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jangofctts · 3 years

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Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”

You smile. “Lovely.”

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.

-=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement.

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes.

Fuck yeah.

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.

Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”

There we go.

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

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flythesail · 2 years

Text

Preview of It Rains, It Pours

Look out for the whole fic next week!

“Nancy,” Ace said softly.

She blinked a few times, her eyes finding Ace’s. The lighting in the entrance was dim, and with it being so early, little came through the glass door. Bess had left them, the sound of her footsteps growing quieter as she climbed the stairs.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Nothing. You just seemed zoned-out.”

“Oh.”

He still stood by the stairwell, seeming unsure of whether he should come closer. So she made the decision for him, joining him there. She wrapped her fingers around the strap of her messenger bag. Maybe to keep herself from touching him, she didn’t know.

“Do you have any other symptoms?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just the one nightmare. I was on the battlefield with Beckett Dow.”

Nancy nodded. With Jake, there was tapping, diagrams, and bible quoting. If Ace had only dreamed once, that was a good sign.

“What about the thermostat? You don’t want to change it to 58 degrees?”

A small smile crossed his face, disappearing too quickly for her to savor it. “No, not yet. If I touched it though, Nick would find me quicker than the Copperhead.”

Nancy’s own smile was just as weak. She didn’t know what else to say. Maybe there was no right thing to say to someone who held a piece of your ancestor’s soul and would be dead by midnight if it couldn’t be removed.

But they would save him and it would leave her with a chance to not avoid. To tell him how she felt, and that she too had felt that way for a long time.

“On the phone… why did you apologize?” She held the strap of her bag tighter.

“I— don’t know.” Ace shrugged. “It’s not like I want a piece of Charity’s soul.”

“Right, but it’s not your fault.”

“I know.” He nodded once, breaking from the way he held her gaze. A moment of silence passed and he took a breath, looking back at her. “Can I ask you something?”

"Anything."

“If we can’t split my soul,” Ace said, his face serious, “I want to write something for my parents.”

“Ace…”

“And if I give it to you, would you make sure they get it?”

“Of course,” Nancy said, swallowing against the lump forming in her throat. She didn’t want to think about a reality where she had to give them that note. A reality without him.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

She nodded, her eyes falling to the worn leather of his shoes. Forcing herself to look back at his face, she pressed her nails into the strap of her bag. “How are things?”

“With my parents?”

“Yeah, ever since…” Everything with Bertram Bobbsey and Grant. Everything that led his father to tell him not to come home.

Ace had struggled to tell her that as he walked her out to her car that night. He was like her in that way, wanting to shoulder things alone even when he didn’t have to.

“Things are okay,” he said slowly. “We had dinner last Friday.”

“How did that go?”

“Awkward.” He shrugged weakly. “My mom was doting and my dad didn't say much, even more than usual. They’re still dealing with it.”

Nancy stepped closer. “How are you dealing with it?”

“Okay. I’ll be fine. As long as we can—”

“We can.” She took her hand off the strap of her bag, and before she could put it back, he reached for it.

He held her hand just at the end, brushing his thumb over the bend in her fingers.

“Can you tell you have it?” she asked.

He kept his eyes on their hands. “What do you mean?”

“A piece of Charity’s soul.”

His eyes flickered to her face, then back to their hands. “After the nightmare, I thought I could. It might have just been my imagination.” He brought her hand to his chest, placing it over his heart. Her own heart skipped a beat.

Even through his shirt, she could feel the warmth of his body, nothing like her nightmare where he’d turned ice cold. His heartbeat was steady, quick too under her touch.

“Ace…” she said, looking up to meet his eyes.

I have feelings for you too, she wanted to say. I should tell you before it’s too late.

But before she could, the door to the building opened. She dropped her hand from his chest, turning to look.

“Alright,” said George. She pulled her hood down and shook out her hair. “Who’s ready for soul-splitting round two?”

#nace #nancy drew cw #cw nancy drew #nancy drew #aceandnancy #nacesource #the fic that will have everything from when nancy finds out ace has a piece of charity's soul to when the curse is broken #that's why it's 17k fjskaljdka #flythefic

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everafterkeiji · 3 years

Text

Song: Certain Things by James Arthur

Summary: When the setter's decision led him to a war with his heart.

Pairings: Keiji Akaashi x fem! reader

Word count: 5.3k

Genre: angst

A/N: i used to listen to this song nonstop and it just suited how sad this is so no happy endings for this one🤺

"Keiji!"

You watch as she runs up to him, engulfing him in the sweetest hug you could ever imagine. How you envy the feeling of being welcome in his arms. His eyes soften at the sight of her, as she rambled on how amazing he was. He gives her his heart fluttering smile as he lets his palm set on her shoulder, kindly thanking her for watching and supporting him throughout the entire game.

Did your shouts of love become silent to him?

She grabs his towel, patting it lightly on his forehead as he blushes finding the gesture extremely embarassing for the girl he longs for to just wipe away his sweat. He tries to stop her but she insisted, even grabbing her water bottle and giving it to him, asking him to drink some water and rest.

"Hey hey hey- look at me please."

Bokuto says, coming from behind you. You turn to him with water baring eyes, a heartache eating you up with every second you continue to watch. Bokuto sighs as he pulls you in his arms, his chin resting on your crown, as he caresses your hair as you let out an agonizing sob. Bokuto sees the way Akaashi didn't bother to spare them a glance, as Akaashis overall being was captivated by the girl that was beside him. He coes her, whispering how he's got her and he'll never have the courage to let her go, the way the dark haired boy did.

"We won today yeah? Why don't we celebrate?" Bokuto tries to tone his voice in his usual cheery self but feels defeated when he sees her. Y/N looks up at him, he tenses up as he holds your head, an instinct that you were going to look again. You were mid way into letting your eyes land on them but Bokuto stopped you as he held your face in his palm, looking at you with an expression you were well familiar with.

"Y/N."

" 'Taro, shit I'm sorry!" You shouted before wiping away your eyes as his heart winces seeing his friend poorly attempt to regain the sunshine that she once was. Puffed cheeks, swollen eyes, red tinted nose, what a cruel sight yet she dared to cover all of these with a smile. It was disgusting how she made it look so believable, fooling almost everyone that witnessed her little facade. Bokuto falling for it countless of times but has learned to tell the difference every now and then, fitting in for the spot of her once best friend who knew exactly what she was truly feeling.

Akaashi would've read her like a novel he loved but it seems like it wasn't as timeless anymore.

It was now up to Bokuto to handle the shattered girl, even when her own broken heart pierced through her like a knife everyday.

"I-I know a good place to eat at! Maybe then I can treat you for being my favorite ace?" She offers with a sickening chuckle. She was achingly trying. He only gives her a smile, accepting her efforts of hiding how empty she felt. He lets his arm fall on her shoulders, comforting her with everything he can do.

"Oh! I'd like that, kind of like a double date huh? Seems like I get to treat my favorite setter too!" Akemi states, eyes darting towards Akaashi as he becomes flustered with her words. Bokutos eyebrow furrows, and with a pout he tries to insist that you didn't want her to accompany them, but you let your arm come before him as he questions your decisions.

"Sure! The more the merrier right, Ko?" Akemi claps her hand as she gathers her things, Akaashi doing the same. Bokuto takes notice of your longing gaze as he pulls you with him.

"So is that right? I'm your favorite?" Bokuto teases, as you laugh punching him lightly on his shoulder. He chuckles but was taken by surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tip toes to reach him. He immediately wraps his arms around your waist as you pat his hair, nuzzling your face in his neck as you smile, feeling gratitude for an amazing friend like him.

"You were fantastic earlier, I'm sorry for being so-" Bokuto cuts you off with a shout of triumph, making you confused as he pulls away. He wouldn't let her continue her sentence, knowing he couldn't stand hearing her blame herself for something she couldn't handle.

"Ah! What a starter! Thanks Y/N! No wonder I'm the best huh?" He shouts closing his eyes, putting his hands on his hips smiling to himself. You laugh, enjoying how it fed his confidence. Akaashi turns to the two of you watching how Bokuto oddly portray his muscles as you laugh loudly. Akemi smiles beside him, finding the duo quite suited for each other

"They should date! Bokuto makes her so happy!" She claims, as Akaashi blinks, shaking his head turning to meet her green eyes.

"She hates guy who shows off their muscles like that. She think's its a bit cocky." Akemi laughs at Akaashi, since what he said sounded like a known fact.

"Maybe everything can change when she's with him."

She states, making his eyes widen. Impossible. She can't just switch her words just because of Bokuto. He says to himself. Once he hears how genuine your laugh was and realizes that the ace was the cause of it, he stiffens at the thought of the you and the captain together. Akaashi was the one to introduce you to him so it was a surprise you two would come together like that, especially when he felt how Bokuto adjusted to you quite quickly.

"Ooh Y/N likes that color! Will you get it for her, Akaashi?!" Bokuto asks, pointing excitedly at a plush toy. Akaashis blue eyes turned to the location where the finger was pointed and he smiles seeing an immensely cute plush toy he knew you would love but this glee ends when he realizes that Bokuto managed to remember your favorite color.

"Bokuto-san, I'm impressed you knew what she liked." He said with an amused smile. The other boys eyes glimmered in the moonlight, remembering your past conversations with him.

"It's easy! Y/N always talk about many things and it's so freaking awesome. You've known her for the longest time right 'Kaashi? She's so cool." His words bring a smile to the setters lips, loving how Bokuto got along with you so well.

"Oh wait! Akaashi!"

"Yes, Bokuto-san?"

"Well! You've been with her since you were young right? So that means.. you like her!"

Akaashi coughs on his water looking at Bokuto. Bokutos cackle echoed through the air and his words consuming Akaashi's thoughts.

"I do like her but not romantically ok?" He defends, but Bokuto let's out a displeased scoff skipping ahead of the flustered setter. Happily moving knowing he's got him on a hot seat.

"That can change Akaashi!"

And it did.

For Y/N to watch Akemi casually serve Akaashi his food, it was like being tortured in a chamber or watching it to make your brain rot. They look perfect, she thinks. Bokuto was eating happily beside him, and setting aside how hurt she was, she chose to ignore the throbbing of her heart. Akaashi was in front of her as Akemi was in front of Bokuto. The two were in well conversation as Bokuto tried to gather your attention while he brings up how excited he was for a new move.

Dropping your chopsticks, you curse as you got out of your chair to bend down and reach it. Grabbing it in your hands as you look up to see a hand covering the sharp corner of the table. Your eyes follow it and realizing it was Akaashis hand, protecting you if you were to hit your head. This minimal effort was enough to set your soul on fire, admiring how he was able to act so quickly and composed. You return to your seat, Akaashi watching you steadily to make sure you were back. You give him a nod, thanking him for being observant as he smiles to you instead.

Just maybe.

You feel the rising heat on your cheeks as you sip water, hoping it were to ease your frantic heart. You observe Akemi, and painfully suck in the harsh truth that you couldn't deny. Everything that Akaashi has told you about his dream girl, the list of expectations he's had, it was all her. The embodiment of what Akaashi wants to hold, to love and to keep. You hear how her laughter sounded like gentle music, even her personality radiated nothing but sunshine.

All you can do was sigh, when a dream like her already has captured the heart of the young boy you grew to love.

She drops her phone, somewhat mirroring your actions beforehand. Akaashi turns to her immediately, as your heart took another strike seeing him mimic the same actions he had with you. Hand covering the edge, with a gentle hand on her back as she picks up the device leaving you stranded in strings of pain. She smiles at him, casually resting her hand on his as a thank you. Akaashi immediately blushes before placing his other hand on top, eyes lovingly holding onto hers.

The string of hope that you held on for dear life, immediately broke as you let the cup of water fall from your hands, taking an excruciating hit as you were brought back to the silent beating of your heart.

I'm certain that I'm yours.

Or at least I thought.

Bokuto calls your name multiple times as he frantically wipes the spillage of the water that was on the table and on your attire. You felt towels pat your lap gently as Bokuto still continued to put effort in grabbing your attention. Akemi looks at you concerned, worried for whatever thought that you had in mind was enough for you to completely lose your grip on reality.

"Y/N, hey!"

"I didn't think I'd be able to stay with you this long, Y/N." He says with a smile as you walk with him. It was early in the morning, both on your way to school. Coffee in both hands as you give him a pout, finding his statement in a different tone.

"You make it sound like you're unfortunate." You joke as Akaashi laughs beside you, sipping coffee before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"You've been with me even before I got in Fukurodani. I'm just really happy I've found somebody to turn to." You smile as your fingers brush against each other in which at the contact made you both blush. All the tension that was held in the moment was a bunch of unheard confessions, both unwilling to let them speak.

"I'm lucky I have you too, Kei."

"Seems like someone isn't technically happy of sharing the spotlight with me." Akaashi teases pointing at a very sleepy Bokuto who was walking up to you two.You giggle at the setter, while his blue eyes stayed on your smiling lips, relieved that it didn't fail to make him smile as well.

"Y/N."

A stern voice makes your gloomy eyes trail over to a pair of blue ones you were addicted to.

"Y/N? What's wrong with you? You made a mess." He says, completely knocking you off your limit. You stood up, hands on the table with your head down as Bokuto grunts knowing exactly what was bound to happen.

"I'm sorry Akaashi."

"That was reckless. You could've spilled it all over us, even Akemi-"

Bokuto winces when the name slips off of Akaashis lips as you hastily grab your wallet placing the money to Bokuto and mumbling a sorry before rushing to leave, tears falling from your tired eyes once you were out of the restaurant. Bokuto observes the way Akaashis eyes remained enlarged when it hit him how harsh he was. The captain wished that this worry of Akaashi would last long, since this was his first time seeing the setter show any concern for the poor girl in such a long time.

