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storiesbydtcecil · 2 years

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Ginrei's Visit And Byakuya's Regret

By the time Byakuya made it to his office, he was seething inside. People stayed out of his way-literally- fleeing after sensing his low, menacing spiritual pressure before they'd caught a glimpse of him.

When the captain enters the barracks, subordinates line the walls in the corridors of Squad Six bowing their heads out of respect for his station as is proper. As Byakuya approaches, he registers numerous spiritual pressures just as they made themselves scarce to prevent an encounter with him like a school of fish darting away, sensing an unnatural disturbance.

He didn't blame them.

At this very moment, his control, his patience, and his emotional governance were in tatters. His knuckles were bleeding on his right hand, shame suffusing him at the thought of his actions just minutes before in the meeting hall.

Damn Kaito! Damn the lot of them for this!

For, as Byakuya suspected, the proposal for him to marry Rukia was a screen for the real plot.

Kaito and the elder council knew he would never, in three millennia, agree to marry his sister. Such a move like that would bring down a scandal, the likes of which would rock the Seireitei on its foundations, not to mention the nobility.

Dissolving Rukia's adoption, changing his role from guardian and brother to lover and husband, would bring shame down on his house. Everyone would immediately assume that he and Rukia have been entertaining secret liaisons or a sexual relationship under the fiction of brother and sister. Though a lie, it will be damaging to Rukia.

As a woman, with propriety at stake, as society insists upon, she will bear the brunt of the scorn, unfair as that is. Being the head of the household, Byakuya could, essentially, do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. In theory, if he were a rogue, the most he'd have gotten would be a token protest from the council elders; maybe not so much as that, given Rukia's origins.

Each member of the council is the leader of his or her cadet branch. Through a system of votes, decisions are made that affect the entire clan, with Byakuya's voice being the final say on any motion.

Today, he didn't use his voice to cast aside the elders 'council'. He would have lost the argument.

I lost my arguments either way.

Though it rubs Byakuya the wrong way to admit it, his actions up to this point drove the Elders to resort to 'necessary measures,' as they phrased it. He understands their misgivings and shoulders the responsibility for what pushed his kinsman into this corner.

He hasn't remarried. He hasn't sired any heirs, legitimately or not. Except for his wife for those brief years, in all his two hundred and fifty years, Byakuya Kuchiki has never entertained a lover in his bed. And when Hisanna left this world, he had no interest in anything along the lines of intimacy.

To their credit, the Elders had tried different avenues to see to their charge. They arranged balls, fêtes, tea parties, and tournaments, inviting the noble hierarchies and their eligible daughters in hopes that he would meet with a young woman of noble bearing. Byakuya would attend as a matter of showing his face, then leave once he's made enough of an appearance to spark gossip.

Like attires laid out by servants on his bed, the counsel had selected noblewomen out for him 'to get to know', two years after Hisanna died; their time measure for getting over the hurdle of grief. They had been lovely. One long, shallow parade of pompous powdered faces and rouge lips, self-important egos, and flattery competed for his attention and the chance to switch whatever their titles were, to the shiny new one of 'Lady Kuchiki.' But when they each met his sister, most of them had turned their noses up at Rukia, 'the gutter rat' he adopted into the noble house of Kuchiki. When they thought he was looking, they played nice with her, pretending to adore the girl, who was the last remnant of his late wife. When they thought he wasn't looking, the scene got disturbing. Byakuya's seen mangy dogs treated with more respect.

Now, he reflected on what would have happened had he considered their suitability a bit more. Vetted the young ladies enough to find one among them he could have entered into a political marriage with- loveless and for spectacle, as it would have been but with mutual benefits for both houses.

Three hells! He could have stomached the act long enough to implant his seed to impregnate his bride, couldn't he? Maybe acquire some aphrodisiacs from the World of the Living to help with his performance? He would have pictured Hisanna's face when he gazes down at the stranger in her place under him. If he could've predicted the council would have used a technicality in the Kuchiki laws against him. He didn't even know that such a thing could be done or in the Kuchiki customs. But that's no excuse.

'At the age of maturity, if there are no heirs sired by the current head of the clan, then the next in line from a cadet branch would legally be entitled to the position as head of the clan should he or she be of the same age, rank, or station.'

Byakuya knew of this custom of the Kuchiki laws. In the event of his death, then someone from the most influential cadet branch would be his successor if he didn't have one already named. He didn't. Not out of carelessness given his day job but out of lack.

Byakuya was yet to find someone from the Kuchiki cadet branches who wasn't bloated with self-important arrogance and hell-bent on sucking up as much power as they could get. Even the less influential cadet branches scheme and plot pettily against one another.

If Rukia had been his blood sibling, then the mantle as head of the clan would automatically pass down to her. Byakuya would have been grooming her with gruelling lessons on the clan's history daily, more so than what she'd gotten during her first year after she was adopted; and she hated those.

But Rukia, for all her wits and determination to her duties, traits he admires about her, shows no aspiration for being more involved with Kuchiki affairs than absolutely necessary. Byakuya didn't have that luxury.

With such a coveted position as head of the clan, Byakuya has to maintain a spy network dedicated to delivering important titbits and reporting to him daily. He has spies of spies that didn't even know that the information they garnered as they work under their different guises: servants, cooks, scullery maids, gardeners, etc gets fed back to the head of the very clan members they spied upon.

Byakuya couldn't claim to be a spymaster in all its methodical intrigues, which can get tedious, but he's adept enough to watch for assassination attempts, spies in his own house from other houses and his cadets' branches, sedition, sinister plots, coup d'etats, rapes, kidnappings, underhanded tactics, and the list continues. To top it off, he wasn't just watching for himself and his immediate household, he remains diligent for the weaker cadets branches with less influence that, if he wasn't careful, would have been absorbed by the other branches instead of maintaining their independence.

Watching Kaito's cadet household is like having his breakfast every day. Byakuya and his spies actively keep vigilant due to the cadet house's actions in the past and their history of starting sedition in the clans against the main branch household some nine centuries back. Ginrei and Byakuya's father had nearly annihilated that entire branch, those who were not exiled outright. Believing that the cadet household could be playing the long game, the main branch has kept watch constantly, keeping the power dynamics in check, weary of betrayal.

Since Kaito became the head of the branch, taking over when his aged father committed seppuku in penance for his family crimes against the main branch household, there's been no evidence of unsavory practices.

How could I have not seen this coming?

Anticipating the answer to their aggressive suggestion would be a hard 'NO', old snake face, and the rest of the council set up a counter-proposal, something Byakuya couldn't have predicted.

If Byakuya didn't dissolve her adoption and, marry Rukia with the Kuchiki council's backing now - which would go a long way to smoothing ruffled feathers among the nobles; not only from the other great houses but also with cadet branches- then by right of custom, Kaito's in position as the next in line, and from the first and, most influential cadet branches, to vote to install his son, Kalon Kuchiki, Byakuya's first cousin, as the next head of the clan by marrying off Rukia to him.

Byakuya would rather see his sister dead on the battlefield than give her over to that artifice!

They want to use my sister as a bargaining chip to sink their claws into the main household.

Or, by contrast, trail her name through the mud should Byakuya marry her so that they'll have their heir. Either way, the council gets what it wants, and Rukia's reputation (what she's worked so hard to build up) gets compromised.

Either by me or, by the council.

Entering his office and sliding the door shut, Byakuya took his seat in the uncomfortable wooden chair assigned to all with his rank and all lieutenants. It mimics the head captain's office chair. A sign of equality; through power scales widely differ among the white cloaks and the lieutenants of the Gotei Thirteen.

Resting both elbows on his desk, Byakuya pressed his face into his waiting palms, ignoring the protest of his right knuckles as flexing them sent pain signals through his arm. He inhales a deep breath, and holding it in his lungs, begins counting backward from twenty in his mind while slowly releasing the trapped air through his mouth. Byakuya continues this breathing technique until the need to yell and tear at his hair abated long enough. In the process of calming down, Byakuya senses movement resuming around the barracks. As if time thawed the silence, slowly the barracks came back to life. Feet shuffled over the wooden floorboards, uniform clothing rustles, curiosity inked through spiritual reiatsus, maybe wondering why their ever-collected stoic captain's spiritual pressure was mad as all nine hells. It's not normal to see the captain of Squad Six get emotional. Only one other can claim to wrile him so, to shatter his mask of calm, and he lives in the World of the Living.

But unlike that brat, Byakuya couldn't just whip out his sword, hack things to bits like a barbarian, then call it a day. In that, he envied the simpleton teenager; his problems were never beyond the point of his sword.

Keeping his eyes closed, Byakuya moves his fingers to his temples, massaging them slowly- continuing his deep inhalations- exhaling through his mouth.

"I thought I would find you here,"

Byakuya's eyes snap open, startled at the voice in his office. He dropped his hands immediately.

Ginrei was standing on the threshold of Byakuya's office, the door sliding wide enough to accommodate his slight build, now sunken with age. The man before him once towered over Byakuya. Ginrei was a powerful Shinigami to be reckoned with. Their roles were reversed now with the passage of time.

"Grandfather!" Byakuya stood instantly, causing the wooden chair to scrape against the floor protestingly at the sudden movement.

The thin old man slid the panel door shut behind him as he shuffled into his former office. Wrinkled hands clasped behind his slightly stooped back.

"Lord Kuchiki-Sama," Ginrei greeted his grandson by his title with differential respect, accompanied with a bow of his grey head.

Byakuya bowed in reply, showing his respect in return.

His grandfather is the reason he has his title and is his strongest supporter. He may be burdened with age, but the man is not to be underestimated.

Byakuya's desk is opposite the only door in his office to the far wall. When he's seated behind his desk, he faces the threshold and can usually tell when someone approaches from three corridors down in any direction, his spiritual awareness far-reaching. Yet Ginrei slid his door open, then stood before him without Byakuya picking up on his reiatsu? Yes, his eyes were closed, but that makes spiritual energies more perceivable without the hindrance of sight.

Breaking the posture as their greeting ended, Ginrei turned, then walked to the window in silence.

Suddenly, it's as if Byakuya was a fresh-face lieutenant again in service to his superior, Ginrei Kuchiki, the Captain of Squad Six.

Byakuya dreaded asking his grandfather why he was here? He's guessed the answer well enough.

"Grandfather," Byakuya begins, tentatively breaking the silence.

"I heard," Ginrei started, interrupting his grandson in his matter-of-fact gravelly voice, "that you punched Kaito in the face," the older man arched a salt and pepper brow as he turned his head in Byakuya's direction, "repeatedly."

Byakuya hides his wince before taking a deep breath and blowing it out in a soft sigh. The instant his fist met Kaito's wrinkled jaw, he calculated that this was coming.

Ginrei was still waiting for him to comment, Byakuya realized- to defend himself as a matter of fairness before the judgement- much to his disquiet.

Byakuya bit the inside of his left cheek, feeling like a boy of fifteen winters and not a man in his first quarter millennium. He clears his throat, "I lost my temper."

"Where?" Ginrei asked innocently.

The question took Byakuya by surprise, making his brows collide confusedly in the center of his forehead, "I don't follow," he admitted.

"Where did you lose your temper, exactly?" Ginrei repeated his question, "over a ravine? Down the open maw of a gully? In a deep trench at the bottom of the ocean somewhere in the World of the Living?"

Byakuya flushed with shame for his actions. How did he look before the elders pummelling into an old man's face? Thinking about someone doing the same thing to Ginrei and Byakuya wished he could sink into the floor like his Bankai.

"He insulted-" Byakuya started to explain through gritted teeth.

Ginrei unclasped his hands from behind his back to hold up a palm to stop him, "I am aware of what Kaito said. I heard every detail. Regardless of your reasons, and Kaito might have deserved the thrashing for his foolish words in your presence," Ginrei allowed, "it's reflecting poorly on you to behave like a tyrant to the people you are responsible for. It behooves the Kuchiki Clan's name to have its head knock the dentures out of a clan elder advisor."

Byakuya didn't bother to hide his wince this time. "I will make an effort to amend the main branch's relationship with Kaito and his household if he apologizes before the council for his insolence."

"Apologise for what he said about Rukia-Sama or Hisanna-Sama?" Ginrei gave Byakuya a quizzical look.

Byakuya gave him a deadpan look in return, "Both."

Ginrei's lips quirked slightly before turning back to whatever had his attention at the window.

