the nape of his neck. He wore too many layers for you to feel those soft curls you adored pulling on. “If you weren’t such a stubborn piece of work, maybe you’d let me call you my boyfriend—”

A disgruntled sound left him, and his grip on you tightened. You met his visor for just a moment before realizing if you wanted any conversation of substance, you needed to get him alone, in private. You liked playing games, but the Mandalorian seemed as if he wasn’t in the mood. Most times he found you this way, he let hands wander just a tad longer so he could take pleasure in breaking their noses.

You took his free hand in yours, turning and guiding him out of the cantina. The crowd parted for you immediately, patrons not wanting to bump into the armor accidently. When you were outside in the quiet, you moved to the alleyway, covered in privacy by tall walls and dark light.

“I-I don’t know why you get so mad at me—” You started, tucking yourself into his side. He was hard to cuddle against with the rigid layers, but you wanted to be close to him. “You always get so jealous, but at the slightest whiff of commitment, you run the other way…” You looked up at him, right into the visor, hoping to find his eyes. “I miss you when you go,” you whispered. “I miss you all the time. I know what you do is dangerous, but Din—” His head tilted sharply at the use of his name, “—I miss you, and I know you miss me, too.”

You stood up on your toes and cupped the cheeks of his helmet in your hands, kissing the space where you thought his lips might be. You smiled, eyes glossy with sadness, and you sighed with relief when you felt two gloved hands slip up your short skirt again and squeeze your ass firmly, possessively. You adored having his undivided attention, adored being at the center of it. Seeing only yourself in the reflection of his helmet brought more peace to you than he could ever know. The Mandalorian was always so cool and calm and collected, and you loved that he lost complete sense of it around you.

“Say you missed me, Din,” you murmured. “Say you were jealous tonight and that you missed me.”

The smile on your face never left. The Mandalorian thought you could not look more precious than right now, waiting eagerly for him to murmur in your ear the praise you so deserved.

“I was jealous,” the Mandalorian admitted, slipping one gloved hand between your thighs and guiding those fingers against the seam of the lace there. You swallowed a bit, knowing that he would be able to feel how wet you’ve been for the last hour. “I was jealous, and I missed you.”

You broke out into a bigger smile, giggling with delight and moving to take his hands out from under your skirt to hold, but he held tight. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head slightly.

“No…” He manhandled you, turning you around and pressing you up against the alley wall chest-first and caging you in with the broadness of his figure. It happened so fast, and your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you tried to keep up with him. “I’m taking what I deserve, right here, right now.”

You hummed softly, your body turning liquid in his grasp. There was no place safer, no place more tranquil and perfect, than in his arms. It didn’t matter to you that you were out in the open, that anyone could walk by and see you. The Mandalorian would never let anything happen to you. You were safe, always. You feared nothing except for losing him, perhaps.

“You’re such a good girl,” he muttered in your ear. His modulated voice was honey in your ears. You leaned back against him, your ass pressing against the front of him eagerly. “Always letting me have what I want, no matter where we are, huh?”

You nodded, reaching up and wrapping an arm around his neck, the other hand bracing yourself against the wall. “I’m safe with you, Din,” you whispered. “Always have been, always will be. Not afraid of anything when I’m with you.” You reached down and slid your skirt up until it was bunched around your hips. “And I’m yours, whether you want to admit it or not—” You moved your hips at an angle, the hardness of him now pressed against your ass, and he stiffened, his grip on your middle bruising. “Yours to do whatever you want with…whenever you want.”

The Mandalorian grit his teeth under the helmet. It was infuriating how much of an effect you had over him, and he couldn’t even punish you for it because you were being so good. You were saying all of the right things, talking sweetness into his bones, making him feel that hot, scorching satisfaction of his claim over you and everything you were. There was no need to convince you that you were his, there was no need to remind you; in fact, it was you that was begging for him to do the one thing he had refused all this time—to simply acknowledge you.

You were so pliant. Doe-eyed and soft, gentle and easy, so small and moldable. The Mandalorian felt a warmth in his chest every time he towered over you. He was big and bad and rough around all of the edges, but nothing ever seemed to cut you. His touch only warmed you from the inside out, only had you gasping and making such pretty noises.

“Just…promise me one thing,” you said over your shoulder, meeting the visor with your eyes. He said nothing, but he smoothed a hand over your waist and squeezed you there to encourage you to continue. “Tell me I’m yours, Din—” You rested the back of your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. He brought that hand up to wrap around your throat, but his touch was more soothing than anything. “Please,” you begged softly. “I need to hear you say it.”

The Mandalorian sighed deeply, his other hand moving to unzip his flight suit.

“If you want to know why I don’t want you to call me your kriffing boyfriend—” he spat, shaking his head, and you gasped as you felt his cock hard and leaking against your back, “—you should know it’s because that title is insulting.” You whimpered as he gripped the lace of your panties and pulled, ripping it apart easily. The delicate fabric was no match for those hands, and you squirmed under his grasp. The show of strength was enough to send another wave of need through you, wetting the place between your thighs even more. With no panties to soak, you could already feel yourself dripping slowly. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your lover.” You moaned loudly as he notched himself at your entrance, hissing as he felt you immediately drenching him with your arousal. You were so wet, it was almost pathetic, but this was your Mandalorian, and by the chuckle that left him, you knew there was only satisfaction and need in the air, no room for embarrassment.

“I am yours, and you are mine—” His voice was muffled by your cry when he pushed into you, meeting little resistance as he pressed his hips into you until there was no space between you. You were tight, but so, so slick, sucking him in and squeezing him as another rush of slickness coated him. He groaned lowly as he felt you, realizing now just how much he had missed being so close to you, inside of you, intertwined and all around you. He hoisted you up in his arms, easily maneuvering you until you were right where he wanted you, full and squirming and drunk on the feeling of him. “—I could devour you here, and I would still be hungry, do you understand that?”