"Bokuto, will she be alright?" Akemi asks him, as he lets out a shrug of defeat. Akaashi bit his lip feeling the responsibility of his actions weigh on both him and the ace. He knew that Bokuto would never be able to comfort her the way he does, and reading her expressions when she left, reassuring her wouldn't be as easy.

Because he was the reason why she was hurting, not even realizing the damage has been done too many times already.

Your feet felt like weights as you ran, feeling the burn of guilt pass through you. On your way to pick up some snacks and refreshments for their match, a certain sight caught your eye leading you to your current decision.

"Yes thank you!" You say with a smile before, leaving the store with the things you bought. You rub your eyes, hating how early you had to catch a bus for their match. This was your only chance to watch them again since you avoided Akaashi for days, making Bokuto your company. You apologized dozens of times to Bokuto for leaving him in an awkward situation. Of course he forgave you, deciding to treat you to a movie instead to erase your worry.

Suddenly a familiar voice spikes up your interest, your head turning left and right to find Akemi. Instead, a tall man walks pass you carrying a bag that you've seen multiple times. You shrug, not wanting to lead to conclusions knowing how Akemi was genuine with her admiration for Akaashi.

"Haru-san!"

Akemi greets, arms wrapped around the waist of the man. You turn to see the two hugging and you gripped the plastic bag in your hands, as Haru places a gentle kiss on her forehead making you stunned even more.

"So where we going later?" He asks, as you lower your head, trying to control your breathing. This is impossible. How could she just lead him on like that! You despised how you weren't able to save Akaashi from the beginning, and now it was your turn to drop a heavy bomb on your best friend.

"We'll meet up later okay? I'll just attend my friend's match."

Friends.

You immediately walked away, weakened at what she just said. No matter shape or form, Akaashi would be hurt, completely. It hurt you that you'd have to see the painful expression on Akaashis face. You bit your lip, trying to avoid the look of dismay on your best friend. You let out a sad sigh as you began to pick up the pace in your walk.

Is it his turn to feel hopeless?

You've tried your best to avoid him. The tension being unresolved between the two of you yet you were happy Akaashi understood why you've created distance between you and him.

Knowing the two were inseparable, you were the one to adjust whenever Bokuto would be heading to practice or even going to lunch. Although, Akaashi gave you some space knowing his outburst completely set a different side to your friendship. You two have never really fought in such a way, he knew even if it was a small fight there was a distinct aura that surrounded the two of you. Beyond what happened, he knew you were facing some other problem that he was clueless of and him adding to your issues wasn't helping the both of you.

So whenever the dark haired boy saw you bid goodbye to Bokuto whenever he was on his way to approach the captain, it stung in his heart.

Akaashi sighs beside Bokuto. Koutaro was prepping himself up completely, pressing his palms to his cheeks. They were up to play soon and the blue eyed boy wonders if she would be able to make it back in time. While he wonders about you, his mind swerves to Akemi. He finds himself foolishly smiling at the thought of them holding hands at the restaurant so he looks at his phone, finding her contact and glancing at their photo.

Next to her contact was yours, which he was hesitant to tap on. He shuts off his phone before seeing Bokuto wave frantically with a smile on his face. Akaashi looks at you, eyes shining knowing you made it just in time to bid him goodluck and hopefully to clear up the quarrel. You felt your heart leap with every step, a war in your head in how you were going to tell him. Your hands tightened as you walk over to them, Bokuto patting your head showing how delighted he was that you were there. Akaashi wonders if you could even spare him a glance.

" 'Taro! I have your snacks but- promise me you'll be the best out there and maybe I'll treat you later!" You say as Bokuto punches the air, his mind in a frenzy at the scenario in his head of eating his favorite food.

You turn to Akaashi, shakily grabbing his arm as he stiffens at your sudden contact. He looks at your weary eyes as you desperately tried to calm down.

"Keiji, can we talk?" Why did you say it like that? He asks himself. His name has never sounded so troublesome before. He fidgets with his fingers as he trails behind you as you lead him to a more private place. You felt the shivers reach your body, immediately bringing coldness at how anxious you were. This was the first time in days where you two would be able to converse properly again.

As you make your way to a corner, Akaashis feet was tapping furiously, scared of what you were going to say. He waits for you to speak as he watches you take a deep breath as you hold his arm once again. Softer than before but it felt like a desperate touch.

"Kei- you do trust me right?" Akaashi nods immediately, lips frowning at the tone of her voice. Is she going to leave me? Please say no. He wanted to get this over with so he wonders if you were just going to rip off the bandaid and end the friendship even if he was willing to apologize multiple times. But then, how could you end it just because he was right about being reckless?

"Akemi- she has a boyfriend, Keiji-"

"You came.. to tell me this?"

"Akaashi- I-I know you like her but"

"God Y/N how could you.." Akaashi exclaims as you aggresively run your fingers through your hair, before grabbing his jacket trying to make him stay. He stands there in shock, as rage and envy flow through him overwhelming him in the process. His hands form a ball as it tightens quickly at the thought of how Akemi was just being nice all the time.

Akaashi looks at you only to find truth in your eyes but his heart betrays the both of you, now broken and in denial that the girl he adored was dating somebody that wasn't him.

"Akaashi, please listen to me! I don't want you to get hurt..believe me!" You pleaded, throwing away how hurt you were from the drastic change in his tone.

"Hurt? So you think you're being considerate then?" Akaashi questions her with spite in his tone. His demeanor towering over her as she crumbles at his voice. Akaashis heart coming back to the reason why it was guarded in the first place.

"Keiji.. you know that's not what I mean!" You defended yourself as Akaashi scoffs. It was mocking you how composed he looked yet the tone of his voice was laced with pure hatred. Deep down, Akaashi accepted the fact that he could never really win Akemi but he was blinded by the pain that you brought him.

"You're just jealous, Y/N. Stop lying." He continued, making you shake your head as you tried to grasp his jacket again but this time your hands barely touched the fabric making your heart gasp at how Akaashi was out of your grip.

"I didn't know you could pull off being a liar, and I don't see myself being a friend with a trait like yours."

The tears flowed down your cheeks as you let out a shakey breath, in disbelief at what he just said. I'm not lying, Akaashi. You promised me you trusted me.

"You said you t-trusted me, Akaashi! How could that change for you!" You shouted as he was brought back to Akemis words.

"Maybe everything can change."

"You promise I'll be okay?"

"I've got no reason to doubt you." He says smiling as you lean your head on his shoulder, tracing random lines and doodling away on his soft skin. Under the beautiful tree, with purple painted skies with clouds up above. After a stressful day on your side, the setter took notice of how you've let yourself fall onto your insecurities once again so he took it upon himself and brought you to a silent place to show you how you shouldn't worry about anything, comforting you with his kind words and him trusting you that would be able to regain your old self again.

"Certain things hurt and you're my only virtue." You confess as his heart spikes up its speed with your response. You sat up, gazing at the houses who seemed too tiny from your distance. You held your knees to your chest with lips formed in a relaxed state as you lean on your arm that was on top of your knee.

And I'm virtually yours.

Akaashi remained with his back on the grass as he admired your features wondering how you could ever put yourself down, when you took away his words whenever you were with him, hiding it perfectly and keeping his admiration far from you to avoid the continous breaking of his heart knowing he'd betray your beloved friendship.

I adore you, he thinks to himself as the only thing that reflected in his eyes were the girl he's lost to his wrong decision.

"You changed and it's disappointing. All because of jealousy? I've been with you for so long, how did you become selfish?"

Selfish. I must've been crazy then, you think. You let out a bitter chuckle, Akaashi frightened at this side of you you've yet to show him before. It was like poison consuming your body, in which the poison came in the form of his words.

"All I've ever been is selfless, god I even let you fall for someone else when I've been in love with you for years."

You took a step back as Akaashi stood where he was, feeling as if his feet couldn't leave the floor as he lets himself drown in your confession. He gulps as he was struck with regret since he had no idea how to respond to you. His eyes trail to the floor as he struggles to find the words.

Then the battle began, between in what he knows whose right for you and his heart who wanted no one else but you.

He was miserable. A side of him wanted to say how much he's waited for you to bid those words to him and claim that he's felt the same as you, but the other side wanted to badly decline knowing he was stuck in choosing you and Akemi. Akemi who has effortlessly tugged on his heart strings and gained it with her gentleness and beautiful personality, and you who's promised to stay forever and loved him longer than anyone else has.

Don't make me choose on who I love more.

He knew the time would come where his decisions would bare another heavy mark on him. He's already made a terrible one by putting his heart in the hands of Akemis instead of yours. He wishes there wasn't a deadline to this difficult decision, but to him it seemed like if he doesn't choose now, he'd feel the pain everyday.

"AKAASHI! LET'S GO!" Bokuto screams as Akaashi turns his eyes to you in a swift move, finding your eyes covered in tears but how come you looked like you felt nothing? You sniffle as you give him a warm smile, a reaction he didn't want to see knowing it wasn't a smile that could bring him joy.

"Goodluck, Akaashi."

He takes a step forward trying to capture you in his arms but Bokuto grabs him by the arm pulling him away from you, Bokuto saying goodbye to you as well and reminding you the promise you gave him. That moment, all that Akaashi wanted to was run and replace the silence he gave you. You deserved to hear what he truly felt, but his words were trapped as he still had to examine if he was choosing the right ones.

But he ran out of time.

The game starts and he prays for his performance to be at his usual best. Once Bokuto had the setter to himself, Akaashi couldn't hold back and told him what happened. Bokuto felt horrible for both of you, while feeling revengeful to Akemi since he too fell for her sweet gestures to Akaashi thinking that she actually liked him. Importantly, Bokuto badly wanted to be there for you. He knew how much you liked him so for you to confess so suddenly during your argument, it had the grey haired boy worried about you.

He couldn't blame Akaashi, as much as he wanted to. He acted in a way because he was suffering, but they didn't realize they both were. Though, he wished Akaashi could've treated her better, believed her. Bokuto believed her the minute Akaashi told him, and it was because he trusted her completely and she wouldn't speak out without a reason meanwhile Akaashi chose to hold onto denial.

And as they play, Akaashi looks over to the stands, searching for you when he came upon Akemis. The pretty girl with an arm wrapped around her shoulder as Akaashi loses the ball in his hands from the view.

"Akaashi, please listen to me! I don't want you to get hurt..believe me!"

"You said you t-trusted me, Akaashi! How could that change for you!"

Like the ball falling to the floor, his heart went along with it.

Scream. That's what he wanted to do. How absurd of him to get it wrong twice, there shouldn't even be any room for mistakes. I can't believe I lost her..again. Akaashi thinks. There was a painful ache in his heart, yet he couldn't set it free not wanting to let down the team. Especially in a match like this. He wanted to break, to land on the ground and let his consciousness scold him for hours. He deserved it. He should've learned but he was trapped inside a world where he thought Akemi would've been his everything, when he was blind to how powerful his love for you all this time.

Come back to me.

"Akaashi!" Bokutos hand reach his shoulder and all he could do was stare at a pair of blank eyes. Before the ace could ask what happened, Akaashi was clutching on to Bokutos jersey harshly taking the older boy by surprise.

"She was right." Akaashi utters as he points to the crowd making Bokuto squint just to find where Akemi was. Once he finds them, he sighs sadly before trying to come up with a response to cheer the boy up. It was obvious that Akaashi was too affected to perform properly. Lip quivering as if his world was destroyed twice.

"Doesn't that mean the only thing you can come back to is Y/N?"

Akaashi looks up to him, confused. Bokuto patted the boys shoulder with a soft smile.

"Look over there." This time, it was Bokutos turn to point to the other side of the stands to see you glancing over them. Akaashis eyes glimmered at the sight of you, like life was brought to him in an instant. Happiness couldn't be the only word to describe his emotions.

You were watching.

And he was going to win. Just for you.

This brings him a massive wave of energy, not digging into his thoughts. You smile wiping your heavy eyes seeing him back to his usual self. In his heart he was happy but a mistake shouldn't be rewarded by a smile.

Sticking to his promise, they won but an unfamiliar feeling sets in his skin making him stop in his tracks making Bokuto look behind him to see Akaashi with his hand on top of his chest and eyes straight to the floor. Bokuto grips the phone in his hand, biting his lip and looking down, his heart aching as well.

"Bokuto-san, where is she?" His voice cracks, a tear finally escaping his eyes. He lets out a soft sniffle looking everywhere for a trace of you. Bokuto just shakes his head as a response and Akaashis eyes widen as he harshly wipes away his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. Written in his lips and eyes, Akaashi was exhausted. At first, he thought that letting go of his emotions would be the answer but now he was letting them free yet he didn't wanna scream anymore. He already felt his throat dry at the realization.

"Doesn't that mean the only thing you can come back to is Y/N?"

You sank in your seat, numb to how wet your cheeks were from the continous flow of your tears. Your chest was heaving up and down but your eyes were already closed with tight lips pressed into a line. There were certain things you wish you could've done, but staying wasn't an option when you've gone through multiple battles already. This was the last straw.

Even if you did wanted to fight for him, would he do the same?

You let out a sigh as you open your eyes seeing the road and reminiscing on your last walk with Akaashi.