Did grandfather just was smirked? What does that mean? Byakuya was puzzled for a second then he let the thought go.

In an effort to change the subject, Byakuya asked after another a few moments passed, "were you aware of the council's proposal?"

His grandfather was absent for the counsel's meeting this morning, citing his reasons for skipping as 'an unforeseen errand' for which he installed a trusted aid to act in his stead. When Ginrei says "unforeseen errand" that can mean anything from a hollow incursion, an internal dispute that required him to sit in as a mediator or he was attending to his gardening on his estate. Given the lack of reports on the first two, Byakuya suspected the latter.

Today must be an exercise of my patience.

"I did," The older man answers easily, "it was I who recommended that you marry Rukia."

Byakuya's witty retort to that?

"What?"

Byakuya's hand fumbles for the uncomfortable chair and sits down before the strength in his knees deserted him.

"This must come as a surprise, considering that I was against her adoption in the beginning," Ginrei said evenly, walking away from the window of his old office, both hands tied behind his back once again. "And I advised against marrying her sister," the old man's voice was reminiscent, "but you did what you wanted to, ignoring the council's advice and my own. Against all the odds, she is now a part of this family, and she has responsibilities."

Surprise? Byakuya felt like someone just throat punched him. He could barely breathe. When had his life become a game of 'Annoy Byakuya until he went Bankai?'

He was still recovering from what his grandfather just confessed, but maybe it was silly of him to feel this way. After all, Ginrei is a part of the Council of Elders. Why wouldn't he be a part of their discussions?

"Grandfather," Byakuya had to take a breath before continuing, "with all due respect, I've repudiated this...radical decision to alter mine and Rukia's life."

Ginrei remained silent, keeping a fixed grey gaze on his grandson's face.

"I understand," Byakuya continued, amazed that his tone was so steady given the tumult of emotions clashing through his spirit right now, "that the council wants self-preservation to maintain the purity of the Kuchiki bloodline. What I find pointless is the inclusion of Rukia in this decision? She doesn't carry the blood in her veins. Why then-?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Ginrei's tone was wheezy and rhetorical, "you made that decision for Rukia from the moment you adopted her into this family. Many on the council thought that you would repeat your earlier mistake."

Byakuya stiffened, "Mistake?"

"Yes," Ginrei replied calmly.

Byakuya knew his grandfather was only retelling what council members said in private away from the head's ears and eyes, and this is not something the man would divulge on a whim. His grandfather was only being honest with him, a rare quality among nobles. Byakuya bit his tongue and listened. After a moment, Ginrei continued.

"On the year after Hisanna's death, you found her sister."

Byakuya's chest heaved with a deep breath, reliving the day as if it was yesterday, the complexity of the feelings that roiled inside of him on seeing the girl's face for the first time. His mouth had gone dry, his heart drumming in his rib cage threateningly.

Hisanna!

Tears threatened to embarrass him in the company of the superintendent of Shinōreijutsuin Academy. But it was not his wife. The face was nearly identical, but that's where the similarities ended. Never had his late wife been so full of life.

Where Hisanna was frail and needed protection; as Byakuya watched this scrawny girl during a practice training session with wooden swords against their partners, from a window high up in the superintendent's office, he could perceive the fiery vigor emanating from her very pores as she attacked opponents larger, and stronger than her.

Jealousy had strangled him at that moment. Jealousy that Hisanna's younger sister got every ounce of life and health that she needed. He remembered thinking as he watched Rukia get knocked on her backside for the third time in less than two minutes by her red-headed taller partner, that it wasn't fair.

Then he resented that he was the one standing here and not Hisanna, who's searched every day for her younger sister.

"We, myself included," Ginrei's voice intruded on his reminiscence, "believed that you were going marry her, as you did her older sister, to cope with your grief. At least, those were the more savory arguments." the old man demurred.

Once again, the legs of the wooden chair scraped against the floorboards as Byakuya stood abruptly, palms balled into fists, "she was but a child," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Having a shouting match in his office with ears growing from the walls would only aid the art of gossip against the Kuchiki Clan.

Keep it together. Get yourself under control. Byakuya thought willing cooling reason to temper his anger.

"A girl that looks very much like your dearly departed wife. A girl with no family name. An urchin from the slums, no one would have batted an eye if your reasons for acquiring Rukia was for comfort and release." Ginrei's steady eyes met his grandson's glaring stormy gaze.

His grandfather's tone held no inflection of judgement or scorn. He was relating conversations, the discussions between him and the council members or members of other noble houses from years ago, yet the words still burned like a Hado spell.

"And when have I made a showing of being a scoundrel for them to assume that I would do such a thing?"

Ginrei shrugged nonchalantly, "people talk and make their assumptions. That's not something you can ever control. As they say in the World of the Living, 'when you're up on stage, be ready to accept both the roses and the rotten tomatoes."

"Then why suggest this now?" Byakuya asked after a stretch of silence, his eyes narrowing at his grandfather.

After all I've put her through? After she had to be rescued by a stranger from me. Blindly following the law, I nearly killed and threatened to kill the precious life, my wife, with her last breath entrusted me to find and protect.

Bile rose in his throat; his actions soured in his memories.

Ginrei strolled over to Byakuya's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking up into his grandson's face, he told him,

"I raised a man of integrity,"

Byakuya knew that when Ginrei started this speech, it meant the subject matter was closed. Unfair of him because it didn't feel close to Byakuya.

"I took a boy and raised a leader of men,"

"Grandfather..." Byakuya swallowed, "I will not marry Rukia,"

"Then you're condemning her to a bitter, miserable life because Kaito will, on legal grounds, force the match between Kalon and Rukia. She's at the age of maturity, no longer, legally, in need of a guardian's guidance."

He turns to leave, hands clasped behind his back, striding to the door. A few paces away, he stopped. Looking over his shoulder, Ginrei remarked, "I know the man that I raised will do what's best for the collective whole regardless of the sacrifice."

Sliding the door open, Ginrei Kuchiki left. Leaving Byakuya in the hell of a situation he created.

Find the rest of the story here: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/245932377/write/973536871

#bleachfanfiction #bleachships #bleachanime #rukiaxbyakuya #romance

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yourtamaki · 3 years

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i’m here

ushijima x f!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, neglect, oral fixation, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

you never knew what to tell your friends when they asked what wakatoshi was like as a boyfriend. everyone wanted to know how the stoic man acted around his significant other. does he melt when he sees you? they’d ask with hearts in their eyes. does he turn affectionate behind closed doors? you never understood their fascination or why they expected him to be a different person just for you.

no, that was a lie. you don’t know why you expected him to be different.

it was coming up on your second year with toshi and you’d been friends throughout your high school years. you knew what he was like before you’d bitten the bullet and asked him on a date. so you had no one but yourself to blame now as you lay alone in your bed that felt far too big, wracking sobs so powerful your whole body trembled from the force.

a month. that’s how long it’d been since you last felt like toshi was a part of your life. you woke up alone, did the chores alone, made dinner alone and went to bed alone. his absence wasn’t the worst part, much to your surprise. it was the signs of disturbance around your shared home. a used plate in the sink. a new load in the laundry. signs that toshi was there, he just wasn’t there with you. it made you feel all the more empty.

you didn’t know why your body decided tonight was the night to give out but once the first tears slid down your face, you were helpless to stop the tidal wave of stress and loneliness and utter sadness from escaping. your only solace was how good it felt to finally cry. to get these corrosive feelings out of your system instead of continuing to let them eat away at you the way you had for weeks.

if only your cries were a bit quieter. maybe you would’ve heard the bedroom door creak open in time to wipe away your tears and feign sleep.

for a moment, toshi just stared at you, drinking in the details of your face illuminated by the light from the hallway.

“it’s late.” the deep timber of his voice made you oddly nostalgic. the two of you hadn’t exchanged more than a scarce handful of sentences during this period, all your communication being limited to dry texts. you’d never minded his texting habits, had even found it endearing once. but when the brief, one word answers became your only lifeline to toshi, how could you not feel as though you were only bothering him with every text sent?

when you didn’t respond, toshi carefully closed the door behind him. you didn’t need any light to know exactly what he was doing. he was nothing if not a creature of habit. you could picture him first placing his gym bag in your shared closet then methodically undressing. but instead of heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you felt the mattress dip as he sat next to you.

“you’re crying. why?” he said. you had to stamp down on the urge to reply with sarcasm. if you’ve learned anything from the years you’d spent with toshi it's that he was genuine to a fault. if he was asking you what was wrong, it meant he truly didn’t know. you needed to spell out your feelings for him on more then one occasion but once you did, he would be more than understanding, going above and beyond to rectify the situation. so why did you feel so hesitant to open up now? he could sense your hesitance though he didn’t understand the cause for it, his hand reaching out to find yours in the dark. “i can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

the dam broke, fresh tears streaming down your face. “toshi i miss you. i know you’re busy but it feels like we’re not even together anymore. i don’t hear from you, i don’t see you and i’m stuck in this house all day. i’m just— ‘m just lonely.”

your voice trailed off in a whisper quickly swallowed by the silence of the room, only broken by your sniffles. toshi was still as you cried before leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on. the sudden light stung your eyes and when you adjusted, you could see him already gazing down at you.

“i apologize, y/n.” he kissed the back of both your hands and brought them to his forehead, head bowed. “there is no excuse. my priorities should always include you and they haven’t as of late.”

“it’s ok. i understand you’re busy, toshi i just wish i could see you a little more.” he nodded, lifting his head and his eyes piercing yours.

“i will work to change my behaviour and become a boyfriend more deserving of your love.”

just like that you remembered why you fell in love with him. others saw toshi as someone incapable of understanding emotions, an apathetic person with only volleyball on his mind. it couldn’t be further from the truth. it was true he had difficulty reading your emotions but as soon as you put them in plain terms, he was there for you in any way you needed. “thank you.”

“that is for the future. but that doesn’t change that you feel hurt right now. is there anything i can do to ease your pain?” the look in his eyes told you no ask was too large, the single minded focus that made him one of the top volleyball players in the country was now directed solely on you.

“i just want to be with you.” you crawled into his lap, his arms coming up to hug you close to him.

“you’ve got me.” he murmured into your ear. “for as long as you’ll have me i’m yours. and i’m sorry i haven’t been here to tell you that.”

“you’re here now.”

“i am.”

“toshi…” it has been so long since you were last in his arms you couldn’t help how needy it was making you, desperate to feel him as close to you as possible.

“what is it, love?” instead of replying, you rolled your hips against his, kissing his neck. with only his briefs you could feel his bulge harden slightly with the pressure. “if that’s what you want.”

he lifted you both up off the bed, turning and laying you down carefully. he helped you out of your clothes, leaving you in your plain cotton panties, bra already removed for bed. if you’d known you’d be sleeping with your boyfriend you would’ve worn sexier pieces but judging by toshi’s ravenous expression, it didn’t matter to him. you felt beautiful in his eyes.

toshi kissed his way down, latching onto one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers before switching over, giving each the attention they deserved. he brought one hand to your face and said,

“suck.”

you sucked his fingers into your mouth, glad to finally have something to make you feel full. he watched you, mesmerized by how your lips looked stretched around his fingers.

“do you know how beautiful you look right now? my y/n. always need something in your mouth, don’t you?” you hummed, mind going blank as all you could do was focus on the slightly salty taste as you licked his fingertips.

once toshi deemed them wet enough, he snaked his hand down into your panties, teasing your entrance before dipping inside.

“you’re so wet. can you hear yourself?” you could, the wet squelch as he pumped his fingers inside you made your face heat up with embarrassment. it wasn’t your fault nothing came close to how toshi felt inside you. toys, your own hands, nothing compared to what you were feeling now, so stretched with only two of his fingers inside you. they curled inside you, pressing against that spot that had your legs quivering, gripping toshi’s forearm hard.

“where do you want to cum first, my fingers or my cock?”

“your cock please toshi wanna feel you.” you begged. a moment later, your panties were pulled off of you. toshi took off his briefs and knelt between your legs, his blunt tip resting over your pussy. he tapped it against your clit a few times, smiling softly at how you jumped at the contact before pushing in slowly, rocking back and forth until his entire length was inside you.

you expected him to move but he kept still until your eyes met his. he took one of your hands and placed it over your lower stomach, covering it with his own large hand.

“do you feel that?” he asked quietly. you could, there was a bump there from where toshi was buried inside you. “i’m here.”

“i know.”

