#and the cut on my hand burns with the force of a thousand suns when i do anything

[ryssbelle]

They're so silly and I love them

#my art #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #broppy #trolls branch #trolls poppy #i love these guys so much #technically #i shouldnt have drawn them #but i took a break from tumblr for a bit #and i wanted to gets something out now that im back BUT #i hurt my hand at work #cuz im a lil bit stupid #its my drawig hand #i think i hit a nerve and i know i cut my hand open #so my fingers and wrist are sore #and the cut on my hand burns with the force of a thousand suns when i do anything #dw ill still share art #cuz ive got a thousand stuff waiting to be posted still #BUT #cant make anything new #or like work on big stuff #i have an ask ive been meaning to answer with a drawing #i need to rescript it #the response i mean #i want it to be a drawing #so ye #but enjoy the broppy #i love them

[sapphicseasapphire]

IT’S ME, I’M THE FOOL.

This whole time I’ve been saying that people with God Powers TM are Marked. They all have something on their face! (Except Legend, what’s on his face is just scales, don’t be confused).

But this WHOLE TIME I’ve been drawing Sun without her Marks. Like. She’s literally Hylia. She has God Powers, she should have them. Anyway so this is my Sun redesign for real this time. Just pretend that she looks like this in my “I am Sky” comic.

Anyway so here’s some information about her under the cut.

I don’t have a big story for her like I do for Flora because Cryptid Sky’s story barely changes Skyward Sword like at all. He’s formed that the very very end, after the Goddess’s Silent Realm, so most things involving Sun remain the same.

I will say that she didn’t always have her Marks. When she was born as Zelda, her face was clear, like every other Skyloftian. But when she fell to the Surface and began a quest of her own, when she discovered her divine origins, she started to remember. She’d pray at the springs to recover her memories and her powers, and one by one, her face would be Marked.

By the time that Link had secured all of the Sacred Flames and forged the Master Sword with them, Sun was already lost. And in her place stood a Goddess.

I don’t think that people give her enough credit for all she’s been through. Sun deserved so much better, she lost her life to Hylia’s plans just as much as Link did. And when Link merged into Sky, he was merely mimicking the transformation that his dearest friend had already gone through. Sun’s soul is still split in half, still shared between herself and her Loftwing, but in that empty part of her core lies the domineering presence of Hylia herself. Her life as she knew it is over. Is she Zelda anymore? Or is she Hylia?

She loves Link SO MUCH. When she first comes out of their thousands-of-years long slumber, she’s in shock to see that he’s gone. She falls from the amber shards and lands squarely in Sky’s arms, and Sky envelopes her in his soft wings, holding her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. In the haze, she doesn’t realize the change in her dearest friend. But when she opens her eyes, she’s devastated.

As far as she’s concerned, it’s her fault. She used Link. Forced him to go on this quest, forced him into the Silent Realms, forced him to wield the Master Sword and the Triforce. She’s the reason that he fused with Aepon; she’s the reason that Link is gone.

But Sky laughs the same as Link would, relief in his eyes when she gathers the strength to stand. She holds her hand in his own, and it feels just like the hand she knows. His face is the same, for the most part: his hair is different and he’s got red spots on his cheeks, but the more she looks at him, the more she sees Link. And as they make it through the Temple together, as she watches Groose fawn over him, she realizes that he’s not gone at all.

He’s changed, just like she is. But just like she’s still his Zelda, Sky is still her Link. The guilt still worms its way into her chest, but as long as Sky is smiling, she’s able to see past it.

Sky does not smile for very long, as a certain Demon Lord shows up mere moments later to ruin their happy ending. To be honest, Sun doesn’t remember much of that night. She remembers the anger in Sky’s face as his body trembled on the ground. She remembers the cold cruelty of Ghirahim’s voice against her chest as she was carried away from her Link- her Sky. She remembers feeling so weak and helpless, cursing the Goddess- cursing herself- for being so useless.

And then all she knew was pain. Blinding, burning agony that enveloped her entire being. She thought she was dying, weightless and alone and scared.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was inside the Sealed Temple. Groose held her. Sky was nowhere to be seen.

She cried into Groose’s chest, something she never would have dreamed of doing a year ago, her head still reeling from that feeling of hopelessness, that pain. All at once, she was scared and relieved and safe and in danger. And Groose held her through it.

Sky would stumble into the Temple much later, limping and bleeding and spasming. His right arm would be totally friend and his wings would drag on the ground, feathers in disarray. He’d lean away from Groose and fall into Sun’s open arms. And when it was time to return the Master Sword to her final resting place, he’d do so with a heaviness in his eyes that’s uncharacteristic and a weakness in his body that’s frightening.

Both Sun and Sky take a long time to recover from that. And really, neither of them ever do. But as Sky starts to physically heal, Sun starts to see more traces of her dear Link. Being around her closest friend and newfound lover is healing, and after the adventure they’d had, they don’t leave each other’s side for a long while.

Sun is very protective over Sky, just like she always was with Link. They exchange Loftwing feathers (Sky gives her his own). And just five days after they’re reunited, they’re separated again.

Okay okay okay. This was less about Sun and more about Sun AND Sky, but they’re pretty much inseparable I think. From Sky’s perspective, there’s a lot of confusing feelings that I’ll get into when I actually write a fic (I’m starting a fic!), but Sun just loves him so much. I have a little comic series which is actually a collection of little short stories in a much bigger plot called “I am Sky.” The short comics aren’t all finished (and they can be read as stand alones) but the order they go in is:

“I am Sky” Stories: Pipit

“I am Sky” Stories: Groose (I’m not done with it I’m sorryyyyyy)

“I am Sky” Stories: Zelda

This all takes place after the Demise battle, when Sky is healing and has the chance to sit down and reflect. When he gets the opportunity to learn about himself, the person that his two halves made him. He struggles a lot, but these specific stories have a lot of comfort. He’ll be fine. Probably.

#the legend of zelda #my art #fanart #chain as cryptids au #cryptid lore #loz skyward sword #skyward sword #sapphire rambles way too long #cac art #links meet au #cryptid sky #cryptid sun

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 17 - Why do you run, only to let me catch you? Din Djarin x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.  Specific Warnings: PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.

Graphics made by me Thank you again to @beefrobeefcal @clawdee and @pastelnap for beta-ing! Read on AO3 Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Why do you run, only to let me catch you?

Your relationship – if you could even call it that – with Din Djarin is a complex one, and one you love to hate, or hate to love. It’s been too long now that those lines don’t really exist anymore. There’s a passion in your chest reserved only for him, but to call it love would be a disservice, what you shared with the most feared bounty hunter in the system is something much more than that.

But it’s been at least a Standard Year since you last caught a glimpse of polished Beskar, a sight that set your heart racing like a jump to light speed. You’d heard of his exploits alongside Bo-Katan , and that of his adopted son Din Grogu, and how the three of them took down Moff Gideon and reunited the Mandalorian people.

But, as much as hearing those feats make you somewhat proud of the Beskar clad menace, it only makes you yearn for him more. You’re lost in thought when the droid in front of you snaps you out of it.

“Miss?”

The chaotic roar of the casino comes back to you in a flash, you’d been deep in your own thought spiral you had cut out everything but the image of a silver-clad predator from your mind as you yearned for the thrill of the chase.

The table is looking at you expectantly as you realize you’d slipped off into a daydream, it was your hand. You study the purple skinned Twi’lek opposite you with a smirk, he’s hiding it well, but he’s panicking. You look back to your hand. You’re currently holding eight cards, between the minus 6 modifier and the rest, you’re sitting pretty at seventeen.

You could stand, and hope that your opponent goes bust but there’s no fun in playing this game safe. Especially when this is all the thrill you live for now that your cat and mouse days with Din Djarin are over.

You let your fingertips hover over your side deck, drawing out the moment as you eye up the ten-thousand credit pot on the table. You close your eyes, snatching the card from the deck and you can’t keep your poker face up when you draw a three.

The Twi’lek across from you swears and stands with such force it spills his Spotchka cocktail over the table and you quickly scoop up the credits, protecting your winnings from the hazy blue liquid. The casino hushes around you and you look up from your pile of riches to see what has everyone on edge.

Then you see him.

Shining Beskar, tattered, flowing black cloak, blaster on his hip as the lacquered black T of his visor bores into you. Your blood runs cold, then burns hotter than the binary suns when you see him. A broad smile stretches across your lips. You’re not dressed for a fight, nor a chase, with ridiculously high heels and a tight sequined, green bodycon dress that was not meant for running. Time seems to still as you drop the credits back on the table. The clink of metal-on-metal deafening in the otherwise silent casino.

Mando tilts his head to the side, just enough to issue the challenge. You take a deep breath, formulating your escape as you see him reach for his blaster.

I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.

Those first few words uttered to you as he had you pinned over the bar of a cantina on Tatooine replay in your head as you wink at the Beskar-clad menace. Heat pools in your core as you remember how it felt to be pinned by such a strong, confident man.

You kick off your heels, snatching them up before diving through the crowd. You’re sprinting through the main hall, bare feet slapping against the smooth flooring, making you slip and slide as you hear the unmistakable spur-like clink of metal on metal as Mando gives chase.

You barge through the chaos of Canto Bight, drinks fly as you blindly frisbee a tray at Mando, he bats it away with ease as he breaks into a run, forgoing the initial long, loping strides. You dash through the service entrance, following a waitress before the security door closes. The sound of Beskar pounding against Durasteel as Mando collides with the door has you grinning in premature triumph.

You slip through the halls, ducking confused looking waiters, a Bothan swearing at you as you make your way through to the back door. You break out into the neon-glare of the city and immediately slow your pace. You slip your heels back on and try to blend in with the denizens of Canto Bight.

The streets are packed, holographic screens of kids racing on Fathiers illuminate the facades of the various casinos and hotels. It’s a big race, you should know, you’ve got a lot of money on Skystrider tonight.

Maybe I’ll get lucky a second time tonight?

You think to yourself as you lament the credits you had left behind. You just know the Twi’lek you beat would have taken the winnings in the confusion.

But there was a bigger prize at stake now, one that you were determined to win.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

Mando’s modulated voice growls from over your shoulder. You don’t react, keeping up your purposeful stride as you weave in and out of the throng of bodies. The clink of his suit loud in your ear, you can feel his presence behind you like a heavy weight on your back.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me Mando, way to make a girl feel unwanted.”

You purr as you feel a gloved hand brush the small of your back, you stop abruptly, making Mando crash into your back and you cry out. You give your best performance, letting out a terrified wail that has people turning to look at the way you cower away from the Mandalorian.

“Help he’s assaulting me, please!”

You turn on the spot, clutching at your chest as you back away from him. Mando halts as his visor scans the now antagonistic crowd around him. You wink and poke out your tongue as a man steps between you.

“Hey, tin-can, leave the lady alone.”

“She’s quarry, get out of my way.”

The man looks over his shoulder at you and you give him the waterworks, eyes pleading as you fight to keep the smile off your face.

“Heard that excuse before, just because you’re some hot shot Mando doesn’t mean you can treat a lady like that.”

The other man squares up to Din and you almost hang around to watch the pissing match, but you know you must take every advantage you can get. You take a tentative step back, Mando’s visor tilting to watch your movements as the other man keeps blustering on about honor and some other chivalrous shit. You blow Mando a kiss as you slip your heels off again.

The world blurs around you as you sprint as fast as your legs can carry you, neon lights, steam from exhaust vents, people of all races and creeds whipping by as you feel your lungs burn and you step on something sharp, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay.

You hear blaster fire behind you and wince a little at the fact you might have just got an innocent man killed.

There are no innocent partygoers on Canto Bight.

You think to yourself as you reach the spaceport. Your entire body trembles from overexertion as you stumble into the hangar that houses your X-wing. Your definitely, legitimately sourced X-Wing, and definitely not the one you won from a Sabacc game with a gullible young pilot.

You chuckle to yourself at the memory, opening the cockpit of your fighter until you look around the hangar and see a Mandalorian Class Gauntlet in the next bay over.

That wasn’t there when I landed.

Your stomach drops and you hear a soft modulated huff from the hangar door. Your head snaps up and you see the silhouette of the bounty hunter illuminated by the vibrant, neon rainbow of light bleeding in from the street.

You throw your heels onto the floor and launch yourself into the pilot’s seat, you begin your pre-flight checks but none of the lights or displays come online. You sigh, laughing breathily as you realize he’s done something to immobilize your ship. You have no idea how he knew this was yours, you’re pretty sure it’s still registered under the name Antilles.

You let yourself catch your breath for a moment as the clink of Beskar grows louder with every step. You try to think of a way out of this, some distraction, or final gambit to worm your way out of his clutches, but it’s futile. You’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, you’ve got me. If I promise to be good, could you forgo the carbonite? I break out every time.”

“I’m not stupid, you’d just find a way out of your restraints and gut me in my sleep.”

You shrug, you can’t blame him for that, you did shank him in his sleep the last time you promised to be good when he caught you on Endor. You can still hear the howl of pain as you disappeared into the undergrowth as he pulled the vibroknife – his vibroknife – out of his thigh.

“Fine, but I’m not moving, you’re dragging me onto that ship. I winded myself with all that running, and I think I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You babble as you look down at the crimson liquid pooling in your cockpit. You chuckle as you feel your head spin, fractals of light crack like shattering Transparisteel across your vision as you let your head loll back onto the headrest.

“What are you-?” Mando asks as he climbs the ladder attached to the cockpit, “Dank Farrik!” He swears as he hurries to pick you up. You laugh to yourself, bemused by the way he seems to care about whether you were hurt.

“Thought you could bring me in hot, or bring me in cold?” You slur as you wrap your arms drunkenly around Mando’s neck, leaning into the cool Beskar of his chest. You breathe in the scent of Beskar, oil, and something like citrus as your vision fades to black.

~*~

You blink awake to a brightly lit hold. You hiss as the white light burns into your eyes, the sound of air recyclers humming all around you a telltale sign you were on ship, likely out of atmosphere already.

“Kriff.”

You groan as you close your eyes, you guess you’re on Mando’s ship, the Gauntlet you saw in the hangar most likely. You take in slow, steadying breaths as you try and figure out your next move. A small gurgle from beside you has you rolling your head to the side, slowly opening your eyes to the sweet little face of the little green kid Mando drags across space with him.

“Kiddo!” You cry and the little guy lights up at the sound of your voice. His large pointy ears perk up and his mouth parts open in joy as he scurries over to you, hopping up on the cot with ease and burying himself in your side as he coos softly against your chest. You smile as you feel something thin and rectangular slip under you on the cot.

“Missed you too buddy, old man’s still dragging you around the galaxy with him?”

The kid hums in a positive affirmation as he babbles away. You get hints of intention from him, like ghosts of thoughts brushing against your mind as he “talks” away at you.

“Grogu?”

Din calls from the cockpit and you sit up in the cot, the impromptu reunion with your secret best friend cut short as you watch Din freeze in the doorway to the hold.

“Get away from him.” Din’s voice is impossibly low, even through the modulator. You’ve never heard him this pissed before.

“Hey, he was the one to instigate this mutinous friendship, not me!”

You frown at the Beskar menace and cross your arms over your chest, Grogu, as you have always known him, follows suit. He plops himself down on the cot next to you and crosses his tiny little arms across his chest before grunting unhappily at his guardian.

“What do you mean friendship?”

“How many times have you gotten me this far Mando, and left me alone in your ship while you slept or got supplies?”

“How should I-?”

“Twenty-seven times, twenty-eight if we count the time I had you tied up-.”

“Naboo doesn’t count.” Din hisses as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so that you are all in some strange, mirrored standoff.

“Fine, but my point being, kiddo’s curious, and you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“I am not.”

“So, you don’t remember when we played Don’t wake the sleeping Nerf and covered you with forty-six different pieces of junk from around the ship, including the Darksaber?”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, kriff kiddo, he really did sleep through that.”

Grogu laughs, an angelic little sound that makes your cheeks burn with how much you’re smiling at him. Mando stands there, rage rolling off him in waves as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Mando?” You ask, your tone softer this time as you realize you’re more likely to push him away if you keep teasing him.

“What?”

“You ever figure out my real name?”

“Your real name? No. Why?”

“Just curious, you got my puck on you?”

“Of course.” He grumbles, as if it’s insulting for you to have even asked, before bringing up the holographic image of you. Four statements swirl around the image, and you smile as you read them off in your head.

Whyte Phantom – Thirty Thousand Credits – Exclusive contract.

The final statement is a name.

“Wanna see my identity card?” You ask rhetorically as you pull it up from the datapad the kid had slipped you before his dad came in. Din’s head tilts at the sight of it, before turning to look at Grogu who is pointedly looking anywhere but his dad.

Din grumbles something under his breath as he steps into the hold, head dipping low to read the datapad.

“But that’s? You’re?”

“I put the bounty on myself, yup.”

“Why?”

The question catches you off-guard, you don’t really know yourself, other than you thought it would be a way to ward off the crippling despair you felt every time you walked through the streets of Coruscant. To combat the loneliness in your soul that festers in the darkness of a post-Empire-pre-utopian galaxy. The galaxy that has war veterans dying of Spice addictions while places like Canto Bight prosper as if nothing ever changed.

You could say that, but you won’t, that would require inner strength you just don’t have. So, you quip instead.

“Thought it was kinda hot, having one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy chase me?”

You flash him a practiced, perfect smile and you wait for the anger to come, bracing yourself for violence or harsh words.

“Fine.”

The Mandalorian walks over to your cot and picks up Grogu, moving wordlessly as he scoops him up and takes him up into the cockpit. You curse to yourself quietly as you rub your tired eyes. You were so close to telling him the truth, revealing yourself to the most closed-off person in this damned galaxy.

You lie back down on the cot and take a look at your foot. You smile at the smooth skin, no doubt the kid has healed you with his magic little claws. You can almost hear the conversation between them, Grogu would have insisted on using the force to heal you, Din would have argued against it, you deserved to heal slowly for being such a brat.

You feel Grogu’s mind brush against yours and you get two clear feelings flash through in your mind, his dad, and the intention to speak.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, kid.

You think back, pushing your intent towards the cockpit. Grogu simply responds with a second, stronger intention, talk to him.

You sigh to yourself as you feel his little brainwaves dim as he clearly drifts off to sleep. You rub your hands over your eyes and decide to look for the fresher, and some clean clothes.

