#but idk. idk. it's subtle but to me the distinction is 'i wish i could marry my girl friends' vs 'i wish my girl friends would never marry'

[talesofsymphoniac]

Jo March from Little Women (2019) makes me feel aromantic feelings: a manifesto

Okay, basics out of the way-- Jo lives in a time where she is expected to get married and explicitly expresses that she likely never will and has no desire to.

Her character explores ideas about family and growing up and the idea that the past/childhood can't be clung to-- as Beth puts it, "It's like the tide going out. It goes out slowly, but it can't be stopped." In context, she's specifically talking about her impending death, but it's not too much of a stretch to apply it to Jo's sense that "childhood is over," a sentiment that she expresses at Meg's wedding.

Marriage is something that seems to weigh heavily on Jo's mind throughout the movie-- not only is she shown to be supremely disinterested in it for herself, but she also expresses multiple times that she also dreads the marriage of her sisters, viewing it as having them "stolen away" from her. Multiple times in the movie, when she expresses this sentiment, the response she gets is that she will understand when she falls in love, herself. It goes without saying that that is something aromantic people are told a lot-- that they will understand when they meet the right person-- but what resonates with me about this is something else: in these scenes, Jo is expressing her distress, but those who care about her have no way to understand the source of her distress, and no real way to comfort her, because in the framework of their society, there are very few respectable alternatives to marriage.

To me, the scene that highlights this most strongly is the scene where Jo tries to talk Meg out of her marriage. The quote that gets remembered from this scene is Meg's line, "just because my dreams are different than yours doesn't mean they're unimportant." Which is true, and a deeply powerful thing for Meg to get to say, especially given that she's marrying a poor man for love after she's had it impressed on her that she needed to marry well to care for her family.

But that line is heartbreaking from Jo's point of view. Because while she is certainly being a bit of a dick about her sister's future husband, this scene is a last-ditch effort to explain to her family that she feels abandoned and lost. To me, it kind of parallels Laurie's confession later-- Jo wants, more than anything, to stay with her sisters, and she knows that it's not a possibility the way she wants it to be. In the last moment, she confesses this, knowing what Meg's answer will be, knowing that Meg loves her but that they see their futures differently and there is no way around that.

Meg refuses her, explicitly saying that what she wants is to build her life with her new husband. And that's right for her to say, and I very much doubt Jo expected her to say anything else. But Meg says "childhood was going to end eventually. And what a happy end," oblivious to the fact that for Jo, it isn't a happy end at all, and furthermore there is no clear happy ending in sight for her.

I think there is a lot to be said about the fear of losing one's childhood and having to step into adulthood. But I really think there is more going on than that, here. When Laurie confesses to Jo, she tells him that she doesn't think she will ever marry. But she knows that her sisters will, and that Laurie will. It's not just that childhood is ending; it's that as a child, the roles that society expects of her are those of a sister, daughter, and friend, and these are roles she takes on naturally and happily. But for her, stepping into adulthood means new social roles that she can't fill.

She spells this out very clearly when Laurie confesses to her. She can't see herself as a wife, or as a mistress of the house, or in love with Laurie the way a wife should be. Laurie points out that Jo has avoided dealing with his feelings for her for years, and I think the reason for this is the same reason she dreaded Meg's wedding. To Jo, marriage is the reason she loses Meg and Amy, and it is also the reason she can't maintain her position as Laurie's closest companion.

I know that some people probably read Jo's letter to Laurie agreeing to marry him as a feelings realization, or else her settling for a husband that she likes, if not loves, but given her speech about feeling lonely, I read it more as Jo's realizing that if she wants to keep the role she has in Laurie's life, the only way to do it would be to become his wife, or else someone else will. In other words, even though Jo explicitly loathes the idea of marriage, the only way she can see to maintain the closeness that she wants is through marriage.

Laurie says of course she will marry-- she loves too deeply not to. Her mother says that just because she wants to be loved by Laurie isn't the same thing as her loving him. These comments, to me, combine to represent a hurtful trap that nonromantic people are often hit with: Jo is both "too loving" not to eventually find someone she wants to marry, but also, the love she has for Laurie is "not loving enough," since she doesn't want to marry him.

Of course, Jo does get her happy ending adulthood in the form of the school she starts up, with her family ultimately remaining close to her, as well as her own marriage which may or may not have been a fabrication for her publisher. When the world doesn't provide a path for her to follow, she's able to make her own, and of course I think that speaks to all women, straight or otherwise. But those particular elements will always ring a very strong aromantic/asexual bell for me, and I just wanted to talk about that for a while, thanks for reading all this bye.

#little women #little women 2019 #acearo #meta #mine #look i keep seeing people talk about acearo barbie and they're right but. the acearo jo coding is off the walls ok #and like for both of them it's NOT just the lack of interest in men (or women) it's the grief that they seem to feel about it in some scene #i mean ok granted my understanding is that 'grief for the heteronormative life you won't be able to lead' is not an uncommon lesbian feelin #and so is 'i'm losing my childhood/girl friends to marriage and that's a tragedy' (LOOKING AT YOU ANNE OF GREEN GABLES) #but idk. idk. it's subtle but to me the distinction is 'i wish i could marry my girl friends' vs 'i wish my girl friends would never marry' #also. noting yet again that writing about acearo stuff is harder for me than writing about gay stuff

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 17

Larissa Weems part 16 | part 18 | ao3

Apologies for how long this took me to write. Forgive me. No warnings but it gets a little suggestive near the end. The next chapyer will be pg (I assume idk what imma write yet) but the following one will be 18+ if I stick to my plan… (6.5k)

~

There’s a nip in the air, Autumn’s cold embrace slowly curling around her form. Seeping into her bones despite her layers and the scarf that nestled around her neck. Her vision is hazy, subtle but enough for her to notice that the world looks softer. The leaves that begin to orange are fuzzy and mesh into a clump rather than maintaining their own distinct shapes. The trunks of trees look as if they were painted with a frayed brush, their edges bleeding into their surroundings.

The wind is deafening but there is no strong gale, only a gentle breeze that caresses the grass and ushers the clouds along the sky at a languid pace. So slowly that they appear stationary. The sun injects the sky with its brilliant light, dripping gold into the atmosphere and dusting the treetops in a luster.

A familiar presence sits to her right, there is space between them but not much — there’s scarcely any, a hair’s breadth. She shivers and draws the scarf closer to her, seeking any additional warmth that she can. The grass beneath her feels damp and cold.

She turns to look at her company, their gaze set on the expanse before them, birds can be heard in the distance singing their songs before they rest for the night. The sun is fast approaching the horizon and its honeyed light catches in ink black eyes. Many many years ago she would have described them as enchanting and inviting — back then she wished to crawl into them and bask in their warmth. But now, in the present day, there is no fondness left for those ink black eyes.

The quirk of plum coloured lips, that contrasts starkly with paper white skin, draws her gaze down to them. It falls lower, following the strands of pin straight raven hair. Their tresses are long, the ends pool on the forest floor in lazy curls. Something is off… She feels as if everything is perfect but her disdain for this woman runs deep in her veins. She should be sharing this idyllic moment with someone, their face she is unable to picture in her mind but she knows it is definitely not Morticia.

Silence stretches on between them as the sun dips down. What could be minutes or hours pass until the sound of leaves crunching underfoot disrupts the tranquillity. Morticia hums in delight as she keeps her eyes on the landscape. Larissa looks over her shoulder to the new presence and everything clicks into place when she sees your face. A dreamy smile plastered onto her lips as she watches you approach. Why Morticia is next to her she does not know. But what she does know is you’re meant to be beside her.

Your lips curve into a smile when you meet her eyes, “I didn’t know we’d have company,” you speak lightly coming to a stop a few feet from the duo. You’re curious, not annoyed.

Larissa opens her mouth to reply before she closes it. She has no answer.

“Larissa,” finally Morticia moves, leaning back on her arms as she twists her body to look at you. A coy smile on her lips as she lets her eyes trail over every inch of your body, her voice husky and sultry, “you never told me how bewitching your little toy is,”

“Morticia,” her words are loaded with warning and it’s no small miracle that Larissa didn’t tear Morticia’s head from her shoulders.

The ravenette only brushes her off as she stands and saunters over to you, adding sufficient sway to her hips, she stops a few meters away from you, silently prompting you to take the last few steps. Which you do. Slowly and unsteadily as if you were approaching a wild animal. Your eyes trained on Morticia as your lips part, mesmerised by her.

“Atikah?” Larissa calls out. A horrible cloying lump of anxiety burrows in her throat as she gets up from the ground.

Your eyes flit over to her before they’re back on Morticia. You barely spared her a cursory glance. Morticia closes the last of the distance between you, her hands landing on your waist before falling lower… resting on the swell of your hips where she pulls you flush to her.

Larissa goes to call out your name again but her voice breaks and catches in her throat as she lets out a strangled cry instead. A stinging sensation burns behind her eyes as hot tears begin to well. Morticia removes one of her hands and holds your face by your chin. Tilting your head up as she leans in. Plum coloured lips inching closer to yours.

What’s worse is the smile on your lips as you rush to close the gap.

~

The Principal wakes as the witching hour starts. Calling out a broken plea for you into her empty bedroom. It’s pitch black, the curtains drawn blocking the silvery moonlight from streaming in. With shaking arms she pulls herself into a sitting position. Fumbling for the switch on her bedside lamp. Its warm yellow light floods the room but its reach isn’t enough to whisk away the shadows that congeal in the corners of her room. They seem to laugh at her.

Her chest heaves as warm tears fall down her face onto her lap in steady streams accompanied by broken sobs. Her hands tremble as she runs them through her hair. The room spins as she tries and fails to take any amount of control of her breathing.

Her eyes fly around the room trying to count things she can see in hopes to reel her mind in and give it some semblance of calm. Her sights land on her phone and a white stuffed cat that she kept on her nightstand.

~

Your phone rattled against the wooden floor, you had fallen asleep after scrolling endlessly through videos and in your tiredness had let it drop to the floor as you curled into your covers. It’s incessant vibrating wakes you but you refuse to open your eyes, desperate to hold onto the last little piece of sleep you can. A hand shoots out the cocoon you’d made of your duvet as you blindly search for the offending item.

Once in hand you peek an eye open to read the caller id. Normally when you see ‘Rissa <3’ light up your screen you’re happy. But it’s unlike her to call during the middle of the night and it worries you just a little. You prop yourself up on one elbow as you answer the phone. Your voice gravelly and your fatigue is evident.

“Hey,” you stifle a yawn, “what’s up?”

Her voice is a little staticky over the line, but you can tell something is up, “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… just wanted to hear your voice,” she sounds sheepish.

“It’s alright Rissa,” you coo, “is everything okay?”

“I- yes, yes everything’s fine,” she falls silent for a beat, “sorry, I’ll let you get back to sleep,”

She hangs up before you can object. You stare at your screen in confusion and then toss your covers aside. Slipping on a pair of slippers and shoving the the first hoodie you could reach over your head.

~

Nevermore is deathly silent as you traverse the halls. The building seems to breathe as it settles itself into its foundations. Lamps made to look like torches line the walls at even intervals. They’re only ever on at nightfall.

You slip down a small corridor that runs adjacent to Larissa’s office. Her personal quarters have two entrances, one that adjoins her public study and the other down this discrete hallway — it’s really just a dead end. This entrance is inconspicuous, it still fits in with Nevermore’s grandeur and gothic nature but on it’s on the more simple side.

You knock on it, loud enough so it could be heard but you’re met with silence. You knock again and when the outcome is the same you take a step back and survey the door. You know she keeps a spare key somewhere.

If this was a house you’d check under the doormat but there is none. Two potted plants flank either side of the door frame and you check under both with no luck. You bite your lip as you look for anything out of place but nothing appears to be fake or sound hollow when you tap it.

You’re not about to give up. You take to pacing a little as you try to pretend to be Larissa. If you were an insanely hot principal, where would you hide a spare key? You run your hand along the panelled door, eyes roaming over the walls until a brick catches your attention. It’s a little too clean to be the same age as the others.

It’s as good a guess as any, so you steady yourself with one hand on the wall as you go on the very tips of your toes and reach as far as you can. Pressing the brick does the trick as it pops out of place. It’s a struggle wiggling it out of place but you manage it. Not without aching a little from the stretch. The top of it is hollowed out just enough to house a key. It’s bronze and looks like those old vintage keys.

You push the key into the lock and go through the arduous task of putting the brick back in place. You have to resort to jumping and simultaneously pushing it back in, it only takes you a few dozen tries. But once it’s clicked back into place you let yourself into Larissa’s quarters. Locking the door behind you as you call out her name softly.

The door takes you to her living room, the entrance to her office embedded into the opposite wall. It’s dark and you have to rely on your memory to navigate the furniture. You press an ear to Larissa's bedroom door and hear nothing. You debate going back to your quarters — perhaps she had gone back to sleep, you would hate to disturb her. But there’s a nagging feeling in your chest. So you slink into the room without a sound. Closing the door behind you silently.