“i’m here.” he repeated with more emphasis, head lowering until his forehead met yours. “and i’m never leaving you again. okay?”

an overwhelming tidal wave of love came crashing in, choking you so all you could say was, “okay.”

why did it take you so long to understand? what toshi didn’t say aloud, he said with his actions. the brush of your clit with his calloused thumb was an apology, the squeeze of your hip a reassurance. toshi spoke his reverence into your skin with every open mouthed kiss on your neck and his worship with each roll of his hip against yours. all you could do was lock your ankles around him and accept the torrent of love he poured into you.

“kiss me toshi please ‘m gonna cum.” his lips crashed against yours and you were gone, creaming over his cock as it continued to piston in and out of you.

“does that feel good, love?” he mumbled against your lips. you nodded frantically, still feeling the effects of your high. “tell me what you need.”

“more please.” your voice came out a whisper. you didn’t care about the overstimulation of your poor cunt. you weren’t ready to let go of this moment, of knowing you have toshi here with you, safe in your own small world together.

toshi gave you a tender kiss before pulling back. he gripped the back of your thighs and pinned your knees to your chest, your pussy gushing from the new position. his cock was pushing even deeper now, hitting a spot within you that made your tongue loll out at the pleasure. toshi was fucking into you at a brutal pace and you knew he was close by the small grunts he was letting out.

“hold yourself open for me.” you did as he asked, flushing at how dirty you felt with your pussy so exposed. with his now free hand, toshi placed his fingers back in your mouth. your eyes widened as the taste of your own arousal exploded on your tongue.

“do you like how you taste?” he asked. you sucked at his fingers greedily, licking them clean and he hummed, “i knew you would.”

the pressure in your abdomen was steadily building with every pump of toshi’s cock. his fingers were keeping your moans muffled and he seemed to realize he was missing out. he pulled his hand back, small trails of saliva stringing out as he did. he slammed his hips into your as though he was trying to make up for all the sounds he had missed out on and you did not disappoint, babbling praise for the man fucking you senseless.

“you’re close i can feel it. can you cum with me y/n? can you do that for me?”

“yes fuck toshi i love you i wanna cum for you.”

“go ahead, my love. let go.” you threw your head back as you let go and came for the second time, the erratic clenching of your walls pushing toshi over. you held each other through your highs, chests heaving together as you caught your breaths. when he tried to pull out, you tightened your legs around him.

“stay?” you wanted this moment to last, to be with toshi, connected for as long as you could. he shifted until you were both laying on your side spooned together, careful to not pull out of you.

“go to sleep, my love.” there were still things you both needed to work on in your relationship but you chose to embrace the peace that was sleeping with the arms of your boyfriend wrapped securely around you.

#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #ushijima imagine #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #haikyuu angst #ushijima angst #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi imagine #ushijima wakatoshi smut

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “��any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett fic #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

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hypnomicimagines · 3 years

Note

20 with kuko please:D!(gn preferably)

Harai Kuko:

You’d never seen Kuko look at you like this.

There was this burning rage behind them, completely unprompted by anything you had done. He couldn’t even give you a direct reason for the hatred spewing from his mouth, the anger he was directing at you over imagined scenarios. Kuko was an honest boyfriend, he would never start a fight just for the sake of it which left your mind reeling even more. How had you not seen this coming?

“Kuko…!” You reached out to touch his shoulder but are met with a heated glare, the monk slapping your hand away from him before you could make contact. You looked at him wide-eyed, thinking the momentary regret you see flash in his eyes as just an illusion, something you wanted to see. You held your hand to your chest as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could hurt him in the same way he had hurt you.

But he’d already said he didn’t care about you, about your feelings, that it was over.

There was nothing left for you to say to him.

You remember sobbing when you got home that night, hastily deleting the pictures you had of him in your phone, trying to wipe all memories you had of him. Kuko had been such a positive pillar in your life, you had grown alongside him for so long, you had thought you really knew him inside and out yet this hit you like a bullet. It happened so quick yet the pain of his words still lingered, you couldn’t help but think he wasn’t acting like his usual self. You no longer had the strength to question it though, too afraid of facing his wrath again; Kuko really was a scary person when you were on the other side of his anger.

It’s been years and yet you still think of him.

You tried to rationalize that it was just because he was your first love, of course you missed what you had with him because it had been intense. Being with him was unlike any romantic encounter you had, including the relationships you attempted to get into as a fresh-faced adult. You knew you were still young but there was the lingering fear that no one would ever make you feel the way he did, that you were missing an important detail and that blocking his number had been the wrong thing to do. But you had protected your heart in the only way you knew how, trying to look toward the future rather than back at what once was.

Kuko had been the one to give you that advice…

You were happy to be starting your new job at Amaguni Law Offices, having heard great things about your boss. You were hired as an aide to the secretary but you were hoping to directly assist with cases one day, not knowing if law was exactly the right career but wanting to see change in action. You were having a relatively good day, you found you were quite good at speaking to distressed clients and scheduling their appointments was a breeze once you understood how the computer system worked. The secretary seemed relieved to have you with her as she said work tended to be fast-paced and overwhelming with just her, it left you feeling good, like you had a real purpose.

Everything was good until you had to see his face again.

You’re hidden behind the computer and don’t look up at first until you hear the sounds of footsteps walking past you, having been expressly told to not let anyone interrupt the meeting your boss was having. You jumped as quick as you could, you had been making a good impression all day and you weren’t about to let some teenage punks ruin that for you. You reached out for the shorter one, hurriedly asking him if he had an appointment before you’re stopped in your tracks.

When Kuko’s eyes met yours it felt like the world had stopped, the same way it had when he had stomped on your heart. Your mouth went dry and the expression on his face was completely unreadable but you had at least gotten him to stop walking. The taller of the two, a boy you didn’t know as it certainly wasn’t Ichiro, looked at the two of you with confused eyes. Your heart was beating rapidly and it felt like no air was reaching your lungs, you knew you couldn’t stay in the same room as him much longer. Maybe if you had been prepared to see him you could’ve taken this but this was the most unwanted surprise you could ever have on the first day of work.

Hitoya walked out of his office to see why there were people lingering at his door, eyebrow raised when he sees the staring contest occurring between you and Kuko. He hadn’t looked away from you yet, it seemed he was still processing like you were but you bet he didn’t hurt like you did. He was the one who left you in the dust, after all.

“I have to go.” Your eyes flickered to Hitoya’s briefly before you made yourself scarce, gathering your belongings and leaving the law office as quickly as you could. You kept your head ducked down as you walked through the bustling city streets, hoping to get lost in the crowd, to just blend in among the people and disappear completely. You would have to give Hitoya a proper apology later and accept that potential firing at suddenly walking out on your job, but you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

You’re exhausted and out of breath when you’re finally home, heading straight to your room without a second thought. Your head is spinning, heart still pounding, anxiety flaring up as you think about how you’ll have to grovel to Hitoya in hopes of keeping your job. But did you really want that if there was a chance of seeing Kuko again? You had avoided this problem for so long that when it came rearing it’s ugly head you were at a total loss of what to do, the pain unfortunately fresh.

‘He looked good,’ You thought miserably, ‘His hair looks better not slicked back. I bet he’s still causing problems for his dad… I wonder if he matured anymore.’

You wished you didn’t still have this odd fondness for Kuko, the lingering feelings of love. You couldn’t just hate him despite what he had said to you because there was still a part of your brain that felt total disbelief at the turn in behavior he showed. He had always been respectful, a teasing brat for sure but he knew what was too far and what your boundaries were. Your Kuko would never…

You couldn’t think about him like that anymore.

He wasn’t your Kuko.

He was just Kuko.

Your phone began to ring and you were reluctant to pick it up, but seeing as it was your boss calling…

“…Could you come back? I think we should all talk.” Hitoya paused to allow you a chance to process his request, “I’d like for you to continue working here with me, you show promise and you’re quick but I won’t put you in an uncomfortable situation. I can recommend you to other lawyers in the area who have openings.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, so quiet he almost didn’t hear you, but he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

You feel just as awkward as you did when Kuko first walked into the office but with Hitoya and their other friend here, it felt considerably less awkward. It’s not to say you didn’t still feel like curling up into a ball but your former boyfriend wasn’t exactly being his normal loud self, something that left you both unsettled yet entirely grateful. You don’t know if you could take the usual Kuko energy right now but it seemed like your personal shields were getting ready to leave the room to give you both a chance to talk it out.

“If you have a question then ask it.” Kuko’s gaze was steady as he looked you square in the eye, something that pissed you off just as much as the fact that he was the one to start this conversation. You had thought of countless things you wanted to say to him over the years, that you hated him too, that you didn’t deserve to be talked to or yelled at like he had, that you deserved an explanation, that you missed him.

“Why did you break up with me?” There’s hesitation in your voice, as if your brain didn’t think about the consequences of learning the answer to this question before you had posed it.

“I…don’t know.” Kuko still seemed calm but you could hear the hints of frustration in his voice, “I wanted to come see you. To talk about what happened but I couldn’t… I didn’t have an explanation for what happened. Everything I said to you…”

“You said you didn’t have feelings for me! You said you hated me and my face and that you never wanted to see me again!”

“I know what I said, damn it!” Kuko sighed, crossing his arms. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t mean it. I did in the moment but after… Whenever I think about it, it’s just a blur. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for my actions but I don’t think there is one.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it doesn’t! I didn’t want to bother you without being able to offer a proper apology which would require knowing why the hell I did what I did!”

“So why are you apologizing now?”

“…Because I saw you again. At any moment life can present you a crossroads, a chance to lead you closer to your personal truth or further away from it.”

“I’m glad you still talk in tongues but I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“I’m not the same person I was back then, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’ve never forgotten what I’ve said to you, I could see how much it hurt you and I wanted to stop but there was this feeling inside of me… this burning rage that wanted to be taken out on anyone close. You’re not the only person I lost that day.”

He seemed sadder now, vision clouded by past regrets, but the look is quickly wiped from his face replaced by a more confident smirk. It was the old Kuko you knew and loved, the troublemaker who had a good heart even if he was a bit brash. You could see that he truly had grown over the years, likely having much more room to do so but as a monk there was always growth to be had. To truly help people he would have to experience as many things as he could, truly understand people, so you could see how what happened to him was especially annoying from his perspective.

“I don’t. I don’t forgive you but I’m really tired of being so mad at you. I know all about you and the rap thing and Mr. Amaguni being part of your team so I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Kuko didn’t want that, he didn’t want you to stay out of his way but he knew he had no right to request anything else. He simply nodded his head in agreement, wishing he was the type of man who could speak up for what he wants rather than watching the person he loved walk away from him once more.

#Harai Kuko #Kuko Harai #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypnosis Microphone x Reader #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Harai Kuko x Reader #Scenario #Prompt List

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terzos-edibles · 3 years

Text

Silver Linings

1. Gotta Keep On, Keepin' On

Summary: No kid, no tribe, and avoiding his responsibilities, Din Djarin has gone back to bounty hunting and mercenary work under the watchful eye of Boba Fett. After a job on Ibaar goes very wrong in more ways than Din would like to count, he is forced to flee with a very peculiar New Republic doctor. He is determined to get enough credits and fuel to drop the doctor off on her home planet and be done with it. But will he be able to part ways with her after she finds all the right and wrong ways to push his buttons?

Words: 1.8k

Rated Mature: language, canonical violence, depression, mentions of suicidal behavior.

“I don't know if I'm scared of dying But I'm scared of living too fast, too slow Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go There’s no starting over No new beginnings time races on.” - My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit

Ibaar-

The fist of the Empire reached far, sweeping across the farthest reaches of the Galaxy; the deepest corners seemed to have felt its influences. Even the smallest, poorest planets had Stormtroopers deployed to them - a formality to further oppress the planets’ occupants and show their might - and dissuade any sort of rebellion from sparking. The destruction of the second Death Star and subsequent death of Emperor Palpatine at the hands of the Rebellion had shown that plan hadn’t, well, panned out. Still, in the five years or so after the fall of the Empire, the New Republic was just now starting to finally make its way into the Outer Rim Territories after ensuring that the more strategically essential planets were well taken care of. Remnants of the Empire still clung to those planets, holding out hope that the Empire would somehow revive itself and their loyalty would be rewarded. Many felt that the New Republic had abandoned them, that things hadn’t gotten any better since the Empire had fallen. It would be the same as it had always been. The Outer Rim would continue to be forgotten, continued to be terrorized by Remnant Stormtroopers, continued to be terrorized by pirates, and continued to be terrorized by gangsters. People had given up hope once again.

