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tojisteddy · 1 month ago

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Acknowledge Me

or: Simon finally gives you attention after you piss him off.

“The power it takes, to make me cry that way. Baby, I hate me when you get under my skin.”

cw: 3.6k words (lord), 18+ MDNI, Toxic!Simon/Meanie!Simon, smut with plot, daddy kink (daddy, pa), dubcon, p in v, dacryphilia, degradation (like hell), water park amusement, pvssy slapping, creampie, marathon!, intoxicated sex, pet names (lovie, doll, pup), overstim, orgasm denial, straight debauchery, after care, y/n visuals.

a/n: acknowledge me by doja cat was the big inspo.

Were you a fucking stupid brat?

Or were you simply itching for attention that you deserved?

If you told your friends, they wouldn’t call you a fucking brat. Stupid? Yeah.

For being with a man who didn’t hesitate to curse you out when you annoyed him. Simon Riley didn’t even flinch when you started hearing those hiccups over the phone, he could already picture your trembling bottom lip, huffed out cheeks and tears forming at your water line. If anything it pissed him off further.

“Don’t fuckin try it with those tears [+]. I fuckin told you, you tell me where the fuck you’re goin. Why the fuck did I have see you move to five different bars in three fuckin hours and you didn’t say a word to me about it till now!?” Simon yelled through the phone.

“You and your dumb ass friends are too fuckin reckless—“

“—Don’t call them that-“ you chided.

“-Oh, I promise you lovie, I don’t give a shit.” his voice with venom.

For fucks sake, it was supposed to be a fun night out and if you were one of your friends, it would’ve been. You and your friends loved bar hopping, enjoying the vibe wherever you went and free alcohol that men and women would order for you. You don’t remember how many bars ago, but your phone died somewhere in the middle and you did spend about five minutes at the last 6 bars trying to find an outlet before your friends dragged you away to the dance floor. That had to count for something, right? You did try to get some form of life on your phone for thirty minutes!

You’d finally gotten to an outlet, right next to the fucking bathroom. ‘15 missed called 4 new messages.’ A string of curses leaving your mouth once you dialed that memorized phone number. And there Simon was, talking to you out the ass while the music was booming in the distance, you had your phone in one hand and a finger in the other trying to hear him properly, the smell of only-god-knows from god-knows-what filling your poor nose all so you could attempt to fix your accidental boo-boo :( — but that bastard had to have you crying in the club.

Like you were thirsty for his attention. you were.

No, none of this was your fault. You didn’t need to update the 6’4, blonde, hunk of a damn brat, when he hadn’t even bothered to contact you in a month.

Yup, the ghost was actually known for ghosting you.

Purposely declining your calls, leaving your texts on read or worse: replying with a ‘k’ when you tried to meet up when you knew (least for the most part) he kept to himself. When he was stationed near by, he was at his own fucking house minding his own business. He was the worst. And the cherry on top?

The fucker had your location on.

You swore he did this to get a rise out of you, to see you teetering off the brink of sanity— and you had to attempt to reel yourself back in every. fucking. time. You weren’t his little plaything, you didn’t need him.

“Don’t fuck with me.” you mumbled, salty tears hitting your mouth. Those would be the last for the night, you swore it. It was like the liquor finally left your heart and went to your brain. Liquid courage.

“What’dyou just say t’me?”

Louder, “I said, don’t fuck with me! I’m sick of your shit Simon!” You snapped. You weren’t an angry person, you’d just hit an annoying wall you needed to get though. The annoying wall called Ghost Riley.

“You always- always come out of the fucking blue ‘nd think you tell me what to do! I’m not a fucking idiot, I know what the fuck I’m doin! Don’t be bitchy at me cause I like to have a little fuckin fun with my friends even when you’ve been ignoring me. Fuckin ignoring me instead of telling me what’s up! The fuck do I gotta do to get you off my dick?!”

“You like the messy shit, Si! You like seein me pissed at you just so you’re the one who has to come and fix it! I can’t stand it. You should go find a bitch who likes that shit because I don’t! I hate how I feel right now and I hate that you can’t be one of those kind boyfriends who’ll come and fuckin hold me nice and shit! Hell, maybe I’ll go find someone to hold me realll nice like since you fuckin won’t!” You spat, nose flaring, you were trembling with rage.

“Pup,” one word. Cut throat. Yanking you right back down to reality. “You take your pretty ass home, ‘nd I’ll go easy on you, yeah?”

You felt your chest rising and falling rapidly, you were frustrated that he clearly didn’t listen to your little rant but you felt your panties get damp. Just a bit. Just like always when you saw a punishment coming. You couldn’t help yourself.

“I-“

“—She’s busy right now please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeep.” Your friend, Sharon, has snactched your phone out of you hand, quickly interjecting your conversation with the man and hanging up. She hiccuped, nodding her head in satisfaction.

“You can’t spend the whoooole night by this stinky ass bathroom. Let’s go daaaaance, or-or drink.” She giggled, taking your hands. “Or both!” She squealed at her own words.

Fuck it.

You went out with your friends so you could have a good time, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Simon had such a nice way of breaking you down to your knees, so you were the one sobbing and begging then bringing you back up. He didn’t do it often, he wasn’t that fucking mean, but he did it when you really pissed him off. Simon needed you to understand— you weren’t in charge. He was. The man doesn’t remember exactly what you did to piss him anymore, it had been a long and grueling month for him anyway. But he had to follow through with something because he’d be damned if he had to actually apologize, you being with your idiot friends didn’t help your case. So he threw it in the melting pot of why he had a right to bully you.

The motherfucker couldn’t help himself.

When he entered your empty and annoyingly small studio apartment, he added another mark to his ‘reasons to fuck babygirl up’ list. He told you to take your sweet ass home, didn’t he? And where were you?

He’d make sure the neighbors knew exactly who the fuck he was.

It should’ve been easy for you to check in, no? He worried about your safety above all else, but it always seemed to fly out the window when you were with your friends who were notorious and extreme party girls while you just went with the flow. He didn’t not like them sober, it’s when you went clubbing you, for some reason, would get hard headed, defiant. It pissed him off, which would always lead to an argument. Usually he’d come snatch you up while you were tipsy, you’d have a cry in the car, mumbling something about how you just knew the man didn’t like you or take you serious.

And partially, Ghost didn’t. He brushed your insecurities away at first, thinking nothing of it as you went about your life. But you kept being on edge drunk or sober. So he would be right there, finger fucking you otherwise while the car was still in motion. And maybe you were right, maybe he wasn’t the sweet and soft boyfriend you wanted who’d hold your cute little hand when you made him angry. He wasn’t the type to coddle you, chicken peck your face with kisses when you felt down. Simon Riley was the gruff and overbearing man you needed to set you straight, keep you grounded when the world went to shit.

That’s what your cute little tantrum was about, least part of it was. Simon knew he was distant, you just needed a reminder he was yours and you were his. And only his. You craved him like you needed food, it was obvious to anyone who saw you two together. He chuckled, couldn’t believe you even suggested fucking some other man. As if they could handle you, as if they knew what you needed.

He’d set that attitude straight.

The shower was running when the front door of your flat closed behind you. There’s no way you left it on this whole time, did you? You didn’t remember. The night turned into a long one.

No, you didn’t get black out drunk like your friends suggested. You had another shot or two, deciding to stay on the sober side with your DD. You two did smoke a fat blunt before hitting another club though, that made you feel like you were starting to lose your hearing. But it mellowed you out completely. The anger you felt, all that angst and sadness? Gone like a snap of your fingers. The person who was yelling and crying earlier? Technically it wasn’t you, you just needed a little peace. A little medicinal help.

After singing and dancing as hard as you could, your drunk friends taking blurry photos and videos of you that you’d probably post later, you persuaded them it’d be best to get something to eat and head home around two am. It took thirty minutes to find a convenience store that was open so you could chow down on something, and fifteen to get home. With a basically empty bag of chips in one hand, purse slung over your shoulder like a duffle, a bag of junk food in your other hand, low red eyes and a small smile— you finally got home.

You’d deal with that asshole tomorrow. Or next week— maybe next month if you gave enough of a fuck like he did.

Who knows.

You sat the bag of food on the coffee table, right now the priority was your skin care routine, then eat, then zonk out till 2 pm. You still can’t believe you left the shower and the bathroom light on that was now blinding your eyes but whatever. You’d turn it off as soon as you were done since it was warm due to the slight steam.

Routine, routine, routin— you stumbled over a pile of clothes. Large male clothes— okay, maybe you were in the wrong apartment.

Not your first rodeo.

You’d just slowly back out and try looking for your apartment. No big deal.

But the shower curtain swung open and you tripped over the clothes, falling right on your ass with a yelp.

“Ya can’t be that fuckin drunk, can ya?”

Your eyes darted open, right at the familiar deep cockney accent— Simon Riley was right there in the flesh, water dripping down his scarred and large body, making him dazzle like a God in that fucked up bathroom light.

Now that was blinding.

“Hello? Are ya listenin?”

Oh, he really wanted an answer.

“ ‘M not drunk.” You said breathlessly. Intoxicated? Yes. But not drunk. The shots had worn off ages ago. Hell, maybe your high was too at the sight of this brute.

What the fuck was he doing here?

The blonde ignored the confused look on your face. Taking a towel that sat on the sink and drying his hair. No point in drying off anything else, he was about to sweat.

So were you.

Simon continued on, stepping past you and you quickly got up, following right behind him like a starved puppy. For someone who hated your apartment, he sure walked around like he owned the place. Nude, large cock swinging, and the look of annoyance written on his handsome unmasked face.

He sat on the bed, manspreading nonchalantly. Knowing you were looking at it, your eyes immediately went elsewhere.

“What do you want?” You mumbled out, shifting from foot to foot.

As if you didn’t know what was bound to happen.

The older man laughed, sarcasm dripping down his throat.

“Be good ‘nd strip, won’t repeat myself.”

“Si-Simon!” Your breath hitched once a large hand came down on your ass, once for good measure.

“Who?” He slapped his thick member on your ass, sliding it through the crevice of your cheeks.

“But- but Simon-“ another slap.

“You’re gonna make it worse for yourself, call me proper.” He smacked his cock over your glistening folds. So fucking wet.

“Daddy mmph,” You moaned.

“All this ‘b-b-but’ bullshit from ya. You’ve pissed me off more than enough. You’ll take all of it today.” Simon slipped inside your hole, filling you to the brim even with half of that girthy cock in you. You both hissed, fuck, it was always so good when he was inside your walls. Simon slowly started to rock his hips into you, slowly but surely making sure you took every inch if his manhood had to offer.

It was when he bottomed out, you knew you were in for it. Simon wasn’t talking to you, he forced your head down on the bed, forcing your back to arch further as he thrusted right at your spot. Over and over and over.

“Gonna cum pa, gonna cum.” You stuttered, feeling the pit in your stomach starting to turn.

“No you’re not.”

“—But—”

“I dare you [+]. I know you’d just looove seein how that turns out.”

You hiccuped, tears brimming as Simons pace got faster. You could feel him throbbing inside you but he wouldn’t cave. He was making the both of you suffer over a petty argument— a mistake that in any normal relationship wouldn’t be that serious.

“I- no- anngh— I need to cum—”

“-You don’t need shit you greedy. fuckin. bitch.” He grunted, swatting your ass with every thrust.

The man yanked you up by your tosseled hair, “You had your oh-so lovin Daddy fuckin worried about’cha so you can be safe then when I finally get a hold of ya ‘nd tell you to go home, you ignore me. Threatenin to go fuck some idiot, but he couldn’t fuck you like I can? Can he? Can’t keep you pretty ‘nd upright? Can he?” His hand trailed from your throat to the buldge at your stomach. He scuffed, “now you’re itching t’cum just because I have my cock right here in ya? Fuckin dumb bitch shit,”

“You a dumb bitch?” He asked, making sure you were fucking him back. Ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

“Noooo.” You cried out, trying to get away but it only made the brute dig into you further.

“What?”

“No sir.”

“Thaaats right princess. You're my smart little girl, listen to me next time. Good on you- fuck— for tryin to salvage yourself.” He huffed.

You didn’t realize your own toes curling at that small praise, your body trembling as you reached your peak.

“Hold it, did you just fuckin cum? When I told you not to?” He growled, forcing you to look at his eyes that were practically red with anger.

“Wait, wait, wait.” You really couldn’t help yourself, you’d been holding it for how long? And you were still kinda high which made you feel the sensations ten fold, Simon was drilling into you like no tomorrow and then he gave you an inch of kindness after being so mean to you this whole fucking time.

Your body unconsciously took a mile.

“Nope.” He yanked you back to lay your back on him, the rest of his drenched length in you, and lifted your leg so it was over your head, legs parted like the red sea. The first smack on your cunt for the night had you screaming, water spraying out.

Simon gripped your chin, forcing you to look down at the mess you created while harshly rubbing your pearl, still thrusting into you from behind, “You wanna act like a greedy bitch and think with your pussy? Then you cum like a greedy fuckin bitch. Cum you dirty pup.”

And he kept smacking down on your poor cunt, unable to stop yourself from cumming and squirting. Completely creaming Simons girthy cock so that a ring of cum formed around the base of his length.

“Daddy I can’t-“ you keened.

The man scowled, “-Shut. the fuck. up. You never shut the fuck up, the only thing I wanna hear is how fucking wet that pussy is. Keep fuckin cummin like a dirty slut you are.”

And you did.

You were wetting the bed like a dog. Water flying everywhere with every thwack of Simons hand on your abused and misused clit. You didn’t even know how many times you had cum by that point. Words? What were those? You wouldn’t even be able to read a street sign or name your favorite color if asked.

You were seeing pure white, the only thing you could hear was the loud squelching of Simon pumped himself in and out of you. He pulled out for a second causing you to whine at the loss of him, but he slipped back into your tight walls, fucking you in a nice missionary.

He gave your face a few light smacks to the face, tutting “Ah, ah, ah, pup, don’t you fuckin pass out. Eyes on Daddy.”

You managed to pry those long lashes open, hooded and lower than they could ever get when you were high.

“Therrrre my pretty girl is. Look so good bein fuckin stupid on my dick doll. This is alllll my girl needed. A good lesson, yeah? Remind ‘er who’s boss, huh?” He smirked, dragging himself down to you so your legs were at your chest.

“Shit baby, feel you squeezing down on me. Wanna cum with me? Missed me given it to ya just like you always need?” Oh, you were crying again. Yeah, you did miss his mean ass.

And his mean beautifully scarred up face, the mean way his muscles flexed when he did anything, his stupid fucking mouth that had to say some stupid shit touching your full lips, his disgustingly sexy muscular yet pudgy stomach with a happy trail touching your stomach everytime he wrapped those arms around you. His massive presence when he stood next to you, mean brown eyes watching while you did your hair, your makeup, or got dressed. Heartless hands that rubbed your neck everytime he didn’t know how to comfort you because that asshole trying his hardest to understand you.

And that undeniably cruel, overly massive cock fucking you like you were the final girl getting a well deserved an award for making it out the trenches in a horror film.