"What's her name again?" You ask, kicking a rock to the side before shoving your hands inside the pocket of your blazer. Akaashi smiles out of bliss at the thought of her smile and once you've got a glimpse of his expression, you question the drop in your heartbeat as you see him blush before fidgeting with his fingers.

"Akemi." He says, his heart beating loudly. Saying her name already brought the setter in touch with his emotions. It was unlikely for him to feel his heart flutter, but being around Akemi brought him to smile whenever she was there, get anxious to respond to her, and get a flush on his cheeks at the thought of her moments with him.

The name rings in your ears as you were greeted by the silencing beat of your heart. You watch as he turns to you since you've trailed behind him. You visualize how you've seen him with Akemi during lunch and that's when you knew.

It's never going to be me, is it?

"Let's go, Bokuto-san." Bokuto bit his lip, waiting for you to go to them and proving him it was all a prank.

"Akaashi-"

"She left already and I-" His voice breaks making Bokuto gaze at him in pain.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make her stay, Akaashi." Bokuto whispers. Akaashi drags his sleeve to his eyes again, hating how his eyes grew heavy with the tears that escaped his sorrowful blue ones. With a tragic wound embedded in his heart, he spoke.

"I couldn't either."

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#akaashi keiji #akaashi angst #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi x you #bokuto x reader #hinata shouyou #nishinoya x reader #sugawara x y/n #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #hinata x reader #akaashi x reader #hq akaashi

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quillandink333 · 2 years

Text

Broken Hinges

Kazuma Asougi × Original Character

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT ACE ATTORNEY CHRONICLES ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS: amnesia, psychosis, aggression (verbal and physical)

Summary: When the relentless phantom within coerces him into making the drastic decision he was always meant to, the distraught watch officer takes an irreversible misstep.

Masterlist

“It’s been six months since you awoke.”

He swatted at the air near his ear, though there was nothing there, of course.

“You’re running out of time.”

He jerked his head, slouching as he paced back and forth as if that would do anything to deter it.

“When are you finally going to let go of this delusion?”

“I don’t know!”

His shout made a dull echo down in the dingy, cramped, and poorly lit cargo hold where he was stationed for the time being.

“I’m—” he stuttered. “I’m working on it. Alright?”

The Vitesse had just departed from Barcelona, the third-to-final stop on this miserable voyage. They were so close now, and the voice in his head was louder, and more real, than it had ever been. As they came closer and closer to the land where his supposed fate awaited him, the apparition seemed to grow more and more vehement, and at a faster rate, with every passing second. Now it had reached the point where he was no longer able to block out its tireless demands to break ties with the London girl he’d grown close with.

It didn’t make sense to him. But if this…he hesitated to think ‘stranger,’ was still so determined to bend his will after so long, then surely there must have been a reason. The voice possessed no telltale qualities of the owner’s gender nor age, but he’d started to suspect that it was in fact the voice of his former self. And if that was the case, then maybe it made no difference whether any of it made sense to him or not. He shook his head again, harder.

“What makes you so sure she can be trusted anyway? What has she ever done to earn yours?”

“She’s done more than enough!” He scoffed, fist clamping down on the handle of his kerosene lamp. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh? Name one example, then.”

“Well…!” His rebuttal fell short. As sure as he’d been that the voice was wrong and Cecelia was someone he could confide in without it blowing up in his face, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t conceive of a way to prove it.

“I’m waiting.”

He roared hopelessly. What about her had made him so convinced that she would even understand, let alone accept, him and his unsightly, tortured soul? Aside from that, if the task he was to carry out in Britain was something that, ‘couldn’t be made known to anyone,’ then someone hailing from Britain herself would have been among the least trustworthy. That was likely how the voice saw it, in any case. But Cecelia would never forsake him. Would she?

He heard the voice smirk. “You see? There’s nothing.”

“Shut up!” He held his pounding, heavy head in his free hand. “I just…can’t think of anything at the moment.”

“And you never will. Do you know why?”

His head hung lower as he began to snicker. “Why?”

“It’s because you’re mad.”

His laughter redoubled. “No, really?! And here I was, thinking that disembodied voices in one’s head was a sure sign of perfect sanity!”

“Don’t you see?” it carried on. “Nothing fits together in your head because so many of the pieces are missing.” His smile became a snarl, the remnants of his chuckling ragged and furious. Everything in the room was becoming darker and darker, and the walls groaned and bellowed as they seemed to lean further and further inward. “And until you stop chasing daydreams and things that aren’t real, you will never find what you’ve lost.”

Just before the last remaining photon of light died out, a familiar voice arose, timidly saying, “Is everything alright?”

The lamp in his hand went screaming toward the new arrival. It missed her by an inch, clanging and shattering against the ship’s steel hull with a deafening eruption of sound. When it hit the floor at her feet, it burst into flame.

“What are you doing here?” he seethed.

“No—n-nothing.” Heart in mouth, she observed the unstable rise and fall of his hunched shoulders. “I was just… I-I’ve lost something, you see, and I thought I might’ve dropped it down here somewhere, during—”

“Never mind.” She mouthed a stunned, ‘What?’ and he let out a charged sigh. “I’ll look for…whatever it is. Just go.”

“Wait, please, tell me what’s going on first. What were you—”

“Don’t touch me, damn it!” She shrivelled back, her own lamp nearly slipping out of her buttered fingers. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, ‘get out.’ Or don’t you understand Japanese anymore?”

She took a careful step back. Clearly he wasn’t himself at all. Perhaps a bit of space was all he needed.

“Right,” he said in English, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me if I’m wrong; it might just be my shitty memory, or…” He gave a depraved chortle, “or lack thereof, but I don’t recall asking for any of this.” His hand fell from his face before she could ask specifically what ‘this’ referred to. He was glaring daggers. “Any of it!”

“I-I’m so sorry.” If looks could kill, she would have been half way up the staircase to Heaven already. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Truly. I just wanted to—”

“What? To help me?” She choked on her tongue. Every word he spoke was laced with deadly venom. “Then you should never have stuck your nose in in the first place. It’s because of you that my very existence has become a living hell!”

Her jaw went slack. She searched his gaze. He couldn’t possibly have meant that, could he? Then her throat tightened. His snarl alone was answer enough.

As the flames died out, the air thick with the smell of burning oil, a fragment of the lamp bulb glinted beside her, quenching the fire within him.

Seeing the identically broken look in her glassy eyes and the ill-fitted frown that revealed the damage done to her once impenetrable spirit caused his own to rupture.

“Don’t even think about it,” hissed the voice. “She is worth nothing to you, nor you to her.”

He bit his lip and turned his head. “Just…”

“Be done with this.”

He turned the rest of his body, waiting to hear her retreating footsteps. “Just…get out of my sight.”

She only made it as far as the floor above, stumbling on her way up countless times without the light of the lamp she’d brought down with her. She didn’t feel any better for having left it with him. Why hadn’t she just left when he’d asked her to the first time?

Her body had turned to brick. Her own weight was enough to have her teetering into the door she’d just closed. She leant there a moment, back pressed flat against the crude, painted metal, when its chill brought a memory as bitter as steel back to life before her. The way his eyes had cut into her minutes ago was the same as it had been that day, only ten times more agonising. She let herself slide down the door’s surface, curling herself into as tight a ball as she could in an effort to keep herself from falling apart on the spot.

This whole time, she’d gone on believing that what she’d been doing had never been enough. But perhaps, in reality, it was the opposite. As it had been all along.

That realisation was the final strike to the chisel. She crumbled, unable to hold herself together a second longer. Her sobs, choked and sharp, panged through the empty halls of the gigantic metal box she was trapped in.

She had brought this upon herself—upon him—all of it. Just as he had said.

#my writing #fanfic #dgs spoilers #dgs2 spoilers #tgaa spoilers #tgaa2 spoilers #dai gyakuten saiban #dgs #the great ace attorney #tgaa #kazuma asogi #asougi kazuma #kazuma asogi x oc #asougi kazuma x oc #my oc #dgs oc #tgaa oc #cecelia gardner

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redvanillabee · 2 years

Text

m.o.m thoughts. spoilers under cut.

i can foresee the fandom reactions already and uh. let’s just say i’m glad my dash is very curated.

overall a pretty fun movie. i like the premise. i remember reading a post a while ago about how the cinematic universe now resembles the absolute chaos of the many, many comic universes, and i think it holds up. it’s a very good cinematic take on the overlapping universes of the comics. i like the idea.

a strange comment (ba-dum tss) to make this early on in the list, but you have no idea how happy i am that marvel remembers that hk speaks cantonese and actually hired someone who knows how to speak canto to play the hk sanctum leader. granted her pronunciation is so deliberate it sounds like she spent her entire life in a drama school/disneyland, but hey. i take what i can. we love them for that.

the cameos were god tier. we know hayley and lashana are in it. and i will say, if you liked lashana in no time to die, you will love her captain marvel ‘fit.

(reed richard was arguably the most underwhelming cameo tho, tbh)

peggy. my beloved. it’s been a long long time.

That Being Said.

i think i heard that scarlet witch was supposed to be a villain in the comics, and i can respect that.

but couldn’t we save wanda? she never asked to be the scarlet witch. couldn’t she have been more than a tragedy?

especially when you’ve brought out the Big Guns of reclaiming mind powers. you brought out Chawl, dammit. and yea i think in the comics chawl couldn’t save wanda either? but seriously. did it have to be like this?

also bringing back peggy and maria only to kill them like five minutes later was really bad form, marvel. i will die for both of my captains. answer my calls dammit.

not that i did not enjoy every single second of those five minutes, and peggy in that cap suit with a shield cleansed my soul cleared my skin and watered my crops. but dammit.

i can’t believe that for an inhuman ref they went with inhumans the show instead of aos. rip to the og marvel/abc shows i guess. marvel studios be like ac/aos who.

i like america chavez. yea. i don’t know how to expand on that but i like her, yea.

christine palmer. my underrated queen. i have missed you so much.

so when they first started making the movie they said they incorporated horror tropes yeah? they definitely delivered on that. it was a very good balance of a marvel movie and horror tropes. i cannot do horror movies at all, but i enjoyed those moments.

i like the theme of exploring the idea of ‘there’s only one way’. the idea of consequences of a superhero’s choice, especially in relation to people who have universe-bending powers like strange.

overall: not marvel’s best, but most certainly not the worst.

#mom spoilers #personal #this is mostly so that i will remember my initial thoughts

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the-last-cuddlebender · 4 years

Text

Kataang Pilot!AU

(This prompt was really fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, Anon!)

Words: 1,659

*********************************

Katara met him when they were in flight school. Well, ‘met’ might be too strong a word.

She was walking down the hall and contemplating fluid dynamics when she passed him—the boy with tattoos a shade of blue that put the sky to shame and with a smile so bright that she had to squint to behold it. His laugh was a vapor trail that made her giddy like nothing else had done before. He gesticulated so animatedly that he nearly cut off the heads of a dozen passers-by.

Katara tried, once, to talk to him. It was the only test in flight school that she failed. She was too quiet; the world was too loud. It didn’t exactly help that some boy named Haru had pulled the tattooed boy into a headlock that devolved into a wrestling match just as she got his attention.

He tried, twice, to talk to her. He was more than successful both times.

The first time, he spotted her from across the courtyard and damn near teleported to her.

His name was Aang. He wasn’t that tall.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

When he left the school, he took most of her with him, and Katara had been searching for what he stole ever since.

...

Not too long after he left her puzzled, empty, and longing, Katara had to leave, as well. But it wasn’t for an advanced program like he flew off to.

Gran-Gran had a heart attack. It wasn’t pretty. Katara was the glue and the salve cooing her brother and her father to cope and recover. They helped her just as much, and she vowed to visit them more.

(Gran-Gran told her that she saw death, called him a bitch, and reminded him to tell her daughter-in-law that Kya had to wait another ten years for her company.)

...

Katara was only a little behind and only had to retake a few classes when she returned to flight school a year and a half later, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Graduating was easy, but choosing an employer? That was hard. Katara was an ace—the top of her class. They even put her photo in the hall of notable students.

...She was reminded of Aang and what he stole from her every time she saw his portrait pinned next to hers.

...

It was a requirement to serve as a co-pilot for the first few years after schooling. It was like a continued education after medical school when an MD truly learned what it meant to be a practitioner, but turning from co-captain to captain felt like it was taking twice as long.

Sometimes, it took students twelve years to become a captain. Sometimes, it took them two years.

It took Aang eight months.

Katara was entering her ninth month when she was transferred to his airline.

He spotted her from across the terminal like he had been waiting and looking for her. He vanished and reappeared at her side, and if only he had a puff of smoke, she would have thought him a magician.

He shook her hand and talked at Mach speed. His smile alone nearly blew her away, but his hand holding hers kept her on her feet.

“—it was you! They all said you dropped out, but I knew you wouldn’t! And then I saw your plaque when I visited on a favor-call from Roku, and I couldn’t believe—!”

He paused. Katara’s world stood still. Her world also looked kindof splotchy and dotted with black.

That was weird…

Oh wait.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Unfortunately, Katara was too late in her revelation. Her heart broke when his eyes softened like that and his concern boiled over into panic. She was thinking about how nice it sounded when he said her name even as she fell back and fainted.

He caught her, of course.

Luckily, Mai and Lu Ten were willing to exchange their schedules to save either Katara or Aang from being fired.

(He had refused to leave her. It was incredibly foolish. Top in the industry or not, their superiors would only take so much from even him.)

It wasn’t exactly a first date, but he bought her food from the cafeteria and bought her one of those super-fuzzy travel blankets to keep her warm. They talked over pizza that was so greasy that they had to dab it with napkins, and they laughed over coffee that was far too bitter to be called ‘edible’.