But, aid was coming. Slowly, but it was coming. New Republic troops were starting to make their way back out towards planets that needed them, bringing with them much-needed supplies and rations. Marshals were installed in the major cities and villages to help keep the peace and bring a sense of law to an otherwise lawless territory. Medical teams were dispatched to provide much-needed tautology assistance to planets that were unable to get the care they needed.

Doctor Gertrude Ásketill was the first in line to sign up for those peace operations. She was coming hot off of her time as a rebel medic. She was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of hope as they deployed her to the first assignment. She had an entire team - plenty of assistants and droids to ensure that everyone got the proper care they needed. They were able to start a proper clinic, train the locals, and establish a line to the core planets to ensure they could get all the medicine and vaccines they would need. Trudy felt good when she left that planet for the second.

The second planet saw fewer supplies and resources. She thought maybe it might have been a mistake. This planet had a bigger population than the last. Perhaps they didn't realize they needed to send more supplies, but then the third and fourth planets came. Supplies and resources were stripped as funding got cut, and slowly her team was redistributed to other projects.

And that left Trudy on the fifth planet - Ibaar.

It was just her and a few other doctors spread across the Outer Rim that was left of the program. She was sure that they would be recalled back to Chandrila - the capital of the Republic, but that had been almost a year ago. She had been on Ibaar for about as long. She was alone; at least, it felt that way. The only other two in her clinic with her was an older model R4-7 droid named A9-C that had been reprogrammed to help in the medical field. The humanoid-shaped, bug-eyed droid was built in the early days of the Empire and complained more than he assisted. The other was a teenager named Max, who had taken an interest in medicine. Whether it was because he liked Trudy or wanted to become a medic was to be answered. He was a good assistant and listened.

The only other Republic representative on Ibaar with Trudy was the Marshal: Baxley Morgan. How that man ever got the job of Republic Marshal was beyond her. It was probably why he ended up out here. He had a good heart, but the boy was dumb as a brick, and while she was no fighter - she could at least shoot a blaster well enough to hit whatever she was pointing at. It might not have been where she wanted it to go, but at least it’d hit its target.

The Empire had put blockades up to punish the Ibaarians for being sympathetic to the rebel cause. The aid that had been promised to the Ibaarians had finally come, and it was a little lackluster. The locals were friendly enough, but they felt a little betrayed. Trudy couldn’t blame them.

Trudy had become jaded herself; things were back to the status quo. There weren’t any more Imperial blockades, but with the lack of resources and supplies coming in - there might as well have been.

Ibaar, all-in-all, wasn’t a bad planet. It was a mountainous, temperate planet. The capital village, and the one that Trudy was in, was nestled in a valley - built into the side of the mountain while the rest of the land in the valley was used for farming. The natural cliffs that reached their stony fingertips to the sky provided a natural defense for the village, and the hundreds of waterfalls that cascaded down their sides gave the village and farms much-needed water. On a clear day, you could see for miles around. Though for all of Ibaar’s beauty, the weather was the worst. They could be lucky to see the sun one, maybe twice, per month. The rest of the month was plagued with overcast clouds, fog, daily rain, and nightly thunderstorms. It took some getting used to, and Trudy had ordered extra vitamins to help with the lack of sun.

Despite being the capital village of Ibaar, Laakso Village didn’t even have its own docking bay within the village’s boundaries, especially - making already scarce supplies harder to get. Luckily speeders made that journey a bit less complicated, though it was still rough going. A local warlord and his gang - a former Imperial commander and his troopers - had taken it upon themselves to decide that the Ibaarian Mountains were a great place to hide and run their smuggling business out of, using the old rebel tunnels from the war.

It made things dangerous.

Unsuspecting travelers going to and from the port or any of the other smaller villages in the mountains would be ambushed. Those lucky to survive had their property stolen. The bandits would look for anything from blasters, food, credits, various forms of technology they could get their hands on, and medical supplies. Trudy didn’t know how many villagers and travelers she had patched up in her time there, injured by ambushes. While the gang kept the locals terrified, they still hadn’t been bold enough to make their way into Laasko Village, choosing instead to raid the smaller outer villages - ones not protected by a marshal.

Baxley was having a hell of a time dealing with it himself and had brought up hiring some extra help. Trudy had nipped that in the bud; hiding behind hired mercenaries wasn’t going to do anyone any good - that he really needed to call in support from the Republic. The conversation tapered off after that, and the emergency seemed to have died down. However, as it always did, there was no downtime. The newest crisis cropped up - the report of the flu on a neighboring planet in the same system. A planet Ibaar happened to trade with. Which meant Trudy had to work to get vaccines to Ibaar before everyone was sick. She had ordered them about a month ago. Thank the stars someone was on her side, and the vaccines only took a month to get to her. Someone had made the shipment hastily, and they were currently waiting for someone to pick them up. Trudy couldn’t pull her boots on fast enough when the docking attendant called her to report they had been dropped off. Within fifteen minutes, she was in a speeder with a blaster and Max in the passenger seat. They would get there by nightfall - if they were lucky. Trudy just hoped to the stars above that nothing happened on their way.

----

It seemed as though Trudy’s silent prayers were answered. She pulled the speeder around to the docking bay and left it idling as Max hopped out of it, striding up to the attendant’s office and rapping his knuckles on the glass. He had grown like a sprout since Trudy had been there, now easily towering over her - though that wasn’t exactly hard to do. Brownish red shaggy hair constantly fell into his eyes, much to his mother’s dismay, and he was a lot less intimidating than he liked to think he was, especially with those freckles. Trudy waited as they exchanged words, waving a hand as the attendant poked his head out of his office and motioned to where the vaccines were - clearly annoyed he had been interrupted from his dinner and whatever wrestling match was on the holo. Trudy moved towards the vaccines, scanning them in with the datapad she pulled from her pack and happy to see that they didn’t have to quite rush back with them. Their cooling system had enough charge to allow them to rest a little bit - though they would still have to make the trip back by night. Max helped her load the crates into the back of the speeder and went out front to buy them both some roasted tip-yip and drinks from the food cart out front. Trudy turned around, eyeing the gunship docked in the bay the vaccines had been stored in. Annoyance twisted in her stomach that the valuable vaccines were stored where some random visitor to the planet could just poke through them. Though, the presence of the gunship made her raise an eyebrow. Not many ships like this made their way out here; either the owner was here for a quick refuel, or they were up to something no good. She scowled at it as Max returned with the tip-yip on a stick and a couple of cool bottles of water. “We didn’t get harassed today,” Max observed as he sat down on the roof of the speeder, and Trudy took a seat inside. “You think somethin’ is goin’ on?”

She nibbled at the meat on the stick and offered a shrug, turning to look back at the gunship. “Who knows. I just hope they keep whatever they’ve got going on out of the village. I want to sleep peacefully when we get back.”

You know the phrase famous last words? Those were Trudy’s.

--- Miles away, a Mandalorian clad in beskar armor was about to attempt to take down a stronghold of bandits and remnant stormtroopers all on his own. Maybe Fennec Shand was right. Maybe he was suicidal. ** Chapter 2: But I Ain't Dead Yet Taglist: @novemberrain221, @blackdogdesignuk, @mistyfur5, @thepoisonofgod

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x oc #boba fett #fennec shand #din djarin x female oc #oc characters #oc character #grogu #the mandalorian x female oc #let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

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wooandthesun · 3 years

Text

ateez and the little things they remind me of

smth a little different!! had a rough day today and just wanted to write smth involving ot8

hongjoong

feeling warmth

when i say warmth i mean the kind of warm that comes after being really cold, like when mornings slowly transition into the afternoon </3

specifically the warmth you feel when sunlight comes in through the window and the curtains just right and it rests on your skin comfortably

also reminds me of the sun, how it signifies that it's always gonna wait for you every day without fail

i'm sorry this is short i don't know how to explain it properly :(

seonghwa

holding hands

looking at him makes you feel content :(

honestly i put holding hands there but i really meant not having your hands be empty

like it could be holding onto your favourite plushies or a jewellery you love

the idea of something being concrete and you being able to hold onto it.. that's the feeling

he's like an anchor.. always keeps you grounded

yunho

looking at paintings

you know the paintings you could see in art exhibitions or museums or even hotel hallways

they're always amusing

that reminds me of yunho so much??

the eagerness to analyse the painting, to wonder how it wound up where it is

like there's always new details to discover even with such a brief encounter

yeosang

the comfort of being alone

the solitude in silence after a long day and being able to just breathe

i don't know why this is so specific but it's the first thing i thought of

this kind of comfort is so scarce and precious and fragile but welcoming all at the same time

if i could describe this better i would say it feels like watching the scenes in movies where they show landscapes and nature and just beautifully idle things yeah that </3 reminds me so much of yeosang it hurts

san

childhood nostalgia/familiarity

not the bad kind that makes your stomach feel weird

it's moreso finding something you recognise that you can immediately lean on because of how well you know it

anything almost relatively childish but comforting all the same.. like loud giggling and laughter, playgrounds and memories of things like old toys, scrapbooks etc.

long story short he just feels a lot like home

mingi

first crushes

gentle, light, almost so fragile you're scared to touch it

when i say first crushes i mean the kind that you remember most, so much that you could almost swear it could've been love

a very new and refreshing feeling, familiar but strange at the same time

one of the hardest things to describe to be honest i'm not doing this any justice but

i could also describe it as like, the lightness clouds make us feel sometimes :')

wooyoung

hearing a very familiar song

you know how sometimes you turn on the radio or put your playlist on shuffle and suddenly a song plays and it feels like a long awaited reunion

maybe it's because i'm listening to songs while writing this but this is one of the best feelings ever nonetheless

it's like discovering an old friend for the second time

your heart just recognises the song you don't even have to process it any further

jongho

the road home

underrated feeling

sometimes you can literally feel your worries dissipate on the way home

similarly, it could also feel like the long roadtrip back to your hometown or someplace very familiar

you know what lies ahead of you and you wait for it with patience that you don't normally have for other things

there's a lot of assurance, safety and security

</3 i can't

i'm sorry if this makes no sense i just have been wanting to get this out of my system .... anyway ateez best boys my heart is swelling

#ateez #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #wooyoung #hongjoong #jongho #mingi #san #yunho #yeosang #seonghwa

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ignisnocturnalia · 3 years

Text

I think I've figured out how I want to write these (Exposition/mini story, when relationship is established HCs actually start) based on a previous statement I made, also ANOTHER REQUEST! All headcanons are placed at the back of the story part. Let's get this ball rolling!

Crow x Reader

"Now, if he ever flies too far from the nest?" Spider leans forward, "Boom." Your stomach made a flip at the kingpin's explanation, and you've never been more uncomfortable to have your Ghost out in the open. Some part of your mind is saying 'Who cares? That's the man that killed Cayde', but another half is saying 'He has no idea. It isn't fair to judge him for something he can't remember'.

That meeting had happened an hour ago and you couldn't get his dumb gray face out of your head. He looked so.. sad. Regardless, having a Ghost rigged with explosives did not sit right with you at all. Spider wanted you to help him with his Wrathborn problem? Sure, alright. When all of this was over, you knew exactly what you wanted your payment to be.

One large change about the new light that you've found impossible to ignore is diminutive he is. His commentary after successful hunts and small chats after a lure upgrade is administered are curt. Even more surprising is his willingness to present mercy to the corrupted Fallen. He is nothing like Uldren.

Acknowledging this division between his past and present self is when you start to realize that you like working with him. A lot. Probably more than just work, but will you admit it? No. Besides, you tell yourself, he really doesn't look like he's searching for a relationship while figuring himself out.

Petra often asks why you've taken to visiting the Tangled Shore so frequently now, and everytime you scramble to spit out an answer, something stupid like "Spider has a good deal running right now". In some part, it's true, since when you're not hunting Wrathborn you're showing Crow how to do Guardian stuff and explaining Last City life to him. His calm and curious demeanor is extremely cute, and the velvet sound of his voice does not help.

When Spider has both of you run point on a mission you always look to the rafters of the building to try and see him or listen for his steps. He's annoyingly good at stealth. The only time you ever had to be stealthy was in the Gorgon's lair and the Pleasure Gardens. You wish you could speak to him unfiltered; if Spider ever discovered your crush he wouldn't let you hear or see the end of it.