~*~

An hour later you hover outside the cockpit door, trying to decide if you should go in or not. You’re about to press the call button when the door hisses open in front of you. Mando charges through, seemingly not noticing you until he’s crashing his chest plate against your nose.

“Son of a Wompa!” You cry out as you feel your nose pop, blood gushes down your face and onto the soft cotton shirt you’d fished out from the storage bins. You stumble backwards and feel yourself pitching backwards, your head spinning as you wait for the inevitable crash of your body on the metal grating.

But Mando saves you from the fall, pulling you up into a loose embrace as he stops you from hurting yourself further.

“Maker, you’re a menace.” He grumbles through the modulator as his hands linger on your biceps.

“Yeah, well maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

“Kriff, this was a mistake.”

Din growls as he releases you and turns to walk back into the cockpit. You curse inwardly as you catch his wrist before he can move.

“Wait,” You growl, guilt and frustration making your stomach turn, “Please, can we talk?”

Din looks over his shoulder at you, giving you the perfect view of the profile of his helmet. Not for the first time you wonder what he looks like under there.

“Fine.”

You expect him to pull out of your grip – which he does – but what you don’t expect is the way his gloved hand falls to rest between your shoulder blades, steering you back towards the cot. He expects you to sit but you gesture for him to take a seat instead. He sits up straight, broad hands splayed on his knees as he follows you with his visor as you pace in front of him.

“So, I put the bounty on my head because I needed something in my life that wasn’t death, pain, suffering, or losing my mind to the poisons of gambling, Spice, and liquor.”

“Go on.”

You pause, looking down at the crimson spill of blood on the stolen t-shirt. You drag the back of your hand across the wet smear on your top lip and let out a soft sigh.

“I ran circles around the first six bounty hunters, and it was getting boring, I was considering calling it off,” You continue pacing, wringing your hands on the hem of the t-shirt that barely covers your ass, “Then, you come along, Din kriffing Djarin, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy.”  

Din is silent but you see him shift, sitting up a little straighter at your harsh words of scornful praise.

“And the chase began, you were always so close, often a step or two ahead, and it was like I was breathing fresh air after having only ever known the stale, recycled air of a space station my whole life.”

Din turns his head, the action jarring as you realize he’s avoiding your gaze, you can almost imagine him blushing under that helmet and the thought alone makes heat flutter under your skin.

“And by the fourth time, on Coruscant, you became my own personal blend of Spice.”

You stop pacing, waiting for Din to say something, anything. He sits, still looking away from you and you shake your head. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you’ve kriffed up yet another thing in your life.

But this was by far the most pain you’d ever endured, spilling your guts to a man you had no right feeling anything for. It feels like your skin is positively charged, tremors rocking you as you fight the urge to cry, your chest tight and painful as you feel the binding sting of rejection heavy and constricting.

“Look, just forget it, space me, drop me off at the nearest system, whatever. I’ll get your credits transferred now. You won’t have to see me again.”

You pull up your datapad and through blurry eyes you close the contract, the credits transferring instantly. You turn away, making for the fresher once more, you need to set your nose and clean up. You also need to cry, and you weren’t going to make yourself look any more pathetic in front of him than you already had.

Your skin is on fire, nervous sweat beading on your brow as your skin itches and tingles. Pain rocks through your body as you force the sobs down, just a few more steps and you can cry before wresting your bleeding and broken heart – or whatever is left of it – back into submission.

A Spice addiction can’t be that bad surely?

You joke morbidly to yourself as you reach the fresher door, it slides open just as you hear the spur-like clink of Beskar behind you.

“Wait.”

You halt in your tracks, heart threatening to burst from your chest as you feel him looming behind you. Two armor-clad arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against him, the cool press of Beskar on your flushed skin is blissful.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper that you almost miss it through the modulator.

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose, then we should talk, for real this time.”

You turn in his grip and look up into the glossy black “T” of his visor. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his arms are wrapping around you like the moment he loosens off you’ll disappear.

Can you blame him?

You think to yourself as you realize that every time you managed to escape, it was harder and harder for you to leave. Not because you had grown bored of the chase – no quite the opposite – you were afraid that with every time you left the chances of him giving up on you grew. One day he was going to stop coming for you.

And for a year he did.

“Ok.” You say softly as you let him steer you into the fresher, he hoists you up before setting you down on the edge of the Durasteel sink. He removes his gloves, stuffing them in the back of his belt before readying himself.

“This’ll hurt.”

Din warns you as he lines himself up in front of you. He slots between your thighs without hesitation, and you regret not stealing a pair of his boxer briefs to slip on under the t-shirt. You had thought that was crossing a line into his privacy. But now, as your bare, embarrassingly wet core is but millimeters from his crotch, you really wish you had.

“Ready?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Din braces himself a little closer again and you hiss through your teeth as his strong, warm fingers snap your broken nose back into place.

“There you go,” his modulated voice is soft as he cups your cheeks with his impossibly broad hands, his fingertips ghosting your hairline as he turns your head back and forth with meticulous care for his handiwork, “Should heal up just fine.”

He starts to pulls away from your face, but you capture his wrists in your hands. You gently pull on his wrists and guide them to your hips. His chest heaves as you hear his breathing speed up through the modulator and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel the heat prickle over your skin as your drenched core presses against his crotch. You gasp as you feel him twitch in his flight suit against you.

“What are you doing?”

 “What I should have done on Naboo.” You breathe as you gently unclasp his cloak, fingers trembling as you pull down the neck of his flight suit, baring a thin strip of tan skin. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and press a delicate, feather-light kiss to his exposed skin.

You don’t know what to expect, but the soft, whimpering moan that crackles through his modulator is more than you bargained for. You arch up into him, nipples pebbling as the thin fabric of his blood-soaked shirt does little to mute the cold press of Beskar against your skin.

“Maker.” Din whines again as you latch onto his skin, laving your tongue over his pulse point as you pull the collar down further, you nip lightly at his skin as you grind your core against him. He slowly pushes up the hem of the oversized t-shirt and as his fingertips reach the swell of your ass. He grinds forward aggressively, and you can tell he’s fully hard now. He leans back and tilts his helmet to the side in a silent question.

“Didn’t think stealing your underwear was the right thing to do.”

“So, you just decided to go commando?”

“What can I say? I like the freedom, besides the synthetic silk of my thong was starting to chafe.”

Din swears in another language, you assume Mando’a, before laughing softly, he presses the side of his helmet against your cheek, and you are reminded of the way Lothcats headbutt to show affection.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You say softly as you slowly pull away, moving the collar back up to cover his tantalizing skin, “I just needed to touch you, just once.”

“I want you.”

You pull back and look into the deep depths of his visor and you nod slowly, you place your hands on either side of his helmet, nestling in the concave cheeks. He flinches and you feel his hands twitch on your thighs, but you shake your head slowly before leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss over where you guess his lips are.

“Bed. Now.”

Din barks as he picks you up with ease, one arm wrapped around your waist as he strides through into the crew quarters. He uses his free hand to turn off the lights on the control panel next to the fresher door. The cavernous space is pitch black as Din lays you back down on the cot.

“Din what are you doing?” You giggle softly, anticipation making you giddy.

“Want to taste you,” Din murmurs as you hear the sound of Beskar buckles and plates sliding over one another. He sets them down gently somewhere near the bottom of the cot, followed by the soft sound of his flight suit dropping to the floor, “Need you.”

“Din, you have me.”

You feel him settle between your knees and Maker is he broad. Then you hear the soft hiss-click of his helmet coming off. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing the significance of him taking his helmet off in your presence.

“I won’t look, I promise,” You whisper as you feel him covering over you, his strong hands roam your body, mapping out your dips and curves.

“I trust you. You could have taken my helmet off many times over the years, and yet, you did not.”

His voice hits you like a long-lost melody, silken and sweet with a burning richness to it that makes you whine and keen up into him. Your hips roll against his length, and you gasp as his tip glides through your folds.

“Can I taste you, please?” You ask, suddenly feeling bold in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.” Din suddenly sounds bashful, and you smile to yourself as he shows you the side of him you’ve only caught in glimpses when he thought you were out of earshot. The softness he shows Grogu, the care for his adopted son. This is different, unlike those interactions entirely, but the man beneath the Beskar is finally laid bare, for you.

“I want to Din, please.”

“Anything, take anything you want.”

Your heart swells and your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. You blindly reposition, careful to keep your eyes shut, until you’re kneeling between Din’s knees. You run your hands over the thick expanse of his muscular thighs as you gently, teasingly move towards his cock.

Your hands brush over neatly kept curls at the base of it, and you smile to yourself as you use your hands to blindly size it up.

“Interesting.” You hum to yourself and you feel Din shift under you.

“What? Do you not like it? Is it too small?”

“Din, shh,” You coo as you cup his balls with one hand, making your way to the base of his shaft with your lips, “Just expected you to be painfully large, you give off some serious big dick energy strutting around in your Beskar like you own the entire Maker-be-damned galaxy.”

“So, you like it?” He huffs out, squirming at your praise as you flatten your tip against his soft foreskin, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“I think it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, pressing your tongue against his slit, circling around his tip, lapping up the pre-come before sinking down his length.

He pants and whines under you as you feel him shift under you, he cups your jaw with one hand as he props himself up on his elbow with the other. You feel his eyes on you, you expect his night vision to be pretty good at this point, but you keep your eyes clamped shut.

“You’re beautiful.”

You groan at his praise and wish you could open your eyes, to look up at him as you choke on his cock. You sink all the way down, you breathe through your nose, inhaling the musky scent of his cock and you let out a soft whine as he nudges against the back of your throat.

“Kriff.” Din grunts as he trembles underneath you, his breathing is shallow as he twitches and whines at every particularly deep bob of our dead.

“Stop.”

He growls aggressively as he sits up, moving you off his cock before pushing you onto your back. He settles between your legs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he buries his mouth in your dripping folds.

“So sweet.” He murmurs into your skin as you feel the coarse rake of facial hair on your outer folds. His lips find your clit and you cry out when his tongue licks a stripe up from your core to your clit. Everything about him is broad, his tongue laves over your swollen bundle of nerves and you near lose it.

“Din, kriff your mouth feels so good.” You pant as your hips cant up, you glide your fingertips in his hair, not thinking to check if he even had hair. You’re met with soft, damp curls that you immediately twist into your grip. You pull him closer, letting him devour you with abandon. His tongue is unrelenting as two thick fingers come to press against your core.

“Please.”

Is all you can say as you need him inside you, you’re already so close and you want to feel him inside you however possible.

“So kriffing tight.”

Din breathes incredulously as he buries his fingers to the knuckle, his lips find your clit once more and he sucks. You bite down hard on your lip as you fight the urge to scream. Pleasure assaults you like a solar flare, permeating every cell of your body in violent waves as you come hard around his fingers. You’re delirious as you sob through your aftershocks, his thick fingers finally stilling as you tremble from overstimulation.

“Can I have you, please?”

“Yes.”

You hear the lewd sound of him sucking his fingers clean before he crawls back over your body, wet fingers trail over your left nipple and you chase the touch, arching up off the cot.

“So pretty like this.”

Din hums softly as he rolls your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, making you squeal in overstimulated pain and pleasure as he lines up his tip at your core with the other hand. He eases in and you pant at the delicious stretch. He enters you with ease, yet makes your walls flutter and clamp around him as he fits you snugly.  

“Kiss me.”

You plead. His lips crash into yours without hesitation and you moan into his mouth as he starts to move, rolling his hips into you like he knows exactly how you like it. You tease your tongue over his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to meet yours.

Your tongues meet outside of your mouths, sliding over one another in a lewd dance as his thrusts pick up speed. You’re both panting hard when Din seals his lips over yours. His tongue presses into your mouth as you dig your nails into his back. You press together, skin to skin, nails digging little crescent circles in the broad expanse of his back.

Your lips part only to gasp for air before you both dive back in for more, more, more. One of your hand moves to fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, the other drops to your clit. You want to come for him one more time, you want him to feel you squeeze him tight.

“Din, going to come.” You pant against his lips and he groans as he picks up the pace, railing you like it’s the last time.

“Come for me Cyar’ika, let me feel you.”

You do as your told, for the first time in your life, and you come hard. Pleasure seeps into your very bones as fire dances down your spine. Your clit throbs as you press hard circles into it. You feel Din stutter inside you and you feel him start to pull out but you hook your ankles around the small of his back.

“Come inside me.”

You whisper into the crook of his ear as you pull him deep into you.

“Maker!”

Din roars, no longer caring about noise it seems, as he pounds into you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You’re whimpering in his ear as his desperate grunts and moans fill your own. He stills inside you, buried to the hilt as he twitches inside you, his spend coating your walls as you pant in his ear.

“Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?”

Din’s voice is heavy with concern, his breath fanning over your slick skin in soft puffs and you wrap yourself around him like an Ewok.

“No, no you’ve never hurt me, Din.”

You breathe as you nuzzle into his neck, you leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. You never want this moment to end.

“Come on, we need to shower.”

“Nooooo,” You whine, “Just a few more minutes, don’t want to lose you.”

The words escape from your lips before you can stop them; and Din huffs a short, barking laugh against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple as he pulls out.

“You can’t lose me, I’ve been tracking you for too long, I know you.”

“And I know you. Forever.”

You say, knowing those words in Mando’a means much more than in Galactic Basic. Din presses a soft kiss to your lips, neither acknowledging them nor refuting them. But there’s no rejection in his silence, just a mutual understanding that you are both in this for real.

“Five more minutes.”

Din grunts in submission as he settles on the small cot, pulling you against his bare chest as he places soft kisses to your hairline as you both drift off into the best sleep either of you could ever remember.

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[actual-changeling]

me? writing some angsty crowley fic with too many physics metaphors? more likely than i thought. y'all have me out here tapping back into my crowley emotions with those meta asks.

—

to every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

the laws of the universe are laws until they aren't, until you look closer and realise that nothing behaves like you thought it did, until there are no more laws, only assumptions. lies we tell ourselves to make sense of something so much bigger than anything we could ever hope to comprehend.

for crowley, physics is poetry is letters and words he can shape to his liking—he put the stars in the sky and started time. defying the boundaries laid upon him is his true nature, and after he did not burn on a flaming motorway and stopped satan himself in his tracks, he thought himself to be past questions, past hesitation.

then he cut himself open and watched the blood flow like an unstoppable force, staining aziraphale's pristine clothes, collecting and pooling around a sudden, immovable object. crowley waited until he was empty, until the red river accepted its defeat and seeped into the earth.

it should have told him all he needed to know, but physics is built upon hope, and so he acted, moving as he attempted to rewrite axioms he did not make but shaped.

to every reaction, there will be an equal and opposite reaction. the harder you push, the harder the universe will push back, and it did. physics is words is aziraphale's face growing cruel is i forgive you.

an equal and opposite reaction offered by an immovable object.

nothing lasts forever, try to create a perpetual motion machine, and you will fail. heat will always flow to where it isn't, hot to cold, hell to heaven, love dripping from crowley but barely melting the ice in aziraphale's irises. it will keep dripping until they are equal, until love is given and not just received.

hot to cold, never cold to hot, and you will lose warmth to empty space, watching it dissipate in the distance between two bodies as the universe leeches energy from everything it creates. after six thousand years, the world is full, and crowley is nothing more than blurry outlines and brittle matter, the last of him given by shaking hands to lips that will betray him over and over again.

the only way to stop the reaction is to stop. stop moving, stop pushing, stop looking. isolate your heart and trap what little love you have left, trap it and keep it for yourself.

crowley thought he created the stars, but they created him, and he is floating in their grasp with commandments offered to him in silver and ash.

thou shalt not—

love and be loved in return. think yourself as being above what keeps the universe expanding and the earth spinning. attempt to escape the hold of gravity.

he gave everything and watched motionlessly as aziraphale swallowed it all. name it love, name it greed, name it six thousand years of useless waiting, name it what you want, and then let it go.

to every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

only when you release your words and still yourself will you know peace, unmoving but whole, alone but warm. crowley wanted a hand to hold and pressed his palm against the unknown, expecting the sun to appear and hold him back.

to every question, there is an answer you will regret demanding, and maybe that is his final poem, the hope underneath it all, a law shaped in his image:

never stop asking, never stop looking back, and never stop running.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens ficlet

[dreadsuitsamus]

Ichigo Kurosaki x Reader Blurb 1

author's note: not entirely in line with the canon as far as timelines go, ichigo is around 22, reader is a soul reaper, angst, not entirely orihime friendly

"So what will it be, Ichigo?" Like ice frosting over grass, your voice is calm. Too calm, too quiet, too unlike what he's used to.

And he doesn't need this right now.

"What do you mean?" Ichigo feigns ignorance as bad as ever now, not even meeting your gaze, missing the way your infuriated eyes stare him down but he surely feels the hatred you're spewing.

"It's very simple." Jaw tightened so much it might just crack, your words only barely slip past your lips. "Orihime? Or me?"

His heart is doused in flames by the question. It's not a fair one, to start off, and his mind says one thing while his selfish heart yearns for your own selfishness. But his integrity as a man with morals, integrity as a friend is stronger, beating against his skull like a caged animal and roaring at the troublesome road ahead. Orihime is in immediate danger.

You, not so immediate.

"Why would I choose?" Anger begins flaring in Ichigo himself; are you really so crass? Is life not sacred to you?

He knows it is.

Your fist curls at your side, fingers itching to reach for your zanpakutō and force some sense into him, should it come to blows. Time is of the essence, Soul Society has required everyone to come back and prepare for battle! The Arrancar threat, Aizen is looming and the girl that's never defended herself once isn't at the top of your list of priorities. And on a bad day, you'd feel she's not on that list at all.

"Your life may turn out quite differently depending on this choice."

"Will it?" Ichigo's brown eyes cut sharply to finally look at you, staring you down with the heat of a thousand suns behind it.

"It will certainly depend on if I remain in it." Your heart leaps at the look in his eye. Would he really choose her? "Do you trust me?"

"I want to." Ichigo shoots back.

"We will save her when we can. You can lead the charge, if you want. But she's not-"

"If you say she's not important, then you can just go." The blood in his veins burn at how nonchalant you are, at how uncaring Soul Society is for Orihime. She's been on this journey too, right by everyone's side!

"Your choice."