Your head was full with the thought of daddy, daddy, daddy— you shook your head but you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. You hung on to whatever bullshit that man gave you. Only him. Always him.

“Wan- I wan it pa! Wan your cum in me.” you babbled through your sobs.

“Course ya fuckin do. Can’t do shit without me.” The older man crooned. He finally planted his lips on yours, you moaned at just the feel. Pink walls fluttering in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim. Slow thrusts making sure he pumped everything he had into your perfect cunt.

So much for not crying anymore.

The only sound you could be heard in that studio was you cries, like a fucking baby, bouncing off your thin walls. The headboard was finally able to rest, you knew for a fact your neighbors probably despise your being now.

“Why didn’t you- you come see me? I wanted- hicc- I wanted to see you. But- but- you wouldn’t come see me! Wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone,” You sobbed, tripping and falling through your words. “you must hate me.”

The older man rolled his eyes, “Didn’t ever say tha’. How can I hate’cha ‘nd your mine? Doesn’t make sense mama.”

“Didn’t call me though.” You were sprawled out on the bed now, fat tears escaping your eyes. The blonde was sitting on the bed, grabbing the bottled water that he kept in the nightstand, opening it and putting it to your lips to drink. You did, lifting just enough for a bit to go down your bound to be sore throat and flopping back on the bed.

“Was busy swee’art.” Half truth, half lie. Though it was habit, he was trying to keep you in the loop of his life this time. But old habits die hard. The man forgot to reply. His work schedule was fucked, and he was busy spending his free time moving house. The house he planned to give you, it just wasn’t ready yet. Simon was actually being good for you, for once.

“You’re not always busy Si, you just don’t like my annoying voice!” You whimpered.

It took everything in the older brute to not laugh, you were bein so fucking cute. Babbling nonsense but still clinging to him like a lifeline. Still wanting, still his baby girl.

“Told ya, you weren’t annoyin. Got a nice voice, so get it out silly skull.” He cooed, sitting you on your bottom to face him.

You sniffed, moaning and groaning in annoyance but choosing to accept those words. And only those though.

“Fucks sake, Stop it.”

“I caaaant.” You whined, profusely wiping your tears.

“No, dummy.” Simon pushed your hands off your own face, gently wiping the tears with his thumbs that continued to poor out, “Yer gonna throw a fuckin fit if your face ends up bein puffy cause you wipe your tears so damn rough. Take it easy.”

No one knew how to wipe your tears better than the man who created them.

“I wanna make up, you don’t want to?” That was as close to an apology you’d ever get. Always.

A proper Ghost apology was rare as is and you wouldn’t be getting that after your little tantrum tonight. So you ate up what you could get.

“I wanna- I wanna make up too Daddy.” You croaked, dragging out your words. Adorable princess.

“Pfft,” he ruffled your now messy, sweated out hair, “I gotcha.”

“Up you go.” Like a feather, Simon lifted you from the bed, walking to the bedroom you too had been at who knows how many hours ago. He gently sat you on the counter of the sink,

“Let’s get you all ready for bed, yeah?”

a/n: I really love meanie!Simon the most. Let me know what you think about him.

4K notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 29 days ago

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come into my bedroom

description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals

includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times

wc. 12.3k+

a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D

You’re drunk.

No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago.

You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms.

But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides.

He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it.

There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way.

One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night.

Joaquín calls your name and you hum.

“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible.

Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you.

You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment.

“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table.

You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat.

He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease.

“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.”

Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”

He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.

You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this.

Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend.

You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.

Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face.

Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance.

“What’s that look?” he asks.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?”

You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!

You have a crush on Joaquín.

You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend.

You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day.

It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected.

Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little.

Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head.

You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there.

Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set.

“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything.

Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.”

“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.”

He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.”

You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.”

“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.

“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept.

“Like a baby.”

“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.”

You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.”

“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”

You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery.

“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.”

Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session.

Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?”

Fair enough.

Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself.

The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea.

You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you.

You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind.

As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body.

The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though.

Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first.

It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for.

“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought.

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything.

As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly.

Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over.

Absolutely no stressors.

Until Joaquín speaks.

“Do me a favor and get my back?”

You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen.

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out.

“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable.

Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.

It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things.

Seeing is not the same as feeling.

Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before.

You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument.

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room.

You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.”

Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.”

His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer.

You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back.

The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind.

He continues in silence.

You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different.

Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too.

By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life.

Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres.

Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres.

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight.

Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight.

You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings.

Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it.

There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention.

But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet.

You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought.

The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now.

Apparently, Joaquín felt different.

“What’s up with you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”

“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”

Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags.

It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie.

“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you.

You tell him as such.

He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”

You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.”

Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?”

God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth.

Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better.

But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely.

“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window.

You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both.

The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port.

Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”

Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.”

That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his. “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”

Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.”

This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly.

Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence.

Then, “You been having fun?”

You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident.

You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes.

Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay.

Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful.

He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body.

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”

“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”

He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.”

He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet.

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore.

It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you.

Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him.

God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this.

Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not.

When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.

Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.

“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm.

Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”

Oh my godddd.

What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in.

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments.

You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”

Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.”

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.

“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.”

Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”

You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later.

You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse.

You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead.

You do, however, decide to split two desserts.

“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table.

You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”

“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”

You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor.

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”

His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?”

You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one.

But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out.

You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though.

“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight.

You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”

Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.”

His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”

Fuck.

It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand.

Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill.

Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body.

Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in.

A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street.

He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand.

“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”

He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel.

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate.

You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you.

He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight? End the week with a bang?”

You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending.

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”

“Together.”

His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on.

“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”

The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you.

You smile up at him and he smiles down at you.

You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you.

You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist.

And then finally, your lips press against his.

The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment.

Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so.

You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him.

It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way.

Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor.

You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips.

The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.

The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face.

You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”

Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic.

“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time.

But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted.

His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his.

Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord.

You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct.

There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up).

“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide.

Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”

You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything.

As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them.

“Can I keep going?”

You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”

He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates.

“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it.

Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.”

“M’kay.”

And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English.

You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest.

You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.

You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress.

Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything.

But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail.

You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy.

You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut.

“I need more. Please.”

He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds.

His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards.

Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too.

Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive.

You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’.

Joaquín picks up where you left off.

“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions.

The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

You do as told, of course.

He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours.

“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt.

Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak.

When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going.

He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm.

If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing.

He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works.

One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second.

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention.

Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat.

You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like.

“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín.

As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.

“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements. “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you.

Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point.

Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit.

His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence.

“Shit,” he laughs.

All you can do is agree through labored breaths.

He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t.

You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that.

When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you.

“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym.

And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod.

Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?”

“Water sounds good.”

You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him.

Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you.

“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all.

It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.”

He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.”

Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with.

Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears.

“One second.”

You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago.

“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to.

Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.”

“Freak.” You don’t mean it.

“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it.

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before.

When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs.

“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too.

You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss.

As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him.

Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead.

Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak.

“You’re so perfect,” he says.

The warmth instantly floods your body.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him.

He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet.

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?”

He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs.

It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Ready?”

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.

One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse.

For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.

Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you.

And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you.

But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now.

You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together.

His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”

His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you.

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on.

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried.

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.”

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now.

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?”

You hum affirmatively.

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?”

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”.

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours.

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.”

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body.

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.”

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.”

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you.

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.

#joaquinsworld!#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres smut #icarus writes mcu

1K notes · View notes

peachdues · 2 years ago

Text

Your Beauty Never, Ever Scared Me

A/N: oh boy, I just couldn't leave this storyline alone, could I?

Inspired by a post from @aagod who pointed out how amazing the trope is of touching/kissing/caressing one's scars, and I was a WHORE for it. This is inspired by that one line from this song.

But because I have never been brief about anything in my entire life (that's why I'm about to be an attorney), I had to write out a full-length fic set in the Wind & Moon universe.

I also had fun with expanding upon the concept of the Lunar Hashira, including a new breathing form, as well as a special weapon for Y/N! See the end for a link to a visual of a naginata (pole) blade.

Word count: 6.3k

CW: angst, fluff, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fucking in a hot spring. Pining Sanemi, soft Sanemi; shoulder injury, improper setting of a dislocated joint; scar worship (?).

Bon appetite!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was supposed to have been a one-time thing.

Even though he had asked her to return to his estate for nightly training sessions, she had told him “no.”

It isn’t that Y/N doesn’t want him — she does very much so, to the point it pains her — but agreeing to continue this thing that had grown between them was a door she would not open.

She couldn’t.

Not when a career with the Demon Slayer Corps was akin to putting one foot across the line to the afterlife. Not when opening her heart up meant losing everything again.

And Y/N knows she already cares for the Wind Pillar far too much.

It pained her to establish distance between them over the last two weeks, even more so whenever she saw Sanemi Shinazugawa’s eyes linger on her for a second too long at their Pillar meetings, the hurt and longing in his eyes undeniable. He does not act any differently towards her, but she casn see the question torturing him every time she met that lilac gaze.

Why?

Because she wanted to. Because he had kissed her first, so really, it was his fault. Because she had melted the second his lips crashed against hers, and she had been so tired of wanting but never being allowed to have, and she wanted for once to be selfish.

But she had been selfish, and every day since she has been the direct cause of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s pain, and the thought is slowly wearing down the remains of her tattered heart into nothing.

But she loves him too much to want to lose him, so she does nothing.

——————————————-

They are sent on a mission together the next day.

The target is a suspected Lower Moon, located in some dense forest on the other side of the mountainous range surrounding the Demon Slayer Corp’s safe haven.

Rationally, Y/N knows why they’ve been paired together. She knows that his offensive Wind Breathing coupled with her more defensive style of Lunar breathing complement each other well in battle, each breathing style able to make up for the pitfalls of the other.

Still, Y/N thinks the universe is playing a damn cruel joke in making their fighting styles so compatible. It almost feels like a taunt.

They make small talk as they travel towards the demon’s location, every step fraying what’s left of Y/N’s delicate nerves. Her hand closes and releases the smooth shaft of her niichirin naginata blade — a specially forged weapon uniquely suited to her command over Lunar Breathing — as they near their target, her anxiety palpable.

She is not necessarily anxious over the fight — she is more anxious about whom she is fighting beside.

Nervous, because she told Shinazugawa that they could only ever be friends, yet she knows the second she thinks he might be in danger, she won’t hesitate to pitch herself in front of him. A hypocrite.

As she mulls over the thought, Y/N sourly thinks that the Master was probably right about relationships amongst the Hashira. She could not be trusted because she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice the world to keep her Wind Pillar safe, even though he wasn’t hers at all.

The pair come upon the ruins of a small village, most of the buildings in great disrepair and in various stages of decay. Both slayers, however, pick up on the foul odor emanating from one of the more stable buildings to their left.

Y/N looks to Shinazugawa, who nods in confirmation. That is where their target is most likely lurking.

“I’ll go through the front. Can you find your way in from the back or from above?” Shinazugawa asks, drawing his blade.

Y/N nods. “I’ll cover you.” She brings her naginata to her front, swiping the blade in a long, graceful arc up as she summons her first form, Night of the New Moon, to act as a temporary cloak for the Wind Pillar.

“See ya inside,” Shinazugawa takes off into the crescent-shaped void, not wanting to lose the temporary advantage her technique provides them.

Y/N darts around the side of the crumbling hut and finds a hole large enough to slip through in its rotting roof, joining the battle already raging within.

———————-

The fight against the Lower Moon had been relatively easy — it had almost seemed a waste to send two Hashira to complete the job, given how quickly they had managed to incapacitate the demon. But the tricky part had been in the demon’s blood art, with it capable of creating full, flesh and blood clones of itself that were just as strong as its main body. Though Sanemi ultimately manages to lob off the head of the main body while Y/N held off four — four — of the accursed demon’s equally powered clones at once, the Lower Moon is able to hurtle one last attack towards the Wind Pillar, who is still airborne as he comes down from wielding the final blow.

Sanemi is just barely able to brace himself for impact as the flash of red light sluices towards him, and he feels a slight twinge of dread because he knows he is unable to twist out of the way as he falls through the air. But just before the posthumous attack can land on its target, a flurry of silver and black materializes before him, naginata spinning rapidly in her hand as she summons her eighth form to shield him for the second time since they had started fighting together.

Y/N’s Lunar Eclipse technique absorbs the full force of the demon’s attack, but because she launched herself from the upper balcony of the rotting house where she had been battling the demon’s clones to guard him mid-air, she is unable to get into the requisite defensive stance Sanemi knows she needs for the proper execution of the technique.

So he is helpless to watch as the recoil from the clash of the demon’s attack with Y/N’s defensive maneuver sends her flying backward through a crumbling wood wall, helpless to do anything but yell her name, his free hand grasping uselessly at the air as she sails away from him.

Sanemi feels a sick sense of deja vu as he tears through the rubble into the adjacent room where she has been thrown, thinking back to the first time she had used that breathing form to save him, when she had nearly lost all of her internal organs. Hot panic roils in his stomach as he clamps down the roar building in his chest, moving to yank a large, broken piece of wood out of his way, uncovering the scowling Lunar Pillar.

Sanemi wastes no time grabbing Y/N by the waist and hauling her up to inspect her, eyes wild and frantic as he looked over her for injury.

Y/N groans, sending a fresh wave of anxiety sludging through him as he waits for the coppery tang of blood to hit his nose, to confirm his worst fears that she is seriously wounded, too much so to be able to wait for the Kakushi, and-.

“Shinazugawa,” Y/N’s voice breaks through the roaring in his head. “Shinazugawa. Sanemi.” She grits out, left hand rising to grasp his forearm, nails digging into his skin to command his attention. “I am unharmed.” Sanemi finally meets her eyes, breath still coming fast and hard in his panic, though his erratic heart begins to slow at her words.

Y/N winces, the hand around him flying to the shoulder of her sword arm as she hisses through clenched teeth.

Sanemi sees then the odd slump of her shoulder, as though the joint were sitting lower, an odd gap forming in the fabric of her haori.

Sanemi recognizes the injury, his jaw clenching as anger chases away the panic that had been bubbling within him. “Your shoulder. You dislocated it.”

Y/N shimmies from his grasp, head falling forward slightly to avoid his gaze. And for some reason, her refusal to meet his eyes makes him furious. Furious because how could she look him in the eyes and tell him that what happened during their sparring session could not happen again, because they couldn’t afford to have emotional attachments as demon slayers, yet not two weeks later, she risks her own neck for him again?

Sanemi opens his mouth, ready to rip into her, to curse her for her stupidity and her hypocrisy, because how dare she tell him not to care for her but rush to give her life for his.

Before the words can form, however, Y/N looks up at him, her eyes so soft and yet so full of an emotion he instantly recognizes as self-loathing that the words died on his tongue.

At that moment, Sanemi knows only one thing: there is no insult, no mockery, no barb he can throw at her that she isn’t already screaming at herself.

No point in beating a dead horse, really.

Sanemi doesn’t want to think about why she looks so guilty because to think about the why meant giving himself hope that she was hurting just as much as he was, even though he knows why she rejected him; understands it with every fiber of his being.