As the months dragged on and you came closer to catching the High Celebrant, you caught yourself anxiously wondering what lie at the end of it all. What if Spider didn't let you take him? And if he did, would Crow stay with you or do his own thing? Greedy little thoughts ran through your head as you thought of all the times you shared together, both of you visibly happy in your eyes.

As much as you'd like to live a runaway life with him and hope he felt the same, you knew it was wrong. He'd get restless, and you'd start fighting. Whatever he chose to do, is what you would let him do. Osiris has taken notice of your feelings, and the knowing glances he gives when no one else is looking sets your face on fire, acting like he doesn't have a thing for Saint always writing those letters when he's on death's doorstep; dramatic is what you say.

Soon enough, all of your close friends can tell you like someone, but they simply can't figure out who. Ironically, the day you work up enough courage to ask him to be your partner is the same day he pins the location of the High Celebrant. The morning is tense, and just getting ready for the big fight is sending energy through your body. Crow, on the other hand, seems much more grim. It makes sense, really; you're the one who's been slaying gods over the years.

You're guard is quickly brought up when Spider summons you for a talk in the main room. You listen to his next words with a fierce intensity.

"Do not let him so close, or spoil him with pretty dreams. Kill the High Celebrant. Break Xivu Arath's hold over my Shore, and you can claim any prise in my lair as your reward. You'll have earned it."

Hiding a smile, you nod and make your way to disembark on your mission; looks like you won't have to ask.

The Dreaming City was as mystical as ever, and you vaguely wondered if Petra had seen you come in. Making quick work of the scarce Hive, you found yourself in Harbinger's Seclude. The massive Cryptolith was impossible to miss, and a full body shiver racked you as you approached it. This was it.

Stabbing the lure into the roots, Crow's voice filled your comm channel.

"Ha! Tagged it! It's bleeding energy and on its way back to you." Your heart jumped at his excited tone. Nobody had any business being that cute. The trademark screech of a Hive portal drowned out all noise, and your next big fight ensued.

The next period of time was spent chasing the Celebrant through realms, until, that is, it sealed the last portal. Osiris had given weak condolences, but you weren't going to give up on Crow. Not today! The blight high above you twinkled teasingly as frustrated tears swam over your eyes as you attempted scrambling up the large Awoken statue, just barely missing the hand and falling back to the ground uselessly.

The silence was becoming overwhelming, deafening, even. Osiris continued to tell you to return to fight another day, but he was too important for you to just leave behind.

"Maybe there's enough Hive magic left in the lure to find another way through!" For once, your Ghost didn't parrot the obvious; you almost wanted to kiss him. Turning around with a new fire, you thrusted your lure into the crystalline floor over the last trace of the High Celebrant's blood. Sure enough, platforms much like those of the Dreadnaught revealed themselves over the edge of the bridge.

You wasted no time, racing over every gap and closing in on the blight. Palpitations overtook your heart when Crow's voice returned to the feed, spewing some kind of death message. Death wouldn't take him. Especially not if you had anything to say about it.

Jumping through the portal, you recognize the bitter feelings of anguish. This is exactly how you felt when Sundance's light washed over the Prison of Elders. Not again.

By the time you see the High Celebrant, all you're seeing is red. Faintly, you remember how Drifter said the Hive in the system were scared of you; good. They should be.

Bullets fly and the ether sings with each corrupted Fallen whose head flies by your gun. If you weren't so pressed for time, you would've strangled the Wizard that had your sought after stolen Light. Standing in the pool of green magic, you turn a furious glare on to the Celebrant and unload your heavy straight into its bony head. Something inside of you lurched in desperation to finish the kill when it summons a portal, trying to make for a retreat and trapping you at the center of the room.

"Crow! The portal!"

"I see it! Now finish it!" Just as he says those words, the trap falls and the portal across the room implodes, sending the High Celebrant to its knees. Your body erupts with power as you descend upon the Hive that killed Sagira and nearly killed Crow, sending it off with your super into the abyss.

Heaving a sigh, your brain finally has a chance to clear with no more present danger. In fact, your chest swells with affection as your Ghost confidently speaks of his trust in Crow followed by his reply.

"It's been an honor, Guardian."

Finally leaving the location, Celebrant head included, you decide to sleep on your short trip back. Your Ghost wakes you up before you land, and when you transmat your eyes immediately fall on Crow, who is safe and sound. Behind your helmet, you smile wearily at the former prince.

The moment you step into the Spider's lair, the air is thick with tension. You can tell the kingpin is pleased to have the Shore cleansed of Hive corruption, but also upset that he has to give up one of his prizes.

"It's done." You say firmly.

"So it is... so it is," he leans forward in his seat with a leer, "All right, Guardian. As promised, you can have a prized bauble from my lair as compensation for your... heroics." The last word rolls off his tongue with a quiet distaste, and you have no problem returning the feeling.

"I want... him." Jerking your head in Crow's direction, you can feel the energy crack through the room.

"Cute. Real funny." Your brows crease in impatience at his dismissive snicker.

"You said anything in the room." You do your best to keep your eyes off of Crow; a distraction now could be bad news. Spider lets out a terrible laugh as his guards step forward, readying their spears.

"Oh... You really want my little bird," he puts an uncomfortable amount of importance on the words "really want", "Fine. You can have him." The large Fallen turns his gaze to Crow, mockingly waving his arm upward.

"Fly away," he looks back down at you, "and get the hell out of my lair."

No further instruction is needed as you and Crow make your leave. As you exit the safehouse, both Glint and your Ghost come out.

"Now what?" Glint looks to Crow for an answer. The reality of the event settles on the Awoken, and he looks at you in a way he hasn't before.

"Why would you do this for us?"

As a formality, you've never taken off your helmet around Crow. He'd never seen, or even had an idea about your face, until... now. The tear streaks from the mission are still on your face, slightly visible in the dim light. Walking over to him, you slowly bring your eyes up to his. He doesn't move away, but you do notice with a flash of hope that a blush is starting to grace his cheeks at your proximity. Clenching your eyes shut, you close the gap between you two and press a kiss to his lips.

He freezes for a moment before placing his hands on your shoulders, and you pull back afraid that you've just made the wrong move.

"I... uh." His eyes dart here and there before settling back on yours. His face straightens out, and then he hesitantly leans forward into your range again. This time, he's the one kissing you.

Both of you leave the Tangled Shore together.

Relationship HCs

He never fails to pick you up during your special brand of greeting, which is running straight at him and jumping into his arms. You even do the little spin around like those movie couples

He's okay with subtle PDA like handholding, but nothing too extreme such as kissing in front of others; he prefers to keep more intimate moments between you and him

Surprisingly eager for cuddles with you at the end of the day

He will let you indulge yourself by doing stupid things every once in a while, like seeing how much whipped cream you can put in his mouth before he can't take anymore

There are times when you just talk about random stuff because he knows you like the sound of his voice

He usually has to calm you down whenever another Guardian stares too long. You see it as a threat, and you're ready to defend your glowing boyfriend with your life

When you're not busy with Vanguard tasks, you're bringing him to the planets that weren't swallowed by the Darkness and showing him the layout, along with whatever endemic life is present

He becomes enamored with Earth's crows, which you had expected

Whenever he has visions of his past, he'll tell you and you do your best to fill in with rudimentary details such as location or time; you hope he never remembers the moment when you had to kill him

You especially love playing with his hair, it's nearly softer than silk and you are intrigued by the white streaks at the front of his cut

Both of you will decide to sit down every once in a while and just touch each other's face; you prefer running your hands along his jawline and cheekbones while he'll brush just under your eyes and along your temples

Dates can range from a quiet, romantic dinner to hunting down large and difficult quarry

Whenever you find a Golden Age waltz piece, you bring it to him and give it a listen; these sessions always end with you two dancing and swaying with each other

Truly, a couple of many talents

NSFW 👁👄👁

The first time you get anywhere close to the act he's so unsure of himself you both stop and instead explore each other at the surface level

No matter how many times he sees you nude his face is a blushing mess everytime

The first few times you take the lead, but once you both get over the fact that you've exchanged pleasantries he's the one who figures out he likes to be dominant in bed

He's vocal to an extent, mostly heavy breathing/moaning and grunts to let you know exactly how good you feel

He's super into bondage (who would've known?) whenever you're the one tying him up

He always prefers the ability to see your face, and whether it's because he can see your face contort in pleasure or because he can lock with you in a heated kiss, you can't tell

His sides are usually ticklish, but they act more like erogenous zones when both of you are deep into it

He starts out rough since he isn't used to this kind of activity at all, but over time he finds a balance between being gentle and absolutely blowing your back out

He's likely to caress your arms and waist the whole time to add another sensitive layer to your already overstimulated body

He also likes draping his body over yours, and with how hot his chest is and the press of his lower body? You're not arguing

Once you finish, he either goes straight to sleep while huddling against you or you convince him to get up so you can shower together

I have 2 asks for Drifter HCs, but I'm implementing a personal/request system so I can keep my monsterfucker train going. The next HCs I'm releasing are for Nokris, then I'll do Drifter HCs, and for now my last personal writing will be for Ghaul

#destiny 2 #relationship headcanon #crow x reader #destiny spider #osiris #saint 14 #cayde6 #uldren sov #destiny crow #petra venj #xivu arath

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floralquafloral · 3 years

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Watch out it's random splatoon headcanon time again

I was thinking about splatting and respawning recently, and @acid-hues used no less than Three looking emojis when I asked if anyone would want to hear my thoughts about how that stuff works, so here goes. Warning for potentially fatal quantities of pseudoscience, since I'm not a biologist or a chemist, just a goober who likes the squid game too much ;P

1. What is splatting?

Splatting is a reflex in inklings and octarians that occurs when they're been critically injured. It allows the cephalopod to escape and recover from a potentially fatal situation, effectively unharmed. Almost all of their body mass is liquefied to ink in a similar process to squid-form transformation, but it's all lost, resulting in the characteristic splatter. The only remaining structure is the "squid soul", which isn't actually a soul so much as a balloon-like vessel that can (under the right conditions) develop into a whole inkling body again.

2. What is a squid soul?

Squid souls aren't actually incorporeal souls, they're just very complicated (and lightweight) biological structures that contain all the mechanisms and information necessary to create an inkling body. Kind of analogous to an egg: given food and time, an egg can turn into a whole animal. Squid souls are just a great deal more precise, in that they generate an inkling body almost exactly as it was before, including the brain and all the inkling's memories and such. The squid soul itself, like an egg, isn't really comparable to an actual inkling - the soul can't talk, or eat, or think. The squid soul doesn't have a brain, and it only has just enough nervous system to seek out a location where it can respawn into a proper body. It uses a rudimentary form of the same senses that allow for the Turf Map. Because the squid soul isn't conscious, getting splatted kind of just feels like a very violent form of teleportation.

More information on the processes & technology behind respawning under the readmore :)

3. How does a squid soul respawn?

Squid souls can only develop into a proper inkling body if they can access two things: A bunch of biomass, and a bunch of electricity. Biomass is necessary because almost all of the inkling's original body has been exploded all over the place, so you need a bunch of stuff to make a new one. A large enough well of pure ink can contain all the necessary material for a body, but most respawn tech uses solutions of ink with other useful things dissolved into it. Respawning from a well of pure ink doesn't feel very good. Pure ink doesn't contain a very good amount of vitamins, iron, etc., so the new body will probably have less of that stuff in it than the old one.

Electricity is necessary to separate different compounds out of the ink, and to provide the energy required for some of the chemical reactions that need to take place - you can't just mush a bunch of ink together and get a body out of it.

4. What could prevent a successful respawn?

This part is pure headcanon, since there's nothing from the base game that relates to this, as far as I'm aware.

Some sources of injury won't trigger the splat reflex; the most common example is prolonged exposure to small amounts of water. Getting caught in heavy rain for hours can dissolve the body without ever triggering the splat reflex, so you just... don't come back.

Old age or severe illness can inhibit the reflex as well. If a young and healthy squid gets hit by a bus, they will explode and come back at the nearest respawn point. If someone whose splat reflex isn't working gets hit by a bus, then they just get run over, which very bad. Alternatively, in some cases the splat reflex could fail to generate a squid soul, so you'd just explode and not get to respawn, which would be exceedingly terrible.