A lamp was on and Larissa lay on her side, her back facing you. Silvery blonde tresses spread across her pillows and picked up the light, it looked as if fairy lights had been threaded through her hair. You smile at the sight as you pad over, rounding the bed to crouch down at the edge.

You thought it impossible to grow fonder of this woman but you stand corrected. Cuddled to her was the cat you had won for her at the Harvest Festival many weeks ago. Her arms wrapped around it tightly as she clutched it to her chest. You would say this was the picture of perfection if it weren’t for the troubled look on her face. You pout to yourself as you reach a hand out and gently shake her.

“Larissa,” you hum softly as her eyes flutter open.

Pale lashes tickle her cheek as she slowly gains her bearings. Roused from a dreamless sleep. She murmurs your name, confused as her brows furl. Her blue eyes flitting between yours.

“Is everything okay?” You ask again, one hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her face.

You rest it against her cheek, your thumb brushing over the swell of it. You admire the crows feet that grace the outer corner of her eyes whilst Larissa mulls over her answer.

Her face takes on a hardened look, “shouldn’t you be in Morticia’s bed,” she spits.

“Rissa?” You whisper with equal parts hurt and confusion as you pull back your hand.

Without taking her eyes off of you, the blonde sits up before continuing on, “I know I’m not much compared to her but the least you could do is end things first before you go giving yourself to another woman- ”

“Why would I be in a mortician’s bed?” You look up at her searching her eyes for any rational explanation, “There is no other- ”

“Don’t lie to me!” Her voice quivers from concealed anger.

“Larissa what the fuck?!” Your chest heaves indignantly.

In the few moments after waking, reality tends to blur with dreams. And it’s impossible to discern what’s real and what’s a figment of the imagination. Larissa finally comes to her wits and heavy regret slams down on her like cinder blocks.

“I’m so sorry!” Fresh tears build and tumble down her face as she covers her mouth with her hand, “I- I had a bad dream. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry darling,”

You stay quiet as you observe the blonde who stares at you, sitting still as if any movement would scare you off. You’re still crouching by her side, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, the muscle in your jaw twitches as your lips press into a thin line. Your eyes bore into her under the furl of your brows. She grows more sick as your silence draws on. Eventually you extend your hand out slowly, when she doesn’t move away you wipe away her tears.

“Do you think that little of me?”

“No.” She’s quick to answer.

“You think I take my feelings, and yours, lightly?”

A pause, then, “No.” It’s whispered.

The woman chances a glance into your eyes and finds your affronted anger has melted away into an anguished concern. If she looks a little closer she’d find the seeds of doubt and insecurity take root. Silently your eyes implore her to explain herself.

“The dream was so vivid…” Larissa rests her hands in her lap and picks at her cuticles, “It… I saw you with someone else. In my dream, you chose someone else. I was right there and so was she… and it was her that was chosen… again,” she trails off getting lost in her memories.

Larissa begins to feel embarrassed, it was an impossible pairing. Morticia was married and states away, whilst you were here. With her. Just as she’s about to apologise, you speak up.

“Dream me is a foolish woman, an absolute idiot,” you mutter scathingly to this other version of you which draws a wry chuckle out of Larissa. “I don’t know who Morticia is… but the only woman I want is you.”

You stand abruptly.

“It was just a bad dream,” you say with a tone of finality.

You shirk off your jumper and shoes. All the while Larissa watches minorly complexed, her eyes follow your movement as you climb over her and worm your way under the covers. Your arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her down to lay next to you so you could press your face into her neck, and marvel at how soft her hair felt against your skin. You could smell the lavender scent of her shampoo.

“I could have moved over,” she mumbles.

Mentally she relaxes, you’ve not stormed out on her. In fact you’ve done the opposite and you’ve held her close. She wants to cry again.

“But then you’d be on the cold side of the bed,”

Larissa turns in your embrace a dusting of red on her face at your gesture, she murmurs a quiet thank you then a stillness envelopes the air around you.

“Please don’t question my feelings for you,” your words are hushed but firm as you break the quietude, “I love you, more than you’ll ever understand,”

Larissa freezes in your arms. Eyes wide as she stares at the top of your head. She doesn’t trust her ears. There’s no way you said that… surely not. You can’t mean that, it’s all a mistake. Bound to be-

“I can feel your mind,” you pull back to look into her clouded eyes, “I love you, Larissa Weems,”

You bring a hand up to cup her cheek, your thumb caressing over the swell of her cheekbone. She blinks slowly. Then lets out a shuddery breath.

She struggles to find the words, she knows what she wants to tell you. But how, she doesn’t know. Your lips, soft and gentle, against her own stop her mind from racing.

“You don’t need to say anything, I just need you to know that I love you, and I am yours and only yours.” you murmur against her lips, “If you’ll have me… I’d like to be yours officially,”

“Please,” Larissa breathes out.

You smile and kiss her again, still chaste, just enjoying the feeling of her mouth on yours as you begin tracing mindless patterns on her back. She dons another one of her silk night slips, the thin straps leave plenty of skin for your hands.

In the light of the room you can see the freckles that dust her shoulders. Without thinking you pull away and dip your head down to pepper a few kisses over them. Larissa lets out a pleased hum — she adored how unabashed you were with your affection. She never found herself having to ask or beg for it.

“I…” Larissa swallows thickly, forcing down the lump rising in her throat, you deserve to hear the words from her, “I love you too, deeply,”

~

Each year a short assembly was held in the main hall – or in the courtyard if the weather permitted it – to announce that year’s Rave’N theme. In the meeting the rules of the dance were also discussed, more of a tick box action, it needed to be addressed despite being common knowledge. The main one was no alcohol. Of course, Larissa would turn a blind eye to the older students who would sneak away to their dorms and share booze at the end of the night. She had done the same during her Nevermore days, and as long as they behaved for the most part she would pretend she didn't hear the sound of glass bottles clinking in bags.

You walk with your morning class through the hallways, rain battered the ground outside and ricocheted off of the windows. You look out onto the dreary landscape, a misty haze falls over the forests – making the world feel like it wasn't as big as it was. A chipper voice draws your gaze away from the window. You look to the side at Enid

“Miss. Karnstein, what do you think the theme is?!” Enid asks. From her tone you can tell she’s just impatient and is hoping you’ve been let in on the details already.

You give her a bemused smile as you shake your head slowly, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’.

The lycan sighs theatrically, and you think for a moment that she would make for a wonderful actress. Following that train of thought you look over your shoulder at the rest of the class, as your gaze flits past faces you conjure up all the possible careers and jobs they could take on. Your lips curve into a smile at each person’s potential.

“Are you going to the dance?”

“Probably, yes,” you say half distracted as you come to a stop.

You place a hand at the small of Enid’s back, it hovers a few inches from her as you gently guide her through the tall doorways of the main hall. You remain in place as you allow all your students to filter in, you slip into the hall and close the doors behind you.

You could count on one hand, excluding your thumb, how many times you had been in the assembly hall. The highschool you had attended as a teenager was on the larger end and doubled as the main sports hall. Nevermore’s was something entirely different. When you craned your neck as far back as you could, your eyes would find a ridiculously intricate and detailed ribbed vaulted ceiling. The masonry that jutted out to create the ribs intersected each other to create symmetrical geometric patterns, and the spaces between were filled with artworks all varied in subject matter. If you had to hazard a guess, you would say that the paintings depicted scenes from Outcast history. The supporting pillars that stuck out on the walls were filled with serpentine carvings of flowers and bats, you assume a vampire had designed the school when it was being built.

The seats were plush and similar to what you would find in an old theatre, upholstered in some sort of velvet fabric. Nothing like the hard varnished wooden benches at your highschool. You feel a tinge of jealousy.

You walk up a few steps and take a seat at the edge of the row where your class sits, beside you is Xavier who looks as if he were about to fall asleep whilst Ajax, on his other side, has actually dozed off. The crackle from the microphone perched on an elaborately crafted wooden lectern causes a hush to travel through the room.

There she stands, hands placed either side of the podium as she waits for the room to fall completely silent. The assembly hall featured a typical theatre stage, deep crimson drapes were held to the side, showing the black wall of the far side of the stage, The valance curtain was the same rich red and housed Nevermore’s badge in the centre. The cream dress Larissa had chosen stood out brilliantly against the dark expanse around her, as if she were a beacon of light to guide wayward travellers to safety and salvation.

She’s enthralling when she addresses a crowd, the tilt to her head, how she smiles, how she clasps her hands together only to tear them apart so she can gesture with them, and how she stands tall, shoulders back, unafraid to take up space by existing.

Her velvety smooth voice fills the hall, as she begins her speech, you try your best to listen but her red lips are so tantalising and has your mind running off into the gutter. How you wish you weren't here, and instead somewhere private with her… plump lips on your skin, waves of silver hair threaded between your fingers, her hand setting your skin ablaze in its wake as it travels down your body. The sinful noises she would make-

You jump in your seat when something hits your shoulder. You turn to your right to see Xavier jerk his head up, looking a little bewildered as he regains his bearings.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” he fights through a yawn.

You nod and return your gaze back to the front. Your endeavour to pay attention ends in failure as you get lost in Larissa’s presence. And before you know it everyones standing from their seats, chatter filling the cavernous room. The assembly is over and people need to get back to their classes. You wait until the row in front of you has started down the stairs before ushering your class to file out.

You stand at the door and once the last of your students leave you go to follow. But not before looking back at Larissa who remains on the stage, you find, to your pleasant surprise, that she’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet her smile deepens and she nods to you with a small wave that you’re all too happy to return before disappearing out the hall.

You close your classroom door and let your students just talk for the last five minutes of the lesson. You sit at your desk and mindlessly fiddle with a pad of sticky notes. In no time at all Enid has sidled up next to you. Staring at you until you sense her eyes and turn to her slowly – a mild look of confusion on your face.

“Are you and Principal Weems gonna go to the dance together!?”

You blink. You hadn’t thought about it. Obviously you were, especially since you both had agreed to be official. You didn't need to but it felt nice to be able to say, with confidence, that Larissa Weems was your girlfriend, your partner, your lover. Subconsciously a smile worms its way onto your lips as you picture her angelic face in your mind.

“If she says yes,” you hum, “What do you think of this year’s theme?” Your eyes flit past Enid’s shoulder to Wednesday who is walking over. You give her a small nod of acknowledgment as she stops next to her lycan friend, you note she stands a little closer than a friend would, even a best friend.

The young blonde looks up in thought as she taps her chin, “Hmm, well, I like it, but as a proud werewolf…” Enid trails off.

You purse your lips trying to piece together what the theme could be, but Enid’s answer just has you more confused. As an adult you would have thought you would become better at paying attention.

“Dracula’s Ballroom,” a steady voice answers your unvoiced questions, “Elaborate gowns, decorated suits, and flowing capes. Fake fangs optional,” Wednesday reiterates a portion of Larissa’s speech.

“Thank you,” is all you can say sheepishly as the bell rings out.

~

The strangled creak of your window being pushed open breaks your concentration, you lower the volume of your music until it’s a ghost of a noise. You wear a smirk as you leave your desk chair and crouch down to meet Bärchen. Your hand runs through her silky fur as she butts her head against your knee.

“I’ve missed you,” you chuckle, scooping her up into your arms. Pressing a kiss to her forehead.

You hadn’t seen your little feline in a while, her visits had become scarce. If you had to pinpoint a specific time when her appearances had stopped then you’d hazard a guess around about when you had first kissed Larissa. Bärchen chirps as she pushes her head into your neck, pulling you free from your ponderings, her loud purring filling the room.

You bundled up an old sweater in the corner of your desk and plopped the cat down in the nest you had made before taking your seat again and resuming your work. Your eyes flit across the screen, every now and then you reach out to stroke Bärchen, finding comfort in her white coat.

Larissa decided she wasn’t close enough to you, so with determined steps, her furry little feet took her to the edge of the desk where she hopped down onto your lap. Turning in a circle a few times as she prodded your legs with her paws until she deemed them soft enough to curl up on.

And so your evening is spent rooted in your chair as Bärchen takes a quick catnap. Curled into a perfect circle with one paw sticking out. Eventually you get bored of lesson planning, and decide it’s time to turn in for the night. Ruefully you stroke the cat’s cheek to wake her, she jumps in fright despite your attempts to rouse her softly. To combat her embarrassment she starts licking her paw and cleaning the top of her head with an urgent suddenness, in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“It’s bedtime for us,” you coo, lifting Bärchen as you stand.

You stretch your legs, sighing in relief as you dispel the dull ache in your muscles. Bärchen wriggled in your grasp, displeased with being moved. She voices it vocally with a series of mews and a monotone growl. You only shush her and cover her round head with your hand. The growl fizzles out.

You tuck her into your bed before getting changed, keeping an eye on the cat from your peripheral. Bärchen’s pupils dilate until hardly a sliver of that brilliant blue can be seen. And her purring is the loudest you’ve ever heard it. You purse your lips in thought as you disappear into your ensuite and rush through your nighttime routine.