So, he says nothing as she stands, makes no sound as she stomps past him and out through the decaying wood doorway, towards a dying tree in the middle of the courtyard. He watches dumbly as she lines her arm up on one side of the dry bark, inhaling once, twice through her nose before she jerks herself with all her might in the opposite direction, a pained shriek tearing from her lips.

Sanemi has spent many years with the Demon Slayer Corp. He has seen countless injuries, far worse than a dislocated shoulder, and heard far worse screams from the dying as they succumbed to demons.

Yet, as he listens to Y/N’s scream of pain, his blood runs cold.

No, Sanemi thinks, he never wants to hear that sound ever again. Thinks it would drive him mad if he were ever forced to.

But he doesn’t tell her this, because she made it abundantly fucking clear that they cannot be more than mere colleagues, so he tucks the knowledge away that his limit is apparently her pain deep into the recesses of his mind.

Sanemi tries not to think about what that means for his heart.

————————-

They arrive at the Wisteria House just after the stars in the sky had winked out, dawn not too far away. The mistress of the house promises that there is a large hot spring just behind the small estate, up a winding path and that they are both welcome to use it. Y/N was so enthralled at the promise of hot water on her aching muscles that she hadn’t thought to ask the Wind Hashira if he too planned to bathe.

Which was how she found herself in her current predicament.

It was stupid.

It was so stupid.

They had seen each other naked for crying out loud, had shared their bodies with each other. But now, here they were, stuck in opposite corners of the hot spring, resolutely turned away from one another as though neither of them had anything to hide from the other at all.

As though he hadn’t spent an entire evening inside of her, making her call out his name until her voice went hoarse.

His first name, at that.

Y/N hopes to conceal her flushed face from the Wind Pillar for as long as possible, so she hugs her good arm across her chest tighter, wincing slightly as her poorly re-set shoulder throbbed. Y/N predicts a visit to the Insect Pillar’s infirmary was in her near future, and the thought of her aching shoulder having to be poked and prodded anymore made her want to vomit.

If Y/N had been alone, she would have groaned, loudly, until she felt the weight slowly crushing her begin to lighten. But she is not alone, because she so stupidly failed to ask Shinazugawa who should bathe first, and now he is here and so is she, and they are both naked.

Still, the Lunar Hashira cannot deny the pang of longing in her heart as she furtively glances over to where the Wind Pillar stands, magnificently muscled back facing her, as he cups water between his hands to bring over his head, dampening it from white to a darker silver color.

His hair is shorter than it had been two weeks ago, she realizes, and she bites down on her lip as she realizes she likes it – a lot. Her eyes then fixate on the silvery jagged lines of the scars which crisscross his back, tracing her gaze down to where the top of his hips disappears into the glowing turquoise of the spring water. He has more scars on his back than he has on his front, she notes, evidence of his years of brutal training.

Evidence of his loss; great, unimaginable loss.

Because even the most skilled soldiers cannot save everyone, a truism she knew tore Sanemi apart. As memories of their past conversations came flooding back to her, memories of Sanemi telling her exactly what had happened to his family, his partner in the Corps, Y/N feels the oily slick of guilt seep into her gut.

It is ironic, that Sanemi Shinazugawa of all people, had felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her, — both physically and emotionally — but she had run at the first opportunity for her to return that vulnerability.

She, who had prided herself on being someone that others could depend on, could turn to in moments of need.

But she had run.

Because she is a coward.

He is beautiful and good and selfless and she is a damn coward.

Y/N’s shoulder throbs so violently it feels as if it has its own heartbeat, but Y/N doesn’t pay it any mind. She does not sink deeper into the beckoning warmth of the spring water to try and relieve the ache that is so deep it makes tears sting her eyes.

Such comfort is the least she deserves for the pain she has caused him.

——————————

He hadn’t meant to look. He swears he hadn’t.

But Sanemi accidentally turns when he hears her hiss, an instinctive urge to respond to a threat, to protect her forcing his head around, only to see no threat existed at all. Rather, the sound seemed to have been made in response to her shoulder wound.

She is not turned away from him completely — he has a perfect view of her side profile, the side of her injured shoulder facing him directly. Though her body is mostly concealed by the thick curtain of dark hair that spills down to her waist, he can see that Y/N still has her good arm locked snugly around her chest, in some futile attempt to conceal her ample breasts from sight.

Sanemi bites his lip to keep from snorting. Did it seem stupid, considering he had seen her in a far more intimate setting just a couple of weeks prior? Obviously. But Y/N’s discomfort with the situation had been obvious the moment she had stumbled across him in the hot springs, and Sanemi isn’t about to push her any further.

Especially after the stunt she just pulled on their mission.

He means to turn around once he confirmed that she was safe, that there was no threat looming in the woods surrounding the rocky hot spring. But his eyes snag on her face, on the grimace that twists at her mouth and the furrow of her eyebrows as she massages the tender skin around her swollen shoulder joint.

He hates to see her in pain. Hates it so much, it makes him want to rip the world apart with his bare hands.

And maybe it was because it tore at him to see her in such pain that he feels compelled to speak up, even though he knew he was opening himself up for more rejection, even rejection as her friend.

“You need heat,” Sanemi says, turning fully towards her.

Y/N startles slightly at the sound of Sanemi’s voice cleaving through the silent tension that had been steadily building between them. She turns her head slightly to face him, good arm tightening its hold over her chest.

He is standing in the water, body turned fully towards her. The blue-green spring water laps gently at the toned muscles of his lower abdominals, but Y/N can still make out the start of the impressive “v” of his hips. Her cheeks warm at the sight of the small trail of silvery hair that began just beneath his navel winding down and disappearing beneath the surface of the water to the crop of neatly trimmed hair that she knows frames his thick, proud length.

Y/N’s mouth runs dry as the memory of what Sanemi did to her with that length on the training grounds of his estate flashes through her mind.

So lost in thought is she that she almost forgets to respond to what Sanemi has said, flushing a deeper shade of crimson when she realizes that he had been talking about her wound.

“O-oh, I know. It’s just hard to do when I’m — well, you know.” Y/N laughs shakily, wiggling her good shoulder and the position of her arm across her chest.

Sanemi stares at her for a moment, eyebrows raised incredulously, though Y/N drops her gaze from him before she can see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I can help — if you’re comfortable with it, that is.” Sanemi offers.

Y/N feels her heart lurch at the silver-haired man’s proposition, guilt sliding back into her veins. She does not deserve his kindness, does not deserve his help after how she has treated him, and yet he offered nonetheless.

Y/N cannot deny him again, not when he seems so earnest in wanting to help ease her pain, so she nods. Something like relief flits across Sanemi’s face as he begins to make his way through the water towards her, keeping his eyes fixed behind her out of respect.

When Sanemi is close enough to reach out and touch her, he stops, the water having risen slightly up his waist now that he is in a deeper portion of the spring.

“You can — you can turn away. Put your back to me.” Sanemi says, awkwardly shifting his weight between his legs.

Y/N nods and turns to face away from him. Sanemi’s proximity sends chills across her skin, and Y/N’s belly dips in anticipation as she waits. The thick, damp air of the spring combines with the hot water licking at her upper waist makes her feel dizzy. Wordlessly, Sanemi cups a handful of hot water and brings it up over Y/N’s bruising shoulder, opening his palms to let it pour over her skin.

Though her arm remains firmly placed over her cleavage, for the first time in a long while, the Lunar Pillar feels her body begin to relax under the exquisite heat of the spring water Sanemi delicately pours over her tender shoulder.

So relaxed is she that she does not realize she is drifting backwards, not until her head thuds lightly against something hard and warm. Jolted by the sudden contact, the Lunar Hashira’s silvery eyes fly open and collide with the lilac irises above her, the surprise in his gaze a mirror of her own.

He is now much closer to her than he had been, and it is with no small amount of embarrassment that the Lunar Pillar realizes that in her haze, she has sunken back against the taut, warm body of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

There is a hint of red that begins to spread across the girl’s cheeks as she looks up at him that makes Sanemi’s ears burn, and he quickly moves his own gaze to somewhere — anywhere — that isn’t the ethereal creature now peering up at him with those haunting eyes.

He wills his other head to not react to the feeling of the girl’s head against his sternum; to not react to the silkiness of her hair or the thick haze of jasmine and honeysuckle soap which now enveloped him.

God, has she always smelt this good?

There is no making sense of what happened next. the Lunar Pillar lifts her head from Sanemi’s chest and turns to face him completely, her left arm still failing to totally obscure the luscious swell of her breasts from view. She peers up at him, as he continues to try and glare at a nearby rock in a futile attempt to not show that he has been watching her every bit as much as she is watching him.

Slowly, the Lunar Hashira lifts her free hand to lightly graze a thick scar that slants Sanemi’s left pectoral. She marvels at how it is both jagged and thick but surprisingly smooth and soft beneath the gentle press of her fingers.

Her touch is feather-light but Sanemi feels the skin beneath her soft caress erupt into flames, his cock beginning to stir at the slight contact.

She begins to trace her fingers to the start of another scar lacing his chest — slightly lower than the first — when Sanemi’s hand snatches up to grab her own, stilling its movements.

“Don’t-“he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes screwed shut as though in pain. His grip on her is firm, but not harsh. “Don’t touch me like that.”

The Lunar Pillar feels the guilt and shame, hot and relentless, course through her blood. Of course he doesn’t want her to touch him — she rejected him after all. Though she had realized there was no point in trying to run from the blossoming warmth she felt her in her chest every time she looked at the stone-faced Hashira, that did not mean he wanted her, too.

Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, she moves to quickly pull her hand away, an apology already falling from her lips at her complete lack of professionalism, at her idiocy—

Sanemi’s grip on her hand tightens before she can remove it, pressing her hand harder against his chest. “Don’t touch me like that,” he repeats, opening his eyes to look down at her startled, red face, “because I won’t-.” He winces, trying but failing to cut himself off before he could make the admission that would surely damn them both.

“Because I won’t be able to stop myself if you do.”

Y/N’s eyes fly up to meet Sanemi’s burning stare, her breath catching in her throat. She curls her fingers against his chest, her arm falling from its position across her breasts so that she is fully exposed to him, and Sanemi thinks his heart might fly out of his chest. She steps closer to him until the soft plush of her chest lays flush against his upper abdomen, the heavenly feeling causing Sanemi’s cock to throb as she leans in close.

Sanemi’s free hand itches to touch her, to rise to rest on the dip of her waist and tug her close, but he holds back, insistent that he gives her an out, a window to walk away if that was what she still wanted.

Instead, Y/N stares up at him through a thick cluster of dark lashes, her gaze setting his skin on fire as she further presses herself against him.

“Then don’t.” She whispers.

Sanemi’s heart skips several beats, and his fingers tentatively rise to brush the skin of her waist, Y/N’s eyes fluttering softly at the contact. He lifts his hand, however, to cup her jaw, forcing her to look back at him, needing to see her eyes to confirm that she truly wanted this — wanted him.

“If we keep going, that’s it. No more running from one another.” He warns, voice hoarse with desire and emotion. “There will be no one else.”

Y/N leans her face into his touch, and Sanemi thinks his knees might buckle right then. “There never was anyone else,” she says earnestly, raising her good arm to parrot the hold he has on her face. “It’s only you, Sanemi. It has only ever been you.”

Whatever resolve Sanemi had kept tethered within himself snaps, as he crashes his mouth down against Y/N’s, her mouth opening easily to allow his tongue entrance. He crushes her face against his, desperate to give everything he has and to take whatever it is she can offer him.

Y/N moans deeply into his mouth, her fingers threading themselves through his damp hair. Sanemi’s kiss is so deep that she feels as though he will consume her whole, but she cannot find it in herself to care because, for him, she would let herself burn.

His lips are still locked on hers as he drops his hands from her face, reaching down to grip under her thighs and lifting her up, Y/N’s legs locking around his waist with ease. Sanemi makes his way towards a small, rocky island that separated the hot spring into two, connected pools, wading seamlessly through the water.

Y/N breaks from the impassioned kiss with a gasp as the cold, rough edge of the rocky bank scrapes against her back. Sanemi uses the opportunity to readjust his hold on her, lifting her slightly up to press her against the island so that he has better access to her neck and below, though he does not drop the iron grip he holds on her hips.

Sanemi dances his lips down the elegant length of Y/N’s neck, pausing to suck on her sensitive pulse point and eliciting a high, keening moan from her. He moves one hand from its bruising grip from its position on one of her thighs, wrapped tightly around his waist, trailing it teasingly under her to knead the soft flesh of her backside. Y/N moans again, grinding her hips against him, desperate for the tiniest bit of friction against her core which was now aching with her need.

Sanemi growls as Y/N’s core brushes against his throbbing length, his teeth sinking into the juncture between her good shoulder and neck as he nipped her in warning. As much as he wants to bury himself in her intoxicating heat, he will not do so until he knows she is good and ready to receive him.

He pulls away from her neck to look at her, his eyes dark with need and with something deeper, something tender that Y/N won’t name right now, even though she cannot deny that she feels it, too. His cheeks are dusted pink, and his lips are reddened by her kiss. His hair, though still damp, is perfectly tousled from her fingers, and his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing.

Sanemi is beautiful and Y/N knows in her heart that she is doomed. Doomed because there will never be anything as good as this — as good as him.

He doesn’t hesitate to pounce back on her, hand dragging down the front of her torso to fondle her breast, his lips following down the same path. Before Y/N can draw another breath, her breast is sucked into Sanemi’s deliciously hot mouth just as a rough, callused finger runs over the slit at her core, dipping below slightly to brush against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Y/N cries out then, her fingers moving to clutch onto Sanemi’s shoulders, and she finds that it is easy to ignore the throb in her injured shoulder when he is working to relieve the pulsing ache between her legs.

Sanemi begins murmuring against Y/N’s breast as he slides one thick finger into her, causing Y/N’s hands to fly up to grip his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as she is overwhelmed by the sensation. He tells her she is beautiful, how perfect she feels clenching around him, and how he cannot wait to be inside her and make her sing. He slips in another finger, his thumb pressing against her clit as his teeth graze her nipple, and Y/N shatters in his arms.

“Mnnnh, Sanemi,” she pants, thighs tightening around his waist as she grinds herself relentlessly against his hand. “Oh!”

Y/N comes with the prettiest moan Sanemi has ever heard, and it takes everything in him not to follow suit just by the look of blissful pleasure on her face. Sanemi cuts off her cries with another kiss, fingers curling inside her as he brushes against the sensitive spongy patch on her inner wall, causing Y/N to fall apart all over again, a gush of fluid coating his hand for a second before the water washes it away.

Y/N feels delirious from pleasure, but a cold sting rushes through her, cutting through the hazy fog in her mind as Sanemi removes his fingers from her needy core, her walls still clenching in the aftershock of her successive orgasms. The sting does not last, however, as Sanemi readjusts her thighs around his hips, unhooking one of her legs to bring it up to her side against the rock island, bending it at the knee. He hikes her other leg higher up his waist so that her core is now pressed flush against his demanding length, its weight heavy and hot as it rests against her sensitive flesh.