For the kind of squid who would sign up for Turf Wars, there's basically no chance of this stuff happening, but there are still mandatory physicals before you can sign up for a Turf War just to make sure.

Lastly, of course, if someone gets splatted too far away from a viable respawn point, the squid soul will expire after only a few minutes.

5. What kind of tech allows for a respawn?

There are four different places you can respawn in-game: In the online battle maps (5.1), in the Octarian domes (5.3), in the Deepsea Metro's test stations (5.4), and from a Grizzco Tank (5.5). There's also presumably some way to respawn if you just, like, fall out of a tree and get splatted in the public park or something (5.2). There's also the floating respawn-thingies from the Splatoon 3 trailer, but since I don't know how they work in-game yet I don't have anything to make headcanons around. 🤷‍♀️

5.1. Turf War respawn pads: They're cheap to make, they work quickly, and they can handle dozens of squids getting splatted during a single 3-minute battle with no need for oversight during the game. It's worth remembering that the squid soul isn't sapient, it has no regards for the rules of a Turf War - so what prevents someone on Yellow Team from respawning at Purple's base? The answer is that, under most circumstances, the biomass requirement for a respawn can only be met with ink that matches your colour. Different colours of ink have different chemical compositions, so a squid soul that's seeking out a viable location to create a yellow squid won't be able to sense the purple respawn pad as a viable location.

The limitation of the Turf War pad is that they're not perfectly reliable. Occasionally it just won't appear as a viable respawn location to a squid soul, so someone will end up respawning outside the battle, which forfeits them from the match. (i'm only including this because i'm proud of coming up with an in-universe explanation for disconnects)

5.2. City respawn pads: Outside of inksports, it's still a good idea to have respawn pads all over the place so that if someone gets splatted they have somewhere to respawn. City pads, unlike Turf War pads, are designed to be 100% reliable and work for any ink color. Their natural drawback is that they require constant oversight. "Respawn operator" is a job you can have in most major population centers, that mostly involves sitting around, making sure nothing looks broken, and greeting anyone who shows up at the pad.

Getting splatted outside a battle isn't especially common (splatting someone outside a battle is a pretty serious no-no), so any given pad in the city will usually only get 1-2 respawns a day, if any at all. When someone shows up, the operator is supposed to write down their name, the time they respawned, and the reason they got splatted. If it was because of something legally messy like a road accident, they'll have more work to do to get that sorted out. If it was because of a Turf War pad failure, they'll contact the Judds to get that cleared up. If you were with someone when you got splatted, it's common courtesy to send a text or call once you respawn so they don't have to worry; since you won't have your phone with you when you respawn that's something the operator is also supposed to help with. Respawn operators are pretty helpful in general - if you tell them "I don't know how to get back to my house from here", they can usually give you a map or directions or something.

To allow for anyone to respawn at a City pad, they're filled with a very bright and saturated brown ink solution. This colour is unique in that basically any other ink colour can change into it very easily; if you get splatted while you've got red ink, you'll show up at the city pad with brown ink. This is why bright brown ink isn't frequently used for inksports (definitely not because the developers didn't want it to look like they're using poop for turf wars).

5.3. Octarian Checkpoints: As electricity is a precious and scarce resource for Octarians, their respawn pads are designed to use as little of it as possible. An Inkopolis respawn pad has a current running through it constantly, which combined with the large amount of ink, allows squid souls to perceive it as a viable respawn location. In contrast, Octarian checkpoints don't offer any ink or electricity when inactive. They only switch on when a nearby Octarian soldier gets splatted, using a signal transmitted by the Octarian's equipment. When they turn on, they temporarily fill with ink and run an electrical current, allowing the soldier's octo soul to make its way over and respawn before the checkpoint shuts down again.

The signal receiver of the checkpoints has a vulnerability that allows it to be overridden, which will fill it with any colour of ink solution and render it unable to receive power-on signals. The Hero Tanks worn by Agents 3 and 4 do this automatically when the agents get close to a checkpoint - this is why they're black before an agent gets close, then change to match their ink colour. However, once the checkpoint is overridden, it still doesn't provide electricity, and in fact can't be activated at all. The Hero Tank allows them to be used regardless by putting an electrical charge into the squid soul itself, so that it only needs the well of ink solution. It can only store up to three respawns worth of charge, though. If an agent gets splatted while the battery is empty, they're toast.

Octarians, of course, can't respawn at a checkpoint that's been overridden, not only because it won't power on but also because it doesn't match their ink colour anymore. Only one checkpoint will receive the power-on signal when an Octarian gets splatted, so when an overridden checkpoint is the one that receives the signal, there will be nowhere on the base for the Octarian to respawn. Instead, they'll end up in another dome, or in a civilian respawn pad. The agents aren't murderers, okay?

5.4: Deepsea Metro Test Station Checkpoints: The testing stations in the Deepsea Metro are adapted from Octarian checkpoints, but with some tweaks to reflect the different priorities of Kamabo Co. as opposed to the Octarian military. Metro checkpoints have their remote-activation functionality stripped out, and instead permanently activate once the test subject reaches them, filling with ink solution and receiving a constant electrical current. They probably still have the same vulnerability as the Octarian checkpoints, but Agent 8's has no means of exploiting it, and no reason to anyways - the checkpoints are already configured to match her colour, since they're there for the express purpose of respawning test subjects.

Because Metro checkpoints always match Agent 8's ink colour, the sanitized octarians in the test courses have nowhere they can respawn. Instead, they are simply replaced as needed.

5.5: Grizzco Tanks: I'll be honest, I can't come up with any good explanations for this one. The way it traps the squid soul inside it probably has to do with the same interference that blocks the Turf Map, but the explanation for why you have to shoot it to activate a respawn is beyond me. The best I can do is list what can be ruled out:

It's not because it's using the ink from the shot for mass. If the Grizzco tank itself doesn't contain enough ink for a respawn, then there's no way a single Inkbrush swing would output enough to make up the difference.

It's not using the kinetic energy from the shot to trigger some sort of chemical reaction. Getting hit by a Steelhead bomb or a Flyfish missile don't revive the player, even though they surely have more kinetic energy than something like a Bloblobber bubble, which can.

The weapons themselves aren't providing an electrical charge. If Grizzco could modify a Splattershot to output enough electricity to enable a respawn, then the tank would be capable of doing that itself without needing to be shot.

Whatever it is, it's probably not very good for you long-term to respawn like that. Grizzco just gives off those vibes, like working there is totally gonna mess up your health when you're older.

#oops! all infodumps #if you have any idea how the grizzco tank could work #please please please please tell me #this is gonna take up 100% of my mental real estate for weeks #floralaqua #splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon headcanons #splatoon hero mode #octo expansion #salmon run

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

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Belladonna Noctunis

Notes: One-shot, because spy Elain is living in mind rent free and I needed to get this out of my system 😂 As usual, forgive me for any English mistakes, it's not my first language. I just wanted to have some fun and try something new. Be kind!

Warnings: Language, violence and NSFW (mention).

After three days traveling without so much stop to sleep, the gloomy, seedy tavern looked like Flynn's particular paradise. Even with the dirty, wooden floor and the cobwebs on the corners, he'd never been happier whilst he took a long drink from his cheap beer.

Flynn had never been to Night Court territory before and although he found the rumours about the unparalleled night sky to be true, it was difficult to admire anything when you were too busy trying to not get caught. Either by guards or by the evil, bloodthirsty creatures that lived in that area.

But The Night Court was the perfect place for someone who didn't want to be found. The vast land had miles and miles of forests dangerous enough to make the bravest warriors hesitate. Even the Lord of Bloodshed would think twice before stepping into those places. Of course, the border shared with Day Court made it all easier as well.

Flynn let out a long sigh. Two more days in the back of a horse was all that separated him from his payer. The job hadn't been easy. It was the most challenging he'd done so far. But he and Akir had managed just fine.

Since Akir was the one who got the short stick, therefore the messy part of the job, it was only fair Flynn received the money. Still… whatever the prick was doing right now, it was better than being in this hellhole.

Most of the customers had already headed upstairs, the lucky ones with some company. Only a few other males remained in the tavern, sleeping miserably in their chairs, probably too drunk to even take a step, when exhaustion began to settle over Flynn, heavy like a blanket.

He was finishing his third beer, about to raise his hand to call the bartender to ask for one of the rooms upstairs, when a flash of purple and gold caught his attention.

He didn't hear her enter the room. But right there, taking a seat at the other side of the bar, was undoubtedly the most stunning female he'd ever seen.

In a lilac gown that did nothing to hide her curves, especially her backside, her golden-brown hair braided was thrown over one shoulder, exposing her pointy ears, a five petal withe flower behind the left one.

Beautiful, with pink lips that were begging to be kissed… She was every male's dream. Flynn didn't try to hide his eyes glued to her, scanning slowly that perfect face and traveling through the delicious curves of her body. She would be even more beautiful between his sheets, that was for sure.

Given that the bartender was almost drooling when he served her a glass of wine on the house, he probably was thinking the same thing.

Under the scarce faelights, she glowed so at odds with the dark tavern. It was strange, he admitted, that a stunning lady like her frequented such a place. But Flynn didn't pay so much attention to that. Not when doe-brown eyes found him already staring and a little, sweet smile curved her lips before she sipped from her glass.

It was everything he needed to approach her.

He made a point of lowering his voice before saying, "If I knew I would find the most beautiful female I've ever seen in the Night Court, I would have visited these lands sooner."

If it was possible, she was even more stunning from up close, with her soft, creamy skin and large eyes. And her scent… almost made him dizzy.

Her face remained neutral though, as if she had heard that many times before. Which probably she had. "A traveler, are you?"

He smirked, "I'm whatever you wish me to be, gorgeous."

At that, she let out a low laugh. Totally unimpressed as if he had told her the funniest joke she'd ever heard. And strangely that only made him want her more. He wanted to know what would take to make a classy lady like her give in, to make her crawl into his bed.

Every ounce of tiredness suddenly gone.

"If this is how you approach someone where you came from, I have pity on those females," she remarked.

"No one has ever complained. Maybe you just need to try something new." The words left his mouth before he even realized.

Flynn didn't know if it was the stress of the last days or the two months since he had sex. But he could already imagine every filthy thing he would do to her, every place he would fill her.

She didn't respond, only raised her eyebrows in disbelief. It was the sweetest thing that look on her face.

His voice dropped an octave, "Maybe you need an actual male to treat you the way you deserve."

A small blush stained her cheeks, but she just crooked her head and studied him. Her eyes assessing him from head to toe in a way that made him feel bare.

The female narrowed her eyes at him and grabbed her glass, standing from her seat, "What makes you think you are an actual male that can give me what I want?"

Her tone was quiet and low as if she was telling him all of her secrets. And damn him if he didn't want to know them all.

She moved toward a table in the corner, her hips swaying in a way that he couldn't help but watch.

A heartbeat later he joined her.

They talked for a while. The flirting, the innuendos slowly blending into meaningless conversation.

Usually Flinn wasn't one who would talk to get someone into his bed. He would rather pay to have what he wanted than having the job of talking nonsense. But for her… well, it wasn't everyday a pretty thing like that crossed his path. And he doubted she would appreciate it if he offered her money in exchange for a good time.

But also... maybe it was her easy smiles or her open expression, but she did have something that made him want to keep talking, keep the conversation alive.

The fact that she wasn't boring also helped to ease his impatience.

So there he was, talking about a particularly charming incident that happened to him at Solstice when he was younger. It had ended with him lost in the middle of a deserted beach named Prateada, completely naked.

He hoped she would get intrigued as to why he was naked in the first place, the perfect cue to smoothly shift the conversation to a more heated direction.

But the female tilted her head back and laughed. Strangely, he took satisfaction from it. Everything about her was sexy and lovely in the same, perfect measure. Gods, she was killing him. He wished things could go a little faster.

"So you're from Summer, then." She mused, propping her chin over her first.

He shaked his head, "My friend is from Summer, gorgeous. Actually he lives close to that beach, but he didn't come to rescue me, the little shit." Her laugh was a song to his ears and hopefully a promise of what it would come next. "But I'm from Day."

She asked, "Oh? And where is this friend of yours?"

Flynn didn't miss the suggestive edge hidden in her tone."Why? Interesting?"

She bit her bottom lip, and a delicious, deep pink colored her cheeks as she whispered, "You know what they say... three is a party."

Gods above.

His blood heated and his cock ached in his pants.