Larissa feels the need to sleep weigh on her, she’s terribly tired — Wednesday had been antagonising Xavier all day, pulling all sorts of mayhem. Namely trying to tie him down and use him as a dummy for acupuncture, or so she claimed. The needles she had confiscated from Wednesday were thick and heavy, nothing like the kind used for acupuncture.

Perhaps she could stay for a short while longer or until you fell asleep. Then she would disappear back to her quarters and get some much needed rest herself. She begins to lose herself in thought — fond memories of you flashing in her mind until the mattress dipping under your weight broke her reverie.

Wordlessly you set an alarm on your phone and placed it on the nightstand, pushing items out of the way with it to make space. Something clunks to the floor but you ignore it. Too content to snatch Bärchen back into your arms and curl the covers around your forms. You press your face into the back of her head, the faintest smell of spiced citrus fills your nostrils.

The passage of time is lost on both of you, you don’t know how long you lay there, eyes closed as you take steady and consistent breaths. Nor does Larissa know how long she stays curled against your body, listening intently to your heart — its beat consistent. She’s convinced you’ve fallen asleep, she pushes up and presses her forehead to the underside of your chin before pulling herself out of your hold and out from under the covers. Her back is turned to you the whole process leaving her unaware of the fact that you’re watching her through half-opened eyes, a pensive look clouding them.

You allow her to hop down onto the floor and trot over to the window when you lean up on your elbows. Head cocked to the side.

“Won’t you stay the night, Larissa?” you whisper out.

Bärchen freezes mid-step, her front paw suspended in the air as it hangs limp. Her face peers up at you, pupils razor thin slits.

In her spot Bärchen seems to grow. She pushes up onto her hind legs as her form morphs becoming eerily human until Larissa Weems stands at your window. Staring at you with eyes like saucers, jaw tensed, and lips pursed. She stands stock still, her only movement the bob of her throat as she swallows. Her mouth feels painfully dry. And her heart feels like a jackhammer in her chest. The blonde feels her palms grow clammy.

Your expression is similar. Your eyebrows are nearly at your hairline, eyes mirroring Larissa’s as your mouth hangs open. Your brows move, one remains raised as the other is pushed down. Your eyes jump between the principal's as you finish registering the sight before you. A breathy laugh of disbelief leaves you before it turns into peals of giggles.

Tentatively Larissa calls out your name. Her voice delicate as she tries to gauge your mood.

“You’re a shapeshifter?”

Larissa swallows again, “Yes.”

You get up out of your bed, and walk over to your chest of drawers. Fishing around for one of Larissa’s t-shirts that you had acquired without her knowledge. All the while she watches you like a hawk. Her answer hung heavy in the air.

You take her hand and guide her to your bed, setting the top to the side as you push her down to sit on the edge of the mattress. You place your hands on her knees and gently push them apart so you can stand between them. She stares up at you wordlessly as your hands move around and up to toy with the fastenings of her dress.

“May I?”

Normally she would start to get excited. Larissa was human and less than decent thoughts of you often dirtied her mind, before she had confessed she was diligent in keeping them at bay but as of late she indulged her fantasies a little more.

Her initial answer is no, she doesn’t want to shift any part of her if this is going where she thinks it’s going. She wants to lay with you as herself, no adjustments. But there’s a softness in your eyes and she chastises herself, she takes a leap and ignores her gut crying out for her to run.

“Yes.” She says for a second time.

You smile and make quick work of it, slipping the dress down her shoulders — a few kisses are pressed to them — down her torso until it’s bundled at her hips. You lean back to admire her bare chest save from the cream bra she wears, it’s nothing elaborate but it’s certainly nice to look at with an intricate lace design. You can’t help the strangled whimper from escaping your lips which doesn’t go unnoticed by Larissa.

Your eyes fall lower to her stomach, taking in the soft swell of it and the way it folds to create rolls. You fall in love with it, something about it was so beautifully feminine and human. You let your fingers trace over the stretch marks on her skin, your movements slow as you watch her face for any signs of discomfort. None are to be found.

With a deep inhale you push the dress past her hips and coax her to move so you can slip it off her body entirely. You make quick work of folding it and draping it over the back of your chair before standing in front of her again. Letting your eyes roam across the artwork sitting before you. Her waist pulls in before the rise of her hips that lead to luscious thighs and sculpted calves. You inhale sharply as you catch Larissa squeeze her legs together whilst she squirms.

This whole time not a word has been exchanged. Larissa feels a heat pool between her legs, she feels exposed sitting in nothing but her underwear and heels. She hates not having the upper hand, not having control. But with you it’s exciting, and her breathing becomes faster and her mind races. Wondering what your next move would be… The blonde was never a glutton but she wouldn’t mind if you spent the whole night fucking her in every single position physically possible. Using her until she’s spent and all she can think of is you.

You lean over, bent at the hip as you hold Larissa’s face with both hands, you press your lips to her in an urgent kiss, which soon turns into a wet mess of tongues pushing against each other. Short panting gasps escape when you part for a millisecond to breathe in air before you’re back on her lips. Feasting as if you were starved and famished.

Large hands land on your hips, pulling you onto her lap, your thighs bracketing her body as you push yourself against her. She holds you down as her hips roll up into you, drawing a low moan from you. Desire spikes in Larissa as a dull throb begins to pick up between her legs. She pulls away from your mouth, your desperate whine is music to her ears. Your neck is her target, and ruby painted lips pepper wet kisses down it, focusing on a spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering. Your head falls to the side, offering more of your skin to the angel before you.

Slowly you start to grind your hips against her, enjoying the salacious moans against your neck. You move your hands to her shoulders, about to push her down onto the bed but a yawn overtakes you. You instinctively turn away and cover your mouth. An apology is quick to follow whilst you rub your eyes in a desperate attempt to keep them open.

“Darling,” she coos.

“I want you so badly, but-”

“Another night,” she reassured you, not a hint of annoyance present in her voice.

“I’m sorry Riss- ” you cut yourself off with another yawn.

“Don’t be,”

You nod in defeat, lamenting the ache in your core that would go untreated tonight. You twist in her lap and snatch the t-shirt. In a fluid movement you have it over her head and help her poke her arms through the sleeves. Your hands trail down her chest over her stomach before slipping under the hem. You unclasp her bra and remove your hands. Helping pull the straps down her arms and free her of the bra.

You can see her nipples poke through the thin fabric. A lopsided smirk plays on your lips as you take one between your fingers, pressing it firmly as you twirl it. Fascinated by the way Larissa inhales and arches her back. Her eyes fluttering close.

“You little devil,” she huffs before using her strong arms to whisk you under the covers.

Your giggles fill the room as you wiggle about until you’re comfy in Larissa’s embrace. It’s solid and comforting. You feel secure. You peer up into her eyes as you try and fail to suppress another yawn.

“So, you’re a shapeshifter?” You pick up the conversation from earlier.

You rub what you hope to be soothing circles against her back when you feel her tense up. She nods slowly.

“You know it was a completely wild guess, I didn’t actually think you were really Bärchen,” you confess, “I felt a little silly asking a cat to stay, but it was you in the end,”

“Wh- ” her voice broke, she cleared her throat and tried again, “What gave me away?”

She doesn’t meet your eye, looking ahead at some spot on the wall.

You ponder your next words, “Just small things,” you answer simply. Nuzzling into her neck.You can feel her need to know the specifics, so you pull yourself out of your increasing tiredness for a brief moment, “One time I messed up your hair and the next second it was all neat and tidy… also cat you had the same pretty blue eyes,”

“Can this stay between us?”

“Of course,” you hum as you pull her closer to you, “Can I ask why you’ve been visiting me as a cat?”

“No, it’s too embarrassing,” the blonde mumbles under her breath as her hand cards through your hair.

“Pretty please,” you whine.

With a defeated sigh Larissa concedes. Her words are slow as she fights down her embarrassment, “You make me nervous, and before we started being friends… I didn’t have the courage to talk to you,”

You stay quiet, peeking up at her melancholy expression.

“I wanted to spend time with you and it seems that turning into a cat was the only viable option in my head,” she finishes. Slightly befuddled as she voiced out her own thought process, “Apparently talking to you like a normal person was too easy of an option,”

“I make you nervous?”

Larissa’s breath hitches. She had hoped you would gloss over her use of the present tense. Boy was she a fool to think she’d get away with that, given you taught English.

She nods. Cheeks glowing red.

“Aren’t you cute, kitten?” you croon.

Larissa stills. Eyes wide and her cheeks blazing red.

“Kit- kitten?”

“Would you rather I call you my little kitty cat?”

“Oh hush you!”

“As you wish… kitten,”

~

Taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne @vmpnano @opheliauniverse @emsgwenstan @renravens @lex13cm @im-a-carnivorous-plant

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

[eventinelysplayground]

This is my first of idk how many entries for @lorei-writes and @wordycheeseblob Wish Upon an Aide challenge. I don't normally finish and post a fic in a few hours but I was super inspired for some reason by this. This fic is set at the end of Theo's route chapter 6 the start of Chapter 7, no major spoilers if you haven't read it yet. Most of Theo and Mitsukis dialogue is pulled from the chapters except for at the end and it's written from Kings pov. I chose the yellow prompts Joy and Warmth, they are a bit subtle maybe but overall I think they come across okay. I use italics for when the pets are 'speaking' WC approx 1984.

Nice to Meet You King

Just a bit more…and got it!

There was a metallic clank and soon the door was being pushed open.

Where are you going?

That should be obvious, just look outside.

Cherie stood up on her back paws and strained to look out the window.

Vic be nice, I'm going to greet Theo of course!

Oh, have fun King.

Cherie pouted a bit and King slipped his paw through the bars of her kennel to pat the cub on the head.

I'll be back soon and I'll tell you all about it.

Do you want me to tell you a story until he gets back?

Yay!

King strode out of the kennel shaking his head leaving his friends behind. Vic would never admit it but King knew he was fond of Cherie, even if she was a cat.

Now he should be home soon. I just have to make my way to the gate and hmmm that scent…

King stuck his nose out and sniffed the air around him as a faint scent tickled his nose.

Theo has that scent on him lately…it must be her!

King started bounding across the yard at an incredible speed all while continuing to sniff at the air. The scent grew stronger and he came to a sudden stop near some bushes. Slowly he crept forward while taking a deep breath as if to steady himself.

She should be just on the other side, I wonder what she's like? If Theo likes her she must be nice.

King shook his head and peered around the bushes. His eyes widened as he examined the lady standing there. He had been wondering what she looked like, she was a bit smaller than he thought she'd be but she seemed strong and she had a gentle face.

She seems nice, I bet she'd give me lots of treats and belly rubs. I like her!

Just then King heard the distinct sound of the gate opening. He looked up tail wagging but as soon as he saw the look on Theo's face his tail stopped and head drooped.

He looks that sad-mad again, I wonder why he's always so-ah oh no!

King noticed that the lady was moving and he darted further back. He was confused, she had clearly seen Theo and yet she was hiding from him.

Why is she hiding? Does she not want to see Theo because he's sad-mad? Hmmm, oh I know how to fix this!

King bounded out from his hiding spot and leapt at the lady's back.

“Eek!!!”

The lady turned around and King got a good look at her eyes.

“Bark bark!”

Oh boy she smells even better up close, and her voice and eyes are really gentle. Sorry I scared you, I didn't mean to. I'm sure you can help me make Theo feel better though!

King knocked the lady over and began licking at her face.

“H-Hey that tickles! Shh…”

Nope, he'll notice any second now I know he will.

“King! Did you get out of the kennels again so you could come welcome me home?...Hm? Oh, Hondje. I didn't see you down there.”

See, I knew he'd notice any second! Hey what are you doing Theo? No, I want to cuddle her more!

King was wrestled off the lady by Theo.

No fair, and why do you look like that now?

“W-Welcome back. Is this your dog Theo?”

You didn't tell her about me! Why didn't you tell her about me?!

“Yes, that's right. Af, King. Hier.”

I want to go back! Better make a good impression on her though.

King swiveled his head at Theo's command and stood at attention.

Treat now? Please, I made you look good!

King gave Theo the very definition of puppy eyes.

“...All right, fine.”

Oh boy oh boy!

As soon as King saw the bone he pounced on Theo placing his big paws squarely on his chest.

This should work!

King bounced enthusiastically trying to get the bone from Theo.

“...Af! Nee, King! Sit! I said sit!”

Good boy Theo, it's working! Just a little bit more.

Just as King had planned, the lady started laughing uncontrollably.

“...Hey! What do you think you're laughing at?”

King looked between Theo and the lady anxiously waiting to find out if his plan worked.

“I can't help it! He won't listen to you at all! I think King’s the perfect name, because he's clearly the one in charge!”

Hehe, oh I really like her. I hope we get to keep her!

The lady kept laughing and King heard Theo sigh.

“... I don't even care anymore, not after seeing that silly look on your face.”

Oh good it worked. Theo's not sad-mad anymore.