His voice in it of itself was enough to send you into another wave of pleasure. Deep, crackling static enveloping the roughness and neediness that he spoke of. It wasn’t a secret between the two of you the amount of times he had brought you over the edge with just his words, talking in your ear as your shaking fingers abused the soft, wet center of yourself.

My sweet girl. My perfect girl. Pretty, pretty girl, all mine, all mine, all mine to look at, all mine to touch, all mine to eat—

You moaned softly, clawing at him from behind as you tried to gain any kind of stability, but the Mandalorian was using you how he pleased, not giving you any sort of control. All you could do was cry and whimper and beg for more as he used the wall for leverage, fucking up into you. You managed to grab onto his forearms, digging into the clothed flesh there, feeling the pulse of him.

“What you mean to me…” He let out sharp groans, savoring the soft cries from you as he watched you take him so well. Your legs were shaking, your toes barely touching the ground as you tried to be coherent enough to say something back, but you were rendered speechless. There were tears forming at the corners of your eyes, the piercing feeling of the Mandalorian filling you and taking over you and consuming you almost too much to bear. He was so big in so many ways. Big enough to hold you, big enough to crush you in his arms, big enough to split you in two and put you right back together with those skilled, deadly hands of his, big enough to fuck a mark into your cunt so well that you would never ever forget that he had been there. “…mean more to me than anything in this world…wanna tie you up and stow you away all for me…wanna hide you from anyone and everyone—wanna have you every minute of every day and keep you full of me—” You squeezed him hard at the very thought, “—oh, you like that, yeah? Like that thought? Like the thought of me right here, all the time?”

Fuck, he was rambling. The Mandalorian was never a man of many words. You had seen him have conversations with just a nod and shake of his head, with just that steel glare alone, but whenever he was buried inside of you, he could never stop. Sputtering, grunting, spitting—maybe this was how he grounded himself, maybe this was how he kept himself just sane enough to not completely lose his self-control while he was inside of you.

Right here, all the time—mine, mine, mine—

You nodded, your jaw loosening and falling open in a silent cry as he snapped his hips quicker. His unwavering thrusts hit you deep, and he squeezed your throat gently before lowering them to your hips, spreading you open to give him more room to take you. There was something still soft about the way the Mandalorian fucked you. It was filthy this way, out in the open where someone could catch you, but his towering figure hid you from display. He held you tight, crowding you in his warmth. He was always possessive, but never cruel, and your pleasure came before his. You thought you couldn’t be anymore wet, but one gloved hand slipped up the front of your skirt, cupping your mound to give you the heel of his glove to grind against, your clit throbbing against the leather.

Oh, fucking—Maker—more, more more—

“Din—” Did other words even exist? Why couldn’t you form a coherent sentence? The only phrase you could muster was his name. Had his cock really dwindled you down to something so simple, so pathetic? The sounds between you were flushing you with embarrassment almost. So sticky, so wet, your thighs were glistening with sweat and your sweetness, and you nearly cried when you noticed one of his gloved hands smear his fingertips with that pretty creaminess and slip just under the lip of his helmet—

Yes, yes, yes—taste me—

“I’m gonna take you away,” he babbled. He was talking, just talking to fill the space, talking to keep himself from moaning too loud or cumming too fast, “Gonna take you away from here, keep you with me, yeah?”

He cursed under his breath, his hand finding its place spreading you open better, and his tongue was warm with the tang of you. It was enough to have him canting your hips just that much more, the tip of him prodding at the softest parts of your walls.

Soft, tight—she’s so cute, look at her, nothing there but me, all me, can’t think of anything except for how good she takes it.

“Yes, Din, please—!” You begged, your hands gripping his forearms harder and nails digging in hard to hold yourself steady. “Please, please, please—wanna be with you, please…”

“Shhhh…it’s gonna be alright,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna tease you today, don’t worry…gonna give you what you need, yeah?”

You nodded, gripping onto him tighter and grinding down against his hand, feeling the dull ache in your belly become sharp and buzzing and hot. Sex with the Mandalorian was always messy, but you were soaking your bodies, the wet squelch echoing in the alley and giving the Mandalorian an audible reminder of just how cockdrunk and dizzy and absolutely crazy you were for him. If you could eat him alive, you figured you just might.

“Know you’re close, yeah?” He panted. “Give it to me. You’re mine. Need you to show me.”

You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes tight. He dropped one arm to grip your leg, hiking it up to angle himself deeper, kissing your cervix and hitting a soft spot that had your tears falling quickly down your face. He was so good at this, too good at this, hitting it again, again, again—Din—right there—please—! Sheer, rippling, hot pleasure trickled down your spine, feeling so hot that your blood ran in your ears and your legs gave out underneath you. Like always, the Mandalorian caught you, holding you up so he could pound you through your orgasm. You could hear the thick wet of your release smearing between you, reaching up to grip the back of his neck and force him close.

“Inside me, Din,” you whimpered. “Need to feel you…”

He’s so warm, he’s so big, he’s mine, I want more—

“I know, I got you—”

You relaxed when you felt him, frantic thrusts and deep grinds as his cock pulsed and emptied and branded you so tenderly. You mewled happily, nuzzling back into him. His arms wrapped tightly around your middle, holding you close, and you hummed softly. The coming down was always sweet with the Mandalorian. The way he would press you to him, no space for air between your bodies. If the Mandalorian could fuse you to his beskar, you figured he would. You would let him, if only it meant he would take whatever he needed from you always.

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” you mumbled in a daze. Your mind was still fuzzy, your vision trying to straighten itself out as it basked in the rush of sweetness and calm and utter pleasure that seeped into your very bones. He brushed your sweaty hair back and off your shoulder, letting his heartbeat steady as he held you. The Mandalorian was the only thing holding you up straight, but you knew he would not drop you. “Were you serious, Din? About taking me away?”

He pulled out of you slowly, soothing you with gentle fingers through your hair as you winced a bit. You could feel the warmth of him slowly making its way down your thighs, a familiar, aching feeling that you wished could stay.