"I won't let you make me choose, like this is about what I want for dinner! Orihime is our friend! She needs us! What don't you understand about that?! You'd let her suffer? Over what? For what?!"

Ichigo steps toward you, leering over you and taking your shoulder in a strong grip. "You are the one I love. But Orihime is my friend, and she needs me. And if you won't choose me, then tell me how to get to Hueco Mundo before you go."

The answer dances on your tongue, an internal ticking racing in your mind. Go against your direct orders and personal beliefs, or follow Ichigo's heart and save a girl in need of it? Keep your status in Seireitei but lose Ichigo? You don't even know if the girl is alive!

Ichigo's chocolate eyes silently plead with you, his grip like an iron vise. This wouldn't be the first time you've stuck your neck out for him, no. He's fully aware what it could cost you— but it isn't like he wouldn't come for you too. If there's anyone in this world or any other he'd protect, it's you.

"Come on." He whispers, ignoring the way his vision starts to blur. You won't look at him, and his heart sinks. "Do what's right!"

Do what's right in whose point of view, Ichigo?!

The light of a Senkaimon gate lights up behind you and panic floods Ichigo down to his very bones as the door slides open. Just as you were starting to waver! Byakuya, stern and cold as ever, though he speaks quietly, his voice cuts through the room like a bullet.

"Leave him."

The hand on your shoulder means nothing, as Ichigo feels like he's free falling now. You turn away from him, breaking free of the grip easily and walking towards your captain's order without even a second glance behind you. So easily, you'll follow this command?! He means nothing to you?

He's not so sure anymore.

The room goes dark as the door closes and vanishes, leaving Ichigo to fall to his knees. How could you do this to him?

As you walk alongside your captain, your face is stony and unbreaking even against the torment of your breaking heart.

How could he do this to me?

#ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo kurosaki x you #ichigo x reader #ichigo x you #just a little something that was rattling in my brain #i swear i don't try to only write angst #x reader #reader insert #bleach imagine #ichigo imagine

[wareagleofthemountain]

What Do You Know Of Love? (Part 1)

Warnings: grief, mention of heavy drinking

A/N: I’ve always been super curious as to what would happen had Thranduil gotten back the gems he had fashioned for his wife at the end of the movie. Here is my take on what might have occurred.

The morning sunlight came through the open drapes and flooded the dark corners of the large bed chamber in its warm embrace. He hated the way it mocked him. Every day, for thousands of years, the sun rose with the dawn and forced him to go on. Forced him to drag himself out of bed and hope that his many layers of fine robes and glamor would be enough to cover the ever present smoldering pain of the burn scars cascading down the left side of his body. But he’d have gladly traded having to live with his whole body being burned that day, for the physical pain of that would be a mere inconvenience compared to the utter devastation he faces in his soul now.

Every morning, that damn sun rises and forces him to adorn his crown, the very crown she had crafted for him. The legendary crown of the Elvenking, forged from the living trees of his once green forest. Said to bloom and change along with the seasons during the years of his rule. Even though darkness had twisted the trees into gnarled versions of their former selves without her magic present to protect them, his crown had somehow remained unmarred.

He was no king without his queen, so why would it keep on living? As far as he was concerned, his reign had ended the day he carried her lifeless body off that battlefield. But of course, every morning he would wake up, if he’d even managed to fall asleep in the first place, and put that arrogant, self-assured mask on his face as he takes the throne.

They think he can’t hear them. The whispers among guards and maids about his cowardice and callous outlook on the affairs outside his borders. When did they forget that he had been fighting battles longer than they had been alive? If he had truly not cared for his people, he would not put himself through this hell every single morning.

And then his son…

Thranduil groaned. From the outside looking in, the elvenking cut a sorry sight. Sprawled out on the cold floor of his room, surrounded by empty wine bottles. He had not bothered to use a glass. His gray robe was wrinkled, and his silver-blond hair was unkempt. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed the back of his hand across his bloodshot eyes. Using the edge of his desk to pull himself to his feet, Thranduil assessed his surroundings. He was relieved to find out that, even in last night’s drunken stupor, he had remembered to close her old sketchbook and neatly return it to its place on the shelf by the bed after flipping through it as was his ritual every evening. However, his stomach sank as his icy blue eyes landed on the intricate wooden box on the vanity.

Mithrandir’s halfling thief retrieved it while sifting through the rubble of Erebor after The Battle of the Five armies, and had it returned to him. At first, Thranduil was in disbelief that he finally, after decades of searching, held the gems in his hands. Finding those jewels, the last remaining glimpse of his starlight, was one of the only reasons he had to continue on after her tragic loss.

And now that they were here… his soul yearned for her all the more. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil felt a spark of love crackle across his long short circuited fae. Seeing the precious diamonds for the first time since attempting to purchase them from Thror had been too much for Thranduil. He was instantly flooded with sweet memories of his soulmate, the one whom the gems were fashioned for, and was startled by the explosion of uncontrollable emotion radiating from a place deep within his being where he thought void of all feeling.

Now, as he ran his fingertips over the smoothe, cool to the touch jewels, he finally found appreciation for the sun as he watched it glisten off the white gems. Their glow reminded him of her bright eyes every time she looked at him. He knew what he must do.

#thranduil’s wife #thranduil #the hobbit #the elvenking #the elvenqueen #legolas #white gems #tauriel #love #grief #mirkwood

[rietveldbrothers]

If I can't have love, I want power

a/n: me elisha and tiff wrote the most unhinged au our combined chaos could come up with for @grishaversebigbang 2023. make sure to check out the stunning art from our materialki below

Materialki: @iri-lynx (x) @hagnoart (x) and @mfrov95 (x)

Ethrealki: @dregstrash @wafflesandkruge

Summary:

Zoya didn’t need anyone. It was a lesson that had been burned into her after she’d let Nikolai into her life four years ago, and he’d responded by sabotaging her chances at Top Gun. When the best of the best are called back to North Island for a dangerous mission, Zoya and Nikolai must set aside the past and work together once again. But the heart is a tricky thing, and Zoya isn’t sure if she’s ready to let go of her grudges just yet…

AKA the love square meets top gun au with lots of pining, angst, and loaded history.

Read on AO3 or Chapter 1 below the cut

Nikolai’s breath came in short, harsh pants as his hands clenched around the controls of his plane. All he could see was the black fighter in front of him, desperately dodging and weaving to try to avoid him. He was good, Nikolai would give him that. But he was better. 

“Come on, come on,” he muttered as he watched his computer track the other plane, the target never quite steadying. The fighter dived into the canyon below and Nikolai followed, still not able to get a missile lock. The canyon walls seemed to narrow around his plane, one small misstep sure to end with him dying in a fiery wreck. Nikolai’s breathing quickened.

“Nik, need some help here!” Dominik gasped on the radio. Nikolai jerked his head up and saw two planes streaking across the sky, Dominik pursued by another enemy fighter. His heart stopped.

“Genya!” he yelled. “Help Domino!”

The fighter he was pursuing swerved suddenly, and Nikolai cursed as he struggled to follow. The enemy planes were infinitely more maneuverable than theirs, if a little slower. But he was so goddamn close, he could taste it.

“Can’t!” Genya responded, her heavy breathing making the line crackle. “Two on my tail.”

“Nikolai!”

Fuck. Nikolai was getting too far from his teammates. The world seemed to slow as he stared at the fighter in front of him, seemingly getting further and further away from him with every second. Dominik could handle himself for a few more seconds. If he stayed, he could chalk his first kill. He could scratch that tally mark into the side of his plane.

And Dominik would be dead.

Damn it all. 

He pulled up and out of the valley, the familiar crushing force settling back onto his body. 

“I’m coming,” he gasped, praying Dominik could hear him. “Hang on.”

The sky was a brilliant, unforgiving blue as he climbed higher, the air thinning. He looked around wildly.

“Talk to me, Dom. Where are you?”

“On your left! Break right, break right!”

Nikolai obeyed blindly, his body jerking against the seat’s restraints as the plane went perpendicular with the ground. To his right, he saw Genya’s plane scream past. She was giving the two on her tail a run for their money. Dominik passed by overhead with a roar, smoke trailing from his plane. Another enemy fighter followed him. 

Nikolai cursed and struggled to right his plane, but it was too goddamn slow. Time seemed to stretch out, each second an hour as Dominik got further and further from him.

“I’m almost there, Dom. Hang on,” he panted as he pushed the jet to go faster. The engine let out a warning screech.

“Nikolai!” Dominik screamed. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming—” His cockpit felt like it was burning up, the heat of a thousand suns piercing through his uniform and searing his skin, his bones—

“Nikolai!”

Nikolai bolts awake, sheets twisted around his sweat-sticky body. Dominik’s screams echo in his ear. His heart pounds in staccato rhythm, his mind still locked in a battle long past, long survived.  

“You good?”

Nikolai blinks and the figure crouched beside his bunk comes into focus. Mal Oretsev’s face is twisted in concern, one hand still stretched toward Nikolai. Nikolai bats it aside. He forces one breath after another into his constricted lungs, and slowly, the panic subsides. He isn’t in the sky, he isn’t flying, and the ground beneath him is as solid as it would ever be.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. He clears his throat and tries again, this time with a fake smile. “Never better.”

Mal doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully, doesn’t dig. He’s used to Nikolai’s idiosyncrasies by now. He tosses a shirt at Nikolai. “You better get your ass ready then. They called us back to Top Gun.”

Nikolai’s heart stutters at the name. Memories of bright blue eyes, desert that stretched to the horizon, and words he regretted more than anything rise unbidden to his mind. He hasn’t been back since what had happened almost four years ago, and he had intended to keep it that way for the rest of his hopefully long career. But he supposes he was never that lucky of a guy, anyway. He keeps his voice carefully level as he pulls the shirt on and kicks off his sheets.

“For what?”

Mal leans against his dresser, the very picture of nonchalance as Nikolai pulls on the first pair of pants he can find on his floor. But Nikolai has been with him long enough to read the tension in his jaw and that look he gets when he’s thinking about the past. He isn’t the only one with a messy story, after all. 

“Special detachment. They wouldn’t tell me more than that. But they only invited the best of the best.”

There’s only one pilot other than himself that Nikolai would ever think of as the best. He’s spent so long trying to forget her that the thought of seeing her again is like the sight of water for a man dying of thirst. His heart gives a little skip, the ink on his forearm aches. 

Don’t even start, Lantsov. Zoya’s not in the business of second chances. 

Nikolai shoves the thought of her out of his mind and gives Mal his best asshole-smile. 

“Guess you’re in charge of the squadron while I’m gone then.”

Mal rolls his eyes and chuffs Nikolai on the shoulder. “Fuck off, asshole. Be ready to leave in an hour or I’m leaving you behind.”

Nikolai clutches his heart in mock-hurt. “You would do that to your wingman? Your dearest fling? Your most convenient friend with bene—”

Mal throws a pillow at his face and stalks out of the room.

—

Top Gun is somehow just as Nikolai remembers it, and a completely different beast at the same time. As soon as he steps onto the tarmac, the balmy San Diego air kisses his skin and makes him crave an ice-cold drink. Beside him, Mal slides on a pair of aviators and squints at the midday sun.

“That was the worst flight I’ve ever been on.”

“Mmmm, I don’t know,” Nikolai drawls. He grabs his bag from the ground and starts walking toward the building where all the brass have their offices. “I’ve been in your backseat before. It was a pretty harrowing experience. Almost made me want to change careers.”

“I’m hanging you out to dry on our next hop,” Mal threatens, but Nikolai knows it’s an empty threat. Mal has never left him behind. Not when it counted. 

The two of them check in with Juris, the grizzled Top Gun Air Boss who’s been stationed there for as long as Nikolai can remember, then take a meandering route to their assigned housing. They don’t see a single pilot other than themselves as they roam the halls, the sky quiet without the familiar roar of fighters overhead. It’s like walking through a ghost town.

By nightfall, the two of them end up at Genya’s seaside bar on an unspoken agreement. Nikolai convinces himself he’s there to scope out the competition, but it’s a pretty flimsy excuse when he knows exactly whom from the competition he wants to see. Mal eyes him as he takes another swig from his beer, and Nikolai ignores his stare. Mal really isn’t one to judge. Pot, kettle, black, however the saying goes. 

Speaking of competition—there’s plenty of it packed into the space. Pilots fill every available space, wings of gold gleaming in the dim lights. Nikolai recognizes a few he’s flown with before, and some from his Top Gun class. The Bataar twins are over at the dartboard, arguing over the points from the last round. Nadia Zhabin sips at a brightly colored drink, her pale eyes sharp and focused as she scans the room. Even the elusive Alina Starkov is there, forever a bright star that would much rather be a wallflower. She ignores the small wave he sends her way, almost as resolutely as Mal refuses to acknowledge the whole side of the room where she’s seated. Not for the first time, Nikolai wonders what exactly they did to each other.

Nikolai flags Genya’s attention from across the bar where she’d been serving another group of uniformed pilots. His former squadron-mate is as beautiful as ever with her flame-red hair and glowing smile. Her one amber eye is narrowed in amusement, a black eye patch embroidered with seagulls covering where the other should have been. A familiar twinge of guilt tickles the bottom of Nikolai’s stomach, but he ignores it as he grins at Genya.

“Another beer, please. And put it on Oretsev’s tab.”

“Absolutely not,” Mal interjects. “Put it on his own tab. We all know he can afford it.”

Genya laughs, and Nikolai catches a lovestruck look from David, her fiance, from across the room. Genya has always said her career had been worth both a successful business and a fiancee, but it’s the first time Nikolai has been able to believe her. He hides his smile behind the new bottle Genya hands him.

“I think he’s got you there, Nicky.” She leans in closer. “Zoya hasn’t shown up yet. Thought I’d save you a few minutes of looking around like a lost puppy.”

Nikolai takes a measured sip of beer. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh look, it’s Nazyalensky,” Mal deadpans. Nikolai’s head whips around so fast that it hurts. And sure enough, Zoya Nazyalensky is walking through the front doors. Nikolai feels like he’s suddenly been ejected from his jet, just miles of empty sky beneath him and no parachute to slow his fall.

Where to begin with Zoya Nazyalensky? She had been in and out of life like a summer hurricane, one summer there and then gone as quickly as she’d arrived with a path of destruction left behind her. Nikolai watches sullenly as the entire room’s attention seems to shift toward her. She looks better than ever in her pressed khakis, her dark hair pulled back into an elegant twist. Her eyes scan the room in disinterest before they pause in Nikolai’s vicinity. He swears his heart stops as she pauses a few steps away from him.

“Oretsev.” Her voice is just the same as he remembers. 

“Nazyalensky.”

Nikolai’s grip on his bottle tightens as Mal hops off his stool and slides an arm around Zoya’s waist. Genya sighs from behind the bar. 

Nikolai isn’t stupid. He knows about Mal and Zoya. But seeing is different from knowing. He watches as the two of them head for an empty pool table, then turns back to Genya. She has a distinctly sympathetic look that makes him feel pretty fucking pathetic.

“You got anything stronger?”

“On the house.”

—

“I think I can take it from here, Oretsev.” Nikolai says as he grabs the pool stick from his friend���s hands.

Mal raises his eyebrows in shock, a million questions dancing in his eyes, but he takes one glance to where Nikolai was actually looking and decides to relinquish his hold.

He shakes his head then sighs, “More and more convinced you have a death wish, Charming.”

Nikolai rolls his eyes, “Prince Charming. C’mon man, we’ve been working together for how long now?”

Mal didn’t say anything. He just took his lukewarm glass of beer and went to join Alina at the other side of the bar. 

“Lieutenant Nazyalensky.” He gives her his best grin, he knows it won’t work. “Good to see you”

“Lantsov, I should have known you’d be here.” Zoya’s voice was as frigid as always.

“You look good.” He said as he pocketed two of the solid pool balls on the right pocket. 

“I am good. I’m very good.” She scoffed then scanned the table for her next move. “Nice to see my sloppy seconds can enjoy one another.” 

Nikolai grinned, their toxic little love square they had going on, well, Mal was a good distraction, and he wasn’t sensitive enough, about that at least, to be bothered. He didn’t even mind that her shot had knocked two of his pieces in different directions and had one of her striped balls landing in another pocket. 

He took his time looking at the table, but he was really looking for an excuse. An excuse to round the corner and stand toe-to-toe with her. His hands not-so-casually resting on either side of her on the sleek wood of the pool table. She didn’t need to tilt that much to meet his gaze, and he tried not to think that from this distance, it would be easy to just kiss her senseless. 

It also didn’t help that she didn’t take a step back either.

Oh, the familiar smell of her was making his head light. His hands twitched on his pool stick, like they were considering actually just taking her face and press his lips to hers. He could have actually done more than kiss her in the middle of this bar. But he saw just how tense her shoulders were under that bravado. Or maybe he was just projecting because he could feel the rigidity in his own spine.

Their last conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one. Their parting even colder. And seeing her under these familiar yellow lights was making Nikolai way more aware of just how far she felt. Just how big the barrier between them was that made her that much more untouchable.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to push his luck, anyway.

He moved away and deliberately stepped around her so that his shoulder brushed hers. It was a cheap shot at getting the upper hand.

It was a pathetic excuse to touch her. 

He lined up his shot and managed to tie their score. 

But Zoya wasn’t looking at the game. Her dark blue eyes picked him apart. 

He wondered what she saw. If she could read just how tense he was with her around. If she could see how badly he still wanted her. If she could feel how terrified he was to see her here, at the start of an assignment that smelled too much like a suicide mission. 

“Your shot.” He said. 

It was loud in Genya’s bar. The evening crowd on a warm summer night created a symphony of bursts of laughter, stories being yelled over the music, and servicemen and women trading war tales. There was no reason for Nikolai to have heard Zoya say, “It was my shot.” But he did hear her, and their game of pool suddenly felt so small and insignificant.

She turned away from him then. She marched back to Mal who was suspiciously alone and shoved the stick into his hands before storming out of the bar. 

Mal came over, and Nikolai forced a smile that he knew that his friend didn’t buy.

“Came back to get your ass kicked?” He winked. Then threw his arm around his broad shoulders. “Maybe something more?” 

Mal didn’t take the bait. He chugged the rest of his drink, and started to reset the table. 

“We both have enough problems, Lantsov. Let’s try not to make things worse.” 