He rubs his cock against her dripping folds, the friction causing Y/N’s head to fall back against the rocky bank with a thud, uncaring as a wanton moan rips from her throat. Sanemi has one hand supporting the leg pinned against the rock at her thigh, and the other grips her waist tightly, using the rest of his body weight to keep her slightly upright and pressed against the stone.

The grip on her waist tightens as he calls her attention back to him. Through half-lidded eyes, she sees him staring intently at her, eyebrows raised in question, and she realizes that he is waiting for her signal.

The thought that he would still wait for her consent, that he is still offering her an out if she wanted it, is enough to make her want to cry. But she can’t stop now, can’t stop ever, because Sanemi makes her blood sing and she is so tired of denying herself the happiness she feels whenever he is near.

“Oh Sanemi, please. Please.” She begs, rolling her hips towards him, desperate for him to claim her all over again, to make her his and his alone.

Sanemi does not waste any more time as he carefully sinks into her, a strangled groan falling from his lips as he no doubt was overly sensitive from having waited so long. Y/N’s head falls back against the stone embankment and she cries out, finally feeling whole as he seats himself fully inside her.

Sanemi does not wait long to start moving and for that, Y/N is grateful. But unlike their first pairing at his estate, Sanemi takes his time, rocking his hips into hers, cock hitting her so deep that she cannot tell where she ends and he begins. Their first time had been the product of repressed sexual tension that had been steadily building between them, hard and fast and needy, but this?

This was different.

This was passion. This was both the end and the beginning, a sacred covenant between them that bound their hearts together, entwined their souls for infinity.

As Sanemi’s hips pick up the pace against her, the water stirring and sloshing and breaking around them with the force of his thrusts, Y/N realizes that until now, she has been on fire.

She had been from the moment their lips had met during training at his estate. She had been engulfed in an inferno that had only grown hotter, had only consumed her more, when she had tried to run, tried to deny the love that had bloomed in her heart well before she had ever offered herself to him for pleasure. For the last two weeks, she has burned and burned because she had known deep in her soul that she loved Sanemi Shinazugawa and had put herself in hell trying to deny it — to deny him.

Yet he had come and saved her, again, had pulled her out of that pit of fire and brimstone and smothered the flames with his tender heart and tender kiss, and now she was no longer burning; she was just warm.

Warm and safe and in love.

“Y/N,” Sanemi rasps, his forehead pressed against hers as his eyes bore into her, his mouth falling open. His hands clutch her tighter against him, the possessive drag of his cock making Y/N see stars as she clings to him, moaning and whimpering as she feels her release building inside her belly.

And though she is unable to stop the words that fall from her lips, she means them with every ounce of her heart.

“I love you,” she whimpers, fingers digging into Sanemi’s back as his hips stutter slightly against her at her words, the movement resulting in a delicious spike of pleasure against her clit. “I love you, Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s forehead pulls away from her own, his eyes wide and so full of hope it breaks her heart. He does not say anything, but the way he then kisses her makes her taste his response.

I love you, too.

Y/N breaks the kiss, her moans growing louder as her end nears, and from the way Sanemi’s movements quicken, becoming slightly uneven, she knows he is near as well. So Y/N presses her hands against the sides of his face, thumb running over the jagged scar cutting across his cheek as she tilts his head up to look at her.

Lavender eyes meet hers and Sanemi tumbles headfirst over the edge.

He comes with a shout, the tendons in his neck straining as his hips press hard against her. Y/N feels the warm rush his seed start to fill her and she follows after him, clenching so hard on his cock that Sanemi moans again, his release prolonged by Y/N’s pulsating walls around him.

They are both finally spent but Sanemi cannot yet bring himself to pull out, instead burying his face in Y/N’s neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“Did you mean it?” He pants against her sweaty skin, his breath causing goosebumps to ripple across her. “Did you mean what you said?”

Y/N moves to cup his face, pulling him away from her neck so he can meet her eyes. Though he is inside her, he blushes as she peers up at him, her expression serious.

“I love you, Sanemi. I have for a while,” She pauses, considering. “Longer than I was willing to admit two weeks ago.”

And her words are so honest, spoken with such conviction, that Sanemi cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face, and Y/N thinks she has never seen a more beautiful sight than a smiling Sanemi Shinazugawa, as he leans to kiss her slowly and languid.

————————

It’s hours later, and the two have not left the hot spring, even though they’ve long stopped feeling the heat of the water.

They had not stopped themselves from having one another again and again. Sanemi had still been buried inside of her when she had felt him harden as she professed her love for him again, and so she had had no choice but to move him under her and ride him until he shouted her name, filling her back up with his essence.

Y/N now rests her head on Sanemi’s chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scars dancing across his pectorals.

God, he was beautiful.

His scars told a story — a story of a warrior who gave every part of himself to the dream they shared of ridding the world of demons.

A story of strength; of survival. A warning that he had won every encounter with every demon who crossed his path.

It was a beautiful story. He was a beautiful story.

“Ugly, aren’t they?”

Sanemi’s derisive tone startles Y/N from where she lay, and she looks up at him in alarm. Though the expression on his face was soft — contented, even — there is an unmistakable hardness in his eyes as he glances down to where her fingers rested.

“What on earth do you mean?” Y/N demands, fanning her hand out protectively across his chest.

Sanemi does not respond, merely choosing to smile ruefully at her.

But Y/N shakes her head. “No. No, they’re not ugly; not in the slightest.” She moves so she’s sitting on his lap and bends over him, brushing her lips along the outline of each scar that crosses his skin.

“You’re beautiful.” Y/N insists between the press of her lips to him.

Sanemi reddens but shakes his head at her. “They scare kids, ya know. And girls. And most people, for that matter.”

Y/N looks up from the scar she is currently lavishing and sees Sanemi watching her intently. She sits up, reaching a hand to cup under his chin so that he won’t try and hide from her, won’t try to avoid what she is about to say.

“Your beauty has never scared me, Sanemi. Ever.” She swears, voice firm and steady.

Sanemi’s heart feels like it is going to punch through his chest and dance across Y/N’s lap. At that moment, Sanemi realizes that nothing else matters to him, nothing at all, except for the woman with the kindest heart he’s ever known and the moon in her eyes.

So he sits up, and cradles her face while he kisses her softly, breaking away from her only to respond to her earlier declaration.

“I love you, too.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope you all enjoyed it!

Here is the reference for the Lunar Pillar's naginata blade -- fun fact, naginatas were historically used by Japanese noblewomen for protection!

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#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #kny x reader #sanemi drabble #kny fanfic #demon slayer hcs #kimestu no yaiba #kny #kny smut #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer

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demonic0angel · 1 year ago

Text

More Jazz Forms (click for clarity)

TW: disturbing content, body horror

1) Head only Jazz

+ She is a head that walks on a bunch of mysterious tentacles. She’s inspired by a CN novel called “Let the Villain Go” in a chapter where a demon pops up and is described as a head that walks on tentacles (I may be delulu and remembered it wrong).

+ Around 900 feet tall. Most of the height is her tentacles, but her head is still around 100 feet tall.

+ Jason is a little obsessed with how huge she is. When he is away, she stays standing over his apartment like a creepy water storage tank. Nobody can see her except liminals and ghosts, so she remains undetected by Jason’s side.

+ She is generally peaceful and doesn’t move much. She is a relatively quiet being with no explicit ability to defend herself or attack. I imagine her to be very dreamy, despite her piercing stare.

2) Celestial Object Jazz

+ She is a quasi-stellar radio source, AKA a quasar :)

+ Impossibly large and infinite. She is so big that her gravitational pull is pulling apart a piece of the universe. Jason thinks that she’s beautiful, and he looks for her every night. He uses special technology to see her on Earth and when he can, he sneaks onto the Watchtower to look at her.

+ The mass of the black hole that she is made of is around 150 billion solar masses. She is located extremely far from the Milky Way within the largest galaxy of the universe. Since she is technically both the black hole and the gas that surrounds it, she won’t be fading for awhile.

+ Her origin is unknown in this idea (but is related to her siblings, who have all become celestial objects themselves). Her existence is extremely old and that is partially Clockwork’s fault.

3) Corrupted Jazz

+ She has become corrupted from years of ectoplasm, death, and generally instability. The tentacles that come from her stomach is actually just pieces of her soul that are trying to reach for others. She calls for help, but no one but Jason has been reaching out.

+ She cannot be around people for too long, or she causes insanity, violent mood swings, headaches, auditory and visual hallucinations, paranoia, nosebleeds, and general weakness, even if they cannot see her. Jason is somewhat resistant to her, but she heavily restrains herself so the effects of her existence won’t hurt him.

+ She tries to stay away from Jason, but bc she’s so clingy, she watches him from a distance. Her presence brings shadows and darkness, so he’s also been getting a reputation of scaring criminals to pissing themselves whenever he comes by.

+ Her body is covered in shadows, but she glows a little from the ectoplasm, so her silhouette can be vaguely seen.

4) Monochrome Jazz

+ Inspired by Lady Dimitrescu and Hachishakusama

+ She dresses in all black and her skin is pale as well. A hat and face mask cover all available skin on her face. Any skin below the neck is also covered.

+ She is around 9 feet tall. She stalks Jason whenever she can and always follows him around. She is extremely hostile and dangerous and does not hesitate to attack when she feels even the slightest bit threatened. She is also completely mute.

+ She is both a ghost and an urban legend, hence why she looks like that. Underneath her mask is a mouth of razor sharp teeth like a moray eel.

5) Wolf Jazz

+ Inspired by Jason’s Red Hood motif that is similar to Little Red Riding Hood. That’s also why I associate Jazz with so many canine themes :)

+ Black fur, several pairs of eyes, and two sets of deformed ears. I am debating whether or not she also has 3 pairs of legs.

+ She follows Jason around like a dog, but does not behave like a pet. As such, he can’t order her around unless she wants to listen to him. Thankfully, she likes cooperating with him and the two of them terrorize the criminals of Crime Alley.

+ She is around 5 feet tall when standing on all fours, but when she stands up on her hind legs, she is around 9 feet tall. She is very fluffy.

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 6 months ago

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2024.10.23

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. All is found by ProseMary [G, 16k]

It had been six years, and things were going better than ever. [...] But Draco supposed it was too good to last. Every bubble had to pop, soon or later, by one thing or another, because that was just how life worked. Draco’s life especially. In this case, it would be the return of Jay Rossy.

2. A Black Cat's Good Luck by @handledwithgloves [E, 6k]

On a stake out for the DMLE, Harry has to remain in his animagus form. His stake out location? The alleyway next to Draco Malfoy’s apartment. So, is it really his fault if Draco takes him in and keeps him as a pet? Especially when Draco is more gentle with Harry than anyone in his life has ever been?

3. Caught in a witch's spell by Shaming_Leo [G, 4k]

Harry made a promise the day his cousin beat him for the last time—just the day before his birthday—that no one would step over him again, literally or figuratively speaking. [...] So when the pretty blonde at the robe shop showed a little bit of interest in him, it felt nice. Not many girls –if any, actually– had shown interest in him before. She was a little bit rude, but the predators needed that to stay at the top.

4. Celestial Being by Year_ofthe_Rabbit [?, 192k]

The entire universe conspired to make clear that the king Draco’s family had put into power deserved to be overthrown in a bloody coup, to be replaced by a younger, brighter, more beloved king. Draco lost everything and was left to live as a despised servant in his aunt's household. He didn't accept it. No, he would do whatever it took to recapture the life he deserved. Even if that was only possible during an equinox ball, where he could live one anonymous night at a time as a captivating celestial being.

5. Defiant Hearts by @coffeedrgn87 [E, 117k]

In Regency England, the price of love is high. Draco, the sole heir to the Malfoy family's vast fortune and reputation, longs to marry for love. His father, Lucius Malfoy—a cold, heartless man—disagrees. With his father breathing down his neck, demanding that Draco court a suitable young lady, Draco's time to find a love match is running out. Then there's Harry, the last descendant of the Potter family, once a noble house with a vast fortune, great respect, and considerable influence. Harry knows his duties, but what he truly desires is a love match—an equal. When an unexpected Regency-style meet-cute turns everyone's plans upside down, Draco becomes a rebel, and Harry must make a decision that will define the rest of his life.

6. How Could You? by Devious_Muffin [E, 3k]

Harry finds himself in detention with Draco, forced to clean without magic while Draco gets a much easier task. He tries not to let Draco get to him, but the combination of insults and an odd Potions ingredient lead him to take actions he never thought himself capable of.

7. Planar Distortion by Missbridg [T, 14k]

Harry is working as a Prof of DADA 12 years after the war has ended. Despite the time, repairs to the castle continue- including major restoration of magical portraits throughout Hogwarts. To restore the paintings both visually and magically, McGonagall hires a Magical Art Restorer to live in residence while completing the work. Harry is shocked to learn that the best man for the job, by all accounts, is one Draco Malfoy.

8. polleniser and lactogen by @thisisformyfanfiction [E, 5k]

Draco and Harry are out gathering ingredients for Draco’s Potions lessons, and take an unexpected stumble into strange flowers.

9. Practically Married by @dobbyrockssocks [T, 3k]

Harry and Draco wake up the morning after a night out in Vegas with matching wedding rings. There’s only one explanation, right?

10. When You Unfold Me by @hephaestiions [E, 6k]

Harry’s high. He knows this because Draco Malfoy has stars in his eyes. — Or: a conversation in the common room takes a turn.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. (sex) Toys are a Guy’s Best Friend by Anonymous [E, 3k]

Harry learns that sometimes great things come in unexpected packages. ★ 2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

2. You're alright now by @poetryobsessedbi [E, 1k]

Harry gets a phone call that no one wants to get. Draco is in the hospital because of a car crash, and not even in a magical hospital but in a muggle one. Harry doesn't hesitate to drop everything and go to his boyfriend. They'll manage together, at least magic can heal a lot. ★ Cult of Chaos Cultober 2024

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.10

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theyareweird · 2 months ago

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Diabolik Lovers: Shu Sakamaki's Character Profile (Requested)

Diabolik Lovers* is a Japanese otome game franchise. In it, a girl is allowed to pick one romantic partner amongst multiple males. Shu Sakamaki is one of these options. Due to this, personal details about the character will be presented in this article. Please note: No fan theories or headcanons (fan interpretations or additions of a fictional story that aren't canon or confirmed to be canon by the creator) will be included in this article. The majority of this information is from the DL Visual Fanbook.

Basic Information

True Name: Ririe (DL game: Dark Fate, Yuma's Route).

Birthday: October 18th

Sign: Libra

Age: 19 (physically, unknown actual age).

Species: Demon

Race: Vampire

Ethnicity: Japanese

Gender: Male ♂

Height: 180 cm (5'11")

Weight: 65 kg (143 lb)

Dominant Hand: Left

Foot Size: 27.5cm (10.8in)

Blood Type: AB

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Occupation: 3rd Year High School Student and Crown Vamperic Prince [currently]. Cashier [formerly] (DL Drama CD: "Mr. Vampire’s Gloomy Working Lifestyle").

Hobbies: Listening to music [twenty-four/seven], playing the violin [favorite] and sleeping [often].