“Yes,” he murmured. “My ship is in the landing bay. I have more than enough room for you.”

The Mandalorian carefully moved your skirt back into place, slipping the cowl out from his chest plate and draping it over your shoulders. Something fluttery and nice settled in your belly at the gesture, and you were grateful that his hands didn’t leave you, still settled against your bare midriff and squeezing there absentmindedly.

“Why now?” You asked gently. “Every…every other time I’ve asked, you…you’ve refused.” You sniffled a bit, and he brought a hand up to wipe your tears. Tender, sweet, apologetic. “You never let me come with you before. You…you always…you always leave. Why is this time different?”

The Mandalorian tucked your head into his chest, smoothing a hand down your back.

“I guess I just can’t be away from you anymore,” he said simply. He took your hand in his, but you realized quickly that you had to hold onto his arm for support as you followed him towards the landing bay. You smiled up at him as you walked.

“So…does this mean I can call you my boyfriend?” You joked, biting your lip cheekily. He reached down and gripped your ass tight, squeezing it harshly for good measure.

“No,” he clarified, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. You picked up your pace when you saw his ship in the distance. You had been on his ship before. You had enjoyed many nights there, tangled up in warm sheets and small spaces. You planned to take full advantage of your new privileges in it. Before you could make it inside, the Mandalorian tugged on your hand gently, bringing you to face him. You smiled up at him, and he kept a hand busy adjusting the fabric around your shoulders.

“I just need you to know that you didn’t have to tease me this way for me to come get you,” the Mandalorian said lowly. “I know I hadn’t given you any reason to believe that I care for you more than…” Your eyes lowered a bit, a little sheepish, but the Mandalorian cleared his throat. He put his fingers under your chin and lifted your gaze back to him. You couldn’t explain the feeling, but you knew you had his eyes on yours. “I would’ve come for you. All you had to do was ask.”

You stood up on your toes, leaning forward until you could put your forehead to his. You closed your eyes to savor the kiss, and he followed easily.

“But did you like it?” You asked playfully, holding back a laugh. You felt the tips of his fingers playing with the hem of your tiny skirt, and he let out a low hum.

Teasing, little girl.

“Yeah…I liked it.”

#my kinktober contribution ig 🫶#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagine

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darlingshane · 7 months

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Bartering 101

Dark!Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Summary: Shane drives a hard bargain.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Dub-Con, BJ, Sexual Coercion, Degradation, Pet Names.

Word Count: 807

— Read below or at AO3.

A/N: Following AO3's tagging system – I chose not to use certain warnings to avoid spoilers. By clicking 'keep reading' you accept that you're aware of the mature and possibly triggering nature of those themes.

Shane Walsh is an asshole. That’s a fact. You were warned before knocking on his door, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

You needed to use a radio, and Eugene's was completely on the fritz. So the only alternative was to barter with the ruthless scavenger in the compound who had the only working radio that wouldn’t be intercepted by The Commonwealth.

“Save those for another time, sweetheart,” he waved off the ammo box you brought, rubbed a palm on his buzzed head before throwing back a glass of bourbon.

“But Dixon said-”

“Don't care about what Dixon said,” after placing the glass down on the table, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt. “My radio, my rules.”

“What do you want then?”

His lips curled into a vicious smile while his hands moved to unbuckle his belt, “your mouth.”

“That's ridiculous, Walsh. That wasn't the deal.”

“Like I said, my radio, my rules. Tell me, sweetheart, how bad do you need to use it?”

“Not that badly,” you scoffed, throwing the ammo back into your bag.

“Are you sure?” He sauntered in your direction with his fly half undone, forcing you to back up until your back touched the wall.

His hands braced the wall on either side of your head, caging you, as you gulped down the lump lodged in your throat and let the bag in your hand thud on the floor.

He licked his like lips, tilted his head to the side while you took a moment to consider whether it was worth it to accept his disgusting offer. The truth was that you really needed to make contact with your friends that traveled outside the walls. You had information that could save their lives, and couldn't leave his fucking apartment without using the damn radio.

For a second, you entertained the idea of picking up the knife in your belt, shoving it in his neck and letting him bleed out before dragging him out to the woods at night. But Shane Walsh didn’t mess around. No matter how skilled you thought you were, he had the upper hand and wouldn’t hesitate on crushing you like a bug before you could draw your blade.

“I work at the hospital, I could get you pills. The good kind.” You tried one more time.

“Uh-uh, I already have my eyes on something else,” He cupped your chin using his thumb to tug on our lower lip. “C’mon, I’ll make it quick, sweetheart. I promise.”

Swallowing your pride, you let your back slide along the wall until you were down on your knees.

“Attagirl. I knew you couldn't say no to a cock with lips like those.”

“Go to hell,” you gritted between teeth as he whipped out his half hard erection in front of your face and waved it like a flag.

“Already there,” Shane scoffed, pumping his hardness a couple of times before haphazardly shoving it into your mouth without a warning.

His bulbous head was already wet when it pried your lips open. It immediately made you sick to your stomach when it touched the plane of your tongue.

You had to remind yourself that it was for a greater good to keep your jaw slacked instead of biting his thing off.

“Hey! Make a fucking effort here, or there'll be no radio,” he scolded, grabbing harshly on your chin.

You inhaled deeply, wrapped your lips tighter around him, and bobbed your head for his pleasure. He grew firmer as you did, and you tried not to gag when his head grazed the back of your throat.

“That's it. That's the stuff,” he lewdly grunted, looking down on you, pushing his fingers in the hollow of your cheeks. “Good God, look at you. You're such a little whore.”

Admittedly, being degraded in the right situations always turned you on. In a case like this, you hoped it wouldn't happen. You tried your best to keep your composure, but for whatever fucking reason your body wasn’t immune to his power play, and soon you started feeling that tingle that brought some wetness between your legs.

You hated that.