Nikolai shrugged, trying to ignore the feeling of Zoya’s eyes still on him. 

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” He tried again. 

His friend shot him a look, “Maybe I should have.” He glanced behind him to the direction Zoya had gone. “Maybe we both should have known when to stop.”

Nikolai felt his gut plummet as his past started to creep out of the locked box he kept all of his worst memories. And he finished his drink to shove them all down.

He forced a laugh as he broke the triangle of pool balls to start their game.

“Can we table this wildly depressing line of conversation until after I beat you? It wouldn’t be Top Gun without me smoking you. Right, Pocketknife?” 

Mal rolled his eyes, but Nikolai still noted just how tense his friend was. He didn’t know quite what happened between Mal and Alina, but based on his last…encounter…with her it didn’t seem good. 

He was almost tempted to accuse him of being an idiot who wasn’t brave enough to get what he actually wanted. But pots shouldn’t be calling kettles black. 

Nikolai couldn’t help but glance at the door. He turned around and caught Zoya’s hand brush against Alina’s platinum blonde hair. He hesitated to call it affectionate, but it was…something. She leaned closer to the other girl, her lips just brushing the corner of Alina’s jaw. 

A flare of jealousy that was unfounded went through Nikolai, and was only abated when Alina met Zoya’s eyes in a sad kind of resignation. She shook her head and squeezed her hand in sympathy.

Zoya seemed to roll her eyes and walk off with her head shaking slightly. Nikolai wondered what that was about. Then he reminded himself that it wasn’t any of his business. Instead, he focused back on Mal. He focused on ignoring the empty ache that was more present with the absence of the flare of jealousy. 

So, they just played the night away and then when that wasn’t enough, Nikolai took to the keys with Mal drunk and singing off key next to him. Both of them ignoring the burn of old heartaches, and the chill of an uncertain future.

#gvbb23 #gvbb23fic #gang 1 #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoyalai #top gun au #shadow and bone fic

[teaberrii]

Chapter Thirteen: The President’s Visit

You and Cyno can’t be more different. He’s Akademiya’s perfect student council president. You’re a labelled, cursed delinquent who changes into a cat for eight hours when kissed.

When Cyno gets a complaint about you, he’s forced to take action, only for it to lead to unexpected circumstances.

Cyno/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

It doesn’t take long for you and Cyno to become the ‘it’ couple at school.

Though Cyno does not see it as newsworthy, Tighnari explains something is appealing about the “president dating the school’s delinquent” that makes it so exciting. But there is one good thing that came out of all the gossip. People aren’t as scared of you anymore, and you’re making more friends.

Cyno holds your hand as you walk toward your lockers. He's fully aware of the attention, but that only makes him squeeze your hand tighter.

Finally, you glance at him and say quietly, "It's been a few weeks. Why are they still staring?"

“Let them stare then.”

“You’re so unbothered it scares me sometimes.”

You stop in front of your locker, and as soon as you open it, you see a bouquet of fresh roses and a small card with ‘Catnip’ written in cursive on the front. Cyno hugs you from behind and whispers in your ear, “Happy birthday, Catnip.”

“... You really give the best surprises, prez," you say, taking out the card. Is it just him, or do you also sound a little… melancholy? Do you not like his surprise? But then you put your hand over his and turn around with a warm smile. “Thank you.”

Cyno touches your cheek and brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Only the best for my Catnip.”

You scoff and roll your eyes with a smile. “Let’s not enter the cheesy territory.”

“Happy birthday, Catnip!”

Candace and Tighnari run up to you and hug you simultaneously. Then, Tighnari reaches into his bag and holds out a small gift. “For you, my dear Catnip!”

“Thanks, Tighnari.” You take the present from him.

"I bet you'll like mine better," Candace says, holding out a bag taped with cute washi tape.

“Since when was this a competition?” Tighnari asks.

“Spoiler alert! It’s the shirt you wanted when we went shopping together.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? But that’s—”

“Designer? Yeah, but it’s your birthday, so enjoy it!”

That’s when Tighnari notices the roses in your locker. “Damn.” He looks at the card in your hands. “What did it say?”

“That’s private,” Cyno says.

Candace and Tignari glance at each other. “My dearest Catnip,” Tighnari begins in a dramatic voice as you and Cyno give him a deadpan look. “My love for you burns as bright and intense as a thousand suns where each moment we spend with each other makes me dizzy with love—”

“You’re making her nauseous.”

“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” Tighnari says to Candace. “What’s with that look?” Then, he turns to you. “Not your style, Catnip?”

"Uh, well, it depends on the delivery, I suppose," you smile. "But"—you look at Cyno—"I don't think that's really his style."

“Is she right, Cyno?” Tighnari asks, smiling.

“What do you think?” Cyno deadpans.

“Maybe it’s best we don’t know what it says. It's probably too cheesy for us to handle.”

Tighnari nudges her. “Are you sure you’re not just jealous, Candace? You wish someone would do that for you?”

Candace glares at him, and Tighnari quickly runs away when she tries to hit him. Cyno watches his friends run down the hall just as you put Tighnari and Candace’s gifts in your locker. Then, Cyno quickly turns to you when you take his hand.

"I thought you didn't want people staring," Cyno says.

You let go. “Fine.”

But Cyno swiftly takes it again, and he holds it tighter upon seeing your small, shy smile.

◆◆◆

You and Cyno meet at the rooftop for lunch that day. You have a feeling he prepared something for you when he told you not to bring lunch. When you open his homemade lunch, your eyes widen when you see rolls and rolls of sushi and riceballs cut in the shape of cats or shapes related to cats. Their expressions are made with different ingredients. Even the vegetables surrounding the food are cut in the shape of stars or hearts.

“Did you make this?”

“Is it that surprising?”

“I—well—this… how long did it take you to make this?”

A long time. But he's not going to let you know that. "Try one."

You pick up one in the shape of a paw and bite into it. Cyno watches your expression carefully and almost smiles when you do. “I really should hire you, prez.”

Cyno picks up a happy cat roll. “This one is what you look like when you smile.” Then, he picks up one that looks like a sleeping cat. “This one is when you fell asleep on my table .” Finally, he picks one that’s pouting and leans closer to you. “This one is you when I beat you on exams.”

You gently hit him, and he finally smiles.

You're sitting next to him when you hold one out to him. "It's not fair that I'm eating all of this myself."

Cyno looks from the sushi roll to you. “I hope you’re not saying that it’s bad.”

You frown. "Seriously, prez?" Then, you look down at the almost empty lunch box. "Would I have eaten all of it if I thought it was bad?" Cyno takes your hand holding the sushi roll, and takes a bite of his food. You pull your hand back. "That's all you're getting."

Cyno scoffs with a small smile. “I’m fine with that.”

After you and Cyno finish lunch, you stretch and look at the blue sky. "After exams, let's go out to eat." Are you asking him on a date? "I said I'd take you out after the rumour fiasco is over."

Ah. Right.

“We can talk about it after exams.”

“Can’t you humour me? I don’t want to think about exams,” you groan.

“Why not? Are you scared I’ll beat you… again?”

You scoff and lean closer. “Did you forget what I told you last time?”

"Oh, I remember. But, you haven't beat me."

“Yet,” you quickly add.

“How about a bet?”

“... Keep talking.”

"If I beat you,"—Cyno smiles—"let's go on a trip."

Your jaw almost drops. “That’s… are you crazy?”

Cyno raises a brow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Just the two of us?” Your face is turning red. “That’s… That’s—”

“Did I say it would be just the two of us?” Cyno asks, leaning closer. He can almost see your cat ears popping out and swivelling sideways. “Or… is that what you want?”

“I… no… that’s… that’s what I want to avoid,” you say, looking away.

"I meant we can take a trip with the rest of the student council. It's something Tighnari has wanted to do for a while."

You nod. “That does sound fun.”

Cyno smirks. "We could book a room for us to make the trip more private."

“Don’t be getting any weird ideas,” you say quickly. Cyno leans back. “And if I beat you?”

“Which won’t happen.”

You frown. “You’ll be my personal chef for the rest of the year.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to live with you?” Cyno tilts his head with a small smile. “You’re okay with that?”

“... Why are you smiling?”

Because no matter who wins, they are all in his favour.

“No reason,” Cyno says.

You clear your throat and say, “So, it’s decided then.” You hold out your hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Cyno takes it and kisses it gently. Then, he looks at you, whose face is turning slightly red. "Deal."

◆◆◆

After you and Cyno's study session, you meet with Tighnari and Candace, and the four of you go to a newly opened café off campus. Cyno sits beside you in a booth while Candace and Tighnari sit on the other side.

"So, do you and Cyno have any plans to celebrate your birthday this weekend?" Candace asks.

“Not really,” you say. “Exams are coming up… we should be focusing on that.”

Cyno raises a brow at Tighnari. “Why do you look so happy?”

Tighnari looks at him. “Who? Me?”

“Who else?” Candace asks. “You have been acting a little strange today.”

Tighnari looks from Cyno to Candace and finally sighs. “Okay, fine! Just… promise me you have to pretend to be surprised.” Then, Tighnari takes a small breath. “Nilou is coming back.”

“What!” Candace almost spills her drink. “How come she told you and not us?”

“She wanted to keep it a secret!” Tighnari says. “To surprise you and Cyno.”

Candace rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah, and you have a great record of keeping secrets."

“When?” Cyno asks.

“Right after exams are over,” Tighnari says, smiling. “All of us need to grab food together or something. It’s been way too long.”

“Um…” Everyone turns to you. “By Nilou… you don’t mean… the famous ballet dancer, right?”

“Yeah, that’s her!” Tighnari says. “The four of us grew up together.” Your jaw drops. Tighnari chuckles. “A lot of people said Nilou and Cyno looked good together back in the day.”

“Yeah, but that’s because they were popular,” Candace says. “When did you get in touch with her?”

“Oh! She was the one who contacted me first.”

Then, the rest falls on deaf ears as Cyno glances at you, who's at a loss for words.

◆◆◆

After the coffee date, Cyno drives you home when thunder rumbles in the distance. He glances at you. You've been quiet ever since leaving the coffee shop. Is something wrong? When Cyno stops at a red light, he takes your hand, and you flinch.

“What are you thinking about, Catnip?”

You slowly pull back your hand. “I’m… angry at you.”

Cyno immediately looks at you. “Why?”

You turn to him. “I can’t believe you never told me you were childhood friends with Nilou. I mean… she’s amazing!”

Cyno almost laughs. “Are you… her fan?”

“I know nothing about ballet, but I watched a performance or two. She’s really good.” You face the front. “How did you two meet?”

“She’s a family friend,” Cyno says. “We were already going to the same school, but we formally met because her mom is friends with mine.”

“Ah… Is that how she knows Tighnari and Candace?”

“Yeah. She recently transferred and wanted to make some friends.” The light turns green, and the car slowly rolls forward. “I could introduce you to her when she visits.”

“Really?”

Cyno isn’t sure if he’s overthinking, but you don’t sound as excited as he thought you would. Regardless, he says, “Of course.”

Just as Cyno pulls up to your house, it starts pouring.

You turn to him. "If you aren't in a rush to get home, why don't you come in for a bit? Or is Nahida waiting for you?"

“Her parents are back this week, so she’s spending time with them.”

When a sudden knock comes from outside his car, Cyno rolls down the window and sees one of the goons who attacked him standing outside with an umbrella. "Ojou! Welcome home!" Then, he looks at Cyno. "Hey, kid, are you coming in, too?"

So, that’s how Cyno ends up at your house for dinner.

Cyno doesn't need to grab food as the two goons keep filling his plate with their recommendations. "Do you like spicy, kid? You have to try this!"

“He can grab food for himself,” you say, slapping their hand away from Cyno’s plate.

"I heard about what happened on the school trip," your grandmother says, looking at Cyno. "... Thank you for taking care of my granddaughter."

“She was no trouble.”

Your grandmother chuckles. “Oh, I beg to differ.”

You frown. “Hey. I’m right here, you know.”

Suddenly, one of the goons looks Cyno square in the eyes and says, “Is it true that you’re in a relationship with Ojou?”

Cyno glances at you. “That’s—”

“We had no choice at the time,” you say. You meet his eyes and look back at your subordinate. “We’re not… actually dating.”

“Onee-chan, your face is turning red.”

You almost choke on your food just as the sound of rain comes down even harder. Your grandmother looks outside and says, "It's really coming down…." Then, she looks at Cyno. "It would be dangerous to drive in these conditions. Why don't you stay at our house tonight?"

“What?”

Your grandmother looks at the two goons. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“... Are you sure?” Cyno asks. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You aren’t, child,” your grandmother says. “Unless you aren’t comfortable.”

“It would be nice if you could stay.” Everyone turns to you, and you stare back. “... What?”

"I thought you said you weren't dating," Jebrael says.

“... We aren’t.”

“Then, I wonder why you would like him to stay,” your grandmother says with a small smile.

"Because we're friends!"

The young boy smiles widely. “Onee-chan is blushing again!”

“If it’s really not a bother, then”—Cyno looks from you to your grandmother—“thank you for your hospitality.”

After dinner, Cyno follows you until you stop in front of a door. "You can use this room," you say, sliding it open to reveal a spacious room with a futon. You nod down the hall. "My room is the one at the end"—you nod in the other direction—"Jebrael's at the other end." You turn back to him. "I'll grab you some clothes. But, for now, any questions?"

“No, Professor Catnip.”

“Hilarious,” you say with a small smile.

After Cyno finishes his shower, he's walking back to his room when he hears screams and laughter from your room. The door is open, so he looks inside when he walks by. You and Jebrael's son are playfully wrestling on the floor. Eventually, you land on your stomach with him sitting on top of you.

“You’re getting better at this,” you say, looking over your shoulder.

That’s when you see Cyno.

"Onii-chan! You should come to play, too!"

You laugh. “How about it, prez?”

“I won’t go easy on you,” Cyno says, stepping into the room.

You and Cyno spend some time playing with Jebrael's son. Cyno even teaches him some moves he knows. You help him demonstrate, though you're not always cooperative. Cyno shouldn't be too surprised you know how to fight so well. But you never cease to amaze him. Eventually, he resorts to tickling you to catch you off guard, making you grab his hands.

“Not fair, prez,” you laugh.

You're quick to tickle him back, but Cyno is faster. He grabs your hands but lets them go and picks you up. He spins you around as your arms naturally go around him.

“Me next, me next!” the boy says excitedly.

Just as Cyno puts you down, Jebrael walks in.

Cyno is aware that his arms are still around you; without context, it might've looked a little questionable. So, he quickly lets you go.

“We were playing,” the young boy says with a grin.

“Were you now?” Jebrael asks, crossing his arms. He crouches and opens his arms, and his son runs up to him. “Time for bed, kid.” Then, the man looks at you and Cyno and walks away.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” you ask, sitting in the heated futon. You pat the seat beside you.

Cyno chuckles. “Isn’t it past bedtime, Catnip?”

“I guess you’re getting old,” you joke. “Can’t stay up late anymore?”

Cyno sits next to you. “My father taught me when I was young."

“Did you want to learn just because…?”

A young Cyno was walking home from school when he turned the corner and saw two older kids from his school. As soon as they saw him, they smirked and stood. Cyno quickly turned around and saw another kid blocking his path.

“Heading home, Cyno?”

Cyno glared at them. “What do you want?”

“We just want to be friends.”

Cyno felt his back hit a telephone pole as the kids surrounded him. His palms became sweaty, and he tried making a run for it, but one of the kids grabbed his backpack and pulled him to the ground. Before Cyno could get up, someone stepped on his hand. Hard. Cyno screamed in pain and clenched his fists. Before they could punch him, Cyno kicked them in the stomach.

“I had no idea what I was doing,” Cyno says. “Since then, I wanted to learn.”

“Did you ever get back at them?”

“I did.”

“You… don’t sound happy,” you say.

"I only fought back when they would pick on me. But… it's when the adults got involved that the situation got anywhere."

A well-dressed woman with cat-like eyes stood in front of three other women in a large office. “I understand that your children have been causing my son trouble.”

“Well, it’s your son who provoked them first.”

Cyno glared at them. "Do you have proof?" Then, he scoffed. " Maybe they turned out to be such scumbags because of bad parenting."

“What a rude child!”

Cyno's mother stepped in front of him just as one woman approached him. "Lay a hand on my son, and I'll report you." Then, she looked at the principal. "They are the ones who came after my son without reason. I want them expelled."

When Cyno opened the classroom doors the following day, he was met with many stares.

“Is that him?” he heard one classmate whisper as he walked to his desk.

“Is his family rich?”

“What a mama’s boy.”

“Shh! You’ll get expelled if he hears you.”

Cyno sat down. he never felt so alone until…

Two people moved their desks to connect with his. “Is it true your mother got rid of those a-holes?” the boy asked.

The girl hit his back. “There’s a better way to ask things, Tighnari.”

Tighnari frowned. “You didn’t have to hit me, Candace! Besides, I was just getting straight to the point.”

“Is that how the three of you became friends?” you ask.

“We already knew each other,” Cyno says. “But, it’s after that we actually started talking.”

You look at him curiously. “Are you not happy because those students didn’t get what they deserved?”

"It was frustrating enough that I couldn't do anything on my own," Cyno says. "The most I could do was defend myself. But it was more frustrating that no one else did anything even when I said something." You nod in understanding. "Nothing would have changed if my mother didn't get involved."

“This might be a stretch… but Is that why you ran for student council president?”

“Are you going to tease me, Catnip?”

“Do you think that badly of me, prez?” you deadpan.

“Tighnari and Candace encouraged me,” Cyno says. “I did want to run, but they were the ones who gave me that extra push.”

You smile. "Aw, that's so sweet. You shouldn't be calling yourselves the Losers club, then."

“There were a lot of ups and downs... more downs, especially in the beginning.”

“Ah… is it because of the pressure?”

“Even though we got elected, there were still a lot of people who thought we weren’t competent,” Cyno says. “That name was mostly used as motivation, something we wanted to grow out of.”

“Well, I’d say you guys grew out of it. All I’ve heard are good things about the student council.”

Cyno looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “What about you, Catnip?”

“What about me?”

“What grade would you give me for my performance as president?”

You scoff with a small smile. “Hm… I need to think about that.” Cyno grabs a small cushion and gently tosses it in your direction. You catch it and say, “I think I’d give an A+... but”—you hit him with the cushion—“don’t get cocky.”