Favorite Food: Rare Steak

Favorite Gemstone: Citrine

Associated Color: Yellow

Additional Information

Likes: Classical music, ranging from piano to violin.

Dislikes: Hates food that's too sweet.

Fears: Freaky clowns, caterpillars (DL Drama CD: Alice NET Tokuten “The Wicked Sonata of Mushrooms”), and pyrophobia [fear of fire].

Skills: Reading Latin, swordsmanship (DL game: Haunted Dark Bridal, Shu's Ending 3), plays the violin and plays the piano. Is also good at darts (DL anime, Seas. 1).

Items: Shu always has an MP3 player on his waist. It's attached to a wire, which is wrapped around his neck with earbuds in his ears. The choker-like music player is waterproof. This way, it doesn’t break when it gets wet in the bath.

Taste Checklist ✓

“You want to know my preferences? You must have a lot of time on your hands.”

A weirdo who will look after me.

I hate loud mouths.

A woman who is self-aware isn’t bad.

Take good care of yourself as well.

Deep inside I’ll always remain a Do-S. (Refering to wanting his lover to be a sadist).

To capture Shu's heart, who usually remains indifferent to his surroundings, you have to be the one to take initiative. However, he hates an overly pesky attitude. Trying to approach him somewhat carefully is best.

Biological Relatives

Karlheinz (Father)

Beatrix (Mother)

Richter (Uncle)

Reiji (Younger Brother)

Ayato (Paternal Younger Half-Brother)

Kanato (Paternal Younger Half-Brother)

Laito (Paternal Younger Half-Brother)

Subaru (Paternal Younger Half-Brother)

History

Shu was born to Beatrix, the second wife of the Vampire King, Karlheinz Sakamaki. He was raised in the Sakamaki Castle located in the Demon World. As the eldest son of the family, Shu's mother focused all her attention on him in order to raise him into an heir. Being a little boy, he felt suffocated by the restrictions and responsibilities placed on him. This eventually led Shu to run away from home.

He used the underground passageways in the castle that connected the demon world to the human world. There, Shu met Edgar, a human boy from a remote village. The two got along well and became best friends. Thus, Shu made a habit of running off to play with him (DL game: More Blood, Shu's Route). At one point, Edgar gifted him a german shepherd puppy. Shu promised his friend he would take care of the pup, only for his mother to take the animal away from him (DL anime, Seas. 1).

Little Shu is from Maixsu.

One day, Edgar's village was destroyed in a mysterious fire. Despite Shu's protests, he went into the fire and died. Although it wasn't his fault, he blames himself for his friend's death and developed severe trauma from the incident (DL game: MB, Shu's Route & DL anime, Seas. 2).

Reiji would also bully Shu through mocking jabs that he was useless and couldn't do anything for himself. This, in addition to the consistent pressure from his mother, cased him to withdraw from life. Shu soon lost interest in doing anything except when Reiji provoked him.

Beyond this, he has always had a passion for music since he was young. Once, his father even gave him a violin as a gift. Shu believes he lost it, but it was suspected Reiji broke it (DL game: More Blood, Reiji's Maniac Prologue).

At some point, little Laito ate all the candies in the refrigerator and hid the candies wrappers in Shu’s pant pockets. Thus, Reiji scolded Shu instead of Laito. Shu says he’s still angry at Laito about it (DL 5th Anniv. Book: Shu's Interview).

As a teenager, Shu failed his exam and had to repeat his senior year. To punch him, his father exiled him to the North Pole. Shu said he had to be careful not to fall into the ocean. Ayato comments it was a real survival trip since Shu had to fight polar bears and was seen scratched when he came back home.

Relationships

Yui Komori: Because of his past experience with Edgar, Shu tends to push Yui away at first since humans die too easily. He does this by claiming she's bothersome, talentless, annoying and a waste of time. However, if Yui keeps pestering him to do something for himself [on Shu Routes], Shu will enjoy teasing her about wearing unattractive panties and bras. He shows a more perverted side than Laito because Yui seeks his attention. Shu also calls her lewd or dirty girl.

Reiji Sakamaki: The two brothers have a sour and hostile relationship. This is due to multiple misunderstandings and unfortunate circumstances of their past. In addition, their mother pinned them against each other for her approval. Currently, Reiji will insult everything Shu does if in the vicinity, while Shu will leave the room to avoid dealing with him.

Beatrix: Shu hated the training and restrictions she placed upon him because it robbed him of a childhood. However, he did care for her because she mostly used guilt-tripping manipulation on him to make him behave the way she wanted.

Karlheinz: Even though he has received gifts from his father, Shu rarely communicates with him (DL game: More Blood; Reiji's Dark Epilogue). He doesn't like him because he believes Karl is the main reason for all the burden and lack of freedom he feels.

Laito Sakamaki: Shu holds a grudge against Laito for causing him trouble once in their childhood.

Yuma Mukami: Although all the diaboys are rivals to one another, Shu's biggest rival for the girl he loves is Yuma.

Kou Mukami: Kou and Shu relatively get along with each other. Due to being friends, in addition to Kou's compliments, Shu once asked if he would like to become his younger brother. Kou rejected the offer because "Ruki is best suited for him."

Shin Tsukinami: Shu once forcefully slept on top of Shin in his wolf form because he wanted to use him as a pillow (DL Lunatic Parade game: Sakamaki Shuu [Sub scenario w/ Shin]).

What do you think? Did you learn something new about Shu's character? Did you like this article? If not, why? Please share with me!

Requested: @nunezs-stuff

#diabolik lovers #shu sakamaki #anime #supernatural #dark anime #horror game #article #vampire #demon #character profile #otome game #japanese horror #prince shu #prince shu sakamaki #shuu sakamaki #sakamaki shuu #sakamaki shu

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corrupted-hands-texts · 1 month ago

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long time no see, have some CookieRun fanfic (AO3 post)

No TWs, enjoy!

°-°-°

"I'm sorry," Golden Cheese Cookie said, a hint of sorrow surfacing in her voice. "I need more time."

White Lily Cookie stared at her friend, who turned back and hovered off. Maybe she stared for too long. She didn't know. All she knew is that her friend of eons wasn't ready to forgive her.

The next thing she remembered was sitting down on the bench near the Tree of Wishes. She didn't know how she got there, or why she even went to this location in the first place.

A bit farther away, settled on the pavement between the houses, were GingerBrave and Wizard Cookie playing with dice. She didn't pay much attention to them. Her mind was running at a thousand miles per second.

And that's how Pure Vanilla Cookie was able to sneak up on her.

"Hello!", his familiar voice greeted, soft and warm as always.

White Lily Cookie jumped up in surprise, turning around to face him as he settled down next to her.

"How are you doing, my friend?" he enquired, his staff's eye locked on her.

She fumbled, sat back down. "I... am fine."

"Are you sure?" he insisted softly, pivoting a bit sideways to face her.

"I-I really am fine," she mumbled back, knowing full well that he could perfectly read her expression despite being visually impaired.

"White Lily Cookie," he started, but she cut him.

"Please, I don't want to speak about it."

"Is it about Golden Cheese Cookie again?", he guessed.

"... How—"

"I have known you for millenniums, of course I can read you like an open book," he smiled.

"... it is about her, yes..." She turned away from the archmage, and let her eyes land on the two kids playing dice. "I just... hoped for her approval... again."

"Let's walk together, shall we?" he softly asked, extending his hand out to her.

She looked at it for a bit, before taking it in her own.

He stood up, and she followed, her gaze sinking to the ground. They then started pacing down the pavement.

"White Lily Cookie," he softly hummed while guiding her around the road, "you know that she's a stubborn head, right?"

"Yes, I do, but—"

"She will come around eventually. She may need some help in doing so, like when GingerBrave and the others had to convince her to move on from the Golden Cheese Kingdom; but I trust she will come around."

She looked up to Pure Vanilla Cookie for a bit, just enough to spot his staff gazing at her.

"... I... get that. I have done a mistake that caused all of her subjects' lives, after all..."

"White Lily Cookie... Please, it wasn't your fault."

"It was—" She stammered.

"You didn't know what you would witness there. And I know your intentions were, and still are, kind-hearted," he softly said.

She stared some more at the pavement, not knowing what to answer.

"Ah, here we are. We should be alone here," Pure Vanilla Cookie stated, stopping in his tracks to wave his staff at his dedicated pavillion.

She looked up, gazed at it.

It really suited its owner. It followed Pure Vanilla Cookie's colours with carved wafflestone columns supporting an enormous replica of his hat as way of roof.

It also had a white lily blooming in front of it.

"... Was that flower always there?" She asked, pointing at the white petals and rose filaments.

"Why, yes. I planted it there soon after the sugar gnomes had finished building this terrace for me."

"Why so?" She enquired.

"Because... Well, I was missing you. And I missed my garden back at the Vanilla Kingdom, so... I wanted a tribute to it."

He moved, gently tugging her along, and walked in the pavillion.

"Can't I miss my closest friend now?" He teased, settling himself against one of the columns and letting go of White Lily Cookie so she could also get comfortable.

She chose to sit against the archmage's side, slightly leaning on him, as they used to do during their long research nights at the academy when they were young and innocent still.

"No, that is... perfectly reasonable," she mumbled as she let herself drown in the folds of Pure Vanilla Cookie's robes.

She inhaled his scent quietly and relaxed against her friend.

"I... know I can't expect everyone to forgive me for what I've done, but... I really wish she could."

"She will," he said immediately, not skipping a beat. "She may be the incarnation of stubbornness, but she will come around. After all, she's known you for so long, too."

White Lily Cookie sat in silence for a bit, before hiding a little more in her friend's clothes.

"I hope you're right."

#crk #fanfiction #oneshot #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #white lily cookie #pure vanilla cookie #golden cheese cookie

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technicolorfamiliar · 7 months ago

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Der Student von Prag (The Student of Prague) Dir. Henrik Galeen 1926

So I'm going back and rewatching a handful of the titles from the initial 50+ film journey into Conrad Veidt's filmography. Some I'm revisiting because they made such an indelible impression on me the first time, others because I want to give them a second chance. The Student of Prague was among the first films on what wound up being a year-long deep dive into Connie's work and history. I loved it then, but even more so now.

I want to live inside this movie. Galeen and his crew made a hell of a picture, made all the more special by Conrad Veidt doing the literal most.

There is a bewitching quality to The Student of Prague, from Conrad Veidt's dual performances as both Balduin and his Double to the atmospheric cinematography and special effects. It's a dreamy film that really sets itself apart as a dark and lovely supernatural period piece.

Despite some very minor issues, over all it's genuinely pretty perfect. It's one of those films that, even with its faults, sweeps me effortlessly into the gothically Romantic world of the story.

Maybe the film could have benefited from tighter editing, cutting some of the longer sequences and unnecessary shots. But an argument could also be made that these longer scenes aid the spell the film is casting over its audience, the way Sciapinelli weaves his spell on the hilltop to draw Balduin and Margrit together.

The cinematography by Günther Krampf and Erich Nitzschmann is really something special. Shadow was a big motif and standard tool filmmakers used back then, especially those working in the Expressionist style, but for 'Student, maybe because of the early 19th century setting and the proximity of the natural world (both real and fabricated), the use of shadow here makes the film feel more like a fairy tale illustrated by Arthur Rackham than the Uncanny Art Deco of classic German Expressionism. The digital restoration really highlights how successfully they worked with value and contrast to create such a visually rich film.

And it fucken WIMDY. The use of wind throughout the film is really effective -- Sciapinelli's coat billowing out behind him on the hilltop, the rustling foliage behind Balduin after the duel, dead leaves blown into the Countess's bedroom, and the gales that follow Balduin through the city in the film's final act. Whether used on a studio set or in location shots, wind here feels not only atmospheric but also supernatural; it's Sciapinelli's invisible presence when he's not even in the shot.

Even the relatively minimalist score works. It's mostly piano supplemented occasionally by one or two other instruments, a flute or an accordion, and there are only a handful of repeated themes. Apparently the music that's in the most recent restoration was composed only a few years ago by Stephen Horne, so it's really anyone's guess what the original soundtrack by Willy Schmidt-Gentner was like. Regardless, the new music definitely feels appropriate not only to the period the film was made but also the overall Vibes.

On my first watch about a year ago, I was struck by the special effects used in this film. For the time it was made, the effects had to be incredibly impressive. The transitions where the Double appears and disappears in a ghostly fashion are fun, but there's an especially cool shot where he appears to walk through an iron gate, and a really great close up dolly shot towards the end of the film where the Double appears to float toward the back of the room. And I don't know if this was something they touched up in post-production or if the lighting on set was chef's kiss perfect, but Connie's eyes literally glow. There are shots where his eyes, especially as the Double, are like two beacons set in the shadows.

The other performances… they're fine. I mean, everyone who wasn't playing Balduin has to have known it wasn't their movie. Except for Werner Krauss as Sciapinelli who looks like if Alfred Molina was sent back to the 1920s and did as much cocaine as he could find. He's so creature coded that I genuinely don't know what to make of his performance. Everyone else, including Connie, is kind of doing a riff on realism to varying degrees of exaggeration but still relatively tame for the era (compare the acting in 'Student to The Hands of Orlac just two years earlier). But I guess Werner Krauss didn't get the memo, or because Sciapinelli is a supernatural character it's ok for him to be a little out there. He does some really delightfully creepy and borderline upsetting stuff especially in the scene when he makes the deal with Balduin. It's all very weirdly sexual and I hate it. Otherwise, there's unfortunately very little of note in the other performances. Elizza La Porta as the flower girl does the pathetic-cute thing well, but Agnes Esterhazy's Margrit is sadly pretty forgettable.

But the Balduin of it all. This is truly a groundbreaking role for Conrad Veidt at this time in his career. I feel like this film alone slingshot him into his meatier and more interesting roles in the late 1920s. Sure, Connie was doing some interesting and versatile stuff around this time (Ingmarsarvet and Carlos & Elisabeth come to mind), but this just hits different. Everything kind of lines up perfectly for him as this character, and the story is that unique Poe-inspired blend of the uncanny and capital R Romance that really suits him. Because of the nature of the story itself, Connie's free to play big when it works for the character, but also works in these incredibly vulnerable and subtle moments as well. I don't know if this is thanks to the director being hands-on with Connie or just letting him do his thing. Whatever the case, it works.

It's maybe worth mentioning Connie was 33 when they shot this. I don’t know how old Balduin's supposed to be, but he's probably at least ten years younger than Connie was at the time. And I buy it, I buy that Balduin is a young man, foolish and naïve in the way only someone that young could be. His youthfulness isn't just suggested in the character's decisions but also in his physicality. When we first meet Balduin, Connie's doing this sulky, pouty, petulant thing that I love for him. In the first act, he's clearly beloved by his fellow-students and by the flower girl, and he easily slips out of his misery about his money problems into a more lighthearted mood. He's moody one moment and playful the next, joining in a low-stakes fencing match for fun when just moments before he was brooding alone full Morrissey style in the garden. This initial lightness about the character sets him up for his eventual inevitable hard fall into shame and helplessness.