“I had no idea you really had a dog, Theo”

Guess even though you spend a lot of time with her you still aren't there yet are you?

“A painter I knew just up and left, leaving King behind. So I took him in. I keep him in the kennels by the horse barn.”

Whoa!

Theo lifted King up and nuzzled his fur.

I love your cuddles. I bet she gives awesome cuddles too.

“I never thought you'd get big, that's for sure. No, I didn't!”

Cut it out, you're gonna embarrass me in front of…wait a minute what’s her name? She has a name right? Look Theo, the way she's smiling at you! Now it's gone, why did she stop smiling like that?

“He just left? And you don't know where he went?”

She's sad for me?

“Struggling artists lead very rough lives under intense pressure. He probably fled at night because he couldn't pay rent.”

Don't tell her that you idiot, you'll just make her more sad! Don't be sad nice lady, I'm really happy here with Theo and everyone else! Well I could do without Arthur, he's always with Theo though and I guess he's a good friend but. I don't like how he always seems to smell like death. Did you know death has a smell?

“But to this little one, his owner was all he had. …And I know how painful it is to lose someone who was your whole world.”

King hung his head for a moment and let out the softest whine.

At the time maybe, but not anymore. Now you're my world Theo, I just wish you weren't so sad all the time.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment. Clearly the lady didn't know what to say to help Theo at the moment and King watched as the leaves blew in the breeze.

“I’m sure he likes his old owner better.”

What? No Theo! Why do you always have to think so-

“No, I'm sure King was so happy you found him and gave him a new home, Theo. Otherwise he wouldn't sneak out to greet you, right?”

That's right! Oh your hands are soo soft.

King closed his eyes for a minute but partially opened one up just in time to see a smile on Theo's face.

“I hope you're right.”

Don't worry she is.

“...Ah, I almost forgot.”

Aww why are you putting me down? Oh is that another bone?

King wagged his tail in anticipation of another treat but instead Theo pulled something out of his bag instead.

What's that, not food. Is it for the lady? You got her a treat too!

“... That's an awfully pretty magnifying glass for you, Theo. Did your other one break?”

….I can see why you wouldn't think it was a gift but-

“No, silly. This is yours.”

Uggh don't call her silly.

“What…? It's for me?”

Ok if you keep saying things like that you're not helping yourself.

“You're helping me with work for a month, right? You need the proper tools if you're going to be examining paintings so much.”

That's right, wait what? She’s helping you with work? And what do you mean for a month? What happens after a month Theo? Theo?

King tilted his head to the side and started to look nervously between the two.

“Hey, Theo. Why are you letting me help you with work?”

King looked at Theo.

“I already told you. So I can keep an eye on you.”

“Are you sure that's it?”

No, he's lying! I don't know why but go on, tell her the truth. See she can see your holding back in your eyes.

“...Yes, that's it.”

Uggh now who's the silly one. Look you made her upset now, why can't you just be honest?

King hung his head and let out a silent growl.

“But if you don't like it you can quit at any time."

No, no she can't! Don't say something so stupid, bad Theo!

“... What?”

“Everyone's been on my case saying I'm forcing you to come with me. What? Isn't that why you asked? Because you don't like it?”

No, that's not it!

“No, that's not it at all!”

See? Are you really that clueless as to what's happening here, or do you just not want to see it?

King sat and stared up at Theo and tilted his head ever so slightly in thought. Theo started to put the magnifying glass away but the lady grabbed his hand.

“Oh? So you do like it?”

She likes you.

“I never hated it, Theo. I mean I still don't know what I'm doing-”

Heh you're not the only one.

“But coming with you to look at paintings is, you know…fun.”

Theo, Theo do you see that! Do you hear how fast her heart's beating?

King stood up wagging his tail furiously but it stopped as soon as he heard Theo laugh.

“I was only joking, Hondje. Don't worry, I'll work you extra hard tomorrow, so don't be sad.”

“Who said I was sad?!”

That wasn't funny, if you mess this up Theo…

“Go on and take it. It's yours.”

“Thanks. I'll take good care of it.”

“What are you smirking for, hm?”

“Hehe…nothing.”

King continued to look between the two watching their changing expressions. He noticed the lady's cheeks turning progressively redder before she spoke again.

“I should really go help Sebastian with dinner.”

The lady bent down to King and he sat for her as she scratched him behind the ears with her dainty fingers causing his tail to wag furiously.

“It was nice to meet you King, I hope I get to see you again later.”

Yes please, I would love to see you again and get more scratches.

“You can visit King any time, Hondje. What kind of owner would I be if I didn't socialize you properly.”

No no no, very bad Theo!

“Very funny Theo.”

King saw the lady roll her eyes before she headed back to the mansion. Once the lady was out of sight completely he hung his head and whined. Theo sighed then reached down to stroke his head.

“So what did you think of Hondje boy?”

King started to wag his tail and pant.

I liked her a lot. She's so full of life and joy and warmth.

Theo was still looking in the direction the lady had left in, he seemed to be thinking about something.

“She looked so lost and frightened when she got here. I just want to help her, make her happy if I can.”

Theo…you can.

King looked up at Theo just as he cleared his throat.

“ There's something special about her you-whoa.”

King got up on his hind legs resting his paws on Theo's chest just as he had done earlier and looked right into Theo's eyes.

She really is Theo. She was so kind and warm and gentle, do you realize how fast your heart's beating? She's everything you need and she could bring you so much joy Theo if you only let her so please, please don't mess this up.

#ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theo #wishuponanaidecc

[lesbiansanemi]

for the character opinions uhhhh akaza or nezuko? <3

Omg yes!!!!!

Akaza:

And omg he got a bingo already lmao. But no uh.... I fucking love Akaza but we all knew that. He is in a four-way tie for my favorite character in the series (Shinobu, Sanemi, and Inosuke being the others), but I'm fucking feral for him, he consumes my thoughts, at this point in my life I am thinking about demon slayer about 80-90% of the day, and he is about 60% of that. So yeah... I love him. He's perfect, in all his own little fucked up ways, and no actually, he did nothing wrong (like yeah okay he killed god knows how many people including a beloved major character but like... given what happened to him I'm allowing it, he did nothing wrong aldkjdal). He just wanted to protect the people he cared about.... Also just... the way the demons act in general drives me a little insane (them not remembering their human lives but still desperately wanting/clinging to something from them for reasons they cannot understand and chasing after something they'll never get from them to the point of insanity is.... Ah... it hurts me in the best way) but Akaza in particular just desperately searching for strength and trying to get stronger to protect someone he already lost and just can't remember? Yeah.... He makes me ill. He just wanted his wife to be safe and happy and he had such a miserable life and just... oh my god happiness was never even possible for him given everything, he's such a tragic character, and I just AAAHHH. I could ramble about him all day, I'll stop now

Nezuko:

I really really like Nezuko! And I actually really really like what was done with her canon. I know some people wish she got more time to "shine" but I always thought her role was really important, and despite the fact that she didn't get as many action scenes or that kind of thing, she got plenty of screen time for what she was meant for. I also...? Think people kind of misinterpret her a little bit? Like chalking her up to Tanjiro's cute little sister who needs to be saved and nothing else is just... kinda wrong. Like she's such a strong character who went through just as much as her brother did (if not more in a certain way) and her kindness and gentleness is every bit as much of a choice as Tanjiro's was. Actually, I think hers was even more of a choice than his was, because Nezuko is shown to be a bit more vindictive and capable of straight up violence than him (you can argue that this was because she was a demon, but I don't completely believe that's the case, just given subtle hints about her and that kind of thing). Like for example, the first time they encounter a demon after their family dies, Tanjiro still can't kill it. Nezuko went straight for a killing blow with no hesitation, and those kinds of actions continue to ring true throughout the series. I just think... it's an interesting distinction between them. Nezuko fought to be kind and nonthreatening throughout the entire course of the series, but was absolutely brutal when something called for it, while Tanjiro was just a little too kind and empathetic during certain situations. Idk, I just think her anger and violence is overlooked sometimes by a lot of people, and I wish it was something more heavily discussed about her, because it's really, really interesting!

#kimetsu no yaiba #akaza #nezuko kamado #asks #kaz rambles

[tayne-dot-exe]

My recent autism "I need to categorize and list everything" obsession is foods and flavors, but for just my taste and the cheapest/easiest way for me to have it whenever. Long diary post.

Like I need to list out every food I ever want, to remind myself what are all the things I like to eat and what are my options, especially trying to figure out what flavor profiles/foods are most DISTINCT from each other and if there are versions of similar stuff where I would never choose one if another was an option (eg. teriyaki chicken vs braised pork), I've basically come up with a list of things that could pass as a fairly varied restaurant menu, or a buffet catered personally to me. Stuff thats good in the cupboard or freezer indefinitely I already try to keep stocked for myself for any time I feel like which is basically an awesome munchies spread of chips, candy, packaged pastries, and ice cream, but I wish getting cheeses or fun breads didnt have such a time limit or it was easier to get/make just a couple servings of them so I dont have to plan HAVING to finish whole packs/batches of stuff before it gets moldy. But I honestly think if I had the option to star trek materialize any food any time for free I might never really stray from a list like this because while I'm not really afraid of trying new foods, when I do I'm doing it in the pursuit of finding out every possible food I want in my Repertoire. When I go to a new restaurant I usually try to figure out what is the item on the menu that has either the highest combination of flavors I either already know I like or that I can't "INTJ calculate in my head".

I wish I could try more flavors of things to compare 1 on 1 the best version of different things (love adam ragusea or babish vids where they actually do the experiment of if a regular person can appreciate differences in techniques every online recipe just Says is the best way) or even just to Know more things without having to commit to like 10$ blocks of 20 different cheeses I've never had before or even the continuous funky packaged snacks with flavors of the month that might just be made to trick people into trying 1 time and not to actually be good, we need cheese tasting parties but for every kind of food and snack you may not have otherwise organically encountered without having to spend 6$ per package of a ton of things you might not finish. I feel like maybe there was a reddit guy era of having hot sauce tastings? I feel like bbq sauces also have so much variety that you could do something like that, I'm a big sauce fan.

For most of these things I think I have pretty basic and cheap taste and don't have the palette to care about differences of fancier cooking techniques or subtle flavor differences or the best mouthfeel combination of chocolate and caramel. And to some degree theres only so many foods that bring entirely distinct and strong flavor components out there, especially since the flavors you're predisposed to liking are somewhat limited by whats familiar to you, but sometimes I'm like what if there are flavors out there I could never "INTJ calculate in my head" and have no idea I need to try in the right context to know this (like how guys will specialize in how to mentally approach tasting what kind of coffee you like). Or worse what if theres something I would love so much but could never find locally, I am so use to abundance and having the same access to things all year that this would be like a faerie food curse to me (not really, tbh stuff being even just a little more expensive than things that are easy to make and stock usually deters me anyway but "I have the OPTION to spend 30$ to have. idk lobster in the middle of Texas even though I'm not willing to spend that much hardly ever" feels different than "what if my potential favorite fruit in the whole world is not sold in any grocery store in america").

Anyway you know that post about what chicago guys put on their hot dogs. I feel like out of just my list of very flavorful INGREDIENCE I get excited when its on any thing at a restaurant, I could mix together a bunch of vegetables and condiments that maybe could be called a "salad" that I can just put on any combination of carbs or protein like "you know what every single sandwich is missing? 3 types of cheese, 4 types of pickled vegetables, sun dried tomatoes, avocado, green onions…." Like I want to see just how many strong flavors I can put together while still actually tasting most of them individually. If they overpower each other then I will not know where to cut back because maybe I just want to know that everything I like is all together and I am having it.

#tayne newsletter #Though I'm not really watching world news so idk if food is about to get even more expensive #cos w the number of ingredients I'm thinking this could be as much as getting fast food even if it lasts a bunch of meals #I only eat out a couple times a month sometimes so that would be a big jump in spending #though I don't spend much in general and having good food is the area I'd be willing to splurge more #i wish all foods did not cost money ever #I've actually been mostly fine and satisfied meal prepping the same chicken tikka masala recipe for months for most of my meals #like as far as my list of 'what foods do I like' thats one of my top flavors of all time #especially since my mindset was to cook as infrequently as possible while still eating well #I have just discovered a new energy for cooking and figuring out what recipes I want to try to make for myself

[alicepooryorick]

See ok like

I love batman. I love how fucking insane he is. I love how much he can just get away with (blackmailing Darkseid with his own bombs) but like...

Idk man. I get it: he sells well and DC needs that, and I do enjoy him having multiple runs. At the same damn time tho: I wish other characters got sunlight. Gimme more Stargirl she could easily be the modern Peter Parker. Gimme more Wonder Woman (am i wrong in thinking she's the only one of the Trinity without a second or third book?) Gimme more Xanthe Zhou after Spirit World.