Cyno grabs it and pulls it toward him so your face is close to his. "What about as a boyfriend?"

“Why do you care about that?” you ask quietly.

“Just curious.”

You quickly sit down, and Cyno puts the cushion aside. “Around the same, I guess."

“You’re being awfully vague, Catnip. Don’t tell me it’s because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.” You reach for the cushion again, but Cyno takes your hand. “Can I do better?”

“I already said it’s around the same,” you say. “What… what more do you want me to say?”

Cyno leans closer, so his lips are right beside your ear. "Tell me the things you'd like me to do."

A pause.

Then, you put your hands on his shoulder. “There’s too many,” you say quietly. Wait a minute. Are you flirting back? “You wouldn’t be able to deliver on all your promises.”

Cyno’s lips brush against your neck, and you gasp softly. “Try me.”

You quickly pull back; your face is bright red as you look away. “It’s getting late.”

"Are you sure you're not the one who can't stay up late anymore, Catnip?" Cyno chuckles. "Unless there's another reason why you want me to leave."

“You’re… overthinking,” you say, standing. Then, you walk out the door, but it doesn’t take you long to return. “This is my room.”

Cyno scoffs with a smile and stands. He stops in front of you and gently pinches your cheek. “Goodnight, Catnip.”

“I hope you have bad dreams."

"Rude." You playfully stick your tongue at him, and he puts his forehead against yours. "See you tomorrow morning."

You quickly enter your room and close the door. So, apparently, he's doing well as your 'boyfriend.' But Cyno never stops just because he gets good feedback. He always wants to be better.

Chapter Fourteen

Tag list: @lxry-chxn @lordbugs @suoshiii @seirenspinel @iwishitwas @sketcheeee @bennytheghost @ch0c0shortiie @riylvx

#cyno x you #cyno x reader #cyno fluff #genshin cyno #genshin impact cyno #cyno x yn #cyno x y/n

[ihathbenobiwankenobied]

i’m sorry

Summary:

“What do you need?” He asked, expecting the cursory

nothing.

“I–I…” Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off. He looked up, eyes telling a different story than usual. Cody wished he could press the matter, force an explanation out of him.

“Nothing.”

Of course.

Word Count: 2,218

“Sorry.”

The word felt stale, as it always seemed to, never quite making the impact it had many years before. It almost tasted bitter in Cody’s dry mouth. 

He pressed another long piece of gauze over a long, still bleeding, wound that stretched across Obi-Wan’s thigh. How long had it been? An hour now? However long, the bleeding had slowed, but it still burned bright against the white of the gauze Cody had been pressing against it.

Obi-Wan winced under Cody’s touch, and his gaze, averting his eyes every time Cody tried to catch them.

He had not spoken since they had returned from their trip into town. It had been unsuccessful, their trip to find something like fresh food. Their meal packs had been running low, and Cody was the one to press, asking Obi-Wan to please, come with me, I don’t know my way.

It was a lie, Cody knew the way, both of them were aware of it. They went regardless.

Now they still only had a few remaining meal packs, and less energy than they had before. A lost cause, and it was Cody’s fault. 

Obi-Wan– Ben, as he insisted he be called– never liked to enter the town. He hadn’t explained his reasoning, but Cody could see the way it haunted his eyes to think of people. It was as if any living being was a reminder of all of those who had been killed so many years before. Cody knew, had always known without asking, that Obi-Wan saw himself as a danger to those around him, even with his connection to the Force cut off from the root, by his own doing nonetheless. 

That was what had made him dangerous after all. 

People meant interaction, and interaction meant potential for people to get hurt. 

And pain was the enemy of Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

I’m meant for infinite sadness, Obi-Wan had said to him once, during the war. At the time, Cody had consoled him, insisted that he was meant for greatness and to wage peace throughout the galaxy. It turned out, Obi-Wan hadn’t been so wrong afterall.

“Does it hurt? There might be a couple of painki–” Cody attempted to suggest, his hands pulling the bandaging tight around Obi-Wan’s lower thigh. 

“No. No.” Cody shut his mouth, and waited for Obi-Wan to continue, but he didn’t. 

The stale silence continued, leaving Cody with a prickle of something he could not explain running through his veins. Maybe frustration with a touch of pity? He couldn’t quite place it. They hadn’t talked much since Cody arrived, nor did Cody suspect they would in the future, but some silences were more telling than others.

The physical wound only scratched the surface of the thousands upon thousands of internal wounds that Obi-Wan held so close behind his stony, composed exterior. Cody wouldn’t come to know them all– the secrets and regrets and points of pain– and he didn’t expect to. Obi-Wan wasn’t the shell of the General; instead, he was a fortress. Nothing escaped from him– no free-flowing feelings or recollections– and nothing made it in either.

“What do you need?” He asked, expecting the cursory nothing. 

“I–I…” Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off. He looked up, eyes telling a different story than usual. 

Cody wished he could press the matter, force an explanation out of him.

“Nothing.”

Of course.

Cody wouldn’t sleep, he knew that the moment he pressed himself down onto the bed in Obi-Wan’s quarters. Obi-Wan insisted that Cody take the bed when he had arrived and had decidedly bunked down on a mat in the kitchen. 

It was fruitless, Cody wouldn’t sleep no matter if he had a bed or not, but Cody had accepted, knowing Obi-Wan wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

It had been five hours since the darkness had come, and these days, Obi-Wan went to his bunk as soon as the twin Tatooine suns dipped below the horizon. While Cody appreciated that his old habits of starving himself of rest had disappeared, it seemed the only reason Obi-Wan retreated to his bunk was because there was nothing else to do.

Once he had stared off at the Lars’ ranch, checking for the young Skywalkers’ presence in the last light of the day, his work was done, and he retired into the house to wash his dishes and crawl into bed.

Earlier, Obi-Wan had only ventured far enough, trying to hide his limp and teeth gritted, as to glance over the desert with macrobinoculars in hand. 

Cody sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his sheets. He and his brothers had been designed with increased body temperatures, and without his self-regulated armor, the desert heat was borderline unbearable, even if it was cooler in the night. 

Armor, brothers, the war…

It was his punishment for not sleeping, the memories. They plagued him more than Obi-Wan’s emotionless eyes at times. Life had changed since the end of the war, and the moments after it was finished, and the chip had controlled his movements, still felt fresh and clear in his mind, even after a year of trying to purge them. Cody wanted to purge everything, now. The good moments and the torturous ones, even the ones he shared with the General. The person he had lived with now for months wasn’t the same at all.

“You don’t have to say you love me, dear Commander.” Obi-Wan offered a quirked smile, a hand trailing across the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. 

“I do– because it is true. C’mon, Obes, you already knew that.” Cody spun around, hands pressing against Obi-Wan’s jaw bones, his own smile staring back at Obi-Wan’s mouth. 

“Of banthashit, Cody. You said you couldn’t stand me last night.” Obi-Wan leaned forward, eyes dancing over Cody’s face, breath stained with the flavor of his morning berry tea. 

“You’re missing the context, General.” Cody pressed into him, lips pressing against his General’s.

Cody allowed the memory, no matter how much it stung to remember it. It felt like yesterday, so clear in his mind, even the feel of Obi-Wan’s beard under his fingertips– the beard he hadn’t touched since he arrived on Tatooine. 

Cody shook his head clear of it, sitting up and letting the itchy blanket pool at his waist. 

The door that Obi-Wan had crafted for his cave was shut, blocking out that same person– Obi-Wan himself. It read like a metaphor. 

Slowly, and as silently as he could manage, Cody slipped out from underneath the blanket and crept towards the closed door. It creaked softly as he pulled it open and padded softly toward the kitchen. 

He needed to see Obi-Wan, to prove to himself that it was the same person he had once shared that kiss with, the one who he could seamlessly banter with even in the throes of war. 

The Kitchen was dark, but not silent.

Cody rounded the counter, to find Obi-Wan asleep, but with tears trailing down his face, dribbling against the mat laid out below him. For a moment he was still, soft hiccups coming from his mouth, but then he began to trash violently. 

Cody’s heart thrummed in his chest as he knelt by Obi-Wan's side, unsure of what to do. 

Only once had he witnessed one of Obi-Wan’s nightmares– though he knew they had existed even during the war. This time, the Force wasn't a factor, and it seemed like Obi-Wan couldn’t hide them quite as well. 

“Obi-Wan.” Cody said firmly, hands hovering uselessly above Obi-Wan’s bare chest. Obi-Wan’s movements slowed, and Cody called out to him again, “It’s just– just a dream. Wake up.”

Obi-Wan dragged in harsh breath after harsh breath, eyes closed tightly. Panic swirled endlessly in Cody’s stomach. What do I do? 

Cody called out to him several more times, to no avail, then with a moment of clarity, grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and shook him. 

Obi-Wan bolted upright, tears still dripping down into his unruly beard, and blue eyes blown wide. He locked eyes with Cody as he pulled in a deep, shuddering, breath, the looked away, hands quickly wiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“C-Cody– I’m sorry– I–” He sucked in another breath and shook his head. Cody’s heart twinged. 

It was like nothing he had seen since arriving on this Force-forsaken desert planet. The walls of the fortress Obi-Wan had built up, keeping his every thought from escaping, crumbled into a mess of broken man. 

“Just breath Obes– please.” The old name slipped out so easily, and this time Cody didn’t apologize. Even so, Obi-wan reached out, shaking hand clamping onto Cody’s bicep as he slowed his trembling breaths and allowed the last of his tears to fall into his lap. 

“I-I’m sorry– I didn’t– I didn’t mean to wake you.” Obi-Wan concluded, but made no move to let Cody go, or make him return to the bed across the cave. 

“You didn’t wake me.” Cody admitted, though it hardly mattered given the circumstances.

There was a momentary silence, but at that time Cody shifted down so he was sitting on the floor in his loose pants, rather than kneeling. He scooched closer, pressing the bare skin of his chest against Obi-Wan’s side.

As much as it was unnatural to this new version of them, it felt more natural than anything. The closeness, the touch, the intimacy– it all flooded back into Cody’s veins with a rush of fondness that he hadn’t realized he had been blocking.

“You were a changeling, in my dream. N-not real– not you.” Obi-Wan whispered, voice cutting through the silence. He moved to bury his face in his hands. 

“No– no.” Cody began, one hand pressing against Obi-Wan’s untrimmed beard. He tried to gently pull Obi-Wan’s face toward him to look him in the eye, “Look at me. I'm real. Hold my hand if you need proof. I'm real, and your dream wasn't."

Eventually, watery blue eyes appeared, and Obi-Wan’s still calloused, still the same, hand pressed into his own, squeezing like Cody was the only anchor in the sea. 

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything for a long time, just held on too tightly. Cody held onto him just the same, yearning for the closeness, a relic from the past, to never be finished. 

“I’m sorry–” Obi-Wan muttered an unnecessary apology again, and pulled away for a moment, confusion written across his puffy, but tearless face.

“What’s wrong?” Cody asked, watching as Obi-Wan sucked in another harsh breath.

“Just feel…?” He murmured, words trailing off into a whispered word Cody couldn’t quite make out. Cody saw him shift uncomfortably, hand pressing against his leg for just a second.

Shit. Shit. Cody ripped the blanket away, not caring if he invaded Obi-Wan’s privacy where he laid in bed in just a pair of briefs. Obi-Wan’s bandaging was covered in red, the healing wound seemingly ripped open by Obi-Wan’s trashing. “Your leg– put pressure on that– I’ll be right back.”

Cody barely waited to see if Obi-Wan had followed his instructions and swiftly opened the tallest cupboard in the kitchen where he had taken to storing their medkit– the one Cody had purchased when he discovered Obi-Wan didn’t have one.

Cody knelt by Obi-Wan’s side, hands flicking through the medical supplies until he materialized gauze and bandages, and a little box with the remaining bacta they had left. At this point– he was willing to use it to keep the kriffing wound closed. 

Cody could feel Obi-Wan’s gaze as he fumbled with the soaked bandages on his leg. He apologized when Obi-Wan hissed as he pulled away the bandage, which thankfully was sticky with quickly drying blood rather than heaps of fresh blood. 

“Painkillers, Obes?” He asked, looking at the man expectantly. 

“No.” Cody grimaced. Why must the answer always be no?

He made quick work of the fresh bandages and the bacta, applying it liberally over the wound and wrapping it up with the little medical skills he possessed. 

When he finished, Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, face relaxed. Though there were the remnants of tears staining his cheeks, it seemed the echoes of his nightmares had passed.

“I–” The words caught in Cody’s throat. Can I stay? Here with you? He wanted to ask this, and he barely held it back, but something stopped him. “I can go. I’ll go.” 

Unlike the lifeless eyes he had witnessed for months, this time, sadness clouded Obi-Wan’s eyes for just a moment. Cody almost could have convinced himself it didn’t happen.

“Yes– of course. Thank you… Cody.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hoarse, but small. He leaned back onto his elbows. “Can I… come with you?”

Cody had just turned back toward the bedroom door, where he planned to lie awake again isolated from the man he now barely knew.

“Yes. I want that more than anything.”

He helped Obi-Wan to his feet, and then into the bedroom where he limped to the bed.

Their bodies curled around each other like nothing had ever changed, like it hadn’t been a year since they had held each other close like this.

Tomorrow, Obi-Wan would probably change his mind, tell Cody to leave him be; he would likely rebuild the walls of his fortress even higher than before.

But tonight, Cody would hold him tight and pretend that everything was like before.

#hey there I'm rolling in with a mini angsty fic #codywan tatooine almost husbands for the win #this fic includes the following: #nightmares #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort #angst

[moiraineology]

Moiraine Damodred: a playlist

Geyser (Mitski): Moiraine POV

Paprika (Japanese Breakfast): Moiraine POV

Hebridean Sun (Vashti Bunyan): Moiraine POV

Long & Lost (Florence + the Machine): Moiraine POV

Some things Cosmic (Angel Olson): Moiraine POV

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart (Mitski): Moiraine POV

Francesca (Hozier): Lan POV

I'd Like to Walk Around in Your Mind (Vashti Bunyan): Moiraine POV

Explanations under the cut:

Geyser:

You're my number one

You're the one I want

And you've turned down

Every hand that has beckoned me to come

and

But I will be the one you need

The way I can't be without you

I will be the one you need

I just can't be without you

This is first on the list, and iirc Mitski wrote it about the unstoppable pull she feels toward her craft. In the same vein, I interpret this as an ode to Moiraine's mission, her reason for living, her guiding light.

Paprika:

Lucidity came slowly

I awoke from dreams of untying a great knot

It unraveled like a braid

Into what seemed were

Thousands of separate strands of fishing line

and

How's it feel to be at the center of magic

To linger in tones and words?

I opened the floodgates

And found no water, no current, no river, no rush

How's it feel to stand at the height of your powers

To captivate every heart?

This is just how I imagine it feels for Aes Sedai to hold Saidar. Also, the imagery at the beginning is so evocative and so relevant.

Hebridean Sun:

Traveling towards a Hebridean sun

To build a white tower in our heads begun

The grass knows, the hills know, we all know

Spring has come, the good fountain flows.

Each hoof fall brings us nearer the land

Of peat and seabirds and silver sand.

I've included almost every lyric in the song. I think the first book in the series begins at springtime/Bel Tine so I like to imagine that it's the journey that Mo/Lan/EF5 begin toward Tar Valon, or maybe just a song for Mo & Lan's travels. The White Tower reference is almost too good. Also, I headcanon Cairhien as having a really unique musical tradition, replete with microtones and lyrics that are akin to poetry.

Long & Lost:

Is it too late to come on home?

Are all those bridges now old stone?

Is it too late to come on home?

Can the city forgive? I hear its sad song.

Every time Moiraine returns to Tar Valon, a city built entirely of dusty stone, it has been years (if not decades). This song simultaneously evokes nostalgia, homesickness, and the awful, underlying knowledge that the city is home no longer.

Some things Cosmic:

Before we draw

My dear, dear friend

I promise you my word

If we should part

My dear, dear love

You know you're in my heart

and

If cosmic force is real at all

It's come between you and I

I want to be naked

I don't mean my body

I don't need my body

I mean, of course Moiraine believes in cosmic force. Fate has separated her from everyone she has ever loved. I thought of this song for when she masks the bond with Lan, leaving him in Fal Dara and taking Rand to the Eye of the World. She wants the bond back as much as Lan does. The moody vocals and dreamy (nightmarish?) atmosphere are also very good for the Blight (the wall of thorns from Sleeping Beauty had to have been an influence. Right?) The end of the song speaks to the nature of a bond (shared vulnerability, a nakedness that doesn't involve the body) as well as Moiraine's conviction re: her imminent death at the Eye. Also, I just love that this song is addressed to a friend. Platonic soulmates 5ever.

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart:

There's nobody better than you

It took me a while 'til I knew

But you knew from the start it was us, didn't you?

It just took me a while 'til I knew

and

So, I don't blame you

If you want to bury me in your memory

I'm not the girl I ought to be

and

There's some kind of burning inside me

It's kept me from falling apart

And I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart

But it's kept me from falling apart

That last stanza^ is The Mission, but more importantly, the strangeness of that beginning riff absolutely screams "massive breakdown." So I headcanon this song as what goes through Moiraine's head as she executes mental gymnastics convincing herself that Lan needs to get away from her as quickly as possible, by any means necessary (post 1x08). Also, we know that Moiraine considers Lan to be her better.

Francesca:

Do you think I'd give up

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

and

Now that it's done

There's not one thing that I would change

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again,

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again

and

It was too soon

When that part of you was ripped away

This is almost self-explanatory, but I'm going to explain it because I am so in love with this song for Mo and Lan. It captures Lan's selflessness, his deep love, and his unshakable willingness to support her. There is a reference in the song to a traumatic event befalling the object of the singer's affection, and it can be read as directly paralleling what happened to Moiraine. Finally, the lyrics allude to someone's choice across lives to come back for the person they love, which is totally breathtaking (and relevant to the worldbuilding in WOT).

I'd Like to Walk Around in Your Mind:

I'd like to walk around in your mind someday

I'd like to walk all over the things you say to me

I'd like to run and jump on your solitude

I'd like to rearrange your attitude to me

and

I would disturb your easy tranquility

I'd turn away the sad impossibility of your smile

and

I'd sit there in the sun of the things I like about you

I'd sing my songs and find out just what they mean to you.