They shared secrets over hot cocoa and talked like they knew each other forever.

Aang thought he was being sly when he loaded his straw with a paper wad and blew it at her.

He smiled like a kid on Christmas.

Katara felt like she was one, too.

The g-forces she experienced when he smiled—at her—made her so lightheaded that she whispered a thankful prayer to whoever was pulling her life’s strings that she was seated when she first witnessed the miracle so close and in its entirety.

They fell asleep back-to-back (though it was more like side-to-side) in the terminal—just another ‘couple’ bending under the stress of a connecting flight.

...

“You seem eager to be out of here.” Katara settled into her co-pilot’s chair as her captain fussed over the little details that Katara’s classmates had made fun of her for caring about.

“Ba Sing Se has never been...Well, let’s just say that it’s not like how I was raised.”

“But the South is?”

“Of course! Middle of nowhere, lots of high places, room to run and frolic as I please—”

Katara couldn’t hide her laugh. “Frolic?”

“Have you never frolicked?”

“When I was a girl, maybe.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s not like it gets any less fun with age.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“...Maybe.” Aang scratched his face, didn’t meet her eyes, and flushed a color even brighter than the emergency exit sign. “Or it could...be a date?”

“To go frolicking?”

“Of course.”

It was quiet until it wasn’t. A giggle slipped past Katara’s defenses. She hugged her middle and laughed so hard that she cried, and she nearly laughed herself into a coma when Aang bent over, too. His laugh sounded like how good memories felt, and Katara never wanted to hear more of something in her entire life.

She couldn’t feel her seat beneath her—just the feeling of her hand on his arm and the soft bumping of his head against hers.

Katara was falling, and she was falling hard.

But, for some reason, she wasn’t scared of hitting the ground.

If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought that she was flying.

...

Sokka, having heard the hint of interest in Katara’s voice when she recounted her tale with her dreamy tattooed captain, made immediate plans and cashed-in on more than a few favors to get himself onto her new schedule. He didn't trust Aang, not at first. No one could be that happy.

“—and gentlemen, in the event that you have not been in an automobile since 1942, we’re gonna show you how to fasten a seatbelt, so watch closely—”

Sokka, while a phenomenal flight attendant, was walking a razor’s edge onto Katara’s last nerve.

But Aang and her brother got along famously.

Katara should have expected nothing less.

This was Aang she was talking about.

Her boyfriend could befriend the devil himself.

The thought made Katara’s world get fuzzy and black-splotchy again. Luckily, Aang was laughing too hard with Sokka to notice her holding tight to the wall.

Breathing.

Breathing was a thing she had to do.

Aang’s vapor-trail-laugh gave her the cardinal directions and guided her towards which way was up. His arm curled around her waist like the seatbelts that had kept them anchored when they hit turbulence two months ago and dropped 400 feet.

Katara didn’t notice when next she blushed so hard that her vision went black-splotchy again.

But Aang, without pausing his conversation, was already tugging her closer so she all but pressed right against his heart.

His laugh died out. His chest slowly expanded.

Breathing.

Katara smiled.

Breathing was a thing she still had to do.

...

When Katara finally got her wings, Aang couldn’t have been more proud.

Sokka puffed his chest. “This is Katara, my flying sister.”

“Sokka, please…”

“Yeah, Sokka.” Aang was a grinning shadow touching her shoulder and a reminder to smile brushing her side. “Katara isn’t your ‘flying sister’.”

“Thank you, Aang—”

Aang hugged her from behind and held her so tightly that he curled over and started to eclipse her. “Katara is my flying girlfriend~”

Aang rubbed his cheek to hers. Katara grumbled and fought fate to keep angry as long as she could. “You both are insufferable.” She kissed Aang’s cheek like she was swatting a mosquito, but it only made him giggle and hold her tighter.

Sokka pretended to gag and uttered ‘Oogies’ like a mantra.

Katara blushed, lost her slippery grip on the smile fighting to make itself seen, and looked at her father just as the shutter on Hakoda’s camera went off.

...Aang carried the photo on his person like it was a medical device so vital that he would die if he was ever without it.

“Do you have to keep it there?” Katara pulled one switch and then two, and she side-eyed her smirking First Officer.

Aang ignored her and adjusted the photo pinned to the gauges in front of him. His smile got a little bigger, his eyes a little softer. He looked down at the clouds below them and then up at the heavens beyond. “...The stars sure are beautiful, tonight.”

His hand found hers—they were at an altitude that required little more than autopilot, but it was still breaking regulation.

Katara gently squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. They are.”

...

All of their nights melted into a routine that felt like the same night played over and over.

Katara wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She didn’t mind when Aang put up a fuss just because he could and because he liked to get her flustered. She didn’t even mind when he cocooned himself in the blankets and pouted in a silent demand for five more minutes.

He was only playing. He could be plenty serious if he wanted.

Like the time he crabbed the plane onto an icy runway in an emergency landing. Or like the time he dove into the belly of the plane to give CPR to an elderly passenger.

His seriousness could only go so far, though. He truly was a child at heart. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Something forever young could never grow brittle and die.

Like the way he blushed every time she reached for his hand. Or like the little hitch to his voice that took over his words whenever she hugged him.

He could hardly speak when he asked her to marry him.

Katara wasn’t that much better off, but neither of them had needed words for the longest time. They sat side-by-side in the nose of the plane and ‘spoke’ in the silence for hours on end.

Kisses were quiet, anyways.

Well, not entirely.

Aang laughed, absolutely giddy, every time, no matter how much or how often they did.

Katara’s laugh drifted in his vapor trail as a gentle hum that made his smile impossibly bigger.

Then, and only then, did it feel like she had finally gotten back what he had stolen—all those years ago—from her.

...

His voice was a song, and his love bled into every worded lyric. They were the warm purrs of an engine that would never fail, and they made Katara’s stomach fall and bounce heaven-ward like her wheels had just left the ground.

When she danced with him, every step felt like lift-off. Every turn gave her g-forces that had her sinking into him to keep from being blown away.

The wedding was over, their guests were gone, but every star and galaxy crowded the sky to witness their love for each other.

This was her captain and co-pilot—her husband and best friend for life.

His name was Aang. He was very tall and quite proud of it, though he made himself eye-level with every person he met.

He was a simple monk and a dirty thief.

But Katara finally had back what was hers.

What was hers was named Aang.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

He kept her grounded even though her feet never touched the earth when she was with him.

He was the part of her that she loved most.

His kisses were g-forces.

His ‘I love you’s were free-falling.

His hugs were the wings that handed her the sky.

His smiles were the spirit that held her aloft.

His name was Aang.

He was hers.

He was the kindest soul she’d ever met.

And Katara would remind him of how much she loved him even long after they were both tied to the earth.

*********************************

If you spotted that reference to Tao philosophy, I give you a cookie🍪☺️

#kataang #Aang #Katara #avatar the last airbender #atla #modern!au #pilot!au #Sokka #captain!aang #cocaptain!katara #kataang wedding #first dates #Aang is a ~little shit~#littleshit!Aang #friends to lovers❤️#this made me smile thank you for the prompt anon☺️#fic request #myfanfictiontag #post

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mylifeincinema · 3 years

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My Best of 2020: My Top 10 Films!

It’s time! What a weird, shitty year 2020 was. But hey, at least we had some good movies to keep us from going completely crazy. A quick reminder that My Top 10 Films aren’t necessarily my list of the ‘best’, or ‘my favorite’, but a mix of the two, taking both sides of the A&E into equal consideration.

Before we dive into things, here are some Honorable Mentions, all of which came very close to breaking into the Top 10: Steve McQueen’s Lovers Rock; Kelly Reichardt’s First Cow; Christopher Landon’s Freaky; Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7; Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods; and Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man.

And finally, without further ado…

My Top 10 Films of 2020!!

10. Andrew Patterson’s The Vast of Night

This is a tight, simple, incredibly atmospheric sci-fi film. I loved almost every second, but especially Patterson’s choices throughout; from intimate long takes to sprawling tracking shots to jarring editing, he brings us into this quaint and quiet small town as if we were passers by stumbling onto these odd and eerie events right alongside these characters.

9. Armando Iannucci’s The Personal History of David Copperfield

Incredibly likable, and chock-full of some incredible production design and a fantastic cast bringing to life these wonderfully enjoyable characters. I do have some slight issues with the framing device, and how inconsistent and awkward it occasionally feels, but mostly this is a crowd-pleasing adaptation of a major piece of literature.

8. Autumn de Wilde’s Emma.

Anya Taylor-Joy is perfect. And while Autumn de Wilde’s direction occasionally stumbles late in the second act, she nails the bigger moments and delivers on the heart as effectively as the humor. This is also further proof that Bill Nighy should probably just be cast in everything. All-in-all, this is the best adaptation of Austen’s work I’ve come across, yet.

7. Spike Lee’s David Byrne’s American Utopia

A very small number of Lee’s choices didn’t quite work for me, but David Byrne is a creative genius, and above all else, this is very much Byrne being Byrne… which is to say, absolutely brilliant!

6. Christopher Nolan’s Tenet

Probably the most Christopher Nolan movie of all Christopher Nolan movies. Plotted to a fault, and requiring a fair majority of the dialogue to be straight exposition, this time-bending sci-fi thriller puts on bold display all of Nolan’s strengths as a director and strengths and weaknesses as a storyteller.

But as long as Nolan keeps f*cking with time, I’m on board.

I had a blast with this one, and was a cinema-going experience I needed, at the very moment I needed it.

5. Pete Docter’s Soul

Creative, poignant, beautifully animated and acted, and a whole bunch of other traits we’ve come to know and love from Pixar. Is this the best Pixar film we’ve been gifted? No. But is it the best Pixar film (and animated film, period) we’ve been gifted in 2020? Definitely.

4. Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman

What a powerhouse late season ace in the hole. Emerald Fennell turns in a debut as unpredictable and excitingly dark as it is assured and technically sharp. And Carey Mulligan is probably at her very, very best (well, maybe behind Shame?) and that’s saying A LOT! The needle drops are as bizarre as the writing is sharp. It explores its themes without ever resorting to whining about them. And it all has a vicious bite.

3. David Fincher’s Mank

An incredible piece of showbiz cinema. Mank is a celebration of the rebellion behind the creation of one of the very best pieces of cinema to ever come out of Hollywood, and an introspective glance at the destructive nature of alcoholism and ego. Fincher weaves together a fascinating character study that skewers the political and creative hypocrisy of 1930s Hollywood while simultaneously reveling in its subject’s own hypocritical air of moral superiority.

2. Max Barbakow’s Palm Springs

I instantly fell in love with this one. Samberg and Milioti are very well matched, and bring emotion to the film while never letting its humor fall flat. It has a ton of fun with the time-loop formula and never gets too repetitive or sloppy. And it has some amazing moments for the amazing J.K. Simmons… so there’s that, too.

And The Best Film of 2019 is…

1. Paul Greengrass’ News of the World

Tom Hanks is a powerhouse, and the writing paired with Paul Greengrass’ direction makes for an intensely human western. I’ve seen a lot of mixed reactions to this one, but for me, everything worked perfectly.

Thank you for reading…

Enjoy!

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

More of My Best of 2020…

#film #movies #cinema #best of 2020 #lists #news of the world #palm springs #mank #mybestof2020 #promising young woman #soul #tenet #david byrne's american utopia #emma.#the personal history of david copperfield #the vast of night #top 10 films of 2020

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

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playing games

Hot summer days are meant for playing games 6k, basically all smut lol whoops

Disclaimer: I’ve created a whole OC character for Grayson in the past year or so, just as a creative outlet, and never really intended on posting it anywhere. Like, at all lol, so on the off chance anyone actually reads this, go easy on me please. If something seems like it doesn’t make sense or needs more background, it’s because it’s already written in the deep recesses of my Pages documents lol.

If you do read, thank you so much! Creative writing, especially fanfics, have always been my creative stress relief, so this is all in good fun. I’m definitely not attached to only this character, though, so if you don’t think this is complete dog shit and want to see other concepts, I’d love to do that! :)

***

There are a lot of negatives to be said about LA, as MJ had learned quickly when she moved here a few years ago from her home state of Oklahoma: the stuck-up snobs; the traffic; the dirty streets everywhere you go. One thing not on that list, however, is the weather — nine times out of ten it’s perfectly sunny and warm.

Today is one of those days where it’s borderline hot, but still comfortable to sit outside and bake in the sun for a couple of hours. That’s what she and Grayson are doing as they lounge peacefully by the pool in his backyard, soaking in all the Vitamin D that mother nature can give them.

MJ welcomes the blast of heat from the outside air that contrasts harshly with the AC she leaves behind in the kitchen. She had gone in to grab the two of them glasses of water and, while she was in there, noticed the house was oddly silent.

She plants a peck on her boyfriend’s full lips as he accepts his glass with a thanks. “Where are the E’s?” she asks, referring to Grayson’s brother Ethan and his girlfriend Evie. They were both still home when she and Gray first went outside, but a quick glance at her phone tells her they’ve been out here for over an hour, so that really means nothing now.

“I think they were gonna take a Soul class and then have a beach day,” Grayson answers. He sits up a bit to take a sip of his water, and MJ can’t help but admire the way his abs, slick with tanning oil, contract deliciously at the movement. They’ve been together for nearly a year now, and she still can’t get enough of his physique. Amongst other traits of his too, of course, but in the context of lying in the warm sun surrounded by the sheen of coconut-scented body oil, it’s what comes to mind first.