I guess bigger than that is just... The fans. When I'm not interacting with mutuals it's like banging my head against a wall. "Oh but he's a Vigilante so he's actually evil" wait till you hear about this guy named Superman. "oh actually I think he should hit his kids" we did that for a while and DC was dying. Since WFA DC has been hitting harder than marvel, fuck your opinion. The fans drive me mental with their just... Complete lack of reading comprehension. It's not that subtle y'all. There's basic themes that you are beaten over the head with.

One thing I'd love to see is see Bruce go through one final character growth where he slowly starts phasing himself out as the main Bat. I think Bruce is an AMAZING SUPPORTING Character. I think it's cool when he's there taking orders from Wonder Woman or whatever strong woman he's listening to now.

Idk. I love Batman and the Batfamily so damn much, I love their themes and what they stand for when written the way *I* enjoy (important distinction) and I get it's the nature of comics as a medium. I really am loving the current state of comics and especially loving getting into new characters every chance I get (Steelworks is well worth the read so far. The Flash AND Wonder Woman #800 are both SO FUCKING GOOD) and I'm loving the state DC is in right now. It feels really good. I'm happy but... Idk felt like screaming to the void. Mutuals only interact please I don't feel like fights.

[purple-babygirl]

What about Bucky dealing with a Little that's very picky about food and nervous about trying new foods so Bucky does things like eating the new food first and then asks if the little would want some, and maybe something to do with the fact that the little eats the same few foods nearly everyday? You can ignore this if you want!!

Word count: 2,613

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, it's all fluff.

A/N: Hi! I loved this so much and I loved writing it and I really hope you like reading it just as much💜 Thank you for sharing this idea with me; it was awesome💜 Also, it might take me some time to get to your guys' asks, but I will never ignore you. Please enjoy xx💜💜 I know I said I was trying to write them shorter but they keep getting longer idk I like to make food so🤷

~~

chef daddy adventures

Bucky was a democratic daddy. He had rules and they were agreed upon and followed, but there were still certain things his girl got to choose to her own liking. Bucky would schedule a play date and she would decide what to wear. Bucky would say it's bath time and she'd point to the bath bomb she wanted to drop in the tub. Bucky would cook and she'd pick what she wanted to eat.

The thing was, though, that she picked almost the same things every single time. She ate the same things every week. And not only that, but there were stuff she would refuse to eat or even taste. Her doctor assured Bucky it wasn't something physical: no sensitive palate and no allergies. She was just a picky eater; always nervous about trying anything new.

This left Bucky with limited options both when he was cooking or ordering food. He wanted to make his girl comfortable, but that didn't mean he wanted her to miss out on all the benefits other foods offered because mushrooms were tasteless, seafood tasted ocean-rancid or the texture of cooked zucchinis was weird.

“Hey, bubba, what do you think we try something different today?” Bucky proposed after she picked fried chicken again when asked about what she wanted for dinner.

“Different?” She tilted her head, dropping her colouring pencil, letting Bucky carry her outside of the playroom.

“Mhm, maybe we could try a new recipe for chicken? You know daddy only makes you tasty stuff, right?” Bucky said as he sat her up on the kitchen counter.

“I don' know, dada..” she trailed off unsurely, the thought alone making her nervous.

“You're doubting daddy's cooking skills?” Bucky gasped, closing his eyes and clutching his heart.

“No, no, dada, no!” She assured him quickly, wrapping her limbs around him like a baby koala, arms and legs hugging his torso.

“You like daddy’s cooking then?” He asked her playfully.

“Yes, daddy, I like it a lot.”

“So you're gonna help daddy with our newest recipe?” Bucky opened one eye, smiling mischievously at the girl wrapped around him.

“Yes, daddy.” She meekly nodded in his chest.

“And you're gonna give it a try? Eat it with daddy?” He opened the other eye, his big hand rubbing her back.

“Yes, daddy,” she repeated, looking up at him.

“Such a good girl.” Bucky kissed her forehead and she smiled at the praise.

~

A few minutes later, Bucky had the needed ingredients on the spacious counter beside his girl: chicken breasts, shallot onions, a couple garlic cloves, cream, some shredded mozzarella and parmesan and mushrooms. Now, she did object to the addition of mushrooms to the dish, but Bucky convinced her it won't affect it because it had no taste. She couldn't argue against her own words.

Bucky could see the slight sadness on her face because she actually liked everything he put in that pan except for the sliced button mushrooms. But he needed her to give the fungi a chance.

“Bubba, you wanna sprinkle the cheese?” That should cheer her up.

~

“Baby doll, you wanna try some?” Bucky asked before scooping her a portion, though he knew what she was about to say.

“Only cream, no mushrooms, please, dada.” Exactly that.

“But, bubba- just give it a try.”

She stayed silent, her fingers pinching the tablecloth.

“For me?” Bucky pleaded with her gently.

“Dada..” she didn't want to say no but she didn't want to eat the mushrooms still.

“Here, look, daddy will try them first and I'll tell you if they don't taste good, okay? Promise,” Bucky said, scooping some cream and mushrooms on his spoon.

“Okay, daddy,” she agreed quietly, his promise making her feel less nervous. She trusted her Daddy's judgment.

“Bub, you're missing out,” Bucky told her as soon as he chewed his food, licking his spoon in emphasis, “those mushrooms are delicious.”

“They have a taste?” She asked with wide eyes, making Bucky smile big.

“Yup, taste like the cheesy cream sauce we made. You want one?” He picked one slice of mushroom, rubbing it in the white sauce.

She nodded, opening her mouth.

“Good girl.” Bucky slid the fork in her mouth, watching her face as she chewed.

“How does it taste, bub?”

“Like cream,” she confirmed with a smile.

“Wait till you try it with chicken in the same bite, hold on.” Bucky excitedly started preparing the next bite on her fork, internally sighing in relief that he was able to get her to try something new.

~

When he tried to do that again with zucchini though, Bucky miserably failed. The second she saw the tall vegetables through the plastic shopping bags, she asked Bucky if they could order pizza for dinner that night, not even giving him a chance to cook them for her. The same thing happened when he attempted to sneak shrimps into their linguine. She wasn't near as compliant as she was when they cooked the mushrooms. Maybe it was because mushrooms didn’t have a strong, distinct taste or texture for her to remember and complain about. Whatever the reason, she made one thing clear: she did not want her teeth anywhere near that green vegetable or that shellfish.

Bucky almost gave up on zucchinis and shrimps until one day when they were watching Ratatouille, a lamp lit above his head. He saw his girl mesmerized by the dish Remy made Ego so much that she constantly kept talking about it: how colorful it was, how she wished she could taste it and how she wondered what was in it. Bucky being Bucky, he knew the recipe. And he knew it essentially contained zucchinis. So the next day when grocery shopping, Bucky made sure to get all the ingredients needed to make one, delicious, authentic ratatouille for his girl.

Only problem was, she was a smart little one. She knew zucchinis when she saw them and she saw Bucky thin-slicing a few. So she refused to eat when dinner was on the table, asking if she could have noodles instead. It would be the fifth time that she'd wanted noodles for dinner that week. Bucky made her noodles anyway so she wouldn't feel left out on the dinner table, but he still had to convince her.

“Mmmm, it tastes so good, baby doll. I bet it's better than the one Remy made,” Bucky said, exaggeratingly savoring the bite he took.

“Remy is the best chef ever, dada,” she mumbled, fingers playing with the tablecloth.

“Exactly, so what does that tell ya?” His question made her gaze on the full pan in subtle contemplation.

“That daddy is a better chef?” She bit down.

“That's right. You want a taste, bub?” Bucky asked her softly.

“Dada, I don't like zucchinis,” she said in subtle frustration, her feet almost kicking air under the table. She wanted a taste, she just didn't want a taste of zucchini.

“Too bad; tastes delicious,” Bucky shrugged apologetically, watching her as he took another fork between his lips.

“Does it really taste good?” She wondered curiously, eyeing the tomato sauce-smeared plate.

He successfully had her attention.

“Mhm.”

“So good?”

“Yeah, so so good,” Bucky promised, “you wanna try?” He offered her the next loaded fork with a hopeful smile.

She stared at Bucky, hesitation clear in her eyes despite her mouth-watering at the sight and smell of the dish, the sweetness of basil filling the air.

“But just a li'l bite?” She negotiated, still trying to get out of having to eat zucchini.

“Just a little bite; see if you like it?” Bucky dropped the food back on the plate, getting her a smaller portion on the fork instead.

She nodded, “yes, please, dada.”

“Good girl. One little bite coming up. Open up, bub.” Bucky smiled, positioning the fork before her mouth.

She faintly pouted at the thought of zucchinis but opened up and let herself taste the food. The more she chewed the more her eyes widened, making Bucky chuckle.

Bucky didn't put any zucchini on the first fork, not wanting her to feel betrayed. He wanted her to warm up to the meal bit by bit, so he only gave her eggplant and tomato.

“You like it, baby doll?”

“Yes, dada. 'S delicious.” She nodded, tongue licking the side of her lips.

“Told ya.” Bucky grinned wider, reloading the fork for her.

“No, dada, that's too much zucchini,” she whined when she saw the bite he was preparing on the fork.

“Tell you what, did you like the sauce?” Bucky asked and she nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah? Okay, we'll dip it in lots of sauce, cover it up real good and you won't even know zucchini is there.” He promised, rolling the zucchini on the fork around in the bottom of the casserole pan.

“But I saw it.” She continued to whine.

“Trust me, bub, just like we did with the mushrooms, yeah? Open up.”

She obeyed and let Bucky feed her the sauced veggies and he was right, all she tasted was the amazing sauce and the slight crunch of the onions hid the weird texture of the zucchinis.

“Dada, wan' more please,” she requested with a sheepish smile after swallowing, her feet now swinging under the table.

Bucky was just staring at her, proud of himself that he got her to enjoy a food she would've continued to claim to hate minutes ago. He was more than happy to be the Remy to her Ego.

“Of course, baby doll.” He smiled wide, scooping another serving on the plate for her, “tell me I'm a better chef than Remy first,” Bucky teased, keeping the fork at a distance from her mouth.

“Dada's better.” She blushed, opening her mouth, making Bucky chuckle at her cuteness.

She was finally eating zucchinis and she was relishing them. That was amazing progress; Bucky just had to find a good movie for every food she refused to eat…

~

It was two weeks after Bucky made them ratatouille that he tried to sneak in another recipe containing something she didn't like to eat. Bucky had done his movie research.

And so on movie night, Bucky put on The Princess and The Frog for them to watch and made sure his baby had her eyes on the screen when Tiana's father was stirring the pot of gumbo.

“Oh, look how tasty that gumbo's looking, bubba.”

“It's a movie, dada. Real shrimps taste like-” She shook her head as her smart mouth ran.

“The ocean, yeah, I know, bub.” Bucky sighed, kissing her temple. The hardheadedness he'd encouraged on her before was coming back to bite him in the butt.

But Bucky wasn't a daddy to give up. He set up his ingredients the next day and invited his baby doll to the kitchen to assist. She was always happy when they were doing stuff together, and Bucky wanted her to see how everything was made so she knew what she was presented when it was time to eat.

Bucky did the dangerous stuff: peeled and deveined the shrimps, cut up the sausages and vegetables, minced the garlic, and simmered the sauce while she did the safer stuff like handing him the salt and pepper, tasting the warm broth a couple of times before Bucky dropped in the shrimps, and occasionally giggling when he would peck her nose or cheek.

“You wanna put in the last magic ingredient, baby doll?” Bucky suggested, pointing to the Tabasco sauce bottle.

“Yes, dada.” She nodded, happy that she gets to play Tiana's part.

She let Bucky open the bottle for her and hand it over, his hand on hers to make sure she didn't spill too much into the pot.

She was pleased to be cooking with her daddy, but she wasn't exactly as pleased about the thought that she might have to eat shrimps or something that tasted of it for dinner.

When they were seated, she didn't let Bucky scoop any shrimps for her. She only agreed to try the veggies and the sausages and maybe get a couple of warm broth spoons. But Bucky wasn't going to have it be like this.

“Oh my god! Who made these amazing shrimps that taste nothing like the ocean and everything like Tiana's gumbo; they are yummy!” Bucky announced loudly, making her giggle as she chewed her beef sausage slice. She was thankful the shrimps didn't ruin the whole dish for her.

“Baby doll, you've got to try this. It's too delicious!”

She shook her head stubbornly, trying not to gag as she watched Bucky bite into another shrimp.

“Bub, I promise it doesn't taste like the ocean.”

“I don't know, dada..” she replied, nervously picking at the tablecloth again.

Bucky frowned, disheartened, as his shoulders drooped. She didn't like that look on daddy. She wanted to make him smile.

“One bite?” She asked in her small voice, eyes becoming curious again.

“One bite.” Bucky cut her a small piece of the shrimp and carefully neared the fork to her mouth.

She pulled away before it touched her lips “but.. if I don't like it daddy eats the rest? Please?”

“Okay, baby doll, whatever you want.” He smiled in agreement.

She sniffed at the fork, surprised to find that it smelled of herbs instead of the ocean. She locked eyes with an expectant Bucky as she closed her lips around the fork. She pulled back and started chewing slowly, Bucky anxiously anticipating her wanting to spit the food out.