Digging your nails on your thighs, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to focus on your own arousal but his. You could tell how much he loved it by the lascivious taunts, and those swollen, throbbing veins that pulsed hard between your lips.

“Oh, Jesus Christ! Keep your head still, sweetheart, I wanna fuck your mouth now,” he gripped at your hair, and kept the back of your head pressed against the wall as his hips started pushing relentlessly into your mouth as deep they could. That time made you gag. He didn’t care, he kept going. Forced his load deep in your throat and didn’t pull back until you swallowed every drop.

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh #twd fanfiction #shane walsh smut #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut #fanfiction #smut #darlingwrites #dark!shane #kinktober #my one and only contribution to kinktober #😅

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summoningspark · 4 months

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so i may or may not have printed out the entirety of @anonymousalchemist's amazing fic like a bird, like a stone onto three Very Large pieces of paper.

you might be asking, why, fay? why did you print out an entire 53k fic for a video game you've never played? well you see, if you read it, you would understand.

#bg3 #tavsilkpax #for real though i'm going to do some Analysis #literary. artistic. statistical. character. all of those.#listen i can't draw and can rarely write. so my contribution to fandom is gonna be whatever weird shit my job enables me to do #and sometimes that is printing out an entire fanfiction so you can highlight names in different colours and look for Patterns #Publisher is a little bitch and tried to crash so many times while i was formatting this to print #didn't want to render a measly 54 000 words at once #astarion #tavstarion #bg3 fanfiction #i may never be free of my Silk Derangement Disorder #something about this boy just Grips me

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shootingstarpilot · 7 months

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I see a lot of posts expressing frustration with the fanon idea that certain highly competent characters (yes, this post is about Obi-Wan, but I've seen others) can't take care of themselves and need others to bully them into eating, sleeping, etc.. While I totally get that frustration, I personally very much enjoy that trope. I've been trying to dissect why I enjoyed it since I saw those critiques, and I think I finally managed to put it to words.

(Disclaimer: I live in the United States, so my discussion about healthcare is operating in the framework of the man-eating trash fire that is the American healthcare system.)

I am a busy person outside of fandom. I recently completed a cross-country move. I'm damn good at my job and I love what I do, but it's hard work and a lot of it is on call. I have bills to pay. I have paperwork to fill out. I have messages to send and more messages to reply to. I have a life that is full of things I don't want to do. We all do. It's part of existing in society.

I am also chronically ill.

We live in a system that is actively hostile to putting your own health first. The healthcare system is impossible to navigate even if you are feeling the very pinnacle of health and wellbeing, and good fucking luck trying to do so when you're sick. Good luck trying to go to work and pay your bills and fill your tank. Good luck trying to do your paperwork and cook your meals and clean your apartment. Good luck trying to muster up the energy to respond to the well-meaning communications of friends and family.

But here's the thing- you still have to.

The rest of the world doesn't stop when you're sick. The rest of your life doesn't pause when you need it to. Sometimes you have to sacrifice sleep to make it to a doctor's appointment, or skip breakfast to make it to work on time. Every one of us, to some extent or another, has had to sacrifice what would be best for our health in order to stay functional in this fucked-up, capitalistic, carnivorous society.

So I think my preference for reading and writing fics like the ones I mentioned at the beginning has a certain level of wish fulfillment to it. Someone who is competent and good at their job and has an extraordinary level of responsibility on their shoulders sacrifices their own well-being to keep the rest of the world going-

And someone else makes sure they eat. Someone else makes sure their health gets tended to. Someone else makes sure they sleep, and that the world doesn't fall apart while they do so.

A lot of times, we don't get to make those decisions, or we feel guilty when we do. In reading fics like these, I feel like I get to outsource those decisions- outsourcing self-care, if you will. You don't have to feel guilty about putting your own health first, because you're not making the choice to do so. Someone else is.

It's okay. Get some rest.

#my life is also full of things and people that i love don't worry #it's just interesting to think about this sort of wish fulfillment #if anyone else wants to contribute thoughts please do #i'm sure someone more eloquent than me could put this better #outsourcing self-care #fandom #obi-wan kenobi #ao3 #fanfiction

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aimasup · 13 days

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throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

#why yes I have been reading some phenomenal fanfiction lately #a lesser me would be agonising over my inability to ever come close to matching the #masterfully characterised works of these talented WORD WEAVERS #but envy is a spoilt housepest and we must spend less time unleashing it upon new targets #instead let's talk about how these fics discovered its possible??#to write Val as not only a 3dimensional character but a deeply horrifying person to WITNESS #to depict how he thinks and what he wants and what he contributes to the people around him #while acknowledging that his actions are supremely messed up #also without dumbing whatever the fuck is wrong with him down to just 'can't do math and needs a sippycup'#those jokes are funny but he's also a dealmaker #he doesn't need to be studied under a microscope! he needs to be gawked at in abject horror! Oh the Potential!#he needs to tell us more about how depraved hell can be by linking us to a portion of the culture full of the dead who cannot die!#anyways. rant over. uh I think I like valentino now? in the same way I like the old man villain from hunchback of notre dame.#just. (gestures) what is this dude. ew. oh my god #my post #personal stuff #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #is this anything #again I am entrenching on dangerous territory of 'expectations for this media I consume'#he really doesn't need to be written all shakespearean-like #too attached mayhaps #delete later #honestly worried that if the show does reveal his backstory or whatever it'll try to paint him in a sympathetic light #and then the online arguments will be a headache for a month #villain with tragic backstory ≠ sympathetic villain

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cable-knit-sweater · 2 months

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Before The First Light

Rating: T Word count: 884 words Tags: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, nightmares, minor injuries, Steve Rogers needs a hug, (light?) angst

Written for @catws-anniversary || March 26 prompts: on your left, PTSD, endurance

He’s running.

Steve’s running so fast that even with the serum coursing through his veins, his lungs are starting to burn with the strain of exertion. He barely pays any attention to the bullets whistling past him, dodging and weaving to avoid them, almost just on instinct. It is on instinct. There isn’t much time to think about anything but getting out.