I'm afraid to admit it took me a whole 24 hours after watching this a second time to realize that Balduin is kind of a dick. But Connie's performance is so good and so empathetic that I didn't notice right away. He himself is stunningly, Byronically beautiful in this film. He's like a painting of a tragic, Romantic hero come to life, I can’t even handle it. And, my god, the yearning! It's palpable. In the wrong hands, I would probably hate this character. I haven't seen Wegener's or Walbrook's versions, but I can't imagine they're as charismatic as Connie is in the role.

But what I love even more than Connie as Balduin is him as the Double. I am FASCINATED by this performance and this character. I have SO MANY QUESTIONS. The way he consolidates his movements so that he practically glides through the frame, the way he keeps this performance distinct by slowing everything down and keeping a lot of the Double's anguish internal… it's so good.

I think we only see the Double four times before the last act of the film: first when he steps out of the mirror; much later outside the Countess's party; in the graveyard; and after he kills the Baron in the woods. Initially, when the reflection steps out of the mirror after Balduin signs Sciapinelli's contract, the Double seems pretty soulless. His dead-eyed, mask-like expression as he stalks out of the room makes it seem like he's just going to be a mindless puppet Sciapinelli can use to torment Balduin. And certainly in their first two encounters, Balduin's mirror image slinks out of the shadows as a reminder of his Faustian bargain but also as something of a stand in for his conscience. The first two times we see the Double out in the world are when Balduin is at his happiest, in his most romantic moments with Margrit, who is not only completely out of Balduin's league but also promised to someone else (even if that some one else is her cousin...). Nothing about the Double's presence in these scenes suggests that he's anything more than a phantom, a specter to haunt the protagonist from a distance.

But then, something changes. The Double isn't just a ghost that only Balduin can see; he's just as real as his counterpart, and his actions have consequences. Balduin promises Margrit's father, the Count, to spare her cousin-fiancée in a duel the Baron knows he cannot win -- Balduin is, after all, the best swordsman in Prague. They even say the fight is supposed to be with heavy sabers, which sound like they could really mess you up. But when dueling day arrives, Balduin is delayed by the wheels inexplicably coming off his carriage. He races through the countryside on foot in order to make his appointment, but it's too late. He stops dead in his tracks, frozen in fear, as the Double appears, approaching him slowly from the tree line. When the Double reaches him, Balduin sees the bloody sword and immediately recoils, fearing the worst. But what's most interesting about this scene is that, when the Double finally looks up, his expression is not that of a mindless zombie. When he looks up, the Double looks horrified. Realization slowly rises in his face, and he turns to Balduin with this look of abject horror and helplessness while Balduin cowers in fright. And as the Double turns to walk out of the clearing, he hangs is head in pained resignation and I AM OBSESSED. There are no intertitles in this sequence, but the anguished look he gives Balduin says, "Do you see now? This, and worse than this, is going to keep happening." Connie's performance in this scene suggests the Double may not be able to control his actions but he certainly has feelings about them. So does this mean the Double is in fact Balduin's soul? His goodness? His innocence? I NEED TO KNOW MORE.

The Double is also consistently dressed in the student costume Balduin wears at the beginning of the film. After Sciapinelli gives Balduin the money, Balduin buys a whole new wardrobe (honestly, who wouldn't?). But the mirror version of Balduin doesn't change to reflect Balduin as he is in the present; the Double wears the clothes of a student -- the cap, the velveteen jacket -- because he represents who Balduin was. He's the boy, the youth uncorrupted by excessive wealth and privilege, now made to do horrible things because Balduin so easily handed him over to Sciapinelli when they made their deal. UGH.

The final time Balduin sees his Double, his mirror self hounds him with measured steps, pushing him away from the fragile security of wealth and opulence back to his abandoned student flat. And the expression on the Double's face now is grimly accusatory, it's deeply solemn disappointment, it's a final judgment before an inevitable end. There's sorrow and resentment in the Double's eyes, but kept restrained and subtle, gradually building in wordless intensity until Balduin must finally face himself, literally, in order to end his torment, finding a pistol and shooting his mirror image and therefore killing himself.

Maybe a lot of the descriptors I use for Connie are hyperbole, but his work in this film is remarkable. Anyone interested in getting to know him as an actor, hell, anyone interested in film history period, absolutely should watch The Student of Prague at least once.

Final thoughts: For real, though, it would suck to not have a reflection. I recently had a whole conversation with my (straight, cis male) family members about this; not a one of them owns or even sees the need for a full length mirror. And maybe the big mirror in Balduin's student room came with the place when he moved in, but you get used to having something like that. I know it would drive me crazy not being able to check my whole outfit to make sure I don't look like a doofus before leaving the house.

#my writing #conrad veidt #the student of prague #tl;dr i have a lot of feelings about this movie and need to yell about it online #remember when i used to make and post art here lol #now it's almost exclusively a conrad veidt appreciation blog and i am so so sorry

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sunmafiber · 2 years ago

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A Glimpse into Precision Optics with Wonders of Fiber Interferometer

A fiber interferometer is an optical device created to make use of light's wave-like properties for accurate measurements. It works by combining two or more light waves to produce a resultant wave that carries data about their relative phases. This process is known as the interference principle.

Important Elements and Operating Principles

The optical fibers at the center of a fiber interferometer transmit light across great distances with little loss. The fundamental arrangement is utilizing a beam splitter to divide a single light beam into two directions. Before coming back together at a detector, these pathways pass via several fiber arms. An interference pattern, often known as a pattern of alternately light and dark fringes, is produced by the interference between the two beams. The Fiber Interferometer can detect even the smallest changes in the physical values being measured by analyzing variations in this pattern. You can buy a visual fault locator online.

Applications in a Wide Range of Fields

Metrology and Accurate Measuring: In metrology labs and the industrial sector, fiber interferometers are widely used for accurate length measuring, surface profiling, and alignment. They are essential instruments for quality assurance and calibration procedures because of their excellent precision and stability.

Environmental Sensing: To identify minute variations in temperature, pressure, and refractive index, these instruments are used in environmental monitoring systems. They help us comprehend the dynamics of the oceans, the atmosphere, and the geological processes on Earth.

Characterization of Materials: Researchers use Fiber Interferometers to examine the mechanical and thermal characteristics of materials, assisting in the development of innovative materials for the electronics, aerospace, and automotive sectors.

Detection of Gravitational Waves: In the field of astrophysics, Fiber Interferometers are a vital component of complex systems, which made significant gravitational wave discoveries that supported Einstein's general theory of relativity and opened up new research directions.

Outlooks for the Future Fiber interferometers and fiber identifier have a remarkably bright future. More sensitive and compact interferometers are being created as a result of developments in nanotechnology and materials science. They are being improved to increase their performance and reliability for a wider variety of applications. Fiber Interferometers may play a crucial role in quantum computing, secure communication, and other cutting-edge industries as technology advances.

Main source: https://sunmafiber.mystrikingly.com/

#Fiber Interferometer #Visual Fault Locator #Fiber Identifier #Optical Light Source

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barbielore · 5 months ago

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As I have mentioned before, my personal favourite Barbie out of the Holiday Hostess series is Thanksgiving Feast.

This is not due to any appreciation for or attachment to the holiday of Thanksgiving, which I don't celebrate as an Australian, and understand has some rather fraught history and cultural implications.

I just think that she stands out among this collection as being one of the most thoughtfully designed. She has appropriate props, and is standing in front of a background that represents a real location; unlike some of the others, who get mere plain backdrops.

It may also be worth mentioning that there have been other Thanksgiving-themed Barbie releases, including the Happy Thanksgiving Kelly series.

I really can't fault the design on these, either. Firstly, Kelly as a turkey is really cute. But also, the globe design (that I think is meant to evoke a pumpkin?) instead of just a regular box makes them visually interesting.

The Happy Thanksgiving series also includes friends of Kelly, Kerstie and Tommy, as pilgrims, but I have vastly more appreciation for Kelly as a turkey.

#barbie #barbie collectibles #holiday hostess #thanksgiving feast #kelly club #kelly roberts #happy thanksgiving #thanksgiving

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iwanthermidnightz · 1 year ago

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Ahhh did you see the new rolling stone gaylor article ?? I'm so impressed.

When Taylor Swift released the long-awaited rerecording of her genre-leaping album 1989, fans eagerly pored over vault tracks, theories of double albums, and limited edition vinyl releases that could predict Swift’s next re-record. But for Gaylors, a dedicated Swift fanbase that’s existed for over a decade, Swift’s prologue and a mention of her feelings surrounding speculation about her love life have dampened what should have been an exciting release.

Thinking about the 24-year-old she was when 1989 was released, Swift writes, “I swore off dating and decided to only focus on myself, my music, my growth, and my female friendships. If I only hung out with my female friends, people couldn’t sensationalize or sexualize that — right? I would learn later on that people could and people would.” Many users online interpreted that line as a subtle callout to Gaylors, supporters of the niche theory that Swift is queer or leaves queer messaging in her songs. But several members of the Gaylor community tell Rolling Stone they’re actually not convinced the callout is about them — and are receiving targeted and homophobic harassment in the process.

For those not extremely online, Gaylor is an unproven theory that Swift is queer and leaves messages alluding to past relationships in her work, a fan theory that originated on the blogging site Tumblr in the mid-2010s. It is also the fan name for groups of people who believe there are queer interpretations of Swift’s songs. (While Swift has been a vocal ally and advocate for LGBTQ+ rights and representation, she has never publicly commented on Gaylor and has only been in public relationships with men.) Gabriela, a 27-year-old Gaylor, tells Rolling Stone she doesn’t believe Swift’s prologue is about the Gaylor fandom specifically, but she’s frustrated at the use of the word ‘sexualize,” which she says has long been co-opted by fans who think Gaylor is harmful or inherently rude.

“I think it’s a call-out yes, but more to the media at large, rather than just about the Gaylor subset of her fandom, which is only a small piece of her complaint. [Swift] doesn’t want to be assumed to be in a sexual, romantic relationship with anyone she is seen next to,” Gabriela says. “Hetlors [those who object to the Gaylor discourse] are cherry-picking to make it about her ‘shutting down gay rumors.’”

As an internationally beloved artist — one capable of selling more movie tickets than Martin Scorcese and convincing an entire fandom to rebuy her music her way — Swift professes an unusually close relationship with her followers. The lyricist often hides clues in her work and visuals, encouraging fans to decipher what coded messages and hints she’s leaving behind. But Swift has also verbalized how upset slut-shaming and assumptions about her love life make her. Anna, a 23-year-old Gaylor who uses they/them pronouns, agrees that the prologue wasn’t about Gaylor specifically but says they do think all Swift fans online could operate with more boundaries.

“Of course, I’m a little annoyed that people are pulling one or two lines of the prologue out of context and using it as a justification to be homophobic and send death threats to my friends, but I don’t think Taylor is at fault for people misconstruing her words and I think she has every right to call out things that make her uncomfortable,” Anna tells Rolling Stone. “’Shipping’ culture across the fandom seems to have gotten really ugly recently on all accounts. I’ve seen people speculate on her sex life, openly and graphically, track her location, insinuate that she wants/has children and just overall cross a lot of boundaries. It may be unpopular for me to say it, but I do think members on all sides needed to be put in their place a little bit.”

All of the Gaylor fans who spoke to Rolling Stone expressed that beyond the prologue, much of the reaction to them as a group has stemmed from a lack of understanding about why the fandom exists and has lasted for almost a decade. Liv, 26, says that the Gaylor community has been a large part of her life — it’s even how she met her current boyfriend. And she tells Rolling Stone the identity has allowed her to have a deeper understanding of Swift’s lyrics.

“It’s always fun for me to think about what inspired a song. So even if it’s not what happened in Taylor’s life, it’s interesting for me to think about a song through a queer lens, because I feel like it adds a lot of layers that a song about a guy might not have,” Liv says. “And I don’t really know any straight people who are that deeply obsessed with Emily Dickinson.”

The X account @gaylornews has over 12,000 followers. The admin behind the account declined to include her name but tells Rolling Stone Gaylor isn’t just a fun internet conspiracy theory, but means a lot to the community.

“Analyzing her lyrics through a queer perspective is more about defying heteronormative narratives and finding representation and not about invading Taylor’s privacy or sensationalizing her personal life,” the account owner says. “Gaylor is about queer people finding a safe space which straight people not only find but already have everywhere, is about all the things you never learned about yourself, is about feeling seen and genuinely understood.”

Regardless of what people think the prologue is about, Gaylors are worried about one thing: targeted harassment from more mainstream fans of Swift. In an April 2023 report from social media tracking firm Graphika, researchers found that Gaylors made up nine percent of active Swift fans on social media, but are often exiled and isolated from neutral fan spaces. The study also found that anti-Gaylor accounts, also referred to as Hetlors, “play a key role” in how the theory is presented to mainstream audiences and often misrepresent commonly held Gaylor beliefs, which can lead to the harassment and doxxing of neutral Gaylor accounts. Each of the Gaylors who spoke to Rolling Stone detailed targeted harassment, hate speech, and homophobia they’ve received online, something they all believe Swift would stand against.

“I think that people who are against Gaylors think we’re way more serious about it than we are. A lot of the things we say are jokes or ideas or possible theories,” Liv says. “And at the end of the day, none of us know what the truth is about her personal relationships. And we shouldn’t want to because [Taylor Swift] is entitled to her privacy.”

(link)

#wow well done!

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ebisul · 8 months ago

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Sterile Mandalore and my issues with the New Mandalore we see

I want to preface this by saying a lot of what’s wrong with Mandalore and the Mandalorians is fully Filoni’s fault (among a variety of other people involved) for being a bad storyteller. Also between brain fog, ADHD, and a severe anxiety disorder, I’m brute forcing my way to coherency.

This is in no way a defense of Death Watch or the history of imperialism. I won’t tolerate anyone comparing me to a terrorist organization for not liking the depiction of Mandalore under New Mandalorian rule or any particular Mandalorian Character, yes that has happened before.

As an overview, I will be going over the setting of Mandalore we see visually, a few of the characters and what those characters say about Mandalorian culture visually, as well as briefly touching on the Clones, and finally how each of these contribute to the Mandalore we see in The Clone Wars.

Now I wanted to write this because I actually deeply enjoy the Mandalorians as a culture, I think everything from the language to the armor to the Resol’nare, uncertain if thats canon, is absolutely fascinating. However, what we see in The Clone Wars has next to none of that outside of Death Watch, the terrorist organization.

The Setting of Mandalore

Mandalore the planet is primarily composed of harsh, seemingly uninhabitable deserts created from centuries upon centuries of war. What we do see of the civilization on Mandalore is primarily within the domed capital city of Sundari. Now there are a few things I wanna touch on here, primarily certain locations, such as the schools, the palace, and the overall visuals of the city, and the people, as a whole as well as individuals.

Beginning with the Schools,

We see schools on Mandalore at least twice in TCW, once during the poisonings when we see a cafeteria and once during our stint with Korkie where we see classrooms and dorms, and i have always hated the way they look. I will say that you could very well interpret the Royal Academy of Government to be a sort of military school, though given the New Mandalorians are all about peace and pacifism it would be an odd choice to send your nephew there.