She chewed for a minute before swallowing and smiling. She actually smiled at the taste, “'S good, dada.”

“Really? You like it?” Bucky asked cheerfully and she nodded.

“Yeah, daddy didn’ lie to me. It doesn’t taste like the ocean.” She beamed gratefully.

“You want more?” He offered with a grin and she nodded harder.

“Yes, please, dada.”

Bucky was so contented with himself he could write it in the papers. His girl was eating stuff he cooked that she'd refused to eat from the hands of certified chefs before. And she is liking them! No spitting, no throwing up, no disgusted, grimacing facial expressions made. He was really succeeding!

~

“Dada? Thank you,” she whispered shyly to Bucky as she sat on the kitchen counter, watching him do the dishes.

“For what, baby doll?”

“For cookin' me all the delicious food in the world.”

Bucky turned the water off and dried his hands before walking to her and engulfing her in his arms, her face finding its hiding place in the crook of his neck, “you're welcome, bubba,” Bucky sighed, kissing her hair, “thank you for trying it.”

She pecked his jaw in reply. She was so precious and adorable and she didn’t even know it.

“And I also like it when daddy tastes the food for me first,” she added, pressing her nose further into his neck.

“Yeah? Why's that?” Bucky smiled at the thought of her feeling safe eating aft-

“'Cause then if it tastes bad daddy could eat it alone and I don't have to eat it.” She mumbled, making Bucky fake another gasp.

“An' because I trust daddy too,” she peeked at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh no, too late, young lady, my heart has already been broken.” Bucky shook his head dramatically, playfully trying to pull away from the hug.

“No, no, dada, I love you,” she giggled and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, not wanting him to stop holding her.

Bucky laughed, “I love you too, bub.” Bucky kissed her forehead, nose and cheek, “I'll taste every food first for you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x little!reader #daddy!bucky barnes x reader #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy!bucky barnes x little!reader #daddy!bucky #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky oneshot #bucky imagine #bucky drabble #purple answers #purple writes

[yoonpobs]

Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I????? 

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection. 

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better. 

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate. 

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm. 

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut. 

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off. 

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

#YOOOONGI #so cute #help me #tsundere yoongi #oblivious oc #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #yoongi scenario #bts fanfic #suga imagine #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fluff #yoongi

[fiendishpal]

hii fiend!!! i literally adore your art its so pretty and it- it just- *inhales* *exha-*💞💖✨💞💖✨💞🙏🛐🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️anyways so- bcz u guided me to the osaaka ship and now im in love w it couldya please offer me some fic recommendations? ok, i just love ur art ur one of ny faves lov u have an amazingly sweet and beautiful day!!! :D

sure thing!!

i’ll put them by category here (i also have some art for some of them, i’ll post them when i’ve got the time)

i’ve put a star ★ beside fics that i’ve read a bunch of times hahaha!

canon-compliant

(fics that i think you should read first. mostly canon-compliant. so these are post-timeskip. after their meeting at the black jackals vs adlers game. these really won’t make any sense if you’re anime-only, sorry.)

stay with me go places by sparksandsalt ★

this fic. THIS FIC!!!!! this started everything for me!!! this is the reason why i started shipping osaaka!!!! the way they handled the characters is sooooo!!! *chef’s kiss* they really stick true to the characters' voices and the care they put into characterizations is impeccable. i also love bokuto and akaashi’s relationship here!! they’re so in each other’s lives that bokuto ends up exposing akaashi’s feelings indirectly and accidentally lmao and also atsumu and osamu’s relationship is so funny and hilarious. they are like how brothers are, atsumu showing his support but also clowning osamu in the process

this fic single-handedly fueled me to create so much osaaka content.

i dont know how many times i’ve read this tbh

wait by sanguinedawns

i love the yearning in this fic. the longing and the waiting and the expectation there. they’re trying to be subtle about their feelings for each other but they’re seen at the end but at 4k it’s narrated so smoothly. i love mutually pining idiots.

in the afternoon by yamaboto

this is so!!! i love this so much!! at 1k we see osamu yearning for akaashi once again. i love how they write this short scene. i could really picture the afternoon light coming in through the traditional panel doors and how the light must feel on your skin. 

take what we love inside by yamaboto

this is an established relationship osaaka and how they got together. in the afternoon (the fic above) is a snippet of how warm the writer could put words together. and it really is so sweet there’s a scene where they slow dance and it’s the best. i also love the simple fact that they put in how osamu cannot let anybody go hungry hhaha 

shout softly by lostsunsets

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THIS MADE MY HEART FEEL SO LIGHT AND SOFT AND TENDER. THIS FIC IS SO PRECIOUS OH MY GOSH

i love love loooooooove how the author put osamu's love and passion for food and filling in the pieces on what osamu does to fuel this passion --while in the back burner-- while he was still playing volleyball in high school

AND HOW HE LONGS FOR AKAASHI. THIS IS MAKING ME AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

GO READ IT PLEASE

we’re in au territory

(the setting is not canon-compliant)

sleeping with the enemy by billionairevolleyboysclub ★ 

the setting is in 2013 haikyu volleyball circuit. meaning they’re still in highschool and are still playing volleyball and they just happen to chance upon each other at interhigh.

 i love how sweet osamu is and how he got his crush on akaashi. and it’s lovely how they wrote the budding of a highschool relationship!! and their take on how osamu and akaashi handle ldr??? it’s delicious. dont let the fake/pretend relationship tag fool you this is very cute i love them so much!! i guess the ‘no drama’ aspect is what i like about this a lot bc osamu’s a pretty straightforward guy esp i guess back in highschool. also the second-hand embarrassment is real lmao

welcome in by risquetendencies ★

in this setting osamu’s still the owner of onigiri miya but the au aspect of this is that they haven’t met before. so basically a meet-cute.

and man  oh mannnnn the tension written here is good food. osamu is written so obviously into akaashi (i mean who wouldn’t) and akaashi is affected by this greatly and it is!!! wow!! i just love how smooth osamu is here and how flustered akaashi gets bc “omg a hot guy likes me????” (yes akaashi, this hot guys thinks you’re a sexy piece of ass please believe it)

 akaashi in a gay panic is literally the best thing. 

blood brothers by billionairevolleyboysclub (18+)

miya twins are vampires and akaashi has a thing for fangs. that in and of itself is enough reason for you to read this. i also love how the writer puts a distinction between atsumu and osamu on how they interact with/ feed on akaashi.

like the dawn by eggsan

this fic is actually inspired by my royalty au but im not putting this here bc of that. i really like how the writer introduced their story. i remember telling someone that the atmosphere of how they write is like the voice of a soft-spoken maiden hahaha it's lovely!! think light academia aesthetic. i also love how i get the doki-dokis when osamu, who is essentially a stranger, gets close to akaashi. i can feel akaashi's excitement and trepidation.

forgive the sea, follow the tide by KyryeDuBarie (18+)★

PIRATE AU!!!!!!

i love the fresh twist that they did here on the classic mermaid/pirate au. the twist being akaashi is actually a pearl diver and at the same time being vaguely hinted as a mermaid hhahaha. osamu's a pirate that got shipwrecked and got washed up on akaashi's shores that akaashi, of course, saved. 

there's a bunch of cool things that happened too that i cannot disclose bc that'll ruin the thrill of reading this. the plot is solid and the romance between osamu and akaashi is gradual but so so sweeeeet!! i highly recommend this!! but better clear up your schedule bc this hefty boy comes in at a whopping 40k!!!!

keep time on me by yamabato

this fic is based from my zombie apocalypse au!! and even though it’s set in the end of the world, they were still able to write it so sweet and comforting????? i only wish osamu and keiji the happiness they deserve :’)

i also like the whole theme of time in the story and how the story revolves around it. it’s very good!!!

the contest between by batman (18+)

akaashi is a documentary director and osamu is his subject. i love  love looooove how the author wrote how stubborn both of them are and how they could clash sometimes but not in the explosive type of way. it’s actually cute and sweet, you’ll see what i mean when you read this hhehehe

AND AKAASHI IS SO LOVELY HERE!!! so lovely!!! and he laughs and smiles a ton and those moments were written in a way that just said ‘look at this angel!’ LMAO idk maybe that’s just me. i love akaashi so much

AND THIS BABY COMES IN AT A WHOLE 75K!!!!!!!!! AMAZING!!!!

#chocomilked #fiend talks #fiendish recs #GIVE THESE AUTHORS SOME LOVE #love love looooove these fics i swear by them!!!! #if i find more i''l update these!! #happy reading tumblr used chocomilked!! hahaha #osaaka #EDIT: added two new fics!!! #let me go around the fics i've read again hhaha

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher  higher  higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything  shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

[tricewithaz]

THOTS ON SHADOW AND BONE

Hello everyone! it is I, Trice, and i come with my thoughts on the Shadow and Bone show cause ive got many

I'm gonna divide this in what i liked, what i disliked, and what i think could have been better but didn't really bother me. Feel free to send your opinions too!

As a whole, I really liked the show and I think it's a great adaptation that both fans and newcomers will enjoy. It's super well done! and every episode had me glued to the tv even though I knew what was going to happen.

Beware this is long

To start,

What i liked

Mal and Alina

I never really liked Mal in the books, mainly cause he had like, nothing going on for him, and not having his pov made him no favors whatsoever. Alina's perception of him was everychanging, two factors that didn't make him unlikeable necessarily, but that made me not want to read about him. In the show he's way more likeable and even though he still doesn't have a lot going on for him, you can see that he's always trying to protect alina, and you also see a bit of his demeanor through Archie's acting. I think he made a great job at portraying him. And Alina! Alina who in the books was essentially a y/n sort of character (although she did get better over time), her character, likes, dislikes, her DRIVE was incredibly portrayed in the show. Also Jessie (loml, marry me) and Archie have incredible chemistry together and they sold their yearning SO WELL (and so did the kid actors portraying them as children oh my GOD)...yall...i cried when they held hands. My favourite scene was definitely when Alina took care of Mal's wounds (a favorite trope of mine). And the HURT in their eyes whenever they thought the other was in danger....i saw the show dubbed but I'm sure their voices made it beyond incredible as well, their face acting was just on. point. Overall the show rEALLY makes me root for them both individually and together which is something the books didn't manage to do.

The Darkling

AAAAA i really enjoyed the Darkling omg, incredible charisma, Ben does such a great job (and so did his voice actor in Spanish oh my GOD). His acting was just as I imagined it in the books and i loved how he could be as sweet and mysterious as he could be menacing. In fact! i liked him more than i did in the book, and i think it was a great choice to make him more human. I'm not sure if this was Ben or the writing, but i could really see his yearning for an equal, for Alina, his loneliness and his thirst for power and control too. Great love interest, even greater villain. And his wardrobe was phenomenal. I also really liked how they implied that The Darkling was a name given by other people, it was very believable that people would call someone who literally controls shade something akin to "son of the dark" or something of the sort, instead of it being a name he gives himself or his job title (both if which are incredibly pathetic and cringy to think about).

Jesper

No comments. He was just great. I love Kit.

Nina

Omg Danielle did SUCH a great job at portraying Nina, it's exactly how i imagined her in Six of Crows.

Helnik

THE. YEARNING. THE. CHEMISTRY. I didn't love their scenes at the boat but once that was over I was practically screaming at the screen to jUST KISS ALREADY. Calahan and Daniell have such good chemistry together and the few changes they made only served the story better. I did wish they had development over more time cause Matthias' change of mind felt too quick, but i get why they had to rush. Because of how good their chemistry was, their fallout also was incredibly painful.

Inej's fear of the Menagerie and her morals

Amita's portrayal of Inej's hurt, devotion and her refusal to kill (and later hurt cause she has killed) is incredibly subtle but so SO effective. She's so talented really and truly sold Inej's feelings throughout the show.

VFX

Man.....the fold, the volcra, the grisha powers.....kudos to the animators and overall artistic team cause they were incredible. Also seeing the different title animations in each episode was such a tiny detail that made me so excited and they all looked so good.

Ketterdam

Again, kudos to the artistic team, everything about Ketterdam felt so alive (and weirdly moist), truly sold a kind of aesthetic and life that is so characteristic if the Barrel, even when i didn't imagine it that way in the books.

David

He appeared like, twice, and both times were so cute and charming I can't wait to see more of him both on his own and with Genya.

The Wardrobe

So, at first i hated the keftas. I thought the looked tacky and costume, but when you see them on screen they're just perfect (although i have to say the patterns on some of the keftas were kind of...cheap looking? and the training keftas were just kinda boring. My favourite was the Darkling's. Aside from that, i really liked Kaz's and inej's clothes too. Very distinctive and recognizable (although it was kind of weird seeing Inej in teal instead of purple lmao).

And the queen's dresses. Chefs kiss.