The place is a fucking maze though, so it’s taking longer than he’d planned. So much for that damn song, he thinks, almost laughing at the irony. So much for being the man with a plan.

He presses on, through endless corridors twisting and turning, Hydra soldiers hot on his heels. Steve thinks that maybe they’ve finally figured it out, judging from the screaming and cursing. That he’s just a diversion so the other Howlies could go to work.

By now, they’ve definitely set the place to blow. By now, Steve should’ve made his way out.

A bullet grazes his shoulder, but he tries to ignore the searing pain as he pushes himself harder, his heart hammering in his chest.

Suddenly, he’s outside, the building exploding behind him. He’s hit with a blast of air, pressure, heat, but it just propels him forward faster. There’s still no time to think.

There’s more cursing and shouting. This time it’s not in German though.

It’s in a heavy Brooklyn accent, his favorite in all the fucking world.

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Are you tryin’ to get blown to pieces? For fuck’s sake Rogers!!”

“Just brushing up on my German,” he yells back as he gets closer and closer to the source of the cursing and shouting. “You know, they’d call you an Arsch-”

“Don’t you even think ab- fuck, Stevie, watch out! Three at your 9 o’clock!”

Steve twists and turns to the right, still running towards the treeline that Bucky is shouting at him from. He doesn’t slow down or turn back - he’s made that mistake before and gotten an earful - as Bucky takes out the Hydra goons with his rifle.

He doesn’t slow down or turn back until he gets to Bucky’s position. That’s where he draws the line. Steve’s not ever going anywhere without him.

By the time he comes to a stop, Bucky has taken care of the last stragglers, and Steve collapses against a tree.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Bucky grumbles as he drops down from a tree branch. “What the fuck?”

They start running again, side by side, Bucky on his left like always. There’s no benefit in sticking around. There might be more Hydra soldiers out there, and the other Howlies will definitely give them shit if they take much longer catching up to the group.

“Hmm.”

“I was this close to coming in and dragging your ass out. Did we not have a plan?”

“I was fine. I am fine, stop bitching, Buck.”

Bucky pushes his shoulder against Steve’s, and he winces. Of course, Bucky notices. “Fine, huh? I’m thinkin I should just tie myself to you so you don’t go runnin’ off making stupid ass decisions.”

“What makes you think I won’t do that with you tied to me?”

“Good point,” Bucky huffs. “You’d probably enjoy it, and then you’d just drag me int-”

The rest of his sentence gets cut off by a blood curdling scream. Steve’s heart stops. It’s Bucky.

****

Steve jolts awake.

He’s drenched in sweat, his senses still reeling. A little disoriented, he scans his dimly lit room, heart hammering against his ribcage, the image of Bucky lying motionless on the ground, blood staining the fabric of his uniform, still seared freshly into his mind.

It’s hard to ground himself. It seemed so real for a moment, like it was yesterday. But he’s not waking up in a tent in the French countryside, or on his cot back at SSR headquarters in London. He’s not waking up with-

He wakes up alone, in his DC apartment, and it’s never felt more suffocatingly small.

With a heavy sigh, Steve swings his legs over the edge of his bed. His muscles are protesting with the weight of exhaustion that still clings to him, but there’s no point in staying in bed. It’s not like he’s gonna get much more sleep now. He knows what images he’ll see if he closes his eyes.

Instead, he forces himself out of bed, switches out of his sweat-drenched clothes and into his running gear, and makes his way out of the apartment as quickly as he can.

Running - ironically, given tonight’s dream - will help. Just to have a moment, an hour (or two) to not have to think, that’s all he needs. It doesn’t matter that it’s barely light out. He’ll be at it for a while.

Maybe he'll try a different route today. Make his way south towards the Potomac, run a couple laps around the Mall before it’s run over with tourists.

Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. The sunrise over the Mall will make a pretty sight. Not enough to dislodge the dream still haunting him, but he doesn’t think anything ever will be.

He doesn’t take much time to warm up, even if he knows he should. Soon enough, he’s running full speed.

He’s running.

Steve’s running fast, but his lungs don’t burn. His heart, though. His heart aches.

#catws10 #steve rogers #stucky #fanfiction #rated: t #maya tries to write #this isn’t my favorite thing I’ve written lol not even close #but I wanted to contribute so here we are after a long work day 😂😭#march 26 prompts #ficlet

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harryforvogue · 1 year

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harry and mia on their first vacation together <333 smutty because it's harry and mia duh! 2k words

***

The first time Harry and Mia ACTUALLY go on vacation, it's months after they get back together, and it's Harry's idea.

Of course Mia agrees, but she's not quite sure what she's agreed to.

Because as far her knowledge of Harry traveling goes, the first thing to get checked in is his laptop bag. Harry has always brought work along with him, even when she was his submissive. And that always irked her, but no matter how much she used to complain about it, he never really changed his ways.

So when Harry suggests the vacation with just them two to a nice, quiet place, Mia's jaw is on the floor when Harry doesn't even take his laptop with him.

She eyes him as he's locking his door.

"What is it?" he asks, reaching for his luggage. "I said the Uber will be here in a bit. Just two minutes. I know you can wait two minutes."

"I'm not that impatient," Mia says, though she was definitely annoyed moments ago when he told her that the Uber was going to be a few minutes late. "Are you sure you have everything?"

Harry frowns, looking at his carry on and suitcase. "I'm pretty sure. Why? Are you missing something? It’s not too late to run in and grab it.”

“No, no. I’m just…confused. So you’re not bringing work with you?”

Harry blinks. “No. I’m going on vacation.”

“But you always bring work with you.”

He frowns deeper. “But I’m going on vacation.”

“Without your laptop.”

“Exactly.”

“I am just concerned.”

“For what reason, Mia?”

“Because you always bring work with you.”

“Do you want me to bring work with me? On our first ever vacation together?”