Visually speaking, the schools are beyond dull. In the classroom we see Ahsoka teaching in, the entire room is gray, with nothing but the desks and a projector. Look at the kid in the front row! Thats how I feel looking at this room!! These are presumably either teenagers or young adults at a boarding school. Im not expecting much for a classroom but a dull dark gray, empty room is not conducive to learning.

I also want to note that they wear uniforms. Its totally normal for a boarding school to require uniforms, that makes sense, however, these uniforms have one singular interesting component and thats the iron heart. I can’t find an exact meaning behind the symbol outside of reddit so im hesitant to define it here, however what we do know is that the symbol is absolutely ancient. A significant part of Mandalorian history.

The rest of the uniform is similarly a dull cool gray, or perhaps a dull blue. And there doesn’t seem to be much individuality in the uniforms, that is outside of hair and whatever gambit-style headwear those kids are wearing at least, but even then they’re mostly all very similar hairstyles.

Im also electing to ignore that there are seemingly two separate sets of triplets here. I know it’s an animation shortcut. Still, they are still there and I can’t ignore them now.

Now, on to what I’m presuming is either a dorm or some sort of recreation or break room, I don’t remember much of the context and frankly you can’t tell from looks alone. I’m leaning toward a dorm because that was my first interpretation.

Regardless of what this room serves as, be it dorm or break room, its still void of character. If this were a dorm, we would have no indication of whose it could possibly be.

It looks like the light behind Korkie is a map of some sort, or something similar its unclear, but that and the neon lights above Soniee are the only sources of color. The red and blue can mean a lot of things but I genuinely don’t think there is a major purpose behind it. We already saw the two sets of triplets.

However, lighting is meant to mean something. In particular, red can mean many things, but given the visual context it reads as stress inducing, as danger. Particularly surrounding Korkie as it does.

Now blue lighting needed a quick google search, but my results for the meaning of blue lighting where a little unexpected. Blue is a typical calming color, similar to green, though can also be interpreted as depressing and cold like grays, and blue lighting can be representative of isolation and passivity. Ironically, this scene is anything but passive. Again, im not putting much weight into it but I feel its worth noting.

Ultimately, its entirely impersonal, slightly stress-inducing, and only marginally better than the classroom only because it had color. Now onto my most egregious example from the schools we see and my most despised, the cafeteria.

Do you see this shit? Where do i even start? My best guess is that these are approximately middle schoolers. If i went to this school I would willingly drink the poison. Their lunch looks like three tomatoes, three mystery cubes, and debatably either a cracker or a slice of cheese. Horrendous lunch. How is this acceptable to feed to children for a whole meal? Enough complaining about their lunches, though.

The cafeteria itself is offputting to say the least. Pure white. The children, pale and blonde, all wearing the exact same gray uniforms with only variation for the girls, because girl = skirts. It’s the picture of uniformity. Its horrific. The only color outside of the pitiful lunch is the monstrous poison drink nearly all children have. Probably bc theyre lunches are terrible.

This scene has two interpretations in my mind. The first is that its meant to be creepy as all hell, which is unlikely because we’re supposed to support New Mandalore. The second interpretation is that it was meant to look like the epitome of peace and serenity and utterly fails because it takes more than an overuse of the color white to represent innocence, purity, and peace.

How do you manage to make an entire school look like a cloning facility? In fact, I’m certain the cloning facility has more diversity than all of mandalore.

Now the issue with all of these areas of the schools on Mandalore is that they look like no place to teach a child. There are certain things that are conducive to learning and color is one of them! So is fostering individuality! There are specific things that make an environment suitable for learning and these schools have very few of them.

Now onto the Palace,

This will be a shorter segment than the previous. Although I will be lightly critical of Satine here. So to begin, we primarily see the throne room. In fact, im not even sure we see much else in the Palace of Sundari. We do see Satine’s rooms or office but I can’t find a picture of it so i won’t use the example.

Both of these images share a few things in common. First is the dramatic lighting, the otherwise empty throne room save for the chairs that seem to have been brought in, and the only color present outside of gray is Satine and/or her throne. Even Padme, notable fashion icon, is or appears to be wearing gray in these scenes.

The dramatic lighting in the first image is an obvious “Hey! These are the good guys!” and I can’t piece out a relevent meaning behind the second image so Im choosing to move forward because I think it is just that, lighting.

Now the throne room being utterly void will be clearer in the next image I attach. The issue with it being so empty is that it feels almost lifeless, cold. It doesn’t feel like a throne room visually speaking. This ties into the last thing these images have in common. Satine and her throne.

Within the gray permeating what seems to be most of Mandalore at this rate, Satine is the only source of actual color. Her clothes are these vibrant, beautiful blues and greens and purples. Her throne is a glowing beacon above everyone.

What does that say, when every one of her people is dressed in grays, beiges, and pale blues? Or when they all dress the same?

This is a better view of just how empty the throne room is. Theres more of the iron heart design, though still no real idea of the meaning further than it is significant, as well as the portrait of Satine. The only things in this image with color other than gray or biege are indications of Satine. But the throne room itself is almost entirely barren.

Whether or not you think this is any indication of her character one way or another thats up to you. My read on what this shows of her is that she is blinded by her own ideals, she doesnt truly see her people as they are, be that through ignorance or arrogance, and that allows the corruption to seep.

I wanted to show the hospital because I think thats a Good environment design for mandalore but i lost the picture. It is ironic that my example of good design is the one thats meant to be clinical.

Therefore, I’m moving on to the city at large

The city itself is incredibly industrial. I’m torn because I know it has to be like that to a degree but it also doesnt have to be like that. That’s a choice the designers made. The city of Sundari exists within a dome due to the uninhabitable deserts from years of war, that doesnt mean it must look so cold.

It just feels so lifeless. Colorless even. Ive noticed by now, and you probably have too, that my main issue seems to be coloring. Well, I wouldn’t say its my main issue but it’s definitely up there.

We’re supposed to think that Satine’s New Mandalore is Good. That it’s this vision of peace and prosperity. But where do we see that visually? Through industrialization? Thats not good!

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Satine’s peace is a clear facade for all of the shady bullshit going on behind her back, but we should be able to see that in the enviroment.

We should be able to see the idyllic peacefulness and people’s enjoyment of their city. We should see that face and the shady underside. We shouldn’t just see drab gray with a splash of corruption. It just makes Satine look like a bad ruler.

Characters and What They’re Telling Us

I’m actually not starting this with a particular character. I’m going to begin with the Mandalorian people as a whole.

What a surprise! Theyre all blond white people! See I have a huge issue with the lack of diversity among humans on Mandalore for a few reasons. The first reason is the obvious, it’s fucking WEIRD. The second reason is that we know there are people of color who are mandalorian.

And on the one hand this really demonstrates my point. Everyone looks the same, everything is dull and empty. This isn’t prosperity.

The first example they look like theyre dressed in uniform. Every single one of them is wearing the exact same color. Thats not normal. In the second image, while they aren’t dressed uniformly, they are all dressed in grays and beiges. These people are Satine’s governing council. They’re supposed to high standing officials.

And that brings us back to The Duchess herself

I’m choosing to use her main outfit design for this. There will be no more images from here onwards because there is no space but I’m trusting you all to know what these characters look like.

Satine’s Dress can only truly be described as opulent. She dresses in shades of blue, purple, and green and elaborate headwear and accessories. Her hair is styled in a way characteristic of Kalevala, similarly to Korkie’s friend Lagos but more extravagant. The colors she wears are chosen to appear soothing and to honor the history of Mandalore’s forests and lakes.

But this isn’t something you might pick up on naturally. Remember this is a show for children. You would have to do the research to learn that. Without that information you could interpret her appearance any number of ways.

Between her headress and the color scheme, I would have confidently said she was peacock-like, had I not known the nuances. Character design needs to be something people can infer from. Something that lines up with the environment to tell a story.

That being said what her design is meant to tell us is that she greatly values the less violent aspects of Mandalore’s past. That she is trying to preserve and honor their history and Mandalore’s beauty.

The issue is that (from memory at least) the honoring forests and lakes never really is relevant? We see Peace Park but we’re never shown much about any restoration or preservation efforts of the planet itself. Did they just give up because its a “wasteland”? Were there no other alternatives? We were never given enough context, explicitly or implicitly.

And without the knowledge of what her design is supposed to mean, what is stopping anyone from misinterpreting it. What is stopping anyone from thinking she is just this haughty, holier than thou politician? Especially when you put her next to civilians or even her own council when she is already sat above them on her throne?

Satine’s design is essentially meant to show us her value to peace and progression but we arent really shown much progressing. We’re meant to just believe what we’re told rather than showing us the progress in, yknow, progress.

Now, Bo Katan

I chose specifically to include the sisters in this because I wanted to compare them, also bc obviously they are the most relevant. Bo’s design also demonstrates her values, admittedly way clearer than Satine’s.

She’s a traditionalist, someone who values the warrior ways, and yes also a terrorist. Thats not super relevant. Because she’s a traditionalist, it makes sense that her character design is rather simple in comparison to her sister, but they both honor the history of Mandalore all the same.

Mandalorian armor is equally as historical and significant as the iron heart itself, even so far as to have the two intrinsically intertwined, having the Iron Heart as part of the armor. I think most Mandalorian fans know this already.

Now, I want to take the armor paint color meanings with a grain of salt. Im not certain how canon any of it actually is even if the meanings do seem to hold up withon canon. However, the thing about the armor paint is that it sets the mandalorians apart as individuals while simultaneously tying them together as Mandalorians.

Bo’s armor is painted primarily blue and gray with white detailing and owl imagery to signify her Nite-Owls. Now in the EU the colors have meaning. Blue and gray mean reliabilty and mourning respectively. I think it would be in the Mandalorian culture’s best interests to keep this canon and even expand upon this.

This is because these unique paint schemes allow for individuality, community, and notable artistic expression. I mean, just look at Sabine. This contrasts with the uniformity of New Mandalore which just makes New Mandalore look really bad. Like really, really bad.

Next I want to look at Almec

So, Almec has two designs I want to look at. First is his usual outfit as Satine’s right hand and the second is his own armor.

Pre-betrayal, Almec wears an almost solidly white outfit, with gray, beige, and a dash of gold detailing. This design actually has two iron heart designs, one in his clothes and one in his hair. Outside of the iron heart, the design is very plain. The overuse of white is likely meant to give an illusion of purity and peace again. It doesn’t really work when he looks so clinical, though.

In his armor, Almec’s design is a stark contrast to the previous. He wears a light green, maybe gray, flight suit with black and gold armor. The reason I wanted to include this design for a number of reasons but specifically, the shoulder cord.

The gold shoulder cord gives Almec a more militaristic appearance, even in comparison to other armored mandalorians. This is actually a design detail I really enjoy because the gold shoulder cord essentially means “service to another” in the US military.

The colors black and gold in mandalorian armor represent justice and vengeance. Again, take that with a grain of salt, but I think more importantly this change actually makes Almec a more recognizable character. The armor is more personal than his prior outfit working under Satine as a New Mandalorian. It tells us more about who he is as a person.

On to Jango

Yes he is Mandalorian. I will not debate this I dont give a shit what George Lucas intended with him. I don’t even care what was said in TCW. Jango was canonically a mandalorian foundling. And yes I know they never show up really in relation to Mandalore, but Its important I mention them, I think.

So, we know in TCW, Jango isn’t considered a mandalorian by the New Mandalorians. They insist that he must have stolen the armor, that there’s no conceivable way he could be mandalorian. Except that we now have canonical confirmation that he was in fact a foundling.

See, here’s the issue with this, because in retrospect they’re basically denying a dead man his own identity and creed.

Jangos armor isnt really what I wanted to talk about in relation to Jango himself. Mostly I wanted to talk about what his character means for the New Mandalorians. Jango amd Boba are quite literally The Blueprint for Mandalorians. Except now we get more Mandalorians and they fully deny Jango his Mando-ness.

What, because he doesn’t align with their ideology? Jango wasn’t a great person by any means but being Mandalorian isn’t just a nationality. It’s something you’re taught.

Again this isn’t about the armor, it’s about the fact that he’s played by a Maori man. The first Mandalorian face we see is a brown man and that gives a real bad impression when you have a planet of White People claiming he isn’t even Mandalorian, why? Because he’s adopted? Because he was a bounty hunter?

The Clones

This section isn’t totally relevant so feel free to skip to the next, but i can only go so long without talking about them.

The clones themselves don’t have a strong tie to Mandalore, narratively speaking. However, they do have ties built into their appearances. More than just being clones of Jango.

They don’t speak Mando’a in canon and we aren’t totally sure who exactly trained them before Jango died, but we do have little hints from their character designs that indicate some connection to Mandalore or the Mandalorian culture.

Rex specifically is one of the few with jaig eyes. Jaig eyes are a Mandalorian honor symbol. And he’s not the only clone with this symbol, Blackout also has Jaig eyes on his helmet. Which leads me to believe this symbol is fairly common for troopers since its not terribly common we see clones sharing symbols without a personal connection to eachother.

Further than just that, clone trooper armor, phase 1 at least and presumably onward, is also based on Mandalorian armor. This is primarily because of the armor jango wears, naturally his clones would be fitted with similar. But the clones have also picked up the armor painting. Could this simply be a coincidence? Sure if you wanna believe that. I don’t think I do though because its so significant to both cultures as a means of individuality.

What does all of this say about Mandalore?

And I mean that as what is this telling us visually. What conclusions can you draw from this with just images. Because it doesn’t look great for New Mandalore. And maybe that was the intent. I know my first impression of Satine was just how unprofessional she was acting.

Except we’re supposed to see New Mandalore as the good guys, essentially, right? Riddled with corruption but still Good. That doesn’t translate when the setting is dystopian-esque at best. Its cold and empty and clinical.

When you see an entire planet of people who all look almost exactly the same, wearing the same clothes, the same hair, the same face, the same color skin, it gets unsettling. Its a weird design choice because it’s an American cartoon and America is characteristically individualistic.

The Bad Guy, the literal terrorist organization, caters more towards that visual individuality than the peaceful, progressive Good Guys. It visually reads as a Safety vs Freedom story but thats not the story that they need to be telling. You can’t go telling people freedom is evil.

It makes it incredibly easy to misconstrue what New Mandalore is trying to do because the visuals aren’t supporting them. There’s a reason so many people genuinely think Satine has comitted some sort of cultural genocide against her people because we aren’t seeing any of the culture and when we do see it, its not supported by the narrative. They may have Mandalorian writing but they never speak Mando’a on screen outside of Death Watch. We dont really know what the iron heart means and its everywhere. They may talk about prosperity and progress but they aren’t showing us that.

What I Would Do To Improve

This is the last segment, I promise.

I want to start with what could improve the background. Because a lot of the issue stem from it being dull and lifeless, I think giving it some sort of life would really fix a lot of the issues. Namely, I would say to put more trees, real, lush trees not the tiny ones you’d find in a city. It would help give context to Satine’s homage to the forests of mandalore if we had a visual clue from Mandalore itself. This would also bring in some more color and take away from the industrial appearance. This is more of a personal thing because I grew up around farms, but I think we should have seen a farm or some sort of clue as to how Mandalore is feeding itself. How is it sustaining itself, if not for import?