Not to mention, he’s wearing her favorite swim trunks of his — the ones she had bought him — that not only make his olive skin tone pop because of their bright turquoise color, but the fit hugs his ass (and dick) in all the right ways.

Clearly, she’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding her ogling, though to be fair she isn’t trying all that hard to begin with.

He smirks at her. “Can I help you?” he teases, knowing damn well what’s going through her head.

MJ flushes when she realizes she’s been caught, but quickly decides two can play this game. She bends over him and only lets him steal a quick glance at her ample cleavage in her bikini before taking hold of his face in both hands and kissing him.

“You’re sexy,” she admits simply when they part, smiling and wiping a dab of saliva from his lower lip with her thumb.

He swats the exposed skin of her ass lightly when she turns to walk the couple of feet away to her own lounger. She yelps in surprise, which melts into giggles. “Not as sexy as you.” She rolls her eyes playfully and blushes at this, though he can’t see her doing so behind her oversized black sunglasses and the shade of her baseball cap. “I mean, come on, MJ, they’re just muscles,” he says with smug grin.

He’s so full of shit today. MJ scoffs and settles into the chair, not quite believing her ears but also realizing he’s still teasing her. “Okay, Gray.”

She glances over at him and sees him rubbing his thighs, something he knows always gets her going, under the guise of applying more sunscreen. The audacity. She knows it’s intentional by the way he’s biting back a grin and stealing glimpses at her out of the corner of his eye.

Oh, so he still wants to play this game? Apparently ten months together hasn’t clued him in that she is just as competitive as he is, even in stupid things like ‘who can make the other person hornier.’

She forms a quick plan. MJ pretends like she’s oblivious to his nonverbal taunts and reaches out her hand for the bottle of Sun Bum. “So the E’s will be out for a while?”

Grayson stops his ministrations to hand her the slick brown bottle. “As far as I know. Why?” he asks, lying back in his lounger and pillowing his head on his hands. The way his arms curl send his biceps and shoulders bulging, another one of her physical weaknesses for him.

Douche.

“Just wondering,” she answers casually. MJ reaches behind her to raise the back of the lounger that is almost completely flat, higher up so that it can keep her in a relaxed sitting position.

Using his physical teasing as fuel to gather her nerve, she next twists her arm behind her back and tugs at the tie on the thick straps of her cherry red bikini, then does the same to the one around her neck. Even though they’re on private property, in an enclosed yard where no one can see, it still feels a little odd and uncomfortable to be even partially nude outdoors. But if it gets her points in this game against Gray, she decides it’s totally worth it.

When she tosses the scrap of fabric to the ground, the rustling causes him to look over and do a double take. “What—?”

MJ looks at him innocently, but grins devilishly inside; boys really are too easy, sometimes. “What, what?” she questions, spraying some of the tanning oil into her hands.

Grayson shakes his head at her and she can feel his gaze, hotter than the rays of the sun on her newly exposed skin, bore into her through his Ray Bans. “I see. So it’s like that, huh?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about. They’re just boobs,” she counters, throwing a variation of his own words back in his beautiful, annoyingly perfect face. Grayson scoffs at her incredulously, and MJ doesn’t even attempt to hold back a victorious smirk. She’s definitely won this battle, and she hasn't even brought out all the ammo. Yet. “For real, though, we basically live together; you see these every day.”

Grayson tosses a hand up and shakes his head like she had just said something ridiculous. “You see me shirtless every day and still look like you want to jump me all the time, so how is that any different?”

He has a point and he knows it, but he’s an idiot if he thinks she’ll admit so. MJ shrugs. “Anyways,” she continues, ignoring his comment, “I’m just trying to get rid of tan lines. And it’s only us here, so who cares?”

“What if they come back?” Grayson argues weakly, still trying to appear nonchalant about his half-naked girlfriend gleaming in the summer sun just three feet away from him.

MJ shrugs again. “We can hear them coming up the driveway from here, so I’ll just cover up when we do. Also, it’s not like Ethan’s never encountered boobs before, and I’m pretty sure Evie and I have seen each other naked more times at this point than you and E have each other.”

He looks a little affronted. “I’m not sure if thats weird or kinda hot, actually.”

She rolls her eyes again but fights back a smile at his somewhat predictable response. “Don’t be weird. Girls generally just don’t give a fuck with each other,” she explains.

“Well, I still don't want my brother peeping your goods; they’re mine.”

MJ should be irritated at his possessiveness, but admittedly she finds it a little endearing — not to mention, she loves when she drives him to be dominant, especially when she knows she’s really the one in control here. She thinks back to the couple of times Ethan had barged in on them in the bedroom on accident and how Grayson always made sure his body was completely shielding hers while he screamed at his brother to get the fuck out. Ethan clearly wasn’t a threat, but Grayson always made her feel safe and secure either way.

It also isn’t like she wants E to see her tits either, but it won't be the end of the world if he does, especially if the risk of it gets Grayson so riled up for her that he’ll think twice before teasing her like this again.

MJ’s got him hooked now and she knows it, so really she doesn’t need to take the final step in her plan. But thinking about his deliberate words and touches gets the competitive fire lit inside her again.

Taking the oil in her hands, she massages it into the supple flesh of her breasts that were, indeed, several shades lighter than the surrounding skin. Her tits jiggle enticingly and her nipples harden a bit at the pleasurable stimulation caused by her own touch; his sunglasses are still on, but she knows he can see the effect she’s having on herself.

“Fuck, MJ,” Grayson finally groans in defeat. He sits up in his lounger and plants his left foot to the ground, utilizing his long legs to pivot over to her chair and straddle the end of the cushioned seat in one movement. His large hands stroke the smooth skin of her calves that are bent in front of him, his eyes glued to the way she’s touching herself. “You win, okay? I’m sorry for teasing you.”

MJ smiles at him, her ego at soaring. She can tell his hands are itching to reach for hers and replace them. He hadn’t lied that first time they met — he really is a boob man, to the tee. Even in non-sexual situations, like whenever they spoon while sleeping or watching a movie, his hand automatically goes under her shirt to cup one.

“I really do want to get rid of these tan lines, though,” MJ tells him, feigning innocence while simultaneously trying to ignore the way her body is reacting to him being right in front of her, touching her. Unfortunately, there is no denying the rush of wetness to her bikini bottoms. She finishes rubbing the oil into her skin and cups her breasts as if he’s blind and can’t see what she’s talking about. “This is really not cute, what I’ve got going on here.”

Grayson scoots farther up the lounger and cups his hands under her bent knees to drag her into his lap. MJ gasps in surprise and hooks her elbow around the back of his neck to balance herself after his forcible movement of her body. He ducks his head down and kisses her, tongue meshing with hers perfectly and exploring her mouth just the way she likes.

“How about we do something more fun than just lay here while you work on that, then?” he pants when they separate. She nips distractedly at the juicy center of his full lower lip in reply, eliciting a low, rumbling growl from him. He plants kisses across her jaw, down her neck, and back up to the spot behind her ear that makes her putty in his hands.

MJ bites her lip to hold back any sounds, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet of letting him know he can do whatever he wants with her at this point. “You were just giving me shit because your brother might walk out here and see my boobs, but now you wanna actually fuck outside?”

She actually didn't hate that idea at all, to be fair.

“Yeah,” he says simply, like there’s nothing to it. “I’ve never done it outside, now that I think about it. Besides our first time, anyways, but that was still in a tent so technically it wasn't ‘outside.’”

This surprises her. Despite his young age, there aren’t a whole lot of opportunities for ‘firsts’ with Grayson, given his past ways. She isn’t about to let this chance slip because of a relatively minor, albeit highly embarrassing, what-if.

MJ grins. She takes her baseball cap off and puts it on his own head, backwards so she can have full access to his pretty face. Not to mention, she definitely has a kink for it that way. She rolls her hips down against his, pleased to feel him semi-hard already.

“Okay,” she agrees easily, using her grip on his neck to bring his lips down to hers once again.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of kissing Grayson; the man has the act down to a fine art. And as irritated as she had been with him only a few minutes ago, she now feels an overwhelming need to please him as much as he so often does her.

“Sit down,” she whispers directly in his ear, motioning behind her to indicate he should be the one reclining back.

She feels him shudder before obeying. He keeps her securely in his lap by wrapping her legs fully around his waist and stands with her still clinging to him. MJ bites her lip and marvels at the complete lack of effort the shift in position takes for him, and he sits them down where he can rest his back against the lounger.

MJ removes their sunglasses and places them on the ground. “That’s why I love your muscles,” she says, rubbing her covered center along his length and devouring the expression on his face as she does so. Her hands massage delicately across his shoulders and down his biceps as she rocks fluidly on top him. “Forget aesthetics. They’re just evidence that you’re so fucking strong. That you work so hard. That you try to be the best version of you every day.”

She suctions her mouth to the pulse point thumping wildly under his jaw and drags her nails down his pecs, threading her fingers through the patch of hair in the center that he’s allowing to grow. Grayson grabs her ass with one hand to encourage the rocking of her pelvis against his, and squeezes one of her breasts with the other.

“How am I supposed to follow that?” he asks breathlessly and with a huff of laughter, tugging her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

MJ moans softly at the sensation. “Do your best,” she replies with a grin, scraping her teeth along the spot on his jaw before trailing kisses down his throat now.

She feels his hard swallow as he thinks for a second. “Uh, every part of you is so beautiful, and your body is just a reflection of how amazing you are on the inside.”

Wow. MJ laughs incredulously and pulls back to look him in the eye, golden hazel meeting bright green. “I can’t believe you just came up with that romantic ass statement while I’m dry humping you. That’s pretty impressive.”

“I mean, it’s true. And I do aim to please,” he smirks, thrusting up into her.

MJ gasps. Her eyes darken and her tongue subconsciously trails across her lower lip as she stares at her boyfriend heatedly. She cups a tit with her left hand, circling her nipple with her thumb, and grips her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck with her other hand. “I would have been happy with ‘I love your tits because they're the best tits I’ve ever seen, held, or had in my mouth in my entire life.’ But I’ll take your version, too.”

Grayson smiles. “How about, I love you, MJ, every part of you — especially your tits.”

MJ bites back a sappy grin and swears she can feel her heart swelling for him in her chest. “I love you, too,” she sighs, and uses her grasp on his hair to drag him in for a deep kiss.

When she’s had her fill of his mouth, she scoots down his body, trailing her tongue down the indentation dividing his abs and nipping playfully at the taut skin right above the waistband of his trunks. Her mouth waters at the sight of the bulge beneath them, straining against the slick material. “Lift up,” she instructs as she tugs the drawstring and hooks her fingers in the fabric clinging to his hips.

Grayson moans and does as he’s told while MJ pulls his swimsuit down his inked legs until she has to stand up where he can kick them off his foot. She takes a moment to admire the masterpiece that is her boyfriend’s body and uses the advantage of already being stood up to shimmy her bikini bottoms off her hips. She lets them drop to the concrete at her feet before crawling back onto the lounger in-between his thighs.

She can’t resist drawing a ticklish trail down his Adonis belt with her long nails and watching his dick twitch at the playful touch. Grinning, she takes him in her hand and observes with amusement how her simple grasp is already affecting him, spreading the resulting dot of precum around the swollen head. Her palm is still slightly lubricated with the remnants of tanning oil, which creates the perfect amount of friction when she starts to stroke his length up and down slowly, adding a twist of her fist when she reaches the tip.

Grayson throws his head back and moans. MJ utilizes his position as an element of surprise to duck her head and lick a trail on the underside of his cock, base to tip, then wraps her lips around his head.

His chin drops to his chest and his hazy gaze is met with her mischievous one while she stares up at him through her lashes. “Holy fuck, MJ,” he moans, taking hold of her dark locks and fashioning a makeshift ponytail in his fist so he can see her better.

MJ smiles around his length, pulling up and holding the tip against her mouth, kissing it lasciviously. “You want me to suck it?” she asks sweetly.

Predictably, Grayson nods enthusiastically, tugging gently on her hair to guide her down his cock. MJ smirks and gathers saliva between her lips. She purses them slightly and drags the slick moisture all along his shaft, coating him until she decides he’s wet enough for her to take him in her throat. He’s the biggest she’s ever had and hasn’t mastered letting him fuck her face yet, but her lips encircle him and she slides him down into her throat as far as she can with relative ease. She hollows her cheeks as she pulled back up, over and over again.

“Oh my God,” he growls, his blunt nails digging into her scalp; MJ adores the sensation. “Just like that, baby.”

She grins and lets him slip out of her mouth with a light pop, stroking him with her small hand while laving his balls with her tongue. MJ always loves sucking Grayson’s dick, but she can’t believe how much doing it outside is making her even wetter than usual. There’s something incredibly hot about being under the cloudless sky, in the fresh air, and, yes, the danger of potentially getting caught.

With that thought fueling her, MJ’s fingers dip down to her pussy and she lets out a tiny whimper when her slim fingers light upon her swollen clit, more for his benefit than an actual reaction to her touch; she wants him to know how much she’s enjoying having him in her mouth. Something about the situation they’ve gotten themselves into out here is amplifying her desire in every way.

“Should I make you come now with my mouth?” she asks, dribbling more saliva on his dick and sucking him as far as she can a few times in quick succession, eyes trained on his, and she’s earned with wanton moans from Grayson’s plump lips. MJ lifts her head, her chest heaving, and gives him a devious smile as she raises the fingers that had been playing with herself to his mouth, continuing to stroke him steadily with her fist. “Or should I put you inside me, baby? Hmm? Should I put your big dick in my tight little pussy?”