This is the song that bites at my heart. It is so lovely, and I wanted to end the playlist on a hopeful note. This is for the stretch of time during which Mo and Lan are walking on the beach together (right before Lan asks for the bond back). Something that took me a second to realize is that Moiraine wants the bond back as desperately as he does. This song is about that. She knows he is still wary around her after the way she treated him, and that breaks her heart. She misses knowing what he was thinking and feeling without having to ask. The line that really does me in, though, is the one that refers to the warmth of the things the singer likes about their beloved. That she imagines them filling their partners' mind like sunlight. The warmth and love between these two characters, the profundity of their shared understanding--it's exquisite. I'm tearing up at the very thought of it.

#moiraine damodred #moiraine and lan #lan mandragoran #wot show #wot on prime #wot meta #Spotify #also uhh i would add to this if anyone wants to share songs that they associate with mo/lan/siuan

[2dayihaveaheadache]

Sandalwood, Saffron & Tart Chocolate

Should I be fueling all my energy now into the exam phase? Definetly. (* gulps guiltly and stares at the stack of scribbled notes in the corner that have dust on them* ) Am I still writing Obikin on the side? Maybe...

Ok, let's cut the chase. New Obikin WIP for the Senator AU, so enjoy whiny Anakin being bathed in holy wated, dressed up and more to become Obi-Wan’s bride, in style of typical wedding night ritual. The plan is to make him so irresitible that even Senator Obi-Wan, however austure, all high and morally he thinks of himself cannout resist the force of nature that is Anakin's beauty!

=

Shmi brushes through his hair, caressing his scalp in a shy moment of tenderness. The wooden comb in her hand moves gently to untie knots and sperate his strands. She coats her fingers in oil, that smells of saffron, sandalwood and cinnamon, reminding Anakin of Mos Eisley’s marketplace, a distant scent lingering in the air. She sculpts his hair with skilled artistry, letting a few locks fall into his vision to frame his countenance, some curling around his jaw, others weaved together with glass beads in tiny braids, flowing down into a longer braid in his nape. The glass beads and pearls shimmer in different hues of orange and red in the evening sun, reflecting the twin suns.

It is jewelry for a bride, Anakin thinks and suddenly feels naked, sitting with bared upper body in front of his mother while she combs his hair. Every scar is unveiled - the little silver half-moon on his forearm when he had burned himself, the cut in his eyebrow that had only missed his eye by a few centimeters, the blemishes on his skin, the tan fading away where the clothing line starts around his collarbones, the birthmark on his chest, a tiny dot next to his heart – all the imperfections, that are normally hidden away under, are now on open display. It makes him feel raw and exposed.

He shiveres in the cold, suddenly missing the heat of desert during daytime, hugging himself, trying to cover his chest but Shmi pushes his hands gently away, telling him to be patient, letting her finish the ritual before she continues oiling his skin. He smells the spices on himself as she moves her finger over his neck, rubbing over his spine tenderly, soothing the tension there. The scent hangs heavy in the air, tart saffron, a hint of dark chocolate mixed with male sweat, his own musk – he smells strongly, intoxicating, made to be desired.

He stares up at the horizon, the twin suns bleeding out in a wash of red tones, darkness slowly over taking the sky dome and the first stars appearing – he had called them diamond eyes when he was young, thousands of eyes observing him from above, watching over him like a mystical being. He had always felt more like the others, was sensitive, saw things before they happened as if he had a fine-tuned sensor and could take a quick glance under the veil of time but the images where blurry and only a few details noticeable, a hint for something, only decipherable when it already had happened.

He slides into a robe of the finest silk he had ever touched when he tries to pry into his own future, eyes closed, brows furrowed, fingers crossed in a silent prayer to the diamond eyes. All he feels is a warmth, a heat warmer then the middays in the dessert, crawling under his skin, curling around his core, nagging at his rips teasingly, riding through his veins to his heart and then resting there, nourishing him, making him feel loved and desired.

Obi-Wan lies on his tongue. The name tastes sweet on his tongue like grapes, freshly plucked from the vine, dripping down into the sweetest liquid ever tasted. Obi-Wan, he sighs and the diamond eyes answer in a chorus.

(Enjoy this loveletter to Anakin's beauty!)

(anyone interested for this to turn into a full length story on ao3?)

#felix's weird thoughts and drabbles #star wars au #obi wan x anakin #obikin au #star wars fic #star wars inspired #obikin #obikin fic #sw au #sw fanfic #a loveletter to anakin's beauty #literally the author is obsessed with it #way too many adjectives #author's take on poetic language #very poetic language #I wrote this instead of studying love it that my grades are gonna suffer #just wanted to rant about it #it needed to get out of my head #senator Au #what am I even writing here some please answer me this is getting out of control #author regrets it somehow don't ask me how that is possible #author is sleep deprived #author is tired #the senator Obi-Wan Au #felix's Senator Obi-Wan obsession

[that-angry-noldo]

The Fern-Flower

[квітку папороті нащо ти шукаєш в думках-хащах? її зерна, наче спадщину, посадив у серці пращур. прийде звір, відкриє пащу - квітку не давай нізащо; бережи її і знай що зів'яне в руках пропащих.]

There is a saying among our kin, Morwen said, her voice quiet and soft. Turin closed his eyes, his chin resting on his mom's shoulder.

There is a saying among our kin, as old as the dark forests, as cursed as the secrets they ward; a saying of a breathtaking flower, as perfect as the finest diamond, as bright as the youngest star, as sharp as an edge of a silver blade; a saying of the powers it grants, a tale of the forces that guard it - of forces that want to take a hold of its blessings.

It blooms under the moonlight, once a year - once a decade - once a lifetime; it will avoid your hands if your feet are weary and your hair is grey - it will call for you if your eyes still shine and your face isn't yet touched by our Doom. But don't seek it, Turin; for the Dark will try to decieve you, and the flower will want to test you.

Hard will be its tests, but shall you pass them, and shall the first ray of sun touch you, it will become yours, and no power could take it from you. Hide it under your little finger, cut your flesh and slip it inside - and pray, Turin, to whomever might hear you, that your blessing doesn't become your greatest regret.

Turin didn't mean to find the flower - it found him.

~

It was by accident, he later remembered. He was wandering through the forest, straying far from the usual hunting trails. He wasn't worried when the sun started to depart and when the shadows begun to grow - Turin wasn't afraid of the dark; Turin has seen too much in his life to be scared by a mere absence of light. He found a place for a camp and started a fire.

The forest was quiet around him. The wind was whispering to the trees, leaves rustling and and falling to the ground; the sounds of songbirds were replaced by occasional owl hoots; the air smelled of wet leaves and hidden mushrooms. Turin closed his eyes, his hand still resting on his sword.

He fell asleep, and something called to him.

(He dreamed of shadows and of whispers and of gleaming eyes stalking him from the deep of the forest.)

It was quiet at first, nothing but an unease at the edge of his mind. He hadn't even grasped that he woke up.

(The forest was dark, cold and silent.)

Turin?

He stirred. "Who's there?"

Turin.

(An owl hooted. The shadows whispered and giggled, staring at the boy with invisible eyes.)

"Hello? Who's there?"

Come to me, Turin. I'm here. I'm close.

Maybe it was a thrall, Turin remembered later; but for now, he was a scared little boy, and it called to him (and the shadows howled and laughed and bared their teeth, bathing in the moonlight). And so, Turin followed.

Turin, it called. Turin, come to me. Come here, boy; I'm close, child; Turin, Turin, come.

Come, Turin, it said, and Turin froze.

See me bloom.

~

See me bloom, bright and holy, in the midst of the dark. See me glow like the thousands of stars, coming together to give me life. See me whisper and grow (my roots devouring blood) (my petals as red as the sun during sunset), see me shining like the thousands of diamonds, like the truest of rubies. Take me, Turin, feel me, hold my power; take me, feel my warmth and my pulse.

I'm yours, Turin.

Take me.

And Turin did.

~

"Hey, you! Kid, what are you doing in a forest this late?"

Everything came crashing down, the thrall disappearing in the blink of an eye. The forest snapped, returning to its whispers, the wind huffed and flew away; Turin turned around, breath hitched in his throat, fingers burning with a feeling of the fern-flower beneath them. There, frowning, stood a man. His hand was resting on a hilt of a sword; his hair was white, his other hand was missing. Turin sobbed.

"Now, now, don't cry," the man crooned, as if hushing a startled animal. His eyes pierced through Turin, filling him with unreasonable fear. "You lost? Poor thing. Don't fear me, Turin. I can show you the way. Your friends worry about you."

Turin looked at the man.

He smiled.

Turin took a step forward.

(The shadows smiled wider.)

"Come on, boy, lets take you home."

Turin breathed, stepping again.

(The man didn't move.)

(There was a line by his feet.)

"It's alright, kiddo."

"You know my name," Turin breathed, and his eyes went wide. He stumbled away. "You- you know-"

"Child, it's not a time for this," the man sighed. "Come on. Don't make it difficult."

"You- you're not-"

"I am," the not-Beren grinned, "but, you know who else is?"

He disappeared.

"Turin," came behind him, and the boy turned around.

He screamed. Eyes dull and tired, posture slumped, hands chained and scarred-

There, right behind the circle, stood Turin's father.

"Turin."

"No- you're- you're not-"

"Son."

I'm not, Turin wanted to cry, I'm not your- you're not- you're supposed-

"I-"

"Fa- father-"

He's not, his mind screamed, he's not yours, he's not real, not real, not re-

"Come here. Come with me, Turin."

"No, no, no no n-"

"I miss you," Hurin rasped. "I miss you, Turin, please-"

"Dad- dad-"

Not yours, not yours, and his mind screamed, and his hands burned, and the flower giggled beneath his fingers, and the shadows swarmed and roared and there was-

Mother-

"Turin, please, listen to me-"

Lalaith-

"Turin, I'm hu- it hurts, Turin, I miss you, I miss you, please-"

"Come, boy," Sador whispers, and his eyes are true and honest and also wrong, wrong, wrong-

"The flower!"

"-the flower-"

"... of the powers it grants, of the forces that guard it-"

Turin screamed, gripping his head with his hands, nails drawing blood.

"-but shall you pass them, and shall the first ray of sun touch you-"

"Kid?"

"Shut up!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face, "shut up, shut up, you're not-"

"-lease, please, Turin, listen to me-"

"-miss you, miss you, miss you-"

"Not- not real, not- you're not! You're not real, not real, not-"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, trying to hide from the noise, from the painful knot in his throat, from the forest and the dark and-

"-we need you, miss you, Turin, Turin-"

"-real, not real, go away, go away go awa-"

He fell to the ground, curling and sobbing, hands spasming around his ears in an useless attempt to push out the noise, the illusions, the shadows and the moonlight.

(He was screaming.)

(The forest laughed.)

(-his father chained and broken and his mother pale and thin and his sister dead, dead, dead and Sador-)

"Shut up, shut up," he whispered in between the sobs. The shadows bared their teeth.

Give in. Give it to us. It's up to no good, don't you see?

The flower caressed his hand. Turin was crying.

The noise died out, only leaving the shadows swarming around the magical circle.

His father stared at him with dull, dead, wrong eyes. Turin sobbed.

"I love you," Hurin whispered, and smiled. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The stars shimmered in the sky.

Turin was shaking.

"You did good."

The forest whispered and hushed. An owl hutted, having caught its breakfast. Turin closed his eyes.

"I'm proud of you," Hurin sobbed, and the first songbird awoke. The ray of morning sun touched the leaves of the trees.

Turin was alone.

He curled up and cried, the fern-flower melting into a cut on his hand.

#turin #turin turambar #children of hurin #silmarillion #silm fic #hngghh #slavic mythology be upon thee #i planned to write it for halloween but i fell asleep :D #anyways was that hurin real? was it morgoth's torture for him? to be so close yet so far to his son? who knows!!! it's up to you!!! #does the flower change anything? who knows!! turin can now open any lock and speak to animals what will he do?? #(listen to kupala by jerry heil for a full experience) #originally i wanted real beren to show up but i screwed that idea #ANYWAYS turin doesn't tell beleg #he doesn't tell anyone really #but he just got +1 traumatic experience! you go boy!!!

[burnwater13]

Grogu paused and checked to see what the path a head looked like. He’d done this thousands of times. Are there Loth cats, are there eopie, are there stormtroopers, Inquisitors, bounty hunters, criminals, and other thoughtless creatures using that space to trap him? He had to know and he had to find out. 

Dank Farrik! There he was! Darth Vader! In that scary helmet with his cape blowing back and making snaps sounds. His light saber burning an angry red. It was a nightmare!

“Grogu? Buddy. Wake up. You’re having a dream. Come on buddy, wake up. I have some fresh frogs for you.” 

Grogu heard the Mandalorian’s voice and relaxed. Then he heard the sound of a bunch of stuff crashing to the ground and sat up and looked around. 

Yup, he’d had another nightmare and during it he must have reached out with the Force and picked up anything that was just laying around loose. And by the look of things that had included his dad, the Mandalorian. Oops. Sorry dad. 

Grogu was sorry about that. He never meant to hurt people. At least not people he liked. It was just that he’d spent so much of his life being chased and caught and broken out of places, that it had all added up and when he dreamed, especially when things were going well, he dreamed of Vader ruining it all. 

One time, when they were on Tatooine, Peli had the pit droids or Treadwell, Grogu couldn’t remember which, fetch him a bowl of dung worms and they had sat around eating and laughing and telling each other stories, playing Sabacc, and just having fun. No smart pants kid trying to hurt him or Peli, no Jawas giving his dad ‘the great deal’ of buying back parts that they had stolen. No one else making their lives miserable in any way. Just fun, peace, and finally quiet. For about five minutes. 

Grogu had a dream that he was on the Second Sun. All the alarms were going off and he and Vader were standing in some room where the Emperor was being all smarmy and cruel. Grogu couldn’t understand how Vader put up with that guy, but there they were. 

“You will join us and become a Sith!” The Emperor spoke directly to Grogu. 

“Master, is he really the chosen one?” Vader had asked. 

“Oh yes, Lord Vader. He is. The one I have chosen to replace you!” 

Then the Emperor was zapping Vader with lightning and Grogu just couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to replace Darth Vader and rule the galaxy?! He couldn’t even rule the pit droids! 

When he woke up from that dream it was apparent that just thinking about the pit droids had put them at risk. He’d used the Force to stack them up on top of each other like an inverted pyramid with Treadwell on the bottom. They all fell to the ground and Peli muttered something about not letting his dad put hot sauce on the dung worms even if it did cut the smell back. 

Grogu had wondered at the time if that sort of thing had happened to his dad too. Oh not using the Force, but having scary dreams when things were actually going really well for them. He didn’t worry about Peli that way. She slept the deep undisturbed sleep of the innocent all the time. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t fair at all. 

Any way, Grogu had taken to watching his dad carefully whenever Din said he was going to get some kip, or sleep, or shut eye, or zeds (whatever they were) and came to the conclusion that the Mandalorian, a fierce bounty hunter and accomplished soldier of fortune, who was widely regarded as the best bounty hunter in the whole of the Outer Rim, also slept the sleep of the innocent. Dank Farrik! That really wasn’t fair. 

After this Vader dream Grogu drew several pictures to express to Din just how annoyed he was at the inequity. When they were finished, he thrust them into his dad’s hands with a kind ‘read ‘em and weep’ sneer on his face. Ha!

Din studied them for a moment, swiftly from one piece to the other and then sighed deeply. 

“Grogu. As soon as you came into my life I stopped having nightmares. Knowing that I had to watch out for you and care of you, meant I didn’t have time to remember what was. I had to present for you. Don’t worry. Some day you’ll have to watch over someone and the same thing will happen.” Din picked him up, tickled him under his chin, and sighed. 

“Also, don’t drink my leftover caf. That stuff’s not good for you. Now, you can help me clean up this mess.”

The Mandalorian began to pick the various things Grogu had ‘grabbed’, like the can of armor polish, the multi-tool-tester thing, and all sorts of other stuff that sat on their table, while Grogu just shook his head. Like that caf was leftover. Grogu had made a fresh cup while his dad was sleeping.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #dreams

[punemy-spotted]

HAAAAAY girl! Happy Fanfic Writer's Day and answer these questions, please!

Questions for my favorite writers, please answer any or all that interest you.

— How long have you been writing fanfiction?

— Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.

— Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written.  

— Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

— What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write? — Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

— Any personal or frequently used tags?

— Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.  

— Best editing tip?

— What drives you to write?

— Share something about your writing that you have wished someone would ask you about. Or alternatively, something that you are just really proud of.

— Where do you draw inspiration?

— What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?  

— What is your biggest challenge in writing?

— 1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP??

— What story or scene are you most proud of?

— Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

Aaaaah! Thank you, my friend! I love you so dearly!!

I got a couple of these so!! I decided to split my responses here into two different answers because otherwise it would be a treatise and that would be too. long.

Still putting things under the cut though! I love you!

— Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.

Honestly, probably Fuck, considering how often I swear at myself while writing.

— Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

In a way, you almost should have known this would happen — just as Icarus himself so loved the freedom of his wings and the warmth of the sun upon them that he flew too close and fell to his death, the act of loving Ikaris has burned you alive, hasn’t it?

Immortality, you know — have known, long before he broke his way into your life — is a curse. He has seen so much, grappled with Gods and Monsters, shaped the very humanity you are afflicted with. How can he see your pain properly, viewed from so high above, so aware of the whole scope of humanity, unbothered by your mundane troubles? Small things to a giant, the rough edges of this unforgiving universe are… nothing.

But you, mortal you, a microscopic blip in the scope of human history, wrapped in the constant daily stressors of your ephemeral life. To see the world through your eyes is to magnify his view a thousandfold and even the smoothest of surfaces are a mountain range of jagged peaks reaching up to the sky when viewed from up close.

To love a God is to know he was never truly yours, no matter how many promises he makes of himself — fealty and fidelity and faith — or how many ways you want to believe him. Never yours, but in the moments your life and his coincide, you are his.

The weight of truth is a heavy, heartless thing, sinking into the bliss of new love slowly, burning away the hazy edge of infatuation to bring about clear realization. A hand of ice and stone emerges from the ocean floor and truth emerges from the well of his mouth to shame you both for having the very audacity to think that you could.