Another thing I would change would be the overall coloring. Generally, I would push for more color but I’m mostly referring to the color of the buildings. I would replace the cold gray and blues with more of a bronze and maybe a warm orange or even just changed the undertone of the blue could add so much. I would also give the lighting more warmth. Overall I would just add more warmth.

Adding onto this, I would also bring in more color by adding more public art. More murals and statues and the like. We know they have murals and paintings in the Palace at least. We should see them in the city, too. Having more art around the city would also connect it to the same cultural roots that have the mandalorians painting their armor.

In the schools, the main issue is that there’s no color. That these spaces dont have anything that would bring a sense of comfort to a kid. The stark white of the cafeteria is more stress inducing than calming and it would be good to replace some of that with a splash of color to break it up, as well as with some background decorations. Slap a poster on them there walls.

The classroom we see could also use just more decoration, make it look like a classroom. Have posters of diagrams and models. The room is dark so I won’t say much of the coloring except just make it look less cold. The back of the room has a wide, empty space and I think if that space were filled with something it would change a lot of the energy it gives off.

As for the dorm, if that is a dorm, give is an idea of whose room it is. Make it look like someone lives there. If it’s not a dorm, why are these kids sitting in a dark room? The room itself shouldn’t exude this uncomfortable feeling, that should be the undertone.

Overall, I think the Palace is generally fine if only it werent so empty, and again, if there were more color. The detailing and the lighting both look nice but it just needs to feel more like a throne room.

As for the people of Mandalore, for fuck’s sake, diversity is not going to kill you. Again its insane that all of the mandalorians of color we see are either A.) terrorists B.) deemed not mandalorian or C.) future cultists. We should see more black, brown, and Asian mandalorians. Hell, we should see alien mandalorians too.

Furthermore, they should have more variety in their clothes. What society wears all of three colors when they definitely have access to others? On top of that we should see Mandalorians who still wear pieces of armor. Armor is defensive, it’s not inherently violent to protect yourself and it honors the history of Mandalore while still moving forward with progress.

This is of course just my personal vision. These visuals can be interpreted in a number of ways, if you want to think the designs are good and exhibit peacefulness more power to you, I simply can’t see it. I tried my best to keep it to the Clone Wars series with a strict focus on the appearance, though that was a difficult challenge for me.

Anyways, I hope this was somewhat coherent and enjoyable. I’ve likely missed some details but this took me multiple days to organize my thoughts properly so im not pressed about it. Let me know your thoughts! Just be kind and don’t call me a terrorist :)

#sw #star wars #tcw #the clone wars #star wars meta #i guess???#im tagging it anyway #mandalore #mandalorians

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annaphoenix1994 · 5 months ago

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Close Air

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

I watched her ignore the pain in her leg, using the brief time she had during the ride to reload her weapons, possibly ensuring that her favorite weapon was at no risk for fault. She held a brave face that I couldn't stop looking at. Admiring, even. Was she beautiful? Absolutely – far too beautiful for me as I knew I'd never have a chance, nor would I risk even trying to because I knew I'd be rejected, which I knew would hurt my ego. I saw a warrior behind those soft eyes of hers and could see why she got the job done when she was assigned to it.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eager to watch her interrogate Hassan when the time came.

She propped the rifle's barrel towards the floorboard of the truck, and I saw a brief glimpse of an assumed sleeve of tattoos on her right arm. I couldn't make out exactly what it was without bringing awareness to my curious stare, but by what I could see, it was something floral.

"Alright, let's get this done." Alejandro said, stopping the truck at the presumed location of Hassan, each of us exiting the truck with reason to open fire.

"Where do we find him?" Soap asked, moving to cover.

"He'll be with an armed guard. Cartel protection."

"Sure are a lot of places to hide..."

"Graves will be covering us by close air. We clear the buildings."

"Copy that, L.T." Soap nodded, taking cover close to Kiera as Alejandro took point ahead of us.

"Mark us."

Soap did as instructed, holding the IR laser over his head for Graves to clear a visual from his location.

"How's that leg, señora?" Alejandro asked.

"Not broken, I don't think. I'll be alright."

"We'll have a medic look at it when we get back to base."

"Hey, Vaquero, horses in the barn. You wanna play cowboy?" She snickered through the comm.

Alejandro looked back at me before he smirked, "Vaquero on wheels, señora. You, however, can have at it. Give us some entertainment."

"Ah, come on, Alejandro. If you're gonna call yourself a cowboy, you gotta ride a horse! I know you have horses on that ranch of yours, but don't tempt me, because I'll haul ass out of here like I'm Minnie Barlow." (Author's note: Minnie Barlow is not a real person; however, she is an original character I've written in my Red Dead Redemption 2 story!)

"She can ride the hair off of a horse, that's for sure." Alejandro commented to me.

"Border patrol?" I guessed.

"No, Hermano. She lives on a ranch in Wyoming. A true Vaquera." He nodded.

"Interesting." And she's a horse girl? Fuck, I think I'm in love already.

Love. That's a strong word, mate. Use it wisely. Many would think that word would make anger pool in my chest, and in ways, it should, because I had never felt to be in love before while in my adult years. When I was younger, I thought every girl I had ever dated I was in love with, but I never once had the desire of settling down and starting a family. I just could never see myself being "domesticated" as all I was ever good for was violence. I couldn't bring a child into my toxic world, nor would I ever bring a wife into that without the constant fear of losing her to enemies. It's how I lost my mum and brother, along with his wife and my nephew. I'm still haunted by that, and I didn't want to risk it happening to my own family because I knew I couldn't keep going in this world without them.

But the thought of it was nice. Perhaps that thought would stay safe in my head because I could make that thought go away if I wanted it to.

I heard the clatter of hooves galloping towards a truck that was parked to the north, the horse looking as if it was used to constant gunfire and stress, which I knew wasn't normal. I didn't know much about horses as I never ridden one in my life, but I did know that they were herd animals and spooked easily, and this one had the attitude of a soldier – running into battle with no regard of its own life, and that was amazing to me.

We soon heard gunshots, seeing Kiera firing upon the soldiers from the horse's back, making a circle around the truck before hauling ass back towards us.

She was right, there was a huge group of soldiers running inside of the greenhouse – more than what our small team could handle.

She shouted, the whistle of the artillery shells whipping down onto the greenhouse, flattening it as Kiera shot the remaining soldiers that were in her way, using the cloud of smoke to her advantage as she dismounted the horse, quickly untacking it and throwing its saddle and bridle to the ground, shooing it away as it ran to safety. I couldn't help but mentally applaud her for the regard she held for this animal, ensuring its safety before her own as she set it free before taking cover next to me. "Well, that was fun while it lasted!"

"Good shots," I praised her, keeping my gaze straight ahead. "Made it look easy."

"I do it all the time," She laughed. "Mounted shooting as a sport comes in handy when you're in the military. Not often, but sometimes."

"I'm sure."

We ended up successfully clearing the shed and surrounding area as the stables and greenhouse were now destroyed, pushing forward towards the complex.

More gunfire erupted from the north, two vehicles approaching our location. Before I could warn Alejandro, I had been shot. Fortunately for me, the bullet hit my plate that was in my vest. Unfortunately for them, I was going to kill them for it. I lost my balance, falling back onto who I thought was Alejandro, but judging by the sudden gasp, I had realized I had fallen back onto Kiera.

"Oh, my God! Are you okay?" She shouted, quickly moving to her feet to eliminate the closest guard before returning her gaze onto me.

"Ghost!" Soap shouted, surprised to see that I was shot.

"Solid," I groaned, ignoring Kiera's generous gesture to help me up. "Bullet hit the plate. Didn't go through."

I knew she was offended that I didn't take her offer, but I wasn't going to let a woman help me to my feet as I knew it was supposed to be the other way around. That, and I didn't like being in a vulnerable position in front of a woman when I was viewed as a protector. I felt vulnerable and embarrassed, and I wasn't going to let her help me unless I needed her to. My legs still worked as well as my arms, I didn't need her. Not yet, anyway.

Now, if I was shot and needed medical attention, then I'd definitely let those little hands of hers touch me.

"Good."

"Good thing Shadow's shot isn't shite like theirs!"

She breathed a laugh,

We took cover as a 40MM took care of the gate blocking our path. The compound's concrete walls provided excellent cover, but this applied to both us and the enemy. Graves continued to direct his men to cover our team from the sky, taking a lot of work off our shoulders so we could focus on finding our target. We needed Hassan alive, even though I wouldn't care to blow him to pieces. Kiera and I were the first to deploy fire on a group of Hassan's men from the windows of the second floor, hearing their deep tones of Arabic, except I had no idea what they were saying.

Kiera did, though.

"Aleaduu fi aldaakhila! 'Akhraj alraayida! (Enemy inside! Get the Major out!)"

Kiera sprinted ahead of me, and for a brief moment, I thought she was getting ahead of herself. She turned a corner, taking fire on the armed guard that was escorting Hassan.

"Move, move, move!" I heard Alejandro shout from behind me.

I eventually caught up to her, watching her take cover behind a table as Hassan's escort shot through the door. She took a smoke grenade and threw it into the hole in the door, hearing the men groan after the smoke deployed. "Moving in."

"I've got your back." I nodded, watching her burst through the door and shooting Hassan's escort. I shot another man who was aiming at her, growing angry when Hassan had the nerve to jump on her, swinging his fists towards her face in a desperate attempt to disarm her, but he wasn't fast enough as she dug her thumbs into his eyes, using her elbow to hit upwards into his nose as I pulled him off of her.

"That wasn't so smart, was it, you bloody fool." I mocked him, pleased to see that his nose was bleeding as I forced his hands behind his back.

"Man 'ant bihaqi aljahimi? (Who the fuck are you?)" He hissed at me, trying to pull his arms away from me, but I was stronger than him.

"Kabusk al'aswa. (Your worst nightmare.)" Kiera answered him.

"Ana las khayifan minka. (I'm not scared of you.)"

"Thuma limadha tabki? (Then why else do you cry?)" She laughed at him.

And when he tried to spit at her, she was quick to hit him between the legs, and I couldn't help but chuckle at her wit, but I grew angry that his man had the balls to do that in front of me. I forced him to walk towards the door that Alejandro and Soap were keeping secure after Kiera and I searched him for any weapons, forcing him to walk through the pain from her hard kick.

"Yes, sir. He's clean." Kiera answered him as we made our way back towards the entrance of the compound.

"Soap, take him. I'm going to provide cover." I said to him, handing off Hassan from my grasp into his, running alongside Kiera and Alejandro as we needed to make sure the area was clear before we left with our target.

"No movement in the area," Kiera said to Alejandro. "I see Rudolfo!"

Rudolfo skid the vehicle to a halt as we made our way to him, Alejandro jumping into the front seat while Kiera opened the back hatch to sit in the trunk knowing that there wouldn't be any room for her after we put Hassan in. "I am a Quds Force Major! You have no right—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Soap barked at him, forcing him into the back seat of the car as I got in to sit behind Rudolfo, Hassan sitting between Soap and me.

I was severely anxious as we drove towards an incoming town, waiting for a surprise attack at every corner, my anxiety never ceasing until I could assure myself that we were safe. I listened as Kiera reloaded her M4, each click from her weapon making my blood run with excitement. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like watching her fight, but I hated the fact that she beat me to it. "You won't make it to where you're taking me." Hassan snickered.

"That's a new one." Kiera replied in sarcasm.

"You're lucky your dog here stopped me from really hurting you."

"No, you're lucky he stopped you. Should I dig your eyes out of your skull?" She sneered at him.

"Shut your bloody mouth," I warned him. "Or I won't save you from an unforgiving death."

Hassan scoffed as he shook his head, a sadistic smirk plastering on his face. He was being cheeky, and I wasn't having it. "Oh, look, a gas station, can you stop and get me a drink?" He asked Rudolfo sarcastically.

"Yeah, we'll stop and get you a cup of shut the fuck up!" Kiera retorted, Soap and Alejandro laughing at her comment.

"Hit." He muttered under his breath as we came across an intersection, my eyes widening when I saw a vehicle speeding towards us from the opposite direction.

"Fuck! Brace for impact!" Alejandro shouted as the car plowed into the rear end of our vehicle, the momentum causing us to flip completely over and onto its top. I heard Kiera groan in agony as I was sure the wreck didn't help the fact that she had injured her leg, finding herself sitting on the roof of the car once it had settled. Bullets rained towards us, and I pulled Hassan out for Soap to take him so I could focus on providing cover while Kiera, Alejandro, and Rudolfo could get out to safety. When Alejandro and Rudolfo got out, they provided cover fire as I squatted down to look into the car, seeing that Kiera was trying to open the back hatch as the roof was caved against the seat I was in, leaving only a small hole for her to squeeze through. There was too much gunfire for me to put myself into the open and try to pry open the door myself, so I called her name and told her to come towards me. "Grab onto me. I'll pull you out."

She nodded, licking away the blood that dressed her bottom lip, moving towards me and grabbing my forearms while I shifted my weight into my heels as I tried to pull her out. It wasn't working, so she rid her body of her vest and M4 before trying again. I reached in further, linking my arms around her torso while her arms wrapped around my neck. She groaned into my neck, and I was sure her adrenaline was wearing thin at this point. "I've got you," I assured her, my natural strength feeling like I wasn't even trying. Her legs went limp beneath her after I had gotten her out, and she quickly put her vest back on and armed herself before she grabbed the hand I had offered her, tugging her along with me as she desperately tried to get her feet under her. "In here!" I shouted, dragging her into a nearby building and taking cover behind what seemed to be a bar counter. "Are you alright, love?"

She panted, catching her breath as she slung the strap of her M4 over her shoulders, blowing a piece of her hair out of her face, "That is fun. Almost forgot how much I missed it." She smiled.

Her answer caught me off guard as I expected her to reply with a simple answer of being in pain or not, but she was bloody relentless. I shook my head, hooking my arm under hers to lift her to her feet, "Let's go. The rest moved towards the alley."

"We need to get another vehicle!" She said to Alejandro once we met up with them at our next checkpoint for cover.

"Saw another on the corner!" Rudolfo answered.

External gunfire kept us covered as we were all now running low on ammunition. This little town was no more.

"Fuck!" Alejandro muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I need some nicotine or something," Kiera groaned from the back hatch. "And definite sutures."

"You'll get both when we get back to base, señora. You're going to enjoy what we're doing next."

"My favorite thing?"

Alejandro laughed, "Yes. Interrogation."

"About time," She scoffed, changing the channel of her comm.

"How come you didn't use your callsign?" Soap asked.

"I contact Laswell with 3-1. She caught on why I started having soldiers calling me Ditch, so she would rather me address her with numbers. Looks better on the reports that way."

"So, it's kind of an inside joke?"

"Pretty much. Just like I call Shepherd "sob."

"What does it stand for?"

"It's short for "son of a bitch," because that's what he is."

"Fitting, yeah?"

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