Grayson lets out a guttural growl and sucks her proffered fingers into his warm mouth readily. Before she realizes what’s happening, Gray is reaching behind him to lay the chair flat again, and she practically topples over at the sudden movement.

“C’mere,” he instructs as he lies back, motioning for her to climb up his body. He takes the hat off and throws it across the yard when the bill impedes him from lying flat.

MJ pouts. Despite her teasing questions, she isn’t done sucking him off yet. And she really liked how that cap looked on him. “But—”

“MJ, sit on my fucking face now,” he demands, his voice deep and commanding; it makes her shiver and her head swim. His hazel eyes, which usually turn almost as green as hers in the sun, are now a deep chocolate brown behind the darkness of his pupils, dilated with pure desire.

Well, shit. She doesn’t need to be told twice; when Gray is in this mood, there’s no room for arguing, and she loves it. MJ bites her lip and crawls up his abdomen until her knees are resting above his shoulders and her shins lay alongside his chest in what little room is left on the lounger. He wastes no time in wrapping one arm around her thigh, the other reaching up for her breasts, and attaching his mouth to her throbbing center.

She cries out when his tongue drags through her slit and flicks against her clit a few times before thrusting inside her. One of her hands supports her weight on the top edge of the chair and the other cards roughly through his thick hair, tugging none-too-gently on his dark wavy mop.

Grayson moans and nuzzles his nose against her swollen flesh, grinning up at her and tweaking a nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Did you get this wet just from sucking my dick, sweetheart?” MJ nods, the game of pretending he has no affect on her flying out the proverbial window. He lets out a little noise of affirmation. “I thought so. That’s why I love eating you out after you blow me; you’re always dripping for me.”

Without warning he sucks harshly on her clit and she shrieks, throwing her head back and moaning uncontrollably despite her best efforts. “Grayson!”

Grayson leaves the little bundle of nerves and dips his tongue down to her entrance once again as if to taste the fruits of his labor, groaning quietly. “So fucking sweet, baby. I love how you taste,” he says before repeating the actions over and over, driving her insane with the unrelenting pleasure of his simple motions.

She doesn’t know how she has the capacity to speak, but she manages to get her vocal cords and brain to coordinate. “I…fuck — I, I wanted to t-taste your cum, too,” she squeaks out, trying not to grind down on his face too hard. Not that he seems to mind.

His big hands restrain her hips anyways, long enough for him to speak. “I know you did,” he says with a smirk, and his voice vibrates sensually against her center. “You can do that next time, but right now you’re gonna come for me, and then I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk. How’s that sound?”

God, the man knows how to use that mouth — in more ways than one. MJ can only moan and use her vice grip on his hair to tug him back to her pussy as confirmation that yes, that sounds fucking amazing.

All teasing pretenses are dropped as he goes straight for her clit and suckles her with purpose, that purpose being to get her to cum hard and fast. Sure enough, she feels the beginnings of her orgasm in her lower belly, driven by the sight of his eyes gazing adoringly up at her from between her legs.

It doesn’t take much longer once he adds both hands to her breasts, her moans reaching higher and higher pitches the closer she gets. “Ohmygod, yes!” she squeals, her knees squeezing instinctively around his head as he keeps up his ministrations, only gentler so she can ride out the high of her orgasm.

MJ’s moans turn to whimpers, and when she’s relatively back to earth she murmurs an apology as she slinks back down his body. Gray shakes his head in dismissal of her words and sits up, cupping her cheeks in his hands and kissing her deeply. She can taste herself on his mouth, and it gives her little aftershocks.

She settles over his lap and straddles his hips, grinding her dripping wet pussy against his rock hard dick because despite the amazing orgasm he had just given her, she was always ready to go for him; he makes her insatiable, sometimes.

“Fuck me,” she demands against his lips, lifting up so he can take hold of his dick and position himself where she only has to sit back and let him fill her up.

There isn’t much room on the lounger, but the way she’s forced to keep her legs close together just makes the fit extra tight and extra good. He lies on his back again, and MJ moans as she bounces on his cock with her hands planted on his broad chest for support while he grips her ass tightly.

Grayson for his part takes a moment to close his eyes so he can fully experience the warmth of the sun, the sweet wetness of her pussy, and the taste of her still on his lips all at once. He opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of an angel leaning over him. The sun is right behind her head and creates a halo effect, making his heart skip a beat despite the fact that she’s doing all the work while he lies flat, spoiling him with her body like always.

MJ smiles down at him breathlessly and drags her manicured jet-black nails down his pec. He loves the pain of it, she found out early on in their relationship, and she’s more than happy to inflict it. It turns her on like crazy to watch his eyes roll back and his jaw to drop as he sucks in a harsh breath.

He can sense her tiring when she slows down and starts grinding on him, rubbing her clit into the groomed patch of hair at the base of his dick as she catches her breath and gives her quads a break. She moans and twitches when Grayson digs his thumbs in the sensitive creases of her hips as he sits up. He moves her legs to hook around his waist before wrapping his arms around her sweaty back.

“Hold on to me.”

MJ pants and clutches her arms around his neck, tightening her grip with her legs around his trim hips and digging her heels into his round ass. She buries her face in his shoulder as he stands both of them up. She doesn’t know what his plans are, but she hopes they aren’t going far; she needs him back inside her as soon as possible.

Her back hits the wall in the next moment and she revels in the firm, cool feel of the smooth siding against her skin that’s become heated from the sun and physical exertion. Grayson uses the leverage of the wall to keep her against the solid surface while he switches his hold on her so that her knees are now hooked over his elbows. Even in her somewhat delirious state, MJ can tell this will allow him to use the combined potential of his considerable physical strength and the support from the wall to fuck her senseless.

Their eyes connect as they both take a moment to gather themselves. Gray smiles at her sweetly and plants his palms against the wall as he dips his hips enough to thrust up into her.

MJ whimpers as he stretches her again, reveling in that sense of fullness and completion that she only experiences when he’s inside her. When he bottoms out, she cups his jaw and uses the strength in her core to raise herself up enough to connect their lips together. Her tongue instantly slips into his mouth and slides along his, tasting all of her that’s left in him, until she tucks her head in his neck to suck kisses up and down the thick column of his neck.

“Go, Gray, please.”

Grayson moans and lifts her up as he pulls back with his hips, only to let her sink back down on his dick while simultaneously thrusting up into her swollen pussy. As he continues and picks up the pace, the depth he reaches and the force behind their movements sends her reeling. Her nails dig harshly into the smooth ripples of his back as her eyes look almost unseeingly down over his shoulder at the wide expanse of flexing muscles. The newness of this angle makes her realize that this position is another first for the two of them. They’ve had sex standing up before, but never like this, where he’s almost completely supporting her and letting gravity do half the work for them.

The noises of their mixed moans and the sounds of their hips clashing fills the otherwise silent backyard. MJ leans back against the wall and grips his biceps, using her position to fully take in the power of his body. Every muscle bulges out with exertion, his jaw clenches in pleasure and concentration, his eyes flitting between her bouncing tits and her flushed face as he pants harshly.

Everything about her — mind, body and soul — is overwhelmed. She can’t help it; she’s so turned on by him, so in love with him, the words just pour out, even though she knows they won’t improve his stamina any.

“You’re so fucking strong, baby. I love how you can hold me up and fuck me like this with your big dick. You’re making me feel so good…” On one particularly sharp thrust, he hits the spot, and her eyes instantly roll back in her head while she lets out a purely reactionary shriek of pleasure. “Right there, Gray! Baby, holy shit…”

“Jesus, MJ, you’re so fucking hot,” Gray rasps out behind clenched teeth. From the animalistic noises he’s making and the unhinged expression on his beautiful face, she can tell he’s barely holding on anymore, but he’s getting her there so fast that she hopes he can last just that much longer.

With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left in her, MJ leans up and wraps her arms around his neck, then hooks her legs over his ass for leverage so that his arms can hold her by the backs of her thighs. She starts thrusting herself and grinding down on his pubic bone, perfectly stimulating both her clit and that deep spot within her. Her body shatters a second later, her limbs quaking with the force of the waves coursing through her.

She knows that normally Grayson would let her ride it out at her own pace, even rub her clit slowly to get her through it, but he’s so riled up at this point that he simply slams her against the wall and pounds into her relentlessly. MJ’s mouth gapes open soundlessly as, to her complete amazement, she feels yet another orgasm right on the heels of the one that has just started abating.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants repeatedly, making direct eye contact with him. She knows what will trigger them both to fall over the edge. “You’re fucking me so good. I want you to come inside me, baby, please!”

A guttural groan rips from his throat, his thrusts falter, and his forehead drops to hers as she feels the first spurts of his cum shoot into her. This is all she needs for her own orgasm to tear through her, radiating warmth and electricity through her whole body with an indescribable intensity.

Masculine, relieved whines escape his open mouth, the sounds alone making her clench inadvertently around his throbbing length inside her. His lower lip is too enticing for her to resist, and she nips it teasingly before drawing him in for a slow, perfectly sloppy kiss. They’re both still distracted by the pleasure coursing through their connected bodies as he finishes inside her.

“Fuck, that was good,” he whispers after a minute of recovery, trailing his mouth down her jaw and nuzzling her neck sweetly. MJ smiles and hugs his sweaty head to her, kissing his temple in return. She’s about to suggest they go cuddle on the daybed under the shade of the awning, but she never gets the chance because…

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“Oh my God, you actual assholes! Gross!”

A scream catches in MJ’s throat as their heads whip to the sliding back door only a few feet away, and there they are; the E’s had apparently gotten home from the beach much earlier than she thought they would. Or maybe she and Gray have just been fucking for that long.

Once the scare of their sudden reappearance has worn off, she can’t stop a smirk from gracing her lips, though she does try to hide it in Gray’s neck in mock mortification. That’s not to say she’s not embarrassed, but what can she do?

“Well, don’t look!” Grayson cries, but she can hear the concealed laughter in his voice, just as her smile grows even wider against his sweaty skin.

“How about you don’t have sex outside against our house where we can look, you bitch ass!” Ethan screams at his brother. MJ peeks a glance at him and sees him standing there with the heels of both hands digging into his eyes, as if he is not only blocking out the image before him but trying to rub it from his memory, too. Evie is just running around the patio, laughing and yelling “No!” at the top of her lungs, which makes MJ giggle too despite her best efforts.

As humorous as this situation is and even though Grayson’s body is pressed against hers completely, it’s still pretty embarrassing considering she’s butt-ass naked with her boyfriend’s softening dick still inside her, in a backyard with two of her best friends right there to see. “I mean, we literally just finished if you want to walk away and let us clean up, then the whole yard is all yours.”

“MJ, can you not just clean up now?” Ethan insists irritatedly. “We’ve already got our shit ready to come lay out.”

She pulls her face out of his neck and looks at Grayson, biting her lip to fight the shit-eating grin threatening to break across her face; she can already picture his brother’s reaction to what she’s about to say. But what the fuck are he and Evie even still doing out here? Why are they not inside? They’re the ones making this weird.

“Well, we need to go grab my swimsuit bottoms, or otherwise there’ll be a, ah, mess, if you know what I mean. Also, I don't think I can walk.”

Just as she predicted, Ethan makes a dramatic retching sound and reaches his hand out for his girlfriend blindly. “Evelina, help me. Let’s go bleach our eyes out before I throw up from these mental images.”

#idk #dolan twins #grayson dolan #grayson dolan smut #dolan twins fic #grayson mj #grayson dolan oc

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tomcriuse · 4 years

Note

headcanons or thoughts on how mulder and scully quietly professed their love or have been professing their love throughout the show? :)

stop i honestly have SO many feelings about quiet love you have no idea what writing this DID to me also it got a little long so sorry abt that

when mulder dated girls in high school and college, he would always try to woo them with expensive dinners and shiny jewelry and things all material that would never last. things so superficial that would eventually fade from time and memory, but were the desires of the old money new england girls.

for so long he went never telling scully how he felt unless it was hidden half-heartedly behind some sarcastic remark or joke that he hoped would conceal the depths of his affection and adoration. before he knew her, he read her thesis. after he met her, he would read it again and again and again. he would pour over the words until they’re burned in his mind and he so he could quote it like his favourite movie or book. his own personal scripture. he did this to understand something that she’s passionate about, as a way of being close to her, almost like someone will keep love letters that were written to them. it’s the rational that is so important to scully and mulder uses her scientific theories to understand everything about her: what motivates her, what keeps her going. he would quote it back to her because he’s completely captivated by her mind and the way it works and understanding something she’s truly passionate about is his way of getting closer to her.

on that same note, whenever someone else talks about something the scully knows, mulder cant help but thinking that scully would know infinitely more about the subject. he thinks that scully is constantly the smartest person in the room. even if she’s not there, he can see her phantom scoffing and rolling her eyes at something that isn’t true, and her cheeks becoming dusted with pink as she gets more passionate and excited, burning like the brightest star that he’s ever seen making the sun dull in comparison.