A thousand lives born from every single one lost — it seemed like such a fair exchange at the time, he tells you, barely able to meet the pained betrayal in your gaze. He almost makes it sound so reasonable.

What is the cost of a life, what is worth the weight of all your memories, is it a thousand lives scattered across a thousand different worlds, a consciousness split across many infinite light years? What is the price you would pay to erase all your pain in conjunction with your pleasures, all for the chance to maybe be reborn on a world guided by kinder Gods?

So all of this, all of human progress was … priming us to be cattle, it is not a question, merely a truth, a shameful reality you are forced to face, Then what was I? There. A selfish question — but then again, what are humans but inherently selfish, occupied by their own survival first? What are you too, but a tangle of traumas desperate to be seen as yourself and loved for it all the same.

You… How can he answer that, what answer can he give to that, when the truth cannot be softened, cannot be smoothed over? You would have been my greatest regret to lose.

On television, a reporter speculates aloud on the investigation into the dormant behemoth that might have borne any number of new utopias and before you, the Eternal who once never questioned the cost holds back tears.

It’s a tragedy you failed.

— For Blue Skies

This scene is another one of those moments where I watched a movie, had a breakdown, and then proceeded to spend entirely too many days writing angsty fic about it. It's one of those moments where I came to terms with a lot of things, and also wrote an angst indictment of those who can but do not.

— Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

Gothic Horror, I think! I'm learning I love anything atmospheric, scenic, diving into the eldritch and the unknown, soft, slow reveals and the futile attempt to describe the indescribable.

— Best editing tip?

Step back. Take a day or two. Don't hesitate to rewrite your entire fic in a new window, you'll catch things as you retype and realize maybe you need to move stuff around or maybe you made a whole lot of nonsense typos. Read your work aloud if you want to capture a specific kind of voice. And most of all: this is for fun and grammar is a construct.

— What drives you to write?

I have so many stories I want to tell, scene and dynamics I want to explore. I love worldbuilding, love sharing my daydreams in the form of written work. For me, writing is a form of self-care.

— Where do you draw inspiration?

Extant media! I love listening to podcasts, watching shows, finding worlds I can dive into. As much as I love worldbuilding when I write fic, I like building off extant worlds more, making them my own. I also draw inspiration from my own personal life, because I view writing as a form of therapy and catharsis, and so my experiences become a font of emotion for me to draw from in order to release those emotions I have pent up.

— What is your biggest challenge in writing?

Finding the energy. Between work and personal life, I often find myself burnt out and struggling to put words on the page. It doesn't help that my waning creative energy means aggressive writer's block and a hyper-perfectionist mentality that is normally more detrimental than not. I struggle to remind myself that good enough is fine, nothing needs to be to my standards of perfect because I will always find a flaw in what I create.

— What story or scene are you most proud of?

I think I'm proudest of The Cut still. It's the one that has the most of "me" in it, with the happiest ending, and really it's the one I feel the most comfortable re-reading.

— Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

Aaaaah! The Masterlist!

#imanuglywombat #shroombox #asked and answered #fanfic writer appreciation day #thank you for these!!!

[noctumbra]

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥

summary ─ you took a deep breath and opened your mouth to answer him when the idea struck you. his offer.

pairing ─ bestfriend!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, bucky is also the reader’s roommate, kissing, oral sex, making out, beard burn, dirty talk, sexy pictures, lingerie shopping with bucky, cam sex, OF accounts lol, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, i don’t know shit about creating sexy content jsyk lmao, very light choking

a/n ─ inspired by this ask! spider nonnie had blessed us with this great idea. edits and yellings happened and here i am lmao thank you @nix-akimbo​ for the edits, i drooled and screamed and had to change my panties:) hope you like it! please leave a comment if you do! thank youu!! (pictures i used for bucky are edits from, again, @nix-akimbo​ <3 

p.s.: so sorry for the delay! enjoy 5.2k words of filth! pls let me know what you think

It was sort of an off day for both you and Bucky. After having to deal with all the exams and applying to colleges, today was a calm and relaxing day for you. Bucky offered to go somewhere where you could both just be outside and have a change of scenery after holing up in your rooms or dragging yourselves from one class to another. You agreed easily.

His choice was Central Park; he was claiming that some green and soil under your palms might do you good, and you couldn’t see why not. With a small picnic bag kind of thing, you went to Central Park and sat down on the thing sheet you brought from home. It was very nice out; the sun was smiling down at you people and there was a soft breeze. You could hear birds chirping, kids playing and dogs barking. It was peaceful.

“God,” you heard Bucky groan. “I could say ‘fuck it’ to going to college thing and live out here forever.” You chuckled.

“I don’t think you’d like out here very much in winter,” you said as you grabbed a strawberry and handed it to him. With a soft hum, Bucky took it. “Though I wouldn’t say no to the ‘fuck it’ part.”

Bucky frowned. “What? Why?” You sighed. It had been troubling you for some time now, and even though your parents said that they would be supporting you, you still didn’t like the idea of making them pay for your schooling.

“College is expensive as fuck, James,” you grunted quietly. “It’s expensive which means that I have to get a loan, and it’s gonna be a huge problem when I graduate.” Sighing again, you bit into the strawberry in your hand aggressively. Bucky didn’t say anything, opting to stay silent, you continued after swallowing the juicy fruit you just bit.

“I mean,” you started. “I’ll probably apply to some of the scholarships, but I doubt that I’ll get one. M’parents said they’ll help me, but I don’t wanna be a burden.” You watched Bucky changing his position. Your mind was racing to find some brilliant idea that was going to help you get through this money issue. Scholarships were very hard to get, you could work ─ it was more likely to be happen anyway ─ or you could just let your parents crush under your college bill. You snorted when a thought struck you, causing Bucky to give you a confused look. “I might start an OnlyFans account. Seems like it’s the only way to earn some real money to get through college properly.” Bucky grimaced for a second, and then his face got thoughtful. When he looked back at you, he started snickering.

“Okay,” he agreed, grinning. “But promise me that if you ever want to create content with someone, it’s gonna be me, alright?” You chuckled. You knew that Bucky had a crush on you during your first year in high school, but he was over it now was what he said a year ago.

“You just want to have an excuse to kiss and feel me up, Barnes,” you said playfully. Bucky shot you a cocky smirk, causing you to laugh.

“Joke aside, I mean it,” he said after your laughter died down. “Those kinds of things are dangerous if you don’t know your partner. So, I’m offering myself. You know me.” You nodded slowly. Deep down, you knew he was right.

“Yeah, well,” you murmured. “I’ll let you know if I ever decide to do such thing.” Bucky shrugged.

“You have my number, honey,” he said, giving you a soft smile. He had a dreamy expression on his face.  You ignored the butterflies in your stomach that the pet name provided and pushed him back from his shoulder. He went down with a yelp.

“Stop thinking about me naked,” you grumbled. Bucky laughed.

It was a nice day.

Looking back, you probably should have taken him up on his offer. This year was your last in college, graduation was crawling close with every breath you took, and the closer you get to your graduation day, the more stressful your days were becoming. You were drowning in your loans, your rent and your share of bills were waiting for you to pay, your job at the library was on a shaky boat…

It was totally pure luck that you and Bucky were in the same college and decided to be roommates because dorms were too crowded and loud. He was understandable about your money issues, he didn’t have any problems with it since his family was actually rich. It was very nice of him not to force you to pay your part although it didn’t stop you feeling guilty about it.

“Earth to Y/N,” you heard a deep voice and jumped on your seat. Bucky was looking at you with a small smile, worry was waiting to take over his face around the edges. “You alright, honey?” You hummed approvingly, nodding at the same time.

“Just thinking,” you said, closing the book you’ve been trying to read for an hour now. “Got lost in my head.” Bucky didn’t say anything but continued to watch you. The worry was slowly taking over his face. “I’m fine, Bucky, really.”

“Look,” he started, “I’ve known you nearly for nine years now, so I know when something isn’t alright. What is it?” You sighed. You hated bothering him with your money issues because you knew that he was just going to offer to pay everything himself, and just let you be his roommate without having to pay anything ever again. You couldn’t have that. You also knew that he wasn’t going to let you go if you didn’t tell him what had been going around in your head.

You took a deep breath and opened your mouth to answer him when the idea struck you.

His offer.

You looked at him. The corners of your lips were curling upwards slowly as the expression on his face got more confused and worried.

“Why are you looking at me like you are about to kill me?” He asked, tentatively taking a few steps back. You grinned. You probably looked like a psychopath right now, but if he was still up to it, this thing was going to help you a lot.

“Do you remember the conversation we had in Central Park while we were still in high school? It was a week after the applications,” you explained. He frowned for a second.

“We had a lot of conversations that day, honey, be more specific,” he said, and you nodded. He was right. You’ve stayed there for hours and talked about thousands of things.

“We were talking about how expensive the college is and I said I might start an OnlyFans account? You made me promise that I’ll come to you if I ever wanted to create content with someone. Remember now?” You watched his eyes grow wide with a smirk.

“Um,” he stammered. “Look, I’m definitely on board with that, but I want you to know that I can cover you if you want, alright? Like, y-you don’t have to post pictures or videos of your body just to pay rent, I can handle it, okay?” Your smirk turned into a soft, fond smile.

“I know, James,” you murmured softly, “Thank you.” Then, you stood up from your seat and walked up to him. Your fingers trailed over the sharp cut of his jawline, nails scratching his scruff. “Even though the main reason of why I wanna do this is paying my share of rent and bills, but I won’t say no to get laid. God knows I need it,” you scoffed at yourself. “So, are you going to help me, James?” You looked at him through your lashes. You could see that his eyes darkening and feel his jaw twitching.

“You really want it to be me?” He asked. You nodded. Other than casual hook-ups, both of you were single, and you lived in the same apartment so, it was supposed to work perfectly. Bucky’s eyes darkened more like it was possible and stepped forward to press his body against yours. “We gotta set some rules,” he said as he brushed your hair back gently. You shivered. You’ve been this close before, he shouldn’t have been affecting you this much, but fuck him, he was.

“Okay,” you whispered. He smiled and leaned in just a little bit so that your lips would brush against each other. You gasped softly.

“Yeah, I know what you need, honey,” he whispered, and then smiled. Pulling back, he gave you a smirk. “Gotta go, but we’ll talk about the rules tonight,” he said and in ten seconds, he was out.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you let your body fall back onto the plush couch. Suddenly, you weren’t so sure about the whole thing because you knew he was going to ruin you for all the other men. “I’m fucked,” you whined.

Royally, you added in your mind and whined a bit more.

──

It was a week later when you decided to start.

Like he said, you talked about all the rules and things about what to do and avoid, and then you set up an account. Bucky went and bought a camera just for this purpose, and when you complained about it, he promised to use it for other purposes, too. After everything was ready, he took you out for a lingerie shopping.

“You’re already sexy as hell, honey,” he had said, “but we gotta make you look even sexier. I have an eye, y’know it, so I’m gonna help.”

Now, you were in a red colored lacy number with garter belt and fishnet stockings adorning your legs. You had shiny leather gloves that went up to your mid-upper arms. You decided to forego the shoes, and Bucky agreed. When you were done with putting on everything Bucky bought for you, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You looked fucking sexy.

“You ready?” You heard Bucky ask and took a deep breath. You couldn’t help but feel nervous because Bucky was about to see you in a fucking sexy lingerie. He was about to your ass in its all glory since you were wearing a thong. “Y/N?”

You got out of the bathroom before you could convince yourself to give up the whole OnlyFans idea, and honestly? The look on Bucky’s face made it damn worth it that you didn’t back out.

He straightened up from where he was sitting on the edge of your bed. His eyes went dark quickly. His face darkened, and you saw his lips parting before his tongue peeked out to lick his lips very invitingly. His now-almost-black eyes moved down and up and down again on your body, and he took a deep breath.

“Motherfuck, Y/N, you look so fucking sexy,” he grunted, it was actually very close to a groan, your brain noted. Bucky took another deep breath and held his hand out to you. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered. Shivering lightly, you walked up to him, taking his hand. His fingers wound into yours immediately, squeezing just a little, and he pulled you forward.

With a gasp, you fell onto his lap, arms wound up around his neck and his arms around your waist. His body was so warm, so solid and big under you, you felt like you were very close to fainting.

“Damn,” he whispered, “You were already beautiful, and now in this thing? Fuck me, you have no idea how gorgeous you look, love.” You whimpered just a little, scooting a bit forward on his lap, plastering your own chest to his. His white, wifebeater was only providing you a nice view of his bulging biceps and giving you a little peek of his pecs. His sweatpants, however, they were doing very little to hide… things.

“James…” You breathed. Bucky cursed under his breath and pulled back just for a second to reach behind you. You knew he started the recording, you knew that there would be a little red light blinking at you; you shivered. This was so unlike you, but you wanted to it. Wanted to do it with Bucky.

“Ready, love?” He whispered, and you nodded. “You know what to do if you wanna stop or take a breather, right?” You nodded again. “Tell me your safeword, sweetheart.”

God, you thought, he’s laying it thick on pet names. “Winter,” you whispered. He placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, making you chuckle lightly.

“Good girl, honey,” he whispered and it was fucking on.

He leaped forward to catch your lips with his, moaning loudly in relief when the soft skin of his lips touched yours, you arched into it. His hands were roaming all over your body, nails dragging lines and making you shiver, while his hands were occasionally grabbing your ass and slapping it lightly. You moaned into the kiss when you felt his tongue licking on your bottom lip, and you felt it slip inside when you gasped.

Bucky already had you putty in his hands, you realized, and you wondered what you were going to be in when he was done with you.

“Alright,” he said with a low voice. He gathered you up in his arms and stood, turning around, he placed you in the middle of your bed. “I’m gonna take some pictures, that okay baby?” You nodded, teeth already digging into your bottom lip. Bucky watched your face a couple seconds; his thumb saving your bottom lip from the abuse of your teeth and he stroked it slowly. You poked your tongue out to lick his thumb, and then closed your lips around the digit. “Shit,” he cursed. “Pictures,” he grunted as he pulled his finger out of your mouth. You giggled.

He grabbed his phone that was sitting on your bedside drawer. He did a quick work on opening his camera app and looked at you. “Turn around. Lemme see that peach, hm?” You felt heat licking all over your body as you gasped. Slowly turning around, you pulled your knees under you as you stretched your arms forward to grab the headboard. This position gave your back a beautiful arch, you knew it.

“Goddamn,” he whispered as he moved himself around to get a good light for the picture, and you heard the soft ‘click’ sound a few seconds later. You looked at him over your shoulder, lifting your head just a little. You heard another ‘click’. Smirking, also feeling that you were gaining some sort of self-confidence, you placed your knees apart from each other on the bed, spreading them widely.

“God-fucking-damn, sweetheart,” Bucky groaned. He shuffled and pressed ‘click’ a couple times. You buried your head in the bed and deepened arch of your back, wiggling your ass playfully. Bucky hummed. He reached out to grab one of your cheeks, to dig his fingers into the soft flesh, and you gasped with the sudden touch. Click. Bucky hummed again and slapped your ass lightly. You moaned, pressing against the touch of his large and warm hand, you lay down on your chest.

Bucky trailed one finger down from your crack to your pussy. “Soaking it already?” He asked, voice low and hoarse. Lust, your brain realized, making you moan. Bucky rubbed you there with his thumb, over the soft fabric, and his other fingers dug themselves into the meat of your ass. “On your front,” he said, slapping your ass again. Swallowing a whimper, you did as he said.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whispered. You hummed and arched your back again, giving him a nice view of your chest. Click, click, click. Smiling, you lifted yourself up on your elbows. You could see that your effects for the pictures did not go waste: Bucky was hard and tenting his sweatpants. You lifted one of your legs in the air and pressed the sole of your feet to his stomach, right over his abs. You saw his cock twitching under the fabric, and your smile turned into a smirk.

“Drop the phone,” you whispered as you maneuvered yourself onto your knees, still facing him but also facing to the bulge in his sweatpants. Bucky did as you said and put the phone on the ground. “Lemme see you?” You asked next while pulling your gloves off. Bucky nodded and pulled his wifebeater off in a second.

He was a fucking god.

His beautifully tanned and smooth skin and taut muscles were blinking at you cheekily. You could see a faint happy trail leading to his cock. His arms were a bulging muscles and veins mess, and you wanted to trace those veins with your tongue.

Instead, you leaned forward and nosed his happy trail. His low groan and cursing were deaf to your ears because all you were focused on was the bulge that was touching your chin. You shuffled a bit forward and pulled his sweatpants down to his mid-thighs, making his cock slap against his stomach.

Thank fuck for Bucky Barnes and his love for going commando.

You’ve watched his dick swinging so many times when both of you were home. You’ve seen his dick both erect and flaccid through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Finally, you were seeing it naked and all in display for you to play.

“Love,” Bucky whispered as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. He sounded turned on. Good, you thought and grabbed his cock. Nosing right under his cock head, you inhaled the natural musk smell coming off of him. You were so goddamn wet just by smelling him, you knew deep into your fucking bones that you were ruined for all the other men already.

Tongue poking out, you licked him clean with slow, kitten licks. Bucky cursed. He couldn’t tear his eyes off you; he watched you as you wrapped your beautiful lips around his cock, watched your tongue licking him from root to top.

Bucky was going fucking crazy.

“Y/N, holy shit,” he moaned when you took him in your mouth. His eyes closed briefly as he tossed his head back with the pleasure. You hummed and bobbed your head up and down. He felt so nice, so thick and full in your mouth; you never wanted to let him go. Bucky grunted when you swallowed around him. He was already so damn close, it was embarrassing.

“Baby,” he said. “I’ll come if you continue to do that again.” You made a soft sound. You wanted him to come in your mouth, but there was this whole video thing to go through, so you pulled off. Bucky, always good at reading you, stroked your cheek. “Some other time I’ll let you have it in your mouth, alright?” You nodded. He smiled. “Move up,” he commanded, inclining his head towards the bed. You scrambled to follow his order. You spread your legs as soon as you were in a comfy position.