She was really just sitting there, pouring sweet nothings into the conversation, batting her eyelashes and making his head spin.

The delicate flared of her nostrils told him she smelled it, too. His arousal.

Flynn locked his gaze with hers and drained his drink to the edges, her eyes tracked every bob of his throat.

"Unfortunately for you, my friend had an urgent matter and had to head home. But two can make a party just fine."

She merely hummed and took a sip of her wine. "Sure about that? You do look tired."

"My journey has been tough." He added after a heartbeat, his words full of promise, "It takes more than that to make me tired, don't worry."

She nodded to herself before grabbing their glasses. He made to help her, but one look from her froze him in place. "Sit. I'll take care of you, tonight." And with that, she was gone.

Cauldron boil him alive.

His pants were getting tighter by the second. Flynn took a deep breath, shaking slightly in anticipation.

A beer was placed before him a few moments later and this time she didn't bother to sit across the table, pulling a chair to sit by his side. Her sweet scent hit him hard and he tried not to look too much at her cleavage as he drank his beer, but failed spectacularly.

"I heard the people in Day are very… concerned." She started, her delicate scent enveloping him. "After what happened in the High Lord's palace."

His eyes shot to hers, meeting those doe eyes of hers. Flynn kept his face careful blank, even though a wave of smugness went through his body. It wasn't everyday a plan was executed with such perfection - and right under the High Lord's nose. He knew he shouldn't be talking about it. But changing the subject would only make things more suspicious so he had to play along. "They have reason to be. No one saw who did it."

Flynn took another long sip from his beer, eyes still fixed on her. He didn't know if that scent of hers were messing with his senses, but we could swear even his drink was sweeter, his head lighter.

She inclined her body a little, getting closer to him as if she was about to reveal even The Mother's secrets. Her eyes flickered in a way that should be forbidden.

He felt chills going down his spine.

"It is disturbing, though." She went on, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, careful to not mess with the flower. "They say the palace wing where one of his lovers was killed is the most guarded one."

He chuckled, too lightheaded. "Perhaps the west wing guards were off duty that day."

Her grin turned wilder as she nodded. "Well… maybe they should be fired, don't you think?"

With that gods' damn scent of hers filling his nose, he couldn't take it anymore. He was too drunk in desire, the corner of his visions turning black. He couldn't even breathe right anymore.

He murmured, "Here I was, thinking you were a good girl."

His heart was beating fast when he dropped his head, aiming at last for those plumb, pink lips.

He wouldn't even make it to the room. No, he would exposed that beautiful backside right there, bent her over the table and fuck her hard, just the way he liked it.

Flynn was already sweating, his mouth was inches from hers - when he felt the air get caught in his throat.

Frowning, he pulled back and gasped slightly at first, swallowing hard as he tried to pull air into his lungs. But it was like his throat had become too tight all of the sudden.

Still trying to ease that feeling, he undid the first bottoms of his tunic.

But it was like there wasn't enough air in the world anymore.

The female didn't show a hint of concern as she stood just to sit on the table before him. Wine in hand, she just observed.

Sweat was pooling in his forehead, his own hands and feet going numb.

"You proved yourself to be a better company than I've imagined, Flynn," she said.

Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

He knew he hadn't given her his name. His guard was down, but he wasn't so careless, so stupid. Or so he thought. A small, secret smile bloomed on her face. "Although I do think it's interesting that you know in which palace wing his lover was killed when this is private information of the High Lord."

His eyes went wild. Shit.

"You-", he gasped, looking between her and his drink as his numbed hands covered his throat. His vision darkened further, but he still looked at her, at that adorable, fucking flower behind her ear. And utter panic almost made his blood stop cold in his veins.

Only four petals remained.

"Belladonna Noctunis, in case you're wondering. I grow it myself." Her face was harder, any trace of amusement gone. "It wasn't enough to kill you."

The world got darker around them and Flynn noticed it wasn't only because of that damn flower she'd put in his drink. He tried to look around, but he couldn't see past that darkness, that veil of swirling shadows. Where the hell were the bartender or the drunks, he had no idea.

He was still gasping for air, his throat almost completely closed, when a male stepped from a shadow behind her as if he was hidden somewhere in between them. Enormous wings peeking over his shoulders. Ilyrian.

A shiver shook his body as shadows curled around the male, his eyes blazing between them. His voice was deep, but soft as he asked, "Are you ready to go, El?"

That wasn't a common power, Flynn knew that much. He had heard stories about it for centuries, but it was like his brain was as numb as his entire arm now. He couldn't quite place who those people were, not when he was in desperate need of air, his legs getting too heavy to even lift a foot.

A smile bloomed in her face at the sound of the male's midnight voice. "Yes."

Flynn's eyelashes were becoming heavy, sweat running down his face as he still tried to make sense.

The male walked toward them. "Do I need to make him speak more?"

She shook her head. "No, I already have our confirmation. And you owe me fifty golden marks, by the way. I know where the other one is, too."

Shit. Flynn tried to stand at Akir's mention, but his own body wouldn't obey him.

The male gave her a smile as well. "Of course you do," he murmured, chuckling. "You are the sweetest little minx."

She turned to the male, something sparkling in her eyes before asking, "Will you take care of him?"

The male stared at Flynn, his hazel eyes cold. No softness in his voice, no amusement curving his lips. No trace of any emotion now. "He will be our personal present to Helion. They both will."

Fuck. Fuck.

"Generous of you, my love." She was still smiling at the male when she took his scarred hand in hers.

But the way he'd say the High Lord's name, with such casualness as if he knew him… even with his mind and body almost giving up, Flynn saw through his panic, the pieces of a puzzle clicking slowly into place.

That remarkable, perfect face of her… and those shadows… They actually knew the High Lord of The Day Court, because they were members of the… what was the name, again? Inner Circle.

He had heard the tales that travelled through Prythian of how the powers of fate united three brothers and three sisters, including the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. And the Generals.

Which means… if the male was the Shadowsinger, if they were the High Lord and Lady of The Night Court personals spies...

The last thing Flynn saw was the face of the Kingslayer herself looking down at him - and then the Shadowsinger touched his arm and the world vanished into shadow.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #pro elain #azriel x elain #spy elain #elain archeron

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3pirouette · 3 years

Text

Fic: Hello, Darling (1/1)

Title: Hello, Darling By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Angst. Satisfies the Fake Dating a square for the Steggy Bingo Bash. AU, obviously.

A/N: Timeline is as close to sort-of right as I can make it for an AU. 2017 is post Civil War, 2016 is during Civil War, 2014 is during AOU, other time stamps should be self-explanatory. I hope this makes as much sense for everyone else as it does to me- this concept was a little hard to get on paper. I wrote this in about... 2 hours? Couldn’t sleep until I got this out of my brain. Also, I’m sorry. Please get some tissues. More AN at the end.

~*~ 2017

Steve flopped on the bed, wiping his forehead. They’d been training, hard, and he was drained. He and Natasha were spending their days whipping the new iteration of the team into shape and spent their nights sweet talking whatever government officials would listen to them while still trying to stay off the grid.

Their position in multiple areas was shaky, to say the least.

When he couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, he wrote letters to Bucky, who was still in stasis in Wakanda. The letter writing was a calming ritual, and made him feel closer to his friend when he was doing it, but when he saved the letter instead of sending it, it left him feeling a little more alone than when he started.

He didn’t want to move tonight. He felt empty and exhausted and so very, very much like the small man he used to be on the rickety old bed.

He looked at the second-hand laptop, closed and charging on his desk, and turned away. He couldn’t take that feeling tonight.

Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Her voice was warm, and there was a smile in it. “Well, I’m just a phone call away, as always.”

“Yeah,” he replied, just a hint of sadness seeping through. He took a deep breath and shifted up on the pillows, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. “We were training again today.”

“How are they pulling together?” She asked, bright and interested. “Has Wanda gained more control?”

“Every day,” he replied quickly, a smile quirking at his face. “She’s more powerful than I think any of us were prepared for, even her. She’s still doubting herself, though.”

Peggy chuckled through the phone. “After what she went through, I’d doubt myself if I were her, too.”

Steve rolled to the side, pulling a pillow tight into his arms. “True.”

“Give her time,” Peggy soothed him. “Think about how long it took you to get the hang of your new body.”

He laughed out loud at that. “What, all thirty seconds or so?”

“I seem to recall you crashing through a store’s front window display fairly immediately.” Her laugh was like bells, light and happy. “Though that was followed by months of tests, followed by months of kick lines.”

Steve groaned at the memories. “The tights… and those boots.”

“I rather liked the tights,” Peggy flirted. “Though, the point of my mentioning, is that it took you rather a few months in the field to figure out you could lift a tank, and that became one of your favorite tricks. Give the poor girl some slack.”

“Actually, fitting my entire body behind my shield was one of my favorites.”

“I still don’t know how you do that.” She sighed. “But it is quite a trick.”

“She is getting the hang of it,” Steve relented. “It’s just been… hard.”

“I can hear the weariness in your voice.” She was soft and gentle. Steve closed his eyes and pretended he was wrapping himself around her. “Have you been taking care of yourself?” She sighed when he didn’t answer. “Steve…”

“I don’t know how…” he drifted off, changing course mid-sentence. “I’m tired, Peg. I’m tired of fighting and running but that’s… that’s all that’s left.” He rolled to his back, throwing his free arm over his head, some of the plaster of the wall of the old boarding house falling on his forehead. He wiped it away with a heavy groan of frustration. “Back then, I had so many plans. After the war…”

“We shan’t be going there, darling.” Her voice left no room for argument.

He was quiet for a moment, the emotion boiling up in him. When he finally spoke, his words were soft. “I miss you. I miss you so, so much.”

The pause was almost too long, and it broke him just a little bit more. “I’m here, Steve. Only a phone call away.”

He sat up, frustrated. “For a little while I had it- I had everything. I had you, I had Buck, I had new friends, and I could… I was…”

“You were almost happy,” she whispered. “We’ve said these words too many times.”

“I don’t…” He took a deep breath and let his head fall to his hand. “I don’t know how to move past it. I can pretend I’m ok, but… but I’m not.” He laughed to himself. “I wouldn’t be calling you if I were ok.”

“I’m here for you, Steve,” she replied sharply. “You call me when you need to call me, when you want to call me. Good or bad. I just wish… I wish there was more good.”

“Me, too.” He cleared his throat, sitting up. “Tell me something good, Peg.”

He thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, eh, Rogers? Well, then, I can tell you that yesterday I came across a very silly video of a sneezing baby Panda and no matter what your mood, I promise you’ll feel better if you watch it.”

He pulled the phone away from his cheek when it vibrated in his hand, the video popping up on his screen. He laughed, despite himself.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he mumbled out loud.

Her chuckle was soft, just like he remembered. “Lucky, I guess.”

“I love you so, so much, Peg.” He turned serious. “I wish… I wish I could see you.”

“I love you, too, my darling.” She replied softly. “And I’m only ever just a phone call away.”

He could feel the familiar pangs of depression swirling, and knew talking longer would do him no good. Not tonight. “I should… I should go.”

“Good night then, my love.” Peggy’s words were so full of love he could scarcely believe it. “Don’t wait too long to call again.”

He didn’t answer her, just nodded to himself. “Good night, Peg.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and tossed it across the bed. Like his letters to Bucky, sometimes he felt worse after talking with her. He laid back on the bed, the springs creaking under him.

He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, not with the way his gut was roiling and the loss so close to the surface. Her voice was always a double-edged sword. Some nights, it was enough to bring him back to life, to remind him of whatever little purpose he felt he had left.

Sometimes, it was only filled with loss and the could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

Sometimes, he wished Tony had never given her back to him.

~*~ 1988

“Anthony, get this blasted thing out of my face.”

“Come on, Aunt Peg, no one is better at telling me what to do than you are.”

Peggy looked up from where she sat at the table in what was supposed to be a dining room, but was often used as an extended work space when Peggy and Howard had to pull long nights. “Under no circumstances.”

Tony pulled a chair up next to her and held out the tape recorder towards her. “Under all circumstances.” He started ticking it off on his fingers. “When I almost blew up the garage when I was eight. First time I got caught with a girl in my room. First time I got caught with booze in my room. First time I tried to create a jet pack. Who yelled at me? You did.”

Peggy pursed her lips at him and turned in her chair. “Concerned correction.”

He smiled, shrugging. “See? Concern, correction… all things I’m going to need in the future.”