the gifts that he gives her are memories, not presents. they’re representative of the time they’ve spent together—of their relationship as a whole. when she was in the hospital he brought her a football tape. the tape itself isn’t important, but its that he wants to do something with her, that he wants to spend time with her. maybe it means that he’s not leaving her side while she’s in the hospital; he likes football and it will give him something to do. maybe it’s selfish. maybe he was too worried to find something that he thinks she might actually like. all that matters is that he’s trying. he’s expressing that he values her. that he loves her. when he gives her the apollo medallion, not because she loves the apollo landing or loves space in any capacity that doesn’t have to do with mulder and his genuine passion for it, but because over the last four years he’s dragged her on countless dead-end cases, he’s put her in jeopardy, he’s taken her for granted at times. but she’s never left his side, not once. this is no longer his quest but their quest, no matter how much either of them would deny it later. the medallion is their history. he also teaches scully how to play baseball. the years have been filled with horror and the unknown, and mulder wants to give her a happy memory. something beautiful—not material, but part of him. he says that it’s a “no reason present” which are the types of things that we start to associate with mulder: something given on no special occasion (even if it is) with infinite meaning. if he spent his childhood making mistakes with insignificant gifts to insignificant people, he finds true meaning in the most meaningful gifts to the only person that matters.

when he has a case without her, mulder simply rejects that reality. he’s spent so long on his own and loves scully so fully that to imagine or live a life without her just. doesn’t make sense to him. he’ll go to turn to scully and wait for her to say something that sounded intellectual but was really supposed to be insulting even if she’s not there. he’ll hold the door open two seconds too long for someone by themselves. he’ll automatically turn the ac up in the car because he knows that scully would rather be freezing than warm. at restaurants he’ll begin to order her ice water with two lemon slices. scully is simply an extension of him and doing things for her is like doing things for himself—out of nature, out of reflex, out of necessity to sustain and help her as she’s helped him become himself.

not far into their partnership, scully realized that mulder never truly had anyone else. no one went out of their way to care for him because that’s what they wanted to do—it was always done out of necessity.

the biggest way that she shows her love is just by doing things for him. “scully pack your bags we’re going to texas” “scully i need you to look through all of these files for this one phrase” “scully i need you to follow up on a lead.” no matter how much she would generally wish to not do these things, she can’t not do them. she’ll make a half-hearted complaint and throw him a mandatory pleading look, but inside she’s waiting for him to leave the room so she can get started with as much enthusiasm as he has when he talks about the case. she doesn’t care about the case, but she cares about him. she’ll keep sunflower seeds hidden in a cabinet on her side of the office just in case he runs out. she’ll sometimes replace his coffee if he’s busy doing paperwork and it gets cold. she drags him to get food so he’ll remember to eat. she’ll hold the umbrella just a little higher so he doesn’t have to bend down as much as he would at her height. she’ll move the driver’s seat back so when he gets in to drive his legs have enough room. one time, scully saw that mulder’s tie was crooked and her hands went to straighten it on their own volition. after that, mulder went out of his way to make sure it was just a little off. scully always straightened it for him.

mulder has always been notoriously hard to read, always building walls to distance him from the hurt that inevitably comes with getting close to someone else. but he was never hard to read to scully. she learned that slightly narrowed eyes meant that his brain was going a mile a minute, scanning for any imperfection in a crime scene or a statement from a witness. that when he tilted his head to the right a little it meant that there was something he didn’t understand, and then when his eyebrows would furrow a little bit it meant that that infuriated him. that when he looked at her and his eyes melted and his face became vulnerable that he was seeing the same thing in her that she saw in him: the universe and themselves and every secret that they’ve ever needed and the answers to every question that they’ve asked or were going to ask.

she also listens to everything he says. if its something big—a pervious case, mythology, a theory—she’ll remember it like she remembers songs from her childhood. the smaller the things are and the more in-passing they’re said, the more she’ll remember it and think about it, until it becomes etched into her heart and her soul. the feeling of terror he felt when sam was abducted. his favourite colour. that he prefers chunky peanut butter over smooth peanut butter. that he’ll obsessively write in books and dog-ear the pages because he likes the way the paper feels after you write on it. then there are the more intimate things. that the last time he truly felt safe was when he was in her arms. that every time he wakes up he’s afraid that something’s happened to her. that none of it matters without her.

between the both of them it’s not about saying “i love you” but it’s about trust. it’s about support. for years mulder went through being ridiculed and criticized by his peers for his belief in the supernatural. people would steal his work and get the credit for it while he stood in the background in a silent rage before he brushed it off and focused on his own mission. conversely, scully worked harder than anyone else in her field but never had anyone believe in her or back her or just listen to her. when they started working together there was someone there ready to listen and trust them, even if their views didn’t align with their own . together, they will playfully tear into each other’s theories, but the moment someone else tries, they will always support them 100% even if they aren’t totally convinced. it was unconditional.

#i have more 2 say but i will save that for another day #the x files #anon #answered #txf headcanon

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greentrickster · 4 years

Note

If the Ace Attorney characters are benders, what elements will they be? (they can also be non benders or the Avatar, it's your choice)

Ah, yes, the question I’ve been thinking about for actual, literal months, because I am a huge nerd (and take pride in that fact)! Here’s the conclusions I’ve come up with:

For Phoenix, I’d say either fire or non-bender. If he is indeed fire, then he’s absolutely as much as a combination prodigy/disaster with it as he is with being a lawyer, a disorganized mess for whom traditional bending practices don’t help much, but who still manages to have decent enough control over his element. He has absolutely set himself on fire more than once.

For Edgeworth I gotta say earth. He’s got that stubborn, unyielding quality you need to be a good earth-bender. However, while he has a strong talent with it, I’d say he was raised by either a different element or else non-benders who look down on bending, so all this potential he has with it got ignored for a long time. Post DL-6 he probably starts learning again, and by the time Dual Destinies rolls around he’s achieved true comfort with and mastery of his element.

Franziska von Karma is the most badass of badass non-benders and she is coming for your pressure points, your chi, and your soul. Can be a real learning opportunity to spar with, but do not engage if you have actually angered her, she’ll leave you drooling on the floor and she’ll wait awhile to tell anyone.

Trucy’s an airbender, and she uses it less in her show than anyone suspects, but she absolutely uses it all the time in her day-to-day life. Phoenix has a lot of heart attacks when she first comes into his life and is still learning, and she has her mastery arrows by the time she’s fourteen, so her hair’s shorter than it is in canon for the AA:AJ events, since it’s still growing back.

Speaking even indirectly of Apollo, he’s the Avatar, and no one notices until Dual Destinies, including Apollo himself, he always thought he was just a vaguely inept airbender. He doesn’t even have his arrows yet because, while powerful as heck, he lacks the control required for mastery. Part of the reason no one’s noticed he’s the avatar is that his experiences in Khura’in and the foster system have left him with some pretty severe mental/spiritual blocks. He’s beginning to work through them by the time SoJ rolls around, has started refining his airbending, and also started on water.

Klavier’s a firebender, and he’s not very powerful but he has control like whoa man, he has nailed this whole being-a-bender thing, and he is super insulted that everyone automatically assumes that he set his own guitar on fire, that’s absurd, he hasn’t accidentally set anything on fire since he was twelve-!!!

Call me crazy, but Simon Blackquill strikes me as the waterbender of the group. He shapes himself to the situations he’s in and just... I don’t have a lot of explanation for this one, it’s a gut feeling, feels right, yo. (Post-conviction there’s a lot of rumors that he blood bends, joke’s on them, he not only considers that sort of bending vile but thinks that, if you have to resort to that level, you’re just admitting you can’t win without doing so).

Athena’s another badass non-bender, but she’s light enough on her feet that a lot of people mistake her for an airbender. Her movement style is actually more like waterbending, however, as she used to follow along a bit when her mother was teaching Simon.

Sebastian DeBeste is just a regular old non-bender, he does not want to fight, he wants to music, and also law, this boy cannot throw a punch to save his life, but that’s okay because he’s got some powerful friends and they will wreck your shit if you mess with him, especially Kay, she won’t even have to resort to bending to do it, say good-bye to your existence online, jerk.

Speaking of Kay, airbender seems the obvious choice with her, but I can also see her as water or fire - the girl’s flexible for which element would suit her best. Heck, if Apollo’s not the avatar, she could be, and I would pay to see the hijinks avatar Kay got up to. No matter what she is, though, she’s good at it.

Maya I think is another non-bender, but with major spirit world connections, girl can just sit down breathe in, breathe out, boom, spirit journeying now, back later, send burgers. Same goes with Pearl, only even moreso, and also with the full intentions to one day punch Koh in every single one of his faces.

Larry... I feel like Larry’s a bender, but he never freaking did anything with his bending? He just wasn’t that interested in it, there were always other things catching his interest, like art, and girls, and acting, and trying to hold down a job. The joke in this universe, instead of ‘if something stinks, it’s usually the Butz,’ is that he’s actually a disaster-bender.

For Godot, I’d say firebender, and he absolutely uses it to keep his coffee nice and hot. He used to be pretty good at it, but the poison and extended coma messed with his chi pathways as well. Those, along with some mental and emotional blocks, mean he now has a very hard time producing fire.

Aaaaaand that’s everyone I can think of at the moment! Hope you enjoyed my thoughts on the matter, thanks for the question! ^U^

#ace attorney #atla #ask #justanother fan #headcanon #avatar the last airbender #ace avatar au

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sparklygoblin · 4 years

Text

So I found this absolute banger in my YouTube recommendations, " as the world caves in" by Matt Maltese, and since this is my life for now, I thought it would be kinda cool to write some angsty Nuclear Apocalypse!Haikyu headcanons for the ships. So this time I present fresh, spicy, radioactive trash.

Imagine they're just in school, all of the boys are just going about their days when the notification hits, this life will mean nothing in about eight minutes.

Daichi and Suga

Daichi is the one who cries surprisingly. Panicked, hot tears as he looks frantically through the crowded halls, when they find each other, Suga merely gives him a watery smile, the acceptance in his eyes making Daichi sob harder. They go to the club room, because they know they won't have time to make it home, and there they lay, wrapped around each other, as Suga traces patterns on Daichi's back

Asahi and Noya

Noya's first thought is actually of Asahi, he's up and out of his seat before anyone else even thinks to move, he finds Asahi in the closet where they fought that one time, and he can honestly say he doesn't mind dying if it means he can catch Asahi's glass heart one last time. So he's shocked when Asahi catches his too, when the older boy reaches his warm hand up and wipes away Noya's tears instead of his own. He finds himself sobbing then, because he thinks he could've loved Asahi for a long time, if he'd ever been given the chance.

Tanaka and Ennoshita

Ennoshita bumps into Tanaka on his way to find a hiding place. It's not necessarily anything but kindness when Tanaka grabs his hand, and they silently agree to die together so they don't have to do it alone. They lay under some desks in the back of an abandoned classroom, and Tanaka talks about his child hood and Saeko, and Noya all while Ennoshita rubs circles on Tanaka's open palm. This isn't a bad way to die at all, Tanaka finds himself thinking when he finally grows quiet enough to really look at Ennoshita.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi

They were in the same class when the notification sounded, and while everyone ran, they stayed seated. Kei thought vaguely of Akiteru, but he had the one person he really needed right in the same room. The feeling was clearly mutual, the two didn't say a word, they simply laced their fingers together and waited for the world to end like they did everything else, together. It was all very calm until Yamaguchi heard sniveling from next to him, and turned to see a distraught Kei. Kei wrapped his long arms and only managed to get two words out before the world imploded around them, "Gomen, Tadashi."

Kageyama and Hinata

Hinata is a mess, of epic proportions, and normally Kageyama would tell him to stop carrying on, but he can't, because Shoyou has every right to be a mess. He should be too. But he can't be, because he needs to keep it together, for Hinata. Hinata, who is currently screaming about Natsu and his mother, about how he can't get to them. This goes beyond volleyball, his wails shake Tobio to his core because they are filled with not just soul bending grief, but guilt and frustration, as well. Finally, out of a love he hadn't realized yet, he pulled his tiny giant into his lap and held him close to his chest while he shook. "R-Remember what I said, Shou? With me you are invincible. And you're with me, so everything will be okay." They both know he's lying, but it quiets Hinata down, and they cling to each other until the world ends, and even after that.

Yachi and Kiyoko

Yachi almost dies in the hallway, trampled by her panicked peers, when Kiyoko pulls her up, and they sit on the bench in the desolate gym, Yachi playing with Kiyoko's hair while Kiyoko swipes at Yachi's bloody nose. Yachi kisses her gently on the lips, because she has bigger things than rejection to fear in the last few minutes of her life. Kiyoko merely smiles and pulls the girl in again, and that's the best way to die, they're sure of it.

Kunimi and Kindaichi

Kindaichi has never seen Kunimi show any sort of emotion off the court, so he immediately forgets his own tears when he notices the seemingly apathetic boy sobbing in the desk next to him. Great, silent sobs escape Kunimi despite his best efforts and Kindaichi's stupid confused expression only seems to make it worse until he musters up all of his courage and decides not to die alone, and grabs Kunimi's hand. Kunimi then shocks both of them as he leans his head into Kindaichi's chest, after a moment, Kindaichi wraps his arms around Kunimi, and they think about all of the things that could've happened, if only this one massive thing had never happened.

Yahab and Kyoutani

Yahaba ran to the Aoba Johsai gym for some odd form of shelter originally, but nearly turned away the moment he saw Kyoutani punching the walls, enduring angry sobs. But the world was ending, and Yahaba was too afraid of other things to be afraid of Kyoutani, so he grabbed Kyoutani's wrist, and pulled his bloodied fist closer to his own mouth, and pressed a soft kiss to the Mad Dog's knuckles. They shared a meaningful look and then simply sat together, fingers interlocked, and tears flowing freely.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa

They're in the same class as well, Oikawa is talking with some of his admirers, but when the alarm sounds, all he sees then is Iwaizumi. That's how it was always going to be with them, in the end, they both only really saw each other. Then Oikawa thought of Takeru, dying with a bunch of strangers in a little classroom, and promptly threw up, all over his desk. The girls who hadn't already run were certainly on their way out now as Iwa pulled Oikawa into his arms. He let's out a watery chuckle as he wipes Oikawa's normally perfect face and says, "You know I would've married you someday, right? That I would've spent my life giving you my everything?" Oikawa cries then, and together they mourn the loss of the future they would've had and their story ends the way it started, with each other.