It's...so cheesy (affectionate)

The whole show felt like the kind of movies I would watch as a kid like Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean. The writing was stylized enough to make it incredibly dramatic and overall there was just so much heart behind all of it. Definetely a show to watch again and again and feel all of it, cause that's what it being so cheesy managed, to make me actually feel for it. It feels like something to watch on a rainy afternoon after a bad day....it's great okay i really enjoyed it, even (specially) the most unbelievable parts of it. And here's the thing, it's something that i think a lot of newer tv and film have lost, so this is good.

What i didn't like

Zoya

Mostly cause of the writing. Originally, in the first book, i didn't like her, neither as a character (stereotypical mean girl with no other motivation than to bang the love interests....all three of them....what's new i still think it's an incredibly sexist trope) or a person (hey at least this was intentional), but over time i grew to LOVE her (mean girl turns out to have a good heart and actually respects the mc and decides to fight alongside her cause it's what's right, without necessarily liking her or giving up her character??? AND she has strong motivations??? now THAT'S new). In the show, i hoped they would keep her mean girl nature while foreshadowing her depth, but all they did was turn her into a petty seductress with barely any screentime, and that only makes her not even a bad antagonist but just a boring character to watch. Not only that but they took away a big part of her character that needed to be developed in the next books. I wanted to watch her rivalry with Alina, her unjustified venomous tongue too, I wanted to be entertained by her and I wasn't. This was also a problem cause when she finally changed teams, and when she hugged Alina, it was incredibly unsatisfying, it would have had a way stronger effect if we had seen her being Ruthless Zoya with a big ambition. I also didn't like how we were told that she didn't like alina, or that she had a family, instead of it being shown on screen. Just from the show, all i can tell you about her is that she likes to bang people and she has a good moral code i guess. Yall, I'm so petty about this.

Kaz

So, I didn't hate him, in fact i think I would have enjoyed him if I hadn't read the books first, cause the two things that bother me about him were two essential characteristics of him in the books. FIrstly, he seems so strained, instead of the seemingly laid back, almost chill looking (even though we know he's not chill at all) Kaz we see in the books, the Kaz that always knows something that you don't. Show Kaz doesn't seem to always be in control, to always have the last word, the last laugh. Instead he seems strained, all the damn time. And I think this is mainly a writing and directing issue. And he also seems weak, something Book Kaz would never do. This is also an issue cause because he doesn't have the same presence he has in the books, the times where he is weak, don't seem as effective. Sure, Pekka Rollins has essentially reduced him and humiliated him, but I haven't seen enough of Kaz being actually dangerous for this to be shocking and for Pekka to seem even more hateable (and, i really liked Pekka, loved him as an antagonist more than i did in the books). Idk, Kaz was so charismatic and just fun and engaging to read in the books that his portrayal in the show felt lacking.

Alina's power's VFX

The little suns were cute and all but the light coming from within her was just ugly I'm sorry.

SFX

A lot of the sound design was just too stylized for the tone of the show i think. I particularly remember the sound of Mal's punches....what's that about.

What i think could have been better, but didn't particularly dislike

The Crows' storyline

And i think part of this is a consequence of Kaz not being as witty as he was in the books. Where's the incredibly complicated heist moves? the even more unbelievable C and D plans when something goes wrong? I didn't like that them getting Alina was essentially just luck, cause i didn't see enough of them being smart and quick on their feet. I also think it was unnecessary to have their storyline mixed with Alina's, i would have enjoyed watching a different heist, maybe in Ravka as well, and them incidentally crossing paths with Alina, more than i liked this storyline. ironically enough, the heist was the part i was least interested in

Genya and Alina

I just feel like her relationship with Alina wasn't strong enough, and i think it's because the show tried to make us believe they were much closer than they were without spending the necessary time in them.

Overall, I really really enjoyed the show, i will be watching it again (particularly cause i want to watch it in English) and i cannot wait for the second season omg (although i have to say, I'm scared for Nikolai)

I think that's all! I would also love to read yall's opinions and have a conversation.

#Shadow and Bone #Shadow and Bone spoilers #sab #sab spoilers #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #six of crows #malina #helnik #shadow and bone series #sab review

[dreamssoftly]

Hi, I know you don’t seem to answer asks so Sorry if I’m being annoying or anything, but could you make please a post about spices or just talk a little bit more about how to learn to use them? I’m overwhelmed at how many there are and you just have the most creative combinations that I’ve seen, that’s why I’m asking :)

hi, i rarely get asks on this blog or check its notes (sideblog and all). i'll answer both asks here :)

i don't really follow any "proper" unique-domain cooking blogs? on tumblr, the wonderful @llleighsmith , @douceurs , @zrsztcook , @macadamianutmilk (and her ig!!), rosewater1997, @artemisiasea , @allsadnshit (esp if I have food sensitivities!), honorable mention to @persimmon444 for her bread!! otherwise, i rely on google, food52 and nyt cooking the most

while i don't think im especially talented in the kitchen, I'll still share. most of it down to experience. given how busy my parents were growing up and, later, the lack of flavorful+ nutritious vegetarian/vegan food in the euro-american tradition, i had to learn to cook for myself at a young age. my older sister and I had free reign to learn about foods from other cultures. especially as we had a whole four recipes handed down by our grandparents, two of which were dessert. i used to be disappointed that most of my family didn't particularily enjoy cooking, but I think it's lead to creative freedom.

we, my sister and i, learned about cooking techniques, spice blends, how to use less familiar ingredients, etc.; inspiration, not ingenuity, for years. basics before anything too wild. it helps that we grew up in the golden age of food blogging, not that i can recall specific IGs/blogs anymore. like i said above, ive been using tumblr and NYT cooking as my main inspiration for years.

i think everyone grows to have a distinct palate, especially once they cook for themselves. if I had to list my favorite flavor profile, I really love subtle earthy-herbal-green flavors, even for dessert + cocktails if i can manage it. reading about how other cultures' cuisines incorporate a flavor you enjoy (like, for acid: different varieties of citrus, pickled veg, vinegars, yogurts) and finding a way to work that into your usual meal rotation via substitution works well. i do it in small steps. taking on a dish with flavors, ingredients and/or techniques you're unfamiliar with all at once might be a recipe for disaster. (emphasis on might.) when my inspiration is ingredient or presentation focused, I go by trial and error. I've had to eat a lot of dishes i wish i prepared differently, but that's part of the fun! it's helped me become a better cook and baker.

all in all, idk! (this got way too long 😳) find what you like and figure out how to enhance it. i don't mean this in a condescending way, but search engines really are your best friend once you figure out the wording necessary to find what your looking for.

thanks for asking and have a good day 💖

#i went over time on my lunch oops

[auncyen]

So, my thoughts on bd2 so far (still not done) are both spoilery and...a little salty, so under a cut they go.  I’ll get the good out of the way first.

BDII is pretty nice as a return to the brave/default battle system and asterisk system.  The controls are pretty fluid (once I realized I could press zr to unbrave in the middle of commands lol).  Music and visuals are both nice.  THE CHARACTER THEMES ARE DISTINCTIVE AGAIN (I still like BD1′s set the most, but in BD2 I can tell you which theme is which character’s and uh.  I wouldn’t be able to do that with b2nd’s).  “A Hectic Moment” is very fun.

And then like.  Both the story and parts of the game design are baffling to me.  I was not surprised by the prologue feeling dry because.  BD game.  Partially because it was a BD game I half-expected Sloan to defy his death flag parade and simply be forced to retire due to a wound or something similar but ok, he died.  And first chapter made me hopeful!  I don’t care at all for Orpheus (even as “love to hate” he just ends up kind of “meh”) and Anihal and Bernard felt a bit one note at first, but the twist with Castor where it seemed like his flaw was prejudice and then it was oh no backstabber was good.

The maniacal laughter kind of ruined it a bit, but still, good.  (On this note, Castor and ...pretty much every ch. 2 asterisk holder had me thinking for a while that the asterisks handed out by the woman might have been tampered with and were driving people nuts, but at this point, seems firmly not to be a case, Castor was ax-crazy on his own.  Okay.)  And a later flashback about Anihal and Bernard made me regret a bit that the latter had died.

But like also at this point I’m kind of concerned that there hasn’t been any inner party conflict.  Or like.........internal doubts.  Or anything.

Ch. 2 was initially a bit funny for everyone having The Accent but eventually I got properly into it and, yes, all three people grieving a lost child was pretty touching.

Screw those woods though and why is the institute set up like that??? I know this is an RPG but guys.  Guys.  they’re supposed to be brilliant at that institute, at least one person would have set up the bare minimum of a rope ladder so they didn’t have to deal with the nonsense in between floors.

And then there was Folie.  Folie’s dungeon is AMAZING.  Her job is good.

Her boss fight is utter bs when you’re punished for using two different mage jobs and the character in general is just.............idk.  I kind of preferred Mona’s death being accidental because it seems rather odd for someone like Folie who does not seem particularly attuned to others’ emotions to be like “ah yes, let me kill zis little girl and zen all of these people will be emotionally vulnerable for me to give zem my paintings” --yes, I also hated the accent.

I am of the opinion that there is no bad VA in this game (thus far) but goodness, the direction some of them were given.

Ch. 3 was interesting intrigue wise and the reveal with Adelle was GREAT but it also hinged very heavily on this being a BD game, since they made it obvious from the start of the chapter that, hmm, there’s something funny about her.  (Honestly my guess had been shapeshifting dragon, so I wasn’t quite surprised by her saving Martha, though I WAS a little surprised by Martha not SAVING HERSELF BY JUMPING AWAY BECAUSE SHE WAS A FREAKING DRAGOON.)  The party’s surprise at this is dealt with very quickly.  Elvis’ reaction is kind of cute but it also just...........seems to cement that there’s never going to be any inner-party conflict, and there doesn’t seem to be any internal character conflict either, so it’s kind of just.  Guys.  Pls.  Something interesting.

Coming back to world design: this religion feels so dumb and poorly-designed (Martha is in DIRECT CONTACT WITH THE LORD OF DRAGONS BUT ISN’T TRUSTED TO KNOW HIS WISHES???  THE FAIRY TRIALS ARE A ‘TRADITION’ BUT ALL THE DRAGONS ARE COOL WITH ADELLE???) and why is their holy hall full of crumbling walls and is, in fact, the only place I’ve found so far to “smash rock”?  Yes, it has been bugging me.

the highlight of ch. 4 was Lonsdale, because he might not be the most original character concept, but it was interesting to have an antagonist with morals who has a friendly drink with Seth and warning for him at the tavern.  (Also Seth’s piss-poor job at pretending to be just recovered from a cough for all of one sentence.  And, in my game, while wearing heavy armor.)  The low point was finding out how absolutely pointless Adam is.

It’s just....been very mixed and somewhat mediocre with the story, and lbr bd and b2nd both had issues with story too, but bd had an endearing cast that b2nd heavily borrowed from.  The BD2 warriors of light seem very obviously inspired by bd crew but Seth never grieves his lost crew or misses his hometown or shows any uncertainty about the question of him living again.  Gloria welcomes Elvis and Adelle easily even though they’re both clear about working in self-interest and there are never any trust issues even when Adelle’s concealed identity is revealed.

I’m not saying they should have had the exact same issues (esp since Gloria didn’t have any set up for mistrusting fairies) but they don’t have ANY issues.

I may now be at a point where Gloria does have an issue but it’s just kind of...1) there should have been at least a couple tell-tale hints about this sooner, it could have been as subtle as the king of Halcyonia gently suggesting she consider the marriages which would have painted him first as possibly evil, then as possibly just sexist or out-of-touch, and then finally you realize oh he knew and was hoping they could find other solution and trying to get her to consider a future that wasn’t dying (I think he knows.  or at least I hope because if they gotta do this every 200 years then Gloria????? who knows to pass this down????  were you gonna teach your traumatized companions the secrets of being a vestal-lite as you were dying? because you didn’t.) 2) it’s just kinda.  too late.  A part of me is checked out.  I know there is more and that the bd-style tweeest is finally starting, but this was the end of ch. 5 and both the main crew and story just haven’t been that interesting.  If this wasn’t a bd game and I hadn’t gotten impatient enough about wanting to know about one detail that I spoiled myself for it being a fake ending, there is a high chance that I would have watched the credits, gone “well, okay.  that was the game” and just set it aside.

And then maybe a few days later gone “wait they never explained the book was it buried in some request” because there is SO MUCH buried in requests and reloaded the game, but yeah.  I still wanna fill in the gaps of what I’m missing, but I’m probably going to be slowing my pace and I really doubt I’m going to be active in the fandom because none of the characters have really grabbed my interest that hard.