“Of course not. And we’ve done vacations together.”

“Those didn't count.”

“Why not?”

“Because I brought work with me.”

Mia suddenly smiles. She hears the car pull up to Harry’s driveway behind her. She loops her arm around Harry’s and rests her chin on his shoulder, looking up at his with innocent eyes. “So for the whole week, you’re not working? No phone calls, no emails, nothing?”

Harry shakes his head, tapping her bottom lip with his thumb. “Just you and me.”

And he stands by his word. In fact, Mia’s not sure she sees him on his phone at all for the entirety of the week aside from looking at Google Maps and researching places he wants to visit.

And the truth is that Harry really doesn’t have a lot of places in mind for visiting. He mostly looks up dinner places and cafes he thinks Mia will like. Every night, he sends her a list of them and lets her pick the best one in the morning, but aside from that, there’s no real planning on either of their ends.

Mia, however, quickly learns that she very much likes the person Harry is on vacation.

He wears loose shorts and flowy button down shirts. His hair falls onto his forehead in curtains, and he tans very quickly, the freckles on his face reappearing after quite some time. He always has sunglasses on, either perched in his hair or on his face, and despite the casualness about his attire and mood, she finds it all so incredibly attractive.

Every morning at the hotel, she wakes up to a nearly naked Harry in between the sheets. Something about hotels makes Harry needy, which is something she already knew, but the occurrence is always so pleasant. He’s all long tanned legs and golden bare chest beside her, one arm slung over her stomach, his face pressed against her hair as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful.

When he wakes up, his eyes still unfocused and curls unruly, he smiles sleepily at her, and despite how sticky it is from the sweat and humidity, Mia doesn’t mind when he kisses her softly, holding her jaw between his hands. When he showers and returns in his vacation clothing, his face smoothly shaved, Mia feels as if she’s losing her mind.

Mia watches him put his shoes on. She’s still in bed when he gets ready because no vacation will ever prompt her to get out of bed earlier than him (even though he’s also “sleeping in”). She holds the duvet to her bare chest and stares at him.

“I think,” Mia says, “that I find you ever hotter like this than I do when you wear a suit.”

“I’m always in a suit.”

“Mm. Lucky me.”

Harry looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Go get changed and pick a place to eat, yeah? It’s so late, we might as well do brunch.”

She pushes the duvet off of her and stretches, aware of Harry’s eyes on her. She walks around him, fluffing his hair as she goes. When she returns from her own shower in a sundress and her hair wet, Harry looks at her the way she imagines she looks at him.

Because another thing she’s learned about Harry during their first official vacation together is that when work isn’t on his mind, she is. Specifically Mia naked in his bed under him.

And Mia doesn’t mind at all. He’s more handsy than usual, more flirty. More often than not, the hand on her waist or back travels down to her ass, and his eyes that are usually very attentive when she speaks often slip down to her mouth or neck, distracted.

“It’s the fucking dresses,” Harry groans, reaching for her whens he comes out of the bathroom. “They’re so short.” He makes her straddle his lap on the hotel bed. “Gives me such…easy access.” To prove it, he runs his hands over her thighs, inching higher and higher.

“That’s the point,” Mia murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. His fingers grip her skin tighter when she twirls her fingers against his hair, pressing herself closer to her.

“And the bras,” he whispers, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back to expose her throat. She whimpers when he presses hot kisses to her neck. “Or the lack thereof.”

“Don’t use fancy words right now. I'm too horny to think."

He only laughs and tightens his grip on her hair. She whines again, her breath coming faster. He drags his tongue up the column of her throat, making her tremble in his lap. She’s already unbuttoning his shirt when he grabs her waist and flips her over onto the mattress.

Mia’s working on removing her dress when Harry stops her, shaking his head. “Leave it on.”

She drops her hand, letting him turn her over again so her face is in the sheets. “Fuck,” she groans, grabbing them. She hears Harry rip a condom packet, and she impatiently waits until his hands are back on her, flipping her bright yellow dress up. He doesn’t even bother taking her underwear off. It seems like he’s impatient too from the way he pushes her underwear to the side and slides into her.

Mia closes her eyes, her moan muffled into the duvet. He’s holding her hips firmly, moving her against him rather than pushing into her. She likes it, letting him do as he pleases because it feels too good to stop him.

Harry is absolutely insatiable. He needs to fuck her or make her come on his fingers or mouth multiple times a day. This will be the first of today. He woke up needing her so bad after a night of her ass pressed against his crotch, her soft sighs, and her pouty mouth, and he knew they wouldn't leave the hotel this morning without having sex at least once. Most of the time, he’s gentle and needy and careful with her, but sometimes, like now, he requires something else.

So he lets go of her waist and uses his free hand to gather her hair up in a ponytail and pull her up slightly.

Her fingers flex against the sheets, hot, white pleasure coursing through her. “Fuck, Harry,” she cries, crying out when he picks up his pace. “Always feel so good.”

Harry loves when he fucks Mia so well that she’s only able to say a few words at most, her brain barely able to keep up. It’s exactly how he himself feels, but it’s so much hotter to him when Mia tries to talk to him when he’s that deep inside of her, being that rough.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, tightening the hold on her hair. “Always feels this good when I fuck you, Mia?”

“Mhm,” she gasps. “Always. Always.”

He fucks her from the back for a while, enjoying her strained whimpers into the mattress, before letting go of her hair and slowly pulling out. “Turn over, baby.”

She does, shakily, and looks at him with so much love in her grey eyes when he leans down to kiss her forehead. He slides back into her and her arms immediately go around his neck, reaching up to kiss him again and again until it feels too good and she can’t keep up with him. She’s moaning against his mouth, kissing away all the swears he mumbles against her lips.

“Harry,” she whispers, though it sounds like a plea. He lazily drags a hand down to her throat, wrapping around it. His other hand tenderly cradles the back of her head.