Kuroo and Kenma

Kuroo finds Kenma, wide eyed and shivering in a corner of the Nekoma hallway, he pulls his ingenious setter away from the crowd and outside onto steps they had sat on many times together. He tucks Kenma's hair behind his ear and freezes in shock when the small boy simply grabs Kuroo and pulls him into a melancholic kiss. " I just thought you should know." Tears are rolling down Kenma's cheeks now and Kuroo is sobbing because not only did Kenma just kiss him, but he'd never have time to do it nearly as much as he wanted to. Making the best of the worst, Kuroo leaned in again, he wouldn't let Kenma die feeling anything but loved.

Lev and Yaku

The giant Russian didn't mean to find Yaku, it just sort of happened, and then he went into protector mode (even though Yaku could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much) and picked Yaku right up, running through the people in the hallway with ease while Yaku screamed in his arms. Lev stops when they reach the Nekoma locker rooms, and the moment his feet touch the ground, Yaku is screaming at Lev as Lev slides down the lockers and onto the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks. Yaku is still yelling when Lev interrupts him with a sharp "I love you", that shuts the Libero right up. After a moment he simply mumbles " alright then" and proceeds to climb right into Lev's lap. They sit like that, Yaku's face hidden in Lev's neck and Lev's arms wrapped around Yaku's waist, right until the world ends. Yaku pauses at the last second to whisper something that sounded suspiciously like "I love you too" in Lev's ear.

Bokuto and Akaashi

Bokuto F R E A K S out, and Akaashi can't really explain it, but it's like he can feel Bokuto freaking out, like he can feel Bokuto needing him. He finds the Ace curled up in the corner of the boys bathroom, and pulls him into his arms, laying on the filthy floor with the broken boy he had come to love so much. Bokuto kisses him softly, and it tastes like salt because Bokuto isn't the only one crying. Akaashi draws soft circle patterns on Bokuto's arms while Bokuto runs his fingers through Akaashi's hair. They're calm now that they know they'll go together.

Ushijima and Tendo

Tendo fully expects to go alone, whether it was in eight minutes or eight years he just assumed he would endure whatever happened to him by himself. What he doesn't expect is Ushijima asking him oh so politely if he would grant him the honor of dying with him. Well with a stunning proposal like that, how could he do anything but pull Ushijima into his hiding place with him? They simply talk in hushed tones about silly things until the last few minutes when Tendo leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Ushijima's forehead. They hug then, and just like that, Tendo was happy, really happy, for the first-and last- time in his life.

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brownskinsugarplum76 · 4 years

Text

Writer's Month 2020

Day 31: There was only one bed

I made it! This is the last story for the month. I'm glad I tried the challenge.

This one is long. It's something I've been playing around with for a while. There's a teeny bit of romantic action between the two dudes. ❤️❤️❤️

I should add that the Iggy anecdotes are things that I've read in bio books, or things he's said in interviews.

Forgot to say earlier: thanks @ledbythreads for the sanity check on this. 😁❤️

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They faced each other on opposite sides of the king-sized bed. They were both naked and hot after what had just transpired with Alice, and as neither of them was especially modest, neither of them thought much about it.

"Did you see how Alice made her way to the bathroom? Could barely walk!" Iggy laughed his unnerving cackle. "I've never seen a groupie look so ecstatic when we walked back here. Like she'd just won the fucking lottery."

"Not so loud, Ig! This isn't the bloody locker room." Robert's admonition came in a harsh whisper. "But I am proud of my work. Always am." Robert swept his damp curls out of his face and a beamed with a big Cheshire grin.

"She should be proud of her work, too… Would've sucked my soul out, if I had one to spare." Iggy rolled his eyes backward and opened his mouth wide in an exaggerated dramatization of his climax moments before. "Thanks for inviting me back here with her. Real nice of you to share."

Robert laughed at Iggy's joking, rubber face, but the hilarity faded when he noticed how genuine Iggy's gratitude was, and how intently he was paying attention to Robert all of a sudden. There was still amusement in Iggy's eyes, but Robert swore he saw flirtation in the pouty set of Iggy's lips. He realized he found it hard to take his eyes off the devilish little dynamo at the other side of the bed. That bastard always knew how to court attention, Robert thought, having read about Stooges shows and hearing wild word-of-mouth stories from groupies he and Iggy had in common. Guerrilla tactics, on and off the stage. A pint-sized, silver-haired man-child with a heart full of napalm.

Alice emerged from the bathroom after washing up and threw on her dress. She crawled between Robert and Iggy to kiss them both before leaving to fetch her best friend Fran from the party in Bonzo's room.

Robert lay on his back with his hands behind his head. If Fran was anything like Alice, a breather was in order before round two.

Robert sighed and glanced at Iggy, who was reclining on his side. "How does it feel to be in the big leagues? Raw Power is one hell of a record, mate." After all of Robert's chattering that night about the success of Houses of the Holy, he instantly regretted how arrogant his comment must've sounded to Iggy, who had been making music for roughly as long as Led Zeppelin had been. "Sorry," Robert interjected. "What I, uh, mean to say, Ig--"

"No, I get it, Percy." Iggy saw how much the nickname irked Robert when Bonzo spoke it and decided to twist the knife in Robert a bit.

Iggy had no poker face to speak of. Robert could see the American's thoughts slowly formulating through the movement of his big, blue cartoon eyes. Barely controlled rage pivoting to wily thoughtfulness with whiplash speed. Iggy seemed very lucid tonight, which surprised Robert, who had heard horror stories about Iggy's junkie tendencies through the grapevine. He was getting a sense that an alert Iggy was the truly dangerous Iggy.

Robert didn't know whether he would be scorched by what Iggy was going to say, or if he would be impressed by Iggy stopping himself from leveling a vicious retort. Iggy was not unlike Maureen, Robert thought--petite and fiery. And cute. Iggy's energy was vaguely familiar. The thought surprised Robert but also made him smile.

"We had to get dropped before we could perform the fucking album more than once, but yeah, we are getting bigger audiences now, thanks to Bowie's aura around the project. But we've always had a tight, rabid group of fans who really get it. The money isn't much, since the label tossed us out on our asses, but there are a few more people in the audience to catch me."

"You're a lunatic, with that stage diving." Robert caught himself breathing a sigh of relief. Iggy was reflective. Not in the mood to spar verbally.

"What? Too afraid to bust up your pretty face, Perce?"

Robert inhaled with irritation. His face flushed. He couldn't pinpoint why Iggy was getting under his skin. He'd been treated worse by the press. Much worse.

"I just don't have it in me," Robert finally said. "Plus, I'm bigger than you, and I think I could hurt someone. Or, I might come back to the stage naked, once all the birds get their hands on me."

"You'd love it. Admit it, man."

"Maybe I would, Iggy… But I'll leave you to it."

In the silent pause, Iggy swept his gaze over Robert's face again. Iggy admired the masculine set of Robert's jawline, at odds with his feline eyes and the curlicued cloud of his hair. Robert was more attractive than The Stooges' cutest roadies, and Iggy adored his roadies. Robert was a finely sculpted man who seduced everyone with very subtle androgyny. Robert's pretty hippie god look was a far cry from Iggy's battle-scarred demon persona of eyeliner and dark lips. Nevertheless, Iggy reveled in all the boys and girls wanting him. He loved blurring the lines of the expected. It was his ace, shoving people off kilter with his performance. If he straddled a man's lap and sang in his face, or kissed an unexpecting girl in the audience, all eyes would be on him. Hate or love his performance, they would be telling all their friends about it. It never failed.

By the way Robert looked at him, Iggy knew that even Robert found him to be an intriguing novelty. He smirked at the larger man, who smiled at Iggy quizzically.

Iggy wondered if Robert knew what he was doing with his look. But Robert was a god to his fans and had nothing to explain or prove to anyone.

Iggy couldn't lie to himself; he wasn't on that level. He was the sideshow for a loud, primitive band that always performed at the brink of chaos. He would be the scrappy little underdog until the day he died. Nothing came easy. He had to do the dirty work to get what he wanted.

Iggy watched Robert's chest rise and fall with his breath and imagined that it felt just as solid as Iggy's own musculature. Robert was a total package, just like Iggy had heard. Beautiful inside as much as outside. Iggy remembered the dreamy look in Sable's eyes when he saw her on the street and mentioned he'd be coming to the Riot House, as they called it. She'd asked Iggy to say hi to Robert for her. She was on to the next thing, only had eyes for Johnny Thunders these days.

Iggy started to wonder if Robert was someone he wanted, if Robert himself might be interested in exploring that kind of connection. Iggy was not turned off by the idea, no matter how much he protested about any hint of interest in men to anyone who'd listen. But he knew he'd have to be the one to make it happen with Robert. And that was always something he wrestled with.

David and Lou had no qualms about men, but Iggy hadn't truly shaken free from Midwestern ethics. It was like the time Iggy lived with Leee. It was two boys who grew up far from the coasts of America who couldn't act on their feelings, even when Iggy's robe was open and his large cock was on display. Leee was into boys, but as much as Iggy tried to entice him, nothing ever came of it. Iggy couldn't bring himself to go for Leee. Neither man ever spoke about it. Iggy had been paralyzed by his thoughts. Lee? Maybe he just wasn't sure if Iggy was sure. Iggy had broken free from society in many ways, but not this one. He sighed in frustration.

Robert noticed that Iggy's mood had shifted again, that he was lost in his thoughts, and not happy thoughts, it seemed. For all of Iggy's maniacal bravado, Robert realized that his fellow front man wasn't a savage to the core. It put Iggy in a new light in Robert's eyes.

Not that it made Robert think Iggy was delicate or weak. The ripples and etchings of wiry muscles on Iggy's body proved how strong he was, as did how he had clawed his way to a new record deal after his band had been left for dead a few years before.

Robert and Iggy weren't friends, having just met that night, but they sat by the balcony in the Hyatt suite and had a nice, long conversation over drinks, joints, and stories of the stage.

Iggy, Robert was pleased to find out, had more layers than the press ever attributed to him. Iggy was as well read as Robert and had even broader music taste than his British counterpart. It was refreshing for Robert to have a lively artistic conversation with someone who wasn't Jimmy.

Something was shifting between Robert and Iggy. Robert kind of hoped that Alice and Fran would be delayed for a while, even though he was unsure of how he wanted to fill that time with Iggy.

"Penny for your thoughts, Ig."

"Oh…" Iggy swallowed and blinked his eyes. He'd been caught. What the hell, he thought.

"Uh, Robert …"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever… Done anything with a guy?"

"Haven't had the pleasure, Iggy. You?"

"Closest I've come, I told this creep he could lick my stomach when he asked to suck my dick. And some boys in San Francisco? They, uh, have a fan club for me. Met with them a few times. Touchy-feely motherfuckers. I don't go to sleep around them."

Iggy seemed somewhat ashamed. Robert could understand. Jonesy was convinced that Robert was too provincial, too old fashioned to accept or even acknowledge the male attention he garnered. Maybe the Midlands and Midwest weren't all that different, Robert mused. Iggy may have had more exposure to men who wanted him, but he seemed just as uncomfortable with that kind of attention.

But Robert guessed Iggy, too, was willing to bend the rules a little tonight. Good company and good drugs would do that to anyone.

Both men were lost in their thoughts. The silence was painful. It had become a game of chicken.

"Aw, fuck this." Iggy broke first. He scooted closer to Robert, rested a hand on the larger man's shoulder, and pressed his lips to Robert's. For a few tense seconds it was like both notoriously sexy men forgot how to kiss. Iggy additionally feared getting tossed from the bed by Robert. But then, everything clicked. It was like the first number of an electrifying concert. Both men knew the rush that came from singing the first few bars of a song, the sweet release of all the nervous energy that built while the band played the intro, and the passion that must be doled out with the first notes to hook the audience's attention for the night. Their kiss was exactly the same.

Robert nestled a hand on Iggy's back. Iggy's tongue was exquisitely adventurous. But not aggressive. It was the exact opposite of Iggy's stage persona: tender and unhurried. It was as good as any groupie Robert had ever encountered. Robert got the feeling that Iggy had a surprising number of facets that most would never see. Robert felt honored to get a true glimpse of the man.

Iggy glided his hand into Robert's curls. The American was enjoying himself. He realized it was no big deal after all. He briefly thought of telling David afterward, to see the surprise and envy on his face. Robert. Fucking. Plant! But Iggy would never tell a soul, out of respect for Robert and this moment. And he knew Robert wouldn't breathe a word of it, either.

Robert caressed Iggy's back, causing the smaller man to purr contentedly. The taste of Robert's tongue was the taste of freedom that he'd always craved.

The door opened, and Alice and Fran barged in. Iggy and Robert continued kissing. They'd surprised themselves by not jerking away from each other.

"Oh, my God, that's so hot!" The men heard a new voice. Fran. "They couldn't even wait for us!"

The two women took the scene as their cue and climbed on the bed, choosing a man to play with, separating the embrace.

Robert winked at Iggy, and Iggy nodded his head in response. It was fun while it lasted.

#robert plant #Iggy pop #classic rock #writersmonth2020

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