#my thoughts on bd2 are also apparently a wall of text #so. that's a warning #bravely default ii spoilers #salt

[sachiwrites]

For some reason, bread to me in other countries tastes different?? Like its the same bread, but it tastes more sweet sometimes... idk! Anways, i know how much you love Sakusa, so can I request him getting a blowjob from his s/o for the first time?? Only if you're comfortable

i know what you mean! sometimes it’s the yeast, other times it’s how long they let it prove. salt over sugar. so many varieties but i love them all. i could talk about bread for a lifetime.

i can most definitely give it a shot! mature content below:

its not as if the two of you haven’t had sex yet. you’d managed to overcome that obstacle a few months into officially living together. sakusa, expectantly, didn’t have a very high libedo but he did have urges. occasionally he might initiate it first, hands coarse from training all day, running along your thighs in hint until receiving approval. he was clumsy at first, too mindful of the mess to hit the spot you really needed but together you were getting better.

but that’s a story for another time.

because right now all you could think about was how to best convince your boyfriend to allow you to give him a blow job. which given your literature exposure seems like an odd conundrum because what male wouldn’t want to be serviced orally? but this was sakusa. not just any warm-blooded male.

maybe it was curiosity or perhaps a latent oral fixation but you couldn’t get the imagine out of your mind of just enclosing your lips around and just-

“why are you making that face?”

“can i give you a blow job?”

the silence that follows has you fidgeting uncomfortably, wishing that you were sitting anywhere else but in his lap. he’s perfectly still under you without tension, making you wonder if he even registered your question.

but then he’s asking, “why?”

which of course he does, in that frustratingly adorable fashion with a pinched brow. yet you know he heard you because out of the corner of your eye you can see his pinky twitching, a tell that he’s overthinking.

“because its suppose to be enjoyable and i really want to?” you wince at the eagerness but it’s genuine.

when he doesn’t have respond right away, you twist around. he’s looking anywhere but at you, mouth pursed as if to contain his thoughts. you want to think he’s considering your offer but it’s too early to tell. there’s plenty of reasons for him to deny, most of them all revolving around his concern for hygiene. but he’d freshly showered prior to agreeing to this movie marathon so the argument has less strength.

his grip is loose enough for you to slip out of, palms gripping his thighs as you dare to preemptively lower to your knees. he refuses to look at you, so you wait patiently until his hands still enough to let you know that the wheels in his head aren’t spinning as erratically.

“i don’t know why, but i just really want to do this for you, yoomi” at your words, he hisses quietly and you hope you’re not pushing it. he’s human despite how people categorize him and prone to anxiousness and uncertainty. the rapid tap of his fingers is starting up again, meeting your hand this time over your grip.

“will you stop if i ask?”

you swallow through the thickness of his vulnerability that clogs your throat. with a reassuring pat, you offer him the best smile you can manage. “of course. remember, this is for you, okay? just try to relax.”

he doesn’t completely, but he’s helpful when you go to easy his pajama pants off his hips. you decide in the end to keep his boxers as a last form of protection if he needs an emergency escape.

sakusa isn’t hard when you initially rub at him but you didn’t expect anything less. though it’s probably for the best of your efforts. you’re familiar with his size as you pull him out, use to running your hand along his length in brief foreplay. but it’s different this close. even after a shower, there’s a distinct musk with a hint of salt.

you give him an initial tug just to refrain from alerting him with you indecisiveness. did you just go for it? you’d been too embarrassed to risk your search history with videos and most of the readings boasted confident individuals who just went for it. somehow all roads from that route just seemed like it would end with you choking.

so you start with a firm lick to familiarize yourself with the taste. above you, sakusa flinches but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. you’re fortunate that this isn’t your first sexual experience together because you know what to look for; what his enjoyment sounds like. sitting up on your haunches, you close your eyes and take him into your mouth, ears trained for that subtle hum of approval in the back of his throat.

it come latent but not forgotten, ignited as you stroke him idly, thumbing along the vein the runs along the underside. the damn breaks when you take his half-hardness into your mouth, inexperience jarring the what would have been an effortless glide as he bumps against the sides of your mouth. the first gasp of pleasure makes it more of a win than a mistake as you resist the urge to smile.

the entire ordeal is sloppy and wet as you lack the tact to control the rush of salvia that spills past your lips. attempting to swallow it restricted by the weight on your tongue. sakusa hisses a breath of desperation through his teeth as you tighten the dampness of your lips and take him to the root.

it’s a fortunate hasty end for you both, because sakusa’s not sure if he could’ve handle much more and your last act was certainly the end of your own limits. his protest is as weak as the hands trying to push you away as he spills down your throat.

with a grimace, you pull back to swallow freely, trying too hard not to memorize the taste. the first time you’re able to look up, your boyfriend is a complete mess. chest heaving with effort and face flushed from release and embarrassment.

he surprised you though, by gasping your hand when you go to stand and pulling you into his lap, careful of his spent member between you both. it’s new for you both but you no better than to go for a kiss. you dare though, to bump your nose against his instead.

“thank you for letting me try.“

his hum is more of a grumble of reluctance but he returns the light butterfly kiss nonetheless.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #sakusa x reader

[jimmymcgools]

Idk if you’re still doing the fic meme but would love to hear your commentary on the afternoon scene at white sands!

i definitely am! ♥️♥️♥️ and so excited to get to talk about white sands. this turned into an extra long one, too, so brace yourself.  

fic commentary meme and my answers 🙌

this whole afternoon i’ve been trying to remember how i picked white sands. it must’ve been looking through photos of new mexico on tumblr? i can’t think of any fun origin story for it at least, and i definitely had no idea that it’d end up being such a turning point in the story. white sands! it stands in for so much now.  

He realizes that the haze he saw from afar was actually the white sand of the dunes, picked up by the wind and left hanging in the air like a fine fog. this specific detail is something i noticed on google streetview more than any photos 

so hazy!

The artwork in the visitor’s center had depicted mammoths and giant sloths in the grasslands around the lake, lush and vibrant. there’s a bunch of those streetview bubble things actually inside the white sands visitor’s center, so i snooped around in there. zooming in and reading all the info boards like a tragic version of a real tourist. 

It’s finer than any sand he’s ever felt—more like flour than anything, and it’s completely cool to the touch despite the afternoon sun.  i really wanted to capture the tactile feeling of being in this place, and luckily a bunch of tripadvisor reviews had described the feeling of the sand well enough that i could give it my best shot! 

“So I guess there used to be a big lake here,” Kim says, staring out over the edge of the dune. alternate take: kim and jimmy visit camp green lake and dig holes every day and eat raw onions. 

He wiggles his bare toes in the sand. “Fists with your toes,” he says. Kim chuckles. “Better than a shower and a cup of coffee.” kim and jimmy the movie nerds! jimmy probably should’ve done this as soon as he landed in abq, huh? at least he’s doing it now. the secret to surviving.  

“I wonder if Chuck’s ever been out here,” he says gonna go ahead and make that a definite “no”, jimbo. 

The first time I was just dumb and eighteen,” Jimmy says. “I was off and on with her all through high school ahh the infamous marriages. i wanted to preserve the vibes of like, stupid romantic-at-heart jimmy, especially because by now i had settled pretty firmly into an acb jimmy who looks at kim wistfully like 😍24/7, so i needed continuity with that. i think i actually included them in the cicero chapter, but “mr and mrs kimberly wexler” “do you make 25 foot signs? no!?” legal pad boy 100% seems like someone who was filling notebooks with a girl’s name in high school. 

i like the idea that he did some dumb, grand, drunken, romantic gesture while they’re all cutting loose in vegas. something that doesn’t look nearly as cool as he thinks it does.  

i have a little timeline for jimmy’s life, and so i knew that i could sync this marriage up with roughly the era his father loses the store and then dies. i liked the idea that this and other circumstantial changes happened and the teenaged relationship just couldn’t weather it. 

“College of DuPage,” Jimmy says, and he holds up his fist. “Go Chaps!” jimmy’s college years!! this is so interesting to me! did someone in his family really encourage this? was this an earlier attempt to get on the straight and narrow? all food for thought. either way, he didn’t go far from home, unlike chuck. 

Me and Lisa…we were pretty good. For a long time. She did theater jimmy should’ve just been a theater kid. get in a spotlight, get those eyeballs on him.  

“And the worst part is, I introduced them! Because he was dating Mom,” Jimmy spits i think i saw someone else use this somewhere, and i wish i could remember who, but as a way to tie in the step-dad thing from brba it appealed to me. i think ruth has that same playful/theatrical side to her as jimmy, so i liked that connection here, too. also it’s just so horrible and dividing

She folds her lips inwards and studies him, then tilts her head and gives a little smile. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this in your stupid sombrero hat.”  i hadn’t planned this at all when i had jimmy buy the dumb hat in the last chapter, but it ended up working well -- kim deflecting from the serious moment with some lively hat talk, jimmy loves hat talk, the perfect distraction

The white sands seem almost to reflect it, becoming nacreous with pink and yellow and orange, taking on the color of the world above.  as a little metaphor for jimmy, here. he’s just reflecting everyone around him. 

The brim of the hat casts a diagonal stripe of blue shadow over her face. ahaha oh god i had forgotten i’d included this sledgehammer-subtle parking garage scene reference

“I’m not ashamed of being from there,” Kim says crisply. She shakes her head as if to shake that thought of her mind. “Not at all. But I wanted a blank slate. i always go into writing a scene like this planning for her to reveal more than she does, but it never feels believable. but i wanted to make that distinction between her hiding red cloud and her being ashamed of where she was born. i don’t think it makes sense for kim to be the latter. 

“I guess they just wanted somebody to listen to them. But it bugged me. Like they expected me to fix the weather for for them, too, in between bagging their groceries.” this seems like a very kim trait to me. that rather than just listening and nodding along to these farmer’s chatty complaints, she feels like it’s on her to fix everything, when of course it isn’t, and i doubt any of these customers would expect it to be.   “There was a time when I thought I could get married,” she says. “It even seemed almost inevitable. Like getting wound up so tight and then released on a path. i think it was a friend who made this connection, but imo kim does this in bcs too. especially when you think about her career path at HHM and how it’s going in s1/s2, or her time with mesa verde. to her credit, she breaks off the rails eventually in those situations, but she does seem to ride these tracks long past the point when it’s clear she’s not on a good route. i guess you could say that about her relationship with jimmy, too? depending on how fatalistic (and maybe reductive?) you want to be. 

The sky around it glows amber. West, he thinks. “But you weren’t stuck in Red Cloud,” he says.   and kennedy’s head faces west, faces the future.  

he pauses for a moment, eyes drawn to the long shadows cast backward by the two of them, rippling over the white dunes. They stretch away so far they seem to vanish before they end.  something about this image seems perfect for the two of them. maybe that’s just the dumb jimmy romantic in me talking. kim and jimmy’s shadows dipping over the curve of the dunes, out of sight, before they end. 

hell, this got LONG! i’ll end with this quote i took a screenshot of in the visitor’s center. better call saul, anybody?

#asks #commentary ask meme #kingofthelampoon #better call saul #a controlled burn

[rewatching-supernatural]

s01e06

Here we go!

We start with a Swat raid on a house where a woman is being ...tortured? Not sure, they finally find the victim and the man who was running away is... well, Dean, of course. Who else? smh

*****

Sam using his phone with a stylus is just, big nope

fuck no

Sam reads about the guy possibly having killed someone and Dean's like "damn, what kind of people do you hang out with?!"

*****

they get to the woman's house, idk her name, and they hug and it is so awkward?!

Dean wants a beer but Sam beer-blocks him

"Me, not much. But Dean's a cop."

Dean's face there is just *chef's kiss*

*****

Someone came in and stole the guy's clothes? and then he was in "two places at once"? -> Shapeshifter

*****

Told you!

*****

This episode is very straight forward "this is this monster, this is how we kill it, here's us going to kill it" with a side of Sam lying to his friend and it coming back to bite him in the ass

*****

I wish I could tell this season 1 Dean that in two days he's getting married to God's dad

*****

the whole sewers bit is really fucking disgusting tbh

*****

I'm sorry, they just got out of a sewer hole in the middle of a park in front of people and no one reacted? unbelievable. if I saw a man come out of the sewers, I'm calling the cops right away, that shit isn't normal

*****

Sam knowing right away that it isn't Dean = *chef's kiss*

Sam not shooting the shapeshifter = I wanna fucking punch him in the face

*****

Jensen's acting is beyond incredible here, it is so clearly man trying to pretend he's Dean and then, once discovered, he's someone else

exposing Dean's trauma and destructive thoughts

*****

How do you receive a script like this as an actor? It must be terrifying but also so gratifying to be trusted with such an important role

you play two characters at once, and it has to be clear that they are distinct in your subtle gestures and faces

It must be such a fun challenge

*****

The special effects of the shapeshifter shapeshifting is horrifying honestly

it looks very painful

*****

Dean without his coat walking next to Sam looks REALLY tiny

it's really funny

*****

Sam told you to wait, Dean. You idiot! Now Sam's alone with the baddie.

*****

Jared and Jensen fighting is so interesting to look at 😅

and then Dean killing Dean, that must be weird mentally

*****

Sam looks so proud? about fighting monsters? what a weird reaction/emotion

what a weird scene actually

*****

and the Impala's on the road!

onto the next episode

#supernatural rewatch #supernatural #spn #spn rewatch #spn s01e06 #s01e06 #feb 12 #shapeshifter #shapeshifters #two deans