“Mia,” he says back, kissing her jaw hungrily, making way up to her ear. He gives a slight bite, making her legs tremble. He can’t hold his orgasm back, dropping his head to the pillow beside her own head, wary of the hand around neck. For a brief moment, he finds himself lost in the blinding pleasure, and when he comes to, Mia’s on the verge herself.

“Please,” she whispers, as if he’d ever deny her. He kisses her hard.

When she’s about to come, Harry drops the hand around her neck to gently thumb her clit and she cries out sharply. She squeezes him tight, making him bite back his own groan and thank his past self for getting a room with soundproof walls. She has tears in her eyes when she’s finished, and Harry gently pries her aching fingers away from his hair, which she’s gripped very tight during her orgasm.

He kisses her fingers, then her palm, her wrist, and all the way up to her elbow, making her quietly giggle. She watches him pull out, discard the condom, and return to her, kneeling beside her on the bed.

Harry gently pushes her hair out of her face, clipping the stray tendrils back again. “You’re so fucking pretty, my love,” he says, in awe. “Look at you. Absolutely insane to me how pretty you are.”

Her hair is fanned out on the pillow, her pale skin slightly red from where he held it, her chest flushed. She smiles so beautifully up at him when he runs the back of his knuckles against her cheek and leans down to kiss her again, softly this time.

“It’s the dress, I think,” she tells him, taking his hand when he helps her up. Her legs are still too shaky to actually stand on.

“Partly, but mostly it is you.”

“I, um, may need a minute before we go out. Or ten.”

“Anything you want.”

Harry makes sure she’s able to sit upright herself before he plugs in the hair dryer and kneels behind her on the bed, gently running his fingers through her damp hair as he dries it. Every so often, he’ll lean down to press wet kisses to her neck, making her shiver. When her hair is mostly dry, he’ll turn off the dryer, and hop off the bed.

He holds her chin up, grinning. “Ready to go?”

Mia nods. “Let’s go before I make you do all that again.”

He kisses her once more, so lovingly that she feels like crying. “You know I’d never mind, baby.”

#harry and mia #this is my contribution for tonight #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #now it's your turn

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hppjmxrgosg · 4 months

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Immediately gets hit with the title of the chapter

#submission #STOP THESE ARE SO FUNNY #LITERALLY CACKLING RIGHT NOW #thanks greenie #iconic as always #the last one is making me lose my mind #and i love your iphone markup contributions as always #death before inaction #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman #ao3

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yumiayumu · 4 months

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the downside of liking a new ship that’s only recently getting attention is the lack of fanfics (╥﹏╥)

#random ramblings #what do you mean there’s only 80 fics on their tag???#wanna thank the writers for their contributions cuz i can’t write shit #frieren #himmel #stark #fern #maomao #jinshi #fanfiction #ao3 #frimmel #jinmao #stern #??? is that their final ship name ???

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casdeans-pie · 6 months

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Castiel's Handprint

The handprint had been getting bolder for a while, but Dean had never seen it this colour – not since the first time he’d pulled up his sleeve at that grimy gas station. He poked at the edge of the red skin with his finger, feeling the way that it raised up slightly from the rest of his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but it looked like it should.

Dean wiped away the condensation that had formed on the mirror from his shower and twisted his body slightly so he could see the mark better on his reflection.

He wondered if the permanent scar of his best friend’s handprint magically reappearing on his body should bother him, but it didn’t really. It looked kind of badass.

Dean wiped away the condensation that had reformed.

Cas had big hands.

Long fingers.

Dean stared at it for a moment longer and then slowly brought his other hand up, hovering it over the mark.

He pressed down hard.

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

I forgot I have a tag list now <3 let me know if you want to be added/removed:

@velvethopewrites ✰ @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie ✰ @fivefeetfangirl ✰ @dreampencil ✰

#what happens next??? eyes emoji #nov 5th #destiel day #destiel #destiel ficlet #november the 5th #castiel's handprint #my contribution to destiel day !#castiel #dean winchester #destiel fanfiction #pie's projects

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1dtrickortreatfest · 6 months

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1D Trick Or Treat Fest 2023 - Masterpost

🕷🎃👻 Please find below the full list of our Halloween-inspired ficlets written for this year’s fest, each one exactly 666 words long. Will you find a trick or a treat? 🕷🎃👻

A Witch's Longest Day of the Year 4ureyesonly28 | @evilovesyou

Fa-boo-lous Halloween bluegreenish | @greenblueish

find a way (to send me a sign) we_are_the_same | @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

Fruit Bat yeah_alright | @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

Ghosted haztobegood | @haztobegood

(Harry’s) Haunted House babyhoneyhslt | @babyhoneyheslt

I See You Neondiamond | @neondiamond

In The Dark LadyAJ_13 | @ladyaj-13

Irresistible mmaree | @zqua1d

Lipstick stain fades with time lunarheslwt | @lunarheslwt

Odds Are That We Will Probably Be... lululawrence | @lululawrence

pasta-tively sweet shiptattou | @wecantalktomorrow

perfect pumpkins shiptattou | @wecantalktomorrow

she bit someone larry_hiatus | @larry-hiatus

Slow Dance with the Tension LetTheMusicMoveYou | @letthemusicmoveyou28

Sounds horrifying..... tell me more lunaticcat009 | @lunaticcat009

Still downcamethelightning | @downcamethelightnings

Summon A Demon red_panda28 | @red-pandaaa

Talking Turned To Screams babyhoneyhslt | @babyhoneyheslt

Things No-one Can See babyhoneyhslt | @babyhoneyheslt

Watch How Good I'll Fake It mmaree | @zqua1d

when love gets involved we_are_the_same | @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

🕷🎃👻 Please remember to leave all the amazing authors who contributed this year kudos and comments! You can find the collections for previous years here, here, here and here. Happy Halloween everyone! 🕷🎃👻

#1d trick or treat fest #1d fan fiction #larry fanfiction #halloween fics #fest masterpost #round 5 #thanks again to everyone that contributed #please boost

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sakuraharukaaa · 12 days

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just a short, fluffy fanfic about my baby son that I wrote in like an hour ♥♥ too lazy to publish on ao3 for now, but maybe later

word count: 1197 words

It’s the smallest things in life. The little things that slowly creep into his daily life until they become a part of his routine.