“I could eat you up…” He whispered. He crawled towards you on his knees, sweatpants ditched already and he was naked. He looked up at you, his dark eyes boring into yours intimately. Bucky nosed your clothed core. “Maybe I should…”

Whimpering, you wiggled slightly. He chuckled. It was a dark sound that sent chills down your spine. He grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulder. Laying down on his stomach, he licked a fat line over the fabric.

“James!” You cried out. He rubbed his scruff covered jaw all over your inner thighs. His fingers grabbed the hem of your panties and he pulled them down, ripping them under the fishnet stockings and he threw them somewhere in the room. You gasped at the strength show. You could feel yourself getting even wetter. “Fuck,” you whispered. Bucky smirked. His tongue poked out to lick you clean.

It took you a second to realize that he was mimicking your ministrations on you. You let out a laugh which turned into a moan as the tip of his tongue nudged your clit. Arching your back, you grabbed his long hair. You knew he was good with his mouth; no mouth like his could be bad, anyhow.

“God, James,” you whispered harshly. He licked, licked, sucked and licked again, and you were going crazy. His beard was rubbing all over the slick and soft flesh, irritating the skin there. You were loving the fact that you were going to have some nice beard burn tomorrow.

Bucky slurped, licked you clean and flicked his tongue against your clit one last time before he pulled back. As much as he wanted you to come on his face, he wanted your first orgasm to happen on his dick.

You whined as he pulled back but purred in satisfaction when he laid on you, caging you under his big and muscle-y body. He was making you feel small and precious and honestly, you loved that feeling. It felt even better when it was Bucky.

“Lemme see them, yeah?” He whispered as he slowly peeled your bra off. Throwing it somewhere when it came off, Bucky didn’t waste any time to latch on to one of your nipples.

“Fuck!” You yelped at the sudden warmth around the delicate flesh, back bowing and chest pushing against his face even more with the new position. He flicked his tongue around, sucked and you felt his teeth nipping the flesh lightly. One of his hands was grabbing your other breast, fingers rolling the nipple. “Jaaames!” You whined, your fingers were still wound up tight in his hair. He hummed and pulled back with a pop.

“Fine,” he grumbled, turning your world upside down in a blink.

With a gasp, you were flipped around and were put on your stomach with your hips tilted up. Bucky’s knees were right outside of your thighs while your legs were as spread wide as they could. You could feel his hard cock right against your wet pussy, and you couldn’t help but moan and wiggle your ass a bit. Bucky groaned. His hips moved against yours, cock dragging up and down on your pussy as he reached for a condom. Both of you were clean and you were on pill, but he still wanted to make sure that you were not to get pregnant.

Bucky placed his hands on your waist and slowly moved them up and wound on of them in your hair. He made a fist, pulling them tightly to the side to expose your neck. You gasped and whimpered.

“Ready, baby?” He asked. You nodded. “You sure? Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, ‘m fine, please.” Wiggling your ass against his cock, you moaned lightly. Bucky cooed at you softly, his free hand roaming all over your back in a soothing move. His fingers dipped into the holes of the stockings, ripping them just a little to make some room, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. You cried out. Immediately clenching around the long and thick digits, you moaned.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Bucky cursed. “Tight as a fucking virgin, shit.” You hummed and canted your hips against him, practically riding his fingers. He made a sound of approval, removed his fingers and lined his cock up.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes, gimme!”

“Alright, love, don’t worry. I’mma give you what you need.” Swearing once again, Bucky slid inside of you with one slow thrust.

You screamed. Your back arched, hips tilted even higher and you clenched around his hard cock. Bucky cursed. His fingers were grabbing your hair tighter, almost making your scalp hurt, but you were loving the sting. You moaned and hummed as he started to thrust in and out. His pace was careful and slow, and remained like that until he deemed that you adjusted his length and width.

“God, shit, James,” you moaned. “You feel so good in me, so big…” Eyes closed, you threw your head back. Bucky responded your moan with his own. Just like you said, you felt so damn good around him. It felt like his cock was being wrapped tightly with hot silk. “Faster?” You asked, looking at him over your shoulder with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he let go of your hair and placed both hands on your hips for support. His hips fastened their pace. His balls, full to the brim, were swinging back and forth, occasionally slapping against your slicked covered skin. You were so wet that every movement of Bucky’s cock in you was making an obscene squelching sound. You could feel your thighs getting wetter with Bucky’s each thrust.

“James,” you whispered. “Fuck, James, ‘m close.” Your harsh whisper reached to his ear between the loud thrusts of his hips, and he grabbed you by the waist and throat to pull you up. You made a sobbing sound as the changed position made his cock drove in you even deeper. You loved the feeling of having him deep.  

Bucky hugged you close to his chest; one of his arms was around your waist while the other was winding under your right arm, his right hand was loosely wrapped around your throat. You found the loose hand on your throat surprisingly grounding, and you sighed. Your hips flushed against his, you looked like you were sitting on his thighs in this position.

“Come whenever you wanna, love,” he whispered in your ear and placed a kiss on your cheek. The arm around your waist shifted on your hip, and he resumed his thrusts.

Having him way deeper was going to push you off the edge quicker than before, you could feel it. The tension in your belly was coiling with every single thrusts of his, your clit throbbing and your walls clenching around him; you were right there.

You sobbed. Your hands scrambled to grab any part of him; one of them wound up in his hair while the other grabbed the back of his thigh. “Yes,” you whimpered. “There!” You moaned when a little shift in his thrust lightened something up in you. “Fuck, ‘m─” Gasping, you swallowed the sob down. Your legs were trembling, pussy and stomach visibly clenching, you felt your nipples tighten up almost painfully.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky moaned loudly. His long hair was obscuring his face just a little bit, the ends of it tickling your shoulders. His scruff was rubbing against your neck, you could feel his happy trail against your ass, and with all these heightened senses you couldn’t hold onto your orgasm any longer.

You came on Bucky’s cock with a scream got trapped in your throat suddenly. Mouth wide open with a silent scream, your body convulsed and trembled against Bucky’s. If it weren’t his arms holding you upright against his chest, you would have collapsed face-first down on the bed, you knew it.

The spectacular fog of orgasm had covered your mind, making you vaguely aware of Bucky’s jack-rabbit thrusts. He was panting in your ear, hands tightened on your flesh and throat, you could feel his cock twitching in you. You turned your head to him lazily, still drowsy from your orgasm. Your hand on his thigh moved to his cheek to turn his face to yours.

“Come for me,” you whined lightly against his lips. You gave him a chaste kiss on the lips and whispered again. “C’mon, James, come for me.” Kissing him again, this time you bit down on his bottom lip and clenched your pussy around him tighter.

He gasped, his thrusts going mad as he moved his hips one, two, three more times before he stilled. Cock twitching, balls tightening up, he came inside the condom as his body crumpled forward. As he went down on the bed, he took you with him. Never letting you go, he cuddled you against his chest.

Five minutes later, breathing turned back normal, Bucky chuckled. “Goddamn,” he said and you grunted in approval. “You alright? Was I too rough?” You shook your head as you gave him thumbs up. He chuckled again. He rubbed your hips gently as he pulled out of you slowly. You grimaced as he did and watched him disposing the condom. He got off the bed, stopping the recording. “I don’t think this video will ever need an editing, but we’ll see I guess,” he murmured. He walked into the bathroom to grab a cloth to clean you up and himself, and then joined you back in the bed with camera in his hands.

“Shall we watch it before we upload it online?” He asked, brow cocked. You looked at him; his hair was a mess and his lips were red, his body had sweat glistening all over. He looked thoroughly fucked out, and you wanted to see him fucking you while looking like this for… who knows how many minutes. So, you nodded. “Alright,” he murmured and poked around the camera. You settled against his arm, head resting on his meaty shoulder. “Here we go…”

──

It was no surprise that watching fifty-six minutes of heavenly sex tape had led you to another round of sex. This time you riding Bucky into oblivion as he dirty talked the shit out of you.

At the very end, you decided to post the pictures first because Bucky was a bit hesitant about posting your very first sex tape online since it was ‘probably amateur’ and ‘you needed to get better a little’. You didn’t buy it, of course.

So, you cornered him only to learn that he didn’t want the video of you having sex with him the first time to be all over the internet, he wanted to keep it private. It was a very touching thought.

It only took Bucky to a little bit more cornering to admit that his crush on you back high school had never passed.

“Y-you… What?” You asked, feeling dumb. He chuckled nervously. “You have a crush on me ever since high school?” Feeling absolutely dumb, you kissed him on the lips. Bucky let out a confused noise but returned your kiss anyway. “You idiot!” You shrieked.

“What?” Bucky shrieked at you back. You kissed him again.

“I was depressed all those times thinking that you moved on from me!” You said, causing Bucky to freeze for a second. “I thought you moved on and I lost my chance…” You continued but more softly this time.

“Wait,” Bucky pulled back. “You like me back?” You nodded. He looked at you without blinking for a little while. “We are idiots. You’re in this shit with me.” You snorted as he rolled his eyes. But then, he leaned in to give you the softest kiss ever. You sighed happily. “So, are you up for a ‘congrats-you’re-an-idiot-couple’ sex?” He asked, face scrunching adorably.

Laughing, you climbed on his lap again and kissed him passionately as his answer. Bucky just moaned and indulged in it happily.

#bucky barnes x reader #bestfriend!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bestfriend!bucky #bucky barnes au #shameless

[rodr1cks]

Hi! I don't know if your request are open, but I'd like to know if you could write a rodrick x reader where the reader is Rowley's sister and discovers her talking on the phone with a friend saying she's in love with Rodrick and tells Greg and he tells her that Rodrick has been in love with her for a long time and they try to put them together?

cw: none it’s pure fluff

word count: 1.8k

“I know! And he didn’t even apologize!” Greg ranted into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Rowley frowned, sympathetic nature as present as always. “Anyways, mom says dinner is ready, see you tonight?” Rowley’s tone lifted at the end of his sentence, excitement brewing as he thought about the sleepover he was meant to have with Greg later that evening.

You slid into the kitchen on your socks, just as Rowley was concluding his conversation with Greg.

Rowley sat anxiously through dinner, quickly consuming everything on his plate, including the vegetables. You observed him from across the table, cocking your head as your younger brother inhaled his peas like he hadn’t eaten in days.

He took his last bite before exclaiming, “I’m going to pack my stuff for Greg’s!”

Not without clearing his dishes first, of course.

You rolled your eyes at his charisma and headed into the living room. You slumped over on the couch, limbs splayed every which way as you called your friend, Marissa. You had been needing to gush to somebody about your newest crush, Rodrick Heffley.

You had only interacted with the messy haired boy in passing: family dinners, picking up Greg, dropping off Rowley, etc.

“I don’t know what it is, he’s just so- so- captivating. God, Mar, I swear I could watch him play drums for hours on end!”

Unbeknownst to you, Rowley had entered the room and was about to speak. You were too caught up in drooling over Rodrick to notice. “Hey, y/n-” He cut himself off quickly, curiosity getting the best of him.

“And did you see what he was wearing at Matt’s party? Those jeans? And that eyeliner? God I could just tear them-”

Rowley cleared his throat, unwilling to hear the rest. “Y/n can you take me to Greg’s, please?” He stood awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Your head whipped around faster than the speed of light. “Marissa, I gotta go.”

“Rowley, how much of that did you hear?”

He lied, something he wasn’t really good at, “Not much! I promise!”

“Rowley Jefferson you had better keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll-”

You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “Just get in the car.” You breathed out in a scarily calm tone. Your red headed sibling nodded frantically out of fear and darted to the garage.

Usually, you would make him walk, but ever since your infatuation with Rodrick began, you were more eager to give him rides over there. The mere prospect of getting the slightest glance sending excitement throughout your entire being.

When you pulled up to the Heffley home, you gave him a final glare. “Say nothing.” He gave you the same shaky nod he gave you only moments ago. With that, he was bounding towards the front door. You made sure he got inside safely and drove off.

“Rowley? Everything okay?” Greg asked his friend, concerned with his behavior. Rowley couldn’t handle keeping secrets. His hands grew clammy and a slight sweat broke out on his forehead. Rowley had an uncomfortably fake smile plastered on his face as he tried to assure Greg that everything was just peachy.

All it took was one knowing look from Greg and Rowley broke.

“Alright, fine! I heard my sister talking to her friend about how hot Rodrick is and how she wants to-”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture!”

Greg took a moment to proceed, his brows furrowed as he brought a contemplative fist up to support his chin.

“Lemme get this straight. Your sister likes my brother?”

Rowley nodded slowly.

“Y/n likes Rodrick?”

Rowley nodded again, confirming Greg’s exclamations.

“But y/n is smart a-and hot!”

“Greg! Don’t say that!” Rowley groaned, rolling his head back in disgust. Greg threw both of his hands up in defense, “I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait, I have an idea.” A pit of dread grew in Rowley’s stomach, Greg’s ideas never turned out well.

“What if we set up y/n with Rodrick? Just hear me out, this could be good for him.”

Rowley mulled the idea over in his head, thinking that maybe dating you could make Rodrick more… agreeable? Maybe you could be a good influence on the intimidating teenager. A happier Rodrick would make sleepovers at Greg’s a lot more pleasant.

“I think that could work,” Rowley said apprehensively. “But how do we do it?”

Greg shrugged, “Simple, we just tell Rodrick there’s a really hot Girl interested in him.”

The boys proceeded to draw up a plan.

Phase one: The approach. Greg and Rowley nervously ascended the wooden steps that led to Rodrick’s room. Rodrick was laying on his back, spinning a drumstick between his nimble fingers.

He shot up immediately when he noticed the boys’ presence. “What are your dweebs doing up here?”

Phase two: Delivery. “Calm down Rodrick, we have some information you might wanna know,” Greg reasoned cooly, easing Rodrick’s anger from a roaring ten to a mild six.

Greg nodded over at Rowley, signaling him to start talking.

“W-well,” Rowley stuttered, “I uhm- heard my sister talking about you and she- she likes you and she was talking about your jeans?”

Rodrick blinked in confusion, processing this intel.

“Your sister likes me? Are you sure she meant me?”

“That’s what I said!” Greg exclaimed and Rodrick shot him a terrifying glare, silently telling Greg to can it.

Rodrick was honestly shocked. He always observed you from afar, deciding himself that a chick as cool as you would never go for him. This news was absolutely world shattering for the boy, he completely admired you.

Phase three: Action. “We have a plan.” Greg said, a conniving grin creeping onto his face. “Rowley calls y/n, tells her that he’s feeling sick and blames it on Mom’s pot roast or something. Then when she rushes over all worried, you greet her at the door. And then you work your Rodrick magic!” Greg smiled, abundant pride for his plan evident in his stature.

“It’s a go.” Rodrick declared, scrambling around his room to put on deodorant, a new t-shirt, and cologne before pointing at Rowley. “Make the call.”

“Hey, y/n,” Rowley groaned into the phone, sounding as sick as he possibly could. “I- I think I ate something bad and I really need you ro come get me.”

You sighed, telling him you’d be there in ten minutes and to have his things ready to go. You departed for the Heffley house for the second time that night.

When Rowley didn’t come out to your car, you trudged up to the red door to go retrieve the sickly boy.

You gave the door three lazy knocks, expecting Rowley’s face to be the one behind it when it swung open. “Hey kid, are you feeling okay?” You asked, not yet making eye contact with the figure leering in the doorframe.

Your eyes widened as you came to realize who it was.

“Funny seeing you here,” Rodrick drawled out, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your cheeks burned with the heat of one thousand suns, you were not expecting this tonight.

“Y-yeah,” you smiled awkwardly, staring at your feet. “Rowley called, he uhm, he’s not feeling well. So if you could just get him for me I can leave. Immediately.” You cursed yourself for your blubbering idiocy as you twiddled your fingers.

“Actually, Rowley is feeling much, much better.” Suspicion grew as you studied Rodrick’s devious expression. “What’s going on?” You asked, genuinely puzzled as nothing was making any sense.

“I don’t know, y/n. Why don’t you come in and tell me?” Rodrick was surprisingly smooth in this situation, despite his nerves being at an all time high.

“Rowley is just up here,” Rodrick said while guiding you up the stairs to his room. In the meantime, Greg and Rowley peered out from the hallway, watching you follow Rodrick upstairs and giggling to themselves.

The overhead lights in Rodrick’s room were turned on, the glow from his string lights illuminating the area instead. “Mood lighting,” as he had called it. Rodrick had already instructed the boys to stay far away once you had arrived.

You were still lost, Rowley nowhere in sight. “So? Where is he?” You asked expectantly.

“Here’s the thing y/n. You know Rowley can’t keep secrets, right? I mean you have to know that, he is your brother”

Shit.

“That little shit stain! I’ll get him, I swear to god!” You turned to bound down the stairs, ready to tear the entire house apart in hunting for him. Rodrick grabbed your wrist before your foot could even reach the first step.

“Y/n, relax, relax!” His grip on your flesh made your breath hitch and stomach churn. “It’s okay, I feel the same way.” Rodrick’s cocky facade dissipated into nothing as he revealed his feelings.

You got a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of Rodrick that you were sure he didn’t typically share. “But girls like you don’t usually like stupid guys like me,” Rodrick was staring at the ground now, grasp on your arm softening.

You were too unsure of your words so you opted to move your free hand to hold his bicep, closing a considerable amount of distance between the two of you in the process.

“Rodrick, I’ve never liked anybody as much as I like you. And I don’t mean that in a weird or creepy way it’s just that-”

Now it was time for Rodrick’s own addition to the plan. Phase four: The kiss.

Your rambling was cut short by a pair of warm lips pressing against your own. He kissed you with just enough force to cause you to stumble back a bit, causing you to brace yourself against his torso.

He carded a gentle hand through your hair and tugged back on your soft locks. You moaned at the vibrations tendrilling at your scalp and kissed him with even more ferocity.

Somehow, you ended up on his bed, straddling him. The blankets strewn across his mattress melded against your knees and the fronts of your calves as you stabilized yourself on his lap.

He placed apprehensive hands on your hip bones, unsure of what was okay and what wasn’t. You placed your hand on top of his larger one, assuring him that you were comfortable. You even allowed a small whimper to leave your throat as he tightened his hold on you.

You only pulled away to catch your breath, looking into his eyes for the first time that night. You smiled warmly at him as you cupped his cheek. Suddenly, Rodrick’s signature smirk returned to his face.

“Now tell me what you were saying about my jeans.”

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley fanfic #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #devon bostick