Peggy swiveled back and picked up a file, eyes firmly set on the writing though she wasn’t reading anything. “Things you need now.” She didn’t look up. “Can’t you go badger Jarvis? Edwin has far more practice at humoring you.”

He laughed and smiled sweetly, moving the tape recorder in front of her. “Indulge your Godson in an experiment?”

“I seem to indulge you Starks far more than I’d like.” She leaned back in the chair and tossed the file back on the table. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, you see, I actually need you to tell me…”

~*~ 2014

Tony hadn’t looked at these cartridges in years. He pulled FRIDAY up and loaded her, knowing the program would make do for now. He could make some upgrades, and mourn Jarvis, later.

He ran his fingers over the last few cartridges as FRIDAY was integrated into his systems and found one that he hadn’t thought about in decades. It had been so long that the ink was almost faded completely away.

He didn’t need the label to remind him what was on there. He remembered each story, each lesson, each crisp English word with a sharpness that he liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was the only AI that was as old as Jarvis.

Tony laughed out loud. There was no way Ultron would have come to be if this was the AI he’d chosen to run his life with instead of Jarvis. She never would have allowed it.

She never would have allowed half of his shenanigans. She had been right all those years ago: Jarvis had always indulged him more. Aunt Peggy had no qualms about telling him, and often stopping him, when he was about to do something stupid, whereas Jarvis would give him an exasperated sir and follow behind, helping to clean up the mess.

He could have used some of her guidance so, so many times since he built that armor. Before, too, to be honest. He should have revisited her AI years ago.

He should visit her in the nursing home.

He knew exactly why he didn’t.

He flipped the cartridge onto his work desk and slid the rest back into their box to be stored. Save the world first, tongue lashing from his Godmother second.

~*~ 2015

The icon showed up on his phone one day without explanation. Two hours later the text from Tony was nearly as mysterious.

Click the icon and you’ll be routed to an update on an old project, kind of like a phone call. Totally sanctioned, of course. I think she’ll get a kick out of it.

When he told her one day in the nursing home, she laughed.

“That boy had me record hours and hours of tape,” Peggy smiled. “I wondered if he ever got around to making it. I would have rather liked to have another one of myself around while I was still running SHIELD.”

“So, you did know,” Steve asked, “that Tony made an AI of you?”

Peggy looked at him, her eyes sharp and disapproving. “Of course, I knew. And while I didn’t ever say it, I was quite insulted that he eventually chose Jarvis over me.” She sat up in her hospital bed, gray hair falling in waves around her face. “Dial it up, let’s see what he got right, shall we?”

~*~ 2016

He was still in his suit and tie, his cheeks puffy with the tears he only let himself shed in the privacy of his hotel room. The church had been hard, but letting the coffin settle into the cold dirt had been harder.

She was gone.

And he was alone.

He picked up his phone, intent on checking his flight for the morning when an icon he scrolled past daily caught his eye.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the screen, temped.

He checked his flight, but it was perfunctory and he couldn’t recall, by the time his thumb hit the other icon, if it was still on time or not.

Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear. He knew from the few times he’d called at the nursing home with her that there wouldn’t be a ring tone, and that he had to be the first one to talk. “Hello?”

“Steve?”

Her voice through the line was young and vibrant, the way her remembered it from all those years back: red rimmed lips and bright eyes in just the vibration of sound.

He lost his breath.

“I’m so glad you called,” her voice was happy, bright.

He’d just left her in the ground, and yet…

Yet…

“Peggy.” He barely got the word out, the emotion choking him.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“No, I…” he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to continue, but couldn’t tear himself away.

“I’m right here, Steve.” Her voice was warm and welcoming, like honey and home and everything he was missing. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He was quiet for a moment. He contemplated hanging up and deleting the icon.

Instead, he spoke, his words broken and full of loss. “I miss you.”

Her voice wrapped around him through the phone, “And I miss you, darling. But I’m right here. I’m just a phone call away, any time you like.”

He nearly laughed the way her words warmed him. She was so real- had always been every time he talked to the AI.

But she wasn’t real- just an amalgamation of information Tony had stored for decades.

He held the phone away for a second, contemplating his choices. He wanted to walk away, but the loss was still so raw. He pulled the phone back to his ear.

Just for today.

He told himself he’d pretend just for today.

Over the phone, he could pretend she wasn’t dead. Could pretend she hadn’t aged and lived on without him.

Just for today, just until he could get past this pain, he could pretend.

“I guess,” he cleared his throat, trying to banish the thickness in it from the tears, “I guess I should call more often, then.”

“Absolutely. I will accept nothing less, Captain.”

He smiled and sat on the bed, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to her voice.

It was just for today.

~*~ End Notes: Saved this to the end to avoid giving this away. Deeply inspired by Hayley Atwell’s episode of Black Mirror, “Be Right Back.” If you haven’t seen it, you should.

#Steggy Fic #Angst #Steggy Bingo Bash #3P's Fic #Steggy #Cannon character death #fulfills the fake dating prompt only if you squint #but I couldn't get the idea out of my head

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matoroshika · 3 years

Text

I decided to take the personality tests for some Black Clover characters to see what they get, here are the results!

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⚖️🔹Marx: Logistician ISTJ-T (Practical and fact-minded individuals, who’s reliability cannot be doubted)🔹⚖️

“My observation is that whenever one person is found adequate to the discharge of a duty... it is worse executed by two persons, and scarcely done at all if three or more are employed therein.”

Logisticians don’t make many assumptions, preferring instead to analyze their surroundings, check their facts and arrive at practical courses of action. Logistician personalities are no-nonsense, and when they’ve made a decision, they will relay the facts necessary to achieve their goal, expecting others to grasp the situation immediately and take action. Logisticians have little tolerance for indecisiveness, but lose patience even more quickly if their chosen course is challenged with impractical theories, especially if they ignore key details – if challenges becomes time-consuming debates, Logisticians can become noticeably angry as deadlines tick nearer.

Logisticians have sharp, fact-based minds, and prefer autonomy and self-sufficiency to reliance on someone or something. Dependency on others is often seen by Logisticians as a weakness, and their passion for duty, dependability and impeccable personal integrity forbid falling into such a trap. When Logisticians say they are going to get something done, they do it, meeting their obligations no matter the personal cost, and they are baffled by people who don’t hold their own word in the same respect. Combining laziness and dishonesty is the quickest way to get on Logisticians’ bad side. Consequently, people with the Logistician personality type often prefer to work alone, or at least have their authority clearly established by hierarchy, where they can set and achieve their goals without debate or worry over other’s reliability.

Their defining characteristics of integrity, practical logic and tireless dedication to duty make Logisticians a vital core to many families, as well as organizations that uphold traditions, rules and standards, such as law offices, regulatory bodies and military. People with the Logistician personality type enjoy taking responsibility for their actions, and take pride in the work they do – when working towards a goal, Logisticians hold back none of their time and energy completing each relevant task with accuracy and patience.

Logisticians need to remember to take care of themselves – their stubborn dedication to stability and efficiency can compromise those goals in the long term as others lean ever-harder on them, creating an emotional strain that can go unexpressed for years, only finally coming out after it’s too late to fix. If they can find coworkers and spouses who genuinely appreciate and complement their qualities, who enjoy the brightness, clarity and dependability that they offer, Logisticians will find that their stabilizing role is a tremendously satisfying one, knowing that they are part of a system that works.

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👑🟡Julius: ENFP-A Campaigner (Enthusiastic, creative and sociable free spirits, who can always find a reason to smile.) 🟡👑

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.”

Campaigners are true free spirits – outgoing, openhearted, and open-minded. With their lively, upbeat approach to life, they stand out in any crowd. But even though they can be the life of the party, Campaigners don’t just care about having a good time. These personality types run deep – as does their longing for meaningful, emotional connections with other people.

Even in moments of fun, Campaigners want to connect emotionally with others. Few things matter more to these personality types than having genuine, heartfelt conversations with the people they cherish. Campaigners believe that everyone deserves to express their feelings, and their empathy and warmth create spaces where even the most timid spirits can feel comfortable opening up.

Friendly and outgoing, Campaigners are devoted to enriching their relationships and their social lives. But beneath their sociable, easygoing exteriors, they have rich, vibrant inner lives as well. Without a healthy dose of imagination, creativity, and curiosity, a Campaigner simply wouldn’t be a Campaigner. In their unique way, Campaigners can be quite introspective. They can’t help but ponder the deeper meaning and significance of life – even when they should be paying attention to something else. These personalities believe that everything – and everyone – is connected, and they live for the glimmers of insight that they can gain into these connections.

When something sparks their imagination, Campaigners can show an enthusiasm that is nothing short of infectious. These personalities radiate a positive energy that draws in other people, and Campaigners may find themselves being held up by their peers as a leader or guru. But once the initial bloom of inspiration wears off, Campaigners can struggle with self-discipline and consistency, losing steam on projects

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🌱⚪️William: Advocate INFJ-T (Quiet and mystical, yet very inspiring and tireless idealists.)⚪️🌱

“Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being.”

Advocates’ unique combination of personality traits makes them complex and quite versatile. For example, Advocates can speak with great passion and conviction, especially when standing up for their ideals. At other times, however, they may choose to be soft-spoken and understated, preferring to keep the peace rather than challenge others.

Advocates might find themselves feeling especially stressed in the face of conflict and criticism. These personalities tend to act with the best of intentions, and it can frustrate them when others don’t appreciate this. At times, even constructive criticism may feel deeply personal or hurtful to Advocates.

Advocates may be reserved, but they communicate in a way that is warm and sensitive. This emotional honesty and insight can make a powerful impression on the people around them. Advocates value deep, authentic relationships with others, and they tend to take great care with other people’s feelings. That said, these personalities also need to prioritize reconnecting with themselves. Advocates need to take some time alone now and then to decompress, recharge, and process their thoughts and feelings.

Advocates may see helping others as their purpose in life. They are troubled by injustice, and they typically care more about altruism than personal gain. As a result, Advocates tend to step in when they see someone facing unfairness or hardship. Many people with this personality type also aspire to fix society’s deeper problems, in the hope that unfairness and hardship can become things of the past.

Many Advocates feel compelled to find a mission for their lives. When they encounter inequity or unfairness, they tend to think, “How can I fix this?” They are well-suited to support a movement to right a wrong, no matter how big or small. Advocates just need to remember that while they’re busy taking care of the world, they need to take care of themselves too.

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🍺⚫️Yami: Entrepreneur ESTP-A (Smart, enthusiastic and very perceptive people, who truly enjoy living on the edge.)⚫️🍺

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

Entrepreneurs are the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior. They live in the moment and dive into the action – they are the eye of the storm. They are forced to make critical decisions based on factual, immediate reality in a process of rapid-fire rational stimulus response. This makes school and other highly organized environments a challenge for Entrepreneurs. It certainly isn’t because they aren’t smart, and they can do well, but the regimented, lecturing approach of formal education is just so far from the hands-on learning that Entrepreneurs enjoy. It takes a great deal of maturity to see this process as a necessary means to an end, something that creates more exciting opportunities.

Also challenging is that to Entrepreneurs, it makes more sense to use their own moral compass than someone else’s. Rules were made to be broken. This is a sentiment few high school instructors or corporate supervisors are likely to share, and can earn Entrepreneur personalities a certain reputation. But if they minimize the trouble-making, harness their energy, and focus through the boring stuff, Entrepreneurs are a force to be reckoned with.

With perhaps the most perceptive, unfiltered view of any type, Entrepreneurs have a unique skill in noticing small changes. Whether a shift in facial expression, a new clothing style, or a broken habit, people with this personality type pick up on hidden thoughts and motives where most types would be lucky to pick up anything specific at all. Entrepreneurs use these observations immediately, calling out the change and asking questions, often with little regard for sensitivity. Entrepreneurs should remember that not everyone wants their secrets and decisions broadcast.

Entrepreneurs are full of passion and energy, complemented by a rational, if sometimes distracted, mind. Inspiring, convincing and colorful, they are natural group leaders, pulling everyone along the path less traveled, bringing life and excitement everywhere they go. Putting these qualities to a constructive and rewarding end is Entrepreneurs’ true challenge.

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If you want to read more about their personality types, or other personality types- the website is 16personalities.com ! I find it very amazing at how accurate these are!

#black clover #william vangeance #yami sukehiro #marx francois #julius novachrono

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