People are so adaptable, Haruka can’t help but think. It’s somewhat of a motto, though the connotation used to be negative in the past. He used to think of himself as someone durable who can withstand whatever life throws on him. He always believed that staying firm would keep him safe in the troubling currents of life. He didn’t realize that he, too, can change so much.

It starts with Nirei, who shows him a pack of tea he got the day earlier.

“It’s my favorite!” He says ever so enthusiastically. He insists on Haruka drinking it.

But I don’t like tea that much. It stands on the tip of his tongue, yet he doesn’t say it. The taste is just okay. Barely passable, if he’d be honest, but for some reason he cannot refuse when Nirei shoves the almost-full box into his hands.

He writes it off as something to put in his cabinet, a single box in an empty shelf – what a laughable idea. He can’t really drink it though, since he doesn’t own a kettle.

Suou is always too perceptive. Haruka finds it mildly annoying, especially when he sticks too close to Nirei. Something about an instinct to tell him off, to tell him that Haruka knew him first, and he shouldn’t be so chummy with Nirei.

Whatever.

That weasel approaches a couple of days later, talking about Nirei’s favorite tea, because of course he’d know about it.

“It is quite good, I was surprised.” His smile is odd and sometimes uncomfortable, but Haruka learned to live with it. The hostility wasn’t targeted towards him, it’s just a general warning. “You should drink good tea in a good cup.”

So he gives Haruka a weird mug with some calligraphy on it. It’s not legible, in no way it is, and Haruka still doesn’t own a kettle.

He mentions the kettle debacle – off handedly, really – to Kotoha, and she immediately breaks into laughter. It’s a strange noise and he’s about to comment about it, when she suddenly stops.

“Hold on, do I have an old one?” She speaks quietly, more to herself rather than to him. “It has to be an electric one.” And she leaves for the back storage room without saying a thing.

Trust her to be a problem solver, of course. She emerges from the storage room with an old, gray kettle.

“You have to be careful with the cord.” She says with a shy smile that doesn’t suit her. “If you pull too strongly on it, it will expose the wires.” And only then Haruka notices the tape around the end of the cord, a shoddy fix he assumes.

Honestly? It’s better than nothing.

So he takes the kettle.

(Haruka doesn’t even like tea, he’s more of a coffee guy.

He could make coffee with the kettle in his home, if he so desires, but it takes a long time until he realizes that. By then, he finds an appropriate excuse – he cannot make coffee as good as Kotoha’s with this old thing.

Better stick to the tea.)

The next one is Umemiya, who somehow heard about the kettle incident. Probably got the information from Kotoha by torture (read: annoying her). He thinks it’s okay to turn it into a charity case, or so Haruka assumes because he never truly understands him.

So he stops Haruka after a long, long day where nothing worked out, and his big, dumb smile is too blinding right now.

“I hear you’re furnishing your room!” He’s far too energetic and Haruka grits his teeth.

APARTMENT, not room, he almost says, and he doesn’t believe that a single box of tea and an ugly mug and an old kettle warrant the use of the word furnishing. It’s literally three items.

“I thought I’d give you this!” At first Haruka doesn’t realize what this is, until he notices that the hand holding a pot is extended towards him.

“No way.” He flat out refuses. He can’t believe he was called to the rooftop for this shit. Behind Umemiya, Hiragi is giving him a resigned sympathetic look.

Umemiya has plenty of reasons why he should take the plant – of course he does! – and at some point Hiragi exasperatedly signs him to give up.

His pride takes somewhat of a hit when he comes home with that plant that evening.

(Sugishita gave him a watering can.

That bastard actually gave him a watering can.

He doesn’t say anything but he leaves it on Haruka’s desk alongside fucking four pages of how to take care of plants.

Jesus Christ.)

It’s after a training session when he goes around the neighborhood with Kaji on a semi-patrol (more like an excuse to get candies because Kaji was running low and Haruka didn’t want to test his patience). Haruka doesn’t eat that stuff so he buys a drink at the vending machine next to the store. When he puts the change straight into his pocket, he catches Kaji’s slanted eyes judging him.

“Really? That’s barbaric.” And Haruka has to summon all of his self restraint to stop himself from saying that Kaji is the barbaric one for making the nasty lump on the back of Haruka’s head. He doesn’t need another one to match the first.

The next day, he receives a coin purse. A bit worn out at the seams, but it looks it was taken good care of. He is silent when Kaji hands him that, already knowing not to put up a fight.

Haruka, unfortunately, doesn’t like coin purses or wallets, so he leaves it on the window sill, next to the plant. It doesn’t feel like it belongs inside the kitchen’s cabinets, so the window sill it is.

Over the next weeks, it becomes worse. He gets a phone case from Kiryuu – a pink one with cherry blossoms to match his name, and he gets a huge water bottle from Tsugeura that was supposed to have some motivational quote on it, but Suou points out the English doesn’t make sense. When the other guys catch wind of that, they start giving him small things too. It is mostly stationary, but some of his classmates went to town on it. Someone gave him a small radio, which was neat and actually useful, but on the other hand, he got a fucking fork with a handle that was painted like a train. He did use it though, because no one was there to judge him for that when he was eating, and it certainly was more useful than the hot girl calendar he got.

It’s all so odd when he’s home during the weekend, and he’s drinking tea from his ugly mug and eating with his train fork and staring at the plant on his window sill. It did grow nicely, that he has to admit, and somewhere along the way, it grew on him.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to take on that offer for a second plant though.

#wind breaker #sakura haruka #fanfiction #I can't contribute much to the fandom beside writing short stuff #so here we go lmao

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